Give First Place to Murder (3 page)

“
That’s Mariah’s class,” Susannah said forlornly.

Irma looked at her, then down the barn aisle. “Yes,” was all she said.

“
These horse show people take this stuff seriously,” I murmured to Pat, as I moved my chair closer to hers.

“
In more ways than one,” she agreed. “I told you going anywhere at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning could be hazardous to our health.”

“
It’s been hazardous, all right,” I said, “but not to us. Unless you count fright, trauma, and damn near nervous collapse.”

Pat examined me carefully over the top of her dark glasses. “Not to mention anger igniting a touch of righteous indignation.”

I knew she was referring to Dan, his peculiar behavior, and my reaction to it.

“
What are they doing down there?” I said, changing the subject to one less personal. “There’s the ambulance, and that car says ‘coroner.” I wonder how long before they remove the body?”

“
I’ve no idea. Why is that man brushing the door?”

I peered down the barn aisle. A man in a light tan suit was squatting in front of the feed room door, doing something with tape and a fine brush. “Fingerprints,” I told Pat. I hadn’t spent the last six months with the Chief of Police for nothing.

It wasn’t the police activity that held Pat’s attention. It was the girl beside Bryce. “Who is she?” Pat asked me, echoing my low tone.

“
Never saw her before,” I said.

“
Sturdy type,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you suppose she’s his girlfriend?”

I was briefly amused. Neil, Pat’s son, had arranged this summer job for Susannah. They had been like a couple of magnets since the day they met, with our complete approval. Was Pat wondering if Susannah’s exposure to the beautiful Bryce was a good idea? I didn’t think Neil, or Pat, had a thing to worry about, but I took another look at the girl.

“
She doesn’t exactly seem his type,” I agreed. The baggy tee shirt, somewhat rumpled khaki shorts, athletic socks and running shoes did nothing to flatten a little too much tummy, or to define a missing waistline. No makeup softened her fair complexion, now freshly sunburned. She was quite a contrast to the strikingly handsome Bryce Ellis, with his carefully styled wavy dark hair, long lashes that framed large deep brown eyes, salon perfect tan, and beautifully fitting designer slacks and silk shirt.

Bryce had been watching the police also. He turned and took a couple of steps back toward us. Stephanie edged closer to him. He ignored her.

“
What happened to Rusty?” he demanded.

“
Someone stuck a pitchfork through him,” I answered.

I could hear Irma catch her breath.

“
Oh! Ugh,” said Susannah, going a little pale again.

A white van pulled up, the county Sheriff’s logo on its doors. The uniformed officer let down the yellow tape, the van drove down the barn aisle. The officer must have been aware that we were all staring, transfixed, but without once looking in our direction, he pulled the tape up, then turned his back on us.

“
How do you know it’s Rusty?” Bryce finally said, breaking the spell.

Irma looked a little startled, Susannah hopeful. “Mom? You saw him. What did he look like?”

Like nothing I ever want to see again, I thought. Carrot colored hair spilling over a still brow, freckles that frosted a sharp nose, the image of Rusty filled my mind.

“
Did Rusty have red hair?” I asked.

Susannah nodded. “Freckles too.”

“
It was Rusty,” I told them.

“
But why would anyone kill him?” Bryce asked in a strangulated voice.

No one answered. We were all too busy watching Dan approach. He ducked under the yellow tape and stopped by Irma’s chair.

“
Good. Glad to see you’re all still here,” he said.

I swallowed the remark I wanted to make.

“
Are you the trainer, Bryce...?” Dan glanced at Susannah for help.

“
Ellis,” I supplied. Dan looked at me impassively.

“
Yes.” Bryce straightened his shoulders and raised his chin a little as he faced Dan. “Who are you?”

“
He’s the top cop,” I told him. Dan’s face told me he wasn’t amused, although Susannah stifled a giggle. I wasn’t sorry. Dan deserved it, and it perked Susannah up.

“
Rusty. Is he really dead?” Bryce’s voice began to crack.

