by Abigail Keam
“I wore gloves and a wig.”
“The witness said the woman walked with a slight limp.”
“Ooooops!”
“Precisely again.”
“My lips are sealed if yours are. After all, you are my lawyer. Can’t we claim ‘privilege?’”
“As your lawyer, I can’t advise you to destroy evidence, but as your friend, I’m telling you to burn the wig immediately. If the police find hair fibers, they can match it to the wig.” She looked at her watch. “I’m due in court. If you see Sandy, call me.”
“Why did you come all the way out here to tell me this? Why didn’t you use the phone?”
“You must be kidding. You never know who’s listening on the phone.”
“And you say I’m paranoid.”
“Burn the wig, Jo, before we’re burned.” Shaneika grabbed her purse and stormed out.
I exhaled and looked down at my breakfast now cold. It didn’t matter. Shaneika’s news had certainly put me off my food.
42
“Put your foot in the stirrup. For once, do as you’re told. Quit spooking the horse.”
“I can’t,” I snapped. “My bad leg. It won’t take my weight.”
Hunter prompted, “Josiah, put your left foot in the stirrup. I will give you a boost and when I do, swing your right leg over the saddle.”
“I’m afraid.”
“You–afraid?”
“Yes.”
“A woman, who has faced down some of the meanest hombres born on this earth, afraid of a little pony?”
“I’m not afraid of the horse. I’m afraid of hurting myself while riding the horse. What if I fall?”
“You’re not going to fall. I’ve ridden her. She’s very gentle,” assured Hunter. “Ready or not.” He pushed under my derriere, grunting ever so slightly. I had no place to go but up.
“Wait. Wait. Let me get my foot in the stirrup.”
Hunter gasped, “Hurry up. You’re heavy.”
“In!”
“Now stand up in the stirrup and hold onto the horn. Carefully swing your leg over in one fluid movement. Try not to bang the horse with your right leg.”
“You holding the horse?”
“I’m holding her steady.”
The pony’s eyes widened as she turned her head to look at Hunter, a little unsure of what was taking place.
“Okay. Okay. I’m swinging my leg over. You know I haven’t done this in twenty-five years.”
“MOVE IT! NOW SIT!”
I placed my fanny in the saddle, and slipped my right foot in the stirrup.
The horse shifted which triggered protestations from me. “Oh gosh! What’s she doing?”
“You’re around horses every day of your life, and you don’t know what she’s doing?”
“Feeding horses apples across a fence is a whole lot different from getting on their backs, and hoping they won’t throw you off.”
“Big chicken.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m going to lead you, so you can get the feel of her and let her get the feel of you.”
“Right with ya, buddy,” I whimpered.
“Open your eyes.”
“Okay. Okay.” I slowly opened my eyes and teetered back and forth slightly. Looking around, I prattled, “The ground looks so far away.”
“Here we go,” said Hunter, leading the horse around. “How does that feel?”
“I would have to say nice. Very nice indeed.” I loosened my death grip on the horn and leaned over, petting the horse’s neck. “Good girl.”
“What are you going to call her?”
“What was her name before?”
“Morning Glory. I think she was called Glory for short.”
“Then Glory it shall stay. How ya doing, Glory? Nice day for a ride.”
Hunter handed the Paint’s reins to me. “I think you’re comfortable enough. You do remember what to do with the reins?”
I snatched them from him. “Of course, I do. I’m not a total boob.”
Hunter hoisted himself up on his huge Hanoverian and trotted over to me. His horse bumped into mine, which made my horse kick.
“Hey! Keep your horse away from Glory. I’m barely hanging on here,” I protested.
“My girl is a little rambunctious. She’ll calm down,” Hunter assured.
“She’d better. No galloping now. Just walking.”
“I’ll lead the way.” Hunter urged his horse forward, and Glory naturally followed. He kept the pace slow and easy. After I felt more comfortable, I urged Glory to the side of the Hanoverian, which was so tall I had to look up at Hunter.
“We must look a sight.”
“Are you having fun?”
“Yes, I am, Hunter. Riding on a horse gives me a different perspective. What did Winston Churchill say about riding?”
Hunter quoted, ‘“There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.”’
“That’s it. It’s like riding a bicycle, isn’t it? You never really forget. I think I’m starting to get my confidence back.”
“Do you think you could ride down a slope?”
“We better stay on level ground today. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Next time then. We’ll ease you into riding. Before you know it, you’ll be galloping and jumping over fences.”
“I don’t think so, Hunter. There’s no National Velvet here.”
“Saw it as a child. About the Grand National, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Mickey Rooney in 1944. The horse’s name was The Pie.”
“I’m astonished. Are you trying to impress me?”
Hunter leaned over and tugged my hair. “Maybe just a bit.”
I swatted his hand away, laughing. “Get on with you now.”
We rode over to Lady Elsmere’s property where she had several riding paths, and then near the foaling barn and back over to my stable. We stayed away from the pastures where the stallions were kept.
