The Case of the Roasted Onion

by Bishop, Claudia

Lila nodded vigorously. “He sure does. I told him Ally was going to ride Hugo at Earlsdown, and he was fine with that, but Madeline, he’s going to buy him for three hundred thousand dollars!”

  And insure him for five hundred, I thought cynically.

  “Well, my goodness,” Madeline said feebly.

  “And I knew it had to be something serious to make him take off so fast. I mean, I know men, Maddy. And he was definitely falling for me. And sure enough, his grandmother died.”

  I’ve had a couple of students with multiple grandmothers that keeled over at the drop of a term paper deadline. But I said I was sorry to hear it, and so did Madeline.

  “He was very close to her,” Lila said, earnestly. “It upset him terribly.”

  “I can imagine,” Madeline said. “But his grandmother died this morning and he’s back already?”

  “Yes.” Lila sighed happily. “The funeral was this morning. In Syracuse.”

  This was all quite strange. I filed it for further reflection.

  Madeline took it all in stride. “I see you have a nice rolled roast of pork in your basket, Lila,” she commented. “You do that with a marmalade glaze, don’t you? It’s delicious. And I see two nice yams. He’s coming over? And you’re giving him your Jamaican dinner?”

  “Yes. He’s coming over tonight, as a matter of fact.”

  “That’s a terrific meal,” Madeline said sincerely.

  “Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked worriedly. “Should I try something different?”

  “When you made it for Austin and me, we both loved it. I think it’s the perfect choice. As a matter of fact, we’d love to have it again, any old time.”

  My sagacious wife! Sullivan could provide vital clues to our investigation—and here she was, providing a natural, unsuspicious way of accomplishing just that.

  “Oh.” Lila looked blank. She doesn’t pick up social cues at all well. A dinner invitation was not forthcoming. But Madeline persevered.

  “And have you thought about dessert?”

  Lila looked in her basket, as if expecting the dessert to show up unannounced, like in-laws on a Sunday afternoon. “Mrs. Smith’s Pecan Pie?” she asked. “There’s a special on it here.”

  “Oh, you don’t want to give him a store-bought pie. I would love to make you a pecan pie for this evening,” said my shameless wife. Admirable woman!

  It took Lila a long second. “You want to come to dinner with Phillip and me?”

  “Aren’t you the nicest thing!” The sheer nerve it had taken Madeline to demand to be invited to a private dinner party made her sound a little too enthusiastic; Lila cocked her head with a puzzled look. Then she smiled, darted a highly salacious look at me, and said, “You’re sure,” with a wheelbarrowload of meaning. “I mean, you don’t mind about Austin? I don’t want you upset at dinner when he flirts with me.”

  “I don’t worry at all about Austin,” Madeline said, which was the perfect truth, since she well knew that Lila scared me to death. “What time would you like us to be there? And can I bring anything else besides the pie?”

  So we settled on eight o’clock, which would give Madeline enough time to bake the pie and pull something together for Allegra’s dinner, as well, since Lila became reckless and invited Joe as well.

  We returned to the farm, and after I had helped Madeline unload the groceries, I sat at the dining table with the full weight of the day suddenly on my shoulders.

  Madeline took one look, made me a cup of hot tea, and then went on with preparing Allegra’s dinner. She was mixing meatloaf when Joe came in, carrying the foal monitor. Juno was with him. Lincoln padded in after them, and came and bumped his head under my hand.

  Madeline patted Lincoln, hugged Joe, put a bowl of water down for Juno, and put the meatloaf in the oven to bake. Juno curled up on the floor and put her nose on her paws.

  “This is Juno,” Joe said.

  “Hello, Juno.” Madeline set a bowl of kibble down for her. She ignored that, too.

  I got up and attached the foal monitor to the barn intercom. I looked a question at Joe.

  “The mare’s fine. But she sure looks like she’s ready to foal any minute. You might want to come and take a look at her, sir.”

  “Is she fairly comfortable? No stress from the ride here?”

  “She seems to be okay.”

  The rustle of the mare’s hooves in the straw of her stall came over the intercom. She coughed once, then sighed.

  “We’ll be able to hear her when labor begins,” I said.

