Death By A Dark Horse

  Chapter Eleven

  The light that filled the room when my alarm rattled me awake could have only been produced by a cloudless day. It's amazing what sunshine can do for one's attitude. I jumped out of bed and threw back the curtains. Yup, I was right. It was a brilliant, turquoise and emerald day, the kind that makes half the population of the Northwest go out in shorts and t-shirts, even though it's still chilly enough in the shade to see your breath.

  The narcissus had been blooming in my backyard for a couple of weeks, and the tulips looked promising. My little grape hyacinths still formed lonely little islands of blue, but I envisioned the tulips blooming and creating a spectacular effect. The only thing I could wish for would be a view of the mountains from my house. The Cascade Range had to be breathtaking on such a crystal day.

  Since today was not my turn to muck out stalls at the farm, I ate a leisurely breakfast, showered, dressed as befitted a native, and got right to work. By ten o'clock I'd accomplished a gargantuan amount. The one bump in the road was a client who'd lost money on an investment -- or at least showed no return on it even though the time frame was longer than I'd have expected. To make sure there was no mistake, I dialed his number.

  "This is an answering machine. You know what to do." An obnoxious beep! I was certain he'd manufactured himself followed the smart-ass instructions.

  "It's Thea, Jim. I'm showing a fifteen-thousand-dollar loss from an investment last year. Call me back and let me know if it's accurate so I can submit your tax forms."

  Taking a short break, I called Jacob Green, the attorney Jonathan recommended. His secretary told me he was with a client and would call me back around noon. Today seemed my morning for not connecting with people. I suspected I was encountering the usual excuses that crop up on a sunny day. Well, some of us had deadlines. I addressed myself to my work again, certain I would be able to get in a ride later if all went well.

  True to his secretary's word, Mr. Green returned my call at twelve. I had just settled back at my desk after finishing my turkey sandwich.

  His rich bass voice painted a vivid picture of a bear of a man with an efficient manner. He got right to the point.

  "I understand you're a person of interest in the Valerie Parsons murder investigation."

  "That's what they told me. I don't know what to do." I grabbed a pad and pen to take notes and explained my involvement in the events surrounding Valerie's death, including my conversation with Detective Thurman.

  The lawyer listened patiently, then peppered me with questions, including asking directly if I'd killed her.

  "No!" I was shocked he had to ask. "Of course I didn't kill her."

  His tone was soothing as he responded. "I know some of these questions aren't easy, but they do need to be addressed. The police will be sure to ask them, and we need to be prepared. The more information I have, the more I can help you when, and if, it becomes necessary."

  I reined in my indignation in the face of his logic and continued to answer his remaining questions.

  "I think that does it for now. Next time the sheriff wants an interview call my office and I'll arrange to be there with you. It's important that you not consent to any interviews without me present."

  "Okay."

  "I'll be talking to you before long, no doubt."

  This was almost too simple. I gave myself a mental pat on the back, had a couple of chocolate chip cookies, and went back to work trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that accompanied Mr. Green's parting comment.

  It was close to four o'clock when I applied the final touch to my last of my client files. I shut down my computer, changed into breeches and sneakers, and tossed my boots in the car. Time to go get Blackie's saddle, bridle, and other equipment from my locker at Copper Creek.

  I stopped by the stable's office, out of habit, to say hello. My sister wasn't there but Delores was. She sat at her desk sorting the mail, glanced up, and greeted me as I walked in. I made myself comfortable in Juliet's vacant chair and rolled over to Delores's desk.

  "I hear you've been pretty busy," she said, her gaze on my bruises.

  "It was quite a day yesterday."

  I gave her the short version of the events since Monday morning. She apparently had good connections because she was already aware of most of the drama.

  "I'm not sure you need to worry about Valerie's father. He can be intimidating, but he's not a rash man."

  Her take on Frederick Parsons differed from everyone else's. What did she know? As I finessed the question in my mind, she tossed a stack of mail into a basket on her desk and another stack into the waste can. Then she leaned back in her chair with her hands clasped behind her head and watched me for a moment.

  "Your Detective Thurman's been a busy boy."

  In the short sentence her opinion of Frederick Parsons no longer interested me. "How do you mean?"

  "He's been interviewing everyone who'd ever come within fifty yards of Valerie."

  "Like you?"

  She nodded. "And Miguel and Maria."

  "Really?"

  Another nod. "Miguel took Jorge in on Monday, and came back with an invitation for me and Maria."

  "So, how'd it go?"

  She shrugged and sat forward. "Fine for us. I think it was a mixed bag for the detective, though."

  "How so?"

  "He walked Maria out to the lobby when they were done. She had him by the arm and was giving him advice on diet and exercise. She promised she'd call his wife, then gave him a little pat on the stomach."

