LEG UP
A Lark Davis Mystery — Book One
Annabelle Hunter
Leg Up
Lark Davis Mysteries Book 1
Copyright 2019 by Annabelle Hunter
www.annabellehunter.wordpress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photography, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real or actual persons, places or events is completely coincidental.
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
Editing by Casey Harris-Parks of Heart Full of Ink & Joshua Stabile
ISBN: 978-1-7330325-0-6 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-7330325-0-6 (print)
Version: 4.26.19
Check out these other works by Annabelle Hunter
Lark Davis Mystery
Leg Up
Stir Up - To be released in July 2019
Load Up - To be released in September 2019
Barrow Bay Mysteries
Number's Up - To be released in August 2019
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Want more Barrow Bay?
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband, who never thought I could do this, but paid for me to try anyways. Thank you for loving me and supporting me, even when you thought I was crazy.
To Crystal, who was the first one to tell me that my writing wasn’t horrible, and I should keep trying. And then had to read most of those tries.
To Katie, who is always up for reading another. And for being the person who told me that this was my story, no matter what I wanted.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all the people who have encouraged me and helped me along this journey. First to my friends, who had to sit through too many brain storming sessions, edits, and “what does this mean?” questions. And, amazingly, never lost patience with me. Then to all the people that were willing to read and give me their feedback. I was blessed with some incredible writers to help me on my journey and I, and the book, are both better for it.
I would also like to thank my editors, Joshua Stabiles who sat through hours of editing on the phone explaining why I couldn’t do things the way I wanted (he was always right, even when I argued). And Casey Harris-Park, who rode to my rescue and has become one of my biggest supporters.
And as always, I would like to thank my family, for helping, encouraging and being so excited that I was taking this step.
Chapter 1
There was a severed leg on my porch.
I would like to say I checked to confirm it was real, or gasped in horror, or called the police, or, heck, even screamed. But nope. I stood there, my chin almost hitting my chest as I looked down at the leg in front of me. Thank goodness Hailey was with her father this week, so they could spend some time together before school was back in session at the end of the month. Good parents didn’t let their children see dead body parts. Plus, I didn’t have the money for that much therapy.
I wouldn’t be here if I’d cleaned out my garage like I promised myself I would. If I had, I could’ve made it to my truck and driven away without even glancing at my front door. Could this be karma for not unpacking all my boxes? No, that was just silly. I was pretty sure karma for a messy garage wasn’t a dead body part.
Thoughts like these were probably the reason I was going to hell.
Checking my watch, I pushed some of my light brown hair out of my face and confirmed I would be late to teach my first riding lesson of the day. This was not the way to start my Tuesday. I looked back down. I was probably going to be late for a lot more than that. Sighing, I texted my morning clients and my working student to let them know I would try to arrive by noon.
I looked at the leg again. Could it be fake? I mean, who gets a limb on their doorstep without the corresponding body? Inching forward and holding my breath, I looked closer. Yep. Definitely real. It already smelled enough that I didn’t need to breathe for the stench to hit me.
Hmm. I wondered how long it would take for the cops to get here? I heard about how slow the response time was, but I would think a body part would rank high enough to get them here sooner than… I looked at my phone and swore. Shiitake mushrooms.
Dialing 911, I waited through the hold message until a female voice came on the line.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Severed leg.”
“Excuse me?”
“I found a severed leg.”
“Is it still bleeding? Do you hear noises coming from nearby that might indicate where the owner of the leg is?”
I looked down. I hadn’t moved since opening the door, instead my training kicked in, keeping me frozen as I processed. After years of working with horses, it was amazing how quickly I learned to stay calm and still, especially when facing an animal who was depending on me to tell it what to do. And panic was never the right answer. Yeah, I had learned to stay outwardly serene during a crisis. But I had yet to learn how to stop myself from being sarcastic when panicked. I really needed to, though.
“Nope. It’s stopped bleeding, and there’s no puddle of blood underneath it, so I would guess the previous owner is not around.”
“Previous owner?”
“The dead guy.”
“Do you know he is dead?”
“Well, there’s a leg sitting on my front porch, so unless a hospital around here had a thigh amputation and got remarkably careless with the body part, I would guess the person it came from is dead.”
“Ma’am, we ask that you give us the facts and not any assumptions.” Well, that came off irritated.
“Okay. I opened my door and there was a severed leg on my porch.”
“And you are sure it is human?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“May I ask how?”
“Well, the shoe was a good indication, but the tattoo really clinched it for me.”
“Again, ma’am, we ask for just the facts.”
The operator was telling me to hold the sarcasm. Probably a good call. If only I could.
“When can the cops get here?”
“We have a unit en route now.”
“Thank you. Can I hang up now? I have things to reschedule. And a garage to clean.”
