Hot Blooded Murder

by Jacqueline D'Acre

  I heard a huge sigh beside me. “I want to keep the farm,” said Theo. “I’ve got to keep the farm. And some of the horses. Not all. That’d be too much. But I love this, Bryn. I love it.”

  I patted his back. My article for the Morgan magazine would have a happy ending.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  May 29th, 10:18 AM

  I’d slept in. Now I drank coffee, remote in my hand. Channels Four and Six both had newsbreaks reporting the death of Daisy Delon and the arrest of her husband, Anton. During one break, there was an interview with a quaking Anton III who said, “I am convinced some unknown assailant attacked my mother…” I felt sorry for him.

  A reporter said, “An unrelated violent occurrence was discovered early this morning. Cade H. Pritchard, entrepreneur, well-known horseman, was found severely beaten under the I-10 underpass, Morrison Road Exit. He was also shot, once in each knee. Doctors say his condition is critical. His sister, Mrs. Kitty Z. Abeletti, when reached this morning, had no comment. Now back to our regular programming…”

  I took a swig of coffee. Felt like I was trying to jump-start a dead battery. I left my promised deliveries to Morgan Oaks Farm until two this afternoon, since it was after two AM when I got home from the foaling of Boston. Theo drove back to New Orleans so he’d be exhausted also. It was raining this morning, too, not a promising day to pick up and deliver Once. Theo was coming directly from New Orleans to my place, where we would hook up my old truck and horse trailer and proceed to the pound, and on to the farm. Theo was bringing suitcases, he’d said. Today would be his move-in day. Dutifully I laid down the remote, picked up my Tao, and read a line:

  “Know the male principle, yet stay with the female…”

  So many females in this case. Most of them dead. Aimée. Marcie. Daisy Delon. Three remarkable women. Killed by the same hand? Was Anton in cahoots with Cade regarding Aimée? Did they share the million and a half payoff, only to gamble it all away? Had they or he killed Marcie? And now Daisy. The man I’d met in the steamy shabby office was desperate. There had been the gleam of insanity in his Plexiglas eyes. And with his war history, killing was a reflex for him. In a way then, I felt pity for him. What eighteen-year-old kid stood a chance against the systematic brainwashing of a sophisticated, fully-resourced training apparatus, that knew just how to manipulate an unsure youth, that eventually could topple that man into insanity? I’d allowed myself to be the victim of systematic brainwashing from the man I’d loved, my husband. And I had not been an unsure youth. I’d been twenty-four years old, supposedly a mature young woman. It had proven no protection from a master of mind control.

  I felt sad for Daisy, even for the crazed Big Daddy Delon. And Anton III. The kid was a wreck.

  It was after ten o’clock and I hadn’t accomplished anything. The phone rang. I answered. “Wiley.”

  “Bryn. MacWain. Thought you might like to know you did find the murder weapon. Lab found Marcie’s blood on it for sure.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Yup. Put a rush on it. Lab worked all night. We had to know so we could corroborate whether Anton Delon was the killer of Marcie as well as his wife.”

  “So you found his prints on it?”

  “No. Guess he used gloves.”

  “So you and the DA are convinced he’s Marcie’s killer?” Again, that inner squiggle of concern. Was he really Marcie’s killer? Why my uncertainty?

  “Pretty much, yup. Just to be on the sure side though, Tuan got a couple men out askin’ around at feed stores where they stock those horseshoe nails. Those places know all the local farriers well. See if anyone unusual bought any. So I guess you can take a rest. Went by Lila’s this mornin’ for coffee. Saw Theodore Goodall there. Says he’s meetin’ you later, movin’ in today and he told us you helped him with that pregnant mare last night. Mighty nice a you, Bryn.”

  Nails. Whoever affixed the shoe to the bat had to have access to a farrier’s type of horseshoe nails which were flat with rectangular heads. They weren’t available at your local Ace Hardware or Home Depot. There were only a few outlets in St. Tremaine. And not that many farriers. Someone might remember a different person coming in, not a known farrier, asking for these special nails. Definitely a lead for the sheriff to follow through on. Well. I had to let him have something to do!

  But I answered, “I enjoyed seeing that new foal born. I should thank Theo.”

  “He said y’all might be comin’ by to pick up the stallion today?”

  “That’s right. I wish this rain would let up.”

