by Lois Schmitt
“You’re off tomorrow, right?” I said. “What are your plans?”
“Sleeping late, running on the boardwalk, organizing my closet. But why do I think that’s not happening.”
“How’d you like to see a woman about a horse?”
*****
Back home, I made my way into the kitchen for a well-deserved glass of wine. No sooner had I settled down with my Chardonnay and new crossword puzzle when the two dogs bounded into the room. Archie, all one hundred pounds, sat on my foot while Brandy pawed my lap while whining softly.
“Sorry, guys. Just wine here. No cheese and crackers tonight.”
Seconds later, a car pulled into the driveway. The dogs scampered to the door as Matt stepped into the house.
“You appear to be in good mood,” I said, noting the smile on his face.
“I’ve scheduled more activities for the animal lover’s festival,” he announced, while bending over to greet the canines. When he finished providing belly rubs, he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and pulled up a chair.
“Who’s paying for this?” I asked.
“We’re still looking for sponsors, but it won’t cost that much. The police canine unit is doing a free demonstration, and a local rescue group is bringing a few of their farm animals.”
“But there will be costs involved. You need to advertise. You also should check with your insurance company—”
He held up his hands. “I’ll take care of it.”
This was a man who could rattle off the name and ailment of every dog, cat, and hamster he’d seen in the last year, but would forget to cash a client’s check.
“Why don’t we make up a ‘to-do’ list,” I suggested. “I’ll help you with an advertising campaign and—”
“You have your own career, Kristy. You don’t have time for this.”
I bit my tongue. If not properly organized, this fair could be a disaster that could ruin Matt’s reputation. But I had to handle this gently.
“It won’t take that much time. Besides, it sounds like fun.” I felt my nose growing.
Suddenly we both looked up as the door slammed. My mother was home.
Both dogs bounded toward her, waiting for her to acknowledge them. But she brushed past them.
“What are you doing home so early?” I asked, glancing at the clock. “I thought you were dining with Paul.”
“Something came up. Business meeting. We had to change plans.”
“You can join us for dinner. This will give us a chance to catch up.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I have a slight headache. I think I’ll go up to my room. Goodnight.”
As she passed by, I saw she was crying.
Chapter Fourteen
“She and Paul probably had a lover’s quarrel,” Abby said as we whizzed along the highway. I had told her about my mother’s strange behavior last night.
I nodded. “You’re probably right, but I’m worried. She didn’t come down for breakfast this morning. Ever since she arrived, she’s been so mysterious.”
We finally pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Patterson Horse Farm.
“Time to be a Nosy Nellie, Mom,” Abby said as we hopped out of my car.
“Learning about the victim often provides insight into the murder.”
“I’ll ride, you ask questions.”
“Where are you meeting Jillian Patterson?” I asked as we hopped out of my car. Abby, at my suggestion, had scheduled an appointment with the horse farm owner to discuss leasing Topper. Dressed in her old striped shirt, riding breeches, and knee high riding boots, Abby lugged her saddle while I carried her helmet and a bag of carrots.
“Jillian said she’d be working in the east aisle.”
As we hiked across the parking lot, I gazed at the idyllic country scene. To the back right, nearly a dozen horses grazed in grassy paddocks. To the left, were two outdoor arenas. The stable loomed directly up ahead: a red structure that looked large enough to house more than fifty horses. It was in need of a paint job.
Inside the stable, the horsey scent combined with the odor of manure. Judging by the intensity, it was fresh manure. More than half the stalls were empty and missing names plates, an indication this facility might not be filled to capacity.
Turning into the east wing, I spotted a woman pushing a wheelbarrow stacked high with bales of hay.
“Jillian Patterson?” my daughter asked.
She nodded. Tall, muscular, no make-up, fingernails embedded with dirt, and dark brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, Jillian sported a small horseshoe tattoo above her left wrist and wore a horseshoe pendant on a silver chain hanging around her neck.
“You must be Abby,” she said. “I’ll be with you as soon as I unload this. Take a look around while you wait. Topper’s stall is the last on the left.”
Topper, a chestnut quarter horse, sported a white blaze extending down his face. Abby fed him a carrot while I stroked his neck. Minutes later, Jillian returned.
“Topper’s a sweetie,” Jillian said. “Want to try him out, Abby?” My daughter nodded.
Jillian led Topper out of his stall. While Abby rode, Jillian and I watched from under the shade of a nearby oak tree.
“Sorry to hear about your brother,” I said. “I didn’t know Jack personally, but Abby’s best friend did. Do you know Katie Chandler?”
Jillian nodded. “I’ve known Katie since kindergarten. But she was especially close to Jack. He saw her all the time since they both worked at the aquarium.” She sighed. “I miss my brother something awful. Especially our mornings together.”
“Mornings?”
“We both lived over there.” Jillian gestured toward a white clapboard house behind the arenas. “I manage the stable. Jack’s real love is—was-the sea. But every morning before he left for the aquarium, he’d help me feed the horses and muck the stalls. Then we’d eat breakfast together.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Sunday morning. When he didn’t show up to help in the barn on Monday, I checked his bedroom. He hadn’t slept in his bed.
