by Glenna Mason
“I am obviously a close neighbor and have always tried to be a friend to Sir William, Lady Lucas and their children. When William and Maria began to spend more time in Claysmount fifteen years ago, I still worked part time in New York where I did some set design at the Metropolitan Opera. The rest of the year I devoted to Laurel Acres, where I instituted the beginnings of a still ongoing project to build a farm/foundation, which gives homes to abandoned animals, especially horses slated for slaughter.
“One night not long after he moved here permanently, Sir William asked me to go to the Red Mile. We had a marvelous time. I, a single lady for a lifetime and feeling no need to change that status, was dazzled. That was about eight years ago. We have been dating ever since.”
“But why doesn't anyone know?”
“Some do. Most just do not reside in Claysmount. Maria knows and Gage, of course. Monsieur Chevalier and his friends are well aware of our romance. We often stay with him in Paris.”
“Gage knows?”
“Naturally Gage knows; he is Maria's husband. William and I are not clandestine, just circumspect. We go quite openly to the Red Mile, the opera, Europe, NYC. We often go to central Kentucky parties together, but I guess people just accept us as good friends. You did.”
“Maria never mentioned—”
“Maria and I love each other very much. She and I are like best friends, almost like a mother and her daughter. She has no reason to discuss me with anyone. We are co-conspirators in giving her dad the good life.”
“And here I credited myself with being such a superior detective, and I missed a great love affair right under my nose. Are you sure you want to work with me on this caper?” Elizabeth said, with a laugh at her own expense.
“When we first started dating, William and I discussed marriage. We decided to wait; it seemed the right thing to do for Lady Lucas’ memory. I do not know if we made the right choice, but we did make it together. And as the years have gone by, we have just fallen into a comfortable pattern. We love each other with no limits. We do not need a wedding band or one bedroom. We have a different kind of commitment: love.”
Elizabeth was not often at a loss for words, but the beauty inherent in what Tish said made her blush. She was again reminded of her own love-less life, and for the first time in a long time, her horses just couldn’t fill in the gap. She quickly looked down at her watch and was relieved to see that they were getting perilously close to seven.
Elizabeth stood wobbly from her bench. “I need to leave, Tish. Family supper coming up at Jane's any minute.” She hesitated and then invited, “You should start joining us. You are in essence one of the family. Sir William knows it; Gage and Maria know it, and now I know it. Would you please consider it?”
“Maybe someday, Lizzy. Thank you for the thought.”
“And you will be at my house tomorrow night!” Elizabeth said, as she and Tish strolled toward the car, leaning heavily on one another.
“I wouldn't miss it.”
“Good,” she said aloud, and Elizabeth mused to herself, “I must not forget to tell Peter to set the table with Tish in mind. Will it be thirteen? Maybe! A good luck number? Perhaps! We may need a lucky number to solve this conundrum.”
Elizabeth carefully lowered herself into the seat of her car, having given Tish a decidedly shaky hug. “Will Prince Charming prove to be a frog?” Elizabeth wondered, as she fastened the seat belt. “Or a true knight as Tish assumes?”
Refocusing on her hostess, Elizabeth said, “Tish, later in the week come to my house for juleps and a solidifying of our course of action.” Sighing with a flush of excitement, she added, “Oh and bring a selection of opera recordings. I understand some of them are full of mystery and intrigue. It might set the right tone.”
Elizabeth smiled affectionately and ground her car into first gear.
“Uh! Oh!”
“Drive carefully, Lizzy.”
“I'll try, Tish. Luckily it is only a couple of miles on roads I know well.”
CHAPTER NINE
Elizabeth would have loved to go to Jane's by way of the police station, so that she could personally give Luke Davenport the sketch of the driver. He was, after all, in charge. She could impress on him its importance, so that he did not thrust it in that crowded drawer with the other forgotten evidence.
