Walk. Trot. Die

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  Tess laughed again.

  “Finding me colorful, are you?” Burton grinned at her.

  “Very.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re finally relaxing.”

  “You seem to have that affect on me.”

  “Not sure whether that’s good or bad. In any case, it’s probably the martinis.”

  “That’s not very gentlemanly!”

  “Hey, our table’s ready. Come on.” They picked up their drinks and Burton led the way to a private corner table.

  “You ask for this, special?” he asked.

  “No, I guess we just look like the clandestine-type.”

  “You mean ‘sneaky’.”

  The waiter handed them their menus, took Burton’s wine order and scurried away.

  “I’m a married man and I’m not entirely sure why I’m here tonight.” Burton spoke quietly, with no sign in his voice or manner of their earlier bantering.

  Tess reached across the table and touched his hand.

  “I do,” she said.

  Burton put down his menu and frowned.

  “You do?”

  She nodded.

  Burton said nothing.

  “I mean, the timing isn’t great,” she said, ”--you’re married and in the middle of a murder investigation--but that’s how it happens. I don’t think you get to pick when these things happen.”

  “You only get to decide what to do about them.”

  “God, you’re going to think I’m depraved or immoral or something,” Tess said, leaning back into her chair and spreading her napkin out on her lap.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it never occurred to me that there was an option.”

  7

  Tess let herself into the darkened apartment, and dropped her car keys on the hall table. She kicked off her Manolo Blahnik sandals and padded into the living room where she snapped on one lamp. The evening had been tiring but exciting. She wondered, even after tonight, what he thought of her. She wondered if he doubted her attraction to him. He’d do well to, she thought. What a cliché! The sorority rich-bitch and the Sansabelt-Budweiser cop. Still, there was something there....She sank into the couch next to her phone machine and tucked her feet under her. My God, was there ever something there.

  She snapped on the TV with the remote control and tuned to the local news station. She muted the volume and drowsily watched the gibbering news anchors. She picked up her cell phone from the coffee table. It showed three messages. Might he have called on his way home? she wondered. The kiss, surely, hadn’t been a total surprise. After all, they’d touched hands, and in one case, feet, all through dinner. The parting in the moon-lit restaurant parking lot had been prolonged and intense. Kissing him had been practically de rigeur. She made a face. That wasn’t it. She’d been longing to kiss those full, wry lips all evening.

  What’s gotten into me? Falling for the fucking homicide detective in a case that could send me to prison until I’m too old to care what I look like. Oh, Jilly, you bitch! Could you possibly have planned this, too? Somehow, it’s got your ironic signature all over it.

  The first message was from Portia: ‘Oh! Tess! Did you hear about poor Margo? And to make it worse--’ and Tess fastforwarded through it. The second message was a hang-up. The third was just one word, hissed out over the wires in a diseased gasp:

  “Teeesssssss.”

  Tess jabbed the stop button and dropped her phone, feeling the terror swell in her breast.

  It was him.

  Chapter Five

  1

  The river birch trees had been planted so closely together that they now formed a long tunnel of dappled sunlight and shade on the dirt tractor-road that led from the main highway, past the pastures and riding trails, to the main barn and tack rooms.

  Burton was surprised to see, growing along the bordering split-rail fencing, several mature lilac bushes. He’d remembered them from boyhood summer vacations in upstate New York and hadn’t seen any since.

  The late morning sun had burned off the dew from the jade-green pastures and he could see, as he and Kazmaroff rattled down the bumpy tractor-road, small groupings of grazing horses in both the pastures that lined the road. House finches lined the fence tops like a welcoming committee.

  “Fucking peaceful, isn’t it?” Kazmaroff said as he drove.

  Burton didn’t answer but surprised himself that he felt a small smile forming.

  He’d tried not to think too much about last night. About The Kiss. He hadn’t anticipated it; wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. He knew it was taking a stronger will and discipline than he had ever exerted --including his attempt to quit a twenty-five year nicotine habit--not to analyze and examine the why of it and, more importantly, the what-next-of it.

