The Tell-tale Horse

by Rita Mae Brown

  “What if the situation were reversed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if she refused to tell?”

  “Actually, that’s worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Sister, anyone with valuable information can usually be scared into giving it away. If she didn’t, she was brave and it cost her her life.”

  Sister leaned back. “Seeing her”—she stopped and thought—“got to me. You’re in a field somewhat similar to hers. My curiosity is getting the better of me.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat. I’d be very, very careful.” Faye said this protectively.

  “By the way, Ben told me someone shot out the night-light.” Sister changed the subject again.

  “That’s not all. When I was at work, someone hooked up the garden hoses, ran water in them, shut off the water, didn’t drain the hoses. So of course they froze. Little irritating shit. Excuse my French.”

  “Do you know why someone would want to bother you?”

  “No idea.”

  “Odd.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Ah, Lakshmi.” Kasmir stared deep into his brandy snifter and shook his head.

  The two men sat before the fire in the study at Charing Cross, the walls, painted lobster bisque, reflecting the light.

  Upstairs the children slept. Downstairs their father agonized.

  “Saturday.” High’s jaw set hard, then he covered his eyes, simply mentioning the day his wife would return.

  “At least she didn’t mention divorce.” Kasmir ever sought to find the silver lining.

  “Not yet. What could I do?” He threw up his hands. “The sheriff had to question her. He had the decency to give me some hours to compose myself before he called her in Phoenix.” He paused. “Her sister will suggest divorce.” He paused again. “She’s never liked me.”

  “I remember.” Kasmir thought Mandy’s sister was one of those people who looks for what’s wrong instead of what’s right. The world is full of people like that.

  High took a long sip of his brandy. “I didn’t kill Aashi. I didn’t even know she was in Warrenton.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t,” Kasmir replied.

  High sat up, leaning forward in the deep-seated wing chair. “Why would I kill her? I liked her. She was so full of gaiety, laughter, and energy. She made me feel young.”

  “We aren’t that old, you know.”

  “Old enough.” High put his snifter on the coffee table. “Old enough to start worrying about getting old.”

  “Young women are an antidote. But I thought you had ended the affair. You wrote me last year that you had.” He half smiled. “I liked receiving the letter, but you made me laugh, saying you didn’t want to have this conversation on your cell, too many people could listen in. True, but why would they be listening to us?”

  “Between us we possess stores of information.”

  “Only about money.” Kasmir smiled.

  High fell back into his chair. “Exactly.”

  “Well, what are you going to do?”

  High opened his hands, palms outward. “Cooperate with the authorities.”

  “Of course. I mean, what are you going to do about Mandy?”

  “Isn’t it more, what is she going to do about me?”

  Kasmir pursed his lips. “She’ll rage and cry when the children are out of the house. Maybe she’ll throw things at you or force some penance upon you. I’ve heard jewelry or a new car absolves many such sins.”

  High grunted.

  They both stared into the fire; then Kasmir spoke again. “When did you fan the embers?”

  “Never really died. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The funny thing is, I love my wife. You know that. I love our children. I love our life together, but I needed Aashi. Is it so hard to understand?”

  Kasmir shrugged, “We’re men. Men understand. Women don’t. But let me pose the question: What would you do, were the situation reversed?”

  “She’d never,” High answered, too quickly.

  Kasmir nodded in agreement, while noting the haste. “Yes, yes, but what if, my old friend?”

  “Well”—High shifted in his seat—“well, I’d be furious. I wouldn’t hit her; I might want to but I wouldn’t. If the man were someone close, that would be a double betrayal. I’d want to kill him.”

  “Yes. That’s usually the case.”

  High grunted. “At least I spared her that—the double betrayal, I mean.”

  “She knew Aashi from when she was your secretary.”

  “Aashi wasn’t my secretary for long. She was bright. I helped her move up and out. Better for me too. Sometimes people can sniff those things out in an office. I don’t think anyone did.”

