He rubbed his hand over his eyes.
I couldn’t tell whether he was stalling or just tired. My job kept flipping my cynical switch. The girl and the dead guy hadn’t helped.
The girl and the dead guy—now there was a name for a Clark Gable movie. Or was it John Wayne I was thinking of? Or Humphrey Bogart?
Teddie would know.
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check on the horse. Do you know how much these horses cost?”
“Sorry, not my world.”
“A friggin’ fortune, that’s what. Horse was off his feed. Doc Latham, the vet, is here. Horse is having a hard time breathing.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He glanced out into the arena. “Weird stuff has been happening.”
“Weird stuff?” That was an interesting way to frame murder.
“Yeah, horses foundering, some just dropping dead.” He shot me a side-eye, then clammed up as his gaze drifted over my shoulder.
“Dead, like the clown out there?”
He gave me a hard stare. “Who are you?”
“My name is Lucky, and I’m trying to help.”
He huffed in derision. “If you’re with the cops, you guys need to do your homework. That wasn’t a clown they offed.”
“Who was it then?”
“Another father, like me. Turnbull. A man trying to make his way, you know, and do something for his kids.” There was pride there, and anger.
“You know his name?”
“Sure. Rodeo’s a tight community…or was.” He shook off a thought and had the wall back in place before I could ask him about it. “His name’s Trevor Turnbull. Around here, he’s known as T-squared. From Wikieup, Arizona. His boys competed in the team roping.”
“Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
I thought not. Like he said, the rodeo is a tight-knit community.
CHAPTER FIVE
DETECTIVE REYNOLDS was as excited to see me as I had been to find him handling the scene. Reynolds slouched under his Burberry overcoat, proving the old adage that the clothes didn’t make the man. Twenty years on the force and still pegged on clueless, although he had become much more adept at arrogance. He eyed me with the look of a man who had a better place to be. “Who let you in here?”
“You haven’t shut any of this down. Jesus, they didn’t even sign me in to this tiny crime scene. It should’ve been the whole arena. Jesus, Reynolds, you’re as much of an inept ass as the day I met you.”
The Coroner didn’t look up but I could see his shoulders shaking.
I shrugged off Reynolds, focusing on the coroner who I knew well. “Hey, Doc. Whatcha got?”
Reynolds tried to push me aside. “Don’t talk to her. She’s not part of the investigation.”
One of the few perks of being large was being immovable. The cop might as well have been shoving at Mount Rushmore.
Doc glanced up. “Hey, Lucky. This one’s interesting.” He peeled back the tarp.
A blue face, contorted in a grimace.
I recoiled a bit, but not enough to embarrass myself. Although, I really didn’t aspire to being a seasoned veteran in the Murder Game.
One resume line item I decided not to pursue.
“Tell me.” I leaned over the coroner who was on his knees next to the body.
“Well, it looks like the guy suffocated. See his blue fingernails, the blue around his lips?” Doc pointed out each of these things.
“Even though there’s a rope around his neck,” I said, thinking out loud, “there are no ligature marks, which rules out strangulation, at least using that rope.”
Doc rocked back on his heels then turned and looked up at me. “You want my job?”
“Not on a bet. Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”
“I get you for free now.”
“Like I said, you couldn’t afford me.”
“You’re right. Why change when it’s working so well?”
“It’s my civic duty to help rid my city of the down-and-dirties.” My help got me access, and that was worth almost any price. A large part of my job was keeping my family and our hotels out of the news. Murder tended to attract attention. So, if I could get in early, often I could sprinkle pixie dust, bring the parties responsible to justice, and smooth everything over. At least it had worked that way so far, but I had the sneaking suspicion I’d used up all my beginner’s luck.
Now, with all of this, whatever this actually was, I wasn’t so sure my pixie dust would be enough.
Mona could be counted on to make a big, messy splash. This time, she may have outdone herself. I know, I was jumping to a guilty verdict, but cutting and running was her MO. And, as they always said, the past is a good predictor of the future. Not sure I believed that, not totally, but, like a cliché, it held that kernel of truth.
The coroner motioned to one of his techs. “Take some close-ups of his neck and the rope.”
A young woman with dark hair cropped into a bob and wearing a jumpsuit that would fit someone twice her size moved in and did as her boss asked.
I bent over both of them to get a better view. “Someone didn’t want that rope to come loose.”
“The knot is a cow hitch with a reserve half. Never seen them thrown together quite like that,” the girl said from behind her camera as she clicked away. She must’ve sensed the coroner and me looking at her as she lowered the camera enough to expose one eye. “Scouts.”
“The Girl Scouts teach knots? Back when my mother tried to get me involved, all they did was bake.”
“This is the only country that separates Scouts based on gender. Where I come from, we were all just Scouts and we did all the same stuff.”
“And we Americans think we’re so progressive. I would’ve liked Scouts if I could’ve done the cool stuff, but they made the girls all wimpy.” I gave the coroner a knowing look.
“I’m assuming the Girl Scouts did not teach you how to throw an elbow and break a nose?”
The coroner tossed me that hanging slider and I couldn’t disappoint. “Whorehouse skills.”
