Deadly Heritage: a horse mystery: a horse mystery

by Toni Leland

  Belle's muscles bunched and Kellie tightened the reins to pull the horse back to a walk, moving to the fence line where she'd have less chance of finding a gopher hole. Relaxing into the gentle gait, she watched the young horses move toward her. The horror of the day dimmed and she allowed numbness to claim her.

  A flash of yellow caught her eye and reality returned. As Sara got off the school bus, Kellie steeled herself against the pain of what would come.

  Sara ran to the fence and waved. “I'll go get Juicy and we can ride together!” She dashed toward the barn.

  Kellie urged Belle into a fast trot and followed.

  Dancer's stall door was ajar and, a second later, Sara stepped out, her face pale.

  “Mommy, where's Dancer?”

  ~ ~

  Travis guzzled the last of the beer and glowered out the window at the sun, sinking low in the sky. Tina flap-mouth was starting to piss him off.

  “Goddammit!”

  The brown longneck bounced off the wall and careened across the wooden floor, wheeling in a crazy spin-the-bottle frenzy. He yanked open the fridge door, then swore again. Out of beer. Jamming his hat down over his forehead, he headed into the bathroom. The angry mound on the back of his hand glowed in the light of a single naked bulb over the sink. The red circle had turned dark purple and grown to about two inches. The raw center of the bite stuck up a quarter of an inch, oozing pus. He doused the wound with alcohol, sucking in his breath and squeezing his eyes tightly.

  The pain dulled and he leaned on the sink. The reflection in the cracked mirror bore no resemblance to the wimpy kid he'd left behind. His dark deep-set eyes, black goatee, and scraggly soul patch added the right amount of macho to his appearance. He grinned, cringing at his ugly teeth-a good reason to keep a scowl as his expression of choice. Years of working outdoors year-round had weathered his skin, almost erasing the acne pits. He adjusted his beat-up straw hat to a more rakish angle. Getting rid of that faggy curly hair had been a stroke of genius. When folks saw the shaved head, they gave him a wide berth.

  He wrapped a gauze bandage loosely around his hand, then nodded at the man in the mirror. “Okay, cowboy. Head 'em up and move 'em out.”

  At the Perkins city limits, he slowed down. The town's claim to fame was a livestock auction, and one police officer in residence spent all his time handing out speeding tickets to the ranchers and farmers who rolled into town once a week. Travis spotted the front bumper of the patrol car protruding from behind a brick building on the corner. He crept past the policeman, tipping his hat and offering a nasty grin.

  “Fuck you,” he muttered.

  The town's only liquor store looked closed. He squinted at the clock on the dashboard, then killed the engine and climbed out. The entrance was locked, but he could see someone moving around inside. He pounded on the door, but the shadow at the back of the room didn't come forward.

  “Shit-hole town.”

  He strode back to his truck, and punched the gas as he pulled onto the road. Gravel rattled beneath the chassis and sprayed out behind the wheels. He flicked on the radio and relaxed a little, bobbing his head and belting it out with Toby Keith. “How do you like me now?”

  He snorted. “Bitch.”

  Turning onto Highway 33, he settled back and glanced at the package on the seat beside him. His pulse thumped with anticipation, sending a slice of pain through his swollen hand. A billboard loomed ahead, and he squinted to make out the words. The annual 89er Celebration in Guthrie. He'd had some good times there as a kid, especially watching his dad ride in the rodeo.

  Darkness crawled into Travis's heart again, and his fingers clenched the steering wheel.

  ~ ~

  Ed yawned and took a sip of coffee as he started looking through the stack of lie detector test results. He read Kellie's first and shook his head, imagining her indignation at being questioned. A soft knock on the doorjamb intruded, and Danielle stepped into the room. Her demeanor was more subdued than usual, and Ed braced himself.

  “Morning, Danielle. What's up?”

  She settled into the chair across from him, a friendly smile crinkling the corners of her wide set eyes. “Not much. It was a quiet night.” Her glance moved to the folder in front of him. “Those the polygraph tests on the Sutton case?”

  Ed relaxed and nodded. “I was just starting to read through them. I understand Kellie was upset about being questioned.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “No, but since the circumstances at the crime scene shout “inside job,” I'm sure she'll realize the validity of excluding everyone we can.”

  Danielle nodded, a flicker passing through her eyes that set off alarms in his head. She unfolded from the chair and smoothed the dark brown gabardine over her thighs.

  “I don't suppose you want to go get some breakfast?”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “Close the door, will you?”

  When they had complete privacy, he pursed his lips. “Danielle, I simply cannot have a personal relationship with you, or anyone else on the force. It would be highly unprofessional-what's more, I'm only here until a new sheriff is elected.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes and venom curled through her words.

  “In your dreams! Who do you think you're kidding? Everyone in town knows the real reason you're here.”

  Concern blipped across his radar screen, but he controlled his tone. “And what would that be?”

