by Arlene Kay
After ten minutes of aimless palaver, I slipped away and checked out the restroom. For once, it was vacant—ominously so. Bethany must have used the side exit to make her escape. I dashed back to the auditorium to check things out, deflecting questions from handlers and one of Punky’s pals. Nothing could deter me. I was a woman on a mission, determined to confront Bethany and find answers. She billed herself as a pet psychic without much evidence that I could see. If it were true—and I had my doubts—she must realize that hiding any knowledge about a murder was dangerous. Lordy. Didn’t these people read crime novels or watch television? Were they too busy clipping, bathing, and brushing their canine charges to join the real world? I planned to confront Bethany and shake some sense into her. One way or another, she would confide in me.
Free-flowing alcohol had loosened up the gathering and unleashed occasional peals of laughter. Babette had cornered Rafa, to the displeasure of a number of ladies, but Bethany was nowhere to be found. I checked the central clock—9:45 on the dot. Just as I admitted defeat, a wisp of metallic fabric floated out the exit to Gate Nine. It was Bethany—had to be. No one else dared to wear such festive garb at a memorial service. I resolved to follow her and have a final showdown. Pruett had disappeared, and Babette was too far away to be of help. Time to play the Lone Ranger.
Snow was still piled in heaping mounds around the entryway, and ice shards lined the paths. I gingerly picked my way through the sodden mess, straining to get my bearings and avoid a nasty fall. Bethany far outpaced me. I could see the faint glow of her flashlight—at least I thought it was hers—gliding through the parking lot like a disembodied spirit. If only Keats and Poe were with me to buoy my confidence. Dogs have phenomenal hearing and night vision, traits that most humans sorely lack. My boys had saved many lives during our military service and several times since. They could sense danger before my training and instincts even began to kick in.
I reached into my bag and retrieved my trusty flashlight. It might alert Bethany, but at that point, I opted for safety over stealth. I hoped I wouldn’t discover her in a clinch with some man, particularly a certain investigative scribe. A fleeting thought—which I banished immediately—featured Bethany wound around Pruett like a nubile serpent. Nope. Not likely. Surely Pruett had enough class to rent a hotel room for a rendezvous.
I followed the thread of light, trudging through the fields toward the Equine Pavilion. Was I following Bethany or some innocent stranger? More to the point, what in the world was she doing out in the elements? I suspected an assignation. Unless she was particularly hearty, any outdoor antics were highly unlikely. Bethany had been dressed for display rather than hiking, and she wore only a wool shawl to fend off the icy wind. She had to be freezing. I adore cold weather, but that frigid wind whipping through the trees was fierce enough to make me relish my winter hat and gloves.
The cavernous equine arena was abandoned during the winter months. Horses were too likely to slip on the snow and damage their delicate legs. Come spring, the area would awaken, and the pavilion would hum with glorious creatures, riders, and throngs of spectators. Suddenly, the light vanished, and I heard a faint thud. Had she injured herself? Hardly the best way to spark a romantic encounter or to further a career in the show ring. I strained to hear something—anything. Never did that old cliché “The silence was deafening” seem truer. Time for me to abandon stealth and act. “Bethany,” I called in a voice that sounded suspiciously tinny even to me. “It’s Perri. Are you okay? Where are you?”
At first, there was no response. I edged cautiously toward the pavilion, skirting the main area until I reached Horse Barn E. Time was not my friend as I searched in vain for an unlocked entrance. I glanced at my watch. At least fifteen minutes had elapsed since I last saw a hint of light. To quell the dread building up inside me, I tried humor. Maybe Bethany was the earthy type who preferred a literal roll in the hay to the comfort of clean sheets. Even now she and her paramour might be primed for action, emitting moans and groans of pleasure. I shuddered, imagining an abandoned barn as a passion pit. Straw was filled with all manner of noxious things. If Pruett were involved, that would serve the faithless wretch right. A bout of hay fever would almost be punishment enough.
