You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3)

by Dane McCaslin

  "That's different," I said stubbornly. "Men don't carry their wallets where everyone can see them."

  "Hmm."

  I waited a moment, then asked, "Hmm what, Greg?" I reached over and thumped the newspaper with my thumb and forefinger. "Hello? Earth to Greg?"

  He folded the newspaper section back in a neat rectangle, carefully laying it on the table and clasping his hands on top.

  Uh-oh, I thought. That's his lawyer pose. I stood up and headed over to the Keurig.

  "Coffee?" I asked brightly.

  "No, thanks. And as soon as you've made your mug, Caro, please have a seat."

  "Oh, good grief, Greg. I was just teasing about the new handbag. I wouldn't use it anyway, and you know that." I leaned my back against the counter as I waited for the coffee to brew, inhaling the scent of peppermint, a scent that I'd heard was very calming. I had a feeling that the upcoming conversation might require just that.

  "Be serious, Caro," he said somewhat impatiently. "This isn't about you. This is about something that Leonides mentioned at the beginning of the article that I read."

  I just stared at him over the rim of my coffee mug. The aroma of peppermint and mocha filled my nose, and I inhaled deeply. It was calming.

  And very hot. I abruptly set the mug down on the table, sloshing some of the content out on the table as I reached for the offended member. Had I singed any nose hairs? It certainly felt that way.

  Greg said nothing, just sat watching me with an amused expression. "Do you need any help, Caro?"

  I lifted said offended member into the air and said, "No, thank you. Please—go on, Greg. You were about to mention something that Detective Leonides said?"

  "Yes." Greg looked down at the newspaper and tapped it with one finger. "It said in here that he has been investigating several leads, including one in Seneca Meadows."

  I gaped at my husband, burned nose forgotten. "Here? In our town? Well, that's absolutely crazy, Greg." I laughed, shaking my head. "I can't imagine anyone coming here and setting up a pop-up shop, or whatever it's called."

  "And I agree." Greg looked over at the coffee machine. "Any left?"

  I rolled my eyes. "It's a one-cupper, Greg. Of course there isn't any left." I waited a beat longer and then asked, "Would you like some?"

  "Would you mind?"

  "Of course not." I selected a Jamaican Blue pod and put it in the machine before choosing the desired amount. "And would you mind if I went shopping this next week? I think I'd like to look for a new handbag."

  "Why am I not surprised?" Greg sounded amused. When I carried the coffee over to him, he slipped an arm around my waist and nuzzled into my side. "Anything to keep you happy, Caro."

  "Oh, yeah?" I leant over and kissed the top of his head. "Anything?"

  "Within reason, of course." He gave my waist a squeeze and then dropped his arm. "I hate to say this, but I've got a lecture that I need to rewrite. Would you mind if I…?"

  I shook my head, trying to appear disappointed. Inside, though, my mind was whirling about, waving ribbons and shouting "hallelujah." I'd have uninterrupted time to visit Merry and discuss the new information about Leonides and the handbags. Whether it was related to our murders or not, I couldn't say. It wouldn't hurt to look into it though.

  "You do what you need to do, my dear." I smiled down at him, anxious to get to the shower.

  "Thanks, Caro. And you have fun as well," he added with a wide grin. "Say hello to Merry for me, won't you?"

  * * *

  "He said what?" Merry's mouth was an O of amazement. "That man manages to get more personal media time than any other officer I know."

  I'd just shared the article featuring Leonides and the conjecturing about the counterfeit designer handbags. I laughed at her comment.

  "And I agree, Merry. Not like our humble Scotty, is he?"

  "Not even close," she agreed. "Speaking of which, he only stayed for a while last night, Caro."

  "Not my business, Merry," I said innocently, one hand on my chest. "What you do in your own home is your affair."

  Merry snorted derisively, but the smile on her face gave her away. "I'll remember that the next time you're asking for all the sordid details."

