Saddled with Murder

by Eileen Brady

  Buddy greeted me, barking at the large canvas bag of groceries balanced in my hands. Jeremy looked up from his computer. “Hi. Need some help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, fully expecting him to jump up and help anyway. He didn’t.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Perfect. No headaches. No dizziness.” With a smile he went back to Facebook, or whatever he was doing. I lugged everything into the kitchen, beginning to realize how much time Jeremy logged in on different websites.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  Despite the question, he didn’t even look up from the screen. This was not how I envisioned helping him recuperate. It was now almost three days after the mugging, and he had no headache, no memory problems—just a voracious appetite and ability to sleep through my morning wake-up alarm. A recheck this morning through the ER doctor gave him the all-clear to resume his life.

  Suddenly an overwhelming urge to get out of the apartment blasted me into action.

  “You know, I’ve got an idea. We haven’t been to the diner in a while,” I said while carefully putting away my haphazardly packed groceries. “Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll celebrate your recovery? Your treat.”

  He quickly got my drift.

  “My treat? Absolutely. The doctor said I’m alright—so I’ll even drive you.”

  “Perfect.” I forced a smile on my face to match his.

  On the way out to the car, the tape recorder in my brain replayed the supermarket worker’s voice yelling over and over at me.

  “You’re quiet,” my friend noticed as he spotted the diner’s big sign.

  “A little tired,” I said. “But let’s try to have some fun for a change.”

  Winner of numerous awards, the Oak Falls Diner routinely made the top ten lists of best diners on the East Coast. Family owned, they used locally sourced food as much as possible and were famous for their desserts—especially their pies. Which made me a slavish devotee.

  I had a thing for homemade pie.

  In fact, if someone asked me what I would choose for my last meal on earth, pie would be front and center, with fruit or berry pie under a lattice crust definitely topping the list.

  * * *

  Jeremy and I found a table relatively quickly and both ordered the nightly special, pasta with a homemade meat sauce spiked with wild mushrooms. The place was warm and noisy and had that delicious diner smell to it. Periodic bursts of laughter lifted the spirit of the room and our spirits as well.

  We wasted no time digging in. As usual, the food tasted delicious, and authentically Italian, thanks to Luke’s grandmother’s family recipes.

  “Isn’t this owned by the Gianetti family?” Jeremy conveniently stuffed his mouth with a piece of homemade bread, between forkfuls of pasta. “Haven’t seen much of Luke since I’ve been here.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Is that a yes?” he asked.

  “Yes.” There was no way I wanted to discuss relationships or lack of one with Jeremy, so I desperately thought of some other topic. “Hey, something odd happened earlier today, with Mari and me at the grocery store,” I said, sprinkling my pasta with grated Parmigiano cheese. “This woman yelled at me.”

  “Did you smash into her cart?”

  “No.”

  “All the members of my dig team used to get yelled at by the locals. And spit on, especially in some parts of Africa. The natives thought we were stealing their ancient ancestors.”

  My fork halted midway to my mouth as I asked, “Well, weren’t you, in a way?”

  He frowned. “We only worked with approval of the local government. But I can see your point.”

  Immediately, he honed in on my lame story. I suppose he was starved for entertainment. “Let’s get back to the supermarket. Why would anyone yell at you? You’re so sweet.”

  Accepting the compliment, I explained about the strange encounter at the checkout line. “Mari and I have no idea why she’d be annoyed at me. And she was really pissed.” I pushed my empty plate away, hunger satisfied. “Oh, my gosh.” I rested both hands on my stomach. “I’m so full.”

  “Too full for pie?” he raised his eyebrows with a cocky grin.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” This time I pointed to my abdomen. “There’s always room for pie in there.”

  * * *

  Jeremy suggested a pie contest, so after a leisurely orgy of multiple desserts we lingered over coffee—decaf for me but high test for him. The day’s escapades faded into a hazy mist.

  “So, getting back to this strange argument.”

  Oh, no. My friend never could let a topic go until it was discussed to death.

