RIGHT ROYAL REVENGE, A

by R B Marshall

  Pulling my water bottle from my backpack, I took a swig, then leaned forward and stared at my feet, realising something else that made my heart heavy.

  I’d need to speak to Dean.

  I liked the policeman, and enjoyed being with him. His good looks certainly made my heart beat faster when he was around, and his pheromones put my hormones in a spin. But there wasn’t the connection between us that I felt with Craig. I just seemed to have more in common with the horsey guy, and being with him had been effortless—and better than being alone.

  By making his interest obvious, and being around on a regular basis, Dean had made it easy to be with him. But, I was realising, being handsome, and being here, weren’t enough for me. I wanted more, like that person who just fitted with me. If it wasn’t to be Craig, I’d be sad. But now that I knew that it was possible to have that bond with a guy, I would know what to look for in future.

  So it didn’t seem fair to keep stringing Dean along, now that I knew for sure that we’d never be more than friends.

  From somewhere nearby, music began to play. A catchy, Celtic dance-rock tune that made even my tone-deaf toes tap, and drew me towards it like the pied piper attracted Hamelin’s children.

  On a black stage surrounded by ranks of folding chairs, a four-piece band wearing open-necked white shirts, tweed waistcoats and black jeans, held a small audience entranced. Playing guitar, fiddle, uilleann pipes and bodhrum drum, a sign at the front of the stage proclaimed them the ‘Foot Stompin’ Ceilidh Band’, and they certainly lived up to their name.

  With a flourish, they finished the current tune to enthusiastic applause, then started straight into a fast-paced reel that got a couple of young girls near the front of the stage off their seats and spinning each other around in a wild polka.

  I spent a pleasant half hour listening to the band, drinking a coffee I bought at a stand nearby, and trying not to think about matters of the heart.

  All too soon, though, it was time for Darcy’s first jumping class, and I left this pleasant oasis to make my way over to the jumping arena.

  It was time to see if all the work I’d done with Darcy had done any good, or if I’d been wasting my time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The ‘Future Star’ event that Jason and Darcy were taking part in had a different format to most showjumping contests.

  On day one—today—they’d jump a regular round of show jumps, and, if they went clear, would go straight on to re-jump the second half of the course, but this time against the clock.

  The twenty pairings with the best scores would then proceed to the finals the following day, where they’d be judged on jumping style and also on conformation—like a regular showing class—before the judges decided the overall winner.

  I found Trinity at the ringside, eating an ice-cream. “Ooh, that looks nice,” I said, feeling like I’d earned something decadent. “Where d’you get it?”

  She pointed at a van near the top corner of the ring. “I’ll keep a space for you,” she said, planting her bag on the square of grass to her right.

  It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hankering for ice cream, so I had to stand in line for at least ten minutes, before I re-joined Trinity, clutching a vanilla cone. “You nearly missed ’im,” she said, jerking her chin at the ring, where Jason had just entered with Darcy.

  Trying to telepath good vibes at the chestnut gelding, I crossed my fingers and held my breath as they started their round.

  Jason seemed to be on good form today, and guided Darcy smoothly from obstacle to obstacle, making it look effortless. As they landed over the final jump, the commentator announced, “A clear for Jason Cotton and Pride of Pemberley. Now on to the timed section!”

  Making a sharp turn to the left, Jason ramped their speed up, and they approached the next jump, which was an upright set of planks.

  Remembering the disaster at the Glendoig show, my heart was in my mouth until they were safely over the first. Almost as soon as he landed, Jason turned the horse for the next, which I was sure would save them a couple of seconds.

  “Twenty-five point seven seconds,” the tannoy blared, as they flashed through the finish timer, “the fastest time so far.”

  “The boy done good,” I said, a big grin splitting my face. “And he looks super. You did a good job.”

  “Thanks. Oh, look,” Trinity pointed at the next horse. “It’s that saddler guy from the Glendoig Show.”

