TheCart Before the Corpse

by Carolyn McSparren

  “Good question. How about we drive out there and find out.”

  The men walked around to the parking area behind the police station, picked up Amos’s squad car and headed out the road to Lackland’s farm. “What’s all that about Lackland owing him?” Amos asked as he swung out onto the street.

  “Wouldn’t say, but I’m thinking maybe Yoder didn’t actually steal that car in which the girl was killed. Maybe Lackland was driving.”

  “Why would Yoder take the blame?”

  “Money? Promise of wealth to come? I do not know, but the man is slimy as an eel and capable of killing Lackland in a fit of anger.”

  “Trigger?” Amos asked.

  “Again, I don’t know. Yoder would blackmail St. Peter. I’m sure he knows more than he’s telling, but he’s not going say a word unless he figures he can’t make a buck out of it.”

  “Then I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Amos said.

  Chapter 24

  Thursday afternoon

  Geoff

  Peggy Caldwell’s truck was parked in front of the barn beside Hiram’s white dually and trailer. When they walked around to the stable, the two men saw Merry Abbott and Peggy Caldwell harnessing the big black horse to a two-wheeled wooden cart. Yoder leaned against the open stable door watching, but making no attempt to help. The miniature donkey leaned shoulder to knee against the big black horse like a four-legged gray wart.

  “There,” Merry said as she buckled the padded girth around the horse’s big middle. He seemed to have gone to sleep. His head drooped, and his eyes were half closed. The donkey’s ears twitched but not much else.

  Geoff had never seen a horse and carriage close up, and had only a vague idea of how a harness worked. The instant Yoder saw the two men he pushed away from the door of the barn and drifted inside.

  Geoff let him go. At least he hadn’t absconded yet.

  “Come back, Jacob,” Merry called after him. “You’re going to help drive. We’ve got to get Heinzie and Peggy ready for Easter Sunday.”

  “You taking the jackass along?” Yoder asked.

  Merry patted the cross on the donkey’s back. “More appropriate for Palm Sunday. I can’t believe he’s actually that big a problem.”

  Yoder snickered. “Hiram tried to wean him off ever since they got here. Heinzie got better. The jackass did not.”

  Geoff wondered what they were talking about. Both horse and donkey seemed to be dozing.

  “Still got one axle to pack on the vis-à-vis,” Jacob said. “Need to move her outside where we can scrub her down too. Needs a paint job.”

  “That will have to wait a bit, but we can pack the axle, wash the carriage and practice drive it tomorrow afternoon after the funeral,” Merry said. “With Don Qui locked in his stall. In the meantime, give us a hand putting Heinzie to the Meadowbrook.”

  Geoff figured he and Amos were being ignored on purpose. The Meadowbrook, a medium-sized two wheeled cart with a black leather-covered bench split into two seats, sat behind the horse with its shafts resting on a wooden sawhorse.

  He watched the complicated procedure of putting the horse into the harness and the carriage to the horse. Then Peggy climbed in from the rear and took up the reins.

  A long buggy whip stood upright in a shiny brass holder at the right hand side of the front of the carriage, but Peggy didn’t touch it. “Heinzie, walk on.” Peggy’s voice sounded shaky, but Heinzie obligingly ambled off. The cart bounced slightly every time it rolled over a stone or a minor bump.

  Don Qui nearly fell over when his leaning post walked away from him, but came instantly awake and marched beside Heinzie’s left front leg.

  “I’ve seen Dalmatians trot under carriages,” Merry said, “But this is ridiculous.”

  Geoff thought the wooden cart looked light and fragile, as though it might take flight at anything faster than a walk.

  Peggy walked Heinzie into the dressage arena. Don Qui kept pace.

  Merry walked to the center of the arena where she could call to Peggy as she drove.

  Heinzie was as large as the teams of Clydesdales and Percherons he’d watched in parades. Long feathers of hair trailed down over his hooves, which were as wide as soup tureens. His black mane flowed below his shoulder and eddied in the late afternoon breeze. He seemed content simply to walk around the arena, and Don Qui seemed content to walk beside him.

  If the horse ever decided to take off at a gallop, however, he’d be unstoppable and the donkey would be left far behind.

