Hot Blooded Murder

by Jacqueline D'Acre

  “As you see, these sets have only three shoes. When I first opened this chest, the year-2000 set had a shoe missing. Now the entire 2000 set is gone. Tuan! They stole the shoes from me!”

  Both Tuan and I were careful not to touch any of the shoe sets. He sat down beside me and leaned forward to stare into the chest. I was getting a little nervous. I’d been responsible for the disappearance of perhaps vital evidence. Worse, that evidence might have cleared the horse. With it gone, had I put Once in greater jeopardy?

  I began to babble: “I compared the sets of shoes and deduced the missing shoe from the year-2000 set was a hind shoe. There was an anomaly on one of the hind shoes–a wear pattern different from the matching hind shoe. I took the two oddly worn shoes and stuck them in my back pocket. I wanted to show them to Arthur, get his opinion. Also to compare them with what the stallion currently has on his feet. No worries! I used latex gloves while handling all of the shoes. Of course I was going to come straight to you–you and Sheriff MacWain, and with Arthur’s help prove the horse is innocent.”

  “I see.” Tuan was emotionless. The kindly, flirty thing we always did was missing now: I could be in serious trouble. Shamelessly I tried to get some sympathy.

  “Then, wham, Tuan. Someone belted me on the head. Knocked me out. I came to with dawn’s early light. Freezing. Throbbing…” I raised an eyebrow; well two actually, never have been able to raise just one eyebrow. Waited. Tuan’s expression didn’t change. My stomach did a flip-flop and Second Brain said, Oh-oh. Be very careful now, Brynny.

  “Tuan. I just lay there and hurt for a bit then I felt my back pocket and it was ripped away–” I half stood and stuck out my fanny and showed him the ripped pocket. I did this completely un-flirtatiously. No little extra Pamela Anderson twist and bump to it. “Of course, the shoes were gone.” I failed to bring up I’d found a videotape and it was not missing but still gouging my abdomen.

  “Well, Bryn, damn!”

  I nodded, quiet with worry. But my eye caught the bronze statue of a trotting horse lying on the floor. Had it been used to whack me upside the head? Might have hair, my blood on it. I decided to go for more sympathy.

  “See that statue on the floor there?”

  Tuan nodded.

  “Wonder if that was what they bludgeoned me with?”

  Tuan nodded. Bludgeon. Good word, I thought. Sounds brutal. Tuan spoke. “Let’s not touch it, Bryn, okay? I’ll tell Simon Asprey about it. Let him check it out.” He gave me a hard look. Meek, I dropped my head.

  Tuan put his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. His shirtfront sweat-bib had dried out. “Sounds to me like you’ve discovered something, Bryn. We need to get this information back to the sheriff right now. The proof you found something important is yourself: that bloody bump on your head, your torn pocket. You’ll have to make a statement and describe what those missing shoes look like. As soon as you feel able, I’d also like you to get to the pound with Arthur and check the horse’s hind feet, see if the wear you mention is on him right now.”

  I nodded, mute with relief. Tuan stared at me sternly. Then I said, “Maybe Arthur can pull the hind shoes on the stallion right now and the coroner can see if either of the shoes matches the impressions on Marcie’s body.”

  “Good idea. I’ll have Teddy witness Arthur’s removal of the hind shoes. You better go get some rest. You won’t really be needed at the pound.”

  I breathed in relief.

  Dom came into the room. He had a satisfied, happy dog look. He wagged his tail at me.

  I studied him. “Can we get a lead on that pooch? I have an idea.”

  Tuan found a leather horse lead hanging on a wall of bridles. He went to Domino and petted him. Ran the lead around his neck and snapped it to itself.

  “Skinny. But a very nice dog,” he said.

  “This dog has been hiding out somewhere,” I said.

  Tuan petted him. “Bryn. Problem. He’s got a lump on his head.”

  “I’m not surprised. Our killer is certainly fond of striking creatures on the head, isn’t he?”

  “So you seriously believe the stallion didn’t do it?”

