Read One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] Online
Authors: Carolyn McSparren
One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] (26 page)
Who was the father? Brock? Armando? Mr. Clemons, the priest? Or someone completely out of left field?
And what about Dawn? If Raleigh had given his daughter an ultimatum about dumping the polo player, she’d have motive to kill him before he could disown her. But would he? As an important cog in his business empire and his breeding and training operation, she was not easily replaced. Geoff felt fairly certain Raleigh would have kept threatening, while trying to talk her around.
Or maybe he held a different kind of threat over Dawn’s head? Could he actually have the polo player deported? How quickly? So, what did Dawn
believe
her father would do and when?
As for Armando, his alibi checked out. He played two games on Saturday and was on the polo field in Palm Beach as a referee when Dawn called him to tell him about her father. That didn’t mean he didn’t have some involvement or know Dawn’s intentions.
Other possibilities?
Technical delegate Catherine Harris certainly loathed Raleigh, but Geoff couldn’t see that she was under any time pressure to get rid of him. He couldn’t have her fired. He couldn’t even force her to fire Troy, her assistant.
Geoff had been surprised to discover that Troy Wilkinson and Harris slept in separate rooms at the motel. He was even more surprised to find that Morgan, Troy’s girlfriend from college, had joined him for the weekend.
Catherine and Troy met at the motel to drive to the show grounds on Sunday morning about the time Raleigh’s body was found.
Then there was Gwen, the vet. Geoff wanted to know how she’d managed to equip that clinic and vet van so expensively. He agreed with Peggy that Brock was probably her partner and that they could have something to do with illicit drugs.
Tomorrow he’d call his buddy at the DEA to see if he had any suggestions about what the pair might be up to.
Raleigh had screwed a bunch of people one way or another. Any of them might have killed him or even paid to have him killed.
Harry Tolliver said he’d gotten out of Raleigh’s dubious financial schemes while the getting was good, but he could be lying. Others might not have been so astute—or so lucky. For that matter, the governor’s cronies could have had Raleigh killed. That crowd did not like to lose.
The forensic accountant in Atlanta had only begun to dig into Raleigh’s records. Could it be significant that the person he’d chased at Lackland Farm had disappeared onto the governor’s land?
Geoff realized he needed to stop calling it the governor’s land. The governor was only one of a consortium of owners. But if they hunted over that land, then the entire consortium would be much more familiar with the pathways than anyone else.
Finally, He needed to ask Dick Fitzgibbons why he and Raleigh hated one another.
Merry
It was clear and hot for Raleigh’s funeral. An amazing number of people had driven up from Atlanta for the services, and all those bodies were taxing the air conditioning. Governor Ham Bigelow and his acolytes stood outside intercepting any previous or possible future contributors to his campaigns. Eventually, he went into the church, made sympathetic noises to Sarah Beth and Dawn, then slid into the pew just behind them as though he were a member of the family.
Sarah Beth was certainly a glamorous widow in a plain black linen sheath that probably cost as much as my pickup truck. She also wore a big black Panama hat, black nylons, and black kid gloves. Even she didn’t go so far as to wear a veil. In north Georgia in late May she’d have asphyxiated.
“Everyone knows you don’t wear black kid gloves after Easter,” Peggy whispered.
“I don’t wear gloves except when I drive,” I whispered back. “And they’re always brown.” I was wearing my good black slacks and a black linen shirt, black flats, and no hat. I had one bad moment when Peggy threatened to wear her teal driving hat, but I talked her out of it.
Dawn was dressed like me. She sat on the front pew with Armando between her and Sarah Beth. They seemed cordial enough for stepdaughter and stepmother. I wondered if that would survive the division of Raleigh’s estate.
The Episcopal service for the dead is remarkably impersonal. Everybody gets the same service, because we are all equal in death. Eulogies are a recent addition. I was afraid the governor might give one—he’s noted for long speeches—but the only person who spoke about Raleigh was Father Clemons, who piled platitude upon platitude.
The governor did walk along behind the closed coffin with the other pall-bearers including Brock and Harry Tolliver, some of the other driving men and a number of obviously rich businessmen, probably from Atlanta. Neither Dick nor Armando was included.
The interment was in the churchyard itself, so everyone followed as the funeral people wheeled the coffin on a gurney. Most of the honorary pall-bearers were too old, too fat or both to chance actually toting the coffin.
I spotted Catherine Harris with her arm linked through her assistant Troy’s. She hadn’t come to the viewing while I was there, but that’s not unusual in the south. Most people don’t bother with both. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been snooping.
The grave was in full sunlight. While the family sat on chairs under a big green tent that covered the open grave, the rest of us had to cluster in the sun. I started sweating immediately. I could feel my shirt sticking to my back.
I was surprised to see Morgan what’s-her-name, Troy’s girlfriend, standing across from me. I didn’t think she knew Raleigh except to speak to. Maybe she came to support Troy. Maybe Troy and Catherine really had never been anything besides employer and employee. Even scandalous gossip can be wrong.