  “Can I get you something, Joe?” Madeline asked. “The two of you had quite an afternoon.”

  “Just coffee for me, Mrs. McKenzie. But only if it’s made.” Joe turned to me and asked, “Can I get you a Scotch, doc?”

  Well, here was a small victory amid the gloom of the day. So he’d finally dropped “doctor” and “sir.” “Thank you,” I said, “I’d appreciate it.”

  Joe went into the living room to the liquor cabinet. I heard the thump of Miss Odie’s paws coming down the stairs and Joe’s voice greeting her. Juno raised her head, looked briefly in the cat’s direction, and went right back down again. This was one depressed dog. Miss Odie sauntered into the kitchen, stopped dead at the sight of the intruder, snarled, and jumped up to settle on top of the woodstove.

  Joe handed me the Scotch and sat down at the table. Madeline had made oatmeal raisin cookies, and he began to eat them absentmindedly.

  “It is now,” I said, “a matter of some urgency. We need to get at the bottom of this affair, and soon. Phillip Sullivan has returned and has made a ridiculously high offer for Hugo.”

  Joe ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, as is the fashion these days. “I don’t quite understand how this scam works, doc. If Sullivan pays Mrs. Gernsback for the horse, how can he make any money when he kills it? Oh, wait. He must insure it for more than the purchase price.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “One would up the value of the horse by say, a third. It’s easy to make a case to the insurer that the horse has increased in value, particularly if there is an intervening show or two before the animal’s demise. Hence Sullivan’s willingness to let Allegra take Hugo to Earlsdown.”

  Joe hunched forward, his face thoughtful. “So let’s say Grazley, McClellan, and Sullivan all agree to buy horses for an inflated price, insure them for an even more inflated price, and then the vet knocks them off so that it seems to be either an accident or of natural causes.”

  “And Coughlin,” I said wearily. “I’m certain that he was involved as well.”

  “But no one’s onto them. Except us, I mean. And we haven’t told anyone. What does this have to do with the shootings?”

  “And today’s debacle. Let’s not forget that. I don’t know yet. That, young man, remains to be seen.”

  We remained in silence for some time.

  A good slug of Scotch is quite a reviver. The horror of the day’s events receded and my curiosity revived along with my spirit. I settled my spectacles on my nose and reached down to open my carryall. I pulled out the rack of sample tubes I had taken from Coughlin’s lab.

  “You collected those this afternoon, sweetie?” Madeline asked. She came and rested her hands on my shoulders.

  “Yes. These”—I tapped four of the tubes with my forefinger—“are equine. I need to get them to Victor. And those”—I tapped the two remaining—“are avian. I’m not certain what to do with those.”

  “They’re from Coughlin’s place?”

  “Yes, I suppose Victor might have an idea about those, as well. I have no idea for whom Coughlin was doing his research.”

  “There wasn’t anything in his patient files?”

  “His computer’s gone,” Joe said. “Our best guess is that the records were on it.”

  “Oh, my.” Madeline went back into the kitchen proper and called over her shoulder, “Did that Simon Provost have any idea where it’d got to?”

  I snorted. �
�Ha! I had to lead the man around by the nose before he began to accept that this was murder. He hasn’t a clue about the laptop. I had some doubts about his capability as an investigator before the debacle this afternoon. I have significant doubts, now.”

  “He did get a forensic team in the mare’s room, Mrs. McKenzie,” Joe said.

  “Call me Madeline, Joe, if you would. And you say there’s a forensics team there now? Getting fingerprints and whatever?”

  Joe grinned. “Actually, the doc here convinced Provost to call in the Feds.”

  “The FBI?” Madeline almost dropped the salad bowl. “Why, for heaven’s sake?”

  I picked up one of the tubes. It was labeled with the date and nothing else. “The mare had equine infectious anemia. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “Although we won’t know for sure until we get the Coggins done,” Joe added.

  “The ESL test is faster,” I said, “Victor can give me a definitive answer in a few hours. That’s why I’d like to get this sample to him as quickly as possible. Coughlin kept this mare alive as a reservoir for the virus, I’m sure of it.”

