by R B Marshall
No pressure, then.
With a wave of farewell, I steered Darcy back onto the track, and urged him into canter again. After one more go over the smaller jump, I set our sights on the large parallel, sitting deep into the saddle. A bigger obstacle like that required more accuracy, the height and spread meaning there was less room for error.
Concentrating on keeping him balanced and in an energetic rhythm, I turned Darcy towards the jump, using my legs and hands to keep him straight, just as I would in a dressage test.
We were only about one stride out, when something bright flashed on the edge of my vision, and I felt Darcy jink to the side. It unbalanced me, but I’d been working on my core muscles for years, in pilates classes, and Trinity’s salsa sessions had also helped a little. So I instinctively tightened my stomach and gripped with my thighs, meaning I stayed in the saddle as the gelding took his final, slightly skewed, stride, then sailed over the jump.
It felt like we were flying, as we hovered in the air over the top rails for what seemed like forever—like in ‘Matrix time’ when the bullets go in slo-mo and Neo is somehow able to dodge them.
I reckoned we’d dodged a bullet too, when we landed in one piece. “Clever boy,” I said to my mount, giving him a scratch on his wither.
Looking back to see what had happened, I spotted Trinity remonstrating with Humphrey, who was holding his hands up apologetically as if whatever he’d done had been a big mistake.
Gritting my teeth, I suggested, “One more go over the small one?” to Darcy, and changed direction so we’d be coming at it from the other side.
Fortunately, this final jump went without mishap, and I reckoned that it was a good place to finish, before we went to do our competition round in the jump arena.
We arrived at the entrance in time to see George Reid trotting in for his round. The grey horse looked dazzlingly bright, almost as if they’d used a fluorescent polish on him.
Halting in front of the judges, he waited while they inspected Flash from all sides, then, at a signal from one of the judges, he went off to start his round.
Along with all the other competitors, I’d walked the course earlier, before the competition started, so as to learn the route. But watching George would refresh my memory, so I paid close attention to what he did.
On a diagonal across the centre, there was a combination of jumps offset against each other, which I thought of as a ‘dog-leg’. The idea was to turn on landing over the second jump—or in the air, if possible—so you were aiming at the third jump before you’d gone too far in the wrong direction.
George got a little unbalanced over the second element, so he was late turning Flash for the third, meaning they arrived at it slightly further away than ideal. In order to clear it, Flash had to take an extra-big leap.
It was the only mistake they made in an otherwise flawless round, and the fact that Flash had gone clear, despite the error, might actually stand in his favour.
The steward waved me forward, and, before I’d even had time to get nervous, I found myself standing before the judges, smiling back at them as they said, “Good afternoon,” and asked Darcy’s age.
At their nod, I moved the gelding off, whispering, “This is it, Darcy. Time to show them what you’re made of.”
And show them he did.
When I tried to remember the round afterwards, all I could recall was the sensation of flying, and the sense of perfect harmony that I felt with that wonderful horse as we arrived at each jump. He even made the tricky dog-leg seem easy, turning his body in mid-air over the second as he felt my weight change when I focussed on the next jump, and landing softly, already perfectly lined-up for the third.
After a round like that, I’d honestly have been surprised if we didn’t win, although I didn’t dare say that to anyone for fear of sounding arrogant. But I was sure that Darcy deserved the top place. “Well done,” I said as we trotted out of the ring, “you were such a clever boy.”
Francine met us at the entrance, showering him with kisses and stuffing him full of polo mints. It was the most emotional I’d ever seen her, and I realised that, whatever else I thought of her, she really loved her horse.
The tannoy crackled. “Could all competitors and owners please make their way into the arena?”
Francine and the other owners stood in a clump near the judges, while we walked the horses around the edge of the ring.
From a small covered seated area at the side, a steward led the way for an elegant lady wearing a blue skirt suit, her brown hair coiffed away from her face and topped with a neat navy hat. Princess Anne, I realised. I’d forgotten that she was going to be presenting the prizes.
Another steward appeared, holding an enormous silver trophy and a plastic bag full of colourful ribbons.
Prolonging my agony, they announced the prize-winners in reverse order. “In sixth place, Miss Jennifer Jackson and See The Light.”
With a delighted smile, a pretty blonde girl guided her bay over to the line-up, where the princess royal handed her a purple rosette.
To my surprise, George Reid dropped from second place after the first round, to third place overall, gaining him a yellow rosette and an envelope, presumably containing some sort of prize.
In second place was a large black horse ridden by an older lady, and then there was a pause before they announced the main prize-winner.
My stomach felt like it was crawling up out of my throat as I waited on tenterhooks for them to reveal the winner. Beneath me, Darcy picked up on some of my tension, and bounced a little with each step, like a coiled spring.
“In first place,” the commentator finally announced, “is Mr and Mrs Pat McDade’s Pride of Pemberley, ridden by,” there was a slight hesitation, “Mr Jason Cotton.” I almost laughed. They obviously hadn’t got the memo that the rider had been changed.
Polite applause rang out around the ring as I guided Darcy to his spot at the head of the line. Francine met us there, taking hold of his right rein as if it would hold her up.
