Most men would consider her cute, with her long chestnut hair in a ponytail tied with a blue scrunchie. Her turned-up nose and wide nostrils, however, gave her a slightly piggy look he had trouble ignoring.
At six feet four, Geoff was seldom attracted to women who came up to his sternum, and Gwen was no exception. He preferred a woman he wasn’t afraid he’d break. Plenty of men would take one look at her, however, discount her muscles, and want to protect her.
He suspected she could handle anything less than a Tyrannosaurus Rex all by herself.
She nodded, cut off the machine, and turned to him. “You’re fifteen minutes late,” she said.
“Sorry. The drive took longer than I thought.” He indicated the mare. “Is she pregnant?”
This elicited a smile. Her teeth were small and white, but either she hadn’t kept her braces on long enough to rid herself totally of her overbite, or she hadn’t worn her retainer religiously. “Sixty-four days from insemination.” She slapped the mare on her shoulder. “She’s one of Giles Raleigh’s Dutch Warmblood brood mares.”
“What do you think will happen to his place now?”
She shut the mare into one of the stalls. “Give me a sec.” She stuck her head through the door to the reception room and said, “Meg, call Brock. Tell him she’s still in foal. He can come get her this afternoon.” Then she turned back to Geoff and answered his question as though there had been no break in their conversation. “No idea. It’s as hard to turn a place like that around as it is an aircraft carrier, so I’d say not much will change for at least six months to a year.”
“Do you know who inherits?”
She shook her head. “I know what everybody says, but with Giles Raleigh, that meant squat. He could have gotten mad and left it to a home for aging cats.”
“Will you continue to do their vet work?”
“Lord, I hope so. They’re my biggest client. Brock trusts me. I think Dawn does too.”
“What about Raleigh?”
She wheeled the ultrasound machine into the corner of the room and leaned on the counter beside it. “Raleigh didn’t trust his mother. He always fussed about my bills, but he paid them on time and in full.”
“You ever fight with him?”
She laughed. “Who didn’t? He threatened to fire me every couple of months. In this part of north Georgia, unless you want to chance driving a colicky mare all the way down to the University vet school in Augusta, I’m the closest and best equipped clinic.” She gave him a glimmer of a smile. “And the best equine surgeon in Georgia, but don’t tell my colleagues that.”
“You’ve got an impressive set-up. Are you a sole practitioner or do you have partners? I didn’t see any other names on your sign out front.”
“Sole practitioner. I like to do things my way, and I try to stay one step above the competition.” She waved a hand at the machines. “It amortizes fast. Now, what did you want to talk about? I don’t know anything about Raleigh’s death.”
“You were there, though? That morning?”
“I’d been there all night, as a matter of fact. One of the Hull’s Morgan geldings was trying to colic on us. Tully and I worked on him until four or five in the morning before he rewarded us with a steaming pile of beautiful manure.”
“Did you see Raleigh harnessing up?”
“The Hulls were stabled on the back side of the stable close to the main house. In other words, as far away from Raleigh’s stalls as possible. In all that fog, no way would I have seen his horses unless they stepped on me.”
“Or heard them?”
“Stables are never quiet. If I had heard anything, I wouldn’t have paid attention. That sort of thing just doesn’t register after you’ve been spent enough time in stables.”
“Did you see Raleigh?”
She shook her head.
“Other than the Hulls, did you see anyone at all?”
“Not really. I heard a couple of cars coming up the driveway, but I have no idea whose they were. Grooms would be getting up by that time, but as politically incorrect as it may sound, they’re almost all short, grizzled and Latino. I can’t tell one from the other.” She shrugged. “They’re mostly illegal, so they keep changing from show to show.”
“You say you’ve worked for Raleigh for some time. Mostly with Brock, I assume.”
She covered her momentary hesitation by stripping off her pair of blue surgical gloves and dropping them into a covered waste disposal can beside the cross-ties. She squirted lotion from a hand cleaner sitting on the shelf over the can and rubbed her hands.
