TheCart Before the Corpse

by Carolyn McSparren

  Okay. I’d bide my time. No donkey was going to outsmart me. While they ate, I swept the clients’ lounge, feed and tack rooms, and ran the hose over the wash rack floor.

  When I went back to open the front doors, Don Qui met me in the aisle. His stall door stood wide open. I knew I’d closed and latched it.

  “You little troll, how’d you do that?”

  He smirked at me. Just for that, I took Golden Boy and the two warmbloods back to the pasture first. Heinzie didn’t care, but Don Qui trotted to the pasture gate and back again each trip. By the time I took Heinzie from his stall, Don Qui was glaring at me. I made sure my feet were out of his way.

  He trotted after Heinzie and waited at the gate while I took the Friesian’s halter off.

  Calmly, Don Qui walked into the pasture after his big buddy, then, just as I turned to close the gate, he whipped around and kicked out at me with both hind feet.

  Instead of my thigh, he connected with one of the metal pipes on the gate with a humongous clang. Satisfied that he’d made his point, he trotted off after Heinzie. “You little demon,” I called after him. Before I met Don Qui I’d always loved miniature donkeys. They’re so cute and cuddly, and Don Qui had let me scratch behind his ears and love all over him.

  Now that he had decided I was bound and determined to break up his happy family (which I was), no more Mr. Nice Guy.

  Most of my friends keep their IPods in their ears or play radios while they work. Often I do too, but sometimes I enjoy the peace and relative quiet. The country is never truly quiet, especially in the spring when birds are looking for mates, but birdsong, soughing trees and hoof falls beat city noise any day.

  This was a catching up day. First I picked the wet shavings and road apples from the stalls and dumped them onto the manure pile. In another month, we could spread them over the pastures.

  Hiram’s truck hadn’t been started for nearly a week, and diesels don’t like sitting idle. The key ring Peggy gave me included his truck key and a key to the trailer lock. Good thing, since a hitch lock is nearly impossible to get off without the key and is an effective bar to theft.

  When I opened his driver’s side door and smelled the faint scent of Hiram’s expensive British verbena aftershave still trapped inside, I nearly lost it and had to wait until the scent dissipated before I slid in and inserted the ignition key.

  The truck started without a grumble, so I drove it down to the road and back before parking it again. I found some receipts for oats in the center console, as well as a vet bill from Dr. Blackshear for spring vaccinations. Both were marked paid.

  I wouldn’t have to locate a farrier since Jacob told me he did the trims and sets for extra pay.

  I didn’t really need to clean out the trailer before we loaded Heinzie and the vis-à-vis for the Easter afternoon drive around Mossy Creek. Hiram never left road apples in his trailer. The acid and damp rot the floorboards. Usually, some groom was around to do the cleanup for him, but in any case, the trailer probably hadn’t been used since he brought the horses from Aiken.

  Time to go through the workshop carefully. I had no idea why he would have hidden his records, but if he had, the barn had more hidey-holes than the new stable. Jacob might have done some searching, but I could see no reason for him to want old medication logs.

  I left the big front doors wide open to air the place out and give me as much natural light as possible to supplement the fluorescents.

  After I searched the place more thoroughly than I had before, I planned to start on the covers for the vis-à-vis seats. Carriage seats wear out or tear or get mildew and dry rot and have to be replaced often, so I’ve gotten pretty good at upholstery. I wouldn’t actually tear these seats down to the frames, but new covers should do nicely and really spiff up the carriage.

  Jacob and I had parked the carriage directly over the place where Hiram had died. Unconsciously, I think we wanted to avoid stepping on that spot. The barn seemed to pulse with Hiram’s energy. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I swear I could almost hear him. I know I could feel his presence.

  I ran. Stupid, right? I leaned on the hood of my truck and hyperventilated until I had sense enough to bend over and catch my breath. I didn’t have any handy paper bags to breathe into, and I had no intention of passing out on the gravel. My foot was in bad enough shape without adding gravel scrapes on my knees and elbows.