  “Yes! And now, aren’t you, too? I was always pretty sure it wasn’t him, now the shoes prove he didn’t do it.” Gleep. “Uh. The missing shoes. And Tuan–I think this dog was knocked out. Before last night. The killer did it to get him out of his way so he could harm Marcie. Maybe he thought the dog was dead. I wondered yesterday where the dog was. Then the dog woke up somewhere and came home. Finds disaster and nothing to eat. What I don’t get is, if the killer took the horseshoes from me, why not finish off the dog? Dom was barking. The killer had to have clobbered him again, right after he got me.”

  “Maybe the killer just wanted the evidence and to get away,” said Tuan.

  I studied the dog. “Tuan. Here’s my idea. If it doesn’t yield fruit, don’t tell MacWain, please. He’ll laugh himself silly and accuse me of being a weirdo psychic woo-woo. But, real quick before I pass out here again, can you take him for a walk? On a loose lead. Just amble along behind him, see where he goes?”

  Tuan started out of the room. He paused on the threshold. “Just the fact that someone knocked you out probably means the murderer is a human, Bryn.”

  I felt a little jolt. He was right. Sometimes it’s good to include officialdom in these proceedings. They could surprise you with their clever deductions.

  “Of course that human could have somehow incited the horse to do the actual killing, I dunno. By whipping him or something.” Oh no. Once is still not safe! Tuan breezed on, “He must have been trying to find or to hide some sort of evidence and inconveniently there you were, possibly looking at the very evidence he wanted to remove.”

  “Brilliant deduction, my good man.”

  “Sure thing, Sherlock.”

  We laughed. My damn head hurt. Little needles of pain now. Ice was needed. Lying down in a cool room wouldn’t hurt either.

  Tuan lifted his hat, ran a hand through thick black hair, re-settled his hat on his head. “Could be prints.”

  “Could be.” My head pounded. “When you get back could you run me over to my car? I parked by the Word of God Church.”

  Tuan laughed. “I’ll run you over there right now. Then I’ll call Asprey. Then I’ll walk the dog.”

  “No. Please walk the dog first then deliver me. Besides, I’ll take him home with me for now, until things get more sorted out. Less for Teddy to worry about. I promise I’ll go by your office and make a statement.”

  “Okay. Just rest now and I’ll scout around some with Domino.”

  “I am so grateful.” Grateful also that my wrists were unburdened with metal and that I was going home, not to a cell. And, hey. Grateful I was alive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  May 22, 2:13 P.M.

  The bag of frozen chickpeas on my head was soggy. Like my brain, I thought. I lay on my green loveseat, head on a pillow, feet up and dangling over the opposite arm. Lu sprawled next to me on the floor. I had run by the sheriff’s. Domino had wound up coming home with me for the meantime and he was in a deep sleep near Lu. Tuan had walked him, and the dog hadn’t sniffed out any new evidence. So much for my psychic powers. I’d turned Amethyst out to graze so he was okay.

  Do I have too many animals? I wondered. Nah. Is such thing possible? Stoppit. If you must think with your brain like hummus think about the case.

  My shoulder ached so it must have been hit too. It was hard to concentrate. It was hard not to go to sleep. I’d bother Tuan, that’d keep me awake. I picked up the phone from my coffee table and punched out his number.

  “Deputy Scott,” said Tuan.

  “Hi. Asprey find anything else?”

  “Bryn! How are you?”

  “I have brain sog.”

  “This is new?”

  “You will be punished when I am well, Tuan.”

  “You can always try, tough girl.”

  “Can you share a
nything about what Asprey found?”

  “There’s some red hair and blood on the statue. We’ll need samples from you. No prints though, anywhere. Your assailant certainly made off with the horseshoes. The sheriff believes you. We’re going to get Arthur out to check those hind shoes. Maybe, as you suggest, he could remove them from the horse and Bonmot could compare them to what’s on Mrs. Goodall’s body. My thought about the dog is: he was knocked out before Marcie was attacked and only recovered a while ago. Perhaps he was left for dead out behind the manure pile or something.”

  “Good deduction, Tuan. Can the dog stay with me until we sort things out or does MacWain want him at the pound? Like the horse.”

  Tuan chuckled. “Of course the dog can stay with you.”

