One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] (34 page)

“And maybe get a lead to Gwen’s contact in Miami.”

“Where do you expect them to park tonight?” Geoff asked.

”Ask me do I care.”

He cut his eyes at me. “What about the horses?”

“They’ll be fine until morning. People travel with hay and feed and water. Some drive eighteen hours at a stretch to get a show in upstate New York or Florida. The horses will go to sleep.” I glanced at Peggy. “We’re not leaving them completely high and dry. I expect my cell phone to start ringing any minute now.”

It did, right on schedule. I put it on speaker.

“Hey, is this Meredith Abbot? This is Marvin Cudlow. We’re registered for the show and the clinic.”

“Yes, Mr. Cudlow?”

“I know you said you wouldn’t be open until tomorrow, but we figured we’d drive on over tonight, get a good place to park, you know? Anyway, your gates are locked. There’s some kind of keypad. Could you give me the code? It’ll save y’all a trip out here to let us in.”

Peggy grabbed the phone. I expected her to bark, but she said in her syrupy sweet southern put-on voice, “Marvin, honey? The reason we can’t let y’all in tonight is that our insurance policy doesn’t kick in ‘til tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes. “And my lawyer would simply
kill
me if I gave you the key code.”

“But Becca and me, we drove all the way from Chattanooga.” Three hours, max. I’d expected anger. Instead, his voice came out a whine. “Can’t y’all make one tiny exception? We sleep in the trailer on the road, so we don’t have to leave the horses in some strange place all alone.”

This time I managed to snag the phone. “Marvin? About five miles straight ahead of you is a big Baptist church with a giant parking lot. I’ve made arrangements for camper trailers and folks who show up early to park there. You should have gotten information on that when we sent you your confirmation. Did you?”

“Well, yeah, we did, but I figured since we were so early . . .”

“’Fraid we can’t break the rules, but y’all should be fine tonight. The congregation’s leaving all the lights on in the parking lot, and there’s an outdoor spigot if you need water. There’s a big grassy area too. Perfect for you to walk your horses. What do y’all drive?”

“We brought our pair of Welsh ponies and a pony phaeton.”

I rolled my eyes. Two small ponies and one relatively small carriage. Probably more space in the camper portion than in the trailer itself. “See you after lunch tomorrow.” After a few more attempts to change my mind, good ole Marvin gave in and hung up.

Geoff was watching me in fascination. Dick was grinning.

“The first thing I learned about managing a show,” I said, “Is that nobody reads directions, or if they do, they figure directions don’t apply to them. They also don’t read signs. They’ll stare right at a sign that says ‘restrooms’ with an arrow pointing left, and ask the first person they see if the restrooms are to the right.”

“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Peggy said.

“Publicity for the farm and a carriage for Casey.”

“Oh. Yeah. Remind me often. Geoff, you don’t happen to have any illegal Ecstasy on you, do you? I’ve heard it mellows you out.”

“Sorry, Peggy. Not even an aspirin.” He spooned up the last bit of ice cream and shoved his chair back. “Bill’s already taken care of.”

Dick started to protest, but Geoff waved him away. “Turn about.”

Outside, I started to follow Peggy and Dick to his Van, but Geoff took my arm and led me to his. He shoved me into the passenger seat and drove us off without a word.

“Okay, hotshot,” I said. “Where we going?”

“Amos Royden is meeting us at the hotel.”

“Why?”

“Two murders aren’t enough of a reason?”

“They weren’t in Mossy Creek.”

“Close enough, and with a singular attachment to you and Peggy. Amos wants to talk about your security arrangements. I figured you’d be itching to hear about the drug bust.”

“Is that a sop to my curiosity?”

“Actually, it’s to head off your imagination.”

“I don’t make things up.” Well, not usually. I did, however, omit certain things. “How fast can you get DNA test results?”

“Privately? Twenty-four hours, but it costs. Why?”

“I need a test done pronto. Can you handle it?”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

That shut him up. I also wanted Troy Wilkinson’s DNA, and Geoff might be able to get those results without too much rigmarole. If I had a half brother, I wanted to know. My family had a right to know. And I’d have to revise my opinion of Hiram, my father.

