Runaway Murder

by Leigh Hearon

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. Maybe up at the main house.”

  That made sense, considering Miriam’s health issues. Although Annie thought there should be one at the stables, as well.

  “Have you contacted the Darbys?”

  “I asked one of the volunteers to go up and tell Hollis. I haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “Listen, Brianna, I don’t know how long it takes for the local fire department to get here, but the medic has to act fast. Can you help me find the kit and ask Hollis what medical equipment he has in the house?”

  Brianna nodded. Through the window, Annie was immensely relieved to see the familiar red trucks roll through the front gates. Help had arrived at last.

  “Never mind. Reinforcements are here,” she said simply, and ran out to guide the medic truck and ambulance to where the judge had been laid. As she ran to the gates, she heard Patricia’s voice emanating from a large speaker over the crowd.

  “May I have your attention, please? Judge Bennett has been taken ill, so unfortunately we will have to cancel the show today. Medical aid has just arrived. Please do not leave the premises until the ambulance has left. We want a clear path, and if you try to drive out now, you will be obstructing their exit path.”

  There was a pause, then a rush of shouted questions.

  “This is all I can tell you at this time. One of our volunteers will call you later today with more information. We will let you know when the event will be rescheduled. In the meantime, please attend to your horses, and we’ll try to get you on the road as soon as we can.”

  Annie had been correct. There was nothing like a patrician British accent to get people to settle down and shut up.

  * * *

  She stood aside as four burly men exited the two vehicles bearing a stretcher, blankets, and, thankfully, a bag-valve mask. Liz was talking to one of them in a low voice. Annie knew she was filling him in on the judge’s vital signs and symptoms. She continued to stand back anxiously as the medics went to work.

  “Assist ventilations.”

  The medics surrounded the judge, and Annie was unable to see what they were doing or the judge’s condition. Three long minutes passed. Annie realized that Brianna and Patricia were now beside her. They all stood back and silently watched the crew, knowing better than to ask questions or disturb their concentration.

  Then two of the men stood up, carrying the judge on the stretcher. Judge Bennett’s face was still covered with the mask, but her eyes were shut. The blotchy red spots on her face were gone, replaced with an ashen pallor that Annie recognized far too well. The lead medic, whose name tag read, M. FISHER, approached the small group of women.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid your friend didn’t make it. I’m going to need information about the deceased from one of you. Is there someplace we can go and talk?”

  Brianna gasped, then let out a long, guttural cry that went on and on. It reminded Annie of a wounded animal in the throes of dying, and for a moment, she thought Briana would collapse just as her lover had. She put an arm around the woman’s waist and lowered her gently to the ground, as Brianna moaned, “She’s dead! I’ve killed her! It’s all my fault!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14

  Patricia and Liz volunteered to stay with the vans until they began their long, slow journey around the crowd and out to the waiting road. A glass of cold water had done much to restore Brianna to her normal state. There were no more hysterical outbursts, and after refusing any assistance from the medics, Brianna quietly walked over to the office to deal with the hundred riders who would want to know what was going on, when the show would be rescheduled, and voice a million other questions that Annie knew the technical delegate would be unable to answer.

  Margaret Woods was an entirely different matter. When she learned Judge Bennett would not be able to scold her ever again, she began to sob loudly, and Liz persuaded a medic to provide a chill pill. The scribe was now curled up on one of the unused saddle pads, still awake but quiet at last.

  Still using her best British voice, Patricia had commissioned Annie to break the news to Hollis, and Annie agreed without argument. In theory, a volunteer was supposed to have already made contact with the Darbys, but even if that hadn’t occurred, it would be a miracle if Hollis and Miriam didn’t know by now that something had gone dreadfully wrong with the scheduled show. She trudged up to the house, dreading the task ahead of her. She wondered where all the other houseguests were in the swarm of people below. Except for her brief glimpse of Melissa and her students, she hadn’t seen anyone else in the stables all morning. But then, she had been occupied with a medical emergency most of the time.