“
Someone is,” Dan said. “I’m going to need you to identify the body in a few minutes, so stay here, all of you. I’ll need statements, and I’ll send someone over as soon as I can.”

“
Why do I have to identify him?” Bryce asked Dan. He looked around, as if searching for support. “I don’t want to see him.”

“
He worked for you, didn’t he?”

“
If it really is Rusty, yes.”

“
And you want one of the women to do it? Susannah, maybe?” Dan’s voice wasn’t too kind.

“
No, but...”

Dan neatly cut him off. “Good. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. In the meantime, don’t move.”

Stephanie had given up trying to hold on to Bryce’s arm. Instead she took a step toward Dan. “That’s mean. He shouldn’t have to do it.”

“
Who are you?” he barked.

“
Stephanie Knudsen.” She said this with a toss of hair and a tone of voice that tried for arrogance. It didn’t work.

Dan paused, obviously bit back a remark and finally said, “All right. Did you know this Rusty?”

“
No. Yes. Sort of,” Stephanie stammered, looking toward Bryce for support. She didn’t get any.

“
Well, Stephanie Knudsen, unless you want to do the honors, I suggest you go sit down someplace, and let us get on with our job. The coroner is here, and we’re all going to wait until he’s finished. Now, please stay put. All of you.”

Dan gave us one last long stern look, said something to the uniformed officer standing by the yellow tape, and headed back to where all the action was.

“
He certainly is rude.” Bryce’s voice mirrored the petulant look on his face. “We can’t stay here. The Championship’s coming up.”

“
Oh my God, the Championship.” Irma’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes stricken. “We have to do something. We can’t miss it. We just can’t.”

“
Last Challenge has to show,” Stephanie said, her eyes round with horror. “Bryce has worked so hard. That awful policeman can’t make him miss that.”

“
Yes,” murmured Susannah. “It would be terrible to disappoint Bryce. He works so hard.”

The sarcasm in her voice didn’t escape Stephanie. “He does,” she insisted. “You don’t know, he’s ---”

“
Shut up, Steph,” Bryce said. He was chewing the fingers of his glove, looking a little wild-eyed. “What can we do?”

“
Nothing,” said Irma. I thought she was going to burst into tears. “We can’t even get to the horse. We’ll have to forfeit.”

Before I could ask why this class was so vital, we were interrupted by a voice shouting, “Irma. Bryce. Tell this guy to let me in.”

A tall, paunchy cowboy type was standing in the main aisleway, trying to look past the stubborn shoulders of a uniformed policeman. His stomach overlapped the top of his jeans and rested on the shiny head lamp of a belt buckle. Probably the effect of a lifetime of too many beers. His bright red tractor cap was decorated with silver letters that said LONG’S HORSE HAULING over a black horse’s head, but his sunglasses would have been right at home beside any Hollywood swimming pool.

“
Who’s he?” I whispered to Susannah as both Irma and Bryce rushed over to the policeman, urging him to let this new person into our little group.

“
That’s Wes Fowler. He and his wife, Linda, run Irma’s horse transport company. He’s here to take the horses’ home.”

There was something guarded in Susannah’s tone. I was beginning to wonder what was wrong with horse show people.

“
What the hell’s goin’ on around here?” Wes asked loudly. “Tryin’ to get anything out of that cop’s like tryin’ to have a conversation with a clam.”

“
Someone murdered Rusty,” Susannah said, rather distantly.

“
Murdered!” Wes exclaimed. He went on more thoughtfully, “You don’t say. What happened?”

“
He got himself skewered on a pitchfork.”

I couldn’t believe Susannah had said that. I also couldn’t believe the way Wes looked at her, examining the way her jeans curved over her hips, the way her tee shirt clung to her breasts. He took time to give Pat and me the same treatment, but the exam was less thorough, and a lot quicker. Stephanie he ignored.

“
A pitchfork.” Wes repeated. “Sounds like someone lost his temper big time.” He looked around at our little group. “Can’t say I’m surprised though,” he drawled. “The kid was no good. Told you not to hire him.” This was belligerently addressed to Bryce. “Why did you?”

