Brock came up out of his chair. “You can’t pin that on me!”
“So how’d he find out?” Stand asked.
Brock’s head swiveled back to Stan. “I accidentally brought one of the stuffed bales to Raleigh’s. He caught me taking out the coke, so I could get it back to Gwen. I swore it was a one-shot deal.” Brock spread his hands. “He believed me, but he was madder’n I ever saw him. I could’a talked him around. He wouldn’t’a fired me.”
“Would he have, if he discovered you’d knocked up his wife?” Stan asked.
“He didn’t know, my hand to God.” Brock subsided.
“So how come you were so desperate for money? You must have accumulated quite a stash in three years,” Geoff said.
“I wish.”
“Been sampling your own wares?”
“No way, man. That junk’s for losers. I spend my life around horses. Where there’s horses, there’s big money gambling. I’m into some very unhappy people for thirty large. I can’t ask Sarah Beth. The will’s not even probated yet. After I told Gwen I wasn’t going to bring in any more loads, she refused to give me a dime.” He narrowed his eyes at us both. “Why am I the one sitting here? You got Gwen in another room? All you got me on is transporting.”
“And murder,” Stan said.
“I told you, I didn’t kill Raleigh.”
“But you killed Gwen.”
He didn’t react for a moment. “Say what?”
“I said,” Stan said, “You killed Gwen.”
“Gwen’s dead?” He jumped up so quickly he knocked his chair over and came close to following it all the way to the floor. “Oh, lord, they killed her.” He yanked the chair and himself up, but made no attempt to sit down again. “You gotta protect me, man. They find out I told you anything, they’ll kill me too.”
“Thought you said you didn’t know who they were.” Geoff said.
“I don’t. My hand to God.”
“Where were you this morning?”
Brock stared at him now. He was like a bull that didn’t know which side the dogs were going to attack. “Hell, you know where I was. I guess Whitehead called y’all right after we split, didn’t he?”
They didn’t answer him. Stan called for a deputy to lock Brock up as a material witness until the various agencies could untangle the jurisdictional mess and decide who to charge with what.
After Brock was taken away, loudly protesting that he’d never killed anyone, Geoff said, “Hard to believe in two separate killers for two separate killings so close together.”
“Yeah. If Brock is out on Gwen’s death, chances are he’s out on Raleigh’s too.”
“Too many suspects,” Geoff said.
“Including your girlfriend.”
“She gave us Brock’s alibi, remember? And incidentally, her own as well. If she was listening to Brock and Whitehead, she wasn’t strangling Gwen forty miles away.”
“She could have killed Gwen early same as Brock.” He waved a hand at Geoff. “I guess she didn’t.” Stan said. “I released the news of Gwen’s death, but not that we’d found the drugs. Once they know those bales of alfalfa are still sitting in Gwen’s shed, they’ll have to take a chance on getting them. We may not solve the murders, but we should be able to take some poison off the streets.”
“And maybe get a lead to Gwen’s contact in Miami.”
Chapter 34
Merry
I was getting used to Geoff’s begging off dinner invitations, even ones he’d tendered himself. Dick and Peggy and I didn’t wait for him. Friday we were setting up for the show. A million things could go wrong and probably would. At least Catherine hadn’t bailed on me.
Geoff showed up as our waitress served our hot brownies. He plopped down, ordered coffee and two brownies a la mode with extra whipped cream. He caught my expression and raised his eyebrows. “This is lunch and dinner.”
I raised my hands. The man could probably eat a dozen of those things and stay as thin as he was.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said a couple of minutes later as he dug into his mountain of calories. “I was helping Stan with a . . . a situation.” He told us about Gwen’s death and the cocaine. I didn’t know about Peggy and Dick, but I was furious at Geoff. “A woman gets strangled, and you don’t think to mention it?”
“I’m mentioning it now. Her murder was on the afternoon news.”
“Who has time to listen?” Peggy asked.