  "No." I grinned. It was like the home team scoring a point. "I wish I'd been there."

  "On our way home Maria said she told him about the fight your sister and Valerie had over Eric. I expect by now you know all about their little set-to. Anyway, they went in for questioning, too -- Eric and Juliet. Juliet's there now. Thought you should have a heads up about that."

  Within half a dozen accelerated heartbeats I couldn't form a single coherent thought. Delores reached across her desk and held my wrist firmly.

  "They're both adults. They can handle this. You don't have to protect them."

  "I -- yes, I know. It's just … she's my little sister," I squeaked the last four words.

  Delores patted my hand and gave me a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay. I didn't mean for you to worry -- just wanted you to know."

  "Thanks. I do need to know and I'm not sure Juliet will tell me. Thanks." I swallowed, took a breath, and stood. "We'll just deal with things as they come up."

  "That's all we can do."

  "Right. Well, okay then. I guess I'll go collect my saddle and stuff."

  "Good girl. By the way, I understand the funeral is on Wednesday."

  "What? Oh. Thanks for letting me know." My knee-jerk thought was how I could avoid going. I caught Delores's small smile and shake of the head on my way out.

  My locker offered little to pack up; saddle, bridle, pads, boots, brushes, some horse shampoo, a couple of blankets, buckets, and a few first aid supplies. After several trips, a little planning, and repacking, I got all of it to fit into my trunk and back seat. To be sure I didn't miss any of Blackie's toys, I decided to check his old stall, and walked back to the Big Barn along an alternate route through the New Barn.

  A crash I recognized as a horse challenging his stall wall startled me out of my fretting over Juliet and Eric. I looked for the source of the equine temper tantrum and saw Nachtfeder, Valerie's horse, ears pinned and teeth bared, pushing his considerable bulk against the front of his stall. He clashed his teeth against the stall bars in an obvious effort to intimidate me. It worked well. I hurried past. Miguel poked his head out of the stall he was cleaning.

  "Wow, that's one cranky horse," I said.

  "He has always been difficult, but now every day he is worse."

  "Maybe he misses Valerie."

  He met my suggestion with a wry smile. "If he does, he would be the only one."

  Except for Greg," I said, touching the still-s
ore bruise on my jaw.

  "I think it's her money he misses." His eyes narrowed. "He do that?" He stroked his large bandito moustache with one hand. The smile that usually made the corners of his eyes crinkle was gone and without it he looked fierce.

  "He stopped by my house yesterday morning pretty upset about Valerie. He tried to get me to tell him where Blackie was, but Paul came by and convinced him he should leave." I suspected he had heard some version of the story already.

  "Paul, he is a good man." He gave an approving nod.

  It was unnecessary and maybe even silly, but his opinion pleased me -- and, I couldn't help notice, further diverted me from the mood that Delores's news had provoked.

  "I'll see you later," I said. "Thought I'd do one last check of Blackie's stall to be sure I got everything."

  "Be careful," he said, looking pointedly at my bruises, and went back to work.

  I continued to the Big Barn resolved to deal with Juliet later and wondering what Valerie's family would do with her horse. More accurately, how much they'd sell him for and if his crabby disposition would make it difficult to find a buyer.

  "Hi, Thea," a woman's voice called from behind me.

  I turned. Sarah Fuller, in the latest equestrian schooling couture, walked toward me as quickly as her boots allowed. Her waif-like appearance and lack of social skills always made me think of her as a child. But she was a professional financial planner and worked in Greg's office. Rumor had it the sole reason Sarah took riding lessons was to get Greg to notice her. Despite her big blue eyes, she should not have tried for such a direct comparison with Valerie.

  She'd been doing some heavy-duty shopping since I'd seen her last. The tall black boots, so stiff and free of wear, had to be new. Likewise the quilted, impractical, white vest, shirt, and dark blue plaid breeches. By my calculations she'd plunked down close to a thousand dollars for an outfit she'd wear a couple of times a week in a dusty barn and arena. There was no chance she'd ridden already. She wouldn't be so spotless. Valerie was the only one I knew who could pull that trick off.

  To say Sarah and I were acquaintances would be erring on the side of friendliness. Last time I saw her she wouldn't have anything to do with me. However, I had no solid reason to dislike her and always tried to be pleasant when I couldn't avoid her. This odd little reversal of behavior of her's had me curious.

  "Hi, Sarah. Nice boot."

  "I heard Valerie's dead," she said.

  Oh, that's why we were having this little tête-à-tête. "Yes, she is."

  "Somebody said you found her. Did you?"

  Oh great. She was trying to pump me for information. Could I be rude and walk away from her? "Yeah, I'm afraid so." I turned to walk away.

  "Was she, you know, awful to look at?"

