Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  I was aching to share my information with Pruett, but time was short. I bent down and whispered in Ella’s ear.

  “Come on. Let’s put Poe and Keats in their crates.” I sped toward ring nine, with Ella and Pruett trailing in our wake. Ken Reedy’s words bounced through my brain. He knew who the killer was but for reasons of his own refused to tell me. Why? What would prevent a law and order type like Reedy from doing his duty? Perhaps the danger was over, and the killer posed no harm to anyone else. But that didn’t excuse the offenses already committed. No matter what the provocation, murder times two equals a big-time capital offense.

  Knowing that secret put Ken in danger too, not that he seemed to care. His wife’s death had stripped him of something vital. Now Ken drifted through life, going through the motions without much emotion or enthusiasm—except when it came to animals. His devotion to dogs and rescue horses sparked a renewed purpose in Ken. Those thoughts struck a chord with me. Since Pip passed, I had been much the same, existing not living. My pets, even the irascible Zeke, had saved me no matter what the future held. Pruett and Ella had changed me too, by showing their love. I now knew that I could reclaim my life without betraying or discarding Pip.

  “Alma packed a picnic lunch for us,” Pruett said, pointing to a wicker hamper. “Bet you could use a snack.” Over smoked salmon and salad, Pruett shared his encounter with Jacqui.

  “Brrr.” He shivered as he described their meeting and subsequent lunch. “The things I do in the pursuit of truth. That woman almost devoured me.”

  Ella’s puzzled look reminded him that little ears were remarkably perceptive. Pruett ruffled her hair and quickly changed the subject. “Poe looks thirsty, Ella. Go fill his bowl.” The little girl sped away to a water fountain while staying within eyeshot of her dad.

  “So, what happened?” I low-keyed it even though my curiosity was boiling.

  Pruett’s expression hovered between smile and smirk. “As you predicted, Jacqui couldn’t resist my fatal charm. We spent two hours at La Chaumiere, while she sampled everything on the menu including me. Man, that woman can eat.”

  Silence was a powerful weapon under the right circumstances. I plastered a neutral look on my face and waited patiently.

  “You are one tough case. Okay. After much cajoling and some false promises, Jacqui finally confided in me.” He pinched my cheek. “She doesn’t like you by the way. Thinks you’re not my type. Way too serious.”

  Taunts from a jealous woman like Jacqui shouldn’t have bothered me but they did. “Thanks for the news bulletin,” I growled. “Learn anything useful, Romeo?”

  After several glasses of wine, Jacqui apparently opened her heart and who knew what else to Pruett. She admitted her little problem with shoplifting and protested that her therapist told her it was a disorder not a fault.

  “Tell that to the police. I’m sure her mugshot looked lovely.”

  Ella filled Poe’s water bowl and proceeded to do the same for Keats. That allowed Pruett to continue his spiel.

  “She described that fundraiser you’re so keen on. Sounded pretty tame to me but she did recall some sort of fracas between Ethel and one of the merrymakers. Apparently, Ethel got a drink thrown in her face and asked Jacqui to help her clean up.”

  I clenched my fists until they were numb. Pruett was deliberately drawing out this tale for effect and driving me crazy in the process. Since there were witnesses about including a child, I resisted the impulse to scream or pummel him.

  “Names?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “Nope. One thing though. According to Jacqui, Ethel laughed about the whole thing. Said something about people who lived in glass houses, adultery, and storming the moat, whatever that means.”

  I pondered that one for a second. My childhood had been a hodgepodge of different religious training although my foster family was ardently Catholic. After a second, I recalled that the sixth commandment is a major bummer that forbids adultery and anything that smacks of sexual pleasure. Jacqui qualified as an expert witness when it came to licentiousness.

  “We only have Jacqui’s word for all this,” I said. “Maybe she threw the drink in question herself. Wouldn’t put it past her.”

  Pruett’s smile lit up the sky. “Jealous, are you? Don’t worry. I saved my virtue just for you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Come to think of it, Sheila said everyone was well lubricated that evening. Loose lips lead to trouble.” Considering Ellis Sands’s circle of pals, any number of guests were fabulously wealthy with plenty to lose. Unfortunately, they weren’t part of Babette’s planning committee. As painful as it was, there were only six possibilities.

