The Case of the Roasted Onion

by Bishop, Claudia

  “It’s possible, however,” Madeline said in a low voice. And she was right, my wife. There is a kind of ineradicable evil that may crop up anywhere. Even in those we think of as innocents.

  “And there’s something else. I found this in Beecher’s stall.” I put my hand in my trousers pocket and withdrew the plastic vial I had discovered in the bedding.

  Madeline looked at it and inhaled sharply. “A dose of that would kill him.”

  “It would, indeed.” I held the deadly little vial up to the light. Acepromazine, in a lethal dose. “I doubt very much that Schumacher prescribed this. Besides, what kind of veterinarian would drop a glass vial in a horse stall?”

  “You’re right.”

  “Now, if McClellan is up to something and Schumacher discovered it . . .” I fell into a study. If Schumacher had indeed discovered some fakery and confronted McClellan with it, murder seemed a fairly drastic solution to McClellan’s problem.

  I leaned forward, “I would be most interested in determining whether or not Brewster McClellan owns a thirty-ought-six. And in determining the amount of the insurance policy on the horse.”

  Madeline’s jaw didn’t drop, exactly. But she was definitely alarmed. “That’s the rifle the sniper used. You think Brewster McClellan’s the murderer? That he’s been doping and killing his own horses?”

  “You remember Faraway.”

  “But . . .” Madeline bit her lip. “It doesn’t explain all of it, Austin.”

  “In good time, my dear.” I held the glass of Hennessy up and admired the amber color. “As you know, my dear, symptoms never occur in a vacuum. An elevated body temperature is an indication that some infection may be rampant in the system. A slow capillary refill time indicates a disturbance in the cardiovascular system. In short, where there is a vial of a horse-killing drug, there may be fire! Where there is the death of a horse named Faraway and a disgraced veterinarian—there may be corruption. Where there are two dead veterinarians, there may be murder.”

  Madeline merely stared. Then she walked over to my recliner and took away my Hennessy.

  I rose to my feet and began to stride about the living room, an exercise that always promoted increased lucidity in my lectures at Cornell. “You don’t find it a very low probability that not one, but three members of the Veterinary Commission have fallen afoul of McClellan? Are you forgetting Coughlin, who paid with his reputation? Grazley, who has paid with his life? And Schumacher, the same? You don’t think I should follow in the footsteps of such investigating detectives as Sam Spade and Miles Archer?” Then, recollecting that Archer’s death had established the premise for The Maltese Falcon, and that Archer hadn’t investigated a thing, I amended. “Well, Sam Spade in all events. Ha!”

  “Austin, ssshh! And, let me get this straight, you’re going into the detective business because you think McClellan killed two veterinarians and shamed another one out of business?”

  “The man struck his own horse. We were both there. We both saw it. He struck his wife.”

  Madeline closed her lips and nodded slowly. “I see your point.”

  “Capable of anything!”

  “Oh, hush, Austin! You’ll wake the house.”

  Which I had, of course. Lincoln galloped down the staircase—presumably from his spot at the foot of the bed in Allegra’s room—followed moments later by Allegra herself. Perhaps I had been a trifle noisier than is my habit.

  I greeted both girl and dog with a nod and continued, “Of course I am going to investigate this case. Three members of my profession have been removed from their proper sphere. Three! Coughlin, through disgrace, and now, Ben Grazley and Larky Schumacher through murder. I lay this all at that rat McClellan’s door. In Spade’s immortal words, ‘When a man’s colleague dies, he’s gotta do something about it.’ Well, I intend to do something about it.”

  “Sam Spade said ‘partner,’ I think. As for Coughlin . . . who? Oh!” Madeline’s brow smoothed. “The poor guy from last year. The one who treated Faraway.”

  Allegra sat down at the table across from her and Madeline gave her a radiant smile. “How are you, sweetie?”

  Before Allegra could reply, I swept on. “Coughlin hasn’t had a moment’s peace since that fatheaded boob saw him kicked off the Earlsdown grounds last year. His practice is virtually ruined.”

  “Now, Austin, who told you that Coughlin’s practice has been practically ruined?”