“A garage?”
“It doesn’t matter. Can I go?”
“No. I need your name and your address.”
“Larklyn Davis.” I rattled off my address. “Wait. If I just gave you my address how did you have a unit en route?”
“Are you sure you’re not in any danger?” She asked.
“Other than from my homeowner’s association fining me for this, yes. I’m safe,” I muttered.
Today. The garage would get cleaned today.
“Has the homeowner’s association made threats in the past towards your safety?”
“What? No! They’ll just… you know what? I’m hanging up now. Thank you for sending the cops.” I hung up before she could ask me any more questions I would probably answer sarcastically. I ducked back inside the house and pulled a chair out to sit down, keeping an eye on the leg just in case. From inside my house, even with the door open, the smell w
asn’t too horrible, so I guessed whoever the leg belonged to hadn’t been dead long. My phone rang, and I looked down at it. Missy, my working student, was calling. I gave her lessons in trade for doing all the jobs I didn’t want to do. In other words, I couldn’t live without her.
“Hey, Missy.”
“You texted you’ll be late. You never miss lessons. What happened?” Her voice was concerned, and I sighed. She was right, I couldn’t afford to miss any paid lessons.
“Severed leg.”
“Damn. Did the vet ask you to hold another horse from next door again?”
My next-door neighbors at the stable, while nice people, were awful animal owners. No matter how many times I explained to them what kind of fence to use for horses versus other animals, they insisted on using regular chain link. Since they used the same vet as me, it inevitably ended up with them coming to the barn, wringing their hands and pleading for me to come help. And, the sucker for a horse in distress that I am, I always do.
“Not this time. Human leg.”
“You found a human leg?”
“To be more accurate, someone delivered a human leg to my front door.”
“I didn’t know Amazon got into the body parts business.” Horse people. We had a morbid sense of humor.
“Thank goodness they don’t. Imagine if it had been in a box? I would have just brought it in, gone to work, and it would have taken days to get rid of the smell.”
“We’re going to hell, aren’t we?” Missy stated.
“I debated driving off before calling the cops. This conversation is just the cherry on top.”
“So, you’re waiting for the cops now?”
“Yep. Something tells me this’ll take a while.”
“I guess that something is the leg.”
“Har har. I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Schedule?” Missy threw out before I could press the end button. Son of a gun. How was I going to do this?
“Can you take Jill and Katie’s lessons this morning and we’ll split the fee? Also, let’s lunge Donner and Joey. I’ll just ride them Sunday to make up for today’s ride.” So much for my promise to myself for two whole days off this week. I scheduled my work week so that I got Mondays off and, if I got everyone ridden and there was no show, the occasional Sunday. Before this morning, this week had been looking like one of my few short ones. “Hopefully this won't take long, and I’ll be there in time to ride everyone else and do my evening lessons.”
“Got it. Good luck. Let me know if more body parts show up.”
“Go away.” I hung up and checked the time again. Five minutes had passed and still no cops. I eyed the leg again. It looked like a man’s leg based on the amount of curly brown hair. Creating a thick layer, the hair covered most of the leg, obscuring a tattoo on the back of the calf. The tattoo looked like an eagle perched on a globe. Wasn’t that a military thing? I thought for a second before I took out my phone and confirmed. Marines. The leg belonged to a Marine. Or used to. Maybe still? Did bodies keep possession of their parts once dead? I went to google that answer but I stopped myself. Those kinds of searches never looked good. Nothing else about the leg stood out, and I was left without any other clues to whose it was.
My phone beeped, and I looked down to see that the local blog for town news had alerted me to a news article. I read the first line: Need a Leg up? Larklyn Davis has you covered.
Son of a donkey’s uncle. I opened it up and read.
At 7:08 AM Tuesday morning, Larklyn Davis called the state 911 line to report finding a leg on her property. It is believed, at this time, she found it while cleaning in her garage, which we all know she needs to do if she ever wants to catch a man again. She also complained of threats from the homeowner’s association. We will follow up with more information as soon as it becomes available.
Shiitake mushrooms! My head dropped into my hands. How did Lindsey get all this information? She had to be sitting close to the dispatch to hear the phone call come in. Being a blogger in a town of 1,000 people couldn’t be that boring. Alright, maybe it was, but she published the article before the cops even arrived. Where was Benny? I dialed the direct line for the station and waited.
“Barrow Bay Police Station. Gladys here. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Gladys. It’s Lark. Any chance anyone will swing by my house and pick up this leg anytime soon?”
“Lark! Heard you were having a hard morning, hon. How are you doing?”
Deep breaths, I told myself. Just keep taking deep breaths.
“Fine, Gladys. Fine. About the leg?”