  "Hmm." I smiled at my friend, then looked back at the screen on Merry's laptop. We were seated at her kitchen table in her eclectically decorated kitchen with its mismatched chairs and flowering pots of herbs, cups of steaming chamomile tea in front of us. "Whatever we think of Leonides, he's right when he says that fraudulent goods are a big problem. Listen to this: 'In 2010, the estimated cost from the sales of counterfeit goods was over two hundred billion dollars.'"

  "Worldwide?" Merry took a sip of her tea and leaned closer to the screen. "No, wait—I see it. In the States only." She shook her head. "And it increased by over thirty-five percent more in 2013? Those are insane numbers, Caro."

  I nodded soberly. "No wonder Leonides is warning consumers."

  "Well, now that I think about it, it's really only the big companies who suffer. And they make tons of money anyway. I can't imagine they'd miss a billion or three."

  I sipped my own tea and thought about it. Detective Leonides, in my opinion, might have been a clotheshorse with a penchant for overexposure, but he was generally right on target with his investigations into crime. If he said that Seneca Meadows was somehow involved in the sale of counterfeit goods, it must have some truth to it.

  "Well, as interesting as this all sounds, Caro," Merry said, "we still have two murders that happened right under our noses that haven't been solved."

  "Did Scotty say anything about it last night? Or did you not have enough time for something like a discussion," I added, my face and tone innocent.

  "Oh, I see where this little conversation is going, and I'm not spilling the beans." Merry shook a playful finger at me. "And no, we did not have time to discuss work."

  "I have no idea what you mean," I said with a one-shouldered shrug. "My question is this: is it possible that Leonides has found a connection between our two murders and the fake handbags?"

  Merry looked at me for a while, thinking. I was right there with her. I'd remembered Detective Leonides' presence at Viviana Drake's murder, and I wondered if Merry had made the same connection.

  Slowly she nodded as the light went on in her eyes. "Viv."

  I nodded, smiling. "Yes, I thought so as well." I paused a moment, then added, "It's just a matter of figuring out what her role was: victim or criminal."

  "I just can't see Viv as a law breaker, Caro. Maybe she tried to get away with a parking ticket or something like that, but nothing more."

  "And I certainly agree. Viv was too—was too open to be able to pull off a stunt as involved as selling counterfeit goods." Something was in the back of my mind, waving its hands in a bid for attention. I tried to see what it was, but it disappeared before I could get a good hold on it.

  "Detective Leonides must have known something, Merry. Otherwise I couldn't imagine why he was there at a Seneca Meadows murder scene."

  Merry nodded slowly. "I'll see if I can get anything out of Scotty. That will have to wait, though. He's on the shift that leaves off at midnight and then still has to get his paperwork completed."

  "I left Greg working today as well. He's got to rewrite a lecture for his criminal-law classes at the university." I gave Merry a mischievous grin. "That leaves a lot of time on our collective hands, doesn't it?"

  "It does indeed."

  "Fancy a trip to the city?"

  "I thought you'd never ask." She lifted her tea mug in a toast. "Cheers."

  "Cheers," I said with a wide smile. "Detective Leonides, watch out. Here comes double trouble."

  * * *

  "Right this way, ladies," said the officer at the reception desk in the New York Police Department's substation. I looked around with interest as we followed him, noting that since our last visit here, someone had done a complete makeover, turning the once bland space into a cozy waiting ro
om that might have been in a local day spa instead of a cop shop.

  "Wonder who did all this," Merry murmured with a chin jerk at the reception area. "My money's on Leonides."

  "And you'd be right, ma'am." Our guide turned to face us, a twinkle in his eye. "He made such a fuss about the 'atmosphere of oppression' or something like that till he got his way and had the entire station redecorated." He shook his head. "How he got the purse strings loosened is beyond me."

  "I might have used words like 'pretty please with a cherry on top,' officer." The three of us jumped as Detective Leonides walked up behind us, his face unreadable. "I can take it from here, thank you." He barely glanced at Merry and me as he walked around the blushing officer and headed deeper into the rabbit-warren hallways that led to his office.