  “Someone did.”

  “No, they didn’t.” High looked quizzically at Kasmir, comfortable in his cashmere robe.

  “Who told the authorities you were having an affair with her?”

  High sat bolt upright. “I never thought of that.”

  “You’re too upset to think clearly,” Kasmir said, to soothe him.

  “Who could it be?”

  “Someone who observed you closely, perhaps.”

  “I’m retired. If they told the police anything from our office days, it would be old news.”

  “But whoever told the police indicated the affair was ongoing. Correct?”

  “Correct.” High felt even worse now.

  “Let us consider this logically, difficult as it is. Someone knew you and Aashi had either continued your affair or revived it; that detail will emerge in time, I suppose. Now, why would that be important?” He answered his own question. “You are a suspect. Men do kill their mistresses for all the old reasons. If there are new ones I know them not. You didn’t kill her. So whoever informed the sheriff—as I recall, the counties here have sheriffs, not police—at any rate, this person either thinks you are guilty or wants others to think so.”

  High’s right hand came to his forehead. “Kasmir, it can’t be true.”

  “Why?” the portly man pressed. “Why would someone wish to cast you in such a dreadful light? Do you have enemies here? Is someone seeking revenge from Craig and Abrams?”

  “I helped Craig and Abrams double their profits.” High, not an egotistical man, did know his worth. “Yes, there were those with whom I was not close, people I even disliked, but not to this degree. You remember. I told you who would drag their heels, no vision, or who would complain about my administrative habits.”

  “You did. Sometimes, Lakshmi, seemingly mild breasts harbor a deep reservoir of self-regard and hatred of others. It has been my experience that they reveal themselves when one is at one’s lowest.”

  “Possibly but—”

  “Is there anyone here, anyone you have crossed? Women like you. Perhaps some Virginia lady fell victim to your charms and her husband felt otherwise.”

  “No. I flatter the ladies, as you do. That’s what one does. Sometimes Crawford Howard, Ramsey Merriman, Clayton Harper, and I would drive to D.C. I’d slip off for an hour, but I don’t think they knew.”

  Kasmir sighed. “Then allow me to suggest a truly offensive possibility but one not out of the realm of my observations of life. What if Mandy killed Aashi?”

  “Are you out of your mind, Kasmir? She is the most gentle of women.”

  “Not now. She may have taken the news with relative calm on the telephone, but once home I wouldn’t expect the calm to continue.”

  “Murder? My wife murder another woman? No.”

  “Aashi wasn’t just another woman. She was your mistress and she was some twenty years younger than your wife, who was one of the world’s great beauties, to be sure, but is now middle-aged. This preys on a woman’s mind even as it preys on our own. Madhur”—he used her real full name—“must be facing the loss of this beauty, or the power of it.”

  “She’s not that superficial.”

  “Lakshmi, a woman’s face is her fortune. Myse
lf, I believe your wife is more beautiful than ever. The years have burnished her beauty, motherhood has softened her, but a mistress, especially a young and gorgeous one, strikes at a woman’s heart.”

  “I know,” High said quietly, feeling wretched.

  “Was there time for Mandy to kill Aashi?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t keep a leash on her at the ball. I suppose.” He threw up his hands. “This is absurd. She would never do such a thing.”

  “Yes, yes, but what if she had cracked your passwords or your communication with Aashi? She could have sent her an e-mail telling her to meet you at the Hampton Inn. Simple.”

  “You’re supposing my wife ransacked my computer, found my secret files, and then proceeded to bait Aashi?”

  “Your wife can use a computer better than most of us.”

  “She wouldn’t.”

  “She had powerful motivation. So now I come to my next question. If she did kill Aashi, will you protect Mandy and say you did it?” Kasmir wanted to know if High loved his wife as much as he said.