  “The barn manager’s out of the hospital,” Kazmaroff offered as he pulled the unmarked cruiser in front of the largest barn building.

  “Whad’she have?”

  “Broken ribs, broken arm. Few cuts and bruises.”

  Burton nodded.

  He’d told Tess last night that he thought he and Kaz could be finished here today. It was impossible, of course. He looked around and saw two uniformed cops, standing by the tractor shed, drinking coffee.

  “Get a report, will you?” He said to Kazmaroff, and then walked into the main barn.

  Kazmaroff stared after him in surprise.

  Burton entered the dark barn and immediately spotted the young girl, Jessie, as she hosed down one of the ponies in the shower bay.

  “Hey, Detective Burton!” the girl called out cheerfully. “Any news on Margo?”

  Burton approached the girl and watched her work for a few seconds. The pony was sudsed from mane to tail and stood quietly in the cross-ties, enduring her bath. Jessie scrubbed her with a brush, then took the hose and rinsed her thoroughly. Burton noticed she was as wet as the pony.

  “She’s out,” he said. “Probably on her way home now.”

  “I still can’t believe it was Traveler,” Jessie said. “Even on drugs. That horse is practically comatose. Who do you think did it?”

  Burton watched the barn sparrows flitting maniacally around the rafters of the barn.

  “Sometimes if we concentrate on ‘why’, we come up with ‘who’.”

  Jessie stood in the shower bay, holding the hose down where the stream ran over her rubber boots. “Wow,” she said.

  “The doc says the drug was fast-acting,” Burton said. “When were the horses fed?”

  “Same time every day,” Jessie said, now shifting from one foot to the other. “Five o’clock.”

  “And you do the feeding?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “Unless it’s my day off or something.”

  “‘Or something?’”

  Jessie cleared her throat.

  “You know, I’m sick...or something.”

  “I see. Did you feed the horses the night Margo was attacked?”

  “I did.”

  Jessie looked miserable.

  The pony shook himself like a dog and the flying water made the girl jump.

  “Oh! Rocket! You scared me!” Jessie dropped the hose and turned back to the pony. She turned off the water and disconnected the cross-ties from the pony’s halter.

  “Were there a lot of people around during feeding time?”

  Eagerly, Jessie nodded.

  “Zillions,” she said. “People tend to be finishing up around then, or just getting off work and coming out for an early evening hack or ring-work or something, you know?” She waved an arm at the barn. “That is, until you guys cleared the place. Pretty peaceful, now.”

  Burton nodded. He leaned forward and patted the pony’s wet muzzle.

  “We don’t think the person who drugged Traveler’s food intended to hurt Traveler,” he said. “We think the intention was to do exactly what happened.” He paused. “Margo typically in her office in the evening?”

  Jessie nodded.

&nb
sp; “Yes, well, you see,” he explained. “Even a little noise would likely send her running to investigate, and something that had to do with one of the horses being in trouble--”

  “It’s true!” Jessie said, leading the pony out of the shower stall. “Margo wouldn’t be thinking of her own safety if one of the horses was in danger or hurt, or something.”

  “And somebody knew that.”

  “Everybody knew that,” Jessie said, emphatically, throwing a large towel over her shoulder. “Everybody who knew Margo, knew she’d go into that stall or try to handle Traveler. Somebody tried to kill Margo!”

  “And now we have to find out why someone would want to kill Margo.”

  Jessie nodded.

  “And then we’ll know who,” she said.

  Burton looked down the long aisle of empty stalls.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “If it’s a nice day, we turn ‘em out,” she said. “Bring ‘em back in for dinner.”

  “My men making it impossible to keep the barn running?”

  “They don’t interfere with the horses,” Jessie said. “And with no riders here, there’s not much to do.”

  “Miss the riders, do you?”