  “Victor, naturally. Who else? The man is in the know. I may just begin my investigation by interviewing Victor.” I poured another dram of Hennessy and offered it to Madeline, who declined it with a graceful gesture. I sat down in my La-Z-Boy and regarded the amber drink with a darkling eye.

  “Investigation? Of the McClellans?” Allegra asked. She looked both rumpled and defenseless.

  “We were just kicking some ideas around. Did we wake you up?” Madeline looked charmingly apologetic. “Why don’t I make us some cocoa?”

  “I don’t want any cocoa, thank you. And I wasn’t really asleep, just sort of dozing off.” She wore a baggy T-shirt and an even baggier pair of pajama bottoms. The ensemble emphasized her extreme youth. “Linc heard the car come into the drive and wanted to come down, so I got up and came downstairs with him.” She settled onto the leather sectional, drew her knees up, and clasped her hands around them. “So, what’s going on?”

  “Not much,” Madeline said in an absentminded way. “Except that Dr. McKenzie is thinking about going into the detective business.”

  Allegra tugged at her hair. “Something happened at the dinner party to make Dr. McKenzie want to go into the detective business?”

  “The dinner party was a little skiffy.”

  Skiffy? Madeline, the most focused and forthright of women, was behaving in a strangely distracted way. I had fully expected that she deliver a tactfully phrased, but truthful, account of the evening, including the behavior of the despicable Stephanie. I agreed with the implied decision not to relate the story of Beecher’s attack. It was an ugly incident, not fit to repeat. But as for the rest of the evening—I, myself, would certainly want to know if my name were being bandied about in a scurrilous fashion so I could paste the offender one in the snoot. On the other hand, I could understand why Madeline perhaps did not want to allude directly to the reasons behind my forthcoming investigation; such a task might be dangerous, and one did not want to involve the youngsters. Better then, to leave the suspected drugging under wraps.

  “Ally?” The thoughtful furrow had not left Madeline’s brow. “Have you thought about competing at Earlsdown again this year?”

  “Me?”

  “You have the points, right?” Madeline referred to Allegra’s ranking in the eventing hierarchy. Anyone who had entered the show before as she had should have no problems with eligibility.

  “Sure, I’d be eligible.” She bit her lip. To my eye, she seemed to pale. “I don’t have a horse, though. I mean I did, last year, but he’s gone.” Then she didn’t say anything more. There seemed to be tears in her eyes. Most distressing.

  “Well,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Time to take Lincoln out for a walk, I see.”

  “Stay right where you are, Austin. Ally’s not going to carry on, are you? Good. Who needs to cry when you can come out swinging? And I think that’s what we all want to do. Come out of the corner and jump right smack-dab into the middle of the ring.” Madeline put her elbows in the table and propped her chin in her hands. She seemed to have come to a decision. “Ally—if you had a horse, would you want to compete at Earlsdown?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I would! But, how? I don’t have a horse.”

  Not much more needed to be said. Event horses do not grow on trees. Andrew had been a splendid competitor in his day, but the old fellow’s heart condition meant those days were gone. And when Madeline’s mare Duchess had died, we hadn’t had the means to replace her.

  “Well, let’s think a little bit. What about . . . ummmm . . . let me think
. . . Mrs. Gernsback?” Something in Madeline’s tone of voice told me that she had not just pulled Lila’s name out of her ear. My wife’s thought processes can be amazingly quick. I am the first to admit she sometimes is ahead of me by a country mile. Despite this, I made a loud—if involuntary—grunt of protest.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, sweetie. I have never understood why a man who can castrate an unanesthetized twenty-five-hundred-pound bull is such a wimp around the likes of Lila Gernsback.”

  Lila Gernsback, you will recall, was a widow with, as Victor so bluntly put it, the hots for veterinarians. Or at least for me. She is loud. She is determined. And she is sneaky.

  Madeline’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Ally. Mrs. Gernsback’s got a horse. And what a horse. A retired eventer. He’s a Trakehner cross. Twelve years old. He’s perfect. She’d be over the moon to see Hugo work again.”

  “She’s not competing herself?”