  So much for the peace of the country. I needed some noise.

  Hiram had an old radio and CD player on his workbench, and I always carry a bunch of CDs with me because I travel so much, so I went back inside, put on some blue grass and turned the volume up. Even if Hiram’s spirit still inhabited the barn and I didn’t for a moment believe that I had nothing to fear.

  I used his hand lantern to check out the doctor’s buggy that Tom Darnell was so desperate to get his hands on, but didn’t see anything interesting or unusual about it except that for some reason part of one of the shafts was missing. Shafts get broken frequently. No big deal to either buy or make a new one.

  It might be easier to replace the wheels than replace the spokes, but Darnell wanted the carriage restored, not recreated, although I had no idea why that was important.

  And if it was so darned important, how come they’d let it get into this shape in the first place? Even restored, it wouldn’t be worth more than four or five thousand dollars. However, if things were as tight for Tom Darnell as his mother thought, even a couple of thousand might make a great difference to his family.

  If it were up to me, I’d give him the thing back right now, but Geoff didn’t want it removed.

  By the time I’d brushed the festoons of cobwebs off, I was filthy. The canopy needed replacing, and all the metal parts needed cleaning and oiling. The brass was a combination black and green, but should polish up nicely. No doubt the axles needed to be packed as well. Still, it was a job worth doing. Restoration, rather than rebuilding, would put it right. Jacob and I could probably handle the job. In the meantime, I’d have to find out who truly owned the blasted thing.

  Next I moved to the dog cart. There are a number of versions of dog carts. The only thing they have in common is that the seats are high enough up so that cages for the dogs fit underneath. And, of course, dogs have to breathe. This little beauty’s cage was caned. Not a good idea to leave bored dogs for a long time with anything they can get their teeth around, as the owner of this cart had discovered. They had shredded the cane and left holes big enough for terriers—or terrors, as they are known by those of us who deal with them often—to escape through easily.

  Carriage dogs come in several types. Dalmatians were bred to run underneath the carriage, not behind. They have incredible stamina and can keep pace with the horses for hours. Then there are the dogs that ride on the seats or in the laps or the drivers. Finally, there are the beagles and bassets used for rabbiting, and terriers used to dig out vermin and fox. Legend has it that British Parson Jack Russell created Jack Russells from a single male he found beside the road. Their tails are traditionally docked at four or five inches, just the span or a hand.

  In this country it’s a disaster if hunters kill a fox. We don’t have enough to spare, for one thing, and we love our foxes. But in England, the huntsman who is the professional member of the hunting staff sometimes carries a Jack Russell in the pocket of his jacket. When the fox goes to ground, he hauls the terrier out by his hand-span tail and throws him at the hole to dig the fox out.

  Those are the dogs that are generally carried under the seat of the carriage. I hoped the owner of this carriage didn’t want the cages recaned. Maybe since he grew up Amish, Jacob knew how to cane, but I certainly didn’t.

  What owner? I had to find Hiram’s paperwork.

  I was on my hands and knees looking at the undercarriage of the dog cart when I heard a male voice call, “Hello, is anyone here?”

  I reared up so fast I banged my head and saw stars. So much for being safe from unannounced visitors. I l
oosened my thirty-eight in its holster before I went to see who had walked in on me.

  “I was out checking our property and thought I’d drop by, neighbor.” Ken Whitehead held out his hand. I didn’t offer mine. For one thing, it was filthy. He stepped closer. Too close. “Surely you’re not alone out here? After what happened to your father. It’s not safe. Anyone could walk in on you.” As he had.

  He’d chosen to park his BMW at the far edge of the parking area, right at the brow of the hill. The blue grass had covered the sound of his arrival, but wouldn’t have if he’d parked between my truck and Hiram’s.

  The BMW was the one I had seen down on the road or its twin.

  “Why should I be worried? I thought you said the tramp who killed my father was long gone by now,” I said. “Where does your property start?” I raised my arm to the sore spot on my head, which casually lifted the tail of my shirt. When he saw my thirty-eight, he blinked and took a step backwards.

