by Leigh Hearon
“There were so many to choose from,” Annie mused.
“Honestly, Annie, if you think I deliberately choose my houseguests on their capacity to commit murder . . .”
“Hollis, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I’m just joking with you, Annie. But I agree, many of their stories did seem to imply that they might have been involved.”
“Yes, indeed. To start with, Ms. Cartwright conveniently forgot to mention that she’d returned to the estate early Saturday morning to retrieve some grooming tool.”
“Honestly, I think she did just forget,” Miriam told the detective.
“She’s a shy little thing, and it’s entirely possible. Later, another houseguest informed me she’d seen Ms. Smythe outside the house at the hour she told us she had arisen. And that Ms. Smythe was in the vicinity of the kitchen.”
This had to have come from Liz. Annie was glad that her friend had found time to share this tidbit with the detective.
“Yes, what was that all about?” Annie asked.
“Before she left today, Ms. Smythe admitted to me that she’d lied, but it was for the silliest of reasons. She said she needed more time to study her test, which she’d left in her car, and didn’t want the others to know about it.”
Now that is silly, Annie thought. And any extra cramming certainly hadn’t helped much.
“And then, of course, there was Brianna’s incriminating statement after she learned the judge had died,” Annie reminded the detective.
“Yes, that was quite intriguing, especially after you told me about the row she’d had with the judge the night before.”
Hollis and Miriam looked distinctly guilty.
“You knew, Annie?” Miriam asked sadly.
“I found out. It wasn’t something I particularly wanted or needed to know, but I felt I had to tell Detective Wollcott.”
“Well, in the light of all that’s happened, we’re considering Ms. Bowen’s outburst nothing more something that was said in the heat of the moment but has no basis in truth.”
“As I might have mentioned once or twice,” Annie reminded him.
“As you might have done.”
Annie took this as a positive statement. “You’ve explained how Mrs. Gilchrist came to be a victim, and why the judge was singled out. But why did Tabitha target Nicole at the very end?”
“Fortunately, I can and will explain that. It’s all very recent information, obtained from Nicole’s hospital bedside, where I understand her fiancé is now.”
Miriam and Hollis nodded.
“As soon as she was out of the woods, we spoke with her. I wish she had been more forthcoming before. If she had, we might have been able to arrest Tabitha without all the fuss this afternoon.”
Typical, Annie thought, then said bluntly, “She destroyed Tabitha’s rhythm beads, didn’t she?”
The detective nodded. “Yes, and we have the evidence.”
“Do tell.” Hollis leaned forward.
“As you know, we’ve been examining the surveillance tapes from the stables for the past twenty-four hours. Ms. Forrester’s Jaguar is seen pulling up in front at about ten o’clock on Thursday night. She parks, goes into the front entrance, returns about seven minutes later, then mysteriously parks her car in the public parking area, not at the house. I assume she walked the rest of the way back to the house, put the destroyed beads on Ms. Rawlins’s door, and returned her own car to the parking lot early the next morning. We’re still reviewing that portion of the tape to confirm when the car left.”
“I’ve been meaning to put in surveillance cameras in our own parking area,” Hollis said ruefully.
“Well, we had enough to confront her, and she immediately admitted to it.”
“But why did she do it?”
“She’d seen Ms. Rawlins interacting with the waiter, and suspected she was somehow involved in the poisoning of Mrs. Gilchrist. That’s why she left the note, “Quit while you’re ahead.” She wanted to scare Ms. Rawlins, if it was true. Instead, she merely set herself up to be murdered a few days later.”
So Nicole did know a thing or two about Shakespearean plays. Annie wouldn’t have thought so.
“The door slam.” She was determined to have the detective answer every question while he was on the hot seat. “If that wasn’t Nicole I heard, who was it?”
“It was Tabitha, coming back from the kitchen after making the thermos switch. She came up from the stables primarily to accomplish this final act. As long as the scribe hadn’t shown up, she knew she still had time. Unfortunately, Ms. Forrester saw her coming in as she was leaving the dining area. And that, in Ms. Rawlins’s mind, absolutely sealed Ms. Forrester’s fate.”
Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing all they’d been told. Finally, Miriam spoke.
“You know, the thing that still puzzles me is how Tabitha managed to pull off such a magnificent performance of Prix St.-Georges. It’s way beyond the level at which she’d studied with Harriett. True, Andy probably knows the movements in his sleep, but still, it amazes me that she could perform so well the first time out, and at a dressage show, no less.”
“You’ve got me on that one, Miriam,” the detective conceded. “I don’t know enough about horses or dressage or whatever it is you do to answer that. But she did tell Deputy Collins something that might help answer your question. She said that someone named Charlotte never performed pea-offs on a blueberry before a performance, so she didn’t have to prepare Andy, either. Does that make any sense?”
“She’s talking about Charlotte Dujardin, an elite British dressage rider,” Annie informed him. “Blueberry is the name of her horse. And, by the way, it’s pronounced piaffe.”
“Aha.”
* * *
“I seem to recall promising you a nice, relaxing weekend when you first arrived,” Hollis told Annie after the detective had left.