However, Elizabeth was not certain that this would suit Tish's plans for the unveiling of the perpetrator. Tish seemed to be rather enamored of him—well, at least protective in some indefinable fashion. But even more significant than Tish's sensibilities was the knowledge Elizabeth held in that part of her brain, which still functioned normally, that she, Elizabeth Francine Bennet, had no business getting near a policeman, much less a police station, right now. She was martini-ed out! It might turn out to be she who ended in the hoosegow! So instead, Elizabeth drove straight to her sister's and ascended Jane's front steps precisely on time. She still beat her sister, who reached the Pope Road entrance just as Elizabeth pushed the doorbell a little too stridently.
“How do you do it, sis? Arrive in time to eat and yet serve gourmet feasts?” Elizabeth asked, when Jane joined her in the vestibule of the sprawling ranch.
“It's a piece de resistance, sister dear. I cook up a storm on the week-ends and stock the freezer. Voila! Charles thaws it, and a few microwave minutes later, dinner is served!”
“Yeah! Well, it's the first part, the cooking up a storm, that escapes me,” Elizabeth said.
“Come on in, Lizzy. Let's have a glass of wine!”
“I think I'll pass on the wine tonight. I've just left Tish Pope's.”
“Martinis?”
“Oui!”
“No wonder you were using our door bell as a chorus of cacophony. I heard it all the way out at the entrance of the driveway.”
The conversation during dinner centered on the ransom and its ramifications. Elizabeth passed around her sketches of the driver, but nobody recognized him. As most pacers and trotters were standard-bred horses, a different breed from the thoroughbred, the buyers and sellers and breeders of the two different equines did not necessarily have much occasion to interact, unless they were thrown together socially. In addition, many of the harness racing drivers were owners, racing for the enjoyment of it, and not professional jockeys, which represented another level of separation from the thoroughbred racing world.
The evening progressed smoothly and ended early as per the usual Monday Night Supper. These family supper gatherings had been a ritual for several years as the participants often went their separate ways on the week-end and enjoyed a quiet Monday night dinner to catch up or plan for the week ahead.
As Maria and Gage were about to leave for home, Elizabeth requested, “Please tell Sir William that we missed him tonight and that I hope he can make the dinner at my house tomorrow night. Maybe he could swing by and pick up Tish Pope, since she is back in town and is definitely coming to the dinner.” The couple nodded.
“That should get Sir William to Tuesday night dinner at my house,” Elizabeth surmised with a hidden smile.
Elizabeth lingered after the others left for a little rendezvous with her nieces. Whenever Jane hosted Monday Night Supper, Elizabeth usually ended the evening in the girls’ bedroom, telling them a bedtime story—always a mystery of her own invention. The girls loved Elizabeth's tales of suspense, eagerly anticipating the newest saga of pre-teen sleuths, Bell and Kay.
It always baffled her a bit. These grade-school stories seemed to be easy to create, while her mystery novel languished in the drawer and was likely to remain there. “Hey, there's an idea,” she said to herself on the way down the hallway. “I should write mysteries for children.
“Hmmm, maybe that is not such a bad idea,” she said aloud, as she entered the bedroom.
“What, Auntie Lizzy?”
“Would you like me to write down some of our stories so you could read them over and over and share them with your friends?”
“Oh, yes, p
lease. It will help me learn to read better,” Libby Bell said. “I can practice on Millie Kay.”
“Oh, yes, soon. It’ll help me learn how to read,” Millie Kay added. “Libby Bell can tutor me.”
“Can we tell?”
“Let me get some on paper first.”
On her way home, Elizabeth marveled at how much she adored those two little girls. Elizabeth hadn’t realized until Libby Bell was born just how much a child could bring into one's world. Now she recognized the contribution threefold and understood that her life was richer for it.
“Bring 'em on, Lydia. Time is running short.”
As Elizabeth pulled into her driveway, she noticed that the ache in her chest was still there. She had been feeling terribly alone and vulnerable the past few days. “Perhaps the natural reaction of knowing I am now thirty,” Elizabeth decided. Then she happened to glance over and notice the handsome stranger, lying in sketch form on her car seat. “I hope that is all it is.”