  “Next into the ring is George Reid, riding Jumping Jack Flash.” The commentator saved me from having to remember his name.

  Jumping Jack lived up to his name, and flashed round the course as if it was child’s play, ending up on a time of twenty-five point eight, just a fraction of a second slower than Darcy.

  “Oooh, excitin’,” breathed Trinity. “That’ll make tomorrow interesting.”

  “Are you getting Darcy ready for them, again?”

  She pulled a fold of banknotes from her pocket. “Sure am. There’s more where this came from.”

  “Maybe you should be the one buying us dinner tonight,” I teased, and then a shadow fell over us.

  “Are you buying dinner?” The Terminator asked, raising his eyebrows at my friend.

  Her face fell. “I already said I’d eat with Izzy.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I waved my fingers at her. “You go have dinner with your man. I’ve got a good book calling my name back at the lorry.”

  “You sure? It don’t seem fair to leave you on your own. You should be celebrating tonight.”

  I shrugged. “It’s been such a busy day, I could really do with a quiet night.”

  If only I’d known what would happen…

  With the Future Star class over, and Trinity now accompanied by the chiropractor, I made my way over to the shopping area, and spent a pleasant hour or so hunting for a new pair of jodhpurs, since I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the grass stain out of this morning’s pair.

  Next, as everything began closing down for the evening, I ventured into one of the food markets near the main ring, where large stores provided for those who were self-catering. After purchasing something for dinner, I took a wander back up to the main ring, and stood gazing out at the expanse of grass—empty now—re-living my ride there this morning.

  Despite its bitter-sweet ending, this was a memory to savour, to parcel up and store in my heart so that I could take it out on difficult days when everything seemed to be going wrong. Thank you, Eagle, I thought, and had a sudden burning desire to spend time with the stallion.

  Picking up my bags, I hurried back down the path to the lorry park, where I deposited my booty, and picked up a fleece to counter the slight chill in the evening air.

  It wasn’t far to the stables, which were still fairly busy as the final classes of the day had not long finished. I decided to check on Darcy first, in case Jason had done his usual slipshod job, and hadn’t finished him off properly.

  After topping up Darcy’s hay, and telling him what a good boy he’d been this afternoon, I carried on to Eagle’s stable. On the way, I passed a grey horse that I recognised—George Reid’s Flash. Glancing over the door of his box, I was surprised to see the chiropractor there. Standing on a box, he was wielding a small, rubber-faced hammer, which he tapped against Flash’s spine. His other tools sat in a foam-lined box by the door.

  Like that’s going to do any good, I thought sceptically. A horse’s back muscles are incredibly strong, and many in the horsey community were dubious that chiropractors had any effect at all.

  Then I frowned. Hadn’t Humphrey been supposed to be eating dinner with Trinity? I stopped and sent her a quick text.

  Me: Everything okay?

  Carrying on, I approached Eagle’s stable in the second row, and was surprised to see a group of people gathered around his door.

  My throat clenched. Was it someone planning to buy him? But as I drew closer, my shoulders sagged in relief when I recognised the pink floral pattern
of Lady L’s dress

  “Isobel!” she said. “We were just taking a photo of the boy to send to Libby.” Sure enough, Martha May had my employer’s phone in her hand. But then I spotted a taller figure standing behind them all, and my heart quailed. Dean.

  As if she was standing right beside me, I heard Trin’s voice in my head. ‘Be sure and be intentional about who you see, girl. Don’t get railroaded.’ I checked my phone, in case she’d somehow managed to send me a voice message, but the screen was blank. No reply yet.

  Straightening my spine, I gave Dean a small smile.

  His brown eyes hooded, he nodded at me, and I remembered that I was still ‘persona non grata’ as far as the police were concerned.

  Screwing up my courage, I went round to where he stood, and whispered, “Can we talk?”

  He hesitated a moment. “Not now,” he said. “Meet me back here in an hour.”