  “Kellie Sutton, of course.”

  “Don't be ridic-”

  The door snapped closed behind her, leaving a waft of spicy scent curling through the air. He exhaled sharply. That went well.

  He picked up the polygraph tests and quickly read through each one. They all came up negative, providing him some small satisfaction. Kellie didn't deserve to have one of her trusted employees be the person who did this. Or worse, Frank or one of her brothers. Ed's gaze dimmed and thoughts of his love for the red-haired girl twisted their way into his work. Given a chance, could he shuffle the past into some dark corner and speak the words in his heart?

  He flipped the folder closed and shoved it away. And what good would that do? Would she be by his side when he returned to Washington? Not likely.

  He picked up the phone and punched in a number, then waited for Frank to answer. The man was up to something and it had damned well better not have anything to do with Kellie's horses. Frank came on the line, his tone cautious, and Ed steadied his own voice.

  “I want you to call Oklahoma PD right now and make an appointment for a lie detector test, since you weren't around yesterday.”

  “You're shittin' me! Is this Kellie's idea of a joke?”

  “No joke. I'll expect a call from the polygrapher later today.”

  Frank's tone turned ugly. “You know, Campbell, you've got a lot of nerve comin' into town and throwin' your weight around, just 'cause you won a little tin star. You can't force me to take the test.”

  “Listen up! Mutilating livestock is a felony. Five grand in fines for starters, and up to seven years in jail. You want to argue any further?”

  “I'm the victim, for Chrissake!”

  “Goodbye, Frank.”

  Ed punched the disconnect button on the console, then slammed the phone back into its cradle, knocking a logbook off the desk. He reached for the radio on his shoulder, turned it on, then headed down the hall, stopping briefly at the dispatcher's office door.

  “I'm going out for breakfast. Be back later.”

  Anger shifted into irritation as he pushed through the heavy glass door to the street. His role here in Guthrie was one of deep federal importance-what was he doing screwing around with a bunch of cowboys? He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to decide whether to walk to the café or drive. A movement across the street caught his eye and he watched Jesus Hermano emerge from the title company. Ed ducked into the front seat of his unmarked car.

  Staying a safe distance behind Hermano's silver Escalade, Ed wound through the d
owntown streets. Alerted by the man's erratic driving, Ed dropped back even farther. When the Escalade reached the library, it pulled into the parking lot and stopped, but Hermano didn't leave the car. Ed drove past, glancing sideways to see what the driver was doing. He didn't move, just seemed to be waiting for something. Ed drove on, wondering if he'd been spotted. At the next corner, he turned left and pulled into an alley. Creeping back toward the previous street, he could view the library parking lot and Hermano's car. He stopped and waited. In about five minutes, Hermano pulled out and headed north. Ed watched until the Escalade reached the intersection and turned west on Route 33.

  Hermano turned in at the new subdivision at the old Red Creek Farm, and Ed continued down Route 33, an idea taking shape in his mind. At Sutton Corners Road, he spotted Frank's Hummer approaching the intersection. Ed accelerated and whizzed past before Frank reached the stop sign. In the rearview mirror, Ed watched the big black vehicle turn right, then he wheeled into a lay-by farther up the road. When Frank's car disappeared from view, Ed gunned it and went after him. It was no coincidence that Hermano and Frank were in the same vicinity at the same time.

  To Ed's disappointment, Frank didn't even slow down at the construction site entrance, instead, heading straight into town. Disgusted with the wild goose chase, Ed followed him for a few blocks and, when Frank pulled into the bank parking lot, Ed headed off in the opposite direction to take care of his growling stomach.

  The breakfast crowd at the Cowboy Café had long since departed and Ed had the place to himself, at least long enough to get a cup of coffee, order some eggs, and wonder why he was so determined to find Frank dirty. The cowbell on the door announced a customer, and Ed turned as Hyde Browning shuffled in and pulled off his hat.

  “Hey, Doc, how's it going?”

  The vet's expression sent a bolt of concern through Ed's chest, but he remained silent.

  Hyde sat down and dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus, Ed, I had to put Kellie's stallion down yesterday afternoon.”

  Chapter 9

  Kellie stepped out onto the front porch and gazed at the patrol car parked in the driveway. She'd spent a sleepless night grappling with images of Dancer evaporating into the darkness as she reached for him, and Sara's heart-wrenching grief. How long would this nightmare last?

  Across the lane, Roy emerged from the barn leading Boots. The horse trailer ramp clanged shut, Roy secured it, and closed the doors. Kellie glanced at her watch as the old man started across the yard toward the house.

  “Mornin' Miz Kellie. Horses are loaded and we're leaving. I'll be back tomorrow.”

  “Good, I feel much better knowing you'll be with them for the trip up there.”

  “They'll be fine.”