  “Visit. Not stay. I am contemplating the quantity of animals in my life, Deputy, and the number is rising. A Dalmatian would be one too many.”

  “One’s not enough and a hundred’s too many?”

  “I think that’s what alcoholics say, or maybe Cruella de Ville.”

  He laughed. “Something like that. You’re pretty smart for someone who was recently ambushed. So Bryn, the sheriff is waiting for lab results from Asprey. The team’s been all over that tack room for the past few hours. We also sent Teddy out to scour around the property. See if he finds anything.”

  “Did you have him scour those stalls too?”

  “He will feed but he will not muck.”

  “God. I hope I don’t end up doing it. Tuan. There’s something else I haven’t told you–”

  Suddenly, a chill. Withholding evidence was a crime. Cutesy could only take me so far.

  “Tuan. Please don’t laugh. But. I had a sort of psychic moment–or to quote you and Sheriff MacWain–a woo-woo–last night, right before I was knocked out. It was pretty simple, just a flash, a movie picture of an action. Obvious. And vicious.”

  Tuan’s silence lengthened. I had to continue. “I saw arms–using a stick of some kind–like a pile driver on something…the arms rising up and down, up and down. I saw a glint of metal on the bottom of it. That’s it.”

  For once, Tuan didn’t sigh. Instead he spoke seriously. “So. We could be looking for a stick with perhaps the missing horseshoe nailed to it?”

  “Maybe, eh? Actually, I had hoped the dog would lead you to this object–that it was discarded somewhere on the property or on the neighbor’s land. Maybe Teddy will find it. But it looks like the killer was smarter than that. If my–movie–was correct and such a thing exists, then they’ve obviously disposed of it in some other way.”

  “Let’s hope. But, not to denigrate your woo-woo moments, Bryn, but it’s not an Einsteinian calculation to figure that one out.”

  “Right.” I laughed, a little weak from my concussion but also in relief he wasn’t mad at me. “Deputy Scott. Are you picking on my woo-woo?” Second Brain said, Perhaps a little too flirty? First Brain of course did a fast rationalization: Blame it on the concussion. Blame it on too many years of celibacy.

  “Of course. It’s the duty of the sheriff’s department to do so!” Then he laughed too.

  There were shuffling sounds.

  “Here’s Teddy. Hang on.” I heard muffled conversation. Then Tuan came back, amused. “Teddy needs a shower and a change of clothes. He searched the place thoroughly.”

  “He didn’t find it.”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. My woo-woo told me he wouldn’t. I am hanging up now–not out of pique, but from exhaustion.”

  “Take care of that concussion. Believe it or not, Bryn, the sheriff’s department can handle things.”

  “Just don’t kill the horse!”

  “He’s safe for a while now. Wiley, don’t go anywhere. Rest!”

  “Yessir. Bye, Tuan.”

  “Right.”

  I lay back and thought about what I might do tomorrow. Today was out–my head still hurt; my vision was off. Maybe I might take a spin across the lake to see if I could find Cade Pritchard. Anton Delon, the mortgage broker, too.

  I replaced my phone on the glass table and sat up. I had a sensation of delay, as if my body moved, but my living presence lagged behind, like speed marks in cartoons. I sat still, smiling, and felt myself rejoin my body. Lesson: Move slowly. In one swift movement Lulu was on her feet. She didn’t want to be left behind. Groggily, Domino raised his head as if to say what’s all the fuss now?

  “It’s nothing, Dom. You rest,” I told him. Then I eased myself up. Staggered a few steps. The formerly-frozen chickpeas fell to the floor. I could not bend down and pick them up without falling on my face. But, I told myself, if I moved slowly and drove back roads very carefully, perhaps I could visit the stallion at the pound. Then I remembered the video. I surely was brain damaged! I had gotten home, dropped it on top of the TV, and then not looked at it. I remembered that I hadn’t had the energy to sit through hours of amateurish pans of pastures.

  Outside, gravel clattered. My doorbell chimed and Lu barked. Moving like Frankenstein, I made it to the door. The peephole showed a jockey-short, anxious man puffing hard at a cigarette. His eyes darted around as if he was afraid he was being followed.