“Congratulations.” Princess Anne smiled her wide smile at us, and put a gloved hand on Darcy’s neck. “What a wonderful horse. If only I were twenty years younger, I’d be trying to buy him off you.” Back in her heyday, the princess had been a formidable rider, even competing for Britain at the Olympics.
Francine simpered at her, and dropped into a curtsy. “Thank you, ma’am.”
I inclined my head, which was the nearest approximation to a curtsey that I could manage from on board a horse.
Taking the huge trophy in both hands, the princess presented it to Francine, who curtseyed again. “Well done,” she said, and I was sure she bit back a smile at the woman’s antics.
Then she clipped an enormous red rosette onto Darcy’s bridle, and wound the end around the cheekpiece, so it wouldn’t flap and frighten him.
Next was a cross-body sash for me, in red and gold, and a white envelope, similar to the one I’d seen the saddler receive. I pushed it into my pocket, as there was a cameraman approaching.
“Smile!” he commanded, and proceeded to take some snaps of Francine and the princess holding a handle each of the trophy, one of Francine standing with me and Darcy, and a final one of the princess making a fuss of the gelding, a delighted smile on her face.
I was sure that would be the best photo.
With all the excitement of the competition, I’d forgotten the plans I’d made for afterwards, until I spotted Dean standing a little way into the collecting ring, not far from Trinity and her boyfriend, with my mother and father standing proudly beside them. It was the first time they’d ever have seen me compete, but I couldn’t help but wish they’d come yesterday, rather than today.
Somehow, after our victory lap, George Reid had ended up in front of me, so we wound up exiting almost at the same time, along with Francine, who was on foot beside us.
Even Ruth had joined the group, standing beside Lady Letham, and taking photos of me and Darcy with her p
hone. It seemed like everyone was here, just like I’d hoped.
Dean stepped forward, a grim look on his face, and got everyone’s attention. “I have an arrest to make,” he said loudly, “for the murder of Patrick McDade and Jason Cotton.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beside me, Francine staggered, and clutched at Darcy’s neck again, as if she might faint. Her face had gone deathly white.
George Reid pushed his horse forward. “Now look here,” he said, waggling a finger at Dean.
In the background, a blur of movement caught my eye, and I urged Darcy forward, determined not to let the killer get away. In three strides, I’d caught up with him. “Stop right there, Humphrey,” I commanded, yanking at his collar with my right hand.
That stopped him, right enough, and he roared in anger. But there was a flaw in my plan, such as it was. He still had both arms free, and one of them was swinging towards us, something metal glistening on the end of his fingers.
In desperation, I let go of his collar and used my right calf to urge Darcy to move over, hoping the horse wouldn’t get hurt. But I wasn’t quick enough, and the chiropractor’s hand connected with my leg, sending a searing pain shooting up through my shin.
“Leave her alone!” said a familiar voice, as The Terminator was rugby tackled to the ground. Craig! I blinked. Where had he appeared from?
Seconds later, more plain-clothes policemen had piled into the fray, and the murderer was handcuffed and subdued before he even had time to say, “I’ll be back.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Watching on, my mother folded her arms primly. Her lips curled, and she turned to Trinity, inhaling a deep breath as if about to give one of her famous lectures.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a hernia, to add to my sore leg. My housemate really didn’t need to have her ear chewed. Not now.
“It seems to me that you are much better off without that man,” Mum said, putting a hand on Trinity’s arm. “You are much too nice a girl for a scallywag like that. Next time you come down to us for lunch, I’ll introduce you to the headmaster’s son. He’s a lovely boy, works as a physiotherapist.”
Trinity set her jaw. “Y’know, I think I’ve had quite enough of therapists for one year,” she said, watching Humphrey’s back as he was led away by a bevy of bobbies. “In fact, I’ve had enough of men, full stop. The last two have ended up as murderers. Maybe that’s a sign that I should give up. Or join a nunnery.”
Unsure whether to laugh, groan, or breathe a sigh of relief, I put my hand on Darcy’s neck, and felt—nothing. Despite what was going on in front of us, there was no angst, no drama…
Maybe now that Jason was gone, he’d somehow been healed.
“Maybe he just needed a new rider,” Francine said, appearing beside me, making me wonder if I’d been speaking my thoughts out loud again.
Perhaps pain did that to you. I rubbed my leg, wincing when my fingers touched the bruise. It was a sore one.
Delving into her handbag, Francine pulled out her chequebook, and quickly scribbled on it, before tearing one off and handing it to me. “Your ride fee and bonus,” she said. “Congratulations on the win. He’s everything I ever hoped for.” Then she glanced at me. “How much do I owe you for training fees?”
I did a quick calculation, and told her, receiving another cheque in return.
“I’ll leave him with you for now, if I may,” she said. “He seems happy there.” She looked up at me. “And I hope that you will continue on as his rider?”
That, I hadn’t been expecting. “Uh…”
“Sure she will,” Trinity interjected, coming up on Darcy’s other side. When she saw the expression on my face, she added, “You like riding him, don’t you?”
She had a point. “Yes, I do. He’s a lovely horse.”