Mounting had been relatively easy compared to dismounting. I struggled to get the hang of it. In order to dismount, I would have to put weight on my left leg, stand, and shift my body so I could bring my right leg back over the saddle and step down.
Sensing my discomfort, Glory kept shifting her weight, which frightened me. Horses are very sensitive, and you must have confidence around them, which I did not. They become skittish if they think the rider is uneasy.
Frustrated, Hunter and my stable hand, Juan, found some old stairs English riders used to mount up. They sort of grabbed me with Hunter ordering me to swing my leg over and put my right foot on the stairs. The result was I was coming off the saddle head-down instead of feet-first, causing my left foot to get stuck in the stirrup.
Impatient, Hunter pulled my foot out of my boot, which dropped to the rubber floor and me along with it landing on my caboose.
“All you had to do was swing your right leg over,” Hunter groused, picking straw out of my hair.
“Don’t harangue me, Hunter. I don’t like it when men are rough with me. I’m not gonna put up with it. I told you I hadn’t been on a horse in years.”
“You could have dismounted on your own steam if you wouldn’t worry about your left leg. You pamper it too much.”
“Go jump in a lake.”
Hunter sidled up to me and whispered, “Only if you go with me, Sugarlips. I haven’t skinny-dipped in years.”
“You’re too much,” I replied, chuckling. “Believe me, this is one body you don’t want to see.”
“There you go again. Putting yourself down.”
“Oh, shut up, Hunter. Be happy I got on the darn horse. You have no idea how fearful I was about it.”
“Franklin has told me how many times you have looked down the barrel of a gun and didn’t flinch. How can you be scared of a little horse?”
“I didn’t flinch because I tinkled in my pants. Tinkle isn’t the right word. It was more of a flood.”
; Hunter nudged me playfully. “I’d pee in my pants too if someone pointed a gun at me.”
“You’re asking Franklin about me, huh?”
“He told me all about how you and this chap, Liam, and another guy captured a murderer who was killing women over jewels.”
“Did he make me sound brave?”
“He made you sound awesome.”
“Good.”
“Were you and Liam a thing?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Want to see who I’m up against. What kind of man attracts a woman who takes down malicious thugs? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“I never took down anyone. I had backup who did. Franklin likes to stretch a story.”
Hunter nudged me again. “Well?”
“You’re not up against anybody. Why do you care anyway? I couldn’t care less about your past in that department.”
“That’s because I’m such a flop.”
“And I’m not?”
“So you and this Liam weren’t an item?”
“Goodness no. Liam was Lady Elsmere’s boy toy.”
“NO WAY?”
“Yes, way.”
“Tell me more.”
I started to relate the sad tale of June’s infatuation with Giles, aka Liam Doyle of Ireland, when Tyrone pulled up in the Land Rover and honked. He motioned us over.
My limp was more pronounced now as I was walking with one riding boot on and the other off. I must have looked comical. It was obvious Tyrone was smothering a grin by faking a cough.
“What’s up?”
“Grandpa wants to see you ASAP.”
“I’ll have to change first. I smell like horse.”
“He says now.”
Hunter opened the car door. “Go on. It must be important.”
“The horses.”
“I’ll take care of them. Now scoot.”
I reluctantly hopped into the Land Rover, wondering what was so important that I needed to come immediately.
Tyrone sped off. The ride was bumpy requiring me to hang onto the door strap.
“I really should change,” I murmured to no one. “Do I stink, Tyrone?”
“Ladies never stink. They might smell earthy, but they never stink.”
“You should go into the diplomatic corps,” I replied, teasingly poking Tyrone in the ribs.
“Hey, I’m driving. Behave.”
“Tyrone, I rode a horse today. A horse!”
“Unhuh.”
“Almost three years ago, I was lying on a cliff dying, but today I rode a horse.”
“You sound like you’re proud of yourself.”
“I am. Very proud. What do you say to that?”
“I say we’re here.” Tyrone parked the car at the kitchen door of the Big House.
“Thank you, my good man.” Tyrone and I bumped fists before I got out.
He pulled away.
I walked into the house wondering what was so important that Tyrone had to come for me. Perhaps it had to do with Liam. Maybe he was coming home.
Good news at last.
43
“Hello,” I called out. “Anyone home?” I heard a door open, and spied Charles walking down the massive hallway.
He motioned to me.
I bobbed over as fast as I could wearing only one boot.
Charles looked down at my feet. “Miss Josiah, you’re carrying a boot.”
“Tyrone said to come now, so I came.”
“I did send him to fetch you. Mrs. Tuttle called Lady Elsmere, and her Ladyship was beside herself to tell you the news.”
“So nothing bad has happened?”
“It depends on which side of the fence you sit.”
“Lead the way then.”
“She’s in the library. I’ll send in Amelia to help with your footwear. I don’t do female apparel.”
I made my way to the library hoping June didn’t have another fire going. My hope was dashed when I opened the door. “June, it’s roasting in here.”
