DEATH AT THE BAR X RANCH
A MARY MALONE MYSTERY
Marlene Chabot
North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.
St. Cloud, Minnesota
Copyright © 2014 Marlene Chabot
Print ISBN 978-0-87839-738-9
eBook ISBN 978-0-87839-951-2
All rights reserved.
First Edition: June 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by
North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.
P.O. 451
St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302
northstarpress.com
This book is dedicated to my deceased mother Eva Mc Neil, a feisty woman who danced until she was ninety-two and after whom I fashioned the character Mrs. Grimshaw. My only wish is that I am lucky enough to experience all the world has to offer like my mother did until the day I am called home too.
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to Angie Sanders for the many hours spent proofing this book. I’d also like to thank Imgrund Motors of Brainerd and the fantastic horsewomen who have helped and encouraged me along the way.
Staci Grattan and Toni Wasilensky—Spirit Horse Center—Brainerd, Minnesota;
Kathleen Lordbock—Horse owner and trainer—Brainerd, Minnesota;
Dr. Deb MacKay—Veterinary Medicine and horse owner—Crosby, Minnesota;
Cindy Murlowski and Joan Pasqua—Bel Meade Stables—Naples, Florida;
Cindy Schneider—Horse owner and boarder—Crosby, Minnesota;
Lara Simonson—Horse owner and trainer—Naples, Florida;
Cheryl Gilson—for introducing me to Horses For Dummies by Audrey Pavia; and Janice Posnikoff D.V.M.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Book Club Questions
Prologue
Mary Colleen Malone’s my name. I’m not what most people would consider either a girly-girl or a tomboy. I’m more an in between type of gal, in between men, in between diets, in between jobs. It varies from week to week. This week, however, not I, but circumstances beyond my control, shoved employment to the top of the heap.
Teaching’s my game, or it was up until yesterday morning when I strolled into the teachers’ lounge and spotted a rare, unexpected gift tucked inside my cubbyhole. At first, I thought the hot-pink slip was someone’s idea of a joke, but then reality smacked me in the face. I hadn’t slid under the unemployment radar after all. With one swift hurricane after another chiseling away at the U.S. economy, teachers without tenure were the latest surfers to be caught up in the storm.
Hmm? Maybe I can sub in Blaine. That’s not too far north to drive. “Aim for the stars,” everyone said. Yeah, right. Fat lot of good it did me. The aligned planet and stars supposedly assigned to my personal universe imploded on contact. Good-bye lifetime job. Hello unemployment. To think I was once so elated being the first member of the Malone clan to receive a master’s degree. Now, I’m just depressed. While I sit idly by twiddling my thumbs, my siblings continue being smugly employed, including the one who flips flapjacks at the local pancake house just around the corner.
So, what’s a smart, single thirty-five-year-old unemployed dame to do? I haven’t a clue. Perhaps it’ll come to me while I snooze.
Chapter 1
They say there’s a wee bit of blarney in me, and if that’s the case, I accept it. I have no problem with my Irish heritage. Besides, it’s bound to pop up now and again in my profession. I’m an elementary school teacher, but believe me when I tell you, what unfolded shortly after my career went bust didn’t have a smidgen of blarney in it.
“Mary?” a wisp of a voice called from behind. “Mary Malone, is that you?”
My fingers immediately stopped fumbling with the spare key to my brother’s apartment. The timely intrusion couldn’t have come at a better time. I had been fighting with the lock for the past couple of seconds and was on the verge of blurting out words not meant for even a turtle’s ears. I curled my fingers around the key and twirled in the direction of the person seeking me out. “Oh, Mrs. Grimshaw. I thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar.”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s thin, oval-shaped face, bedecked with a charming pair of silver-colored granny glasses, stared at me in bewilderment. “How could you have forgotten my voice already, Mary? It wasn’t that long ago your brother Matt and I saw you at Elaine’s party.” Her bony, heavily veined hands grasped the sides of her full-length yellow floral apron and flapped it for emphasis.
The woman she was referring to was Elaine Best. The two of us had been close friends since childhood. Elaine, my brother, his now ex-girlfriend, Rita Sinclair, and I vacationed together this past January in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, thanks to my dad’s overly generous Christmas present. Shortly after we returned home to Minnesota’s sub-zero temps and mile high snow banks, Elaine and her husband Frank hosted a Mexican-themed party. Unfortunately for Matt, Rita had just broken up with him, and he was left with the challenge of finding a last minute date. Mrs. Grimshaw fit the bill perfectly. A longtime neighbor, she’s remained in Matt’s corner through thick and thin, rain or shine and even the death of his wife, Irene.
