3 A Basket of Trouble

by Beth Groundwater

  The two of them took off running, the hard soles of their leather boots crunching in the gravel.

  Claire started after them, but Dave put a hand on her arm. “We should tell Jessica, get her to call 911.”

  She looked back at Ellen and Dave, apprehension tightening their lips and shoulders. “Yes, do that, but I know first aid. If Kyle’s just hurt and not really dead, I should see if there’s something I can do.”

  “I’ll get the first-aid kit out of the car for you,” Roger said.

  “Good idea. Wait here,” Claire said to Ellen and Dave then ran as fast as she could toward the barn.

  When she entered, huffing to catch her breath, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the diminished light. A group of five men huddled outside Gunpowder’s stall, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. The other horses snorted and shuffled in their stalls, obviously spooked.

  One man made a grab for Gunpowder’s halter, and the horse let out a chilling scream. He bucked and kicked the back of his stall with a resounding thump, making Claire and the others start.

  “How long have you been trying to get Gunpowder out?” Charley asked.

  “Not long,” Jorge said. “As soon as we got here this morning, we brought the mares in from the pasture. I wondered why they were acting so loco, then I saw Gunpowder smashed against the side of his stall. I looked in and saw Kyle—and sangre, the blood. I yelled for Pedro to get you.”

  “We’ve got to get in there and check on Kyle.” Charley directed the men to open the gate to an empty stall. He sent one to grab a blanket. “And someone call 911!”

  “Our friend Dave’s telling Jessica to call,” Claire said.

  “Good, good.” Charley barely looked at her before turning to Jorge. “Can you calm him?”

  “I will try.” Jorge stood outside the bar gate across the front of Gunpowder’s stall. He made calming “shush, shush, shush” sounds to the horse and held out a mini-carrot on his palm.

  Gunpowder was having none of it. He high-stepped back and forth along one side of his stall, chafing his flank against the planking. Eyes rolled back in terror, he tossed his head up and down, whipping his mane against his neck.

  Claire realized the horse was avoiding the other side of his stall, staying as far away as possible. She shuddered to think of what lay there.

  “Okay, everyone,” Charley said, “calm down and back away, unless I’ve given you a task. Gunpowder can sense our fear.”

  Overlying the sweet, dry straw smell and faint odor of horse urine were the ripe scents of human and horse sweat—nervous, fearful sweat.

  Charley waved a hand. “Pedro and Gil, go calm the other horses.”

  The men moved to do his bidding.

  Jorge continued to calmly shush and cajole Gunpowder until the horse stood still, snorting and tossing his head. As Claire held her breath, Gunpowder finally stepped toward Jorge and blew on the hand holding the carrot. Jorge ran his other hand along Gunpowder’s neck, stroking it slowly, until the horse took the carrot. Then he stroked Gunpowder’s neck with both hands. He put his face in front of the horse’s and breathed in rhythm with him.

  Roger came up beside Claire and gave her the first-aid kit. She put a finger to her lips.

  After a moment, Charley asked, “Should we blanket him?”

  Jorge shook his head, while continuing to breathe with the horse, then took hold of his bridle and took a step back. Gunpowder followed. While everyone in the barn watched silently, Jorge slowly backed Gunpowder out of his stall and into the empty one across the aisle. He gave the horse another carrot, then closed the gate.

  With a collective sigh of relief, everyone moved toward Gunpowder’s empty stall. Charley went in and knelt in the straw. Claire followed and leaned over his shoulder.

  A bloodied body lay against the side of the stall, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. Flies buzzed around the blood-soaked hay underneath. A strong copper scent permeated the air. The body was clothed in the same blue jeans and blue-checked work shirt that Kyle had worn the day before. The face was bruised and the nose smashed, but Claire could tell that it was Kyle.

  Charley felt Kyle’s wrist. His shoulders drooped, and he turned to Claire. “He’s cold.” Utter dejection lined his features.

  Claire checked for herself and glanced at the first-aid kit. No need for that now. She put a hand on Charley’s shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do for him. He’s been dead for hours.”

