Death By Bridle

by Abigail Keam

  “Gonna take her back?”

  Goetz looked at me surprised. “No. Besides, she left years ago. Stranger now.”

  “Kids?”

  “Two. Grown. Both married and live out of state. Both in the medical profession.”

  I could tell he was proud of them. Goetz got out his wallet and showed a picture of them. They were good-looking kids smiling with their dad, his arm around each of them.

  “You miss being married?”

  I nodded. “I don’t like living alone.”

  “What happened?”

  “Brannon, that’s my husband, drifted in a different direction, I guess. To tell you the truth, I thought we were happy. His affair took me by surprise. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you – not paying attention. Maybe your husband was just a sneaky son-of-a-gun.”

  I took a sip of my whiskey sour. “It turns out he was, but it sure threw me for a loop. And then he had a heart attack after we had a big fight. He died several days later. It was too horrible for words, but the worst came afterwards. Brannon hid money and Ellen, that’s his girlfriend, got the bulk of his estate. I just can’t prove it.”

  I took another sip. “He must have really hated me to do that. He didn’t even leave his only daughter a farthing.”

  Goetz’s droopy face folded into a sympathetic façade. “Gee, that’s rotten.”

  I took another sip. “You bet it is.” I motioned to the waiter for another drink. Wait a minute! Who was trying to get whom drunk?

  “No one since your wife?”

  “I’ve dated a little bit, but nothing serious.”

  I nodded. “I thought you were going to retire?”

  “I’ve got eleven months to go. Counting every day.”

  “What do you have planned?”

  Goetz buttered a roll and pulled off a piece. “Read. Watch movies. Learn how to swim.”

  “You don’t know how to swim?”

  “Nope, but gonna learn before I die.”

  “Why don’t you come to the house? I’ll teach you to swim. I’m a very good swimmer. Taught my daughter to swim.”

  Goetz gazed at me like a puppy about to receive a new ball, and then his cop face pushed the other out. Changing the subject, he asked, “Where’s your bodyguard, Jake?”

  “Asa reassigned him after O’nan was caught.”

  “Didn’t he help you with your therapy?”

  “I’m well enough to finish on my own.”

  Goetz took a bit of his steak dripping with garlic butter. He took another bite before he asked, “I hear you’ve been poking around the Greene case.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that. You know Ms. Todd asked me to look into it. She said she is going to bring Asa into it if the case doesn’t break soon.”

  “Is she that tired of your cooking?”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  Goetz wiped his mouth off. “Don’t bring your daughter into this. It will do nothing but screw things up.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Getting there.”

  “Anything you would like to tell me?”

  He gave me a cheesy grin. “Shaking a tree loose of fruit here and there.”

  “Anything kinky?” I quizzed, holding my breath that he did not mention Lady Elsmere.

  “Naw, the guy was a straight arrow,” Goetz replied. “Do you know something?”

  “I’m like you – stuck,” I replied.

  “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about other things,” Goetz said. “I heard through the grapevine that your FBI buddy, Larry Bingham, is in Arizona with Tellie Pidgeon.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Well, I’ll be. I was right after all.”

  “Right about what?”

  “How Richard Pidgeon really died.”

  Goetz tapped the table forcibly with his fingers. “That case is closed and I never want you to mention it to me again. If it weren’t for you sticking your nose in it, you wouldn’t be walking like a gimp with a stick and going ‘huh?’ after everything I say.”

  Stunned at his sudden anger, I sat looking at him for almost a minute. Then gathering my wits, I retrieved my purse and threw twenty bucks on the table. “Sometimes Goetz, you’re the crudest man I’ve ever met.” I gave him a withering look. “You get to leave the tip, jerk.”

  I went home, had some hot chocolate, and slept the sleep of the dead.

  The next morning, Goetz called me.

  I hung up.

  He called me again.

  I hung up.

  Called again.

  Hung up.

  Hung up.

  Hung up.

