“I’ll have to talk to the coroner,” Wilson said. “See if that’s a reasonable scenario for the abrasions on Mendoza’s palms.”
He stood, turned off his recorder and pocketed it. “If that’s so, and ballistics matches the bullet that the forensic investigator thinks is still in Kaplan’s head to his gun, then he’s given us a gift. The gift of both solving the Mendoza murder case and getting rid of the killer. A nice package all tied up with a pretty bow.” He smiled wryly at Claire. “Much like one of your gift baskets.”
“Getting back to some semblance of normality here would be great, but our reputation’s going to get worse before it gets better once word of another death gets out.” Charley set down his coffee mug and rubbed his face. Lines of worry and fatigue etched his brow. “I still feel guilty for firing Gil.”
Wilson put a hand on his shoulder. “I may have helped nail the lid on his coffin, too. Given that Kaplan was the last person to see Mendoza, I was pushing him—hard. I’d asked him to come in today for another interview. Hell, that’s probably what made him decide to do himself in.”
A flash lit up the Western sky, followed almost immediately by a loud boom. All three of them flinched.
“With that final note, I’ll head out.” Wilson walked off the porch into the rain.
As Claire watched him go, she fervently hoped that the ballistics test and the coroner backed up Wilson’s conclusions. If not, they would have not just one, but two unsolved murders on their hands—and on Charley’s property.
———
An hour later, Claire looked out the trailer window. The heavy rain that had swept off the mountains had slowed to a drizzle. After stowing Gil’s body in the coroner’s van, Detective Wilson and most of the investigative team had left soon after the deluge started. One patrol officer remained, stationed in the parking lot to watch over Gil’s car until a city tow truck came to take the car to the police impound lot.
Wilson had said the tow trucks usually respond quickly to crime scenes, but there had been a multi-car crash on Powers Boulevard involving city vehicles. Charley had promised to keep his employees and customers away from the parking lot and the drooping police tape staked around it while they waited. The officer had just come in the office for a restroom break and asked Charley to watch Gil’s car while he did. The way the man was mincing his steps told Claire he had waited as long as humanly possible before taking a break.
She stood and picked up her purse and a plastic sack. It held Jessica’s contributions to the horseback riding gift basket, including a certificate for a buy-one-get-one trail ride. Charley had originally planned to donate a free trail ride for two, but with the negative effect of the recent events on his business, he had asked Jessica to change it. This was yet another reason for Claire to worry about her little brother—who nowadays stood five inches taller than she.
She waved goodbye to Jessica, who was on the phone, and stepped out onto the porch, where Charley stood watching Gil’s car. “Looks like I can head home now.”
Charley looking up at the gray clouds. “Depressing day, huh? I can’t see how things could get any worse.”
Just then a faded red Honda pulled into the lot. Something about the vehicle seemed familiar to Claire. While she stared at it, a short middle-aged man with wispy brown hair got out. He walked over to the police tape surrounding Gil’s car.
“Marvin Bradshaw!” Claire spit out the name and trotted down the porch steps.
Charley followed her. “Who?”
“A reporter from the Gazette,” Claire shot over her shoulder.
Bradshaw raised the police tape and stepped under it.
“Hey,” Charley yelled. “Get away from that!”
Startled, Bradshaw jerked, dropping a small camera onto the wet asphalt. “Shit!”
He bent down. His fingers scrabbled to pick up the camera while he kept glancing at Claire and Charley’s approach. He was able to pocket the camera and slip back outside the police tape before the two of them arrived.
Claire was huffing from exertion and indignation. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” she said to Bradshaw, swiping a drop of rain off the end of her nose.
Recognition dawned in his widening eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“No,” Charley said. “What are you doing here?”
Bradshaw dug a card out of the pocket of his rain jacket and handed it to Charley. “I’m a reporter from the Gazette. I know who she is.” He jerked his thumb at Claire. “But who are you?”
“Charley Gardner,” Charley answered. “Her brother and the owner of this property.”
“How do you do?” Bradshaw held out a hand. When Charley didn’t shake it, he let his arm drop. “So, what happened here?”
“Don’t say a word, Charley.” Claire advanced on the reporter, fists clenched. “You’ve already insinuated that someone here at the stable killed Kyle Mendoza, costing Charley who knows how much business. Why in the world should he talk to you if you keep jumping to unfounded conclusions? Conclusions that hurt his reputation and livelihood!”
Bradshaw stepped back and held up his palms. “Look, I tried to talk to someone here before I published that story, but the woman who answers the phone kept saying, ‘No comment.’”
Claire and Charley looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Jessica.”
“You ended up cooperating with me before on that other case, Mrs. Hanover. As I said that time, if I can get both sides of the story, I can publish a more accurate article.”
“Both sides! Who have you been talking to?” Claire had a sneaking suspicion.
“A Nancy Schwartz and her lovely daughter Brittany.”
Claire rolled her eyes at Charley. “Who knows what kind of garbage that jealous woman told him.” She sighed. “I think you’d better talk to him.”
Bradshaw grinned. “Thanks, Mrs. Hanover. I really appreciate it.”