  “Santa Madre de Dios.” Pedro crossed himself.

  “God damn,” Roger murmured.

  “I’m sorry, Charley.” Claire sighed. “All we can do is wait for the police and EMTs to arrive. We shouldn’t touch or move anything.”

  Jessica ran into the barn. “The ambulance is on its way. Where’s Kyle?” She stopped at the entrance to the stall and gasped. She put one hand to her mouth and flung another out, her body wavering.

  Roger caught her around the shoulders and held her. “He’s gone,” he whispered.

  Charley rose and moved out of the stall like an automaton. He stood with his back to the group, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he faced them again, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “I can’t believe Gunpowder did this.”

  Jessica turned her head into Roger’s shoulder and started sobbing.

  Jorge shook his head and lined the toe of his boot through the dirt. One of the other men took off his hat and held it against his chest, then the others followed suit. Even the horses were silent, now that Gunpowder had calmed down.

  By unspoken agreement, everyone in the barn bowed their heads in a moment of silence. When Claire raised hers, dust motes gleamed in the beam of sunlight streaming through the open doorway. She felt as if she were in a chapel, in the presence of mourners.

  Charley looked at Jessica, pain etched in the lines of his face. “Oh, God, Kyle’s family. What’ll I say to them?”

  ———

  A few minutes later, as Claire and Roger filled in Ellen and Dave on what had happened, a Colorado Springs Police Department cruiser drove into the parking lot. Two uniformed officers got out of the cruiser and approached them, then stopped and turned when a fire rescue truck and an ambulance drove up with lights flashing. They bypassed the parking lot and drove as far into the stable yard as possible. With a cacophony of slamming doors, the firemen and EMTs exited their vehicles. The two EMTs started unloading a stretcher from the back of the ambulance.

  Claire walked over to them. “The person’s been dead for awhile. The body’s already cold.”

  They kept on unloading the stretcher. “We’ll decide that,” one said brusquely.

  Claire nodded and waved a hand toward the barn. “He’s in the barn.”

  The EMTs hustled toward the barn with the firemen following.

  One of the patrolmen took out a pad of paper and pen. “What’s the name of the victim?”

  “Kyle Mendoza,” Claire answered. “He worked as a wrangler here.”

  An unmarked gray Dodge Charger drove into the lot and a tall, large-boned man wearing a gray suit got out. As he walked toward them, head down, one of the uniformed cops called out, “Detective, this lady says the body’s cold.”

  The man lifted his head, and with a shock, Claire realized she knew him. He was Frank Wilson, a senior detective with the CSPD. They had butted heads on a previous murder case in February. The male victim had fallen on Claire, shot through the chest while giving her a massage, and Detective Wilson had erroneously arrested Roger for the crime.

  Wilson ran a slim-fingered hand through his gray-flecked black hair. “What do the EMTs say?”

  Before the cop could answer, the two firemen walked out of the barn shaking their heads. When they reached the group, they said, “She’s right. The body’s cold. The EMTs are filling out the paperwork now.”

  “H
opefully they aren’t disturbing the scene,” Wilson replied then turned to the patrolman who had shouted. “Call the coroner’s office.”

  While the patrolman talked into his shoulder radio and the firemen returned to their truck, Roger touched Claire’s arm. When she glanced at him, he mouthed one word, “trouble.”

  She gulped, nodded, and focused on Detective Wilson, whose familiar, knowing gray eyes were now boring in on them. “What are you doing here?”

  She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “My brother, Charley Gardner, owns this stable.”

  Detective Wilson’s stone-faced gaze fell next on Ellen and Dave. “Stay right here. All of you. I’ll need to talk to you later.” He turned to the two patrolmen. “One of you stay with them and start collecting IDs. The other come with me.”

  After he left, the remaining patrolman got basic information from the four of them, names, addresses, and so on. “Was one of you the lady who called 911?”

  “No, that was Jessica, Charley’s wife,” Claire said. “She’s still in the barn.”

