STUDS AND STILETTOS (Romantic Mystery)

by Bev Pettersen

  She circled every table, hopeful for leftovers but found only napkins and a bottle of barbecue sauce. A doughnut box had been tossed on the floor and she kicked it in frustration. Something rattled. She bent down and yanked it open. Two plain doughnuts remained.

  She blew out a sigh of gratitude. Not much but if she chewed slowly, she could make them last almost as long as a real meal.

  She wrapped the precious doughnuts in a napkin, took a last look around then headed back to her barn.

  Her barn. How cool was that? Two sweet horses for company, a background gig tomorrow and perhaps employment for a few more days. The pay was barely over minimum wage, but it was certainly more than she’d earned last week. Movie work, horse care and race advice—best of all, she’d done it on her own, without asking for Jenna’s help.

  Her steps lengthened. The wooded path was too rough in the fading light and she swerved to follow the paved drive. She couldn’t wait to sit down and enjoy her bounty but didn’t want to spill a drop of the precious coffee.

  After she finished her doughnuts, she’d check out more Internet sites. The racing consultant job was a bit over-reaching—Wally would have a fit—but she might be able to pick up some additional knowledge before tomorrow, enough so she wouldn’t look like a complete fool in front of Dan.

  She gave a contented sigh, savoring the silence. The reddening sunset reminded her of home. Their trailer had been a little rough but the view from the porch had always been first class. Generally she wasn’t nostalgic, but the familiar sound of peeper frogs filled her with longing. It was comforting that the steeplechase was only four weeks away. She missed Jenna and Peanut. Best of all, when she finally saw them she’d have money to share.

  “Hurry up!”

  The sharp command startled her. She peered through the gloom. The old caretaker stood by the gate, gesturing with his cane.

  “Hurry up,” he repeated. “It’s time to close the gate.”

  She obligingly sped up, even though the gate was only effective for vehicular traffic, and it would be simple to walk around the metal bar.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Guess I’m a little late tonight.”

  “You’re always late,” he grumbled. “Mr. Hamilton isn’t going to like it.”

  She nodded, rather sorry for the confused man. At least he was in his own home, doing a job he obviously loved. Someone must be looking after him.

  “Did you get your groceries today?” she asked.

  “Yes. But they forgot my doughnuts.” He thumped his cane in irritation. “And I really wanted some.”

  Emily’s fingers tightened around the napkin. She was hungry. And quite likely this old man shouldn’t eat doughnuts anyway. They were high in fat and sugar, not really suitable for aging arteries. But he looked rather distraught.

  “I have an extra doughnut.” She opened the napkin and thrust out her hand. “Do you like this kind?”

  He nodded, his rheumy eyes gleaming.

  She passed him a doughnut. He grabbed it without ceremony and stuffed such a large chunk into his mouth, it looked like a choking hazard.

  “Let’s eat slowly,” she said, taking a dainty nibble, trying to set a good example.

  He smacked his lips and took another giant bite. Crumbs dribbled down his shirt. “These are my favorite,” he said, the words muffled.

  “I love them too.” Ignoring her good intentions, she chewed faster. It was impossible to go slow, not when she was so hungry. The doughnut was squashed and stale but quite possibly the best she’d ever eaten.

  They chewed and swallowed in joint contentment. When he finished he wiped his mouth, his gaze locking on her cup. “Is that coffee?”

  “Yes,” she said. “If you get a cup, we can share.”

  He nodded and shuffled toward the cottage, leaning heavily on his cane. She followed him up the stone walkway.

  “Visitors used to stop and bring me coffee,” he said, huffing from exertion. “I hope it gets busier when they make the movie.” He transferred the cane to his left hand and twisted the doorknob.

  The movie was already half finished but Emily couldn’t speak, too appalled by the stench oozing through the open door. She backed away, breathing through her mouth. “I’ll just wait here,” she managed.

  After long minutes and much banging, he returned, carrying a stained and chipped mug. She poured half the coffee into his mug, trying not to recoil at the yellow particles caked on its rim.