  “Like hell!” Jessie laughed.

  “What do you know about Jilly Travers?”

  “She was a bitch.”

  “Ever have any run-ins with her?”

  “Everybody out here had run-ins with her!” Jessie laughed again. “But no, aside from making fun of me to my face and behind my back, she pretty much ignored me.”

  “How about Portia Stephens? Nice lady?”

  “I like her.”

  “Tess Andersen?”

  Jessie shrugged.

  “I guess she’s a friend of Margo’s, or something. She’s not mean to me or anything. I’m not sure we’ve ever spoken.”

  “Isn’t that unusual in a barn this size?”

  “Not really. Anything Tess wants done for Wizard, she goes to Margo.”

  “Her ‘friend’.”

  “I guess. And then Margo has me do it.”

  “Well, thank you, Jessie. I think we’ll be out of your hair in another day or so. You in charge, with Margo gone?”

  Jessie grinned.

  “That’s what the owners said. They called from Indianapolis--that’s where they live, can you believe it? Own a beautiful piece of horse farm like this and live somewhere else?”

  Burton looked up and saw Kazmaroff signaling to him from the mouth of the barn.

  “Better get that pony in his jammies before he catches a cold,” he said.

  He left to the sound of her girlish giggles echoing through the rafters of the big, empty barn.

  2

  “Nothing,” Dave said, when Burton joined him. They walked to the parking lot, the gravel crunching under their feet. “They’ve covered every inch of the barn areas and offices--”

  “What about Margo Sherman’s house?” Burton nodded toward the small one-story cottage tucked between a tractor shed and a large tack shed. Margo’s car was parked out front.

  Kazmaroff nodded.

  “Nothing there,” he said. “Smells like dried horse shit, but aside from that, nothing.”

  “The car, too?”

  “Jesus, man.” Kazmaroff looked away in exasperation. “Yeah, the car, too.”

  “How about the office?”

  Kazmaroff shrugged.

  “Dusted, photographed...”

  “But that’s it?”

  “We didn’t see a body, Jack,” Dave said sarcastically.

  “Good for you, Dave. Great detective work.”

  “Hey, Jessie!” Burton waved to the girl as she came out of the barn, leading the pony. She stopped.

  “Which one is Traveler?”

  Jessie squinted and pointed to a herd in the pasture beyond the tractor shed.

  “The big bay in that group,” she called. “Vet said he was okay now.”

  Kazmaroff frowned.

  “Bay?” he said.

  “Learn something,” Burton said, pleasantly. “And Best-Boy?”

  “Who the fuck is...”

  “He’s in the paddock. Jilly would never let us turn him out with the others.” Jessie came closer.

  “Why is that?”

  She shrugged. “The horses beat up on all newcomers to the pasture, you know? Until everyone learns their place in the pecking order. Jilly didn’t want to chance Best-Boy ending up with teeth marks on his butt or maybe missing an ear or something.”

  “A real animal lover, I guess?” Burton said.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Jessie laughed. “That was Jilly all over! Anyway, you can’t miss him, he’s the only half-Clydesdale-Thoroughbred in the paddock.”

  “Big Mother,” Kazmaroff said, looking in the direction of the paddock.

  “You can say that again.”

  The two men walked over to the paddock. As soon as they were close, the sole horse in the paddock charged the fence.

  “Jesus!” Kazmaroff yelled, jumping back.

  The horse wheeled to a stop in front of the fence and snorted as if to say: Hey! Where djya go?

  Burton approached the animal and put out a hand. The monster horse swung his massive head up wildly, then gently nuzzled the empty palm.

  “Looking for a treat, big guy? Sorry.” Burton scratched him between the ears and the horse dropped his head over the fence to afford Burton better access. “Somehow I can’t imagine anybody taking a chomp out of your butt, eh?”

  Kazmaroff slowly joined him.

  “How big was Jilly?” he asked in awe.

  “Five foot three,” Burton answered. “I guess with Jilly it was all about size.”

