Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  Marge hung up, and I called Hunter with the good news. I could tell he was relieved. He had workmen there, so I got off the phone quick and hurried to Gage’s farm, wondering if I would find my black and white pinto when I got there.

  Since I didn’t own a horse trailer, I threw a rope, bridle, and reins into my golf cart, and off I went. I realized I should have gone next door to borrow a horse trailer with a ramp, but then I’d have to borrow June’s dually to pull the horse trailer, and then I’d have to borrow a farmhand who knew how to get a horse in the trailer and drive the truck with the trailer back to my place.

  Too much trouble. My thought was that I would tie Morning Glory to the back of my cart and slowly mosey back home. Maybe take a little longer, but no fuss, no muss.

  Simple, huh?

  I forgot Baby was out doing his business, and when he heard the golf cart whiz by, of course, he jumped into the cart, not wanting to be left behind. “Promise to be good,” I begged.

  Did I really expect Baby to answer me, much less obey me?

  Going to Gage’s farm held no anxiety for me. He was dead and gone. I say good riddance.

  Charles had taken Rosie’s animals back to the Big House, and a neighbor was feeding Gage’s cattle. I expected to collect my horse and be back lickity-split.

  WRONG!

  Baby and I made it to Gage’s farm without incident, parking the cart next to the pasture gate. I told Baby to stay in the cart as I got out. “Morning Glory. Glory. Glory. Treat. Treat,” I shouted. This usually brought her running.

  No whinny. No horse. Just lots of Angus cows chomping on grass.

  Suddenly, the flash of a black and white body emerged from the woods that encircled the pasture. I waved wildly so Morning Glory would see me. “Here, girl. Over here. Treat. Got peppermints for ya.”

  Morning Glory trotted through the cattle herd who lifted their heads to stare as she passed. I held out my hand as Morning Glory came to the gate and stretched her head over to nudge my shoulder. I stroked her muzzle while feeding her peppermints. “You naughty girl. Were you bored? Is that why you jumped the fence? Looking for some adventure, huh?”

  Morning Glory nuzzled me, wanting to be scratched behind the ears. I complied for a while until she was relaxed, and I slowly opened the gate wide enough for me to slip through and clipped the lead onto her halter. She calmly followed me as I led her out and tied the lead to the cart.

  Excited, Baby slapped his tail against the seat, but stayed put.

  “Now, Glory, we’re going home. I’m going to go real slow, but you need to follow when the cart moves. Okay?”

  I got into the cart and started down the road at a very slow pace.

  Morning Glory resisted by pulling on the lead and bucking. It didn’t help when Baby barked at her. “Shut up, Baby. You’re making things worse.”

  It was evident Glory was not willing to walk behind a beat-up golf cart occupied by a harried redhead and a yelping Mastiff.

  I sat in the cart not knowing what to do. I thought about walking the horse home, but I knew my leg would give out before I could make it to the barn. I could call Charles and have him send a trailer over. Jumping Jehoshaphat! I left my phone at home.

  I would have to put Morning Glory back in the pasture, go home, and get help.

  Untying the rope, I led her back inside the gate and unclipped the lead from her rope halter. “I’ll be back, Morning Glory. You’ll be sleeping in your own stall tonight. I promise.”

  Hopping into the golf cart, I stepped on the pedal, but the cart didn’t move. I turned the key again and pushed the pedal. Nothing. My little cart had finally given up the ghost. Poor shot-up thing.

  Now what!

  I couldn’t walk home. I didn’t have my phone, and there were no houses close by. I was at the bottom of a dead-end road. What were my choices?

  I looked at Morning Glory who was watching me expectantly, her head hanging over the gate. I had no saddle or mounting block, but I had a bitless bridle, reins, and the cart.

  I went over to Morning Glory and petted her neck. “I’m going to have to ride you, Glory. We will go very slow, but I can’t walk home like you can, so would you be good enough to carry me?”