  I checked my watch. “Okay.”

  The photo session finished, Lady L and her party stepped away from Eagle’s stable, and I went in to check he had enough water and hay to last him the night. When I came back out, the noblewoman brandished a bottle of wine. “Isobel, darling, do we have glasses in the lorry?”

  “I think so,” I said, leading them back to the vehicle.

  Making an excuse about not being able to drink and drive, Dean left us, but not before he’d given a quick incline of the head to let me know he hadn’t forgotten our assignation.

  Back at the truck, which, although it wasn’t as swanky as the McDade-mobile, was still fairly well appointed, something of a party got started. As if the scent of the wine had attracted them like chickens hunting for grains of corn, more of the Glengowrie crowd appeared, including Neil Etherington—who looked like the Cheshire Cat, as he was accompanied by Trinity.

  “There you are!” I said.

  “Like the proverbial bad penny,” she said with a grin.

  “Did you eat?”

  “Yeah, got something quick with Termie, but he had to go work, and then I bumped into this lot,” she jerked a thumb at Neil and the others.

  Somehow, I managed to make the French bread and cheese I’d bought eke out to provide canapés for everyone. It was like feeding the five thousand, and I thought the pastor should be proud of me.

  With the soirée in full flow, it was relatively easy for me to slip away unnoticed an hour later, and head back to the stables to find Dean.

  But when I got to Eagle’s box, there was no sign of the policeman, and I stood for a minute, irresolute. Eagle poked his head over the half-door, and snorted at me. “Silly,” I said, rubbing his nose, “it’s only me.”

  He gave me a significant look, eyeballing me as if he had something to tell me. Then he turned his head deliberately, and stared at the corner of his box, before catching my eye again.

  I frowned. “What’s up, boy?” Unlatching his door, I pushed past him to the corner, where I discovered his water bucket, upended on the floor. “Clever horse,” I said, patting his quarters as I picked it up. “Let me re-fill that for you.”

  A minute later I was back with a full bucket, which Eagle immediately plunged his head into and took a long drink.

  With a sigh of happiness, I stepped back outside, and checked my watch. I’ll give him five more minutes, I thought. He could always phone if he missed me.

  In the fading light of the summer evening, the show ground took on a peculiar silence, like the expectant hush of an audience before the curtain goes up at a theatre. Soaking in the atmosphere, I was almost sad that tomorrow would be our last day here. Being a competitor, rather than a spectator, was a whole different experience. I might even be persuaded to do it again…

  Footsteps crunching towards me startled me out of my reverie, and I shrank back into the shadow of Eagle’s box. But it was only the policeman, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Dean,”

  “Izzy,” he said, jerking his head over his shoulder, “shall we go for a walk?”

  “Sure. But can I just check Allegra and Darcy, first? Eagle was out of water, and I want to check they’re okay.”

  There was the slightest of hesitations. “Okay, no problem.”

  Allegra’s stable was just a little way along, but she was dozing quietly and all seemed well. Tiptoeing away, so as not to disturb her any further, I led Dean round the corner to the next row, where Darcy’s stable was. Then I stopped with a yelp, my hands flying to my mouth.

  In front of me, lying on the ground beside Darcy’s stable was Jason, and he looked dead. Very dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dean pushed past me, “Let me,” he said, and knelt beside the body, checking for a pulse.

  Like Pat McDade a couple of weeks ago, Jason’s body showed no sign of major trauma, and, like Pat, he had some bruising on his temple. But his nose had also been smashed, as if someone had delivered a solid uppercut, which knocked him off his feet.

  With a sigh, Dean rocked back on his heels, and gave the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone. Better call for backup,” he said, and pulled his phone out of a pocket.

  Once the emergency services had been alerted, he stood and turned to me. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill him.” And then I remembered the hour that he’d been gone, and the fact that he’d been late for our meeting… I glanced at his face. He didn’t look like a killer. But then again, neither had Hamish’s murderer.