“Well, that’s settled then.” Francine zipped her bag shut, then gazed somewhere over Trinity’s shoulder. “Now, I need to go and see about collecting my trophy. Au revoir.” She floated off.
“You two was great, by the way.” Trinity smiled up at me. “Just in case I forget to tell ya. I can’t wait to see what you get up to next with this one.”
“You know what?” I said with a grin. “Neither can I.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“So how did you work it out?”
Some time later, we’d all made it back to the lorry, and I was propped in pride of place with an ice pack on my shin, and my leg balanced on a stool.
Lady Letham had produced a bottle again—fizz, this time—and someone else brought a catering-sized box of crisps, so there was something of a party going on.
Again.
Lady Letham always seemed to be at the centre of it, I realised, seeing a side to my employer that hadn’t been apparent before.
“How did you work it out?” repeated Trinity.
“There were a few things.”
“Then how come you never said to me?” She looked a bit hurt.
“I only worked it out at the last minute—something sparked it off, and all the clues came together all at once and finally made sense. I just needed a bit of confirmation from Devlin to be sure.”
She inclined her head. “So…?”
I ticked things off on my fingers. “First, he made out at the Glendoig Show that he didn’t know George Reid. Except, I saw him last night, working on Flash, not long before Jason must’ve been killed. So they obviously knew each other.”
“Unless he was a new client?”
“True. But they were both in the same, uh—club, so I find that hard to believe. And there’s more.” Tapping my forefinger, I continued, “He always seemed to be around when something went wrong. Like when Darcy’s girth was cut at the show, and then a minute later, he appeared. Similarly today—he tried to spook Darcy when we were going over that practice jump.”
“He said that were a mistake. He was just getting his handkerchief out of his pocket.”
That deserved an eye roll. “Convenient timing.” I touched my third finger. “He was in the shop not long before Pat died. I think he clocked where the CCTV was, and sneaked into his office from the blind side, then out again before closing time, so that nobody would realise what he’d done.”
“But I thought you said it was someone connected to both Pat and Jason, like Francine?”
From across the room, the widow’s head jerked up at the mention of her name.
“Ah yes, you missed that bit. This morning, I found out from Francine that George Reid had missed out on buying Darcy. Mr McDade outbid him. So that meant the saddler had a connection too, and a reason to want revenge. Except,” I stopped myself. I couldn’t say ‘except he didn’t match the vision the horse gave me’. “Except, I couldn’t see how he’d be strong enough to kill a grown man with just one punch. So I ruled him out—until I noticed the final piece of the puzzle.”
By this time, everyone present was hanging on my every word. I swallowed nervously. I hated being the centre of attention—unless I was in the middle of a dressage arena.
“And what was that?” From his perch beside me, Craig put a reassuring hand on my arm, as if he understood my discomfort.
“A photo of George Reid and Humphrey.” That ridiculous name still made me want to giggle childishly, and a quick glance round our friends proved that I wasn’t the only one to feel that way. “They were standing together with Flash, arms on each other’s shoulders like best buddies, holding a placard which said: ‘Jumping Jack Flash, sponsored by top horse chiropractor, The Terminator’.”
The room was so quiet, you could hear a champagne bubble pop. “It occurred to me then that there might be another motive involved here: professional pride. If Humphrey really was the best back man, then it stands to reason his clients would be winners, doesn’t it?”
A few heads nodded in agreement.
“So where did Dev come in, if you had all the pieces?” Trinity was back on the questions now.
“I
f you’re a successful businessman, you don’t go worrying about one client coming second instead of first—there are bound to be others getting red rosettes. But if it’s your main client who’s failing, and your business is struggling, it becomes less about professional pride, and more about survival, which, to my mind, would be plenty motive for murder. Dev did a quick bank check for me, and discovered that Humphrey Oliphant was seriously in the red.”
“That’s why he never took me anywhere nice for dinner,” Trinity exclaimed. “The scumbag. Tryin’ to tell me he could only do lunch ’cos he had to get to work. He was a lying toad.”
“A toad who’ll be behind bars before too long.”
“How did he do it, though? Murder them, I mean?” Neil Etherington had a pencil in his hand and a notebook on his knee, and I realised with dismay that my story would likely make the front page of the Gowrie Gazette. Again. So much for keeping a low profile…
“I thought, from their injuries, that Jason and Pat had been killed by a punch to the temple. But you’d need to be really strong—or really lucky—to kill someone with just one blow. However, Humphrey had a secret weapon. One of his chiropractic tools looks like flat-profiled brass knuckle. One well-placed swipe with that, and you’d be a goner.” Or two swipes, in Jason’s case, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud, for fear of upsetting Francine further.
“So you organised for the police to arrest him after your showjumping class?”
I nodded. “I was pretty certain he’d be there, to support George. And I thought he’d be easier to subdue in public.” Wincing, I rubbed at my sore leg. “I was wrong there.”
“Well, I think you did a most amazing job working all of that out. It makes me really quite dizzy just to think of it.” Lady Letham stood up, so everyone could see her. “Let’s make a toast to a most tenacious investigator, who solved a crime that had baffled even the police. Please raise your glasses to our incredible Izzy!”