After a moment she looked up and said, “Brock’s an excellent stable manager. Very professional. Raleigh’s place couldn’t function without him. I hope Dawn remembers that.”
“I’ve heard that Brock and Raleigh had a big dustup on Friday afternoon. Any idea what that was about?”
“Why would I?”
“Since you two are friends, I thought he might need a shoulder to cry on.”
“Get real. They fought all the time. Meant nothing.”
“Your relationship strictly professional?”
“Why the hell is that any of your business?”
“Dr. Standish, this is a murder investigation. Everything is my business. He’s a single man, you’re a single woman—or I assume you are. You work closely together. Why shouldn’t you have a personal relationship?”
“It wouldn’t be ethical.”
Geoff waited with his arms folded across his chest, his ankles crossed. He’d learned that most people couldn’t stand silence. Gwen was no exception.
“Oh, all right. We dated for a while.”
“Not lately?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Big breakup?”
“Neither of us had enough time to maintain a relationship,” she said.
“Yeah, been there, done that.” The few relationships Geoff had tried to carry on after his divorce had all broken apart on his inability to keep a decent schedule. Women could take being cancelled at the last minute only so often before they moved on. He was facing that and worse with Merry. She did the standing up as often as he did. The result was the same.
He took Gwen through her night with the Hulls’ gelding. “After the gelding dropped your manure, what did you do?”
“Stopped by the big house. They’d set up coffee, juice and sweet rolls on the veranda. I needed some in the worst way.”
“Anybody else there?”
“Couple of the grooms. I took my stuff to my van and drove back home to bed.”
“Who looks after your practice when you’re not around?”
“I don’t generally work on Sundays except for emergencies. I’d cleared my calendar for that weekend on purpose. I was the official vet for the show, so I hung around most of the weekend.”
“When did you hear about Raleigh’s death?”
“Brock called me. I can’t remember when. He woke me up.” She gave a shudder. “That’s a truly wacko way to kill somebody.”
“How would you have killed him?”
She glanced down at her small body. “With an elephant gun from a long distance. I’d sooner mess with an angry polar bear up close.”
“You ever go to bed with him?”
“Not just no, but hell no. Who told you I had?”
“Nobody, but his reputation says that he hit on any attractive woman he met. You are very attractive.”
She actually blushed. Merry might have reacted the same way. Women used to adoration, however, like Sarah Beth Raleigh, his own ex-wife Brittany and probably Dawn Raleigh accepted compliments casually as no more than their due.
“Well, he didn’t think I was attractive. Probably Brock warned him that if he hit on me he might lose his veterinary privileges. Nookie he could get anywhere, but a vet of my caliber in the wilds of North Georgia? Nunh-uh.”
“Why are you in the wilds of North Georgia and not in a big practice somewhere?”
“Yo
u mean like Auburn or Moorpark? I’d rather be captain of a small ship than purser on an ocean liner.”
“Got ya.”
She showed him around the clinic when he asked. Her pride in the place and what she had built was obvious. She seemed to swell physically when she talked about it.
Ten minutes later he gave her and her secretary Meghan business cards, told both women to report anything they thought might help the investigation, and drove away. Maybe Gwen came from family money. She’d found a big wad of it somewhere to open that clinic.
He stopped in a small mom-and-pop diner between Dr. Gwen’s and Raleigh’s for a made-from-scratch cheeseburger and real home fries. Afterwards, he felt like putting back his head and taking a nap in his car. Instead he turned toward Raleigh’s place. By now the family lawyer should have told the heirs who’d gotten what. Although a will admitted to probate was public property, the lawyer might be waiting until after the funeral to prove it legally. With luck Geoff would be around when the heirs heard what they did or did not get. Might cause some explosions. In a murder investigation, explosions were always happy events.