  She walked over the crest of the small rise leading up from the pastures and saw two black-and-white patrol vehicles parked in the circular driveway. She was frankly relieved the Darbys already knew the worst, and she hadn’t had to deliver the news. She thought about simply turning around and heading back to the stables, but quickly nixed the idea. She had seen the judge collapse, and she had been present when the judge had died. If the Darbys wanted to know precisely what happened, it was her job to deliver the facts as she’d seen them. If they didn’t want to hear the nitty-gritty details, she was sure the police would.

  She opened the front door and heard Chef Gustav’s voice from the kitchen, agitated and upset, beyond the tone he reserved for waiters and kitchen staff who managed to annoy him. The memory of Margaret Woods scuttling back from the kitchen with the gray thermos flashed through her mind, and she quickened her own step to see if the source of his distress was, as the chef described them, the local gendarmes.

  “I have told you twice already! I make the tea this morning at six o’clock on the dot. No one comes to pick it up, so at seven o’clock I discard it and make another, fresher pot. There it sits, along with all the other thermoses, until Mademoiselle Woods flies in the door to grab one off the tray. I hand the one I have prepared to her, and that is it. La fin! What more can I tell you?”

  Again, Annie felt at a crossroads. Should she enter, or would she be intruding on a confidential police interview? Well, if her presence bothered anyone, she’d simply retreat. She felt for the little Frenchman inside the kitchen. This was the second time he was getting grilled by the police in as many days. Surely the Lady Grey tea he’d prepared hadn’t caused Judge Bennett’s sudden collapse. But if it hadn’t, what else could have caused it? As much as Annie did not want to believe in coincidences, she had a sinking feeling that a tampered beverage might very well be behind the judge’s death. If so, that made it just as likely that Betsy Gilchrist had also died from a tampered beverage. Yet neither she nor Patricia had suffered ill effects. It was all too confusing. She sighed and knocked quietly on one of the swinging kitchen doors.

  Deputy Collins opened the door. If possible, he looked even more handsome than he had three days ago when he had casually told her that he probably wouldn’t have need to contact her again.

  “Ms. Carson, what a pleasant surprise. You’re one of the people I want to talk to this morning.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Why not? Mr. Raymond mentioned that you were in the kitchen this morning. I’d like you to corroborate that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mr. Raymond? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “The chef.”

  “Oh, you mean Chef Gustav. Yes, I’d be happy to.”

  Annie stepped into the kitchen and saw Hollis and Miriam sitting at the white kitchen table. Chef Gustav was by the stove. Nearby cupboard doors were flung open, and Annie noticed an array of loose teas arranged in mason jars inside one of them.

  “Ah! Mademoiselle Annie! You will tell the police what happened. Then they will believe me!”

  She gave the chef a quick smile she hoped was reassuring, then looked at her hosts, who for the first time looked haggard and truth be known, close to looking what Annie suspected were their fairly elevated ages.<
br />
  “Sit down, won’t you?”

  Annie pulled up a chair at the table and folded her hands.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Just what time you were in the kitchen this morning, and what you observed.”

  Was she doomed to spend the rest of her life repeating boring stories of where she’d been and with whom? Annie related in as few words as she could how she had come into the kitchen after breakfast, talked briefly to the overworked and harried chef, and saw the row of thermoses prepared for guests.

  “Chef Gustav told me to take one, which I did. He also told me to tell the others that they were welcome to grab their own if they wanted.”

  “Where’s your thermos now?”

  Annie realized she’d forgotten all about stowing this item.

  “It’s still down at the stables. I didn’t drink out of it. I didn’t really have time. I got down there just a few minutes before the show began.”

  “Tell us where it is if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. It should still be under my seat on the highest tier.”