  Pruett donned his mask of inscrutability. He monitored my expression as closely as a handsome hawk without giving anything away. I clutched his arm as a sudden thought consumed me.

  “Think carefully. Did Jacqui say a woman mixed it up with Ethel?”

  He pursed his lips as he thought. “Not really. Come to think of it she didn’t. I just assumed…”

  I turned aside to hide the superior smirk he so richly deserved. Journalists were trained not to assume anything and the exquisitely educated Pruett knew that. All along I had suspected Carleton, the ultimate narcissist. If threatened, he wouldn’t hesitate to lash out at anyone especially a woman. Ethel would have relished his loss of control. It represented another power trip for a woman who loved gaining the upper hand over her supposed benefactors. Carleton would brush me off if I broached the subject. Only Babette could answer that question.

  “Hello in there, Perri.” Pruett tapped my forehead, making Ella giggle. The little girl flung her arms around his waist and hugged her dad.

  “Just like Pinocchio, Daddy. Perri has a wooden head!” Wooden head or not, I suddenly realized that by neglecting my shop, I was short-changing myself and the customers who depended upon me.

  “Got to run,” I said. “I promised to open the shop by noon.”

  Pruett decided to play peacemaker. “How about this? After work, I’ll swing by your place.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! We could grab some dinner at L’Auberge. It’s right in Great Falls and very romantic.” He rolled his eyes in a failed attempt at a leer.

  Pip had taken me there and Pruett was correct. L’Auberge Chez Francois was both romantic and expensive, not the ideal place for someone who had spent her day at a dog show. “That’s so formal,” I said. “Maybe some other time.” It was a feeble excuse but the best I could muster on short notice.

  His middle name may well have been “persistence.” Very little deterred Pruett when he was pursuing something or someone he wanted.

  “No problem. They opened a brasserie next to it. Chez Jacques, just the kind of place you will love.” He took my hand and gently kissed it. “How about it, Mademoiselle? Pick you up at eight.”

  Resistance was futile, so I chose to yield, finding a curious satisfaction in sweet surrender. “It’s a date, Monsieur.”

  Chapter 32

  We never made our dinner date. Just as Pruett pulled into my driveway, I received a hysterical, undecipherable call for help. I barely understood Babette through her storm of tears, hiccups, and sobs.

  “Calm down,” I said. “What happened?”

  “They took her,” Babette sobbed. “They said they’d kill her.”

  “Who?”

  “Raza. Someone with a muffled voice called me. Just like in the movies.” Babette took a breath. “Perri, she’s been horse-napped. If you don’t back off, bad things will happen.”

  “Where are you now,” I asked. My voice remained steady, but it wasn’t an easy task.

  Babette’s frustration exploded into a tirade mostly directed at obtuse people like me. “I’m at the farm of course. Cavalry Farms. Today’s my volunteer day, remember?”

  My heart sank at the thought of my beautiful Raza in th
e clutches of a double murderer. This killer wouldn’t hesitate to act and there was no time to waste. Pruett, Keats and Poe hopped into the Suburban with me as we barreled toward the highway.

  “On our way,” I told Babette. “Stay calm.”

  * * * *

  Pruett frowned as he pondered the situation. “Weird,” he said. “Why threaten Babette instead of you?”

  I had already considered that. “Soft target. Let’s face it, until the murders, Babette barely locked her doors let alone tangled with murderers. Someone knew that she was alone and unlikely to ask any probing questions.” I looked at my dogs through the rear-view mirror. “Besides, who would tangle with warriors like Keats and Poe? Remember. They’re Schutzhund trained.”

  Pruett patted my knee. “It could be anyone you know, any of the people at Babette’s house that day.”

  He was right of course. Evidence trumped negative feelings every time. All of them, even Jacqui and Charlotte were animal lovers so there was hope for my beautiful Arabian. Anyone with a heart—particularly a woman—would never hurt an animal. I blocked any thoughts that told me otherwise. After all, the murderer had already killed twice. Would he or she hesitate to eliminate a horse?