  He waved a hand to indicate that his land was somewhere back of Hiram’s property. So why was he on my side of the hill at all? Peggy said his drive up to that land started on the other side of the hill. Fairly close as the crow flew, but a good ten miles by road.

  “I know we discussed lunch,” he said, “but I thought I’d strike while the iron is hot. We’d like to buy your land.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “The consortium of businessmen I represent.”

  “Including Governor Bigelow?”

  “I’m not really at liberty to name the principals, but I have carte blanche to make the deal.”

  “Why didn’t you buy it before Hiram did?”

  “Could we sit down?”

  I looked around. “The only place to sit is in the vis-à-vis. You might get your trousers dirty.”

  He gave me a grin that chilled my blood. “Why, fair lady, I’d definitely mess up my trousers if it means I can sit with you.”

  “Across from me, actually.” I climbed up into the carriage. He followed. It is not a good idea to sit in a carriage without a horse supporting its shafts, but this carriage had four wheels, so sitting in it was safe.

  I repeated my question.

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t find out this parcel was for sale until Mr. Lackland had already purchased it.” The smile this time was rueful.

  “What’d he say when you tried to buy it from him?”

  “Who says we did?” He shifted and grimaced. He’d found the loose spring under his butt. I had picked my side carefully.

  “He told you to go to hell, right?”

  “Not quite in those terms, but yes. We offered him a very good deal, plenty of money to buy even more property closer to Mossy Creek where the land is flatter.”

  “Now he’s built a stable, restored the barn, graded and graveled the driveway, fenced the pastures and added a driving arena.”

  “We would of course take into consideration the improvements to the property.” He looked into the distance and said with studied casualness, “By the way, you haven’t come across any reports from surveyors and suchlike, have you? No sense in paying twice for the same report, is there?”

  “Haven’t found a thing, but then I haven’t had time to look.”

  “I would appreciate a call when you do. Just paperwork, but extremely technical. Nothing a non-professional would understand. In the meantime, please consider our offer.”

  He hadn’t actually used that old southern phrase, “Now, don’t bother your pretty little head . . . ” But he might as well have. “What offer?” I asked. Now I was mad. “You haven’t made one yet. Okay, here’s the deal. You make your offer in writing to Mr. Robertson, my attorney. When I get around to it, I’ll give you an answer.” I climbed down from the carriage.

  “Can’t we just agree in principle right now? Shake hands on it? Then we can leave the lawyering to the lawyers.” He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I twisted away from him. No way was this guy touching me, and definitely not that close to my neck.

  “Either Louis B. Mayer or Jack Warner said that an oral agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on,” I said. “Besides, my hands are dirty.”

  He clambered awkwardly after me and patted his bottom as though he needed to restart the circulation.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got work to do. Nice of you to drop by,” I said as I walked to the door. He was forced to follow me outside. I stopped beside his car. “Great car. I liked it when I saw it parked down on the road the other day.”

  He jerked. “Couldn’t have been me. I was in Atlanta.”

  “Uh-huh.” But he hadn’t asked me which day I’d seen it.

  He opened his door, slid under the wheel and glared up at me, the first time his smile had slipped. “You’ll regret not coming to an agreement. You might not find having mansions and a golf course next door quite so pleasant. Wealthy neighbors can get extremely nasty about the flies and smells horses generate. An attractive nuisance, I think they call it. Zoning regulations, you know.”

  “Not when we’re grandfathered in,” I said. “We came first.”

  “I’ve heard driving horses can be real dangerous,” he said. “Lot of accidents. Things break. Hope you have good health and liability insurance. I’d hate to see a long stay in the hospital or a lawsuit for negligence toss that tight little rear of yours into bankruptcy.” The man actually wiggled his eyebrows.

  I gritted my teeth and made no attempt to return his smile. “How kind. By the way, if you make your offer on this property to Mr. Robertson, it might be nice if you provided an actual figure in dollars and cents.” I shut his door for him and went back inside.

