The Legacy (Tipperary Carriage Company Mystery Book 5)

by J A Whiting

  "I see. He does a good job, and he’s a nice guy."

  "Being a watchman and feeding these horses lets him feel useful."

  "It’s good for him and for you."

  Ross nodded and gave the final bucket of crushed oats to Blaze, a tall black horse with a white face who was probably a Thoroughbred, at least in part. Just as Ross was sliding the door shut, both dogs suddenly got up and raced for the front entrance of the barn.

  Mae stood and walked after them. A car was pulling in from the country road in front of Ross's house, its headlights cutting through the darkness in the gravel lot outside of the barn.

  "Sheriff's deputy is here," Mae called to Ross. "I can't tell which one they've sent this time."

  The Franklin County Sheriff's Deputy car pulled up and parked, and then a uniformed officer stepped out. "Good evening, Mrs. Monahan," he said.

  "Good evening, Deputy Blackwood," said Mae.

  "Got something interesting for you," said Ross, parking the wheelbarrow.

  All three of them walked down the barn aisle to Fireball's stall, accompanied, of course, by Mick and Mack.

  Ross slid the door open.

  With her foot, Mae moved the rubber feeding tub across the stall floor so that the horse turned his right side to the door. "You can see it right there," she said. "Looks like a big long pin with that red cap on it. And it hurts him."

  "Tried to ease it out, but it's stuck pretty good," said Ross. "Still a little blood there, probably from every time he moves his head."

  "We're waiting on a vet from Ohio State right now," said Mae. "We'll let them remove it. We're afraid it might have barbs on it and that's why we can't get it out."

  The deputy nodded and stepped inside the stall to get a closer look, carefully moving Fireball's mane aside. The horse took a step away, but kept on eating.

  Deputy Blackwood glanced at Mae. "That's a blowgun dart."

  "A what?" said Mae. "A blowgun?"

  "Yes," he answered. "We see this kind of thing once in a while. Usually it's kids messing around and trying to hit birds and squirrels. But not always."

  Ross nodded. "I should have known. I was thinking it was from some kind of air gun modified to shoot darts. But a plain old blowgun makes more sense."

  "I guess I thought blowguns were primitive things, made out of bamboo and thorns," said Mae. Her eyes widened. "And, don't some of the people who use them put poison on the darts?"

  "Some cultures do. You're right that these are very old weapons," said the deputy. "But there are modern versions, too, and they're used for the same reason. They're dead silent and, with a little practice, can be very accurate."

  "What about the poison, though?" said Mae, looking anxiously at her horse.

  "Not likely," Ross told her. "We'd have seen a reaction by now."

  "I think so, too," said Blackwood. "I don't know much about horses, but I do know that as long as they're eating they're probably okay."

  "Yeah, I guess so," whispered Mae. Then suddenly the dogs took off for the front of the barn again, and Mae looked up to see another set of headlights pulling in. "That should be the vets now. I'm almost afraid to see what they're going to find."

  "Okay. I've got it. And he didn't feel a thing."

  Mae held the end of Fireball's lead rope, looking across the horse's neck as the young veterinary student lifted up the dart with a thin pair of pliers. The awful thing made a dull reflection in the barn lights, as did the drops of blood that fell from the sharp end of it onto Fireball's mane.

  "So, there were no barbs on the end?" asked Mae.

  "No," answered the older vet, as he watched alongside the student. "You probably had trouble getting it out because the tissue became swollen around it."

  Ross nodded. "Glad you could numb him up first. That thing really stung him."

  "Any chance there was something toxic on that dart?" asked Deputy Blackwood.

  "My first thought is no," said the senior vet. "There's no tissue damage outside of the puncture wound itself. His vital signs are normal. And you said he's been eating and acting normally otherwise."

  "Eating like a horse," said Mae, with a little smile. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

  The student moved to Fireball's head and pushed back the horse's upper lip. "Gum color is still normal," she said. "And he ate every scrap of his grain, so that's always a good sign."