  “Move him up into a trot,” Merry said.

  Peggy glanced over at her. Geoff saw her jaw set. “Tur-rot on,” she said.

  Heinzie walked.

  “Trot on, blast it.”

  Heinzie walked.

  Peggy frowned, Yoder, leered, Merry laughed.

  “Pick up your whip and tap him on his flank when you say trot,” Merry said. “Tap, don’t whack.”

  “Oh, dear,” Peggy whispered, but she did as she was told. “Trot on.”

  Heinzie opened his eyes wide at the touch of the whip against his shoulder, snorted once, and trotted. He ate up the space around the arena with his long stride.

  “Yeah, baby. Go,” Peggy said.

  Don Qui managed to keep up with the big horse, although his short legs worked like sewing machine needles.

  “Easy,” Merry said.

  Heinzie apparently heard her because he dropped into a slower trot. He lowered his head, arched his neck, and swung his broad hindquarters from side to side as though he were dancing a samba.

  “Shoot, that looks like fun,” Amos said.

  A couple of more figure eights and Peggy pulled Heinzie down to a walk as she came abreast of the two men. “Jacob, I can handle this. Amos, climb aboard.”

  “O-kay.”

  Yoder climbed out and held the seat up so Amos could get in and sit.

  “Trot on,” Peggy said. This time Heinzie trotted at the sound of Peggy’s voice. Merry came to stand beside Geoff with her hands in the pockets of her jeans and a broad grin on her face. “You’re next.”

  “I’m not dressed for it,” Geoff said.

  “Sure you are. If you drive in a show you’ll have to wear a top hat or a bowler.” She stared him up and down. “You look like a top hat guy. Today, however, you get to be safe.” She handed him a black helmet with a chinstrap. “It’s a hard hat to protect your thick skull.”

  He glanced down at Merry as she watched the horse and carriage trot lazy figure eights around the arena and caught his breath. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such naked longing. No more like lust. She ached to be out there holding those reins instead of Peggy.

  So why wasn’t she?

  When he changed places with Amos, he found the sight of Heinzie’s oversized butt sashaying from side to side as his mega-hooves clopped felt almost hypnotic. Maybe after all this was over, nah. Atlanta was too far away to drive up here for lessons, and he didn’t think he’d enjoy them unless Merry was teaching them.

  “Heinzie, strong trot,” Peggy said. The big black horse moved to a much faster gear instantly.

  Geoff grabbed the wooden fender over the wheel.

  Crack!

  Without warning, the Meadowbrook gave a sickening lurch to the left, collapsed underneath him and threw his body against the wheel. His left shoulder connected with the metal rim. He felt as though somebody had whacked him with a crowbar.

  The rim of his hard hat connected with the edge of the wooden fender with a jolt that rattled his teeth and crossed his eyes.

  Peggy screamed, fell against him, and crushed him against the wheel with all her weight.

  Ahead of him Heinzie reared, bucked and struggled to stay on his feet while the carriage, now canted over on its left side, dragged through the sand at a forty-five degree angle.

  “Whoa!” Merry raced past the cart, grabbed Heinzie’s reins and shouted, “Heinzie, stand!”

  More running feet, and a moment later, Peggy’s weight shif
ted off him as Amos dragged her back toward the right side of the cart. “Geoff, crawl out,” Amos shouted.

  “I’m stuck.”

  “Can you twist around far enough to give me your right hand?” Merry’s voice. He rotated his right shoulder back and felt Merry’s strong hands grasping his wrist across the back of the seat. “Slide forward so I can lower the seat back.”

  She sounded remarkably calm. Who was looking after the horse? He spared a glance and saw Heinzie trying desperately to keep the carriage upright.

  “He won’t move,” Merry said. “Not for a minute, anyway. We need to make this quick. Amos, you have Peggy?”

  “Got her,” Amos said. “Come on, Peggy, upsy-daisy.”

  Geoff braced both feet against the dashboard to push himself toward the back of the carriage as Merry hauled on his right arm with both hands. For a moment he stuck, then he slid forward and landed face down on top of Merry. For a moment they were nose-to-nose before she shoved him off and rolled away from him. Even in his present state, he had time to register the soft cushion of her body.