  And then I remembered the trifecta from the mystery books I loved to read: means, motive and opportunity. Dean might have had opportunity, but what on earth would be his motive? I wasn’t sure he’d even met Jason Cotton before now.

  “Who would want to kill him?” I said out loud. “Pat McDade’s already dead.”

  “Maybe some other rival?” The policeman ran a hand behind his neck and ruffled his hair contemplatively. “Might Francine have had another man on the go?”

  I blinked, remembering how Ruth said the merry widow had stolen Pat from her. “Maybe. But I’ve not seen anything to indicate that.”

  He turned his back on the body, staring out towards the show ground, his shoulders tense. He spoke without looking at me. “Listen, Izzy, before the troops get here, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Uh—I wanted to speak to you too. But you go first.”

  “It’s… I know who it was that damaged your car.”

  “Vicky.”

  “Yeah, Vicky. I’ve said she’s to pay for the repair.”

  “Thanks. But why did she even do it?”

  He gave me a sideways look. “She was jealous. That I was seeing you.”

  My mouth dropped open, even as things slotted into place. The policewoman had been hostile to me right from the first time I’d seen her at Balmoral—immediately after Dean had been chatting with me.

  “Thing is,” Dean continued, “I can’t see you right now, because of the murder investigation and everything.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know. And—”

  He cut me off. “And when I talked to Vicky in the pub after salsa, out of uniform, I—we,” he grimaced, “we just got on well. Maybe because we’re both on the force, I dunno. It just makes things easier. Simpler.”

  Finally, my socially awkward brain worked out what he was saying. “So you want to go out with her, not me?”

  He flicked a glance at me. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, feeling relief wash over me in waves. “I actually wanted to say to you that—”

  The clomping of heavy boots coming round the corner interrupted me. “Sarge,” said the lead policeman, coming to a halt. Behind him were some more uniforms, and a pair of paramedics, who pushed through and knelt beside the body.

  It didn’t take them long to announce what we’d already determined. “Dead,” they said. “And not of natural causes.”

  The lead policeman pulled out a notebook, and, with a sinking heart, I realised that I w
as probably in for another late night at a police station.

  Surprisingly, the police finished interviewing me fairly quickly. Perhaps the fact that I had both Lady Letham and Dean as alibis worked in my favour, but they seemed to treat me more as a witness than a suspect.

  While they ‘worked the scene’ as the detective put it, I asked for permission to check on Darcy, which had been my original intent in coming here.

  The horse had plenty of food and water, but his bed was a mess, and he trembled slightly as he looked out on the men outside. “It’s okay, boy,” I said in a soothing voice, “they’ll be gone soon.”

  And then I looked from him to Jason’s body, and an idea formed. “Did you see what happened?” I asked, then planted my feet, and reached out to touch his neck.

  The pictures he gave me were more of confusion than anything else. He didn’t seem able to understand what had happened. He just knew that some shadowy figure had come up on Jason while he was outside the stable, and then his rider ended up on the ground, unmoving.

  Breaking our connection, I shook my head and took a deep breath. Not Francine, then. The figure had been too tall and wide to be Mrs McDade. Not that I really ever suspected her—what reason would she have to kill her lover, who was also her rider, right in the middle of an important competition? And the figure didn’t have the same build as Dean, either, which, along with his lack of motive, let him off the hook as far as I was concerned.

  But who would want to kill Jason? Apart from Darcy, who, of all of us, probably had the most reason to hate the guy, why would anyone want him dead?

  “You okay in there, miss?” One of the policemen stuck his head through the door.

  “Yes, fine, thanks. I was just comforting the horse,” I said, giving Darcy a scratch on his wither. He seemed calmer now, almost as if sharing his ‘story’ with me had diluted the trauma. “I think he’ll be okay now, as long as you guys aren’t too noisy.”