  35

  Not so long ago, buffalo roamed Kentucky. Five hundred thousand giant, prehistoric-looking, hump-backed bison thundered across the Bluegrass; their sharp hooves beating permanent traces into the earth on their way to the salt licks like Big Bone and Blue Lick, paving the way for humans to follow their massive trails. The Native Americans used the pathways as trading routes and then as military roads going back and forth from Ohio into Kentucky and Virginia. It was the buffalo traces that the Europeans followed out West, chasing after dreams of gold, land, and glory.

  The number of bison across North America was incalculable, but humans almost wiped them out anyway. There are now fewer than sixty registered buffalo herds in Canada and the United States, with Ted Turner owning twenty percent of them. They were once the dominant animals – now they are fewer than the hairs on my head.

  I can quite imagine their surprise about being displaced. It must have been a similar surprise when Shaneika showed up in my beeyard during the middle of the day in her high heels and business suit.

  “You best quit and come on back to the house. I need to talk to you,” she yelled from a distance.

  I didn’t like this one bit. Closing the hive I had been working, I put the smoker on top of it and poured water in its belching tube. Darn – it had really been putting out the smoke too. Getting the smoker to work correctly was the hardest thing about beekeeping.

  Jumping into my electric cart, I sped over to Shaneika and picked her up.

  “Let’s go to Matt’s house. He’s waiting for us,” she said in her British clip.

  I didn’t say a word but I knew it had to be bad. When we got to Matt’s little bungalow, he was waiting for us with a pitcher of lemonade and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. His coat was off with his shirtsleeves rolled up. His silk tie was loosened and a lock of black hair fell on his forehead. The sight of him made my heart skip a beat.

  Taking off my beekeeper’s veil and suit, I threw them in the back of the cart. I hobbled up the three short steps to the porch and, taking a seat, accepted lemonade from Matt. I poured some bourbon in it and took a long draw.

  Shaneika did the same sitting across from me while Matt leaned against the porch railing.

  “Okay, give it to me,” I admonished. “What’s wrong?”

  “The judge has let O’nan out on bail.”

  I blurted out, “You gotta be kidding me!” I started to wheeze. Matt held out an inhaler for me, which I gratefully accepted. I always forgot to keep inhalers with me but Matt always had one on hand.

  Shaneika shook her head. “I am as disgusted as you are but here’s what happened. France has no extradition treaty with the U.S. Interpol picked O’nan up and held him in a French jail waiting for a U.S. Marshal to retrieve him. He was never formally charged but he sat there for days waiting and was questioned by the French police. His lawyer is making the case that O’nan was kidnapped by a foreign power and his civil rights were violated, as he was never charged with a crime.

  “Then the U.S. Marshal did not mirandize O’nan when he picked him up. That again was a violation of the law. He wasn’t mirandized until he was put in jail in Lexington.”

  Shaneika waved her hand, exasperated. “The District Attorney argued and argued with that judge, but the judge says that O’nan
was a decorated police officer and nothing was amiss until the Pidgeon case. O’nan says that you accosted him sexually at Pidgeon’s funeral near the downstairs church bathroom and you unduly made misleading complaints against him.”

  “How does he explain shooting Franklin and throwing me off a cliff?”

  “His lawyer explained that O’nan was there in an official capacity and that you attacked and pushed him off the cliff. You lost your balance and fell. As for Franklin, O’nan claims he was only acting in self-defense.”

  I cradled my head. “This is a nightmare. Does the judge really believe this bull?”

  Matt interceded, “I watched the proceeding. That DA did everything in her power to convince the judge that O’nan was crazy, but that man is very pro-police and I just don’t think he likes this case, Josiah.”

  “When Job asked God why he had cursed him – killing his family, his cattle, taking his wealth away, and causing great injury to his body when Job so loved him – you know what God replied?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “ ‘There is something about you, Job, that just pisses me off,’ ” I replied.