“Stan released the announcement about Gwen’s death to the media after the still watch on the cocaine was in place. We’re hoping someone will try to pick it up tonight.”
I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. I didn’t want Geoff in the middle of a gun battle. “You going back to Gwen’s?” I asked. Casually, I hoped.
He shook his head. “This is Stan’s show. With a little help from the feds. “Me? I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
”Me, too,” Peggy said. “I thought an itty-bitty horse show would be a piece of cake. The first person who pulls up to our gates tonight with a horse trailer is going to get punched in the face.”
“I thought you wanted a bunch of people,” Geoff said.
“We specifically said no one would be allowed in until tomorrow. It’s like those people who show up for Saturday morning yard sales at six Friday morning,” Peggy said.
“Where do you expect them to park tonight?” Geoff asked.
”Ask me do I care.”
He cut his eyes at me. “What about the horses?”
“They’ll be fine until morning. People travel with hay and feed and water. Some drive eighteen hours at a stretch to get a show in upstate New York or Florida. The horses will go to sleep.” I glanced at Peggy. “We’re not leaving them completely high and dry. I expect my cell phone to start ringing any minute now.”
It did, right on schedule. I put it on speaker.
“Hey, is this Meredith Abbot? This is Marvin Cudlow. We’re registered for the show and the clinic.”
“Yes, Mr. Cudlow?”
“I know you said you wouldn’t be open until tomorrow, but we figured we’d drive on over tonight, get a good place to park, you know? Anyway, your gates are locked. There’s some kind of keypad. Could you give me the code? It’ll save y’all a trip out here to let us in.”
Peggy grabbed the phone. I expected her to bark, but she said in her syrupy sweet southern put-on voice, “Marvin, honey? The reason we can’t let y’all in tonight is that our insurance policy doesn’t kick in ‘til tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes. “And my lawyer would simply kill me if I gave you the key code.”
“But Becca and me, we drove all the way from Chattanooga.” Three hours, max. I’d expected anger. Instead, his voice came out a whine. “Can’t y’all make one tiny exception? We sleep in the trailer on the road, so we don’t have to leave the horses in some strange place all alone.”
This time I managed to snag the phone. “Marvin? About five miles straight ahead of you is a big Baptist church with a giant parking lot. I’ve made arrangements for camper trailers and folks who show up early to park there. You should have gotten information on that when we sent you your confirmation. Did you?”
“Well, yeah, we did, but I figured since we were so early . . .”
“’Fraid we can’t break the rules, but y’all should be fine tonight. The congregation’s leaving all the lights on in the parking lot, and there’s an outdoor spigot if you need water. There’s a big grassy area too. Perfect for you to walk your horses. What do y’all drive?”
“We brought our pair of Welsh ponies and a pony phaeton.”
I rolled my eyes. Two small ponies and one relatively small carriage. Probably more space in the camper portion than in the trailer itself. “See you after lunch tomorrow.” After a few more attempts to change my mind, good ole Marvin gave in and hung up.
Geoff was watching me in fascination. Dick was grinning.
“The first thing I learned about managing a show,” I said, “Is that nobody rea
ds directions, or if they do, they figure directions don’t apply to them. They also don’t read signs. They’ll stare right at a sign that says ‘restrooms’ with an arrow pointing left, and ask the first person they see if the restrooms are to the right.”
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Peggy said.
“Publicity for the farm and a carriage for Casey.”
“Oh. Yeah. Remind me often. Geoff, you don’t happen to have any illegal Ecstasy on you, do you? I’ve heard it mellows you out.”
“Sorry, Peggy. Not even an aspirin.” He spooned up the last bit of ice cream and shoved his chair back. “Bill’s already taken care of.”
Dick started to protest, but Geoff waved him away. “Turn about.”
Outside, I started to follow Peggy and Dick to his Van, but Geoff took my arm and led me to his. He shoved me into the passenger seat and drove us off without a word.
“Okay, hotshot,” I said. “Where we going?”
“Amos Royden is meeting us at the hotel.”
“Why?”