“
He was the only one I could get,” Bryce answered sourly. “A little fact you already knew.”

“
I told you I’d groom for you, Bryce,” Stephanie said, reaching for his arm again. Bryce sidestepped.

Wes dismissed them both and bent down toward Irma, patting her shoulder a little awkwardly. “Don’t you worry none. That kid’s got nothin’ to do with you. All this’ll be over real soon.” Straightening, he looked directly at Pat and me, a “who are you and what are you doing here” frown evident behind those magnificent glasses.

Susannah sighed and said, “ This is Pat Bennington, Neil’s mom. And this is my mom, Ellen. She found him.”

Wes said nothing for a moment, just stared at me from behind those glasses, his expression impossible to read. Finally he said, “That’s too bad. It must have been real...gruesome.”

“
It wasn’t very nice,” I admitted somewhat faintly.

Wes wasn’t listening. His attention had been captured by all the official vehicles, haphazardly parked up and down the aisle. Or maybe by the woman in the short shirt taking pictures of the feed room door. He barely glanced at the back of the patrolman who had returned to stand guard behind his yellow ribbon, then turned back to Irma. “Did Challenge win?”

“
Of course he did,” Bryce answered. “And it’s almost time for the Championship. Only they won’t let us leave.” He was chewing his glove again, and started to pace. “We could have won this too, I know we could have. Why did this have to happen, especially now?’

Stephanie tried again to grab his arm, but he brushed her aside and continued to pace. “Do something, Susannah. You know that policeman.” He was almost wailing.

“
Right. I’ll waltz right up to Chief Dunham and say, oh please...look.”

Irma said, “Oh, I don’t think...” but Susannah interrupted her.

“
Look,” she said again. “There, at the end of the barn aisle. Be quiet, don’t say anything.”

We all turned to look at the main aisle that led to the show arena. There was Chovalo, determinedly holding onto a restless Last Challenge. The colt arched his neck and snorted at the strange vehicles and the flapping yellow ribbon, giving every indication he thought leaving was a great idea. Chovalo tried to soothe him while waving at us and pointing toward the arena.

“
Go,” said Susannah. With one quick backward glance at the policeman guarding the yellow tape, his back still turned to us, Bryce grabbed his whip and fled.

“
Go on, follow him,” Susannah quietly told Irma. “You can’t miss this.”

“
She’s right.” Wes’s voice was soft, but his grip wasn’t. He took Irma’s hand, pulled her out of her chair, and practically dragged her around the corner of the barn. “You too.” He motioned at Susannah. “We’ll need you on the rail.”

Like commandos, they slipped around the corner and were lost to sight. Stephanie made a little whimpering noise and scampered after them.

“
Rail?” I asked.

“
Why is this Championship thing such a big deal?” Pat asked.

“
I have no idea. We can go find out.”

“
And we can get in a lot of trouble.”

“
It’s been quite a morning for trouble,” I said. “You think there can be more?”

“
Doesn’t seem likely.”

We grinned at each other, took a good look at the back of the policeman, then Pat said, with an expansive gesture, “After you.” We, too, slipped around the corner.

It was early evening and the ‘biggest little fair on California’s central coast’ was in full swing. Susannah, Pat, and I were back at the fairgrounds, only this time we were sitting at a picnic table on one of the green areas, surrounded by passersby on their way to 4H exhibits, the midway, or the commercial display buildings. You could buy almost anything there; fake antique tables, the amazing Ginzu knife, or wooden shoes straight from Holland. The smells of deep fried zucchini, egg roll, and cotton candy were overlaid with the aroma of barbecue smoke. Music floated toward us from all directions, mixed with the chatter of voices, the cries of tired babies, and the roar of golf carts bringing more supplies to the myriad of crowded food stands.

We had discussed the murder at length. Pat’s husband, Carl, and her son, Neil, were horrified and wanted every detail. We didn’t have many.

“
Does Dan, I mean do the police, have any idea who did it?” Carl asked.