  “I’ll bring you a coffee and doughnut tomorrow,” she said.

  “And I won’t tell the missus about you and Mr. Hamilton.” He reached out, surprising her with a solemn handshake, and it was clear he considered his promise important.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, shaking his gnarly fingers then topping up his mug with almost all the coffee.

  “Billy.”

  “I’m Emily. And I really do appreciate you opening the gate for me.”

  She gave a cheery wave and turned away. Her cup was much lighter but so were her steps. It felt good to do something nice. At least someone would miss her if she didn’t show up tomorrow.

  There was no danger of spilling her coffee now. Two sips finished it off. She drained the cup and hurried along the rest of the drive, eager to check the horses.

  When she swept into the barn, both geldings poked their heads over the stall doors, looking for food. However, Barney further softened her heart with a welcoming nicker.

  She gave them each another flake of hay—carefully following Lizzie’s feed instructions—and walked down the aisle to the apartment door. After Billy’s company, her loneliness had magnified and she scanned the barn for the gray cat. Despite her repeated calls, he didn’t appear.

  She drew in a resigned breath and pushed open the door. The apartment was unquestionably luxurious, but it hadn’t felt welcoming earlier, even with Dan’s solid presence. Now, in the utter darkness, it felt downright unfriendly. Steps loomed, black and silent as a crypt. She fumbled for the wall switch, relieved when the lights worked.

  She locked the lower door, tugged off her boots and trudged up the stairs. The place was chilly, her toes already clammy from her wet socks, and for a moment she regretted giving away the coffee.

  But the pleased look on Billy’s face stayed with her. Besides, she was so tired, it was doubtful she’d have time to think about being hungry. She dropped onto the sofa and pulled out her phone. The battery showed a quarter charge, still some juice.

  She sent a text to Jenna: Love it here. Horses and people very nice. Hope your studying is going well. Good luck with exams!

  She scrolled through a few racing sites, trying to pad her knowledge. However, the information was too detailed and most of it centered on betting strategies rather than training methods. Her charger was back in Louisville and she didn’t want to waste the limited battery so she turned off the phone and padded into the bathroom.

  The tap was tight but water finally streamed from the faucet, murky at first, but eventually crystal clear. It wouldn’t heat up though, even after running the tap for long minutes. She debated going downstairs and using the hot water in the wash stall, but was simply too tired.

  She splashed her face with cold water, then shivering, dressed in every item of clothing she possessed. She shuffled into the bedroom and checked the closet for blankets but except for one lonely pink hanger, the room was empty. The stripped bed looked forlorn so she returned to the main room and curled on the sofa.

  Barney and Ted shuffled in the stalls below, their sounds reassuring. Yawning, she closed her eyes. But in spite of her bone-deep exhaustion, it was impossible to fall asleep. It might have been the damp cold, or the caffeine, or perhaps her overactive brain scrambling for ways to stretch her employment…and impress Dan.

  Dan. Sighing, she flipped onto her back, acknowledging the attraction. As well as the futility. Guys were like crows; they were attracted to flash. And she didn’t have the necessary glitz and glam—none of her us
ual props. If she were a movie star like Shania, she’d have her own trailer and makeup attendant, even a hair stylist. She’d look stunning too.

  But would he notice, even then?

  She stared glumly out the French windows. A checkerboard of lights glowed over the tree line, obviously the Hamilton mansion. Whoever had lived here would have been able to see the top floor of the Hamilton’s house. And vice versa. The hair on the back of her neck abruptly rose.

  She scrambled to her feet and yanked the curtains shut, blocking her view of the house. Then curled even tighter on the sofa. She didn’t know what caused the weird feeling. Was only certain that she felt it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Please help me with this lobster claw.” Shania peered at Dan from beneath impossibly thick eyelashes.

  He obligingly reached for her plate and cracked the claw open, not that it required much effort. The restaurant staff had prepared the lobsters beautifully. Anthony shot Dan a grateful nod from across the table then resumed his conversation with Robert Dexter.