The main building was locked up tight, but someone had wedged open the side barn door. I called out to Bethany again and heard a faint moan. Stupid woman! She’d probably wrenched her ankle in a hole and couldn’t walk. Emboldened, I panned the area with my flashlight and felt an immediate jolt. Jess Pendrake, her eyes vacant and unseeing, crouched next to the crumpled body of Bethany Zahn. Blood gushed from a vicious wound in the psychic’s throat as she tried unsuccessfully to speak. After one final gasp, her body went limp. No need to wonder which weapon had been used. A gore-soaked plough gauge, a tool often used by leathersmiths, lay beside her. It housed a blade that was sharp enough to eviscerate cowhide. Penetrating human flesh was no problem at all.
I fumbled in my bag, found my cell phone and dialed 911.
Chapter 14
Facing death was never easy. Confronting murder was unendurable. Death during wartime was inevitable, and one had to accept that. While serving in the army, I steeled myself to endure the attendant casualties. I had seen corpses many times before but never grew complacent about it. That was a good thing that kept me sane and reaffirmed my humanity. After all, the life of all God’s creatures had value, a philosophy that initially drew Pip and me together. Homicide at innocuous venues like a dog show was particularly outrageous and unexpected. Dog shows were family events that celebrated the universal love of beauty and all canine creatures. That simplicity intensified the horror of this crime. I shivered, thankful for the warmth of my cashmere coat. I cherished the coat, a Christmas present from Pruett, more for the giver than the gift. Tonight, I also appreciated the practical side of the garment as it cocooned me in a warm embrace.
I shook myself back into reality. This was scarcely the time for daydreams and distractions. I crept up to Bethany’s corpse, all the while keeping a close eye on Jess Pendrake and that lethal weapon. With its razor-sharp cutting blade, a plough gauge left little room for error. It sliced through a sheet of leather as if it were sweet cream butter. I had no desire to test the impact on human flesh, especially my human flesh.
“What happened here, Jess?” I summoned my official voice to avoid any misunderstandings and went on autopilot. Jess wasn’t the type to crave sympathy or to respond to it. Her hands were stained with blood—presumably Bethany’s—but her clothing was unblemished. Unlike the rest of us, Jess had made no concession to propriety or the rituals of Lee’s memorial service. She was dressed in her usual peacoat, scuffed boots, and jeans.
“She’s dead,” said Jess, stating the obvious. Her voice was flat and devoid of expression.
“I noticed.” I shifted into neutral to avoid the snarky retorts perched on the tip of my tongue. “Did you see who did it?”
She shook her head. “Nope. She wanted to meet me, but I was late.”
From what I knew, Jess and Bethany were scarcely intimates. Jess barely spoke to anyone, and Bethany confided in men whenever possible. What connection could these two polar opposites possibly have?
The cavalry arrived before I asked anything else. Roar Jansen glided into the barn, with his hand conspicuously gripping his Glock. Oddly enough, he was accompanied by the dogged prince of the printed page, Wing Pruett.
“You okay, Perri?” Roar asked.
I nodded but stayed silent. Pruett’s face was impassive as he stood to one side, taking everything in. Probably had his tape recorder or iPhone switched on too. Personal experience had taught me that when a big story intervened, Wing Pruett was a journalist first and foremost. Friendships and even romantic ties came in a very distant second. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
“Care to tell us what happened, Ms. Pendrake?” Roar’s voice stayed pleasant and neutral, as if they wer
e two friends chatting about a sporting event. “Before you answer, let me read you your rights. Got to follow procedure, you know.” He produced a card from the pocket of his leather jacket and rattled off the Miranda warning that every cop show devotee knew by heart. Jess’s eyes had a glazed look that suggested she was close to collapse. Nevertheless, she balled up her fists and blurted out a response. “Like I already told her,” she pointed to me, “Bethany asked to meet me, so I came. She was like that when I showed up.” Jess looked down at her bloodstained hands. “I touched her. Tried to help her.”
Roar scored big-time on interview technique. No bullying or sarcasm. He showed those dimples in a sympathetic smile. “I understand. What did she want? You two were close friends, I guess.”
Jess shook her head emphatically. “Nope. I hated her. She was like all those other bitches—mean to me. We hardly said even hello.”