“Oh yes. The boys were just listening to your 911 call. Best laugh we’ve had all day.”
Snickerdoodles.
“I don’t suppose Lindsey was there when you were listening to it?” The Barrow Bay Police Department was mostly one big room with no walls. Just desks. This led to lots of jokes and camaraderie. It also led to everyone hearing everything. There were no secrets in the police department. It also didn’t help that the dispatch was in the center of the room.
“How did you know? Such a sweet girl. I think she has a thing for one of the boys.”
No, she had a thing for being the first person to know anything, and then telling everyone as quickly as humanly possible.
“Just a guess. Leg?”
“Oh yes. Chief Jenkins will be on his way.”
Good. The police station was only around the corner, so Benny should be here—
“Wait, will be on his way?”
“Yes, dear. He needs to finish his coffee first.”
Why did I move out of the city again? Oh yes. I wanted to be anywhere my ex-husband wasn’t. And personal small-town charm sounded lovely while I was visiting Gran after my mom and dad died. I was currently re-evaluating that decision.
“I don’t suppose if I offer him a fresh cup with my special gourmet blend, I might convince him to come out right away?”
“Well, aren’t you just a doll? I’m sure that would do the trick.” Gladys had embraced the small-town cliché a little too hard, and I had given up trying to get her to stop using pet names within months of moving here. Some things would never change.
“Well then. I’m brewing it for him right now. Will he be here in a few minutes if I throw in a danish?” I didn’t need breakfast, but I needed to get back to work.
“I’m sure that would work, dear. You have a better day!” With that, Gladys hung up the phone to go tell Benny about my bribe.
When I moved here with Hailey last year, a year after my divorce and months after the deaths of my parents, I knew trying to have a stable in a town so small would be hard. At the time, simplifying my life and only having what I needed sounded good. Rebellious. Freeing. What utter bull-puckey. The only thing I escaped was having extra spending money.
That wasn’t entirely accurate. I was what they termed ‘independently wealthy’ thanks to my inheritance from my parents. It was how I bought the stable just out of town and my house close to the main street. All I got out of the divorce was custody of Hailey during the week, most weekends as our schedules would allow, and my three horses. The first was my current top mount, and I hoped to show him within the coming year at Prix St. George in the San Francisco dressage show circuit. The second was my old show master, who I used to do lessons. The third was my baby, a four-year-old warmblood mare I nicknamed Twice. As in ‘don’t make me say it twice.’ Or, if no one was around, Shrew.
Twice was really my daughter’s horse, and she had hit a ‘My Little Pony’ stage when it came time to name the barn’s newest addition those years ago. Pleading eyes and a happy smile later, my next great mount was named L.D. Twilight Sparkle. I refused to use Twilight or Twily as her barn name, because I was not going to associate her with the show any more than necessary. Princess of Friendship, she was not. If the stupid mare didn’t worship the ground my daughter walked on, she would have been sold in the divorce. Or I would have taken her mother instead. But no. Th
e little mare fought every command but loved Hailey like they were born to be together. And she hated everyone else. She put up with me most days, but we’d argued over who was in charge too many times for me to list her as my favorite.
I had eight other horses in the barn: four in boarding, and four in some sort of training. Just enough to cover my bills for the feed and shavings, but I was hesitant to get in the habit of dipping into my savings. I still hoped that I could make my business work.
Chief Jenkins, or Benny as we all called him, pulled up right about then, and I had coffee and a pastry waiting for him. Coffee was my one indulgence, and I spent the extra money to have my favorite brand shipped to me, even now that I lived in the middle of nowhere. Chief Jenkins also shared my love of all things caffeinated, a habit he says he picked up in the Marines, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the to-go cup in my hand.
“Lark! Always a pleasure to see you!” His large frame moved slowly up the sidewalk. He was older, somewhere in his early 60s, but my favorite of his features were his eyes. There was something about them that pulled you in. They always seemed to be smiling at you, no matter what was happening, as if his good nature just couldn’t be contained.
“You too, Chief. I expect you’re going to want to take in the leg before your coffee?” I pointed at the offending limb before pulling the coffee back away from him. I had been around long enough to know that this was a negotiation. We didn’t do anything the same in this town.
“Ahh honey, you know I can’t touch it until the coroner comes and looks.”
No. No, I hadn’t known that. My shoulders dropped.
“How long?” I asked as I surrendered the cup and my negotiating position.
He took the coffee after carefully placing a sheet over the limb and stepping over it to come in the house.
“About three hours. Dr. Stevenson is on vacation, so we have to call the county coroner.”
“I don’t suppose I can leave while you handle this? I mean, it’s a leg. That is the extent of my knowledge. I could just give you a key to lock up and—”
Leg Up Page 1