  “Teddy’s expectin’ y’all. So go on whenever you can. Make sure you take that gray cat with you.”

  “We will. And thanks for all the hard work you’ve done, Sheriff. As a taxpayer and a citizen I appreciate you and Tuan very much.”

  “Why thank you, Miss Bryn, I’ll pass that along. And thank you for hangin’ in there and fightin’ to save that horse. I understand he’s a fine and valuable animal.”

  “Yes.” Enough of the hearts and flowers I was thinking. Bye Sheriff.

  “Bye, Sheriff.” I didn’t dare ask how Simon Asprey was doing, and was it his work ‘all night’ that found Marcie’s blood on the bat?

  “Bye, Bryn. Let’s take a break now from all these murders, whatcha say?”

  “Yep. I think I’m going to maybe board my horse in a bit here and go north to my hometown for a couple of months. Cool off some.”

  “You do that then. Happy trails.” Was he thinking, I smiled to myself, good riddance?

  Still grinning, I hung up. He somehow seemed to think that my mere presence inspired these crimes. Of course it didn’t. That was ridiculous…wasn’t it? Although I had done some esoteric reading that suggested that we create everything in our lives through our thoughts…change your thought, change your life.

  I moved past that disturbing concept, even as I acknowledged it had come up before.

  2:13 PM

  The rain was more mist than pelt by the time Theo arrived and we drove to the pound and loaded up the horse and the cat. Then we drove toward Morgan Oaks. My windshield wipers screeched after every third wipe and annoyed me. I was feeling my tiredness and felt cranky. Wanted all this over with. Take a day off!

  My silver ‘86 Ford truck, which I used only for hauling horses, lumbered past the cemetery, my aluminum horse trailer behind. Lulu and Domino were in crates in the truck bed. Theo was smiling as much as he could, given his tiredness. I’d stopped at a Winn-Dixie and he bought some food supplies to move in with. He also bought a bunch of red grapes which we nibbled on now.

  We pulled into the drive proper and I slammed on the brakes. Once kicked, the back of the trailer, to let me know he was annoyed with this bad driving.

  A giant U-haul truck was parked at the entrance to the house. I looked at Theo. His big eyes bulged.

  “Is this a déjâ-vu moment I’m having, Theo? Please say I’m hallucinating this.”

  He shook his head hard. I stared through the fan-shape left by the bad windshield wiper. The tiny figure of Tammi Takeur, three to four hundred yards away, was carrying a box into the house. Filmore loitered outside the truck. He saw us and shouted to her. She stopped, whirled and dropped the box onto the porch. I heard the smack sound as it landed. I saw the small mouth open and close. Shrill noises emerged, but I couldn’t make out words.

  Still staring at Tammi, I groped for my cell phone on the seat. Picked it up and with a sense of enormous enervation, speed-dialed MacWain. Would he be thrilled to see my name on his caller I.D.? Not.

  “Yup, Bryn.”

  “Sheriff. I hate this as much as you, but the Takeur’s have a truck out here and it sure looks like they are, once again, attempting to move into Morgan Oaks Farm.”

  “I know all about it.”

  “What?”

  “You sit tight now. I’ll be over there directly.”

  “But how did you know?”

  “That neighbor lady with the bull? She called me. Asked
if this was proper. I said I didn’t think it was. Not yet anyway. And it’s in direct contradiction to my previous order to them not to move in. So Tuan called the DA again. Got that smart little Assistant DA, Mindy, on the line and that’s why we are on our way over there right now.”

  “She said it wasn’t legal?”

  “Nothin’ has changed. Murder investigation still pendin’, not to mention fraud.” There was a pause. I was staring at the scene through the window. The drizzly rain had all but quit. Dampness hung in near-visible droplets in the air. The day was still overcast.

  “What exactly are you doin’ right now, Bryn?”

  “Gazing in utter disbelief at what I am seeing, Sheriff.”

  “That’s a good thing for you to do. Keep it up. Don’t do a thing else. We’ll be there directly.” He chuckled and clicked off.

  Due to my diligent staring, I saw that the end of the drive had a new gate. Chained and locked. Rainwater dripped over a shiny big padlock. I pointed at it. Theo nodded. Yep, he saw it too.

  I slapped myself upside my head. “What an ass I’ve been! Anton Delon didn’t kill Marcie!”