Troy could sure pick ’em. I’d barely glimpsed Morgan at the Tollivers’ Saturday night party and thought she was beautiful. In full daylight she was downright gorgeous. She had long straight mahogany hair, the figure of a Victoria’s Secret model—not the anorexic runway kind—and instead of slacks, she wore an actual dress of some sort of floaty black silk. She didn’t look like a mourner, but like a woman gloating over her enemy’s funeral pyre.
After the service, Peggy and I stayed to speak to Sarah Beth. She was obviously zonked out of her gourd. I hoped all the tranquilizers wouldn’t hurt the baby.
“You are coming to the house, aren’t you?” she said as she clasped Peggy’s hand. “Please—all these people I don’t know . . .”
Peggy said that of course we’d come. Nuts. I had horses to work and chores to do and a final meeting with the Mossy Creek Garden Club about volunteers for the weekend’s show and clinic. And I intended to put on my heaviest boots and attempt to find a trail through the governor’s property.
“Just for that, you can go to the stupid garden club volunteer briefing alone,” I whispered. She dug her fingernails into my arm. “Ouch!”
“Serves you right.”
We fell into step behind Catherine and Troy, with Morgan coming up the rear a couple of steps behind them.
As we reached the driveway, four patrol cars with blue lights blazing and sirens howling pulled up in front of us.
We all froze. I thought, he’s really going to arrest me for murder just because I found the damn body. Feeling my heart speed up and my eyes glaze, I searched for Geoff and saw him talking to Stan Nordstrom. Surely he could have persuaded Nordstrom to do it later, privately and not in front of all these people. I was going to kill him for embarrassing me like this. After I made bail, that is.
“Troy Wilkinson, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“What?” I gasped.
We all stared at Sheriff Nordstrom. He looked like a modern Siegfried in his spit and polish uniform with his shining white gold hair. As I recall, Siegfried wasn’t noted for brains. He married his aunt.
“Hey, man, you’re crazy. I didn’t do anything,” Troy snarled.
“Turn around.” The sheriff pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
“This is insane.” Catherine stepped between them. Not a good move since Stan was armed and about nine-feet three to her five foot eight. “What are the charges?”
“Malicious mischief, criminal assault, and domestic terrorism for a start. May be upgraded to murder at a later date.”
“Murder?” Troy howled. I thought for a moment he was going to turn tail and run, but he glanced over at Morgan and subsided.
“Terrorism?” Catherine shrieked, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you have to do this now?” All the mourners listened avidly. “Whatever this is about, I assure you I’ll bring Troy down to your offices tomorrow to straighten out this foolishness.”
“Can’t take that chance, ma’am,” Sheriff Nordstrom said. He turned Troy around and clicked the handcuffs around his wrists. “He could decide to run.”
“Ow! Man, that hurts. They’re too tight.” Troy yanked as one of the deputies clicked handcuffs over his wrists.
“Sheriff, loosen them at once unless you want a lawsuit on your hands,” Catherine said. “Troy, do you have any idea what this is about?”
He refused to meet her eyes. The sheriff didn’t loosen the cuffs either.
The sheriff sounded downright gleeful. “Son, if you’re going to order a banner on line, next time don’t use your PayPal account to pay for it.”
“Banner?” Catherine asked. “What banner? Troy, what’s he talking about?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Morgan sidle quietly back into the crowd and off toward the trees.
I headed after her. “Wait up.”
She gave me a malevolent glare over her shoulder and quickened her pace. She was fast, but she was wearing five inch spike heels. I was wearing flats. As she reached her red Mini-Cooper, I caught up and leaned my hand on her car door, so she couldn’t pull it open without physically dislodging me.
“Deserting the sinking ship?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to get back to school.”
“Did you buy the bullhorn? Or did you con Troy into paying for that as well as the banner?”
“What bullhorn?” She asked. Miss Innocent. As if.
“Honey, you must be right up there with Cleopatra in bed to convince Troy to put his job with Catherine on the line for your stupid animal rights prank.”
“Prank?” She shoved me away from the door. She was smaller, but she was younger and probably worked out. I don’t. “It wasn’t a prank! It’s the truth. God, I
hate
you people.” She climbed into her car and nearly caught my fingers when she slammed the door, turned on the ignition and yelled through the closed window, “Get out of my way or I’ll run over you.”
I believed her. I stepped back.
She gunned the little car down the hill and out onto the road. The Mini-Cooper might be small, but it tops out at a hundred and thirty five miles an hour. If Stan Nordstrom and his deputies had been on their toes, they could have given her a gigantic speeding ticket.
As it was, Nordstrom was too busy bundling Troy into the back of a squad car. They really do that hand-on-the-head thing. Catherine wanted to go with him, but Peggy held her back.
“Let me speak to him,” Catherine begged. “Troy, surely you didn’t have anything to do with that banner. My God, you could have hurt horses!”
He ducked out of her grasp and refused to look at her. As they drove away, thankfully without sirens, Catherine screamed after him, “Don’t say a single word until my lawyer gets there.”
Some about-face. When she discovered that banner and bullhorn she’d been ready to rip the skin off whoever was responsible. Now she was going to provide a lawyer? Troy must have
something
going for him.
Was he sleeping with
both
Catherine and Morgan?