  “Maybe later?” I looked at my watch. Almost nine o’clock.

  Our waitress returned with our receipt and several take-out boxes with leftover slices of pie and cake.

  “Just one question. Did this person tell you why she was so mad?” Knowing Jeremy, he was taking notes in his head.

  I thought back to the encounter, the woman’s image seared into my brain. Sun-streaked blond hair, big blue eyes, more like a small-town beauty queen than a supermarket store bagger. A vicious look on her pageant-worthy face, there had to be more to her story than getting fired from Oak Falls Animal Hospital.

  Discussing the incident felt wrong. “Let’s forget it.”

  “No. It’s obviously bothering you,” he said. “Spit it out, Kate.”

  I scratched the side of my mouth even though it wasn’t itchy. “Alright. What I don’t get is she accused me of spreading lies or something.” Again I thought back to her words. “Wait. That’s not quite right. She accused me of telling other veterinarians nearby not to hire her. Which, of course, is ridiculous.”

  Jeremy didn’t see anything funny. “The meeting was simply a coincidence, right?”

  “Right. After our last house call, Mari and I decided to pick up a few things at the supermarket, since we were driving right past it. The stop was supposed to save us both some time.”

  “So, no premeditation on her side? No deliberately trying to get you into trouble?”

  What an odd question. “Of course not. How could there be?”

  “Then you have to consider the other possibility, Kate.” His tone of voice turned serious.

  I still didn’t get it.

  He reached over and took my hand. “People spread rumors for a lot of reasons. Anthropologically speaking, it is fascinating. You might have to consider…that maybe she was telling you the truth.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  His words kept me up that night. Long after Jeremy started to snore away in blissful sleep, I tossed around on the sofa. The blanket was too tight. Then the pillow needed to be fluffed up. All the while Rae yelled “Watch your back” over and over.

  How could her statement be true—that I told all the local veterinarians not to hire her?

  Someone must be lying to her.

  * * *

  I fell into a fitful sleep only to awaken at one a.m., eyes wide open.

  My eyes weren’t the only ones alert in the dark. My dog was sniffing around the apartment front door that opened to the parking lot.

  No growling, which was a good sign, but it couldn’t be a coincidence we both woke up at the same time.

  “Buddy,” I whispered. The room was dark except for a night-light in the bathroom. Jeremy’s rhythmic snoring punctuated the stillness. No headlights glowed outside. I peeked out the window. There was nothing, just a light dusting of snow on the windshields of my truck and Jeremy’s Mercedes. Buddy stood on his back legs and nosed under the blinds. Reluctantly, he whimpered and moved away toward me.

  We sat together on the sofa, ears alert, until finally Buddy licked my hand good night, jumped down, and curled up in his own bed.

  * * *

  “Wake
up, sleepyhead,” Jeremy whispered.

  I stretched and yawned and almost slid off the sofa. “What time is it?”

  He looked down at me, a Christmas-tree-covered apron protecting his clothes. “Nine o’clock on a Saturday morning and you are off the entire day. Finally!” His enthusiasm outpaced mine by a mile. All I wanted was a cup of coffee. Then we could celebrate.

  My guest had given me an early Christmas/thank-you gift. The new addition to the tiny kitchen was an expensive combination coffee/espresso machine. Jeremy drank espresso and called it a necessity of life. I liked whichever one I could pour quicker.

  “Ready for Jeremy’s internationally famous egg and cheese on a muffin?”

  That made me laugh. It was about the only thing Jeremy could cook other than microwave popcorn. We’d lived on both of them while studying for finals at school.

  I dressed and answered a few animal-hospital-related emails and texts while he made breakfast. Soon we were sitting down at the kitchen table chatting about pranks we pulled in the dorm—me being a reluctant participant most of the time.

  “Let’s do something different today,” he urged. “What about a trip to Rhinebeck or New Paltz?”

  “What about Paris instead?” I joked, then remembered my vow to visit Lobo, the mustang, for the next few Saturdays. “Sorry, I’ve got a date with a horse.”