  Which was insane. McClellan had said FieldChek had a product that allowed at point testing for EIA. But the development of such a product could have just as easily been done through the use of a stored virus. There was no need at all to involve a live animal. And, unless the man was involved in some kind of goofball government research, which, I admit, was possible, what he did was a violation of at least two federal laws, not to mention the cruelty of it. Every veterinary practice knows that EIA’s regulated by the Department of Agriculture. Which, of course, was why the FBI had to be in the middle of things, now. I was about to suggest that I run the test tube over to Victor at Cornell when a rush of cool air came through the kitchen and Allegra walked in. She was carrying the Lab puppy. “There’s a pregnant mare in the barn!” Ally said excitedly. “And a little horned heifer. Are they new patients?”

  “Dr. Coughlin was murdered today,” Joe said bluntly. “The animals belong to him.”

  “Murdered! You’re kidding.” Allegra stared at us for a minute. Then she set the puppy in its box by the stove.

  “Watch out for Juno,” Joe said sharply. He lunged forward and grabbed Juno’s collar. “She’s an Akita, in case you hadn’t noticed. Don’t you know anything about Akitas?”

  Akitas have a black mask, and a coat the color of fresh, pale butter. They can also be a little bitey. But Juno was too depressed to eat, much less defend her territory from another dog.

  Ally snapped back. “She looks pretty quiet to me.”

  “She was Coughlin’s dog. She’s not quiet, she’s depressed.”

  Ally rolled her eyes.

  Then Juno noticed the puppy. She wiggled under Joe’s restraint. Then she growled. “Told you,” Joe said. “Get the puppy out of here and let me handle it.”

  The puppy sat up in her box, her little cast stretched out at an awkward angle. She gazed up at Allegra with an anxious smile and a lot of panting. Juno pulled forward against Joe’s hand on her collar, sniffing like mad in the puppy’s direction, her tail wagging hard. Lincoln watched the two of them, his tail set mid-low, his ears at attention.

  “You can let Juno go, I think,” I said, after a moment of observation. “Linc will handle it.” I got up, came over, and put my arm around my wife.

  Linc handled it. Joe let Juno loose. Juno leaped to the puppy’s box in one bound. Linc was faster. He straddled the puppy like some doggy Colossus and barked once. Juno barked back. Linc curled his lips over his eyeteeth, to show he really meant it. Juno flattened herself. Then she jumped up, licked Linc’s muzzle to show she was going to be beta dog, and there was a confusion of sniffing and tail wagging and a few yips in the bargain. After it was all over, Juno curled in the box with the puppy looking as contented as a dog should look. Linc came and nudged my knee, then went back to where Juno and the puppy lay cuddled together. He lay a few feet away from them, paws, out, head high, looking like the king of the universe.

  While Jorrocks says there’s nothing for the inside of a man like the outside of a horse, I would have to say that that applies to dogs, as well. Even the kitchen seemed warmer.

  ALLEGRA volunteered to take the vials of sera to Victor, so the last hope I had of begging off Lila’s dinner party was gone. “You’re coming,” Madeline said, “and that’s flat. It’s bad enough that I strong-armed her into an invitation. It’d be even worse if you didn’t show up at the last minute.”

  “Very well, my dear. But you are far better than I at interrogation techniques. We established that this afternoon.”

  “Then you just sit there and keep quiet.”

  And so the three of us set off for Lila’s pork roast and Jamaican yams. Not to mention Madeline’s pecan pie, which Joe held on his lap in the backseat. Lila’s twenty acres are not far from us. She has an old, if pleasant barn, and she’s meticulous about care of the grounds. The house was set well back from the road, and we bumped over the gravel drive for some moments before we arrived at the house.

  Joe leaned forward and peered out the windshield. “You suppose that’s Sullivan’s?”

  A big, fire-engine red Escalade obstructed the path in front of Lila’s front door. “It sure isn’t hers,” Madeline said. “Good lord. What that man must pay for gas.”

  “What that guy must earn to make enough to pay for the gas.” Joe hitched himself out of the passenger seat, then came over to Madeline’s side of the Prius to help her out.

  Lila opened the door before Madeline pushed the bell. Joe stepped back a bit. He hadn’t seen Lila in full evening garb before. She was dressed Lila-style, which meant a bright red T-shirt that scooped down to Australia and extremely snug jeans.