  The patrolman radioed his cohort. Soon, Jessica came out of the barn. Her face was red and blotchy, and she carried a box of tissues with her. She ran for Claire, who opened her arms wide for her. After clutching Claire for a while, Jessica pulled back.

  “Oh, Claire, I can’t believe it! Kyle dead. It’s just too awful to think about.”

  Claire rubbed Jessica’s back, wondering if this death of a young person was dredging up painful memories of Jessica’s and Charley’s daughter’s death. “I know. I know. He was so young.”

  At that moment a large van with the logo of the El Paso County Coroner’s Office on the side drove into the parking lot. A woman got out, carrying a large black case. The driver, a man, pulled a gurney out of the back of the van and followed her.

  The woman came up to them and said to the patrolman, “I’m a forensic investigator from the coroner’s office. Can you tell me where the victim is?”

  “Victim!” Jessica wailed and grabbed a tissue from her box to dab at fresh tears.

  “In the barn,” Roger answered tersely and pointed.

  The woman nodded, then looked at Jessica with sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She turned and walked toward the barn.

  Another car arrived in the parking lot, taking the last open spot. A family of four—mother, father, and two teenage boys—got out. They gawked at the police cars, fire truck, ambulance, and coroner’s van.

  “Who are they?” the patrolman asked.

  “Oh, dear,” Jessica said between sniffs. “They’re the rest of the morning trail ride group.”

  “You’ll have to cancel that ride,” the patrolman said. “We don’t want anyone going in that barn until we’re done.”

  “What’ll I tell them?” Jessica asked.

  “Just that there’s been an emergency,” Claire said, “and you’ll have to reschedule their ride. C’mon, Roger and I will go with you.”

  She looked at the patrolman for assurance and he nodded. By the time the three of them had gotten rid of the curious family, with Jessica’s promise to call them later to reschedule their ride, the fire truck had left and Detective Wilson had returned.

  “I’d like to talk to you first, Mrs. Hanover. Your brother tells me that you were with him when he confirmed Mr. Mendoza was dead.”

  He led her over to a picnic table away from the others, and the two of them sat. Claire filled him in on everything she saw after she entered the barn. After Detective Wilson had finished questioning her, she asked, “So did Gunpowder kill Kyle Mendoza?”

  “Sure looks that way,” he said. “But we’ll have to wait on the autopsy results to be sure.”

  Claire shook her head. “He seemed like such a well-behaved horse when Charley introduced me to him yesterday. I can’t imagine him stomping a man to death.”

  “If he did, that horse needs to be put down.” Detective Wilson stood and slapped his notepad against his palm. “And I assume you won’t be poking your nose into this case.”

  Claire bristled at his warning. “There’s no reason to. It was an accident, a horrible accident, not a murder case where you arrested the wrong man. A man who happened to be my husband.”

  Wilson flinched, then seemed to realize that she was totally right and he couldn’t say anything about it. “So where were you and your husband last night?”

  “I thought you thought this was an accident!”

  “Just being thorough.”

  Claire folded her arms. “We went out to eat and to a movie. I’ve got the credit card receipts to prove it.”

  He nodded and waved Roger over. “You can go while I talk to your husband.”

  His conversation with Roger was brief, and with the Reddings even briefer, since they hadn’t gone into the barn and had no connection with the business or Kyle Mendoza. When he finished with them, he said, “You four are free to go.”

  “I want to stay,” Claire said to Ellen, “in case I can help Jessica and Charley with anything.”

  Ellen nodded. “We’ll get out of your hair.” She turned to Jessica. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back. We’ll reschedule our trail ride for another day.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Jessica replied, wringing her hands. “Once we know when we can resume them, I’ll contact Claire. Thank you for being so understanding.”

  After the Reddings left, Detective Wilson briefly interviewed Jessica at the picnic table. Since Jessica hadn’t been in the barn that morning either, Claire knew she couldn’t offer much information. After a few minutes, Jessica went in the trailer and Wilson rejoined Claire and Roger and the patrolman.