Amos wanted a complete briefing
about the incursions at the farm. He was pretty PO’d at both Geoff and me for not calling him out, especially after shots were fired. He had a point.

“The farm isn’t technically in Mossy Creek,” I said, “Even if we did fudge a little when Hiram was killed.”

“Don’t quibble. Whether your farm is in Mossy Creek or not, you and Peggy
are
. Now, about this weekend . . .”

We spent half an hour going over security arrangements and handling of the money. Sandi, his dispatcher, would handle ticket sales and contributions from spectators, while the garden club ladies would deal with the money from food and drinks. The people who were driving had to send in their money when they registered, so Sandi would hand out driving packets and check off names as well.

“She has a stall plan for the people who are stabling their horses,” I said, “And a parking plan for trailers and cars. Louise’s grandson Pete is coming home from summer school for the weekend to run a golf cart shuttle for spectators from the road up the hill for when we run out of places at the farm parking lot. I hope we’ll need the space, but you never know. We may have no spectators at all.”

“You’ll have spectators,” Amos said. “Everybody wants to help Casey. Is she actually driving tomorrow?”

“You bet. Dressage, cones, and hazards. I’ll be in the carriage with her, of course, but she’ll actually do the driving. Golden will look after her.”

“I’ll station my deputy down at the road,” Amos said, “But if anything happens in Mossy Creek that needs him, I’ll have to pull him off.”

I nodded my understanding. “Our parking area is big, but we’re going to park the smaller trailers along the far side of the stable where the manure pile used to be. That’s where the portable johns will be set up. There aren’t supposed to be more than three or four big rigs. Plenty of space for them to the right of the barn on the grass verge. Some cars can park back of my new slab close to the pasture fence. It’s not supposed to rain, so the ground should hold firm.”

“Supposed to be low eighties and partly cloudy,” Amos said. “I checked.”

I laughed. “So did I. And prayed.”

Amos offered to drive me home since Geoff was already at his hotel.

As I got out of the squad car in Peggy’s driveway, he leaned across the seat and said, “This is a nice thing you’re doing for Casey.”

“It’s good publicity for the farm, and my own horses are going to have lessons at the driving clinic on Sunday. Thanks for the lift, Amos. Love to Ida.”

The lights were out in Peggy’s house. Very shortly they were off in mine as well. Could I sleep? Get real. Not only was I managing this show, it was on my property. I prayed everyone would have a good time. Including me.

I stopped by the Baptist church
parking lot early Friday morning on my way to the farm to check on Marvin Cudlow. I expected him to be tetchy, but both he and his wife Becca were charming. They invited me in to their trailer for coffee.

“Horses okay?” I asked. The coffee was good, but then they were using a top of the line coffee maker and fancy just-ground beans.

“Oh, sure,” Marvin said. “We take ‘em to Walnut Hill in New York and the national drive every year. They’re used to long trips. We hand-walked ‘em already this morning.”

“And picked up the manure,” Marvin’s wife, Becca, said. “Don’t want the Baptists to find road apples all over when they come to church on Sunday.”

“Thanks. I wish everyone were as considerate,” I said. “Since I’m on my way down to the farm right now to unlock the gates, you all can come ahead as soon as you like.”

“Will that get you in trouble with the Dragon lady?” Marvin asked. When he saw my face, he said, “I wouldn’t like to try to put anything past her.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

I was keeping all my guys out in the pasture overnight the next three days to free up the stalls for people coming to the show and the clinic. I fed the horses and Don Qui in buckets on the fence line. That generally worked fairly well with a minimum of bucket poaching, except for Don Qui, who raced from bucket to bucket cadging a mouthful from everyone else’s breakfast when he could sneak in under their necks.

With the exception of Heinzie, his erstwhile brother, nobody let him get away with it, but he didn’t end up getting his head kicked off either.

My crew of garden club ladies brought Louise’s grandson Pete to do the heavy lifting such as putting up the tent for Sandi on my new concrete slab. They were so used to putting together events for Mossy Creek, they needed almost no supervision. What little they needed, Peggy provided.