  "Well, it's nice to see that something around here hadn't changed," I said. "He's still as 'charming' as ever." I made air quotes around the word.

  Merry poked me in the side and motioned toward Leonides as he strode along ahead of us. I shrugged. I hadn't changed either.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  If the outer office was a nod to a comfort-inspiring scheme, Detective Leonides' space was a marvel of classical design. The walls had been painted a deep terra cotta and then stippled in bronze to add depth and interest. A stark white chair rail ran along the walls, and the lighting was of the recessed variety, its angles focused on Leonides' incredibly tidy desk and the oil painting that hung on the wall behind him. It could have as easily been the office of a museum curator as that of a police detective.

  "Please," he said as he indicated the two brocaded chairs in front of his desk, "have a seat."

  "This is really something." Merry, ever ready to speak her mind, looked around the office in admiration. "You must've really had some kind of pull with the guys in accounting."

  "How can I help you two?" He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers underneath his chin. "I'm sure you didn't drive all the way here just to appreciate the surroundings."

  "No, we didn't," I said as I gave Merry a surreptitious kick in her ankle and the detective my best smile. "Although I must say it is absolutely gorgeous in here. You've got very good taste."

  He nodded silently at me, then turned his gaze back to Merry. "I would think, Ms. Holmes, that the Seneca Meadows Police Department would be able to ah, satisfy every need that you might have."

  Merry's cheeks went from merely rosy to a deep crimson in the blink of an eye, so quickly, in fact, that I was worried for her blood pressure. Living with Gregory Browning had taught me a thing or two about high blood pressure. Turning to the detective, I took a deep breath.

  "Would you care to explain exactly what it is that you mean, Officer Leonides?" I purposely demoted him verbally and was satisfied to see a muscle twitch in his cheek. He didn't correct me, however. "We came here with nothing but the best of intentions, to share information that might be of help to you in your investigation into fake purses. Insulting my friend is not the way to get us to cooperate. Merry, let's go. I think I need some fresh air."

  "Wait, please. Ms. Holmes, I apologize. I did not mean to make you upset." A smile twisted his lips and he stood up, leaning over his desk to offer his hand to Merry. "The officers"—he turned to look at me when he said this—"of Seneca Meadows are fine, hardworking men and women. I can't say I blame you for—"

  "And that's enough," I said firmly, holding up one hand. "We are here because one of our friends is dead, not to mention a young girl. We can talk about the eligibility, shall we say, of Seneca Meadows Police Department later. What I'm focusing on right now is a possible connection between the killing of Viv—Viviana Drake—and your current counterfeit case."

  "And you assume there's a connection, why?" The detective sat back down without shaking anyone's hand and resumed his "see the great detective mind at work" position: head cocked to just the right angle, fingertips together and lightly touching his chin.

  I wanted to laugh. Or take a picture. Either one would have been acceptable.

  Leonides pursed his lips, sitting silently for a moment before speaking. "Can you give me a hint about what you're thinking?"

  Beside me, Merry snorted. I rushed in to answer Leonides in case she said something she'd regret later.

  "We thought that you might have seen a link between Viv's death and your case because you showed up to the crime scene. I don't know about you, detective," (this time I gave him his correct rank) "but I see that as a silent acknowledgment of connection."

  "Unless you were simply stopping by to see how the country bumpkins do it." Merry's voice was a sarcastic as her expression. "Caro, I really do think that we've wasted our time here."

  I stood to my feet reluctantly. Perhaps coming here hadn't been the best plan after all. We were halfway down the hallway when Detective Leonides' voice floated out behind us.

  "I inherited it. I have everything I already need and wanted to put the money to good use." There was the sound of a door quietly closing.

  Needless to say, we were both silent all the way out to the car. Sometimes people were just harder to read than others.

  * * *

  "Well, it was worth a try, Caro." Merry spoke up in the late-afternoon light as we exited the thruway and headed for Seneca Meadows. "Leonides will always be a long shot when it comes to expecting help from him. Unless it directly benefits him," she added. She gave a half snort, half laugh. "Just ask Scotty."