  “Jesus. How did she get on him?”

  “You know what I’m thinking, Dave?” Burton gave the big horse a final pat on the neck. “I’m thinking whoever killed Jilly in the clearing had to be involved with horses somehow.”

  “That’s a real brainstorm.”

  Burton ignored his comment.

  “Because anyone who wasn’t familiar with horses would’ve been scared shitless to have approached her riding this monster.”

  Dave was silent.

  “He seems gentle enough,” he said finally.

  “Oh, he is,” Burton said, turning away. “He’s just pent up. Not much room to run here.” He handed Kazmaroff the car keys. “Why don’t you see if you can scout up some lunch? I want to look through Miss Sherman’s office a little more thoroughly.”

  Again, Burton walked off leaving Kazmaroff off-balance and more than a little peeved.

  Before he disappeared into the main barn, Burton turned.

  “And, hey, if you see Jessie on your way out, tell her to throw Best-Boy into the pasture with his buddies. I’ll take the responsibility.”

  3

  The gnarly little groundskeeper hunched over the worktable in his trailer and strung another large bulb of garlic onto the necklace. He tested the string for strength then put it on over his head and tucked it into his sweat-stained polo shirt.

  The very thought of his date this evening made him wobble and he sat down hard on one of the torn dinette set chairs.

  The police had talked to him two times now. Once after Jilly was killed, and once again after Margo was hurt by one of them horses. They thought he was an idiot. That was clear. Especially that big, fancy-dress cop. The jerk must have thought he was deaf too, because he heard the cop refer to him as ‘the dim-wit.’

  Oh, we weren’t really so dim-witted as the world thought, now were we? Especially when we have so much more than all the other poor losers of the world.

  He squeezed himself in a tight hug as if he could not possibly contain his glee.

  4

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to wake you,” Burton said in his phone.

  “You knew I was awake.” The voice was stern, defensive.

  “Whatever.” Burton glanced around Margo’s office and let the silence bu
ild.

  “Are you coming home tonight?”

  “I’m home every night, Dana,” Burton said with exasperation. “I had to work late one time in six months...and, Jesus, it’s not like you need me for something. I’m sure all your favorite sit-coms will still continue to provide you--”

  “I don’t know why you’re being so hateful. You should be glad I still care when you come home.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a real barometer of the state of our marriage,” Burton said. He stood and peered closely at the framed photograph on the wall of Margo and Jilly and Mark Travers. And Tess.

  “Don’t be sarcastic, please. Mother and Dad are coming for the weekend--”

  “This weekend?”

  Oh, Christ.

  There was another silence.

  “I’ll see you when I see you,” she finally said. And hung up.

  Burton disconnected and returned to the picture on the wall. All the suspects and the victim in one tight little picture, he thought. He concentrated on Jilly first. She actually looked soft in the picture, vulnerable. Was there another side to her that hadn’t yet been seen? And then Tess. God, she was beautiful. Ten years ago. Burton shook his head. Maybe Kaz was right and she had hedged her bets against the years with some cosmetic surgery. So what? He looked at the young Tess again.

  It’s gotta be hell to lose it once you’ve had it.

  He noticed that she appeared unattached in the photograph. She was unattached now. An uncomfortable thought niggled at him. Come on, he chided himself.

  It doesn’t mean she’s been available her whole life. Someone that beautiful...it wouldn’t make sense.

  The knock at the door made him jump.

  Kazmaroff stood in the door way, a large McDonald’s bag in his hand. Whatever pleasure Burton might have taken earlier in turning Dave Kazmaroff into a luncheon delivery boy was immediately replaced by the anxiety that Dave’s smile triggered.

  “Something up?” Burton asked, reaching into the bag Kazmaroff had deposited on Margo’s desk.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted in the way of beverage,” Dave said pleasantly. “So I didn’t get you anything.”

  “What’s up?” Burton repeated. “You heard something?”