The tiny lady with stately white hair pulled into a bun who was standing in front of my five-foot-six frame could easily pass for someone in her late seventies, but I knew for a fact she was much older than that. You see, my brother had shared that she was a nonagenarian.
Of course, once this mid-thirties female learned the true age of the Italian-born woman, I did what every other woman my age would do, I pleaded with her to spill where she’d hidden the fountain of youth. According to seasoned travelers, the famous fountain in St. Augustine, Florida, was just a tourist trap, and I wasn’t about to age any sooner than I had to. Unfortunately, the reply I got was a youthful laugh and, “Stay active. That’s the
ticket.”
My thick shoulders lifted slightly. “I forgot for a split second, honest. When you speak to as many people as I do in my line of work, voices start sounding the same. So, how are you?”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s aged olive-green eyes twinkled through her wire-rimmed glasses. “Me? Why, I’m fit as a fiddle. Grazie,” she replied as she inched closer to me. “How about you, Mary? I heard the Anoka-Hennepin school district was forced to lay off a substantial number of elementary teachers this spring. You weren’t one of those who received a pink slip, were you?”
Bile rose from my stomach when “pink slip” resounded in my ears. Yuk. Why did those two nasty words have to crop up everywhere I go? Unable to answer without feeling worse than I already did, I shifted my attention temporarily to the pumpkin and pea-green colored shag carpet covering the fourth floor hallway at the Foley Apartment Complex. How can people stand to look at this crazy carpet day in and day out? So ’60’s. The owner of this building’s lucky I don’t live here. I would’ve demanded they replace the carpet the first day I moved in.
With a calmer stomach now and nothing more in the hallway to find fault with, I figured it best to answer the elderly woman before she concluded I was a terribly rude person. “Afraid so,” I replied keeping my eyes glued to the carpet, “I had one more year to go before receiving tenure.”
Matt’s neighbor reached out and clutched my hand. “I’m so sorry, Mary. According to your brother, you’re a great teacher.”
My head shot up like a puppet’s when its master tugs hard on its strings. “Huh? Imagine that. Did he make that comment after visiting my classroom this winter?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Humph.” I rubbed my free hand on a pant leg. “Well, all he ever says when he’s around me is that I’m spoiled rotten, which I’m not. There are four of us in the family for cry’n out loud.”
“Oh, Matt’s so very proud of all his siblings’ accomplishments,” the older woman hurriedly explained.
I raised my hand to my cheek now and rested it there for a while. “Is that so? Then why does he continue to treat me like a dingbat?”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s barely noticeable eyebrows rose slightly. “Mi scusi. Non capisco.”
“Sorry. I guess Matt forgot to share that foreign languages and I don’t see eye to eye. Could you repeat that in English?”
“Oh, of course. It seems the language of my homeland is creeping its way back into my life the more I advance in age. What I said was ‘excuse me, I don’t understand.’”
“Understand what?”
“Dingbat. I’ve never come across that word doing crossword puzzles.”
“It means idiot,” I chirped.
The woman standing alongside me let go of a girlish giggle. “That’s Matt. He usually doesn’t permit himself to say what’s actually on his mind. He told me ‘it’s not manly.’”
“Maybe it has to do more with being a private investigator, keeping things under wrap so to speak.”
“Hmm? That could explain it. So, Mary, what brings you to the Foley today?”
“In the last call Mom received from Matt, he asked that I check on his apartment from time to time.”
My brother’s neighbor pursed her almost invisible wrinkled lips. “I don’t know what he’s worried about. His work in Germany ends next month, and he certainly doesn’t have any plants in his apartment to care for.”
Matt’s apartment key began to take flight in my hand like it was a Mexican jumping bean. “That was the original plan, but things have changed.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Delight Bottling Company is acquiring a pop facility in Ireland, so Mr. Welch asked Matt to extend his stay.”
The nonagenarian’s eyes misted up. She hastily diverted them to Matt’s apartment door, which my slightly overweight body was partially hiding. “He wouldn’t have taken that job offer with Welch if Rita Sinclair hadn’t broken up with him.” She shook her head. “Did you know he was going to ask her to marry him?”
“No way! You’re kidding, right?”
Mrs. Grimshaw twisted her head slightly from side to side. “No. That’s one subject I don’t joke about.” She peered at her slippers now.
“Hmm? Surprised my mom and dad never mentioned it either.” Catching how distraught Mrs. Grimshaw appeared to be after hearing Matt wasn’t returning as soon as she thought, I wished I could erase that fact now somehow. The poor woman had no children, and we all knew how much she doted on my brother—inviting him over for Italian meals or dropping by with her scrumptious homemade desserts. Perhaps there was something I could do to cheer her up. “Say, Mrs. Grimshaw, why don’t you help me check Matt’s place out? You’re more familiar with the layout than I am.” When I finished the invite, I turned my body slightly and placed the key in the lock again. This time the key worked. Amazing.