Chapter 23
Tuesday
Merry
Peggy called Dick Fitzgibbons while I was harnessing Golden Boy for Casey Blackshear’s ten o’clock lesson. Casey had been quite an athlete before she was paralyzed from the waist down. The moment she’d discovered there was an international Driving for the Disabled program, she decided to learn to drive.
The fun show and clinic, scheduled weekend after next, was actually a benefit to help pay for a para-carriage and horse for her. Her veterinarian husband could afford to pay the expenses for the horse and carriage, but a specially built para-carriage, horse, harness and accessories amounted to a big chunk of change to pay out all at one time. Lackland Farm would keep any profit from the Sunday driving clinic, but the profits from the Saturday show would go to Casey’s fund. Casey hoped we could start a para-driving program in the area at some point using her horse and carriage.
In the meantime, her husband Hank, who is our veterinarian, and Dick Fitzgibbons, had removed the seats from an old phaeton Dick picked up for a song at an auction in Pennsylvania, and fitted it so Casey could drive her wheelchair up a ramp into the cart. We had to strap the chair securely in place, and she couldn’t let down or raise the ramp herself, but once inside the cart with the reins in her hand, she was good to go. The wheelchair was actually wider than a normal single seat, so I squeezed in beside her when I trained her, but that was a small price to pay for the smile on her face. One lesson had convinced her that she wanted to compete. We expected her to be driving head-to-head with non-disabled drivers before the end of the season.
Now, their adopted daughter Li wanted to drive as well. She was too young, but once Casey was comfortable driving, we figured we could rig a special security seat for Li to ride along with her mother safely. Li wanted to do the driving, of course. She is a very determined and opinionated young lady, but she couldn’t be allowed to drive so much as a Very Small Equine like Don Qui for several years, even with an adult riding along.
“How would you feel about driving a Norwegian Fjord?” I asked Casey after her lesson. “Large enough horse to pull the extra weight of your wheelchair, but small enough to manage. They’re smart and kind.”
“Could Li ride the same one I drive?” Casey asked, as Li flew out of the stable and climbed into the wheelchair and her mother’s lap.
“They’re larger than Golden and Ned and as broad as a billiard table. But once she’s old enough, we can find Li a used saddle and start her on lessons.”
“Now!” Li said.
“No way,” Casey answered.
They were still squabbling as Casey’s van disappeared down the driveway.
After Casey and Li left, and the horse and carriage were tidied away, Peggy found me in the carriage shed tying a small tractor tire to long ropes. “For Don Qui to pull this afternoon.”
“So soon?” Peggy asked.
“His meltdown yesterday was actually a big improvement. In the absence of a breaking cart or sledge small enough for him, this is the best we can do, before we put him to the VSE Meadowbrook. What did Dick say? Does he need his marathon cart back right away?”
Peggy lounged against the wall and watched me with narrowed eyes. She’d never seen the drag-the-tire trick, and obviously thought I’d lost my mind. “His new marathon cart is due from Poland this week,” she said, “So this one can stay with us.”
“Will he sell it?”
Peggy laughed and shoved away from the wall. “Actually, he offered to give it to me, but I refused. Instead, he’s giving me a cousin’s price. If I can afford it, I intend to buy it. We do need one that will take a pair.”
“Great. The farm can probably manage to split the cost with you.”
She looked away and said much too casually, “He’s going to drive over from Aiken, have dinner and spend the night. He’ll drive us to Raleigh’s viewing this evening.”
I never ask about sleeping arrangements. Peggy has two guest rooms, but whether Dick uses one or not is none of my business. “Great. Geoff wants to talk to Dick about Raleigh. This will save Geoff a trip.”
Peggy held the lines as I carried the tire out of the shed and into the arena. “Actually, he wanted to watch you drive Don Qui to this tire, but it looks as though he’ll be too late.”
“You told him?” I dropped my lines. “Dammit, I don’t want half of Mossy Creek looking over my shoulder.”
“He does have a vested interest.”