*****
Conferring with Peter Tuesday morning, Elizabeth found that his plans for her dinner were brilliant—as expected. The party would be informal with drinks on the lower level front porch and a supper- type fare on the upstairs porch. “Casual and chic, as befits you, Dr. Elizabeth,” was Peter's description.
Elizabeth called all her guests and requested that they dress casually and warmly, since they would be eating on the porch. All were delighted. The community loved the Bennet porches.
The party would stay downstairs for cocktails, so Elizabeth could welcome guests as they arrived in a scattered fashion. Then everyone could move upstairs together. Both porches provided a nice view of the property, with its ancient oaks, flowering gardens and fields of grazing horses.
They positioned the dining table so that it would be well lit with illumination streaming through the hall’s double doors and the windows and French doors of both bedrooms. It would be set for seventeen, since the Taylors, the Andersons and Tish Pope were joining the original twelve. Peter arranged lanterns on the porch railings, candles in earthen-ware holders and flares up the driveway to complete the lighting. He placed electric heaters inconspicuously behind the porch potted evergreens, in case the temperature dropped.
In keeping with the casual intent of the design planned so elaborately by Peter, Elizabeth rooted out her pottery and her father’s stein collection for a dinner beverage of beer. For the tablecloth, Elizabeth had found a gorgeous old tapestry at the rear of one of the maid's room's linen closets—a coup de grace—spectacular really. As a final touch she picked armloads of yellow daffodils from the flower garden under her kitchen window and arranged them in earthen-ware pitchers.
Elizabeth arranged for two of her local EKU students, who were music majors and luckily not at the beach for Spring Break, to provide the night's entertainment.
By mid-afternoon with everything in perfect readiness, Elizabeth admitted that it had been a charming adventure already and the guests weren't due to arrive for hours. “That wasn't so bad,” she said to the four walls.
Before Elizabeth strode to the barn lot for early—again—barn duty, she went to the police and got copies made of the sketches of both suspects. The sergeant on duty showed no interest in either. Lt. Davenport was off duty.
The sky was already beginning to darken a little when the guests began to arrive at six-thirty. Lights poured through the doors and windows on both floors in cheery welcome; Elizabeth stood on the top step of the front porch, ready to party. Effervescent as a glass of champagne, Elizabeth sparkled, bubbling inside as well as on the surface.
The guests arrived in quick succession, welcomed by the melodies of Gershwin and Porter flowing from the front hall piano. “We can dance in the front hall after dinner, if anyone wants to,” Elizabeth informed the friends when they complimented the music. “Joely and Charlie are having a late supper and would be glad to accommodate us.”
Around seven-thirty the party, enlivened by the atmosphere and the cocktails, wandered upstairs for supper. Beer soon flowed into the antique steins.
After dinner was completed, the seventeen, full and happy, retired to the family room for coffee, after dinner brandy and their long-awaited reports. Elizabeth started the ball rolling with an entertaining description of her latest sojourn into Field Thirteen, the subsequent cigarette butt, and then the sketches of the Stanton kidnappers. She passed the copies around and everyone studied the pictures with interest, quietly for a moment, discussing their impressions among themselves.
Sir William, Elizabeth noticed, was especially intrigued by the sketches of the driver, obviously recognizing the work of the artist. Typically, however, he kept his own counsel, giving none of his thoughts away. A slight frown did temporarily crease his brow, but he quickly removed its traces and patted Tish's hand.
“Interesting,” Elizabeth thought. “I wonder if the driver also looks familiar to Sir William.”
“Please take the sketches, study them and use them in your own inquiries. Our investigation's ongoing, of course.” Elizabeth said.