  Jessica came out with a sheet of paper. As she handed it to Wilson, she said, “Here’s contact information for Kyle’s family. I thought Charley and I were going to have to break the news to the Mendozas. It’s a relief to know you’ll be the one to do it, but we should still talk to them about it. I know, we both know … how devastating it is to lose a child.”

  She clamped her lips shut and stood looking at the ground with her eyes blinking furiously and her hands clenched around her biceps. Claire put an arm around Jessica’s shoulders. They all waited silently for a moment.

  Finally, Jessica sucked in a deep breath and looked up at Wilson. “When will you tell the Mendozas?”

  “After we’re done here. Once the coroner’s office takes the body and the officer up there has finished taking photos, I’ll drive over to their home.” He glanced at the address. “If anyone’s there, I’ll tell them then. Otherwise, I’ll call the father’s work number.”

  Jessica worried the tissue in her hand. “Will you let me know once you’ve told them?”

  “Sure thing.” A noise from the barn made him look in that direction.

  Everyone else did, too.

  The woman and man from the coroner’s office were wheeling the gurney down from the barn. A filled blue plastic body bag lay strapped onto the top of the gurney. The EMTs, Charley, and the wranglers followed silently, heads bowed as if in a funeral procession. Jorge wasn’t in the group, though. Claire assumed he had stayed with Gunpowder to continue calming the horse.

  No one spoke as the gurney passed Claire’s group. Charley and the wranglers stopped next to them to watch the gurney continue on, and Charley put his arm around Jessica. The only sound came from a black crow’s raucous caw in the distance. A man walking his golden retriever along the road stopped and reined in his dog. Both stared as the EMTs helped the coroner’s team lift Kyle’s body into the van.

  The two patrolmen got in their cruiser, and the EMTs climbed in their ambulance. They followed the coroner’s van out of the lot. Detective Wilson said his goodbyes and told Charley and Jessica he would call them after notifying the Mendozas.

  “And you’ll let us know what the autopsy says?” Charley asked.


  “Yes, I’ll tell you the final conclusion,” Wilson replied. “But if you want the full report, you’ll have to request it from the coroner’s office.” He paused. “If I was you, I’d start thinking about what to do with that horse. If it’s a killer, you don’t want it around tourists.”

  A pained look crossed Charley’s face, but he nodded.

  As Wilson drove off in his unmarked car, the wranglers shuffled nervously, hands in their pockets, heads down.

  Charley heaved out a great sigh. “No trail rides today. Pedro and Gil, turn the horses out to pasture. Then I want you to clean Gunpowder’s stall thoroughly. The cops released the scene to us. Since there’s blood on the straw, put on some of the latex gloves that are in the stable’s medical kit.”

  The two men turned and headed for the barn.

  Charley motioned for the last wrangler to join him, Jessica, Claire, and Roger. “I want to introduce you to Hank Isley. He would have been the rear guide for your trail ride, with Kyle as the lead. Hank, this is my sister, Claire Hanover, and her husband, Roger.”

  Hank muttered, “Nice to meet ya’,” as he shook their hands.

  He looked to be in his early twenties. His light brown hair curled over the collar of his Western work shirt and a handlebar mustache drooped on either side of his mouth. Like all of the men, his face was tanned from working outdoors.

  Charley put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Since we’ve got no rides going out today, how about if you take the truck and fetch and unload this week’s hay? I was going to do it, but I’ll need to talk to Kyle’s family instead.”

  A dark look passed over Hank’s features, as if he disliked his chore assignment, but he just nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” He turned and walked away.

  Charley looked at Jessica. His eyes widened as if this was the first time he had noticed that his wife’s face was tear-stained. He enveloped her in an embrace. “Sorry, honey. This has been hard on you, hasn’t it?”

  Jessica nodded into his chest then pulled back. “I’ve got to cancel the afternoon ride, then talk to Kyle’s family. I can’t help but remember how we felt after Faith died. I don’t know how I’m going to face them.”