by Leigh Hearon
“But all this happened years ago. Haven’t people forgotten about her father’s bad acts by now?”
“Not really. Not in her crowd, anyway, although she does have a few staunch friends. And over the years, friends, family, everyone in her circle has tried to introduce her to other men, but nothing’s ever come of them, and Gwendolyn is convinced it’s because of her father’s criminal past. When her best friend Hilda got engaged to Marcus, she simply gave up trying to find a new relationship.”
“Not quite,” Annie said ominously. “I don’t mean to be cavalier about Hilda’s death, but I think Gwendolyn’s taken it as an opportunity to step in where Hilda left off.”
“Perhaps she has. Which makes your relationship with Marcus that much more infuriating. As I understand it, your meeting was rather like love at first sight, wasn’t it?”
“More like lust at first sight. But yes, we clicked right away, despite our obvious differences.”
“You made it look so easy, and for Gwendolyn, it’s always been so hard. First, Nicole snares a very eligible bachelor, and now, if what you say is true, you’ve just whisked away the only possible prospect she’s had in years.”
“You know, I don’t think she’s an unattractive woman at all. I mean, once she wipes that smirk off her face. She’s tall, slender, and not at all pudgy, and has great bone structure. I don’t see how she could have been as plain as you’ve described her as a child.”
“Well, my dear, if I commented on that, I’d be betraying information that people in my profession work very hard to protect from the outside world.”
Annie chuckled. “What ever happened to Gwendolyn’s father? He must be out of prison by now.”
“He died a few years after he went in. Suicide was the official verdict, but the story’s a bit muddled, and no one knows for sure what really happened.”
Hollis got up and went to the small cart of liqueurs behind him.
“And that, my dear, is Gwendolyn’s story. I hope it helps you understand a little better why she acts the way she does. Now, what do you say to a touch more Courvoisier before toddling off to bed?”
* * *
Annie didn’t feel much more compassion for Gwendolyn after talking to Hollis, but she did appreciate his efforts to explain why bitterness seemed to be at the core of everything she said and did. Annie had little sympathy for people with money, never having had much herself, and bad-luck stories had never held much water for her. Her father had left when she was twelve, her mother had died when she was twenty-two, and frankly, before Marcus came along, her dating life often had been as nonexistent as Gwendolyn’s.
Did she appear as tough as Gwendolyn? Had she developed a “hard shell,” too? She hoped not. She decided to ask her friends sometime. Most had no difficulty telling her exactly what they thought.
She yawned as she walked back to her room, closed her eyes at the same time, and in her somnambulant state, nearly missed the strange item wound around Tabitha’s doorknob. It was a thin, supple leather strap, bound up neatly, with one long grassy stalk woven in. A tag was attached to one end. Had someone left a gift for Tabitha? Annie stopped to look more closely. It was not, quite the opposite. It was the leather necklace, or rhythm beads, as Tabitha had called them. Annie had seen it draped over her Friesian’s neck just earlier today. She recognized the copper color of the strap. But all the stones had been removed.
Annie carefully removed the denuded necklace and note from Tabitha’s door and retreated to her own room. She unwound the strap. All that was left were tiny indentations where the stones had been set. She sniffed the grassy strand. Rosemary. Annie knew the scent well; the herb grew like crazy in the Pacific Northwest, wanted or not. Opening the note, she read, “REMEMBER TO QUIT WHILE YOU’RE AHEAD.” The words were written in block letters and made with a felt pen.
Quit while you’re ahead? Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Ten
FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 13
Sometime during the night, the weather had changed, and along with it, the mood of the riders around the breakfast table the next morning. Blue sky had given way to gray clouds, and the gloom that prevailed during the morning meal was as palpable as the fine mist now gently falling on the green lawns and pastures below them.
Annie had not expected to hear from Marcus, but she was still disheartened when she checked her phone upon awakening and saw no attempt on his part to reach her. She collected her breakfast from the buffet and sat down with barely a nod to Liz or Patricia. She was still deeply disturbed at finding the mutilated rhythm beads and after glancing at Tabitha, was glad she’d removed them before the intended recipient had discovered them.