  Leading Morning Glory out again, I slipped on the bridle, clipped the reins onto her bridle rings, and brought her close to the golf cart. Pushing Baby out of the way, I climbed into the back of the cart and pulled the horse as close as I could. “Please don’t shift and cause me to fall.”

  After giving the pinto several more peppermints, I grabbed the reins and her mane, pulling myself up on her back. Struggling, I got my fanny on her back only to endure the slow process of getting my right leg over her neck to the other side. Not the correct way to get on a horse, but it would have to do. Immediately, I could tell the way I was attempting to get my leg over wasn’t going to work.

  Being old and infirmed is really a drag.

  I would have to try the correct way, which was more stressful for me because of my bad leg. Oh, how I love western saddles with their horns. It’s easy to pull oneself up on a horse with a saddle horn. I didn’t have anything to hold on to but two strips of leather and a hank of hair.

  I needed to get myself higher in order to lower myself on Morning Glory.

  Bingo!

  There were concrete blocks stacked by the gate. I dragged them over to the cart and made little steps in the back of the cart. It took me about twenty minutes, but the result was worth it. Before I climbed them, I gave Morning Glory the last handful of mints I possessed. “Be good, now, my little pony. Be sweet. I’m counting on you.”

  Yes, I was bribing an animal. I was that desperate.

  Since the pinto was more of a pony size, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I climbed the steps, which wobbled a bit, but they stayed intact long enough for me to lower myself onto Morning Glory without much stress to herself or me. “Whoa, girl. Easy now. Easy.”

  I did it!

  Sitting on her back for a few minutes, I let Morning Glory adjust to my weight before I gave her the cues to move down the road.

  “Baby, come!”

  Baby jumped out of the cart and followed behind, sniffing this lump of grass or that mound of manure. Things were going well as we plodded along Rosie’s gravel road until we came to an offshoot dirt road.

  Morning Glory immediately took a sharp right.

  “No girl. That’s not the way home.” I tugged on the left rein to make the horse turn, but Morning Glory tossed her head in defiance and picked up speed, bouncing me on her back like one of those little rubber balls tied to a wooden paddle. Without stirrups, there was no way I could control my seat, so I was at her mercy, sliding back and forth on her back.

  “STOP! WHOA!” I cried, pulling hard on both reins, trying to get Morning Glory to halt. The problem was I didn’t have the strength to control this horse, and she knew it. She not only didn’t stop, but picked up her pace until we were galloping at full tilt.

  Looking ahead, I saw where Morning Glory’s path was taking us, grabbed as much of her mane as I could, leaned forward, pressed my legs against her side, and screamed, “Oh, my God, oh, my God!” as we sailed over a fence.

  24

  I landed with a thump. The wind knocked out of me, I lay in a heap upon the ground, not moving or making a sound.

  Was I still alive? Yes, I thought I was.

  Was anything broken? Too afraid to move.

  Was I bleeding? Hoped not.

  I remained in a crumpled lump for what seemed an eternity until my head cleared a little.

  Baby whined and circled before stretching out beside me, panting. Occasionally, he pawed me with those sandpaper pads of his, trying to get a response.

  I realized he was trying to help, but I heard myself say, “Quit pawing my face, Baby!”

  I could speak! At least my mouth worked—the least important part of my body according to some.

  Did I have the guts to move? I rolle
d over on my side. So far, so good.

  The first thing I saw was Morning Glory contently munching on grass nearby. The thought came to me that Morning Glory had a future date with a glue factory.

  I’d deal with her later. I slowly placed a hand over one eye and then the other. Both worked—no spots or flashes. Okay, I thought, let’s sit up.

  Baby was standing now with a waterfall of drool dripping on me. I grabbed his collar and pulled myself up into a sitting position. “Good boy. Good boy.” Next, I tried moving my legs. My gams moved. Ribs. Seemed intact.

  I wiggled over to a small tree and used it to help me stand. Unbelievable! Could I have really fallen off a horse and not seriously hurt myself?

  I slowly took in my surroundings.