  I took the bourbon bottle and took a big swig. “So now what?” I asked, wiping my chin off with my sleeve.

  Shaneika responded, “I am going to request another judge. Do you know this guy? His name is Thaddeus Reveal.”

  I shook my head. “The name is not familiar to me.”

  Matt intercepted. “Perhaps he knows Ellen.”

  “I never thought of that,” responded Shaneika, writing herself a note. “I’ll have it checked out.”

  “What else?” I asked. “There is always a what else.”

  “If O’nan wins, the city will want their money back.”

  “This gets better and better.” I stood. “There is nothing I can do about this tonight. You all come out to the house to eat. Everyone thinks better on a full stomach.”

  “Franklin’s coming,” Matt stated.

  “We’ll set another place,” I said. “One more won’t hurt. Besides this will affect him too. Does he know?”

  Matt winced. “I broke it to him a couple of hours ago.”

  “And?”

  “He got very quiet. Didn’t say much. I don’t like it,” said Matt.

  “It does kind of take your breath away,” I stated. “Come on down when you’re ready. I am sure Mrs. Todd has something wonderful for us to eat tonight.”

  “I called Mom. She said crispy fried catfish with gravy, pickled green beans, spoon bread, buttered corn on the cob, red beets, and cold, sour cream potato salad with herbs. And lemon cake with marshmallow icing for dessert.”

  “You see,” I said. “Life is already looking up.”

  Since Jake had left, I had been regaining weight but right now I didn’t give a flip. I was going to eat until I was stuffed and someone had to roll me to bed.

  The only thing I knew to do was to go forward so I hired Mrs. Todd as my cook that night.

  After this murder mess was over, she would return twice a week and cook plus do light housekeeping. She needed something to occupy herself to feel useful and needed.

  I was doing the needing.

  36

  Goetz didn’t like the setup one bit. For one thing, he was out of his jurisdiction. If anything happened, he would have no authority over the situation. It was also near one in the morning. With few lights in the area, one misstep could plunge him hundreds of feet down into the Kentucky River. Why had he agreed to this meeting at High Bridge of all places?

  The bridge stood ominous against a dark sky with clouds occasionally moving out of a waning moon’s way, creating deeper shadows. Built in 1911 by Gustav Lindenthal around an older bridge designed by John Roebling in 1876, the structure had been the tallest bridge above a navigable waterway.

  Wind moaned through its beams. It looked powerful, wicked, and immune to the plights of the humans who lived below it. Goetz didn’t like the bridge one bit.

  He stepped out of his car, acclimating his eyes to the dark. Just the lights of houses thousands of feet away in the valley across the

  river and a few lights on the bridge shone. Just pinpoints in the black.

  A lonely train whistled in the distance. Oh great! A train was coming that would rattle across the bridge, creating stronger winds. Comforted by the feel of a small gun in his pocket, Goetz slowly turned 360 degrees looking for his contact.

  “Guten abend, Goetz,” whispered a figure stepping out of the shadows.

  “You’ve been watching me?”

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Whaddya want, Fred?”

  “Just a chance to clear things up.”

  “I can’t believe that you were let out on bail. Unbelievable. That judge must have rocks in his head.”

  “Maybe he knows a cop that’s been wronged when he sees one.”

  “I’ll be testifying for the District Attorney. You screwed up. That doesn’t change.”

  O’nan grinned. “I don’t think so. I’m going to get off scot-free.” He laughed.

  Goetz’s fingers closed around the gun’s trigger. He said nothing.

  “You see, Goetz, I was an informant for the FBI. Yeah, I can see that surprises you. Larry Bingham was my contact for years.”

  “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. He was retired when you started this crap with Josiah Reynolds. Can you really hate her this much? I mean, come on boy, you have always been a screw-up. You can’t blame her for you being an idiot.”

  O’nan’s smile faltered. “Don’t call me names. I don’t like that.”

  It was Goetz’s turn to smile. “That’s why I do it.”