  “Come on.” She rolled to her feet. “We’ve got to hold the carriage upright long enough for me to get Heinzie loose. Can you hold up the wheel?”

  He rubbed his shoulder and nodded. The wheel was no longer round, but had collapsed into an ovoid with a bent rim. He could see several broken spokes.

  “Peggy, are you all right?” Merry said as she ran past Geoff toward Heinzie’s head.

  “I’m fine, but Amos probably has a double hernia from hauling me out.”

  Amos grabbed the rim of the wheel next to Geoff, grinned at him and hefted half the load. Geoff was amazed that after his initial terrified buck, the horse had fought to stay on his feet without fussing or trying to run away.

  “Heinzie, good boy, walk forward,” Merry said. Geoff could see her on the left and Peggy on the right by the horse’s head. “Good boy. That’s it.”

  A moment later the horse was free of the shafts. The weight on Geoff’s hands and arms lessened. Then Merry and Peggy lowered the shafts to the ground.

  “Heinzie, whoa. Stand.” Merry said. She called to the men, “Let the wheel down easy. Try not to let the carriage tip all the way over.”

  Throughout, her voice had remained calm and steady. Amazing. Everybody else himself included, he suspected, had been screaming and shouting. As he and Amos both released the wheel, Merry touched Geoff’s shoulder. “How’s your head?”

  “I thought you were crazy to make me wear this stupid hat,” he said as he unclipped it and pulled it off. “Thanks.”

  “What the hell happened?” Amos asked.

  Geoff dropped to his knees. “Some spokes broke.”

  A moment later Merry knelt in the sand beside him. “Not like that, they didn’t. Spokes break, all right, but not in the middle, and not three at once.” She propped herself on her right elbow to look at the back of the wheel. He heard her breath catch. “Geoff, look at this.” She scooted back to give him room. “Peggy, reach me the spares box. I don’t want this cart falling on our heads.”

  Peggy handed Merry the heavy wooden box from behind the driver’s seat. Merry forced it under the back of the carriage to take weight off the broken wheel.

  Geoff propped himself on his right arm, then lay down on his back and slid behind the wheel. His left arm and shoulder felt bruised and sore, but with his right he felt along and broken spokes. “Hell,” he whispered and slid away. “Amos, you better take a look at this too.”

  “What?” Peggy asked and bent down. “All I see is three fractured spokes.”

  Amos checked behind the wheel, stood up and brushed off his no-longer immaculate uniform. “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “Look, I have to get Heinzie out of his harness, check to see he hasn’t hurt himself, and put him out in the pasture with the others,” Merry said. “I’ll meet you in the stable in ten minutes.”

  “You go with them,” Peggy said. “I’ll look after Heinzie.” She pointed to the donkey, who stood once more shoulder to knee with Heinzie. “Don Qui too.”

  “But . . . ”

  “Go.”

  “Leave the harness on the fence,” Merry said. “I can wash it and put it away later.”

  Peggy nodded, rolled up Heinzie’s reins from where they trailed behind him, tucked the traces under his britchin, and led him away toward the pasture. Don Qui trotted along behind.

  Merry stalked off toward the stable with her head held high and her chin stuck out a mile.

  Geoff and Amos followed.

  “That’s one steady horse,” Amos said. “He could have totally freaked and hurt himself, not to mention Peggy and old Geoff here.”

  Merry whirled to glare at him. “Whoa means do not move a foot until I tell you different. I knew he’d stand. My daddy trained him.” She brushed her fingertips along her cheeks and turned away. “Hiram may not have been the world’s best father, but he was one hell of a horse trainer.”

  The three walked into the stable and down to the hay bales that constituted the only place to sit down. Merry sank onto the nearest bale and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Geoff could tell she was crashing fast.

  “Somebody sabotaged your cart,” Geoff said. He leaned against the stall and rubbed his sore shoulder. His fingers still tingled. “Unless you’re in the habit of sawing kerfs straight across the backside of three spokes.”

  “Why didn’t it break the minute Peggy and Yoder started driving?” Amos asked and took up a position two bales down from Merry’s.