  The older vet nodded. "Anything harmful almost certainly would have shown up by now. It's been at least a couple of hours since he was hit."

  Mae smiled a little and ran her hand down Fireball's face. The horse seemed quite relaxed now that he'd had the wound numbed and the dart was finally out. "So I guess he'll be all right to work on Monday? He's supposed to pull the family in my black carriage at Col. Greene's funeral that morning."

  "Most likely," said the vet. "If he's still okay tomorrow, he'll be fine for Monday."

  "Good," said Mae. "We'll keep an eye on him."

  "Deputy, you want to take that dart and test it?" asked Ross.

  "Yes, I do," said Blackwood. He held out the small plastic evidence bag he'd brought and the vet student dropped the long thin dart inside it. "We'll send it to the lab. We'll contact the golf course, too, to ask a few questions and take a look. I'll want to write down the exact spot on the course where you think this might have happened."

  Mae nodded. "For sure."

  "Don't know if there's much chance of finding out who did such an odd thing," said Ross. "But I'd sure like to know."

  "I would, too," said the deputy. "Might have been some kind of sick game. Or maybe they really were after someone in the carriage. It was a wedding, you said. Maybe a jealous ex-boyfriend. Hard to say."

  "But if they get away with it once," said Mae, with her hand still on Fireball's head, "they might try again. Next time it might be worse. They might hit a person. Or put some kind of poison on the dart, just to see what happens."

  "That's right," said Deputy Blackwood. "I'll let you know if we find out anything else. Glad your horse is all right."

  "Thank you. So am I," said Mae. "I guess there's not much else we can do."

  "Except watch out," said Ross, and the deputy nodded.

  Soon the veterinarians and the deputy were both gone, and Fireball was left in peace in his stall where he was munching his hay as though nothing at all unusual had happened that day. Ross was preparing to go in for the night and had called the dogs over so he could bring them onto the covered back porch where they always liked to sleep.

  "Good night, Ross," Mae said, starting to walk to her truck. "Good night, dogs. Be good and I'll see you here tomorrow."

  But before she could take a step, her phone rang.

  She took it from her pocket. Standing in the outside light on the front of the barn, Mae looked at the caller identification and then touched the screen.

  "Hello. This is Mae Monahan, Tipperary Carriage Company. How can I help you?"

  Ross walked over to her, waiting as she listened. The two dogs came over and sat down at his feet.

  "I see," Mae finally said. "No, no. I wouldn't think of keeping the deposit. Of course, I'll return it to you. I'm very sorry. I hope all goes well. Yes, ma'am. Thank you for calling."

  She touched the screen on the phone to end the call. "Well, I guess we won't find out until later whether Fireball will make a good funeral horse or not," Mae said. "Col. Greene's funeral has been canceled."

  Ross frowned a little. "Canceling a wedding I might understand," he said. "But why would anyone cancel a funeral?"

  "Mrs. Greene told me they're not having the ceremony. At least, not as planned." Mae slipped the phone back into the pocket of her jacket. "She said there will only be a small private interment with no one but the immediate family. No military honors, no pipers, no horse-drawn carriage, no friends."

  "Hmm. Col. Greene was pretty well known around here. The family, too. Big family. A lot of friends. Seems strange."

  "It is," said Mae. "And Mrs
. Greene didn't say they'd just decided not to use a carriage. They've canceled the entire thing, except for a handful of people who will be there for the interment. That's it."

  "Did they just decide at the last minute they wanted privacy?" Ross asked.

  Mae paused. Mack got up and walked to her side, asking to be petted, while this time Mick stayed beside Ross.

  "Maybe they did," she said at last. "It would be understandable. He was well known enough that there would certainly be some press coverage. Maybe they just didn't want that. I saw how rude that Crystal woman was at the parade."

  "She was at the wedding today, too," said Ross.