  Shania preferred to have her leading man dance attendance, and Dan knew he was a stand-in. But Dexter had maintained a prudent distance from Shania since day one. Actually Dan rather admired the actor. Dexter had been married for six years and was clearly devoted to his wife. However, Shania tended to sulk in the absence of constant adulation, and Anthony feared the lack of rapport between Shania and Dexter would be evident on screen.

  “What did you think of my barn scene today?” Shania leaned forward, dipping the lobster in his melted butter, her breast brushing his arm. “Did you see how Robert stared?”

  “Probably hard not too,” Dan said, his gaze skimming the top of her dress. Very skimpy, very provocative. And her shirt this morning had been every bit as revealing.

  “This isn’t my idea.” She dragged an elegant finger across her neckline. “The studio wants to jack up the sex appeal. They’re promoting to a wider audience now. We have another boring media session following dinner, and we’re supposed to appear in character.” She shot a dark look across the table. “Robert is just so…”

  “Married?” Dan asked helpfully.

  “Yes, but it’s not just that.” She waved a hand. “He won’t even sport flirt. The real Thomas Hamilton would have had me flat on my back before the horses were cooled out. He probably still would, even today, if his wife wasn’t always watching. Robert doesn’t play the role properly.”

  Dan made a non-committal sound, his mind drifting as Shania complained about her co-star, his lack of research and then randomly, how Dexter didn’t use Twitter. Dan was grateful he dealt with horses. Far less drama, especially with the geldings. Of course, he avoided working with mares, unless one came along that was simply so special he had to have her. Sometimes that happened when least expected. Rather like Emily.

  He slapped down that thought and turned his attention back to Shania, aware Anthony wanted her ego boosted. Daydreaming about another woman certainly wasn’t part of the plan.

  “I still think it’s weird how that groom disappeared.” Shania delicately pressed a white napkin against her lipstick-red mouth. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he killed her and hid the body.”

  “Who?” Dan blinked in surprise. He really had been daydreaming. Seemed they were now discussing a murder.

  “Thomas Hamilton, naturally.” Shania frowned as though disappointed by Dan’s mental prowess. “My assistant gathered a lot of research. It was classified as a missing person case although there was never much of an investigation. The groom simply disappeared. But she didn’t collect her pay. No one ever leaves a paycheck.”

  Dan took a sip of wine, leaning back so the waiter could clear his plate. Shania made a valid point. He’d never had anyone walk away from a check, and grooms were notorious for living from payday to payday.

  Grooms… He’d have to make sure Emily received her money on Friday. Otherwise, she might wait months for a check from the production company. She’d earned it simply by pointing out the discrepancy in Bruno’s shoes. He’d already asked the farrier to make a switch.

  Anthony rose, his chair scraping as he pushed back from the table. “We’re going to take a break before dessert,” he announced. “There’ll be a short photo shoot in the foyer. We need all principal cast.”

  “Oh, I hate those things,” Shania said. But she flung down her soiled napkin, rising so quickly Dan didn’t have time to pull out her chair. “See you later?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Tomorrow, bright and early,” Dan said.

  She gave a little pout but clearly wasn’t at all heartbroken. She leaned down, brushed her mouth over his cheek then sashayed toward the door where she was immediately flanked by two burly bodyguards. Robert Dexter rose with much less enthusiasm and followed her into the media room.

  Anthony slid into Shania’s vacated seat. “How did it go? Is she any happier?”

  “She’s fine,” Dan said. “Pro enough to do her job. But she wants Robert to stroke her a bit.”

  “I spoke to him. Reminded that she has top billing. And we need her happy.”

  “She’s certainly researched her role. She said they never found that missing groom. You ever wonder what happened?”

  Anthony shrugged. “Beats me. But I’m playing the sex angle. Luckily Shania has a nice rack. Old Hamilton can’t take his eyes off her. At least she’s getting attention from that direction.”