His eyebrows raised in a quizzical expression. “Odd. She must have hinted something to make you come to a dump like this on such a cold night.”
Jess swallowed hard. In a voice that was barely audible, she mumbled. “It was about Lee. She knew who killed him.”
That confirmed what Bethany told me this afternoon. What I couldn’t understand was why she would choose Jess as a confidant. Unless . . .
“She accused you?” Roar said. “Why?”
Jess’s snort would have shamed a racehorse at the starting gate. “Not me. She was probably scared. Guess she thought I was safe.” She tossed her head. “Don’t matter now, though. Someone got to her before I showed up.” Suddenly she pointed toward me. “Ask her about that knife thing. She knows all about it.”
As Pruett stepped toward me, his eyes telegraphed a warning. “Even I know what that is, Roar. Some kind of craft tool. What do they call it, Perri?”
My voice was rock solid when I answered. “A plough gauge. Similar to what I use but slightly different. Designed to slice through leather.”
Roar studied me for a moment. “Whatever the name, it sure did its job, alright. Not one of yours, is it, Perri?”
Pruett put his arms around me and gave me a gentle squeeze. “This place must have plenty of those things, don’t you agree? After all, this is a horse barn, and they use all that leather stuff.” He shuddered. “Not my field of expertise, obviously.”
That diversion gave me time to regroup. I looked Roar straight in those baby blues and shrugged. “Can’t say if it’s mine. Probably not, though. I hardly ever use a plough gauge, and last time I checked my tools, nothing was missing. I assumed you didn’t want the crime scene contaminated, so I haven’t examined it.”
Roar grimaced and turned back to Jess. She sat motionless, with her legs tucked under her in lotus position. A faint smile painted her lips. She was either smirking or approaching ecstasy.
“We’ll need a complete statement from you, Ms. Pendrake. As soon as my partner arrives, she’ll take you down to the station.” He nodded my way. “You too, Perri.”
Putting the fear of Genna Watts into us worked like a charm. Jess’s contemplative air vanished immediately, and truth be told, my own adrenaline soared too. Talk about the perfect ending to an exhausting day. Pruett squeezed my shoulder again. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow morning? You’ll be busy here anyway, and Perri looks exhausted.”
Roar motioned us off. “Go on. Just be at the station bright and early. Both of you.” Those eyes of his took on a fiendish gleam. “You’d have access to that plough gauge too, Mr. Pruett. Makes a body think.” He waved us off. “Don’t be late now. I’d hate to send Genna chasing after you. Missing witnesses make her really cranky.”
He shifted his focus, laser sharp, to Jess and the gore-encrusted weapon beside her. “Just take it easy, Ms. Pendrake. We’ll get this sorted out as quickly as possible.”
Pruett and I knew an exit line when we heard one. We fled the area, narrowly escaping just as the forensic team, accompanied by Genna Watts, stomped into view.
“Whew,” I said. “That was close. I didn’t feel up to confronting that she-devil right now.” We marched silently over the snowy terrain, using my flashlight for safety. Pruett draped his arm around my waist, a gesture that comforted me more than I cared to admit. Before meeting Pip, independence had been my watchword. He taught me that sharing a burden with someone who loved you strengthened rather than weakened you. When Pip passed, those bonds of trust dissolved too, and I retreated into solitude. Now, despite everything, I tried not to rely on Pruett, in case he too vanished into the clouds. Considering the number of local beauties who pursued him, that scenario was a distinct possibility.
Tonight was different. I cast my insecurities aside and reveled in the solace he provided. After watching Bethany Zahn take her final breath, I needed comfort and strength in every possible way. Caution and hedging my bets flew out the window as I leaned on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about Ella,” Pruett said. “She and Guinnie are tucked in that trailer with Babette, all safe and sound.”
“Does Babette know what happened?” I asked. Staying on the sidelines was odd behavior for my pal, especially since she fancied herself my sleuthing partner—a Watson or, at the very least, Robin.
“Not everything.” He rolled his eyes. “She may think we were having a private moment. Why spoil the illusion?”
