The Episcopal service for the dead is remarkably impersonal. Everybody gets the same service, because we are all equal in death. Eulogies are a recent addition. I was afraid the governor might give one—he’s noted for long speeches—but the only person who spoke about Raleigh was Father Clemons, who piled platitude upon platitude.
The governor did walk along behind the closed coffin with the other pall-bearers including Brock and Harry Tolliver, some of the other driving men and a number of obviously rich businessmen, probably from Atlanta. Neither Dick nor Armando was included.
The interment was in the churchyard itself, so everyone followed as the funeral people wheeled the coffin on a gurney. Most of the honorary pall-bearers were too old, too fat or both to chance actually toting the coffin.
I spotted Catherine Harris with her arm linked through her assistant Troy’s. She hadn’t come to the viewing while I was there, but that’s not unusual in the south. Most people don’t bother with both. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been snooping.
The grave was in full sunlight. While the family sat on chairs under a big green tent that covered the open grave, the rest of us had to cluster in the sun. I started sweating immediately. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back.
I was surprised to see Morgan what’s-her-name, Troy’s girlfriend, standing across from me. I didn’t think she knew Raleigh except to speak to. Maybe she came to support Troy. Maybe Troy and Catherine really had never been anything besides employer and employee. Even scandalous gossip can be wrong.
Troy could sure pick ’em. I’d barely glimpsed Morgan at the Tollivers’ Saturday night party and thought she was beautiful. In full daylight she was downright gorgeous. She had long straight mahogany hair, the figure of a Victoria’s Secret model—not the anorexic runway kind—and instead of slacks, she wore an actual dress of some sort of floaty black silk. She didn’t look like a mourner, but like a woman gloating over her enemy’s funeral pyre.
After the service, Peggy and I stayed to speak to Sarah Beth. She was obviously zonked out of her gourd. I hoped all the tranquilizers wouldn’t hurt the baby.
“You are coming to the house, aren’t you?” she said as she clasped Peggy’s hand. “Please—all these people I don’t know . . .”
Peggy said that of course we’d come. Nuts. I had horses to work and chores to do and a final meeting with the Mossy Creek Garden Club about volunteers for the weekend’s show and clinic. And I intended to put on my heaviest boots and attempt to find a trail through the governor’s property.
“Just for that, you can go to the stupid garden club volunteer briefing alone,” I whispered. She dug her fingernails into my arm. “Ouch!”
“Serves you right.”
We fell into step behind Catherine and Troy, with Morgan coming up the rear a couple of steps behind them.
As we reached the driveway, four patrol cars with blue lights blazing and sirens howling pulled up in front of us.
We all froze. I thought, he’s really going to arrest me for murder just because I found the damn body. Feeling my heart speed up and my eyes glaze, I searched for Geoff and saw him talking to Stan Nordstrom. Surely he could have persuaded Nordstrom to do it later, privately and not in front of all these people. I was going to kill him for embarrassing me like this. After I made bail, that is.
“Troy Wilkinson, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“What?” I gasped.
We all stared at Sheriff Nordstrom. He looked like a modern Siegfried in his spit and polish uniform with his shining white gold hair. As I recall, Siegfried wasn’t noted for brains. He married his aunt.
“Hey, man, you’re crazy. I didn’t do anything,” Troy snarled.
“Turn around.” The sheriff pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
“This is insane.” Catherine stepped between them. Not a good move since Stan was armed and about nine-feet three to her five foot eight. “What are the charges?”
“Malicious mischief, criminal assault, and domestic terrorism for a start. May be upgraded to murder at a later date.”
“Murder?” Troy howled. I thought for a moment he was going to turn tail and run, but he glanced over at Morgan and subsided.
“Terrorism?” Catherine shrieked, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you have to do this now?” All the mourners listened avidly. “Whatever this is about, I assure you I’ll bring Troy down to your offices tomorrow to straighten out this foolishness.”