  Jeremy frowned. “That’s a new one.”

  “You’re welcome to come along. It should be interesting.” I took another sip of coffee, my second delicious cup of the morning.

  “Why is that interesting?” Jeremy knew a little bit about horses. His older sister trained as an equestrian jumper for many years, and her little brother had taken a few lessons.

  “Lobo is a wild mustang, or rather, he grew up wild. My client, Ashley, adopted him through the Bureau of Land Management.” I stood up and brought the dishes to the sink. “He went through their program but still needs more gentling around people.”

  “So who doesn’t?” he commented. “I’m up for that. Then we can drive over to Rhinebeck and wander around or do whatever you want to do. It’s all fine with me.”

  Together we made short work of the breakfast dishes. I advised him to wear his waterproof boots, since the pasture and stalls were bound to be muddy and mucky. As always, I picked up my emergency backpack and flung it over my shoulder.

  “You still carry the Swiss Army Knife Gramps gave you in that thing?” Jeremy asked.

  “Sure do,” I admitted. “Did I tell you for high school graduation my best friend received a necklace with a solid gold locket from her family? I got a Swiss Army Knife. Perfect gift.”

  “He always worried about you. I did too.” Jeremy used to walk me back to my dorm at night after our marathon study sessions.

  “That’s because Gramps heard all these horror stories from his buddies on the police force about women getting assaulted. Every Saturday until I left for school, he made me take self-defense lessons and then karate. I’ve got the black belt to prove it.” Just for fun I swung my leg sideways and delivered a roundhouse kick in his direction.

  “Not much need for it up here,” my friend said, looking out the window at the quiet winter landscape surrounding us.

  * * *

  We drove down the road, the F-150 truck quite a bit bouncier than his Mercedes. The morning stayed cold and clear for our entire trip, a bonus when working with large animals out in a field. We stopped for gas and loaded up on real apples to supplement the horse treats Mari had stashed in the back seat. With food bribes in place, I looked forward to another encounter with Lobo. I’d texted Ashley before we left so she was expecting us. Sure enough, the security gate at the base of the driveway opened quickly after the truck rolled in front of the sensor.

  As soon as the herd appeared, Jeremy tried unsuccessfully to spot Lobo. I didn’t see him either, although I knew Ashley had turned him out into the main pasture. “Look for a mid-size bay mare. That’s his buddy, Sweet Potato.”

  “Cute name,” he said. “Lobo is a pinto, right?”

  “Right. Very flashy with a blond mane, dark face, and blue eyes.” Having almost nicked one of the snow shoulders with the right tire, I refocused my attention to the road. “I’ll pull up closer to the barn and park.”

  “Wait. He’s off in the corner with another horse in front, throwing a block.” Jeremy pointed to a cluster of trees on the far side of the field.

  Sure enough, on close inspection what looked like one horse was really two, as if Lobo deliberately chose to hide behind his friend, Sweet Potato.

  By pulling over we stirred the curiosity of the diverse animal herd in the field. Thinking we might be carrying something tasty on us, they ambled over for some nose scratching and treats. Sweet Potato made a leisurely break from Lobo to see what all the fuss was about.

  “Shoot,” I said. “We still need to cut him out of the crowd.” Before I could finish, a donkey head butted me, probably annoyed I wasn’t faster with his apple. They all smelled the various treats I had hidden in the bag and in my pockets.

  “Love this,” Jeremy said with a smile as he stroked Sweet Potato’s velvety nose.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Ashley:

  If you want to work with lobo by himself, we can bring everyone in a little early. Another storm is moving in, so actually, you would be doing me a favor

  I slipped under the fence and tossed Jeremy the truck keys. “Valet parking, please. I’ll meet you in front of the barn.”

  He grinned and made a request: “Can I curry-comb Sweet Potato when we put them in the stall?”

  “She’ll love it.”

