Hot Blooded Murder (29 page)

“Okay. Marcie did the foaling out. I’m not sure what to do. “

“You can call me. I’ve taken a shine to that old girl.”

“That old girl is Marcie’s first mare. She’s old enough to vote now.”

“Twenty-one?”

“Yep.”

“She’s in great shape.”

“Marcie was excited about this foal. Her last ones with Once sold well.”

“Where is he?”

“Still at the pound. I want to get him back.”

“But if the place is sold, legally, what then?’

“Bryn. How can it be? That false appraisal! It was used to break a legal agreement the Takeur’s made with Marcie. You found two–that, plus they bought the damned place one hour after Marcie gave it back! Last night I found somethin else in the office. A letter she’d written to Cade Pritchard containing his signature agreeing to it. It said that she had one whole year to sell the farm. He’d waive all her payments for that length of time, providin she sold it and he got an extra agreed-upon amount of money.”

“Why would he do that?”

“What I reckon is, he did get a whoppin down payment from us, plus sellin a place is a lot of work. And expense. You gotta keep it perfect all the time. And you know with a country place, ain’t no little front lawn to mow–its acres of expensive bush hoggin. We never did get our own tractor so its three hundred bucks ever time this farm gets mowed.”

“Where’s that letter now?”

“My attorney. But my attorney also gave a copy to the DA.”

We walked into the empty barn. Flies buzzed in the still-dirty stalls.

The foaling stall was at the far end, beyond Once’s stall, across the aisle. We looked in. Bad. But Theo brought two pitchforks and a wheelbarrow and in half an hour we had it scraped clean and sprinkled with lime. It awaited bedding.

“Where’s the straw?” I asked.

“In the loft.” Theo climbed a ladder mounted mid-barn. I heard him walk overhead. He tossed three golden bales down into the stall. I got a fork and began tossing it, shaking it out, spreading it around. Theo joined me, and said, “I’ll finish. Why don’t you get the mare in?”

I got the mare. Returning, I saw Domino beyond the neighbor lady’s fence just outside the barn’s back door. He was happily sniffing around, white and black-dotted coat weaving through small bushes, tall grasses. Beef cattle watched him.

“Dom likes it over there.”

“He’s not supposed to be there! The neighbor lady doesn’t want dogs around her calves. She gets pretty mad, she sees him.” He whistled for the dog. Domino was deep in a brushy thicket. All we could see was his white tail.

“Dom! Git the hail outa there! You want t’ git shot! Dom! Come!”

The dog backed out and meekly trotted back. Theo filled a water bucket for the mare.

“Watcha think? She gonna have it tonight?”

“I’d almost bet on it.”

“I don’t know what to do.” He looked helpless. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes bulged. Even so, he had an appeal about him, I thought.

“I have a date tonight, but I could drop by after.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, too, you think there’s any kind of trouble you call my cell anytime–”

“But your date.”

“Feel free to interrupt. I am not looking forward to this date. I’d be delighted to help foal her out.” We could not leave the rest of the barn so nasty. Sweating hard, Theo and I pitched in again and worked our way down the long aisle of stalls.

Simon was waiting when I got home.

“Forgot about our date tonight, did you?” he asked as I got out of my car.

“No. It’s been a hectic day. But c’mon in. I have to feed Am, check on Lulu, then I’ll clean up and we can go.” I was soaked through with sweat, and I reeked of horse urine and manure. Maybe this would dissuade him. I smiled a bit nervously. He went to his car, brought out a cellophane package of supermarket flowers. Handed them to me.

“Oh, Simon. Thanks.”

I went into the cool cottage and got him seated in the living room listening to a Ray Bonneville CD. Lu staggered out from the bedroom yawning and wagging her tail. I bent down and petted her then led her outside to do her business. She was limping on that one front leg, but her spirits were good. I hated to go on this date, leave her alone again. But I had promised and after she ate and had another pain pill she’d be okay for a couple more hours. This would not be a late date. Am waited at the back gate. Hungry. I led him into the stable and fed him, fed Lu, then ran myself through the shower. In my bedroom, I considered three dresses in my closet and picked a green linen one. Sleeveless, mid-calf sheath. Pearls, white Sabrina heels, and I’d be dressy enough, without any hint of having succumbed to glamour-puss-dom. I blow-dried my hair to fairly smooth, applied Almost-Black Maybelline mascara and dusted taupe eye shadow on my eyelids. Watermelon lip-gloss and I was ready.