  “Then who did?” Theo’s eyes, one still swollen and bruised, projected out at me.

  My thoughts were racing and colliding and crashing inside my skull. Pictures blazed through my mind–the look on Tammi’s face watching Marcie ride, her briskness and her bothering to visit Once at the pound…Filmore’s obvious attraction to Marcie as seen on the video…Beside me, Theo was croaking, “What? What? What?”

  Tammi had gone back into the big truck and moments later the end of a rust-colored suede sofa protruded. It was being shoved from the truck. Holy cow, I thought, is she doing that by herself?

  Flash: those baggy, long-sleeved t-shirts she always wore…hiding extraordinary muscles?

  The big sofa tipped down, thumped onto the wet grass, and Filmore went to the end of it. Tammi jumped from the truck, ran around, and together they dragged it in front of the house. They set it between two pear trees. I had the thought it wasn’t taking them long to make this place look like a trailer park. Tammi wore a black tank top and even at this distance I saw the bulge of highly developed biceps. She disappeared into the U-Haul. Filmore stood to one side. He was flopping his arms around and appeared to be arguing with her.

  Flash. Damn! Tammi’s running the show not Fil…how could I have been so wrong? So far off? I stared, paralyzed by my astonishment…What a fool! Hot-blooded Tammi was the killer!

  Tammi reappeared carrying a rifle. She hopped down from the truck like a tiny military zealot. From this distance, I saw the contraction and expansion of her bicep. That’s what she’s been hiding, her strength! Now Filmore was yelling and waving his arms at her. Calmly she raised the rifle to her shoulder, nestled her wet cheek against the stock, and shot him in the thigh. Screaming, he fell. Then Tammi disappeared behind the sofa. Zing! A shot tore bark from a tree a yard from my head in the cab of the truck.

  “Hell and damn!” I cried. Theo and I exchanged fast, frightened looks. I put the truck in reverse. Bullets flew around us. One hit the roof of the cab. I backed as fast I could from the driveway. The trailer wobbled behind me, wanting to jack-knife, but I was practiced at backing. I wrestled the rig onto Word of God Church Road and put the truck in first gear, trod on the gas, zoomed past the church, screeched around in a U-turn and parked behind the woods that bordered the graveyard.

  Cautiously, I got out of the truck, crept up to the edge of the cemetery and crouched in a small grove of pines. I yelled, “Tammi! Tammi!”

  A wild shot hit a tombstone, ricocheted. Sounds like an old Western movie, I thought. But it wasn’t a movie. It was real.

  I felt fairly secure behind these trees, unless Tammi gave up her cover of the sofa and came after us. But the horses in the surrounding pastures weren’t safe, unless Tammi didn’t want to hurt them. Because Tammi seemed like a fairly good shot.

  I heard calls. Filmore, gasping and shrieking with pain, “Y’all! Tammi wants this farm.”

  No kidding.

  “Says she’ll kill horses until Theo signs it over to her.” He repeated it.

  That answers that.

  “No!” I screamed back. “She can’t do that! She can’t shoot the horses!” C’mon sheriff! I thought with horror of Boston and her new filly, the mare with Once’s great new son Twice. A bullet hit another tombstone. In the trailer behind, Once jumped and the trailer’s motion rocked the truck. Tammi had shot toward the sound of my voice. Shut up, Bryn! Where the hell’s MacWain?

  I scrambled back into the truck and grabbed the cell phone–Theo was babbling at me. “I’ll sign anything. I don’t want her to hurt horses.”

  I shook my head in the negative and speed-dialed the sheriff again. He answered.

  “Sheriff. Tammi Takeur is Marcie’s murderer and now she’s gone totally insane. She’s barricaded the driveway and she’s shooting at us with a high-powered rifle. She shot her husband in the leg.”

  “What the hail?”

  “I know. Filmore just yelled at us. Says Tammi wants Theo to sign over the farm or else she’ll start shooting the horses.”

  “Good God! You just sit tight like I said–”

  A shot sounded and a horse screamed in agony. “Sheriff! She just shot a horse!” Beside me, Theo moaned as if he’d been hit.