  "Yes, she sure was." Mae turned and paced a few steps across the gravel. Mack got up and followed her. "It's not the least bit logical, but something here just doesn't make sense."

  Then she turned to face Ross. "I know it's none of my business," she said. "I barely know these people, the Greenes, I mean. But they rode in my carriage during the last event they ever enjoyed together. They wanted me to accompany the colonel on his final ride to his resting place. I was honored, really, to be part of that. They could have asked plenty of other folks to drive them in a carriage, but they trusted me with that final task.

  "And the more I think about it, the more I feel sure that they didn't just suddenly decide on a tiny private ceremony at the last minute. I think that family very much wanted to honor their father and grandfather in the best way possible, with all the ceremony that he deserved. It just doesn't make sense that they'd cut that off at the last minute with no explanation."

  She thought Ross might shrug off her concerns, but he only nodded. "There's a connection between the Greenes and that TV woman who was at the wedding. And with the man who sold you your black horse. All three of them. I don't know what it is, but after what happened today out on that golf course I'd say it's hard to ignore."

  "Glad it's not just me." Mae bent down to hug Mack, and immediately Mick trotted over to receive her share of the affection. "If somebody was angry enough at him to want him out of the way, well, the man is already gone. Why destroy his memory, too? His legacy?"

  "Good question. Be careful driving home. See you tomorrow."

  "First thing. And, as always, thank you."

  "No problem."

  15

  The next morning, Mae was right back where she had been the night before, in front of Fireball's stall with a cup of coffee with cream, looking in on the big black horse while he tore into his morning ration of hay.

  He looks perfectly fine to me. And I seem to have a whole two days off in a row, now that the Greene funeral for tomorrow has been canceled.

  She walked down the barn aisle to look in on her other horses, Steel, Goldie, Star, Silver, and Copper. The horses were also digging into their hay and seemed as though they couldn't be more content.

  Glad they're so happy, and it's nice to have a little time off, but the bills keep on coming even when we don't work. These horses sure go through a lot of hay and grain and vet bills.

  Mae had just about decided to get the horses groomed while they ate their hay, and then go home and relax for a little while, when her phone rang.

  "Good morning. Tipperary Carriage Company. Mae speaking," she said. "Oh, tomorrow morning? Your great-grandmother. I see. Of course. Well, yes ma'am, it is rather last minute but it happens we've had a cancellation for just that time. We do have a black horse and a black carriage available. Just let me get your information."

  After another few minutes, Mae had all she needed from the caller and hung up. For a moment she stood at the open rear door of the barn, watching Ross out at the hay barn near the back of the property. He was sorting out a few bales for the evening feed and restacking what was left. Mick and Mack ran around the grounds nearby, taking turns chasing each other and attempting to herd a few robins that were foolish enough to fly down.

  I know he won't want to go to this job. I'd better see if I can get another assistant. I think I'm going to need one.

  Mae walked back inside the barn, once again standing outside of Fireball's stall, and dialed another number.

  "Hey, Brandon. What would it take to bribe you to help me with a funeral drive tomorrow morning? Yes, a funeral. No, I'm serious. Last-minute call. It's going to be small, not too much of a crowd, no bagpipes so it will be a good introduction for Fireball. Your favorite and most expensive steakhouse? Okay, kid. You got it. See you tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Bright and early."

  The morning was soft and grey and fresh with rain, the way Mae often imagined the mornings would be in distant Ireland. But right then she was driving Fireball up a small hill out at a large country cemetery not too far from Goodnight Farm, heading towards the main building where the family would gather.

  Brandon sat beside her on the box, sitting tall and solemn in his black coat and tall black hat just like Mae's. Fireball walked along happily enough, occasionally breaking into a few jogging steps in the cool morning. The air smelled wonderful, heavy with mist and with the delicate scents of the green grass and new spring flowers all around them in the peaceful cemetery.