  “Would if she could. Broke her leg in three places six months ago,” Madeline said, with a regrettable lack of compassion. “Which just leaves her more time on her hands to make googly eyes at my husband.”

  “Wow,” Ally said. “I mean . . . but the show’s only a week and a half away. I couldn’t possibly fit him up in time.”

  “There is that,” Madeline agreed.

  And for a moment, all three of us mulled this over. Eventing is arduous. Both horse and rider must be at the peak of athletic form. Allegra seemed healthy enough, but the back and leg muscles degrade quickly if not exercised regularly and she would be pushed hard. As for Hugo—well, Lila Gernsback was a good horsewoman. It was possible, although not probable, that the horse could be made ready in time.

  “There’s something else,” Ally said. “I’d have to borrow the entry fees and expenses from you. It’s never good to bet on winning enough to cover them—our farrier used to tell me that—so I’d have to work off the loan with my hours here.”

  Another obstacle to this quirky idea of Madeline’s: show fees and expenses could add up to as much as three or four thousand dollars.

  “Don’t give that a thought,” Madeline said. This from the woman who clipped coupons from the Chronicle every week and recycled tin foil until it disintegrated. Madeline was up to something, and I was beginning to fear I knew what. Madeline had worried about my physical well-being ever since my visit to our internist last year. She hadn’t offered an opinion about my plans to become an investigating detective. And when Madeline is silent on a subject, she has a reason. Such as a fear of my demise among a hail of bullets on stakeout. Or broken limbs after being set upon by McClellan’s goons. This plan to enter Allegra into competition was an obvious ploy to divert my attention.

  “So, you think it could actually happen?” Allegra said hesitantly. “That I could compete next week?”

  “The only way we’ll find out if Hugo is available is to ask Lila,” Madeline said merrily. “And the person to ask her is sitting right there.”

  Allegra turned a hope-filled gaze in my direction. I winced. Madeline laughed unfeelingly. “Phoo! You can wrap Lila Gernsback around your little finger, Austin.”

  “I don’t care to be indebted to Lila Gernsback.” I sounded feeble even to myself. “And I certainly don’t want to be alone with her, even if she is on crutches. This is your plan, my dear. I think you and Allegra should talk to her.”

  “Nonsense, sweetie. All it’s going to cost you is a little conversation. Besides, she’ll end up owing us. She’s got Hugo up for sale, you know.”

  I didn’t know. On reflection, that made the whole suggestion more tolerable. One of the best places to buy an event horse is after you’ve seen it perform—so Lila would have a sound reason to lend Hugo out for the week. And if someone in attendance at Earlsdown were impressed enough with Hugo to buy him—Lila would owe us, or rather, Ally, who would receive a percentage of the sale price. Of course, if we were all involved in preparing horse and girl to ride, it would diminish the time available to me to investigate Grazley’s death. How could Madeline think I hadn’t noticed this attempt at diverting me from my purpose? I would be firm in denying my participation in this.

  “Austin, it’s just a terrific idea.”

  “Let me think about it, dear.”

  “Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Think away. Now that you thought about it—why don’t you give Lila a call right now? Just sort of explore the idea with her?”

  “It’s after eleven o’clock.”

  “She won’t care,” Madeline said cheerfully. “She’s on-line every night on those Internet dating sites until two in the morning.” She sprang to her feet. “You sit right there. I’ll get the phone for you.”

  “Cooler heads will prevail in the morning, my dear.”

  Allegra rubbed her forehead. “Gosh, Mrs. McKenzie. This isn’t right. It’s too much time and money. I can’t accept this from you. I barely know you. I’m supposed to be working for you.”

  “Of course you’re working for us. You’re undercover!”

  Allegra shook her head as if she had water in her ears. Or ear mites. “Undercover?”

  “If we’re going to solve this case, we’re going to need inside information.”

  “Inside?”

  Madeline nodded. “No better place to get it than the show.” Then she added wistfully, “I don’t compete anymore or I’d do it myself. It’ll give us an inside track on the case.”

  “Case?” Allegra said. “What case?”