  “Come in, come in,” she caroled and we followed her through the hall to her living room.

  Some horse people make sure to leave every single bit of horse-related gear in the barn. Others stow it in every possible space in the house. Lila was the stow-it-anywhere kind. She had her ribbons and trophies in a large trophy case in the living room. A pile of halters lay in a basket by the fireplace. Copies of Equus, The Chronicle of the Horse, and Eventing sat in a heap on the coffee table. The place smelled like good used leather and pork roast.

  Sullivan sat on the sofa, as big and red as his Escalade. Same red hair, red face, and red plaid pants. And he wore white patent leather loafers on his feet, which were oddly small for a man his size. Lila introduced Joe, and reminded Sullivan that we had met two nights ago.

  “Call me Phil,” Sullivan said. “Take a pew.” So we sat down. He lumbered on over to the breakfront where Lila keeps her liquor. “What’s your poison, folks?”

  Madeline requested a glass of chardonnay, Joe a beer, and I a Scotch, which meant that Lila had to run into the kitchen to retrieve the wine and beer from the refrigerator. Sullivan poured himself a rum and Coke and stirred it with his finger.

  “You’re from New York City?” Madeline asked. “Are you here in Summersville for long?”

  Phil had very small blue eyes. He squeezed them shut as if thinking hard. Then he opened them suddenly. “Long as it takes.”

  “I know you and Lila met over horses. Is it something you just got into?”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Is your interest in horses recent?” Joe asked.

  “Good tax shelter.” His eyes flickered over Joe. “But you people should know about that.”

  Uh-oh. My scalp prickled. I glanced over at Madeline. But all she said, “Well, it’s a fine sport. And Lila’s one of the best people I know to introduce you to it.”

  Lila hurried back in with the wine and the beer. She also brought a bowl of mixed nuts and set it on the table. Sullivan leaned over and picked out all of the hazelnuts. He chewed them with his mouth agape. Then he picked out all of the cashews. Then the Brazil nuts. Then he offered the remaining peanuts around to us.

  “Dinner’s ready in two minutes,” Lila s
aid. She headed back on to the kitchen.

  “We didn’t get much of a chance to say ‘hello’ to you last night,” Madeline said chattily. “I know you were out of town today. You haven’t had much of a chance to see Summersville. Do you prefer Syracuse?”

  Excellent woman, my wife! What a clever way to lead into queries about his activities!

  “Hah? Never been in Syracuse in my life.”

  “Really,” Madeline purred. “Lila said you were in Syracuse this morning.”

  “Oh, that. Huh. I spent the morning looking at another horse. Didn’t care to mention it to Lila. Thinks I’m going to buy Hugo. But I thought I’d better check around a bit.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. In a way, one horse is as good as another, in my book. But you never know. Went to Greenacres stables for a couple of hours. You know it, doc?”

  “Yes,” I said, rather glumly, since all this was verifiable.

  “Then I stopped by some pile of garbage. Longworth’s, that’s it. Guy at Greenacres said they had a likely prospect, but the horse looked like a pile of junk to me.”

  “Did it,” I said coldly. “I know the horse. It’s quite a good eventer.”

  “And then I had the best burger I’ve ever had in my life. Place called the Mongrovian Embassy. You ought to try it.”

  “It’s Monrovian, not Mongrovian,” I said testily. “And we were there ourselves. I’m surprised we didn’t see you. The place isn’t that big.”

  “Yeah?” He opened his piggy eyes wide. “I was there at eleven. I would of seen you, place was half empty. With these popular places, see, it’s good to get there early. You don’t have to wait that way.”

  I was morose. It looked as if we had spent the morning just missing Sullivan. And Colleen would undoubtedly remember a person this objectionable. It looked as if Sullivan was in the clear for Coughlin’s murder.

  “Are you thinking about moving to Summersville?” Madeline asked. She was as downcast as I.

  He said he might be. He had a million or two that he thought he might spend on a country place. The way things were going in the city, it was time to have an escape plan.

  “I’d have a hard time living with all that concrete,” Madeline admitted. “My husband and I like to visit there, though.”