“Actually, it has been. You’ve both been such wonderful hosts, and I’m amazed by everything you’ve done, and continue to do, here. I think it was only when Lucy and Tabitha both went missing that I felt the worst. I was terrified that something had happened to Lucy.”
“Yes, I’m actually glad you weren’t able to tell us then what you knew about . . . Tabitha.” Miriam’s voice trembled just a bit. “I’m not sure I would have been able to handle it.”
Hollis put his arm around his wife. “I just hope this experience hasn’t deterred you from returning. With Marcus, I hope.”
“I’d—” Annie glanced at Marcus. “We’d love to. I can’t wait to see you riding Picante—after a few lessons with Harriett, of course. And it would be super if we could ride together on your trails.”
Did she just say super?
Miriam smiled and grasped one of Annie’s hands.
“So, what do you think about all this? Will you take up dressage with Patricia now, or go back to your Western riding and never give dressage a second thought?”
“Seriously? I’m a Western rider and always will be. But I don’t think I’ll ever look at the riding discipline the same way again. I’ve learned too much not to take notice of what dressage teaches riders about their horses and how it works with the horses to get the best from them.”
“I’m delighted to hear that, Annie. Well, we’ll let the two of you get some sleep. I know it’s an early morning for you both. Oh, and you may see Brianna about before you leave tomorrow. We’ve offered to put her up for the next few weeks so she can concentrate on her thesis. She’s defending in November, and we want her to be as absolutely prepared as possible.”
“How kind of you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the chance to concentrate on her work, and in such a beautiful setting. What’s her thesis on, if I might ask?”
“The role horses play in the novels of Jane Austen. It’s actually quite fascinating. I’ve got her latest draft by my bedside now.”
There was one more person Annie had to see before retiring
“I’l
l be back in just a minute,” she explained to the others. “I just want to thank Chef Gustav one last time for all his excellent meals.”
She knocked on the kitchen window, and the chef motioned for her to enter.
“Mademoiselle Annie! You are leaving us tomorrow, I understand. It has been most enjoyable to have you here. We shall see you again, I hope, in the not too distant future?”
“I hope so! How is Eric doing?”
“He is très bien, thanks be to God.”
Annie paused. “Chef Gustav, you knew it was Tabitha all along, didn’t you?”
“I had my suspicions, oui.”
“How did you know?”
“She was disturbed in the head, one could see that readily. I knew she had been in the kitchen while I was not, and just not to find food or to help herself to a glass of wine. But that was only one small thing. I could tell that she trusted no one. On the contrary, I believe Mademoiselle Tabitha thought everyone was her adversary. And when one thinks that—” The chef shrugged. “It is only a matter of time when you must strike out at the fabled dragon, n’est-ce pa?”
“You are right, Chef Gustav. You are absolutely right.”
Annie returned to the veranda. It was getting late, and she could see that their hosts were beyond tired. She caught Marcus’s eye and they soon said good night to the couple and walked upstairs. As Annie put the key into the lock of her suite, Marcus put his arms around her waist and with his chin, began to nuzzle her hair.
“So, what is it about women and their horses?”
“It’s complicated,” she murmured back, and leaned back for a kiss. “Trust me on this.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first got the idea of writing a mystery set in the world of dressage, I imagined it would be a bit of a lark. This thought proved utterly delusional. I soon realized that unless I had a professional dressage person lurking behind my shoulder at every page turn, I’d be lost. Enter Rebecca Parker Black, who teaches dressage on Bainbridge Island and is a USDF bronze, silver, and gold medalist. Rebecca had pity on my ignorance and took me under her wing. She spent countless hours explaining dressage terms, its history and philosophy, and then showed me what it all looks like in the ring. She guided me through probable and improbable scenarios that I had constructed, offered brilliant solutions, and remembered every fictional horse’s name better than I did. Her exquisite and thoughtful editing and suggestions are reflected on every page, and her contributions are what ensure this book’s authenticity. With Rebecca’s help, this mystery turned out to be more than a lark to write. It was really, really fun.
I also want to thank Janet Grunbok, another stellar dressage rider and instructor who owns Whitethorn Farm on Bainbridge. Janet persuaded me to attend a master class by Charlotte Dujardin, which was eyeopening, and also was kind enough to let me to watch her instruct others and answer my many questions. Thanks to dressage student Gale Yee, who graciously accompanied me to a dressage show in Southern California. Finally, I want to include Sara Petersen and Cindy Daniels of Woodside Stables in Kingston, Washington, in these acknowledgments. Overlook the fact that they are dedicated hunter/jumpers. For several months, they’ve been teaching this old dog new tricks under English saddle, and their sage instruction, given so patiently, no matter how oft repeated, on how to ride so your horse doesn’t think you’re a complete idiot is found on many pages of this book.
My thanks once more go to Paige Wheeler of Creative Media for taking such good care of me, to Robert Schwager and Ken Kagan for their eagle-eyed editing, and to Fern Michaels, who started me on this path and will always be my heroine.