  And shook. He stood too close, but many sales types invaded personal space to make a point. He didn’t openly threaten, but the implication was there. I could see him sabotaging my carriage. More likely he’d hire somebody else to do it, so he didn’t get the knees of those tailor-made trousers dirty.

  Had he been expecting the place to be empty so he could have the run of it to search or do something else nasty? Had he been the one that had searched Hiram’s apartment and Peggy’s library? Used Poison? Busted computers? He must have seen my truck parked in front of the barn, and he’d come in anyway. Now, that was scary. Good thing I’d had my gun.

  If I were dead, this place and everything else I owned would go to Allie. She was a city girl and would certainly sell at the first good offer, so she could invest the money and make her first or maybe her second million.

  Had I been in actual physical danger from Whitehead? He had definitely backed up when he saw my pistol. And if I’d been unarmed? Men like Whitehead never expect a woman to fight them and win, and a right cross to the jaw will take out most women before they have a chance either to run or fight.

  If he’d really come to make me an offer, he’d have been better prepared. He didn’t even have a figure in mind. He was also more interested in those reports than he let on. What were they? More important, where were they? And how did they threaten the Ken doll and his consortium?

  *

  True to her word, Peggy came out at two. We fitted Heinzie into his harness and put him to the vis-à-vis. She was hesitant about driving him alone, but in reality, a four-wheel carriage is easier to drive than a two wheel, and soon she, Heinzie, and his long-eared wart were trotting happily around the dressage arena.

  “Piece of cake,” she said when at last she climbed down. “Now all we have to do is get Heinzie to Mossy Creek on Easter afternoon all by himself.”

  “You game to drive Heinzie down to the road tomorrow morning without Jacob?” I asked.

  “I’d really rather not unless you come along to rescue me if I get into trouble.”

  “Sorry, not gonna happen, but I can follow you in my truck. Jacob should be over his hangover by noon on Monday. We’ll try then. I can watch Don Qui in the barn. I’d really like to see how he lets himself out of his stall.”

  She laughed. “Hiram never did find out. He finally gave up
and let him wander in the aisle after he finished eating.”

  We stripped Heinzie of his tack, fed and let the horses out. Then we moved the vis-à-vis back into the workroom and started work on the seats. Either Hiram or Jacob had sprayed oil on the bolts that held them to the carriage, so they were relatively easy to remove.

  We worked companionably. Peggy told me about her career as a professor of English, her husband, Ben, and how they moved to Mossy Creek. She told me tales of the Garden Club ladies and how Ida had wound up taking anger management courses. She told me about the history of Mossy Creek and its long-standing feud with Bigelow.

  She described how Bob, the Chihuahua, had been shot out of the claws of a hawk by Sandy, the Mossy Creek police dispatcher, and the matches, unmatches, and rematches Creekites made. She told me about her boyfriend, Carlyle, who had retired and moved to Seattle to create a new city garden.

  She told me about Hiram, and how he had showed up on her doorstep one rainy Sunday afternoon after seeing her studio apartment for rent ad in the Mossy Creek Gazette classified ads, and how they’d grown into the habit of going to estate sales, yard sales and antique stores looking for old carriages and their fittings.

  I had lived in my townhouse in Lexington, Kentucky, nearly as long as she’d lived in Mossy Creek, but I knew practically nothing about my neighbors.

  I was gone a good deal of the time, but I couldn’t have told her a single story about them or their families and friends. When had I become “the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to him?”

  *

  Geoff

  “Merry Abbott called me,” Geoff told Amos. “Had a visit from Ken Whitehead while she was alone out at the farm. She thinks he came out to search the place, but when he found her alone instead, she thinks he made threats.”

  “How can you think something’s a threat?” Mutt said. The three men were finishing lunch at Mama’s.

  “If she thinks she was threatened, she was threatened,” Amos said. “Women have good radar about that kind of thing.” He handed out the checks. The men left tip money on the table and strolled to the cash register.