That got two eyes from the girl behind the camera. I didn’t elaborate. Her imagination would be way better than reality. “But if someone didn’t choke him, how did he suffocate?” I asked the coroner.
Doc’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at me looming over him. “What do you think killed him?”
This had turned into a training lesson or a game of one-upmanship, which I would, of course, lose. I had an advanced degree, but from the School of Hard Knocks, not a medical school—I didn’t think my MBA would help either. I pursed my lips as I stepped back and straightened, giving him room. “Tox screen could be interesting.”
“Good thinking. There are a lot of drugs that can disrupt oxygenation.” Doc put his hands on his knees and started to get up, then quit. “It’ll take a while though, even if I light a fire.”
“You might want to pull in all your markers. One of the dads told me weird stuff has been happening around here—horses getting sick, dropping dead, that sort of thing.” I extended a hand as I lifted my chin toward the corpse.
He took my hand and let me help him to his feet. “Knees aren’t happy with all the running I used to do. I’ll put a rush on. I can’t keep the rodeo in town for long. Ten days and they’re out of here.” He brushed the dirt off his jeans. “Anytime you want a job…”
“Thanks. I’ve got more than I can handle.”
“This is easier. The targets don’t move.”
I gave him the sad smile he wanted.
He looked down at the body. “You know anything about him?”
“I know he died in the middle of a bull-riding event. Bull got loose; clowns came in to help. The rope was around his neck, then trailing behind. He keeled over and this is where he fell. Is there any way to tell whether he was dead when he dropped or lived a bit longer?”
“My guys are talking to the clowns,” Reyno
lds said, sounding officious.
“I wonder if he went to school to learn how to sound that way,” I whispered to the coroner.
“They were the only ones in the arena at the time,” Reynolds continued.
Unable to stifle myself, I kept going. “Knowing Metro, they offered extra credit if you took it at the Academy.”
“Would you quit?” Doc said, his face a bright red. “Hell of a way for a clown to die, though.”
“Detective Reynolds, I’d double-check my facts, if I were you. The clowns weren’t the only ones in the arena.” I gave a special emphasis to the detective part. Was I trying to convince him or me? Who knew?
I followed the coroner’s gaze and stared at the dead man at my feet. “And he’s not a clown.”
That got me the side-eye.
“He’s the father of a couple of boys competing in the team roping.”
“That explains why his clown suit isn’t hooked up like it should be and the size is a bit wrong.” He motioned to one of his techs. “You heard that?”
“Yessir.”
“Ignore it. Process the trace with fresh eyes as always.”
“Of course, sir.”
He turned back to me. “Sometimes, it’s too easy to reach a conclusion before you look.”
“Expectations—they trip you up no matter the venue.” Life and death had unexpected parallels.
Detective Reynolds had pulled out a pad and a pencil and now moved closer. “You got an ID?”
“Reynolds, you should be an extra, but you get leading man pay. You let others do your job for you while you pick up the crumbs.” Dissing him only made me feel good—it didn’t make him feel bad. There was a lesson in there somewhere. “Have you even talked with anyone?”
Embarrassment clearly wasn’t in his arsenal.
In an effort to facilitate the capture of a killer, I told him what I knew…well, part of it. “His name is Trevor Turnbull, known as T-squared, from Wikieup Arizona.”
The idiot made a note, then got on his phone.
Why, with such a visible murder at a high-profile venue, did we get the B-team?
Where the hell was Romeo?
With nothing more to add and running the real possibility that Reynolds would arrest me for something, I left the Coroner to do his job and to keep
Reynolds from messing up the rest up. I found the cleaning crew kid a few rows from where I’d left him.
“Takes a while to clean up the mess, huh?”
“Especially short-handed as it ran so late with the excitement and all.”
“Got a question for you.”
“I got an answer,” he said with youthful swagger.
“After the guy fell, do you remember anyone rushing over to him?”
He didn’t answer immediately; instead, he cocked his head and his eyes went distant, as if he was running a tape reel in his mind. When he refocused, he said, “Hang on.” Then he turned and scanned the arena. Finding a target, he set off at a lope, taking the stairs two at a time.
A young woman stopped to speak with him. She looked around him at me as they talked. If only I could hear what they were saying.
When my young friend returned, he looked like he had an answer. “That’s Poppy. She rides in some of the events, but she’s cool. A friend of hers who sweeps with me had somewhere to go tonight, so she stepped in. She said you need to talk to Darrin Cole. He’s one of the clowns. He also teaches roping. Bethany and Poppy are his star students.”
“I’d like to talk to Poppy. I’ve already met her father.”
“Then you know why she can’t be seen talking to you. She’s not even supposed to be here. Her old man would have a cow.”
“He’s already had a cow, and he’s looking like the kind of guy who would eat his young for dinner.” I glanced over his shoulder. The girl was hunched up and wary, but still not convinced her cover was blown.
“Smooth the way. I’m here to help. I promise. Her friend, the one who was supposed to be here then jackrabbited when the shit hit the fan, she’s being held by the police for questioning.”
He waffled—clearly torn between allegiance and a healthy disrespect for us older authoritarian types. I couldn’t say I wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. “Okay, but no quick movements. She scares easily.”