  “I just hope whoever did this won’t hurt her,” I said. My stomach clenched every time we rounded a curve. The culprit could eliminate the problem simply by shipping Raza to one of the many food lots. I squeezed my eyes shut to suppress the tears that threatened. Hiding a horse was an easy proposition in a place like Great Marsh. All that acreage with barns and outbuildings. If you included Loudoun County, the possibilities were endless. Loudoun had more horses than any other county in Virginia and many of its estates were vast. No wonder it was called hunt country.

  Pruett’s strength was comforting. For once he didn’t say much but his presence helped to steady me. I had to be stoic for Babette’s sake. If I fell apart, my friend would totally disintegrate. I needed to project confidence and stability the way I had in my previous career.

  The gate to Cavalry Farms was wide open, another sign that portended trouble. As soon as we neared the barn, Babette burst out of the door, heedless of the tears coursing down her cheeks, or the mascara tracks marring her eyes.

  “Oh, my Lord,” she cried. “What can I do?” In typical Babette fashion, she flung herself into Pruett’s arms, seeking male comfort. I was frankly tempted to do the same thing. To his credit, he did the manly thing, stroking her hair, patting her back and murmuring softly. I released the Malinois and grabbed my torch from under the seat. Keats and Poe both excelled in tracking. With any luck they might be able to pick up Raza’s scent.

  “Okay,” Pruett said. “When did you see her last?”

  Babette dithered for a moment before answering. She backed up a few steps and got defensive. “Wednesday is my spa day, so I was just a bit late. Ken Reedy knows all about it so I figured he’d have it covered. It’s fenced after all. I got here right after one. I never had any trouble before.”

  I immediately thought of her absent spouse. “Where was Carleton?”

  Babette bristled. “How should I know? He doesn’t live with me anymore, Perri. Plus, today was a school day.”

  Pruett had a different thought. “Do you have a standing appointment every Wednesday?”

  She spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the various spa services and how often she used each of them. To avoid pinching my pal’s cheeks, I focused on Pruett’s question. Anyone familiar with Babette would know about her spa habits. Lord knows she broadcasted her schedule to anyone who would listen and a few who refused to. That confirmed what we had already surmised: Raza was taken by an insider, someone who knew my pal’s vagaries and took advantage of the window of time.

  “Let’s see the note,” I said. Babette fumbled in her pocket and extracted a wrinkled piece of paper with a very clear message. Crystal clear.

  “I wrote down everything. Just like they said.” Thankfully, Babette’s penmanship was a tribute to her private education.

  “‘Stop meddling or Raza dies. Tell the leather lady that,’” I read aloud. “No ambiguity there.”

  “Have you called Bascomb?” Pruett asked Babette.

  “How crazy are you? Bascomb can’t solve two murders. Think he can find a horse? He wouldn’t even try.” Tears dripped down Babette’s cheek. “Ethel and Jakes were blackmailers who deserved to die. Let ’em rot, but Raza doesn’t deserve this.” She turned to me and clutched my arm. “Promise me, you’ll quit, Perri. Please.”

  Words are sometimes inadequate. I hugged my friend without bothering to mislead or correct her. Sadly, odds were that Raza was already gone, dead or shipped to those horrific food lots that slaughtered horses. In general criminals were a ruthless and self-centered bunch who tended to quickly eliminate anything that might compromise their safety. I said a silent prayer to Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, a relic from my theologically muddled past. Maybe the culprit had a soft spot for animals. If Ken Reedy or Sheila did it, they would never hurt Raza. I’d stake my life on that. Unfortunately, I was less confident about Carleton, Charlotte, or Jacqui. Each was a blatant narcissist who looked out for number one regardless of consequences.

  We started in the fenced pasture where Raza had last been seen. The dogs immediately picked up her scent and surged toward the rear gate with Pruett and me in tow. Babette stayed behind, clutching Clara’s lead.