  “Whoever did this is either sneaky, lucky, or knows his way around carriages and hand tools,” Geoff said. “Cuts weren’t deep. They might have held up fine, even with two people in the carriage, at a nice sedate walk, although I doubt it. Not for long.”

  “Might have lasted longer if Peggy had been driving from the left, too,” Merry said. “Although anyone with driving knowledge would know the driver traditionally sits on the right.” She turned to Amos. “Yoder is skinny and you’re not a heavy man. Even weakened and at a slow trot, the spokes apparently held.”

  “From the jagged edges where they broke, however, I’d say they were already starting to split,” Geoff said. “My weight was enough to finish the job the minute the horse started to trot with me in the left seat.”

  “But why?” Merry cried. “You could have broken your neck.”

  He came across, hunkered down in front of Merry and took both her hands. “Who other than Peggy knows you don’t drive any longer?”

  She looked confused. “I suppose Hiram could have told someone. He probably told Yoder, but I don’t know who else. It wasn’t exactly secret in driving circles. Peggy didn’t know until I told her.”

  “But you did announce that you’d be resuming Hiram’s teaching schedule, didn’t you?”

  “Sure. So?”

  “So, wouldn’t someone who didn’t know about your driving problem assume you’d be riding left seat during the lessons?”

  He watched her eyes widen.

  “Me? You think someone was out to hurt me?” She began to shake her head. “No way. Of all the wacko, inefficient, stupid ways . . . ” She glared at him. “I’ll have you know I do not weigh nearly as much as you do.”

  “I doubt whoever sliced those spokes did beta testing on how much weight it would take to break them.”

  At that moment Peggy walked into the front of the barn. “Heinzie’s out in the pasture discussing his adventures with Don Qui. What have I missed?”

  “Geoff thinks somebody was out to hurt me,” Merry said.

  Peggy nodded at Geoff. “Makes sense.”

  “Makes no sense at all!” Merry said. She strode up and down the aisle. “The only person I know around here other than you all is Jacob, and he wants me in one piece so I can keep paying him. Besides, he knows I don’t drive.”

  Geoff got to his feet and put out an arm to stop Merry. “Whoever sabotaged that carriage didn’t do it for thei
r health.”

  “Or yours,” Peggy added.

  Chapter 25

  Thursday evening

  Merry

  By the time we arrived at the mortuary for the viewing— although the coffin would remain closed—heavy clouds were rolling in across the mountains to the west, and drum rolls of thunder followed lightning.

  Mountain storms are different from flatland storms. Flatlanders come at you from far away. Plenty of warning to head for the storm cellar or an inside closet with cats, dogs and children and hope there’s no tornado around.

  Mountain storms roar down at you from behind hilltops and catch you flatfooted. Of course, they normally don’t bring tornadoes with them, but they can sure touch off forest fires, not something I’m used to. No danger of that this early in the year.

  NOAA weather is marvelous and saves a great many lives. Still, I sometimes miss sitting on my front porch enjoying a good old thunderstorm that begins with that buttered toast smell when the first raindrop hits dry dirt and drops the temperature twenty degrees in twenty minutes.

  Now, we huddle around our portable television sets looking for hook echoes on the radar. Much safer, but not nearly as much fun.

  “Rain in ten minutes,” Peggy said as we pulled into the parking lot at the funeral home. “The weather forecast says it’s going to be a wet Friday.”

  “Perfect weather for a graveside service. I don’t suppose I can wear my muck boots with my black dress.”

  She slammed her car door and trotted toward the funeral home entrance. “Dig your pumps into the mud like everybody else,” she said over her shoulder.

  The first drops hit the metal roof over the funeral home entrance as we opened the door to the hall. “Mr. Straley has left for the evening,” said his assistant. He peered at Peggy and me and kept his distance. Straley must have warned him we could erupt into hysteria. “A number of ladies have dropped dishes by.”

  “Funeral ladies?” I asked.

  “Oh, no. The funeral ladies won’t arrive until mid-morning tomorrow to set up. These are Mossy Creek ladies. They said they wanted to be sure we had snacks, and since you weren’t home . . . Well, they brought them here.”