  “I wouldn’t insult me.” O’nan began to unbutton his jacket.

  Immediately Goetz thrust his coat up with his hand in his pocket. “Don’t!”

  O’nan grinned again. “A gun in your pocket? Tsk. Tsk. I was just going for some cigarettes.” O’nan pulled out a pack of Camels. He offered a cigarette to Goetz, who shook his head. “Now let’s get back to why you should not insult me. You are going to be a hostile witness for the prosecutor and . . .”

  Goetz guffawed.

  “And you are going to help set me free.”

  “You must be dreaming, son.”

  O’nan continued, “Because if you don’t, it is going to be conveyed to your offspring that their college was paid with kickbacks from the Cornbread Mafia. What, no snappy comeback? I can see by your face you didn’t know that I knew.” O’nan lit his cigarette. “Larry gave me a thick file on you. Oh, yeah, you were being investigated for corruption by the ATF, but then the head honcho of the Cornbread Mafia killed his wife and well . . . there were other priorities.”

  O’nan flicked ashes on the ground. “But there are still the photographs of you taking payoffs for letting truckloads of marijuana and bootlegged cartons of cigarettes travel up our beloved I-75 into Ohio. I guess you were to tip them off in case the state cops or the ATF got too inquisitive.” He shook his head. “Now who are you to call me a bad boy when you’ve been so nasty yourself.” O’nan grinned again. “You make sure that you testify the right way or your little girl is going to be crying her eyes out when she finds out about her corrupt daddy.”

  “How did Bingham get his hands on those ATF files?”

  “When I started working with you as a partner, I asked him to check you out. He knew a guy who had a buddy in the state police and the ATF. The ATF came through.”

  “I ought to throw you off this cliff.”

  “Done that and soooooo over it. You won’t kill me, buddy boy. Taking bribes is one thing but murdering . . . not your style at all.”

  “Maybe I won’t have to. I hear Asa Reynolds might come to town soon, and we both know what a short trigger she has on her temper. She’s not hired by the big guns for her moral nature.”

  “Her mother shouldn’t have messed with me.”

  “You thought you could take revenge on Reynolds
because she was down on her luck and alone. It never occurred to you that her little girl would grow up to play such hardball. How much money do you think she spent on tracking you down? If you hurt her mother again, Asa Reynolds will spend her last dime, her last breath on getting you and you won’t be turned over to the police the next time. She will take care of you herself.”

  O’nan yawned. “I didn’t know that you were such a drama queen. Just worry about yourself and the kiddies. If I go down, so do you. Remember that.” O’nan waved goodbye. “See ya in court,” said O’nan, his voice trailing off as he disappeared into the dark.

  Goetz broke out into a cold sweat. He was trapped like a raccoon up a tree with a determined Bluetick Coonhound bounding down below. Leaning against his car, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He didn’t want to betray Josiah Reynolds. He liked her, respected her – maybe even wanted her. What was he going to do now?

  37

  I was in my office listening to Lakmé by Delibes when Linc sashayed in holding one kitten with another riding on his head. The other two he had placed on the back of Baby, who followed obediently behind. His free hand wasn’t free at all, but held a tuna salad sandwich, which was dribbling tiny bits of tuna on my clean floor. The kittens on Baby immediately jumped down and cleaned it up – literally. The other kittens meowed in distress, as they were not able to join in the gleaning.

  “Linc, you’re dropping your sandwich on the floor,” I admonished.

  Lincoln looked down. Grinning, he took a big bite and leaned against my desk, looking at all the pictures I had laid out.

  I rescued the poor kitten off his head along with the one Lincoln was holding and put them on the floor, where they scampered trying to cash in on the fallen tuna.

  Baby rested his head on the desk as well, snorting a huge sigh.

  I sighed as well, wiping off Baby’s goo with some paper towels I always kept by the desk. He nuzzled my arm in thanks and then licked his entire face, dispensing more dripping slobber.