  I knew better than to ask her what she meant. If she needed me to know, she'd share soon enough.

  "I hope I can talk Greg into taking me out to dinner again. I'd fancy another meal at The Dancing Pony. I'd like to give Gabbie another good look." I leaned over and patted Merry's arm. "Would you be interested in going as well? Another pair of eyes and ears would be more than welcome."

  "Are you sure Greg wouldn't mind?"

  "Absolutely not," I assured her. "Besides, you'd be alone until God knows when, Merry."

  I could see her blushing. "Caro, he's not at my house every night. We do have separate lives, you know."

  "But for how long?" I murmured with a grin, turning to look at the passenger window.

  "I heard that," she said, but she was smiling as well. "Well, let me know when and if you're ready to head out, okay?"

  "Definitely," I said as she swung the car into her driveway. "I'll inform my dear hubby that he's escorting two beautiful women to dinner." Opening the door and stepping out, I paused for a moment. "Would six suit?"

  "Sounds great." She pointed the remote at the Mini Cooper, and it chirped in response. "Would you like me to drive?" When I started to protest, she added, "I really don't mind."

  "See you then, Merry." I waved at my friend as I headed across the grass toward my own house. "Casual dress, by the way," I called over my shoulder.

  I could hear sounds of the television coming from the den. Just underneath the excited commentary of the football match, I could hear the unmistakable reverberations of snoring. I smiled as I headed inside, closing the front door behind me. I wondered just how much work he'd gotten done while I was gone.

  * * *

  A light wind had sprung up by the time we left for The Dancing Pony. I shivered, pulling my striped woolen poncho tighter around me as we got out of the Mini and headed toward the gangway that led to the canal boat's entrance. I could hear faint music coming from the open doorway and could just make out the solid figure of Gabbie standing there.

  "It looks like your friend is still working," I said to Greg. The information wasn't directed toward him, however, and I looked over at Merry to see if she's gotten the message.

  "I still can't believe that I had no idea this was here," Merry said as we headed up the slanted walkway. "It's a fantastic idea, though. The Erie Canal is such a part of our local history."

  She was babbling and I knew it, but it provided cover for her scrutiny of Gabbie as we neared the entrance. I played along, giving her another chance to stare to her hear
t's content.

  "Greg found out about this from Gabbie, Merry. She and her husband own the canal boat, and she told Greg about it when they cycled last weekend." We paused beside our hostess, waiting to be seated.

  "Well, good evening, you two. And you've brought your husband as well." She smiled at me and then at Greg, offering out her hand in greeting. "Welcome to The Dancing Pony again."

  "I still think this is such a great idea," said Merry as she looked around the dining area. "I wonder how many other canal boats are still around."

  "Not that many," Gabbie said over her shoulder as she led us to a table. "In fact, we were lucky to get this one. It was in bad shape before we restored it and got it sea worthy again."

  "Well, it's absolutely lovely." Merry slid into the chair next to mine and reached for the menu that Gabbie offered. "I've heard all about your dessert menu," she said with a grin at me.

  Gabbie tossed back her head and laughed, a pleasant sound that caused the rest of the diners to smile. "That was my daughter's idea. If you can get past some of the labels, such as they are, I can assure you that the desserts themselves are fabulous."

  "Ailin was really cute the other night when she told us about—about that one dessert," I said, sliding a glance in Greg's direction. "Speaking of Ailin, is she here tonight?"

  An odd expression crossed Gabbie's face for a brief moment and then was gone so quickly that I might have imagined it.

  "Yes, she's here. I've got her downstairs in the hold counting stock for me. It's time for the dreaded inventory, so I'm delighted I've got her to help me."

  "I'd like to speak to her before we leave, if that's all right with you."

  "No problem, Mrs. Browning."

  "Please, call me Caro." I smiled up at her and noticed that a tic had started in one corner of her mouth.

  "And you can call me Gabbie."

  Since I already had been doing so, at least out of her earshot, I just nodded.

  "I'll let Ailin know that you're here, okay?"