“Two murders aren’t enough of a reason?”
“They weren’t in Mossy Creek.”
“Close enough, and with a singular attachment to you and Peggy. Amos wants to talk about your security arrangements. I figured you’d be itching to hear about the drug bust.”
“Is that a sop to my curiosity?”
“Actually, it’s to head off your imagination.”
“I don’t make things up.” Well, not usually. I did, however, omit certain things. “How fast can you get DNA test results?”
“Privately? Twenty-four hours, but it costs. Why?”
“I need a test done pronto. Can you handle it?”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
That shut him up. I also wanted Troy Wilkinson’s DNA, and Geoff might be able to get those results without too much rigmarole. If I had a half brother, I wanted to know. My family had a right to know. And I’d have to revise my opinion of Hiram, my father.
Amos wanted a complete briefing about the incursions at the farm. He was pretty PO’d at both Geoff and me for not calling him out, especially after shots were fired. He had a point.
“The farm isn’t technically in Mossy Creek,” I said, “Even if we did fudge a little when Hiram was killed.”
“Don’t quibble. Whether your farm is in Mossy Creek or not, you and Peggy are. Now, about this weekend . . .”
We spent half an hour going over security arrangements and handling of the money. Sandi, his dispatcher, would handle ticket sales and contributions from spectators, while the garden club ladies would deal with the money from food and drinks. The people who were driving had to send in their money when they registered, so Sandi would hand out driving packets and check off names as well.
“She has a stall plan for the people who are stabling their horses,” I said, “And a parking plan for trailers and cars. Louise’s grandson Pete is coming home from summer school for the weekend to run a golf cart shuttle for spectators from the road up the hill for when we run out of places at the farm parking lot. I hope we’ll need the space, but you never know. We may have no spectators at all.”
“You’ll have spectators,” Amos said. “Everybody wants to help Casey. Is she actually driving tomorrow?”
“You bet. Dressage, cones, and hazards. I’ll be in the carriage with her, of course, but she’ll actually do the driving. Golden will look after her.”
“I’ll station my deputy down at the road,” Amos said, “But if anything happens in Mossy Creek that needs him, I’ll have to pull him off.”
I nodded my understanding. “Our parking area is big, but we’re going to park the smaller trailers along the far side of the stable where the manure pile used to be. That’s where the portable johns will be set up. There aren’t supposed to be more than three or four big rigs. Plenty of space for them to the right of the barn on the grass verge. Some cars can park back of my new slab close to the pasture fence. It’s not supposed to rain, so the ground should hold firm.”
“Supposed to be low eighties and partly cloudy,” Amos said. “I checked.”
I laughed. “So did I. And prayed.”
Amos offered to drive me home since Geoff was already at his hotel.
As I got out of the squad car in Peggy’s driveway, he leaned across the seat and said, “This is a nice thing you’re doing for Casey.”
“It’s good publicity for the farm, and my own horses are going to have lessons at the driving clinic on Sunday. Thanks for the lift, Amos. Love to Ida.”
The lights were out in Peggy’s house. Very shortly they were off in mine as well. Could I sleep? Get real. Not only was I managing this show, it was on my property. I prayed everyone would have a good time. Including me.
I stopped by the Baptist church parking lot early Friday morning on my way to the farm to check on Marvin Cudlow. I expected him to be tetchy, but both he and his wife Becca were charming. They invited me in to their trailer for coffee.
“Horses okay?” I asked. The coffee was good, but then they were using a top of the line coffee maker and fancy just-ground beans.
“Oh, sure,” Marvin said. “We take ‘em to Walnut Hill in New York and the national drive every year. They’re used to long trips. We hand-walked ‘em already this morning.”
“And picked up the manure,” Marvin’s wife, Becca, said. “Don’t want the Baptists to find road apples all over when they come to church on Sunday.”
“Thanks. I wish everyone were as considerate,” I said. “Since I’m on my way down to the farm right now to unlock the gates, you all can come ahead as soon as you like.”