“Were you worried?”
She shrugged. “More angry than worried.” Jillian opened her mouth as if to say more but paused and closed it.
One of the best ways to encourage a reluctant talker is by silence. I didn’t say another word.
Jillian continued. “When my brother was in college, he had a drinking problem. But if he had too much alcohol, he was always responsible. He’d never drive. He would stay over somewhere or sleep in his car. He’d been sober now for five years. I thought he had a relapse and was sleeping it off somewhere.”
Jillian appeared willing, almost anxious, to talk about her brother. I decided to try a longshot.
“A few nights before he died, Jack had dinner with Katie and her fiancé, Sam Wong. Do you know Sam too?”
“Sam Wong? Never met him.” Jillian rubbed dirt off her chin. “But I think Jack knew him. Sam called here a few nights before Jack’s body was discovered.”
“Do you know what he wanted?”
“Nope. Apparently, the voice mail on Jack’s cell was full, so Sam left a message on our house phone. He asked Jack to return his call.”
Jillian went back to work. Since Abby was still riding, I made my way to the barn, passing a paddock, which unlike the one visible from the parking lot, had almost no grass. No horses in it either.
Upon reaching the barn, I spotted a woman, who appeared to be close to my age. She was grooming a light tan horse with white around its muzzle.
“Nice looking horse,” I said.
The woman smiled. “Gulliver was a beauty in his heyday. He’s almost twenty-five years old now.”
“Is he a lease or is he’s yours?”
“He’s mine. I bought him when
he was seven years old.”
“Have you always boarded him here?”
She nodded. “Yes, I have.”
“My daughter is riding here today. She eventually wants to buy her own horse. In the meantime, she will be leasing Topper. I’m glad because that will give her the opportunity to see what this place is like.”
The woman didn’t comment.
“If you boarded here for nearly eighteen years, you must be satisfied with the services and accommodations.”
She hesitated. “I was. At one time this was a great place. But not so much lately. It’s the little things. Jillian is a great gal, but she’s cutting corners. The back paddock should be seeded, fences need mending, and there never seems to be enough shavings in the stalls.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Don’t get me wrong. Jillian loves the horses. She works twenty-four/seven. But she’s facing difficulties staying afloat. It’s a vicious cycle. Rising costs mean rising boarding fee. But you can only raise fees so much.”
The woman led her horse into a stall, then returned and added,“ A few years ago, Jillian had to get rid of her barn helper. Couldn’t afford the salary. For a while, she had her father. He was on in age but still did light work. When he passed away, her brother returned to assist. I don’t know what she’ll do now.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I can’t believe Katie invited me. Tickets are twenty-five hundred dollars,” Abby said the next afternoon as we sped along the highway in her car.
“It’s her house. She can invite whomever she wants.”
Abby and I were on our way to the aquarium’s kick-off fundraiser—a cocktail party at Katie’s home. When Katie heard that Commander West had invited me, she asked Abby to attend too.
“What’s Katie doing with Gus today?” I asked Abby as we exited onto a country road. Gus was Katie’s thirty-pound Maine coon cat.
“He’s at my place. I took him last night. Gus is strictly a house kitty, and Katie is concerned that with all the visitors today Gus might escape and get lost.”
Soon our destination loomed in the distance. Katie Chandler’s house was located on a half acre of land with views of the bay. The house featured a widow’s walk—an enclosed cupola on the top level designed for wives of ship captains to observe vessels returning from sea. A huge tree with leaves turning crimson shaded much of the front lawn.
“I’m glad you’re here early. Come in.” Katie swung open the door. We entered a room brimming with antiques but comfortable looking. I spotted Commander West and Bradford Monroe under an archway where they appeared to be deep in conversation with a woman holding a clipboard.
“That’s the caterer,” Katie said. “They’re discussing last minute details.”
“Who’s minding the aquarium?” I asked. The aquarium closed at five-thirty and the cocktail party was from four to six. It was a little past three-thirty now.”
“It runs fine without the three of us.” Katie laughed. “Commander West and Bradford are often away on business.”
“But what about you and the sea lion show? Don’t you have one scheduled at four?”
She nodded. “Usually. But Commander West thought it important that I be here to meet and greet the guests, so we substituted a penguin encounter instead. Our seabird keeper is handling that.”
Commander West and Bradford Monroe had finished their conversation with the caterer and now greeted us.
“Abby has seen the house many times, but you never did,” Katie said to me. “I promised the Commander a tour before the guests arrive. Would you like to join us?”
“I’d love it.”
“I’ll come too,” Bradford said. “Katie showed me her house weeks ago when we discussed our set-up for the event. But I can never get enough of antiques. I want to see all these beautiful items again.”
“I might as well tag along.” Abby shrugged and followed us.
“My great, great grandfather was a sea captain who traveled the world. That tea cart is from Italy, the rug, Turkey, the vase, China.” Katie pointed to different items in the living room. “Oh, the painting above the fireplace is from the southern region of France.”