  Anthony’s voice lowered. “I need another favor. My brother has a horse-crazy daughter. It’s her birthday this month, and I want you to squeeze her onto your approved riding list. Just a quick shot so she’s in the movie, my niece sitting on a horse. No problem?”

  “No problem if she can gallop a racehorse,” Dan said. “There’s very little sitting.”

  “I’ll embellish the scene.” Anthony whipped out his phone and made an entry. “Show some horses walking before they go to the gate. Besides, if we use non-union, we can keep costs down.”

  Dan frowned, folding his napkin. “I’m not asking background to gallop through a rail.”

  “Of course not. We’ll still use a stunt rider for Reckless. But the others can be special skills. Doesn’t everyone in Kentucky know how to ride?”

  “There are all types of riding,” Dan said. “And race riding is the most dangerous. It has to be authentic. And safe.”

  “Agreed.” But Anthony’s voice rang with impatience. “So we’ll work with what we got. Essentially I found you another rider. Besides, I’ve learned that if a woman’s shirt is low enough, the audience doesn’t notice how she sits a horse. This movie is total crap anyway.”

  Dan raised an eyebrow, reached for a bottle of wine and refilled his friend’s glass. Anthony’s anxiety always skyrocketed midway through a movie when he was convinced each picture would be the worst he ever directed.

  Anthony grimaced. “Guess I’m a little stressed. But we’re ten percent over budget.”

  “Was the dinner worth it?” Dan surveyed the room. Steak and lobster were extravagant and there must have been over eighty cast and crew invited.

  “Definitely,” Anthony said. “The producer wanted some team building. And Robert is going to play nicer with Shania. She looked much happier tonight by the way. She needs a man around.” He paused, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “I don’t suppose—?”

  “No,” Dan said.

  “Not even for the good of the movie? Most men would salivate at the chance of tapping that.”

  Dan shook his head. Anthony had been married and divorced four times with numerous high-profile affairs. The man’s personal life was in shambles. “I’m going back to check on the horses,” Dan said. “Limo out front?”

  “Yeah.” Anthony pushed back his chair, shooting a regretful look at the media room. “But one of these days you’re going to answer a booty call.”

  “Probably.” Dan gave a wry smile. “But not tonight.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Emily woke, chi
lled and shivering. She wrapped her arms around her knees but it was impossible to ignore the cold. She groped for her phone and checked the time. Four thirty.

  Her call time wasn’t until eight but she’d need at least an hour for barn chores and somehow she’d have to coax more clothes from the wardrobe department. She remained curled on the sofa for another ten minutes, but she was truly freezing now and the thought of a hot shower in the wash stall was irresistible.

  She pulled on her boots, still damp from yesterday, and headed down the stairs. Both horses blinked sleepily when the aisle lights flicked on. She tossed them each a flake of hay, pleasing them with their early breakfast, then prudently pulled the barn door shut and hurried to the wash stall.

  She uncoiled the hose, waited for the water to heat before stripping, then stepped under the hot spray. She closed her eyes in appreciation, letting the water sluice over her body. Finally she felt warm. She didn’t want to stop, but water pooled on the opposite side of the drain and spilled into the aisle. Much more and it would flood Barney’s stall.

  She reluctantly turned off the tap, then dried herself with a grooming towel and dressed. Her cold wet socks made her wince but at least she was clean.

  She tied Barney in the corner of his stall and rewrapped his legs. It took her a couple tries but eventually the bandages were perfect. She doubted even Lizzie could find fault; the top of the wrap reached the exact point below the knee that Dan had specified.

  She mucked out both stalls, grained and watered, then checked the time. Almost six. She planted a quick kiss on Barney’s velvety muzzle. “I’m going to be in the movies today,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

  She hurried from the barn, hopeful Maggie was working solo again this morning. She really needed clean clothes.

  The sun hadn’t yet edged over the horizon so she followed the paved drive, grateful for her borrowed boots. Despite her squishy socks, the boots were comfortable, similar to the leather pair Wally had forced her to wear as a guide. At the time, she’d thought he was simply being bossy, but now it was obvious boots were far more practical than shoes.