Naturally Elizabeth credited Tish with the suspect number-two sketches. The guests eagerly complimented her on her skill and artistry. Tish was reticent and had nothing to add, except a coy smile directed at Elizabeth alone. Carol and Jewell, sketches in hand, announced that their husbands had agreed to accompany them on an excursion up the entire By-Pass route over the week-end, when the coffee shops would be crowded with potential witnesses. “We will find a clue, if there is one to find,” they guaranteed. Their husbands nodded in forced assent.
Jane and Maria reported that they could find no evidence of complicity in the kidnapping scheme by any Bennet or Stantonfield employee. Kitty concurred; she had found no land mine of trouble in the private finances of the farms' employees. Sir William had no report except to say that he and his fellow owners were busily accruing cash for the inevitable. No one was forward enough to specifically ask him, if he had yet heard, and so Sir William was saved from having to lie about it.
Jimmy Joyce explained that he had been quite active on the internet.
“Afraid so,” Claire grumbled.
“I am sorry, Claire, but, as you know, I am a novice on the computer and so everything is taking me twice as long as it should.”
“I apologize, Jimmy Joyce, for assigning you the job I disliked doing myself,” Elizabeth said, seeing that Jimmy Joyce’s assignment had apparently caused a rift in his relationship with Claire.
“No, my dear Elizabeth, you have done me an enormous favor. I am learning that the internet is actually a lot of fun. I have discovered Facebook and Twitter and made new friends.” Elizabeth realized that Jimmy Joyce really meant it and felt better.
“I’m glad, Jimmy Joyce. I could never lean that way. Physical activity and face-to-face encounters are my life's blood.”
“I felt the same way, Elizabeth; I am actually quite surprised that I like my assignment so much.”
“But,” Tommy Dodd asked, “have you learned anything of value?”
“Well, Tommy, I'd say it is a tossup. Most of the verbiage out there is trivial and/or controversial.”
“I'm sure!”
“However, Tommy, there are two or three lines that I am following, which could possibly lead me somewhere.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve met a blogger or two on line, who are assisting me. Together we should have something by the next meet-up. Of course that something may just be that there is no evidence to be found via the computer.”
“Can you give us a hint of the directions you are pursuing, Jimmy Joyce?” asked Jewell.
“One line of inquiry involves an owner. Not you, Sir William,” he quickly added. “There is a rumor that one of the breeders is being blackmailed and needs a large infusion of ready cash.”
“He'll be blackmailed for sure, if he is in on this. That seems a sorry solution.”
“True. That theory is likely to be discarded. It’s probably just intern
et gossip.
“Another more likely scenario centers on the jockeys and the stable lads, who work on the horse farms and in the barns at the track. There have been considerable rumblings and much discontent among these personnel in regard to their remuneration, their lack of insurance coverage and their inability to receive retirement benefits from tracks and employers.”
“Now that sounds plausible at least,” said Carroll Carel. “They certainly might feel they are deservedly attacking the very people who ignore their needs.”
“Yes,” Sir William said, suddenly attentive, a new concerned frown crossing his brow.
“It would also explain how so many farms were so efficiently hit,” Will Anderson said. “There would no need for inside assistance from current staff, if the kidnappers were former employees who were familiar with each farm's routine.”
“They would need a leader, an organizer,” Sir William said, looking intently at the sketch of the driver of the horse trailer.
Elizabeth understood that the drawing interested Sir William beyond just the artist's identity. She believed that Sir William found the man familiar, but could not place him.
“My conclusions so far are only surmise,” Jimmy Joyce said, “but it appears evident to me that ten successful, simultaneous hits must have been carefully coordinated by someone with very close ties to the Kentucky horse industry, someone with intricate knowledge of its inner workings. Whether currently or formerly, I cannot say; whether owner or employee, I cannot say. It is the only way an enterprise of such magnitude could have been planned and implemented with such ease and perfection, almost effortlessly, one might say.”
Jimmy Joyce interrupted his presentation abruptly with a surprise invitation. “If Claire is amenable, I'd like to host the next session. Shall we say a week from today, next Tuesday? That gives the Dodds and the Carels time to scan the By-Pass. It gives me the better part of another week on the computer.”