  As Annie continued to answer Deputy Collins’s questions, she realized she was not helping Chef Gustav’s story at all. If anything, she was a hindrance. No, she hadn’t seen the special tray on which the thermos of tea for the judge had been put. But then, she hadn’t had a clear view of the kitchen. It had been filled with people, working on every available counter space. And she’d only been in the kitchen a few minutes, if that. No, she hadn’t seen any other guest enter the kitchen that morning, but as she’d said, she was the last one to arrive in the dining room. The only other guest still in the house was Nicole, who, if the slammed front door was any indication, had left a minute after Annie had entered the dining room. She now wished she hadn’t heard the front door slam. She’d much rather have turned the dressage diva into a viable suspect.

  “Right. Well, Ms. Carson, we’ll want to talk to you further, but I think I have what I need for now.”

  He looked at his left wrist, on which there was a large watch, and spoke.

  “Look for thermos, last row, spectator stand. Should have the Darby Farms logo on it.”

  A voice came back. “Copy.”

  “What, you’ve replaced your squawk-boxes with talking smart watches now?”

  Deputy Collins grinned. “New regulation equipment as of last year.”

  “Does anyone ever tell you they remind them of Dick Tracy?”

  “All the time.”

  Deputy Collins left the room although Annie knew it would be many hours before he left the property. He and his fellow officers now had the daunting task of taking statements from everyone who had witnessed the judge’s collapse that morning. She did not envy them.

  Miriam and Hollis tried to reassure Chef Gustav that the police would certainly not be stupid enough to cast suspicion on him, and to please, please proceed as usual and to give Deputy Collins not one more thought. Annie wasn’t sure that was the right advice. She believed with all her heart that the chef had nothing to do with either the judge’s or Betsy Gilchrist’s deaths. She wasn’t so sure about the Darbys’ guests, all of whom had access to the kitchen, night and day.

  * * *

  Annie had offered to return to the stables to help the show staff, but Miriam had asked her to stay, and she’d looked so fragile and woebegone that Annie hadn’t the heart to say no. They decided to retreat to the patio, and all chose chairs with umbrellas. The sun was high in the sky and certainly in the eighties. Annie thought about the tumult going on below them. She felt for the riders. She was now fully aware of the preparation time and cost it took to put on a dressage event, and while she was sure the Darbys would be more than financially fair to the people who had signed up, there was nothing they could do about the riders’ missed opportunities to test and hopefully advance in their training.

  “I know it sounds cruel, but I suppose we could try to find another judge,” Miriam said. “That is, if there are enough riders who could return tomorrow. I suppose we should try that route.”

  “As a matter of fact, our technical delegate already has suggested that,” her husband answered. Miriam looked at Hollis in disbelief.

  “Brianna came up with that idea?”

  “She did, indeed. She phoned me about a half hour ago, asking if she could query riders about that possibility. I said she could. As tragic as Jean’s death is, there’s not much point sitting shiva for the rest of the weekend if some good can still come out of it. Of course, we’d have to get the police’s permission. The stables may be a crime scene and off-limits longer than just today.”

  “Oh, that would be a shame. I suppose I should say that Jean Bennett would want the show to go on, but I honestly don’t know how she’d feel.”

  Annie said nothing. She had a feeling that Judge Bennett would be quite gratified if everyone sat around and mourned her death for a day or two. Dressage professionals did not seem to be lacking in ego.

  “You do realize that the police are getting a search warrant right now for the kitchen area, at least.”

  Annie said this as nicely as she could. But the fact was that the police’s departure was only temporary. They’d be back, looking for more evidence, as soon as they got the required stamp of approval from the court.

  Hollis sighed. “Deputy Collins told me as much. I told him not to bother, that the kitchen was at his disposal whenever he wanted it. He promised not to ransack the place. I think he was a bit intimidated by Chef Gustav’s temper, or at least respects what he does in the kitchen. Collins did warn me, although perhaps that’s not quite the right word, that a Detective Wollcott would be here later today to interview everyone in the house.”

  Miriam uttered a small moan.

  “Honestly, Hollis, is that necessary? Can’t you tell the police that everyone will give them a written statement and be done with it? Do they really have to harass our guests, too?”