“Can’t take that chance, ma’am,” Sheriff Nordstrom said. He turned Troy around and clicked the handcuffs around his wrists. “He could decide to run.”
“Ow! Man, that hurts. They’re too tight.” Troy yanked as one of the deputies clicked handcuffs over his wrists.
“Sheriff, loosen them at once unless you want a lawsuit on your hands,” Catherine said. “Troy, do you have any idea what this is about?”
He refused to meet her eyes. The sheriff didn’t loosen the cuffs either.
The sheriff sounded downright gleeful. “Son, if you’re going to order a banner on line, next time don’t use your PayPal account to pay for it.”
“Banner?” Catherine asked. “What banner? Troy, what’s he talking about?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Morgan sidle quietly back into the crowd and off toward the trees.
I headed after her. “Wait up.”
She gave me a malevolent glare over her shoulder and quickened her pace. She was fast, but she was wearing five inch spike heels. I was wearing flats. As she reached her red Mini-Cooper, I caught up and leaned my hand on her car door, so she couldn’t pull it open without physically dislodging me.
“Deserting the sinking ship?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to get back to school.”
“Did you buy the bullhorn? Or did you con Troy into paying for that as well as the banner?”
“What bullhorn?” She asked. Miss Innocent. As if.
“Honey, you must be right up there with Cleopatra in bed to convince Troy to put his job with Catherine on the line for your stupid animal rights prank.”
“Prank?” She shoved me away from the door. She was smaller, but she was younger and probably worked out. I don’t. “It wasn’t a prank! It’s the truth. God, I hate you people.” She climbed into her car and nearly caught my fingers when she slammed the door, turned on the ignition and yelled through the closed window, “Get out of my way or I’ll run over you.”
I believed her. I stepped back.
She gunned the little car down the hill and out onto the road. The Mini-Cooper might be small, but it tops out at a hundred and thirty five miles an hour. If Stan Nordstrom and his deputies had been on their toes, they could have given her a gigantic speeding ticket.
As it was, Nordstrom was too busy bundling Troy into the back of a squad car. They really do that hand-on-the-head thing. Catherine wanted to go with him, but Peggy held her back.
“Let me speak to him,” Catherine begged. “Troy, surely you didn’t have anything to do with that banner. My God, you could have hurt horses!”
He ducked out of her grasp and refused to look at her. As they drove away, thankfully without sirens, Catherine screamed after him, “Don’t say a single word until my lawyer gets there.”
Some about-face. When she discovered that banner and bullhorn she’d been ready to rip the skin off whoever was responsible. Now she was going to provide a lawyer? Troy must have something going for him.
Was he sleeping with both Catherine and Morgan?
When he spotted me, Geoff walked up the hill to intercept me.
“Did you know about this?” I snapped. “Troy set up the banner? And just like that, Catherine’s ready to forgive him? What was all that about upgrading to murder? Troy couldn’t have killed Raleigh. You said he was in bed with Morgan at the time.”
“No, he said he was in bed with Morgan,” Geoff said.
“Could be they killed Raleigh together and
alibied each other. That little cobra could probably convince Troy to throw himself into a live volcano so long as she didn’t kick him out of her bed.”
“Maybe he ordered the banner and they set it up together.” Geoff shook his head. “Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.”
“I doubt Catherine will be feeding him much longer. I haven’t talked to him that much, but he never mentioned animal rights. What is he, some kind of sleeper agent? He knows how Catherine feels about putting horses in danger.”
“I’m sure Morgan La Fey told him it was perfectly safe—a way to get some publicity and infuriate Raleigh. Raleigh was supposed to get the full force of the voice and the banner, remember.”
“Why? Catherine hated Raleigh all right, but what’s he ever done to Morgan or Troy?”
“I intend to find out.” Geoff took my arm. “And no, I did not know Stan was going to arrest Troy at the cemetery. Not a bad idea, though.”