I walked out and Simon sprang to his feet.

“You look gorgeous.”

Just what I was afraid of. Pull on a dress, throw on some eye shadow and some man gets attracted. I squirmed as he looked me over and forced myself not to argue with him. I just said, “Thank you.” Lu needed out again. I went outside through the stable with her and waited till she was done, then I escorted her back into the bedroom, got her on her doggy bed, went to the kitchen for a piece of cheese, in which I hid her pain pill. She ate the cheese-pill happily and went to sleep. Back in the living room.

“I am finally ready, Simon.” I dropped my cell phone into a small handbag, and thought,
Mare, please foal.
Simon, way too happy for me to be comfortable, took my arm and guided me outside to his car. That’s when I halted, and said, “Simon, I have to take my car. Theo has an emergency situation at the farm. Marcie’s original old mare is due to foal tonight. I’m on call.” His happiness deflated.

“She might not foal tonight,” I added.

“Oh. Well! I hope not. Ride with me. I’ll drive you if you need to go.”

“No–if she goes into labor, it could be an all-nighter. And I’d have to dash back here first to check on Lulu and get changed too.”

“That’s okay, I can drive you here too.”

“Simon. Please. I’ll follow you.”

He turned from me, muttered, “Some date.”

I felt my belly do a downward flip. I was supposed to change my lifestyle to accommodate a man. He sounded just like my ex-husband. Then I felt relief. I was free. I didn’t have to go with him.

“I heard that, Simon.”

He turned. “What?”

“You said, very sarcastically, ‘some date.’”

“Can you blame me?”

In a way, he was almost right, but the sarcasm scared me. “A lot’s happening in my life right now. I made time for you tonight, Simon, time I didn’t have. Now you’re being sarcastic because an emergency situation has come up?”

“Some dumb horse–”

“You don’t get it.” I looked at him. How much would I jeopardize working on this and future cases if Simon became withholding of information? A hostile Simon would not make things easier. But several years ago I’d promised myself zero tolerance of sarcastic remarks. They diminish emotional freedom. Besides, being falsely nice with this newly introduced sexual slant–to get information, made me uneasy. Being falsely nice with no sexual slant? Not much of a problem.

“Simon, I do thank you for asking me out to such a nice place. But this is not going to work.” I smiled, and held out a hand to shake. He stared at me, at it, then put his fists on his hips. His face got shiny red under the black hair plastered futilely sideways to hide his baldness. I thought, you’d think with all the jokes about men with comb-overs, they’d get it and stop. Just have the guts to be bald. Hey! A hairpiece would be better than this! He stared at me, wounded. “I’d heard you were self-absorbed and I didn’t believe it. Perhaps this is best for both of us, Bryn. You are just too busy to give any man the time of day.” Or nighttime of attention, I thought.

“You’re right, Simon. I’m sorry.” I meant it. His face calmed. A wistful look came over it. I said, “I’m still sorting things out since my divorce.”

“Maybe in time, you’ll get sorted out.”

“Maybe. When I am, I’ll give you a call.”, Wobbling in my heels on the gravel, I stepped toward him. He came to me and took my hand. “Goodnight, Simon. Talk with you soon.”

He held my hand so gently I felt a pang. He really seemed to like me. Was I making a mistake? He was a good man. He patted the top of my hand with his free hand then got into his car and drove off, only slightly scattering my expensive gravel. I sank down on my front steps. I was shaking! I could not believe it. I lay my arms over my raised knees and put my head down. It had brought back so many incidents with my ex–only he’d been so verbally violent, not gentle and peevish like Simon. Years of scenes. It was hot and breezeless and I could hear Am shifting his stall around back. No sound from Lu. I kept my head down. I was so tired and now all this old stuff coming up. Stuff I’d long thought I’d let go. Does it ever really
go
?
So, go inside yourself,
Second Brain whispered.
Find the place in your body where this pain is.
I stared unhappily at an urn of pink geraniums at my eye level. Gently, Second Brain palpated my entire body, seeking the manifestation of the pain. A geranium was right under my nose and filled my eyes’ horizon with pinkness, but with that funny geranium smell. Unpleasant.