Charley furrowed his brows. “Maybe we should ask Detective Wilson before we talk to this guy.”
“Ah, now that I know who’s caught the case,” Bradshaw said, “I can get a lot of what I need directly from him.”
“But first we need to know what Nancy Schwartz told you,” Claire said. “And we need to make sure you don’t print her lies and wind up being sued for libel.” She glared at Bradshaw.
“Yes, I would advise that.” He rocked back on his heels. “Wholeheartedly.”
Charley looked to the heavens, and drizzle ran off the brim of his Stetson. He blew out a breath and focused his gaze on Bradshaw. “I suppose you should come inside.”
So much for finishing that basket today. “If you want, I’ll stay while you talk to him.”
“Please.” Charley turned toward the trailer.
Bradshaw fell in step beside him. “Now, tell me, who was murdered this time?”
Claire grabbed him by the elbow. “You have got this story so wrong!”
———
That evening, Claire walked into the local fire station’s public meeting room, following Charley and Jessica. Trepidation slowed her steps. While they had been talking to Bradshaw, Charley answered a call from the board president of the homeowner’s association for the neighborhood nearest the stable. The board had organized an emergency meeting after receiving numerous calls from members with complaints and questions about the stable after the news of Gil’s death hit the TV and radio stations. The president invited Charley and Jessica to come and answer questions—and presumably defend themselves.
Wanting at least one friendly face in the room, Charley had asked Claire to come, too. Since Roger was away on his business trip until Friday, she accepted readily. She took a seat on one of the folding chairs set up in rows before a cafeteria-sized table where the board would sit. Jessica and Charley walked up to the table to talk to the board president.
Whil
e they conferred, Claire studied the others who had come, about forty overall. A few were glancing at Charley and Jessica with curiosity, but others’ looks were full of hostility—or fear. Then the little old man who had complained to Charley at the opening event walked in. His jaw moved as if he was grinding his teeth, and his hands were clenched tightly.
Uh oh, trouble. Claire glanced up front, and Jessica gave her a thumbs-up sign. Claire returned it but knew her thumb was lying. This meeting would not go well.
Standing behind the table, the board president banged a gavel on the top. He asked everyone to take their seats. Chairs squeaked as bodies settled into them. Charley and Jessica sat in front next to the board members’ table.
The president held up a hand for quiet. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. The board has received several phone calls from residents about the death at Gardner’s Stables this morning. Rather than let rumors propagate through the neighborhood, we asked Charley and Jessica Gardner here to answer those questions themselves.”
He nodded to the two of them. “We appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to talk to us.”
He turned back to the audience. “I’ll start with what we know. I just got off the phone with the police department. The victim this morning was Gil Kaplan, a wrangler who worked for Charley Gardner and lived alone. They won’t know for sure what the cause of death was until after they process the evidence they collected and conduct an autopsy. But Mr. Gardner here, who found the victim, told me that suicide is suspected.”
A man held up his hand. “Any connection between this suicide and the murder of the Mendoza guy?”
The president looked at Charley.
Jessica made as if to speak, but Charley shook his head. He stood and wiped his hands on his thighs before speaking. “There’s some indication that Gil Kaplan may have been the one who killed Kyle Mendoza. We suspect he committed suicide out of guilt, but we won’t know for sure for a few days.”
The little old man who had confronted Charley at the opening celebration stood. “What if it’s not that at all? What if both of these men were murdered? Maybe something dangerous is going on at Gardner’s Stables, something that could spill out in our neighborhood and harm us. For all we know, you could be dealing drugs there.”
The room erupted into murmurs, some angry and some scornful of the man’s inflammatory words. Thank goodness some of these people have some sense, Claire thought. Many heads were nodding in agreement with the old man, though.
Charley held up a hand. “You folks are welcome to come to the stable and check us out. You won’t find any drugs on the property, except medications for taking care of sick horses. The police have thoroughly searched the grounds, too, and they haven’t found drugs or anything else illegal.”
“As for danger,” he added. “I don’t see any. If it’s true that Gil murdered Kyle, then both cases will be closed, and the killer is no longer with us. You shouldn’t need to worry about the safety of your families any more than you usually do.”
The old man screwed up his mouth as if he had tasted something bad and was ready to spit it out. “Only about the safety of our dogs, and our kids, and ourselves when we take a walk in the open space, for fear some out-of-control horse will stomp on us. Isn’t that how that Mendoza guy was killed?”
More rustling and talk came from the audience until Charley held up his hand again. “The police have evidence that Kyle Mendoza was hit on the head with a tool. That’s probably what killed him, not the horse.”
Charley was exaggerating a little, but the truth wasn’t far off. Claire looked around. This time the audience seemed quieter, a little more respectful.
“Regardless,” the old man said, “we didn’t have any of these issues until your stable muscled its way into our neighborhood. It’s smelly, dangerous, and you’re not good neighbors.”
Charley reddened, and Claire could tell he was working hard to hold back his anger. “That’s not true. Jessica and I have made a concerted effort to be good neighbors. We’ve contacted all the HOAs in the area, given coupons to all of you for discounted rides. We invited you to our opening and to stop by anytime.”