“How can you say that? Catherine’s a basket case and Troy’s probably throwing up in the back of the squad car.”
We walked up to my truck, and he leaned against the door. “He’d better not. Stan is fastidious about his vehicles.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious. I hope Troy’s switching to damage control mode.”
“He should serve Morgan up like a roast pig with an apple in her mouth,” I said. “She is not a nice person.”
Geoff shook his head sadly. “You really don’t understand men, do you? The way he feels about Morgan, he’d go to the firing squad minus blindfold to save her.”
That remark about understanding men stung. He was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. If I’d understood Vic, I wouldn’t have married him in the first place.
I remembered Catherine said Troy had been the last person to check the start of the course the night before the marathon. He and Morgan had all the time in the world to set up the prank.
“He did buy the banner and borrow the bullhorn,” Geoff said. “And he’s studying structural engineering. He could have easily figured out how to trigger and unfurl the thing.”
“I still don’t believe Troy killed Raleigh,” I said.
He put a hand under my arm and guided me to a bench under the shade of a large water oak. A breeze had sprung up, and the shade felt blissfully cool. One good thing about summer in Mossy Creek—it’s cooler and shorter than summer in Atlanta and bracketed by a glorious spring and superb fall.
“How did you find out Troy bought the banner?” I asked.
“My office ran a computer check on the sign shops in Atlanta and Augusta looking for a banner ordered with those words,” Geoff said. “Nada. Then we tried the Internet. Fourth or fifth try we got a hit on his order. Stan was right. Not a good idea to use his own PayPal account. Like ordering C-4 on your American Express card.”
“Nobody said Troy was a genius. What does Morgan see in him?”
“Access and a faithful minion. Talk about treating horses like slaves.”
I didn’t really care what Morgan had against Raleigh, if anything. I was mad at her for nearly drowning me, Peggy, and the Halflingers. And if Troy’s arrest caused Catherine to back out of judging my show this weekend, I intended to use the four oxen dismemberment process on good ole Morgan. “Pretty obvious which portion of his anatomy she’s leading him around by.”
“Ouch.”
I saw the same Dahlonega catering van parked around the side of the Raleigh’s mansion by the kitchen door and wondered if we’d be getting leftovers from the viewing.
I needn’t have worried. The long dining room table held a carved country ham at one end and a carved roast beef at the other with veggies, condiments, and bread between them. The sideboard was covered with platters of little bitty tarts and brownies, along with soft drinks, coffee and tea. Whichever part of Raleigh’s estate was paying for his funeral, the bill would add up to a hefty chunk of change.
“I know Raleigh was a sleaze bucket,” I whispered to Peggy as I slathered Dijon mustard on party rye and added a slice of rare roast beef. “As much as I disliked him, I do agree with Mrs. Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman. Attention must be paid.”
“Yeah, but what kind of attention? We both know we wouldn’t be here if we weren’t snooping,” Peggy said.
“There’s Armando. I’m going to pay my respects. Geoff says he has a solid alibi.”
“Dawn doesn’t.”
I munched on my sandwich as I threaded my way to the living room. Armando stood with one elbow on the fireplace mantle. He was alone, but completely at ease. He watched the ebb and flow of mourners—or what passed for mourners—with a slight smile. Perfect for an ad in Town and Country.
I finished my sandwich and sauntered up to him. “Hey,” I said. “I’m Merry Abbott. We met last night.”
He gave me full wattage with those black eyes and those white teeth in that tanned face. My knees went weak. The guy radiated pheromones. “Of course I remember. You train driving horses, yes?”
“Right.”
“I met your father in Palm Beach several years ago. Nice man. I’m sorry about what happened to him.”
I nodded acknowledgement. “You going back to Wellington to finish the polo season?”
His muscles were lean and long, and he seemed supremely comfortable in his body. “I hope to take Dawn with me. She needs to get away from all this. And my horses are still in Wellington. I have someone I trust looking after them, but . . .”