  High shut his eyes and covered them with his right hand. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 15

  That same evening, Tuesday, February 26, light shone through another glass, this one filled with single cask brandy and firmly gripped in Clayton Harper’s fist.

  A small group of dedicated people had met at Tricorne Farm, a modest but pretty place owned by the Franklins, for the purpose of considering fund-raisers for the Thoroughbred Retirement Fund.

  Betty and Bobby Franklin, Peggy Augustus, Ilona and Ramsey Merriman, Cabel and Clayton Harper, Sister Jane, Tedi and Edward Bancroft, and Sam Lorillard comprised the group.

  All were in agreement concerning the fund-raiser party, but Cabel shocked everyone by saying the theme should be Lady Godiva—lots of naked women on horses. Ilona nearly slapped her. Cabel apologized for her insensitive humor and flounced off. Bobby winced when he heard gravel and snow churn in the drive as she peeled out.

  The meeting over, the gathering congenial, they broke into small knots to talk horses, hounds, people.

  Sister picked up a cleaned-off vegetable tray and walked back to the kitchen to refresh it. She and Betty had the run of one another’s houses, so it wasn’t rude of her.

  Clayton followed her into the kitchen, reaching for some small scrubbed carrots. “Betty fixed this herself. Some folks just buy stuff from the supermarket, ready made. But that frozen tomato cannonball she makes can’t be duplicated. I’ve begged Cabel to make it and she does, but it’s not the same and Betty won’t reveal her secret.”

  “Does Cabel use crushed pineapple?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about Worcestershire sauce?”

  “Yep.” He took a big gulp of his brandy. The glass had been almost full, so great was his tolerance for alcohol. “You wouldn’t happen to know the recipe, would you?”

  “She won’t even tell me and I’m her best friend.” Sister laughed. “Maybe the great question is Hellmann’s or Duke’s?”

  Southern women were divided between these two mayonnaises, fiercely defending the virtues of each, although one is to make one’s own mayonnaise. Who has the time, hence the debate.

  “Matters even more than Coke or Pepsi.” Clayton’s laugh was deep and comforting, and for a moment the tiny broken veins in his puffy face seemed to recede. “You’re a Duke’s.”

  “What a memory.”

  “I remember a lot of things.” He sipped once more. “I may drink like a fish but my mind’s still good.”

  She turned to face him, setting the tray back on the counter. “Clayton, stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop drinking.”

  He put the glass on the counter next to the vegetables and folded his arms across his chest. “Give me one good reason to take away one of the sustaining joys of my life.”

  “Your life itself. You’ll kill yourself with that stuff.”

  “We all have to die sometime, and I’m having a good time while I’m doing it.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  He looked into her eyes, saying without apology, “I’m a coward.”

  “I don’t remember you being a coward. I remember you working your tail off, building a good business, riding hard to hounds in the bargain. I remember you raising three great kids, all married and doing well.”

  “Cabel can take most of the credit for that. I think the mother usually can. I did my part, although I worked too late and too long, but it always comes back to the mother.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen some sorry mothers. But that begs the question. Clayton, look at yourself.”

  He unfolded his arms and hugged her spontaneously. “You’re one of the only people in my life who will tell me the truth.”

  She hugged him back. “I will and I am. I care about you, Clayton. Many of the people in the club care about you. You can stop.”

  “Then my nerve endings will wake up.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “Jane, Cabel has many good qualities, but for the last ten years or so, they’ve been lost on me. Goddamn but she’s a whistling bitch! I suppose part of it is, the more she nags the more I drink. Her revenge is to spend money. And for a smart woman she can be dumb. She’s having some health problems, little things. Her hair is falling out. She wears a wig. Her legs hurt. No one knows but Ilona. Will she go to a doctor, no! She won’t get a mammogram, blood work, just won’t.” He shrugged. “I just sleep with as many women as will have me. Drives her crazy. I told her she could sleep with whomever she wanted; I didn’t care. She slapped me.” He laughed.

  “Leave.”