  Mae found that she didn’t mind working at a funeral. It was all very dignified and the surroundings really quite lovely. If it pleased the family to have a beautiful horse and carriage at their ceremony, she was more than glad to be of service to them.

  I guess I just wish it was for Col. Greene. He deserved something like this. But of course, it's up to his family to decide what's best for them… and it seems like that's what they've done.

  She guided Fireball into the wide curving driveway in front of the white-columned main building. The black hearse already stood waiting there underneath the canopy, its rear doors open.

  Mae halted Fireball a few yards back from the hearse and nodded to Brendan. He hopped down from the driver's box and went to stand at the horse's head, just as the doors of the building opened up and the family and friends began walking out to stand on either side of the hearse.

  Fireball's head popped up at the sight of the crowd, and Mae suppressed a little smile at seeing how the people all did something of the same when they first caught sight of the big, black, perfectly groomed horse standing and waiting. Some of them smiled, apparently delighted, while others seemed quite moved, almost to tears.

  You're not supposed to steal the show, Fireball. Not here.

  Mae was quite pleased with how very dramatic and dignified the horse looked, and it seemed that the family felt the same.

  The crowd mostly kept silent, just murmuring to themselves as they waited. There were no bagpipes, thankfully. In a moment the silvery grey casket appeared at the door, covered in the American flag and carried out by two men in Navy uniform and by four other men in suits.

  Very quietly and efficiently they loaded it into the hearse. A couple of women from the family placed a lovely spray of white and yellow roses beside the casket. Then the doors were closed up, the pallbearers got into the passenger seats in the hearse, and the other guests went to their nearby cars.

  Six of the immediate family walked to the carriage, the six who had been chosen to ride in it to the gravesite. They were three adults and three older children, each of them holding a small bouquet of two yellow roses and one white rose.

  Mae nodded and touched her hat to them as they approached. Brandon did the same as he moved to open the carriage door and get out the block for them to stand on as they climbed in. That left Fireball standing alone for a moment. He swung his head around as though to look for Brandon, but otherwise never moved, and then Brandon got back up on the box.

  In near silence, the hearse moved smoothly forward and started on the quarter-mile trip to the gravesite. Mae sent Fireball forward at a smart walk to follow it.

  It seemed that the only sound was the ringing of Fireball's horseshoes as he walked on the pavement of the road.

  The woman who had called had said that the service was for her grandmother, who had been among the first wo
men to serve in the U.S. Navy and was nearly one hundred years old at the time of her death last week.

  Mae could not help but think that, like Col. Greene, this woman had lived a long and full life, but the comfort from that thought would only come later. This woman was certainly being well remembered and her legacy was clearly very important to all her family and friends.

  They'd even gone right down to the wire to get a horse and carriage for her funeral, since apparently the woman had loved horses all her life and it was important to them to honor her this way once they realized it was possible.

  I'm sure Fireball and I will be hearing that quite often if we keep doing funerals. But I'm more than happy to do them. This really is pretty special. The look on the faces of these people would take away any doubt I might have had.

  Fortunately, the hearse maintained its slow pace. The horse only had to jog once or twice to keep up with it, and that was more for show than for speed. He seemed happy to be in the peaceful, parklike surroundings with just grass and a few scattered trees around him, and where all the people were very, very quiet.

  Though it might be different if we're at a service that includes a twenty-one gun salute. I'd better talk to Ross about that before it comes up.

  Soon they reached the site of the grave. Again Mae stopped the horse and again Brandon stepped down to hold him. They were at some distance, since Fireball and the carriage remained on the street, but as the family left the carriage and joined the others, Mae watched, fascinated, as the formal dignity of a military funeral unfolded before her.

  The immediate family, those who had ridden in the carriage, sat down in the single row of waiting chairs. All the others stood behind them. Then the two Navy men and the four pallbearers brought the casket from the hearse and placed it on the framework over the open grave. The same two women brought the large bouquet of white-and-yellow roses and set them down on the grass to one side.