“Nobody is as trustworthy as you are,” I finished.
He gave me that grin again. This time I was prepared. My heart rate only went up ten beats per minute. “Brock can certainly look after this place. He’s done it for years.”
“So Dawn plans to keep him on?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Even when you start training polo ponies here?”
“Come on, you know horse is horse. Riding, driving, polo . . . managing a stable of horses is much the same in any discipline. I will be training and traveling. I hope Dawn will go with me some of the time. And there is Giles’s business to run. She has great responsibilities.”
“I don’t guess Sarah Beth could handle any of it,” I said.
He snorted with laughter. “Not for a day.”
“So she’s moving back to Atlanta?”
He looked confused. “I have not heard. This is as much her home as Dawn’s. Why would she not stay?”
Because three’s a crowd, doofus, I thought.
“In Argentina, families stay together if possible,” he said.
But did Dawn consider Sara Beth family? I wondered if Raleigh had left the women equal shares in his estate. They seemed to get along, but unless they worked out non-conflicting spheres of interest, I didn’t think that would last.
“Armando, darling,” Dawn was suddenly at his side, “Father Clemons is leaving.” She slipped her hand under Armando’s arm, smiled at me and moved him away where I couldn’t ask him any more questions. Nuts.
Later, I made good on my threat to send Peggy to the Garden Club meeting to go over the final arrangements for Lackland Farms’ fun show and clinic. Alone.
Chapter 28
Peggy
One of the nice things about being rich was that you get things done quickly. Dick decided over breakfast and before they left for Raleigh’s funeral that he would put in CCTV not only at both gates of Hiram’s farm, but add one in the parking lot in front of the barn, and another that showed the inside of the stable. He made a few calls and assured Peggy that they’d have CCTV before the day was done.
“Might as well be able to check on the horses at night without getting out of bed,” he said. “Who knows, Merry might breed a couple of mares who would need watching when they came close to foaling.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Peggy said as she poured him another cup of coffee. “Not quite as good as grandchildren, but close.”
He wrapped his arm around her w
aist and pulled her onto his lap. Shameless behavior for a pair of old fogies like us, Peggy thought.
“Horses are much better than grandchildren,” he said. “No diapers, and you can teach them manners and sell them when they’re two or three.”
“I’ve never seen a mare foal,” Peggy said, and took a bite of his toast.
“You might never see one,” he said. “Mare’s are sneaky. They wait until everyone’s back is turned, then pop goes the weasel.”
He finished his coffee and took his mug and breakfast plate to the sink, rinsed them and put them into the dishwasher.
Peggy had no idea why she and Dick hit it off. After his wife had died, several years ago, he’d turned into a player, escorting all the beautiful young widows and divorcees in Palm Beach and New York to society balls and gallery openings.
Peggy considered herself neither beautiful nor young, but Dick didn’t seem to care. He said he’d gotten tired of having to explain the Second World War to his dates. And despite being waited on hand and foot at his farm, he was comfortable putting his dishes in Peggy’s dishwasher. Neither of them was interested in marriage or even living together, but they did enjoy their occasional illicit weekends.
The one who ought to be having illicit weekends, though, was Merry. Apparently she’d have to be a serial killer to get Geoff to visit Mossy Creek on a regular basis.
Peggy loved the garden club ladies, but she wasn’t in the mood to handle a committee meeting when she wanted to be doing something with Dick. Still, she’d promised Merry.
Having worked all her life until she retired to Mossy Creek, Peggy had sat through innumerable faculty meetings, which could be more contentious than the Super Bowl. The Mossy Creek Garden Club ladies could handle a dozen jobs at once. Unfortunately, they also liked to talk about them.
If she intended to stay awake for Don Qui’s debut as a carriage donkey, she’d have to avoid the Mimosas, which were lethal, as Geoff Wheeler could attest.
One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] Page 18