Jessica stood and took Charley’s arm. It was a show of support, but Claire knew it was also a hint for Charley to calm down. “We clean up after our horses on the paved trails,” she added. “And we keep our stable clean. As for the smell, we keep it down by storing our manure in a dumpster with a lid. It’s hauled away every week.”
Charley turned to the board president. “We’ve bent over backward to be good neighbors, but if there’s anything else you think we should be doing, we’ll listen.”
The old man bristled, “But that—”
“That’s enough, Norm,” the board president said. “We’re not here to rehash old arguments that have already been resolved. We’re just here to answer questions about the deaths that have occurred at the stable. Please take your seat.”
About time! Claire felt like applauding.
The president paused and stared down the old guy until, huffing with indignation, he sat. A tall, muscular man sitting behind Norm gave him a pat on the shoulder and a thumbs-up, then settled back with his arms crossed. His belligerent frown showed he had already made up his mind that Charley’s stable was bad news.
When Charley and Jessica retook their seats, Claire wished she could give her brother a pat on the shoulder, too. She glanced around. Many people still looked either worried or angry.
The president surveyed the rest of the audience. “Now, does anyone else have a question or concern?”
After that, the questioning was more polite. Claire tuned out the give and take while she mulled over the heated exchange with the old man. The horse barn wasn’t ever locked. That was so if a wildfire threatened the stable, anyone could get the horses out.
Could Norm, or someone else in the neighborhood who resented the stable’s presence just as much, have gone into the stable after Gil walloped Kyle, maybe to cause some mischief ? Could he have come across Kyle Mendoza’s unconscious body? Then dragged Kyle into Gunpowder’s stall, hoping the horse would batter Kyle and the stable would be discredited? But Claire couldn’t see Norm standing up to Gunpowder.
His large friend, though, she could.
eleven:
apologies and wounds
“I still can’t believe Gil killed himself,” Brittany said to Claire the next afternoon.
They were walking on either side of Daisy while keeping an eye on the balance of the plump teenage girl with Down syndrome in the saddle. She was following directions from Jessica, who was walking about ten feet in front of the horse and studying the girl’s moves.
“We probably shouldn’t talk about this in front of Robin.” Claire glanced up at Robin.
Thankfully, Robin seemed to be focused on steering the placid horse without messing up her fingernails rather than on Brittany’s words. Someone had painted Robin’s nails expertly with baby blue polish that matched her eye shadow. And her cologne was a pleasant lilac scent that lightened the corral’s earthy aromas of straw, horseflesh, and sun-baked dirt.
Claire returned her attention to Brittany. “I do need to tell you something, though. Charley and I had to spend a lot of time with that Gazette reporter Marvin Bradshaw yesterday. We had to clear up all the misconceptions he got from talking to you and your mother.” She peered at Brittany over Daisy’s rump.
Brittany bit her lip and gave Claire a remorseful look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk to him in the first place, but Mom dragged me into it.”
“Believe me, I know how mothers can be. Remember I’m one myself.” Claire rolled her eyes to lighten the mood. “But I’m sure you don’t want Charley’s business or Jessica’s charity to be hurt, either.”
“Oh, no, not at all!” Brittany’s eyes widened, then she frowned. “I won’t talk to th
at reporter ever again. But I can’t keep Mom from talking to him.”
“I understand.” But Claire wondered if there was some way she could put a clamp on Nancy’s rumor-mongering.
A delighted laugh from Robin turned Claire’s thoughts to happier things. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, and she was helping this girl gain self-confidence along with physical coordination and balance.
“That’s great, Robin,” Jessica said with enthusiasm. “Now see if you can make Daisy do the whole figure eight without my help. Use the reins to turn her.”
Claire looked up at Robin. She was in her late teens, but her Down syndrome features and her smile of pure glee made her look younger. She stuck a tongue out between her teeth and focused on pulling Daisy’s reins to the left so the horse would turn around the tall pole stuck in the ground. As the horse made the turn, Robin leaned into it—a little too far. Claire pushed against Robin’s side and Brittany pulled Robin’s harness from the other side.
“Way to go, Robin, that was a very good turn,” Jessica said. “But remember to sit up straight in the saddle even when you’re turning.”
Robin immediately adjusted her posture, earning a “Great job!” from Claire, who let go for a moment and gave the young woman a thumbs-up.
Claire realized the words could just as well apply to herself. This was good work she was doing. She may not have been very helpful so far to her brother in dealing with his problems, but she could help Robin by making a positive difference in her life.
As they neared the end of Robin’s session, a car drove into the parking lot. Ana and Petey Mendoza got out. Petey was hopping with excitement and looked like he wanted to sprint toward the corral. But Ana held him back until Claire and Brittany had finished assisting Robin with her dismount.
Jessica walked with Robin to where her father waited at one of the picnic tables and waved to Ana and Petey. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
When Brittany finished tying Daisy to the corral fence, Petey went immediately to the horse. He cooed at Daisy and rubbed her forehead. Daisy nuzzled the boy’s head as if she, too, had missed seeing him.
3 A Basket of Trouble Page 13