  When the truck left I strode out into the field making a clucking noise with my tongue. Two horses, a donkey, one mule, a mixed crew of pygmy goats, and a sheep tagged along. All except the pinto mustang, wary and watching from under the trees.

  I looked directly at him and said, “Come on, Lobo.”

  Without waiting for a response, I walked toward the barn, with the impatient donkey still giving me some nudges in my back to hurry me along. Sweet Potato looked up and whinnied for Lobo, which prompted the first bit of movement I’d seen from him.

  Now he had a choice. Stay out alone or join his friends inside.

  The herd instinct won out. From the corner of my eye I watched him plod along on a trajectory toward the bay mare.

  “Good work, Sweet Potato.” I dug into my pocket and slipped her an extra horse treat.

  * * *

  Ashley limped into the barn in her knee brace and directed the animals to their own stalls. The smell of hay reminded me of early morning large animal rounds in vet school. Sure enough we’d just turned a straggling goat in when I noticed dark clouds outside and a drop in temperature. So much for our plans to walk around Rhinebeck.

  That didn’t seem to matter much to Jeremy, who’d gone to the tack room and loaded up on combs, curry brushes, and a hoof pick.

  “I’m impressed,” I said, after introducing him to my client.

  “Well,” he admitted, “my older sister used to give me a dollar for grooming her horse. When you’re ten, that’s a lot of money. Especially when you didn’t get an allowance.”

  Ashley laughed. “Go ahead and groom as many as you want. I’ll match your sister’s prices.”

  * * *

  With Jeremy busy we concentrated on Lobo. Ashley sat down outside the stall and nursed her bad knee, while I opened the stall door and stood there, waiting for him to make the next move. His twitching ears indicated he was deciding something.

  “Will he let you groom him?” I asked her, still not engaging him.

  “Yes, but he’s very nervous and doesn’t enjoy it. Stomps his feet and makes a big fuss the whole time.”

  I held my hand out flat then showed him the quartered apple.

  Again, he app
eared to be deciding something.

  Clucking my tongue, I said, “Come here, Lobo.”

  The love of food won. He took the few steps that separated us and slowly lowered his head toward my hand. Soft lips nibbled cautiously before each piece disappeared.

  After making friends, I put a rope lead on the mustang, cross-tied him in the grooming area, and gave him a gentle rubdown with a medium soft brush. I spent a lot of time on his head, neck, and ears until he stopped shuddering every time I touched him.

  * * *

  “He likes you,” Ashley told me later over a cup of tea at the kitchen table. Jeremy, smelling distinctly of horse, enthusiastically chomped on a slice of banana bread.

  “Maybe I remind him of someone. Horses can recognize people and remember them for a long time.” Sitting opposite a large picture window that looked out over the front pasture and orchard, I envisioned it filled with blossoming trees in the springtime. Her renovations took advantage of the beautiful views.

  Our hostess squinted her eyes and gave me the once-over. “Come to think of it, you resemble one of the horse wranglers who worked with him. About your height and coloring.”

  “So you were sort of familiar?” Jeremy asked us. “Can horses process that kind of recognition?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they can,” Ashley replied. “My dad had a horse for twenty-some years, a mixed Thoroughbred. He bought her before he married my mom and rode her every day. When we moved to the city, he retired the horse to a farm not far from here. A couple of times a year he’d go visit Buttercup and I’d tag along. Dad would stand by the fence and whistle for her—and she’d come running to him. She was twenty-seven years old at the time and greeted him like it was yesterday. Then they’d stroll around the pasture talking to each other. At least that’s what he told me.”

  “Your father sounds like a devoted horse lover.”

  “He was, even more so after my mom died.” Ashley’s voice sounded thoughtful. “My little Buttercup, he called her, even though she stood almost seventeen hands high. As soon as we bought this place, Dad moved into the guesthouse and I trailered Buttercup up here. If the weather was good, Dad would sit on that bench.” She pointed out the window toward a cluster of seats by the pasture fencing. “Buttercup would stand next to him, leaning on the railing, sort of dozing by his side.”