  Before long, the promising lead grew stone cold. Tire tracks made by some type of large SUV pulling a horse trailer were imbedded in the mud. Raza’s captor had obviously led her to a van and driven away.

  “Know anything about tire tracks?” I asked Pruett.

  He made no apologies. “Nope. Not a thing. I’m a sports car guy. One SUV looks pretty much like another to me. Sounds more like your department.”

  Defeat left a sour taste in my mouth. At least one thing was certain: Carleton neither drove nor owned an SUV—far too pedestrian a vehicle for a self-styled hottie. That didn’t absolve him from the crime, however. He was fully capable of urging a confederate—likely female—to do the deed. Charlotte and Jacqui both owned SUVs and might easily own or rent a horse trailer as well. To be fair, so did Ken and Sheila. Almost every household in Great Marsh had one or more of those metal beasts including Babette and me. I headed back to the barn feeling dispirited and helpless.

  “Maybe tomorrow things will look brighter,” Pruett said. “It’s too dark to see much now.” He looped his arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. “Ella is staying with Alma tonight. Let’s go to your place and discuss strategy as soon as the other volunteers get here.”

  My hormones immediately warred with my obligations to Babette. Her carefully manicured world had been totally upended in the past month and she needed me. Before I answered him, Pruett glanced at Babette and eked out a grin.

  “Okay. I get it. We’ll probably end up bunking at your place tonight.” He turned toward my pal. “If you’ll have us, that is.”

  She tried to be brave, biting her lip, and fighting back tears. “Don’t worry about me. You two go on. I’ll stay in case the kidnapper calls me. You never know.”

  Despite her protestations, the end was inevitable: three adults and three canines trooped over to Babette’s house and gathered around the stone fireplace. Pruett made himself useful by pouring brandy while I whipped up an omelet. Fortunately, I had fed both Zeke and Thatcher before leaving so they were good to go until the morning.

  We spent the evening discussing pleasant topics and avoiding any mention of Raza’s fate. Pruett entertained us with tales of Ella’s antics and her obsession with Guinnie.

  “She practically sleeps in that belt Perri made her,” he said. “Only takes it off to bathe. And those chaps, weird as they are. Kid loves them.”

  That triggered a niggling thought in my brandy-soaked brain that slipped away before I could capt
ure it. Shortly after midnight we clambered up the stairs in search of rest. I didn’t sleep right away, however. Pruett explored his very precise brand of strategy with me until we both drifted off to slumber land.

  * * * *

  Something roused me very early the next morning. After I quietly showered and dressed, Pruett mumbled garbled, unintelligible gobbledygook and quickly sank back under the covers. A quick trip back home would allow me to care for Zeke and Thatcher, feed the dogs, and zip back before Babette or Pruett even realized that I had gone. With any luck, it would also clear my head of extraneous matters and allow me to focus. I was missing something, a critical piece of evidence. If only I could dredge it up.

  Navigating through Sunday morning traffic was a breeze since the good citizens of Great Marsh took their day of rest very seriously. Most, even the churchgoers, didn’t stir from their homes until late morning. At six am even the crickets were nestled all snug in their beds.

  I hustled the dogs out of the car and steeled myself for a confrontation with Zeke. The irascible goat got lonely even when his stall was well stocked with fresh hay and oats. He wasn’t shy about expressing himself either. Fortunately, Keats and Poe served as a distraction. They surrounded him, chased him for a while and calmly accepted his head butts and nuzzling.

  A few chores still remained undone. Thatcher required sustenance and attention, despite her feigned indifference to anything human. I also needed to shed last night’s finery for more practical garb. The search for Raza might well lead through difficult terrain.

  While deactivating the alarm system, I thought again of the kidnapper’s words. There was something strange yet familiar about that word choice. Obviously, the author knew both Babette and me. No surprise since he or she was part of a small circle of intimates, someone who knew of Babette’s schedule and my passion for Raza.

  Keats and Poe stood on alert, their fur bristling.

  “Hey you guys, calm down. No need to be upset.” I followed them into the living room puzzled by the soft growls coming from their throats. Thatcher was sprawled out on the couch, unharmed and purring loudly. She was not alone.