  “Hang tight. Don’t you do anythin,’ Bryn. We’ll be there directly!” Over the phone I heard the siren rev up. I looked at Theo’s white face, his protruding blue eyes, one black from his assault the other night, and I saw tears pouring from both. Too much. He’d had too much. Well, dammit, so had I. All of these monsters–Cade, Anton, Tammi, running around beating people up, taking whatever they pleased, farms, horses, lives–their sense of entitlement enraged me. I threw the phone on the seat and got out of the truck. I ran to the back of the horse trailer. Theo looked wildly after me. The dogs in the truckbed barked. I was glad they were crated. Kept them safe. I unlatched the trailer. Climbed in the empty side, reached over and unfastened the stallion. Backed him out, his feet banging as he ran out. I felt confident the big hickories and magnolias provided cover. At the side of the trailer I opened the tack compartment hoping for anything–a rope, a long lead shank–but I got lucky, found a bridle, its leather mildewed green, but it would have to do. I presented it to his face and he opened his mouth for the snaffle bit, near eye bright with excitement. Moving handfuls of forelock, I pulled it on over his ears. Fastened the chinstrap, tiny little buckle giving my nervous fingers trouble. Got it!

  I threw the reins over his elegant neck. He had to be dead broke, winning all those championships. Fervently, I hoped so. I climbed up on the fender of the trailer and belly-first, floundered onto his back. Woo! Almost kept going, off the other side, to land on my head in the wet weeds. The horse champed his bit and stood politely while I acted like an awkward rubber-woman on his back. Then I got my right leg down, hooked it around him and wriggled my bum to get my crotch closer to his withers. I sat up straighter, grabbed the mane, and hitched my butt sideways until I was more or less centered on his back. If I could just sneak around behind Tammi, perhaps I could somehow…I didn’t know what. I’d explode if I didn’t take action. Hands full of rein and mane, I gently squeezed Once’s sides and he walked forward. I rode past Theo’s startled face, my hip at his eye level. When the horse’s butt cleared the door he opened it and stepped from the truck, saying, “Bryn. Watcha doin’! You crazy? She’s got a big gun and she ain’t afraid to shoot someone. She shot her damn husbin!”

  “Get back in the truck, Theo.” I was hissing, a loud whisper at him. “Don’t leave it or you’ll mess up my plan.” Plan? Ha! What plan? He slowly began closing the truck door. I faced forward on the horse, carrying a mental picture of Theo helplessly watching us. I headed toward the bush. The unprotected cemetery was to my left. I steered Once to the right. A shot screamed out. I heard the truck door shut. Once kept moving ahead. Wasn’t gun-shy, I thought, tha
nkfully. I didn’t look back. I had to assume Theo was okay. Dutifully, Once entered the thick forest.

  He was a more slender horse, and shorter than Am, probably about fifteen hands tall. Harder to ride bareback, and I was grateful for his thick mane and that he was well-fed and thus well-rounded. No ridge of a spine cutting into my tender feminine parts. I had handfuls of mane to help me stay on. But I wished for a saddle and the security of stirrups. I was a much better rider when I had them. There was silence, then a human-like whimpering. Filmore? No! The shot horse! I felt grim, chilled. The rain that had soaked the forest had let up, but the leaves were tiny natural reservoirs. Water splattered on me and Once as we made our way around trees, ducking branches, chilling my skin to match my inner chill. Once moved steadily forward tolerating my seesaw seat, blinking, but unfazed by the water drops that splattered onto his face and into his eyes. I turned him away from the house and the barn. If I could get around the backside of Marcie’s acreage, and into the neighbor lady’s brushy pasture, I had a hope of sneaking up behind Tammi. Filmore was calling, “Bryn Wiley? Theo Goodall? Y’all out there?” I guessed he was as henpecked–hell, more like buzzard-pecked as any man I’d ever seen. My Second Brain sure had stopped working regarding these two. Except for those feelings of discomfort whenever I’d tried to label Anton the murderer. And all along I’d thought Filmore ruled Tammi. But also all along I’d felt uneasy about Anton being the murderer. I hadn’t paid attention!

  Yes, I’m out here, Filmore, I thought, shivering with tension and wetness. The air wasn’t cold. The sun had come out now and was heating up the rainwater, converting it to steam. Now my so-briefly chilled arms were sweltering as raindrops on them evaporated into hot mist. I was in a steaming rainforest, but at least my balance had improved as my body learned Once’s dimensions and fitted itself to them.