  Glory had thrown me on a part of Gage’s farm I had never visited before. Through the trees, I could see the top of a building and electrical wires going to it. That meant the building had electricity and perhaps a phone.

  “Baby, come.”

  Hobbling down a faint pathway, I came to a clearing where some sort of workshop stood with a pickup in front. “Hello! Hello! I need help. Anyone there? Hello?”

  Hurrying as fast as I could, which wasn’t swift by any means, and with Baby faithfully by my side, I finally reached the truck and, opening its door, honked the horn. “Hello. Can you help me please? I fell off my horse.”

  No one appeared at the door of the workshop.

  I stood listening. No sounds of machinery came from the shop—just birds chirping, squirrels rustling in the trees, and cows lowing in the distance, not to mention the sounds from a cloud of flies buzzing around my head. I swatted at them, mystified at their number. Up in the hazy sky, several buzzards lazily swirled on the wind currents. Flies and buzzards—portents of death, but I didn’t catch on.

  I could hear a radio faintly playing inside as I knocked loudly on the door. Someone had to be near. I waited, but no one came. Determined to see if a phone was handy, I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door. The weather-beaten door fought me, but using my hip, I pushed it open. That’s when the smell hit me. Actually, stench would be a better choice of words.

  Baby’s brow furrowed, and he emitted a high-pitched whine.

  I’m not ashamed to say I vomited. I think it was due more to the revulsion I felt rather than the physical effect the strong odor had on me.

  After emptying my guts, I sat in the truck with Baby, wondering what to do. I refused to mount Morning Glory again, but I had to get help.

  With no way around it, I was going to have to enter the workshop and look for car keys or a phone. Finding a somewhat clean bandana in the front seat of the truck, I wrapped it around my face, covering my nose and mouth.

  “Stay here,” I ordered Baby, and taking a deep breath, I ventured inside the workshop. I tried to ignore the smell, but I was gagging.

  The shop was dark and dank. I felt for a light switch just inside the door and turned on the lights. That’s when I spied a cell phone on a workbench. Thank the Lord!

  Grabbing it, I rushed outside. The phone had some juice left; not much, but enough to make one call. I punched in three numbers.

  “Hello? 911? I need to report a death. There’s been a murder!”

  25

  Asa helped me into the clothes she brought to the hospital from the Butterfly. The clothes I was wearing had been bagged and tagged by the Sheriff’s Department.

  The emergency doctor came in the cubicle and pulled the curtain shut. “Good news. No internal injuries.”

  “What about the CAT scan?” Asa asked.

  “Clean. Aside from bruising and minor cuts, you’re okay, Mrs. Reynolds. You’ll be stiff for a couple of days, to be sure, but other than that you’ll be fine. You can leave.”

  I asked, “So, I’m free to go?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “But not with me.”

  Asa, the ER doctor, and I turned our eyes toward the door as the Sheriff and one of his minions entered the room with Detective Drake close behind them, bringing up the rear.

  “This murder happened in Jessamine County, not Fayette. Detective Drake, aren’t you out of your jurisdiction?” Asa inquired, helping me climb off the examination table.

  “The Sheriff called me to share the information that you stumbled upon yet another body, and within a month’s time, I might add, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “Ain’t I a lucky girl?” I snarled.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, good luck. I’ll leave you to it,” the doctor said, giving the three lawmen a wide berth when exiting.

  “Thanks, Doc,” I said, slipping into a wheelchair the nurse had brought. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but any statement from me will have to wait. I’m going home to a hot bath and a soft bed.”

  The Sheriff blocked my way. “We’re not here for a statement. We’re here for evidence.”

  “What evidence? The only thing I can tell you is that I fell off my horse and needed a phone. I found the workshop, bada bing. Discovered a dead body with something sticking out of its neck. Called the police. Thus, here I am. That’s my statement. Now I want to go home.”

  “We have a court order to collect your clothes, fingerprints, debris under your fingernails, and DNA.”

  “You already have my clothes. Two sets of clothes, I might add. I guess I’m never going to get my Dior dress back.”