Tabitha looked awful. Huge bags hung under her eyes, and her blotched face matched the now muted clouds in the sky outside. Annie wondered if the woman had slept a wink, or if she’d spent the entire night looking for her precious rhythm beads in the stables. Whoever placed the stripped leather strap on her door must have known she was out when they’d left it—or, if Tabitha had been inside, completely brazen.
Annie turned to look at Nicole, who was doing her best to freeze Annie out of her line of vision. But here, Annie was in good company. Nicole showed no interest in making eye contact with anyone, including Hollis, who seemed aware that he, too, was on Nicole’s do-not-contact list.
“Did you enjoy your night out with Douglas?” he politely inquired.
Nicole glanced up quickly, unaware that her disdain-for-the-world look had vanished, replaced by sheer smugness.
“It was super! Douglas took me to an incredible new restaurant on the Strip. He even arranged for a private tour of the kitchen. The food was unbelievable. It made us rather sad we’d already hired our caterer.”
“I’m so glad you had a good time. And I’m sure your original choice of caterer will do an outstanding job.”
Nicole looked doubtful, but her smug mien remained in place for the rest of the meal.
As usual, Gwendolyn was sitting across from Nicole. Annie thought she looked positively subdued this morning. She wondered if Nicole’s impending marriage really was that upsetting to her, a knife in an old wound that reminded her of a wedding that should have taken place but never did. At least Gwendolyn wasn’t making her usual snide remarks to the less resilient souls around the table.
But then, no one was talking much at all. Both Lucy and Amy looked a little green about the gills. Annie knew the source of Lucy’s stress. She was still awaiting the verdict on the state of Prince’s hoof, which would determine whether or not he would be sound by tomorrow. For Amy, the realization that she would be riding in front of Judge Bennett in a little more than twenty-four hours had finally sunk in. Even Liz seemed quiet and restrained. The reality of why they were all here must be hitting home. Only the three trainers behaved as they normally did. Annie overheard snippets of conversation about the order in which their students would ride and details about the event that did not interest Annie in the least. What interested her was finding out which of the women around the table wanted Tabitha to fail so badly that they had resorted to destroying the object in which she held the most faith. It was an intentionally cruel act, and Annie was resolved to find the person responsible.
* * *
The group dispersed quickly. Tabitha mumbled something about looking for her rhythm beads, shooting a particularly nasty look at Nicole as she left the table. Annie felt a pang of guilt, but only because she knew the truth, not because she was hiding the evidence. Nicole ignored the look and wordlessly departed a few seconds later, followed by Gwendolyn.
Annie was tired of the sullen silence that had pervaded the room.
“I’ll join you at the stables in a bit,” she told Patricia and Liz, then picked up her plate to take to the kitchen.
“It’s time we all got to work,” declared Harriett. Her edict roused everyone else at the table to move, and Annie watched with amusement as everyone—even Hollis—followed her
example, carrying their dishes into the kitchen and depositing them by the sink.
Chef Gustav now seemed accustomed to his guests making this small gesture. He nodded cheerfully, made several short bows, and waved them good-bye with his white towel.
“Travail bien!” he called after them.
Annie went in search of Hollis, who seemed to have vanished as soon as he’d left the kitchen. She hated to bother him, but she had to share last night’s discovery with her hosts; it was only right that they know what had occurred. But Hollis was not in any of the common areas, nor on the patio. Annie wondered whether he was seeing to his wife, who had never appeared before noon since Annie had arrived. Other than knock on the door of their upstairs suite, which she was not going to do, she had no other way to find him. She didn’t even have Hollis and Miriam’s phone number.
She returned to the kitchen to consult with the only person she could think of.
“Mademoiselle Annie! What brings you back? Are you hungry for a second petit déjeuner, peut-être?”
“Non, mon ami. I’m looking for Monsieur Darby. Do you know where I might find him?”
“I do not know. Monsieur Darby keeps his own business. But when I see him I will tell him you are searching for him.”