That explained everything. Babette was the ultimate romantic, especially when it involved me. Her heart was in the right place, but her mind had its erratic moments. I pictured the scene at Lee’s memorial. Rafa, Alf, Kiki, Whit—they were all there. Had one of them slipped out before I left the arena? My eyes were trained on Bethany, so anything was possible. I was uncertain of the route, so I had trudged slowly and cautiously through the snow. On the other hand, Bethany’s killer knew exactly where to go and could have done so without ever using a flashlight.
“Any suspects come to mind?” Pruett asked. “I bet Roar and especially Genna think both murders are all wrapped up.”
I saw the wheels turning in that big brain of his as he spoke. The “Death by Dog Show” piece was practically writing itself.
“I don’t think she did it, Pruett. Jess was the perfect patsy. Too perfect.”
He shrugged. “Here’s how the cops probably see it. Jess hated Lee Holmes for deceiving her. When Bethany tried a spot of blackmail, Jess knocked her off.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Q.E.D. Case closed.”
“You turn me on when you speak Latin, big fellow.” I batted my eyelashes, trying unsuccessfully to play the vamp. “Look, I know cops usually pick the most likely solution, but Jess Pendrake just doesn’t compute. She’s a weirdo, true, but kind of innocent too.”
“Whoever murdered those poor sods wasn’t innocent. The gash on Bethany’s throat was vicious, and those poodle shears—ugh. Maybe you should re-evaluate your suspects, Ms. Morgan.”
I hated to break the spell, but honesty compelled me to. “Roar considers you a suspect too, you know. Says you’ve been in the area longer than I thought.”
Pruett held out his hand. “Come on. That’s just silly. I told you I was on assignment. Lee Holmes was a part of it but a very minor part. As for Bethany—whatever she knew or thought she knew died with her tonight.” He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “You need to get some rest. I’ll just hold you ’til you fall asleep. Promise. No funny business.”
I stood on tiptoe and ran my fingers through his hair. “I may need some help to make me sleep, so brush up on your routine. Funny business has an upside.”
Pruett grinned. “Hmm. Since you put it that way...drugs are not the answer, but I know just what you need. Trust me.”
In the end, we resolved the issue amicably, and both of us slept like babies.
* * * *
Bad news travels swiftly in a closed community. Promptly at seven the next morning, Babette burst into my bedroom, ready to
rumble. She wore her idea of casual chic: a cashmere twinset and exquisitely tailored jeans. Her boots were Prada’s answer to harsh-weather gear.
“What happened?” she gasped, ignoring our partially clothed bodies. “Rafa just left. Told me all about it.” She gave an elaborate shiver. “Who’s next? Maybe we should head out of here before some crazed killer strikes again.”
First things first. “Where’s Ella?” I asked. “We need to keep her close at all times.”
Pruett poked his head out of the blankets then. “Ella?” His voice had an unaccustomed panicky quality to it.
No response was needed as Ella, Guinnie, and my Malinois bounded into the room and clambered onto the bed. Correction. Ella leapt into her father’s arms. Keats, Poe, and Guinnie maintained a respectful presence at our bedside.
“We had fun already, Daddy,” Ella said. “Ms. Babette took all of us on a hike.”
Something was definitely amiss. The Babette that I knew and loved avoided hiking and all types of physical exertion unless mandated by her personal trainer in an air-conditioned gym. I glared at my pal until she bowed her head.
“Well, Rafa likes a morning jog, and you know how committed I am to fitness.”
“Rafa briefed you on the excitement last night?”
She nodded. “That psycho cop grabbed him while he was taking a stroll. Gave him the third degree too.”
Oh Lord! Sergeant Watts at work. I needed to make myself presentable before she collared me as well. “How about some breakfast?” I asked. “Sure could use some espresso.”
“Good idea,” Pruett said, peeking out of the window. “Looks like the snow finally stopped. How about chowing down in a restaurant for a change? I’ll drive.”
Babette clapped her hands. “Terrific. Mind if I invite Rafa? He needs sustenance after facing that woman.”