  “Who is it?” I called through the door. I was in no shape for anything physical even from a guy shorter than me.

  “Ms. Wiley?” he shouted through the door. “I’m Marcie Goodall’s husband, Theodore Goodall. Can I please talk to you?”

  Theodore! On my doorstep. Was this my lucky break? Either he was here to kill me or he needed help. I squinted at him hard. No muscles to speak of. What was the all the exercise equipment about? Lulu growled. I had Lulu. But now Domino was up and frantically wagging his tail. He recognized the voice.

  “Okay, Mr. Goodall, you can come in if you get rid of that cigarette.”

  He dropped the smoke, stepped on it then picked it up and put it in a pocket of his black satin windbreaker. When he turned I saw the gold logo for Morgan Oaks Farm embroidered on the back of the jacket

  I opened the door. Lulu barked. Domino was all over the man. He patted the dog energetically. But Lu kept snarling. When I was sure Theo Goodall had seen Lu’s size and all of her gleaming fangs I shushed my dog and gestured for him to enter. I led him, slowly, into my living room. I sat in my loveseat and pointed at a rocker opposite that he could sit in.

  Domino tight at his side, he moved across to the chair then bent and picked up something. “Ms. Wiley, you got some thawed-out frozen chickpeas on your floor.”

  “So I do.”

  “You want I should put them in your freezer?”

  “That would be kind. Thank you.” Growling, Lu quivered beside me, wanting the Wait command lifted, so she could rush over and tear into this stranger. At least that’s what I liked to tell myself.

  He pointed with the peas to his left. “Kitchen?” Domino was attached like Velcro to the man’s side.

  “Yep.”

  He went and I heard the freezer compartment open and close. From there he politely called, “Got you an aig on your head?” I realized after a moment he meant ‘bump.’

  “Yes,” I called back. “Can you grab me another bag of frozen vegetables?”

  “Broccoli do?”

  “Broccoli’s fine, thank you.”

  He returned, handed me the bag of broccoli, and then sat. Dom crowded next to him. Theo stared at me with bulging hazel eyes. His skin was an unhealthy white, like the underside of a mushroom. Shaving, he’d missed several spots. Gray and black grizzle accentuated the mushroom color. He took off his baseball cap, showing a bald head and monk’s fringe, and said, “Thanks for lettin me in. I–I–” His mouth twisted. He wrung out the cap. He blinked, hard, then he broke out bawling.

  I positioned the broccoli on my head and stared. While he cried, I read his windbreaker and his hat. The hat said “Morgan Oaks Farm.” Over his left breast on the jacket was stitched “Investor.” At some point this would have been a joke between him and Marcie, I guessed. I waited. Lulu watche
d alertly as Theodore wept.

  “There, there, Mr. Goodall,” I murmured.

  Theodore sobbed harder. I waited. Lulu growled low.

  Theo dug in a pocket and pulled out a red farmer’s handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then sat up straight like a little kid in the principal’s office.

  “Ah’m so sorry. Dint mean to break down like that.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Good–”

  “–Theo.”

  “Please continue, Theo. Hush, Lu, thanks, we’re fine now.” The dog stopped her snarl and flopped to the floor like a rag doll.

  “Marcie really liked you,” he said. “And you helped her a lot with that article.” Art-cull. “I heard you sometimes have psychic impressions or somethin. You solve murder cases. I did not kill Marcie. And Once dint either. I’m here because I sure hope you can help me and help the horse. Comin in I saw a big black horse outside. He yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine animal. Fine. Helps you’re a horsewoman. Marcie said you unnerstood her better than most and she only talked to you a few times.”

  I felt my eyes moisten. I hadn’t known! I should have been a better friend to her.

  “But I fu–, sorry, ma’am. Sorry. I messed everythin up.”

  “How did you do that, Theo?” I was asking the obvious in a too-solicitous tone. I sounded like Miss Marple but Theo didn’t seem to notice.

  He took a deep breath and held it. His eyes bugged out more. “The thing is, I should have stuck it out, stayed with her. Helped her with the horses. So many horses! All the money just went.”

  “Aah. So this money that went, where did it come from?”