“Merci, Chef Gustav. Merci beaucoup.”
She walked past the dining room and the door to the library, the one room Annie had never seen anyone enter. As she started for the spiral staircase leading up to her room, she heard a familiar voice, talking softly but insistently. Had it come from the living room? Looking around carefully, she saw no one. It had to have come through the seldom-used library. She tiptoed back and stood next to the shut door. If anyone came down the stairs or out of the kitchen, they would see her eavesdropping, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to know what urgent information Gwendolyn was conveying, and to whom.
“You know it’s only a matter of time. The police will find out and want to question you.” Gwendolyn’s voice was barely audible, but the menace behind her words came through loud and clear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nicole spat out the words. “And if you even think about repeating what you’ve just told me to anyone, trust me, you’ll regret it.”
“Shhh! Keep your voice down! Unless you want everyone to know. Is that what you want, Nicole? Do you really want everyone to know—?”
Gwendolyn’s sentence ended in a gasp. Then Nicole spoke again.
“Listen, you little minx. I’m telling you this only once, so listen good.”
Well, Annie automatically corrected Nicole in her head. Listen well.
“I had nothing to do with Betsy’s death. Nothing, do you hear? Everything you say is a lie! You’re trying to meddle in something that’s none of your business. So, keep your opinions to yourself, or I’m warning you, you’ll be sorry.”
Annie heard another gasp, and realized Gwendolyn was gasping for breath. Then she spoke.
“Now I’m warning you. Lay your hands on me again, and I’ll tell the police everything I know. Then your precious Douglas will know the truth about the kind of woman he’s marrying. If he still wants to marry you, that is. If I were him, I sure wouldn’t.”
“Yes, well, you do know a bit about broken engagements, don’t you?”
Gwendolyn gave a curdled shriek and Annie could tell from the noise that an all-out catfight was under way. It was definitely time to vamoose. She didn’t care who won. In fact, she wanted them to pound each other. She just hoped they didn’t destroy any of the leather-bound books the Darbys had so lovingly collected and placed in the room no one used anymore.
She tiptoed up to her room. As she turned the corner of the staircase, she heard Chef Gustav’s heavy footsteps in the hallway.
“Mon Dieu! What is going on?”
Thank heavens the library books, at least, would remain intact.
* * *
Marcus still had not called or texted her. Annie sighed, grabbed the one sweater she had packed, and headed off for the stables. As she opened the wide front door, her peripheral vision detected nothing. Perhaps both women had been hauled off in straitjackets to the nearest hospital for observation. It was a pleasant thought. She looked up at the sky, a familiar gray hue, and fondly thought of home.
The quiet, peaceful equestrian grounds had been transformed into a frenzy of activity. Despite the mist, sprinklers were on full tilt in the dressage arena and warm-up ring. She started on the path toward the stables and noticed even the pastures were getting a good soak. Workmen were heading in all directions. She saw a trolley wheeling out a covered booth, fully enclosed except for the front, and a door in the rear. Annie was certain this is where the judge and scribe would preside. The portable stadium tiers she’d seen wrestled into the back of a pickup truck yesterday were now set up on the side of the dressage arena, ready for spectators and auditors. Unknown people seemed to be walking everywhere at once, some dressed in breeches, others in ordinary clothes. It hit Annie that the small insular group in which she’d existed the past few days was about to explode, as competing riders, trainers, grooms, and show personnel flowed into the stable area and rings. Four horse trailers were already parked on the side of the barn, and small lines had accumulated in front of several tables near the stable office, each covered with a pristine white tablecloth. The atmosphere had changed, too. It was charged with an excitement she hadn’t felt since her arrival. It was nearly show time, and Annie felt herself caught up in the enthusiasm.
She noticed Tabitha on her Friesian in the ring closest to the stables. She wondered if this is what the trainers had been discussing that morning at breakfast—which student would ride when, and where. Annie doubted anyone would have the luxury of an entire ring to themselves in a few hours. So much was going on, and space was now at a premium. The line of horse trailers had steadily increased in the fifteen minutes it had taken her to reach the ring in which Tabitha was riding.