  “And we are going to get your fingerprints and DNA as well.”

  “Let me see the warrant,” Asa demanded.

  The Sheriff handed Asa an official-looking document, which she scanned.

  “Mom, you’re going to have to do as they ask. It’s a court order.”

  “You think a middle-aged beekeeper with a bum leg killed two men within a month? If you considered me a suspect, Drake, you wouldn’t have arrested Rosamond Rose.”

  “This second murder gives me pause. Might have to rethink the case,” Drake said.

  “I guess we’re even then because you give me indigestion.” There was no point fighting them. I was going to have to obey the court order or face a charge of contempt. “Just my luck to find two stiffs, huh? Can we do this here?”

  The Sheriff threw a case on the examination table. “Yep. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, little lady.”

  “Then can I go home?”

  “Yep, it’s all we require for now.”

  “Dreamy.”

  “Open wide,” the Sheriff said as he swabbed my mouth.

  Drake looked on with smug satisfaction.

  I was beginning to truly loathe that guy.

  26

  “Where’s Glory?” I asked, fluffing my pillows. I was now back at the Butterfly and enjoying sleeping in my own bed.

  Asa replied, “She’s still at Gage’s place.”

  “I need to get her out of there and bring her home.”

  “Charles will take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  “You haven’t called Hunter, have you?” I asked Asa.

  “No. Should I?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. He’s on the verge of selling Wickliffe Manor and shouldn’t have any interruptions.”

  “You think Hunter’s time fixing his wreck of a house is more important than learning you were thrown off a horse he bought for you? Shouldn’t he be informed this untamed beast likes to jump fences and is dangerous?”

  “I’ll tell him, but not right now.”

  “It’s your funeral. Here, eat this soup. I made it myself.”

  “Oh, lovely,” I replied, trying not to show my dismay.

  Asa was a good many things, but a good cook was not one of them.

  “I’m going to turn on one of those old movies you love. You relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Asa turned on Cape Fear with Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck. Robert Mitchum played Max Cady, a serial rapist stalking Gregory Peck’s family. Not exactly a family movie, but I found it relaxing as I knew Max Cady was going to get his comeuppance. Not every bad guy in the real worl
d gets his due, but they do in the movies.

  As soon as Asa left my bedroom, I gave the soup to Baby, who was lying next to me with his pets, the Kitty Kaboodle, crawling all over him.

  Asa was right. Seeing an old black and white movie from 1962 was calming, and I was soon sleeping the sleep of the angels.

  27

  The Sheriff, whose name was Wilbur Smedley, met Shaneika at the front door.

  “Thank you for coming, Sheriff,” Shaneika said.

  “No problem. I’ve always wanted to see the Butterfly,” the Sheriff replied, taking off his Stetson.

  “Mrs. Reynolds is in here.” Shaneika led the Sheriff into the great room where I sat at my Nakashima table.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” I said. “Thank you for not making me come to the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Like I told this lady here, glad to.”

  “How may I help you?”

  Wilbur Smedley opened his briefcase and laid five photographs before me. “Can you identify any of these men, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  I picked up each photograph and carefully studied it. Pointing to one, I said, “I’ve seen this man before. He was the deputy who came with you to the hospital.”

  Wilbur smiled but didn’t respond.

  I tapped on another picture. “This peculiar little man was at the auction. He was wearing a rumpled suit and seemed very agitated during the auction. Afterward, I saw him arguing with Gage Cagle and Eli Owsley.”

  “Any idea what they were fighting about?”

  “I was too far away to hear, but a young lady by the name of Deliah Webster was taking pictures at the event. She snapped a photo of them quarreling.”

  “How do I get in touch with this Deliah Webster?”

  Shaneika spoke up. “I can get the photo for you, Sheriff.”

  If Wilbur Smedley was surprised, he didn’t show it. “By tomorrow?”

  “If you like,” Shaneika responded.

  “You’ve never seen this man before the auction, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “No.”