“In an emergency clinic?” The best thing to use in breaking a horse to drive is either a sledge—a sliding platform without wheels—or an actual breaking cart. They are usually made of heavy steel, have high dashboards in front to protect the driver in case the horse kicks, a low center of gravity and an easy means of egress—in other words, the driver can bail if the horse runs away.
Hiram had an old breaking cart, but it was much too big for Don Qui, hence we were using the small tractor tire. The little Meadowbrook we’d borrowed was still folded up under the marathon cart in the trailer. It was also too hard to bail out of in an emergency. For the moment it could stay where it was.
“You’ll have to hold the release line on the tire,” I said. “We can’t let Don Qui pull it faster than a walk. If he picks up a trot, the tire could bounce behind him, or God forbid, go airborne and flail from side to side like a Frisbee.”
“So if it threatens to take on a life of its own, I’m supposed to drop the line and let it come loose and fall off?”
“Precisely. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m going to check on the progress of the pour for my house’s slab, then we can put Don Qui’s harness on and try him out.”
The concrete truck had arrived early and was nearly done pouring the slab for my house, while the horse herd kibitzed over the pasture fence. I figured the noise would spook them, but even Don Qui peered up at the gray slurry sliding down the chute with grave interest.
My general contractor agreed to set four heavy fence posts wide apart, two at the bottom of each driveway
“People will be driving big rigs up my driveway,” I told him. “With live horses in them. Much wider turning radius—an eighteen-wheeler in some cases. They have to be able to make the turn and get the rig away from the road to shut the gates behind them. Trust me, wider is better.”
He’d grumbled, but saw the sense in my argument. “Posts will be in before we leave this afternoon,” he said. “I got to go pick up some more stuff at the hardware store, so I can pick up the gates and hardware when I’m in Bigelow. We can set them in and have them up and running before we leave this afternoon. They won’t be real secure for a couple of days, but providing nobody runs into them, they should be fine.”
“Does that mean you can start laying the logs for my house tomorrow?”
He laughed. “Slab’ll harden up over night, but it’s got to cure for a week bef
ore we set the sills and start laying logs.”
Bobby swore he’d be finished in six weeks. Of course he would.
As I led Don Qui out to the arena and prepared to hook him to the tire, I considered postponing the driving clinic scheduled for Sunday because of the stacks of logs and trusses sitting around, but decided against it. Cancelling would be bad for Lackland Farms and for Casey’s fund.
I’d gotten a late entry from Dawn Raleigh, who was bringing a pair, not the four-in-hand. No one had cancelled. I had to pay Catherine Harris, who was my judge on Saturday and my clinician on Sunday, whether we cancelled or not. She would stay in Peggy’s guest room, but we had to pay her mileage to and from her place in Alpharetta.
The Mossy Creek Garden Club had agreed to handle the drinks and sandwiches, and now that they knew the profit would go to Casey’s fund, I figured we’d have a heavy turnout of locals buying spectator tickets. When I looked up, I found that Peggy had finished attaching reins and tire to Don Qui. He stood perfectly still until I asked him to walk on. That was real progress.
I asked him to walk on. When he felt the weight of the tire behind him, I expected another meltdown. Holding the release line far enough behind him to be out of kicking range, Peggy looked terrified.
He stiffened when he felt the weight behind him. I let him stop and stand until he figured out that there was something back there, but that it didn’t seem to be attacking him. Then he leaned his study little chest against the horse collar and walked forward as though he’d been pulling all his life. It was almost as though he was thinking, “Well, finally. So this is what all the nonsense has been about.”
He cheerfully dragged his tire for twenty minutes in patterns around the arena as though he’d been doing it forever. Both Peggy and I were stunned.
“He’s nearly ready to put to the little Meadowbrook,” I said and held a carrot for him to nibble, even though he still wore his bridle and harness. Not a good practice to start, but he deserved it. “Good boy, Don Qui.”
“You mean I missed it?” Geoff said from the stable.
One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] Page 15