“Movements. Anyone raise their hand to her?” I felt the Amazon in me come bubbling up.
“I don’t know. It’ a crazy world when parents live through their children. Things get weird.”
I got that but, somehow, with my totally dysfunctional family, that little bit of craziness I’d missed. Mona didn’t want any part of my life. Well, that wasn’t true—she wanted to share the business stuff with my father. She’d find a way in; I had no doubt. Anyone who stood between my mother and what she wanted usually didn’t survive.
As he led me over to Poppy, who eyed me like a wary cur who’d been abused then abandoned to fend for herself, I asked the kid, “Do you know anything about the new girl?”
“Like what?’
“Her story.”
“Naw, keeps to herself, but she and Poppy are tight. Only thing I know is she rides with the vet, Doc Latham.”
I came to a halt in front of Poppy the Rodeo Queen masquerading as a lowly member of the cleanup crew, and I tried to work through a strategy for getting past the wariness I saw in her eyes and her posture. Although she was rodeo royalty, she looked like a kid to me with a gap between her front teeth, her auburn hair braided down her back, and a splash of freckles…well, more than a splash. Her nose had a slight upturn to it, as if testing the scents, that made her appear younger than she probably was. Her skin was flawless and sported nary a trace of makeup—rather unbefitting of a queen.
I extended a hand. “I’m Lucky.”
She kept her hands nested on the top of the broom. “Yeah. So.”
“I’m a friend of Bethany’s.”
I saw a hint of softening, of curiosity. “But I think you knew she was coming to see me.”
“Where is she?”
“Police have her.” That hit with the force of the bomb to end all wars, obliterating resistance but causing panic and worse.
“What?” Poppy’s posture collapsed. “That’s like the WORST thing that could happen! She was counting on you.”
“The police will keep her safe. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Right.” She punctuated the word with the appropriate teenage eye-roll. “Grown-ups. You guys are so not cool.”
“Tell me about it. But Bethany came to me for help. I let her down. Maybe you could help me fix that?”
She cocked her head as if sizing me up.
What did a kid know about life and how it hammers away at you, then takes a knife, carving off chunks…a slow evisceration until you cave or become who you’re supposed to be?
Life, the surgical suite where character was built.
Even if Poppy wasn’t yet wise, she looked like she was pretty smart, and I was the only help in sight.
She let out one big sigh as she leaned on her broom. The show was over. As the bravado leaked out of her, the scared kid surfaced. “That’s the thing—we don’t know what’s going on. Well—” she flicked her gaze to the kid that had brought me over.
He caught her drift and moved out of earshot. I thanked him with a smile.
Poppy leaned in, her voice riding on a whisper. “We know what’s going on. We just can’t prove it.”
“Really?” I moved closer, trapping the truth between us. “What?”
“Well, we know how it started. A simple extortion plan, maybe even a little blackmail. Happens a lot in the world of expensive horses and even more expensive competitions.” Her words tumbled as they rushed out in her need to share the burden of a big secret. Grown-up words coming from a kid.
“Pay up or something happens to your horse or kid or cow or whatever?”
“Yeah. Everybody’s a bit freaked.”
Extortion
—a game as old as Vegas. Living in Vegas, one could pick up on the nefarious plots of the criminal underground almost through osmosis, as if the air carried their secrets, transferring them with each breath. “Any idea who was behind it?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “How do I know I can trust you?” A kid caught between a murder and a bad dad.
I felt for her—when did childhood get so real?—but that couldn’t stop me from applying the pressure. “You don’t.”
“My lucky day, huh?”
My self-respect would evaporate if I let myself be baited by a kid. So, adhering to the old adage that I should fight with someone my own size, I kept my inappropriate and decidedly unhelpful responses to myself.
“We thought we had things in hand, were closing in on some answers…”
And watching too much television, but I didn’t say that out loud—at least I didn’t think I did.
“We suspected some blackmail. Mrs. Bates was pretty much popping rivets. There was talk she’d been asking around about ways to kill her daughter’s horse and make it look like natural causes.”
“Mrs. Bates?”
“Yeah, her daughter rides with us. Her mother is a whack job. She works for the rodeo.”
“What was her play? Insurance?”
She looked at me as if I’d already cast my lot with the swine who would kill a horse for money.
“Hey, I live in Vegas. If there’s a con or a scheme or a money grab or a whatever, it’s happened here. I’ve been here long enough to have heard about all of them…twice.” To her, I bet I was as old as the Ural Mountains. Those were the oldest mountains on the planet. How I knew that, I didn’t know.
My mind, a steel trap for useless information.
But I really was a huge asset in Trivial Pursuit, if anybody valued the game of knowledge anymore, which I doubted. On the flip side, I was death at a cocktail party. “And then what happened?”
“Reno happened.”
“You mean like the city Reno? Not like Reno, a two-bit hood from middle school?”
She gave me a look that told me to grow up. “After the rodeo in Reno, things got really weird. One of our friends, Josie, Josie Brown, her horse dropped dead.” She gave me a pointed look. “He was only seven.”
Lucky Ride (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series Book 8) Page 8