  “I wonder if we can get Joe to act as your groom,” Madeline ignored Allegra’s bewilderment and barreled ahead with enthusiasm. “He’d be a terrific help. He’s a pretty shrewd guy and there’s all that muscle if things get a little rough. I mean, what if McClellan decides to set his goons on Austin? What happens if we have to go on stakeout and we all get shot at?” She marched to the coat rack and grabbed her barn jacket. “I’m going out to the clinic to talk to him right now.” She paused on her way out the door. Her tired look had vanished. “Call Lila, Austin. If she can’t lend Hugo out to us, we’re going to have to find some other way get Ally in the middle of things.” She banged the door shut, only to reappear, “Jerry Coughlin’s her vet, you know. He sees the horse twice a year, at least. I know that for a fact.” She smiled brilliantly at Allegra and me. “So we kill two birds with one stone. You’ll have to see Coughlin to discuss Hugo’s fitness to ride. And you’ll have the perfect opportunity to get the skinny on what happened to poor old Faraway last year.” She twiddled her fingers at me. “Back in a few secs.”

  The door banged shut behind her before I could register another protest.

  Allegra blinked at me. “I think maybe I’m not quite awake, yet. Mrs. McKenzie really wants me to ride at Earlsdown?”

  I nodded. Allegra’s expression didn’t change, precisely, but as the information finally sank in, she looked lit from within. “On somebody else’s horse? I can’t believe this Mrs. Gernsback would loan her horse out to me. Would she?”

  “There may be an element of danger, my dear.”

  Allegra dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Everybody falls off once in a while.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Allegra was right. Everybody does fall off once in a while. “We appear to be going into the detective business. Madeline has recruited you as an agent.”

  “Well, how cool is that?” Allegra asked.

  I believed this is a rhetorical question among today’s young, but I took her literally, just in case. “It may not be cool at all if there is a murderer on the loose,” I said dryly.

  “If there’s a murderer on the loose, I want to catch him as much as you do,” Allegra said with great force. “Especially if it means I can compete next week.”

  There was only one way to find out. I sighed. I looked at the phone. I thought of several excuses not to call Lila Gernsback, none that would wash with my wife. “Very well. I’ll be happy to call and discover just what the situation is.” A series of yips floated down the staircase, and Al
legra glanced ceiling-ward, diverted from the task at hand. “Perhaps you should let the puppy outside while I do so.”

  She bit her lip a little guiltily. “I probably shouldn’t have brought her upstairs with me, but she just hated being down here in her basket all by herself.”

  The yelps grew in pitch.

  “You are in the middle of paper training?” I asked.

  “Sure. You bet. They sure pee a lot, Dr. McKenzie. Puppies, I mean.”

  A succinct, albeit complete lecture on the development of the canine urinary tract was a highlight of my Small-Animal Practice seminar. Both Allegra and the puppy would benefit from such an overview. Perhaps something of my intent showed in my demeanor; Allegra sprang from her seat and said rather hastily, “I’ll take him outside right now. And then you can be alone when you call Mrs. Gernsback, okay? In case she has a lot of questions you don’t want me to hear.” She paused on her way up the stairs and looked over her shoulder. “If she can’t let me have Hugo for the week, that’s okay. I know you just can’t count on something like that. And Dr. McKenzie? She might have a lot to say about me if she turns you down. That is.” She stopped, bit her lip, and then that chin went out at an angle. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what she says. Exactly.” She bounced upstairs without extracting a promise from me, for which I was thankful.

  The kind of gossip young Stephanie had shoveled out at the dinner table was not only scurrilous, it was irrelevant to Allegra’s ability to handle a horse. I was delighted that Madeline had ignored the substance of it. As I would, of course.

  On the other hand, were I in Allegra’s shoes, I, too, would demand an exact recounting. I pulled thoughtfully at my mustache. What kind of questions would Allegra not want to hear?

  Lincoln pawed at my ankle, a little annoyed at my inattentiveness. “Not now, old fellow.” I directed him to his basket. “I had better get the call to Lila over with. Madeline will only stop to make sure young Joe is reasonably dressed before charging back into the house with him.”

  Lila was in, Lila was awake, and in one of her more manic moods. As for unwelcome questions about Allegra: once Lila began her barrage, I was unwillingly enlightened.