From the corner of my eye, I caught my brother’s apartment neighbor lift her age-spotted hands to her eyes and wipe away the tears forming. “I’ll only go in, Mary, on one condition.”
I lined up directly with the elderly woman now. “What?”
“Call me Margaret. Mrs. Grimshaw’s too stuffy.”
“All right. Margaret it is.” I swung Matt’s door inward with one arm and extended the other arm out. “Elders first.” My brother’s neighbor didn’t put up a fuss. She simply shuffled her pink-and-white stripped Isotoner-slippered feet over the threshold and waited for me to follow.
I hastened in and bolted the door behind me. “Might as well check the back of Matt’s apartment first,” I said “and then work our way back here.”
“That’s fine, Mary, but I have to warn you I don’t know what might be lurking in his inner sanctum. I’ve never been privy to it.”
“Don’t worry. If it’s too shocking, I’ll warn you.” I took the lead and traveled down the narrow hallway that led to only two rooms, the bathroom and Matt’s bedroom. I totally ignored the bathroom. No one in his right mind would want to inflict more misery on it. Matt’s bedroom, on the other hand, was worth looking into. Who knew what lurked there? Unfortunately, when I attacked the closed door, it didn’t want to budge an inch.
Well, no warped door was going to stop this gal’s curiosity. This was my one chance to find out if my brother was a neat freak in his sleeping quarters, or a pile-of-junk kind of guy.
I lightly leaned my shoulder against the door, hoping it would do the trick. The word lightly definitely needed to be redefined. When the door gave way, I flew through the air with the greatest of ease and let loose with the most ear-splitting yelp anyone’s ever heard, including the late Alfred Hitchcock. The short-lived ride, when finished, dropped me on a stiff clump of something.
Since the room was cloaked in darkness, I hadn’t a clue what saved me from a visit to the emergency room, and at this point I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out. Knowing Matt, I could be sitting on a couple weeks’ worth of dirty clothes or a body. Devious notions flitted back and forth between my brain cells until reality finally sank in. If I was sitting on a dead animal or body, an atrocious odor would’ve knocked me senseless by now; Matt’s apartment had been closed up for several months. Besides, the only animal my brother owned was Gracie, a dog, and she was staying at my folks.
“Mary, what is it?” Mrs. Grimshaw inquired in a deeply concerned tone. “Should I stay in the hall?”
I immediately began groping around in the dark. “No, no. Everything’s fine . . .” Then I saw it. “Margaret, hurry, flick on the light switch. A red-eyed monster is flirting with me.”
When the bedroom light came on, it wasn’t as bright as I’d hoped, but it served its purpose. “There does that help?” the elderly woman asked as she entered the room and offered me her bony hand.
“Immensely. Thanks.”
“So, how
did you end up on the floor, Mary?”
I quickly pointed to the garments rubbing up against my sandals. “I tripped over these darn jeans Matt left in the middle of the room.”
The little Italian woman let a soft “Ah,” escape her lips as she carefully scanned the room in its entirety. When she finished, she said, “I don’t see that red-eyed monster you mentioned. Are you sure you weren’t just dazed from the fall?”
Now that the room was lit, the maze hiding the monster made it almost impossible for me to see too. A mammoth jar of Vicks, an alarm clock, a box of Kleenex, a box of Milkbones and a stack of paperback spy thrillers completed the list of items obstructing my view. I quickly directed Margaret’s eyes to the nightstand. “There it is, in the flesh.”
“Oh? Matt must have forgotten to clear all his messages on his answering machine before he left.”
“Either that or . . .”
“Or what?” Mrs. Grimshaw impatiently cut in.
“It’s something he never heard.”
A slight smile erupted on the elderly woman’s face as she pressed her hands together in steeple fashion. “Hmm. That’s true. So, are we going to listen?”
I pretended to be outraged by her suggestion. “Why, Margaret, that’s invasion of privacy. What’s on that answering machine is for Matt’s ears only.” Now, I started to laugh. I may have performed with great finesse as a trained teacher, but when trying to pull a fast one on a peer or another adult I’ve never been able to maintain the right decorum.
Joining in the merriment, Mrs. Grimshaw’s laughter ripped through the room. “Do you want to press the ‘play’ button, Mary, or should I?”
I weighed her question for a split second. “Nah. Let’s both do it. That way we won’t know who’s actually responsible for pressing it.”
Matt’s neighbor reacted enthusiastically. “I like the way you think, Mary. Reminds me of Agatha Christie’s mystery The Orient Express. Ready?”
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