“Send him for ward!” Annie heard Harriett’s impatient voice before she saw her. “You need more energy. And keep your lower legs quieter. You look like a jumping jack up there.”
Tabitha nudged her horse, but he was having none of it. From her vantage point of fifty feet away, she could see how frustrated the rider was and how hard she was trying. Unfortunately, her frustration seemed to make her Friesian more intransigent.
“Get off and let me show you.” Harriett strode to the center of the ring and gestured for Tabitha to dismount. As soon as Tabitha had jumped off, the trainer took the reins and swung effortlessly into the saddle.
“Now watch me and pay attention. You’re somewhere else this morning. Get back on track, or you’ll never get a passable score tomorrow.”
The Friesian took off at a trot, and for the next few minutes, Annie admiringly watched Harriett put the horse through its paces. It was an impeccable performance, she thought. So this is what dressage is supposed to look like. Annie was beginning to see what all the fuss was about. The challenge, she suspected, was getting to the point where the rider made the horse look easy to ride. It had to take years of dedicated practice.
“If he’s having difficulty, do something different,” Harriett called out to Tabitha while executing a perfect circle. “Lower the bar. Raise the bar. Slow down or speed up. But do something to get his attention. Then go back to what you originally were asking him to do.”
Tabitha nodded from the sidelines. She looked thoroughly humiliated. Jackson did not have a single item of bling on his body. And he was performing beautifully. Annie wondered if his owner would make the connection and realize it was skill, not stones, that made the difference.
Glancing behind her, she saw Melissa working with Amy in the warm-up ring. Lucy’s friend was the much better rider of the two, but Annie decided to forgo watching them to see Liz at work. She had yet to really see Patricia’s star pupil in action. And she wanted to be in a place where she could sit and think at the same time about the bitter conversation
between the two dressage divas. She had a pretty good idea what it all meant, but a bit of reflection might clarify the implications in Gwendolyn’s words.
She climbed to the middle row on the spectator tier and waved discreetly to Patricia, who was fiddling with one of Liz’s stirrups while Liz sat in the saddle, her leg bent over the knee roll. As she waited for Liz to resume riding, she thought about Gwendolyn’s opening gambit.
Nicole knew Betsy Gilchrist more than she’d originally let on to Annie, that was a given. Now it was clear that Gwendolyn had known the woman, as well. And she’d had made it clear that once the police knew about Nicole’s connection with the dead woman, they’d want to talk to her about Betsy’s death. Well, that was entirely reasonable. The police usually wanted to talk to anyone who was familiar with the deceased. But Nicole’s response had implied that Gwendolyn believed she was involved in Betsy’s death, something she’d adamantly denied. Although there was something Nicole was keeping from Gwendolyn. What was it?
Did Nicole, in fact, kill Betsy Gilchrist? Annie couldn’t see the stylish diva rigging Betsy’s car, the most obvious method of ensuring her crash. Mechanical engineering just didn’t seem a likely part of Nicole’s skill set. Nicole wouldn’t risk chipping her nail polish, not to mention the colossal ring adorning one finger, to loosen the brakes, drain the oil, or do whatever it took to make the car unsafe to drive, would she? But you never knew.
So where had Nicole been on Wednesday afternoon? Annie’s memory of that day was hazy when it came to the movements of the other guests, most of whom she hadn’t met yet. She’d had her memorable introduction to Gwendolyn and Lucy on the front steps of the Darby house minutes after she’d arrived. Presumably, the two women had then gone down to the stables, while she and Patricia had used the Mercedes convertible to get there. Whom had she seen while Patricia prepared to meet with Betsy Gilchrist? Annie thought hard, trying to recall anyone else in the stables at the same time. She drew a blank. She couldn’t even remember who had been riding in the other rings when they’d brought out Beau Geste for a trial run. Perhaps no one had. It had been late in the day, and the other riders might well have finished their sessions with their trainers and were up at the house in anticipation of cocktail hour.