  “Yeah, I think about that when I wake up in the morning, before I pour a little Knockando in my coffee. But you know, it was her money that started my business. I owe her that.”

  “You’ve repaid her many times over. Divorce her. Split your assets and gird your loins for all her stories about what a shit you are.”

  “Well, if I sober up I’d better call all the women I’ve slept with, because she’ll ferret them out and tell everyone.”

  “She already has.”

  Betty walked in, perceived the intense conversation, picked up the filled tray, and sailed out. Sister looked after her with affection.

  “There are some she doesn’t know about.”

  “Good on you.” Sister laughed.

  He laughed back. “You’d be surprised how a fat drunk can still get the girls.”

  “You’re a lot more than that. Women like you. Always have.” She put her hand on his forearm. “Clayton, Sam Lorillard fell far lower than you could imagine falling. He changed.”

  He gulped the rest of his drink as though he’d crawled across the Sahara. “Cabel declares she loves me, but it never felt like love. It felt like a vise, even before I married her.”

  “So you married her for the money and for the feeling of being central to someone’s life?”

  “Male ego. A woman tells you she can’t live without you. I love you doesn’t cut as much ice as I can’t live without you.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  That made Clayton laugh. “Clear-eyed as always. I wish I could be more like you.”

  “Look, Sam is out there. He’ll help you. We’ll all help you.” A gust of anger swept over her. “Clayton, you have balls. Use them!”

  He put the empty glass in the sink, washed it out slowly, and turned to her. “You know, Jane, I wouldn’t take that from anyone but you.”

  “I know.” She tactfully left the kitchen so he could compose himself. A few minutes later she saw Clayton and Sam talking in the living room.

  Betty smiled at Sister, who smiled back.

  CHAPTER 16

  Thick icy fog shrouded the soft rolling hills of central Virginia. Early colonists called this a pogonip, a word borrowed from the Native Americans and no doubt somewhat altered in the process. A pogonip freezes on trees, stones, and rooftops and then melt
s on the earth, warmer than the air. Superstition has it that evil spirits frolic but Marion, driving very slowly, thought superstition just that.

  Usually on Wednesday she trooped in a half hour before opening, it being her “late” morning. But last night she had had a dinner date with an old flame and had neglected to take her paperwork home. Why sit through dinner fretting over paperwork? Better to rise early and knock it out at the office.

  She could barely see the store as she turned into the top drive and parked next to the building. But approaching the door she gasped, stopped, and her hand flew to her heart. A corpse sat astride a child’s hobby horse. She forced herself to breathe deeply, then gingerly approached the naked white figure. The fog intensified her dread. Not until she was up close did she discover the corpse was a mannequin.

  She slumped against her front door. What a sick joke. Furious, she reached over to push the wretched thing over and smash it to bits but then stopped herself. The sheriff would want to see this.

  Flipping open her cell, she speed-dialed the department, the first number she had programmed on her new phone. Since the murder she’d put the number on speed dial, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it. She wanted someone over here fast because the mannequin needed to be removed. The townspeople wouldn’t enjoy the joke any more than she did.

  Thank heaven Trigger was in the store. She couldn’t have faced a mannequin on him.

  Next she dialed Sister.

  “Good morning,” came Sister’s cheery voice. The hounds could be heard in the background for she was in the kennel.

  “Sister, someone put a naked mannequin on a hobby horse in front of the store. Thank God there’s a thick fog.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “How sick is that?”

  “Sick. I assume you called the sheriff.”

  “Someone is on the way. I want to get this damn thing out of here. I can’t believe it. My heart stopped. Stopped. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think of was Why? and then I was terrified I’d know the victim.”

  “Is the store all right?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll go in right now.” Marion fished out her keys, opened the lock, stepped in, and hit the lights. “Well, it’s a quick look, but I don’t think anyone has been in here.” She exhaled loudly. “I could kill. I could just kill!”