  The image of Valerie's dead face sprang into my mind and produced an involuntary shiver. For as peculiar as Sarah was, I'd never have pegged her for having a morbid curiosity. I guess I was wrong. I glared, chin lowered, and back rigid, before answering.

  "Yes."

  "I heard you found her in the pasture at her house and your horse was in the field with her. People are saying she stole him."

  "Are they?" If she noticed my caustic tone, she gave no indication.

  "But she was murdered, right? I mean it wasn't an accident or anything? Do they know who did it?" The corners of her lips twitched with a smile she couldn't quite suppress. I knew Sarah despised Valerie -- everyone knew -- but this barely concealed delight put her on a par with Bride of Chucky for creepiness.

  "I wouldn't know." I stepped away.

  She followed. "She sure was, like, brutal to a lot of people … I've heard."

  I halted my retreat. "Anyone in particular?"

  "Yeah. You." She shifted on her feet under my angry stare. "So, what happened to your face?"

  "I fell." I immediately regretted not coming up with a better story. The curl of her lip told me she recognized the lie.

  "Yeah? Looks like it hurts."

  "Not really." That at least was true. The ice had helped.

  "A friend of mine got a bruise like that once."

  "Oh? She must have had a bad fall, too."

  "No, her boyfriend beat her up." She held my gaze for a beat.

  "Sorry to hear it. I hope she broke up with him."

  "He dumped her."

  Something about the flat tone of her voice flipped on a mental light bulb. Sarah was referring to herself.

  "Poor girl," I said, sincerely.

  "Whatever. I need to get my horse for my lesson." And she left.

  I watched her hurry away, overwhelmed with pity for her. I didn't understand the dynamics behind such relationships and prayed I never would. Violence and abuse did not belong in any relationship. What made her stay until she was discarded? Maybe I ought to be a tad less judgmental of her in the future. She didn't deserve my scorn.

  A light, cool breeze wafted the enticing smells of hay, clean bedding, and horses to me as I entered the Big Barn. The aisle was swept clean, and was free of tack trunks and other clutter that people sometimes left outside their horses' stalls, making the interior of the barn look like a teenager's messy bedroom.

  Blackie's stall was the fifth on the left. When he was here his wooden door often remained open with a nylon stall guard up so he could hang his head out and socialize. Now, with all the doors closed, I found that the sameness of the stall fronts required me to count to be accurate. A vision of Nachtfeder scraping his teeth on the stall bars reared up in my mind. I stopped, spun on my heels, and dashed out of the barn.

  Miguel was busy cleaning a different stall in the New Barn, and Delores stood in the aisle-way talking to him. I ran up, breathless, interrupting their conversation. From the concern painted on their faces, I'd alarmed them both.

  "What if it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie?" I plunged right in to the middle of my epiphany.

  "What do you mean?" Delores asked.

  "I mean, Jorge didn't actually see the person who took Blackie, did he? What if it wasn't Valerie, but someone else? What if that person didn't know Valerie's horse by sight, but was told to come and get the dark bay horse in the fifth stall on the left?"

  Delores cocked her head, eyes narrowed.

  I held my hands out, stopping any possible comments from her. "If you walk into the New Barn from the front, Nachtfeder's stall is the fifth on the left. If you go into the Big Barn through the back door, which is where most people pull up with their trailers, the fifth stall on the left is Blackie's. I don't know why Valerie would send someone instead of coming herself, since the only people she trusted to handle her horse were Miguel and Uncle Henry, but it makes more sense that Nachtfeder should have been picked up." I sucked in a breath then continued. "Furthermore, Valerie had to have been alive when she arranged to send the rig over. I can imagine she would have been furious seeing Blackie walk out of the trailer instead of her horse. Maybe she was killed accidentally in an argument with the driver."

  "Well," Delores said at a pace far slower than mine, "it would make more sense for Valerie to have her own horse picked up. But wouldn't that person, assuming it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie, have read the stall card to make sure they were getting the right animal?"

  "They should have been able to do that," Miguel said, stroking his moustache. "The barns are not completely dark at night. We leave every third light on in the aisles so if there is an emergency we can see."

  "What bothers me about your idea," Delores added, "is Valerie always told me when she was taking Nachtfeder away from Copper Creek. I'd get phone calls and notes a week ahead of time. She'd usually have Miguel bathe him, and have the farrier out, as well. It was always a big production."

  The holes in my theory deflated my enthusiasm, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was on to something.

  "I need to think about this some more," I said. "It makes more sense to me than Valerie stealing my horse."

  I gathered, from their serious expressi
ons, that Delores and Miguel were not dismissing my ideas out of hand. I left for my uncle's with more unanswered questions than before. Delores suggested my theory was something Detective Thurman was considering.

  In other words, I should butt out.

  I wasn't so sure.