“Will that get you in trouble with the Dragon lady?” Marvin asked. When he saw my face, he said, “I wouldn’t like to try to put anything past her.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
I was keeping all my guys out in the pasture overnight the next three days to free up the stalls for people coming to the show and the clinic. I fed the horses and Don Qui in buckets on the fence line. That generally worked fairly well with a minimum of bucket poaching, except for Don Qui, who raced from bucket to bucket cadging a mouthful from everyone else’s breakfast when he could sneak in under their necks.
With the exception of Heinzie, his erstwhile brother, nobody let him get away with it, but he didn’t end up getting his head kicked off either.
My crew of garden club ladies brought Louise’s grandson Pete to do the heavy lifting such as putting up the tent for Sandi on my new concrete slab. They were so used to putting together events for Mossy Creek, they needed almost no supervision. What little they needed, Peggy provided.
I spent the morning checking paperwork, setting up office equipment in the clients’ lounge, scrubbing the clients bathroom, putting plenty of toilet paper and paper towels in the porta-johns, setting out mega-garbage cans in strategic locations, setting up sign stanchions for the signs Sandi was bringing, checking off the list I carried in my pocket and praying to avoid rainstorms and disasters of every shape and form. Even this small of a show was a heap of work.
The bulk of the drivers didn’t plan to show up until Saturday morning in time to drive their dressage tests, but a few arrived early Friday afternoon. I had limited stall space for visitors and carriages, so in order to free up space for other people’s carriages, I locked all my own carriages in Hiram’s workshop. I planned to drive on Sunday in the clinic, but not during the show. Dick had already volunteered to set up Casey’s carriage and drive with her if I got caught with an emergency.
After lunch, young Pete and I set up the cones course and the hazards in the mare’s pasture. I noticed that the slash in the fence between the governor’s land and us was untouched, so if anyone had prowled around in our absence, they hadn’t come that way.
Louise’s husband Charlie dragged the dressage arena with the tractor while Peggy and I set up the judge’s table and chairs at C, the end of the arena nearest the stable.
There are a million theories why the letters spaced evenly around a dressage arena start facing C in the middle at one end, then heading right around the arena letters M, R, B, P, and F. A is at the end opposite C. Then the letters down the other side from A are K, V, E, S, and H. Nobody really knows why, but they are standard around the world.
We were as ready as we would be before four. I planned to spend the night in the clients’ lounge in my clothes. I’d shower and change in time to feed the horses in the morning.
At the last minute, Catherine decided she really would prefer to arrive Saturday morning and spend Saturday night after the exhibitors’ party in the Hamilton Inn. She agreed to pay for hers and Troy’s rooms. Originally, he hadn’t been slated to come with her, but apparently she didn’t want him out of her sight or where Morgan could get ahold of him again. Since Dick was still in residence at Peggy’s, having Catherine in a motel would lower the scandal quotient. Not that either Peggy or Dick cared.
Catherine had said Troy didn’t know he was my half-brother, and I wasn’t certain I wanted him told. I definitely didn’t want him to complicate this weekend. Time enough to confront that problem when my DNA results came back. Catherine would be duty bound to furnish Troy’s. We could check them against mine, and know for certain whether or not he and I were siblings.
Saturday morning
I schooled myself not to react when Troy climbed out of Catherine’s truck, but I found myself staring at him while I talked to Catherine. How alike were we physically? We were both tall. My hair (without cosmetic assistance) is basically dark blonde tending to dishwater. His hair was light brown. Mine is straight. So was his. I have enormous hands for a woman. He had enormous hands, period. I couldn’t tell about bone structure. He didn’t look much like Hiram to me, but he didn’t look much like Catherine either.
The garden club set up their mega-coffee-pot and handed out cinnamon rolls to the drivers and apples for the horses. Volunteers manned the driving venues, trailers arrived, cars arrived, Sandi arrived with signs, and before eight o’clock the place was settling for the first dressage test.
One Hoof In The Grave Page 23