“Old bones, Jo. Old bones.”
“And you’re smoking those foul cigarettes as well!”
“Don’t start nagging me again.”
Leaving the hallway door open, I threw my boot in a chair before making my way to the French doors at the back of the room. “I’m going to let in some fresh air.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Amelia came in the room. “Where are you going to sit, Miss Jo?”
“I want her next to me,” demanded June.
“I brought you some slippers, Miss Jo. Dad said you needed some help getting a boot off.”
I sat down. “If you would be so kind. It’s hard for me to take it off.”
June asked, “How did the other boot come off?”
“Not by my own power, I assure you.”
Amelia pulled off my boot and put the slippers on my feet.
“Thank you, Amelia. Can you please shut the gas off before you leave? We don’t need a fire in the middle of summer.”
“With pleasure. I’ll have Bess bring some tea.”
“No thanks,” barked June. “We’re going to drink bourbon. And close the door on your way out.”
“Leave the door open. It’s stifling in here,” I said to Amelia, who was heading out of the room.
“Really,” snorted June, watching Amelia leave the door open. “I need to remind Amelia who signs her paychecks.” She leaned over and sniffed. “You reek.”
“I’ve been riding, hence the boots.”
“Really?” she said again, but in an inquisitive tone.
“What did you want, June? Someone is waiting for me.”
“Would it be the dashing Hunter Wickliffe?”
“June!!”
“Mrs. Tuttle called me an hour ago, and we had a long talk.”
“What about?”
“Lonny Elliott has been arrested for the murder of Carol Elliott.”
“So it was her husband.”
“She said the police told her Lonny broke down and confessed during an interrogation. He told the police he found a note warning him that Carol was having an affair and to check his wife’s phone.”
“Where did he find the note?”
“Someone placed it on his truck’s windshield at work.”
“Typed or written?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Go on.”
“Apparently, he checked Carol’s phone and listened to the messages. A lot of them were from Toby. You can imagine the type of message Toby might leave.
Lonny confronted Carol, and they had a huge blowup. She threatened to leave him, so he strangled her.”
“Was the turned-up earth in his backyard to be a burial place for Carol?”
“It was just as you thought. The lady next door saw him digging up the patch in the middle of the night, so Lonny thought better of it.”
“The police found droplets of Carol’s blood in the basement where he cut her body up.”
“Did he pull out her teeth?”
“Yes, those with fillings. He even cut her hands off and threw them in the river, thinking that would prevent identification if the body was found.”
“That’s why Carol’s wedding ring was in her jewelry box,” I mused. “He must have cut her finger off.”
June asked, “How do you know about her wedding ring?”
“Thinking out loud. Just a guess.”
“It’s a nasty business. No getting around it.”
“How is Mrs. Tuttle doing?”
“Better than I would have expected. It was horrid for her to hear the details, but I think she was relieved. She said she was glad the police told her. She wanted to be prepared before the news hits the public. At least now there is some closure.”
“I feel for her. It must be a terrible ordeal to lose a child in such a fashion.”
“Did Lonny confess to Toby’s murder?”
“The police asked, but Lonny swore he had nothing to do with To
by’s death. Didn’t even know Toby was missing until he read about it in the papers.”
That gave me pause. “Are you telling me this information in confidence?”
“Of course. I promised Mrs. Tuttle to keep the details to myself. She said I could tell you since it was your idea for the cadaver dog. Mrs. Tuttle asked me to tell you again how grateful she is.”
“I think these are details Shaneika might need to know.”
“You can’t tell her. I’m sorry. I gave my word.”
“If Lonny didn’t kill Toby, who did?”
“Naturally, he’s lying. He killed Carol in a fit of passion. That’s second-degree murder, but killing Toby is a capital case because it was premeditated. The death penalty could be on the table.”
I agreed, “You’re probably right, June. Lonny had motive and opportunity to kill them both. If you can stomach cutting up your wife’s body, you can execute her boyfriend. Right?”
“Most assuredly.”
But assured I was not.
I still had doubts.
44
Bookings at the Butterfly were nonexistent, and would not pick up until holiday weddings, which was fine with me. May and June were typically our busiest months, and Eunice made sure those months brought in a substantial profit. I had enough money to get me through until November.
When Eunice told me she was taking the rest of the month off, I silently rejoiced. I could have the Butterfly to myself. I relished having my privacy restored.
The trauma of early summer faded as life on the farm continued. Even reading in the paper Lonny Elliott had agreed to a plea deal for Carol Elliott’s death didn’t disturb my zen.
I had made my peace with the entire affair. I was content to let the business of arson and murder fade into the past. Even though I had lingering doubts about who was responsible for Toby’s death, I didn’t dwell on it. I had done all I could to help–some of my actions brought closure, and some of my good intentions were not successful. It was what it was.
I felt a little pang of guilt every time I talked to Shaneika Mary Todd. I had goaded her into taking Sandy’s case, and now Sandy had disappeared, leaving Shaneika high and dry.