  She put a thin hand over her eyes and sighed. Annie raised her eyes and met Hollis’s gaze halfway across the patio. She knew what they were both thinking. One of the guests in the house was a cold-blooded killer, twice over. And if the police didn’t find out who it was, the killer might go on killing.

  * * *

  By one o’clock, all the guests had returned, and luncheon was served, this time without the anticipatory sound of the gong. Melissa told the Darbys that the scribe would not be joining them, as she was still groggy from the tranquilizer she’d been given. Melissa explained that the tranquilizer seemed to be affecting Margaret’s short-term memory. At first, Margaret had been eager to tell her story. She’d told Melissa all she’d done was rush up to the kitchen, pick up the thermos on the tray the chef had pointed to, and flee. The only thing Melissa remembered hearing the chef say was that he hoped the tea was still hot and not cold. He’d sounded a little put out that she was so late picking it up.

  He wasn’t the only one, Annie thought.

  “But now she seems obsessed with the idea that somehow she had something to do with the judge’s death.” Melissa rolled her eyes just a tad. “Under the circumstances, I thought it was better that we send down food rather than have her join us. I was afraid she’d continue to harp on that ridiculous idea at the table.”

  Miriam assured her she had made the right decision. No mention was made of Brianna’s absence from the luncheon table although Annie assumed that the Darbys had intuited that she had her hands full at the stables and would send down lunch for her, as well.

  Chef Gustav delivered on his promise. The lunch was truly exceptional, although appetites were small to nonexistent. Whether by coincidence or design, the only beverage offered was sparkling water, and it was served direct from the green glass bottle. No one, it seemed, wanted to talk about how the judge had died. Instead, the main topic of discussion was what to do now that Judge Bennett was permanently out of the picture. Hollis and Miriam were not dining with them, and Annie dreaded the direction the conver
sation might take without their calming presence.

  Harriett was livid. It was as if the minor detail of a felled judge was standing in their way of the more important issue—her students’ ability to test.

  “Of course the show must go on tomorrow,” she angrily told the group. “What other choice is there? Gwendolyn and Tabitha have worked too hard to let this opportunity slip by simply because the judge is no longer available.”

  “She’s not unavailable,” Amy said in a shocked voice. “She’s dead.”

  “It’s the same thing,” Harriett firmly replied.

  “No, it’s not.” Amy muttered this under her breath, but her words were audible to everyone in the room.

  “So sad. But at least you got what you wanted.” Gwendolyn pointedly looked at Lucy.

  How typical, Annie thought. The woman simply could not resist the opportunity to attack the most vulnerable person in the room.

  Lucy dropped her fork with a clatter. “What are you talking about? I told you, Prince is perfectly sound. I was planning to ride today.”

  “Yes, but are you sure you wanted to? Now you’ll get to ride in front of someone else. And you did want that, didn’t you?”

  “Gwendolyn, stop right now.” For the first time, Annie heard Melissa speak in a heated tone of voice. “Lucy is as disappointed as the rest of you, and I resent your implying otherwise.”

  “Well, Judge Bennett’s unexpected . . . departure did save her from a miserable score.” Nicole seemed intent on exhibiting her own mean streak following Gwendolyn’s attack on Lucy.

  “Stop it, both of you! We’ve just lost a respected dressage judge, and all you can think of is how many points she might have scraped off your scores.” Now Patricia was up in arms.

  “Besides, how is it even possible to find another judge on such short notice?” Melissa asked.

  “I’ve told Brianna that she must find a replacement by tonight and I expect her to find a way to make it happen.” As usual, Harriett put a lid on the discussion.

  Tabitha and Liz were silent. Annie wondered how they felt about competing the next day if a judge could even be secured at the last moment. Seeing a judge die could put anyone off her stride. She wondered if they really might prefer to table their tests until the memory of seeing the judge suddenly collapse in her booth had been muted by time and perhaps a change of venue. It would be perfectly understandable if they needed time to process what had occurred today.