If you enjoyed Runaway Murder,
be sure not to miss LEIGH HEARON’s
UNBRIDLED MURDER
A CARSON STABLES MYSTERY
After horse trainer and rancher Annie Carson visits a feedlot in eastern Washington, she is determined to save as many horses from slaughter as possible before hightailing it back home—until she discovers the sleazy owner seemingly trampled in his corral. With the fate of the feedlot herd in her hands, Annie must navigate unfamiliar territory while trying to track down a killer and solve an increasingly tangled mystery. But unfortunately for Annie, returning to the Olympic Peninsula alive will be trickier than she ever imagined.
Turn the page for a special look!
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Chapter One
TUESDAY AFTERNOON AND EVENING, AUGUST 2
Annie’s face was infused with damp sweat. The bright fluorescent light overhead nearly blinded her, and it took all her willpower not to twist and squirm from its pitiless gaze. She scrunched her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. She vowed that she would not speak or cry out in pain, no matter what happened.
“Relax.”
The word floated above her, and Annie wanted to kick the speaker. She didn’t, and the speaker continued, in a gentle, soothing tone.
“If you squeeze your eyes like that, I can’t do my job. And you do want beautiful eyebrows, don’t you?”
Did she? Annie had never given much thought to her eyebrows. But apparently, her girlfriends had, and they had pretty much demanded that she do something about them before she saw that fabulously handsome man again.
Lisa Brunswell, one of Annie’s newest friends and her very first stable assistant, was the most adamant. It probably was her age, Annie thought. Lisa was at least two decades younger than she was, the time when things like waxed eyebrows and silky-smooth skin still mattered. Annie was about to turn forty-four, and aside from slapping on a bit of moisturizer before bed—when she remembered—she didn’t really think about her face. Her horses had never complained about her looks.
But then Marcus Colbert had entered her life, and everything had changed. Deliciously so.
And now here she was, lying on a massage table with her knees propped up and her hair pulled back into a plump white towel, and feeling extremely vulnerable. She’d felt more courage when she’d encountered a black bear on her property last autumn.
“Your skin might be a little red after the procedure, so we’re doing the eyebrows first,” the voice continued. “But by the time I’ve finished with your facial, you’ll look perfectly normal. Radiant, in fact. Now, hold still, please. And relax the eyes. That’s it.”
Annie breathed out and thought, not for the first time, that Marcus had seemed to like her just fine when he had first met her. She’d been wearing dusty cowboy boots and faded jeans.
* * *
Two hours later, Annie had to admit she looked remarkably better than any time in recent memory. Her skin was glowing, and somehow her green eyes looked more vibrant when unruly eyebrows didn’t take center stage. She’d initially squawked at the stylist’s insistence on trimming her long, dark brown hair and could barely watch as four inches of it languidly slipped to the salon floor. But looking at herself in the mirror thirty minutes later, she realized the shorter length gave her hair more bounce and shape.
She felt beautiful but had no time to revel in her new stunning self. Annie was meeting Marcus at Port Chester’s one French restaurant in two short hours, and she still had to go home to change and check on the horses before making the half-hour drive to the county’s most populated—nearly nine thousand at the last census—metropolis.
She ducked out of the salon while stylists from every booth were still oohing and aahing about her transformation. Rushing straight into the sunlit world, Annie didn’t see Deputy Tony Elizalde approach until he tapped her on her arm. Predictably, she shrieked, and reached into her saddlebag purse for her never-used can of Mace.
“Relax, Annie. It’s me, Tony. Glad I caught you. Boy, you look different.”
He was the second person who’d told her to relax today, and she was already tired of it.
“Try calling out my name next time. I respond to words.”
“Didn’t have time. You burst out of that salon like your hair was on fire. Looks nice, by the w
ay. What’s the hurry?”
As if Annie were going to say anything about her date with Marcus. She’d endured enough snide remarks from Tony about her budding relationship to share any new information now.
“Nothing. What’s up?”
“I got a call from a buddy in eastern Washington this morning about a lead on some fine horses for sale.”
“Thanks, I have all I can handle at the moment.”
“Not you, Annie! For Travis’s new farm, Alex’s Place.”
She squinted at Tony, who was standing right in front of the sun. “I thought we’d decided at the last board meeting that we were going to look for horses at our local rescue centers.”
“We did, which is why I want to talk to you now. This is an opportunity to acquire good horses for all the right reasons. But it’ll take time to explain. And my keen detecting mind tells me you don’t have a lot of that right now.”
“You got that right, Deputy. I’m booked for the rest of the day. But stop by the farm tomorrow, if that works.”
“Will do. Morning okay?”
“Ah . . . let’s make it early afternoon.”
“Roger that.”
Annie nodded at Tony, climbed into her F-250, and started to make an illegal U-turn to head out of town. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw Tony still looking at her, his hands on his hips, his expression amused. And curious. Well, he’d just have to stay curious, Annie thought. Although she had to admit she was a bit curious herself about Tony’s new lead on adoptable horses. Her friend, Travis Latham, had recently acquired property to build a working farm for boys at risk. Tony and Annie, both members of the nonprofit board overseeing the project, had been tasked with acquiring horses.