Second Brain found the pain. Lodged in my throat it felt like a pork chop bone digging in.
So
, whispered Second Brain soothingly,
Tell it it’s okay. Relax. Feel it.
I felt the bone; how it hurt so much I couldn’t swallow.
Stay with it, stay with it,
Second Brain murmured, like a coach. As I carefully breathed, I lifted my face up and away from the geranium and I actually had a sensation of the bone melting, sharp edges dissolving, withdrawing from the soft flesh of my throat, growing smaller and smaller until it was only an aspirin-sized lump. Then it vanished. My shaking stopped. I was clear. In a moment I stood, went into the house, and wondered what to fix for dinner.

Chapter Thirty One

I had just washed up after a dinner of spinach salad and a blackened chicken breast when the phone rang. Theo? I felt a twinge of excitement. A foal might be born soon!

I answered.

An unfamiliar woman’s voice said, “Is this Ms. Bryn Wiley?”

“You’ve got me.”

“Ms. Wiley. We met the other day. This is Daisy Delon–Anton’s–”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Delon, I remember perfectly.”

Her voice was stressed, a harsh whisper. “I am so sorry to bother you. But you seem to be looking into things. Strange things–and I don’t know whom to call any more. Things are–bad. Gayle told me–”

“Mrs. Gayle Johnson from the shelter?”

“Yes. She told me she got–a good feeling from you. I think I need outside help this time. Are you a private detective?”

“Actually not. I’m just a writer, but I seem to get involved in sleuthing out murders. So I do some amateur detecting, for sure.” I flashed on Anton, his remark about ‘little Vet’nam wimmin.’ “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Anton drove up just as you were leaving the other day. He–questioned me. Confirmed it was you. He knows there’s some connection between the sale of Marcie Goodall’s property, her murder, that dreadful man Cade Pritchard and yourself. Does any of this make sense to you?”

“Perfect sense. Continue.”

“He was furious–that I might have told you things he didn’t–want revealed. He got–physical with me.” She spoke in such a jerky way I got frightened that she was at this moment in need of medical care.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll–be okay. Mainly–bruises. It’s happened before.”

“So I gather. I can be there in about a half hour or so–”

“That would–just make things worse. Please–let me finish.”

“Of course. But may I ask, how much do you know about your husband’s association with Cade Pritchard?”

“They go–way back. I used to be friends with Cade’s sweet little wife, Aimée. Both Cade and Anton have been in business on various deals–for over twenty years. They were in that–Special Forces thing together during the Vietnam War. The government taught, you know, torture to those boys. Like a class. Torture 101. Torture 102…” She laughed in a strange way. “Anton is a smart man. He retains well.” Her voice dropped lower. “Now they–gamble together. Mainly on the horses, and football, but also–high stakes poker.”

“Cade and your husband.”

“Yes.”

“Is that why your husband’s business is going under?”

“I am sure it is. I’m not supposed to know any of this–of course, I’m just supposed to work–I’m an administrative nurse now. I make over a hundred thousand a year. Anton considers me his fall-back.”

“Mrs. Delon, Daisy–why have you never left him? You’re an intelligent, capable woman–”

“It’s that old trite but true story. First the subtle and not-so-subtle decades of brainwashing–by a professionally trained man. Too bad the government doesn’t teach wives a class, Undoing Torture 101. Something–like that. Gayle has been a great help. She understands this form of indoctrination is insidious. A person, like myself, for example, doesn’t realize that their ability to think clearly and for themselves is being eroded. Selfhood leached away so gradually that they’re–I should say ‘I’– am like the victim of a vampire’s nightly visits. The vampire cleverly takes a small amount of blood each time. Much later, when one–I–realized there was a problem; I was so drained of blood I couldn’t act. Of course, the perpetrator also uses the children to control their victim. And the usual death threats.”

“It sounds unbelievably hideous.” On reflection though, I think my ex-husband studied at least Elementary Torture.

“It is. But now I want out and I want to help others. I want all of these beatings and murders to stop. Mine, and everyone else’s. Thank God for Gayle Johnson. She’s been saving my life, word by word.”