“There are four rooms upstairs,” Katie continued as we trekked up the steep stairway. “That’s more than I need, so I kept the captain’s study just as it was more than 150 years ago, filled with mementos from his travels. It’s the most interesting room in the house.”
As she swung open the door, we stepped back into the nineteenth century.
On display were Japanese prints, Chinese porcelain, and African sculptures. Katie pointed out more than a dozen objects in the room including an Egyptian Cartouche, a Haitian voodoo doll, an invitation to the Governor’s Ball in Mauritius off the African coast, and a fourteenth century Samurai sword.
“That sword is worth some bucks,” Bradford said. “Sure you won’t reconsider, Katie?”
“Reconsider what?” I asked.
“I’m donating a few items to the aquarium’s art and antiques auction,” Katie answered. Bradford would like me to donate the sword, but I said no. I really want to keep it. That sword was given to my great, great grandfather by the Emperor of Japan. It has sentimental value.”
“You’ve been more than generous, Katie,” Commander West added as he shot a disapproving look at Bradford.
Katie turned toward me. “Jack Patterson helped me select three items to contribute to the auction—a silver box from Mexico, a wooden troll from Norway, and an antique clock from Germany. It’s funny. He’d been in this house with me so many times as a child, but he’d never seen this room until a few weeks ago. My grandmother always kept it locked.”
“Everything here is truly magnificent,” Commander West said. “I’d love to browse further, but I think Bradford and I should go downstairs to greet our guests. You should join us Katie. It’s nearly four o’clock, so everyone should be arriving soon.”
While descending the stairs, Katie grabbed my shoulder and whispered, “I thought we’d have more free time now, but we don’t. It’s imperative that we talk after the party. I heard a rumor about Jack that may explain his death.”
I nodded. “Of course, we’ll stay later. You tend to your guests, and we’ll talk once everyone has left.”
Katie joined the Commander and Bradford while I wandered outside, pausing to take in the magnificent view of the bay. Abby headed to the outdoor bar and returned with two glasses of white wine. She handed me one. I told Abby about Katie’s comment.
“Whatever did she hear?” Abby asked.
I shrugged. “Katie used the word ‘rumor’ so it may or may not be true. But we’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, I need to locate Bradford Monroe. He’s introducing me to some of the guests, so they can tell me why they support the aquarium. Hopefully, I’ll get a few good quotes for my land acquisition story.”
I went back inside. As I hiked across the room, I noticed a woman stationed by the stairs. She wore a badge identifying her as an aquarium volunteer. Abby had questioned Katie about inviting an army of strangers into her home with so many valuable antiques. Katie had laughed and said she didn’t think guests paying twenty-five hundred dollars a ticket would steal.
Nevertheless, Commander West had obtained the services of a volunteer to help. This woman’s job was to politely inform guests who started heading upstairs that the area was off limits. She was a retired police officer.
“Excuse me, Kristy,” said a voice from behind. “I’ve someone I’d like you to meet.”
I turned and faced Bradford Monroe. Standing next to him was a tall, slender man with a horsey face.
“This is Alan Cummings. He’s one of our biggest benefactors,” Bradford said. “I thought you might get a quote from him on why the expansion project is so important.”
We shook hands. “Any con
nection to Cummings Electronics?” I asked, referring to a large Long Island chain store.
He grinned. “That’s my company.”
Although Lucien Moray was one of New York’s wealthiest individuals, I realized the aquarium had some heavy hitters on their side.
Bradford left to greet another guest. I whipped out my pen and pad. “Why do you support the aquarium’s expansion?”
“I’m especially interested in the portion of land that will be designated as a camp for marine scientist. We need to study our waters. Did you know oceans are the largest ecosystem on earth? They’re home to some of our oldest species, such as the shark.”
Alan Cummings continued talking, and I jotted down plenty of quotes for my story. This man not only loved the water, but he was knowledgeable on the topic.
“Did you grow up by the shore?” I asked.
“I grew up on Long Island, but I lived further inland. I still do. But I come out here as much as possible. I keep my boat at the Clam Cove Sailing and Yacht Club.”
“Wasn’t that club in the news recently? Didn’t the police find a body?” I asked, innocently.
“Yes.” His face darkened and he frowned. “Horrible.”
“I read it was the aquarium’s fish keeper. How did he get in?”
“We have a big sign at the entrance stating dock access is for members and guests only, but we keep the gates open during the day and only lock them at night, between midnight and five in the morning.”
“Why do you think he was there?” I tried to sound as casual as possible.
Cummings shrugged. “Perhaps he was visiting a member.”
“But no one came forward to claim they knew him.”
His frown deepened. “I really don’t know. I’m sure the police will figure it out. For the meantime, we’ve tightened security. We have a guard at the gate—members must now show IDs and guests must sign in. Do you have any more questions about the aquarium’s expansion project?”
It seemed that Alan Cummings didn’t want to discuss Jack Patterson’s death. After he left, Bradford brought over an aging former television actress who lived a few miles away in the tony Hamptons. She discussed her reasons for supporting the aquarium.