  Walking slowly down the hall toward her room, she thought about what else the day might bring. At the door, she stopped and gazed around, wondering how the room had become such a mess. A hackamore bridle lay in a jumbled heap on the floor. A pair of brown paddock boots stood near the bed and yesterday's jeans hung on the doorknob. A sequined show jacket in need of repair was a sharp reminder of the unexpected changes in her summer plans. Would she ever know any joy again? Why did happiness ebb away, stealthily and unhindered?

  She moved to the oak dresser and picked up a wood-framed photograph-the last portrait of a now-disintegrated family. Her father's weather-beaten face scowled from the middle of his brood. Kellie stood in front, her impudent smile framed by flyaway red curls. Three lanky young men stared at the camera, each face almost a clone of the old man. The twins mirrored expressions of boredom, and solemn-faced, grown-up Randy held the hand of his young son, Jethrow.

  Kellie's chest tightened as she drew her fingers lightly over the little boy's image-a sullen child who'd borne the fallout of a disastrous marriage. Her only nephew might be the last Sutton in the dynasty, but he was no longer a part of their lives. The familiar sadness surfaced and she drew a ragged breath.

  The signs had been there, right in front of her, but she'd preferred to think she understood Jethrow's adolescent misbehavior. The suspensions from school, his surly attitude in the face of authority. Rebellion against a hellish home life? She shuddered. Everyone had given him space, sure that he'd outgrow the phase. Then he'd disappeared without a trace, the final act in a family tragedy.

  Her throat ached. How long had they searched for him? Weeks? Months? Why had they all given up so quickly and returned to their own lives and problems?

  The barrage of thoughts drained her, opening a chink to vulnerability and self-pity. All the years she'd spent single-handedly guarding the heritage that was hers and her brothers' had been for nothing. No one cared about anything but the money, and she had lost everything she'd ever loved, except Sara and the horses.

  Who was trying to destroy the only thing she had left?

  Small arms slipped around her waist from behind.

  Sara's voice was almost a whisper. “Thank you for letting me ride tomorrow.”

  Kellie turned and stroked the child's velvety cheek, her heart shattering at the sadness in Sara's eyes.

  “Hard to believe I waited this long to agree-I was riding in parades when I was seven.”

  Sara sat down on the edge of the bed. “What are you going to wear to the barbecue?” She wiggled her eyebrows, and the familiar mischievous grin brought out her dimples. “Something sparkly and sexy, I hope!”

  “You are too interested in come-hither clothing, young lady. I'll wear something appropriate for my age.”

  “Mom! You were a rodeo queen, for heaven's sake! You should wear the tiara and everything!”

  Kellie couldn't help laughing out loud. “That was a million years ago, and I don't even know where it is.”

  “I do!” Sara jumped up and headed toward the door, then turned back. “Will you wear it?”

  Kellie sighed. “We'll see. Right now, get a move on or you'll miss the bus.”

  Sara's face became solemn. “I love you, Mama.”

  ~ ~

  At ten o'clock, a tour bus turned in at the ranch entrance. Donning her hat, Kellie stared at her reflection in the tack room mirror-her grief was ill concealed. Think about Ed. Think about Sara. Think about anything. Just get through this. She headed out to meet her visitors.

  The bus hissed to a stop and twenty-two people emerged, most of them senior citizens. She preferred this age group for her tours-the younger generations seemed to care nothing for heritage or history.

  She smiled woodenly and walked toward them. “Welcome to Rocking S Ranch Quarter Horses on the historic Sutton Estate. I'm Kellie Sutton, a direct descendant of one of the original 1889 Oklahoma Land Rush settlers.”

  The sea of faces smiled as one and white heads bobbed like dandelion seedpods in a breeze.

  “First, we'll take a quick tour of the barns. We've been breeding champion Quarter Horses here since 1977.” She moved her arm in a sweeping gesture to include a bank of stalls on her right. “We have five-”

  Reality crashed in and she fought the burn behind her eyelids. Emotion shook her voice as she struggled to remain composed. “Four world champions live here, and ninety percent of our colts and fillies go on to win national and regional championships.”

  A man's voice piped up from the rear of the group. “You race 'em?”

  “No, although some of our bloodlines come from strong racing backgrounds. Rocking S horses are bred for the Quarter Horse work ethic-cutting, reining, all-around stock horses.” She moved down the aisle and the group followed. “We have forty horses here-correction, forty-one-we just had a new baby. If you'll follow me, we'll go to the mare barn and you can meet her.”

  Kellie led the way across the gravel to the small building, listening to the sighs of relief as her guests entered the cool interior.

  “This is our newest addition, Dancer's Delight.”

  The name caught in her throat, a reminder of her loss, but the frisky palomino filly took center stage and Kellie pushed the pain back in
to its hiding place.

  One woman put her hand over the stall door and crooned. “Oh, she's so cute.”

  “Ma'am, please step back. Mares are very protective of their babies. I don't want you to get hurt.”

  The woman's eyes widened and she jerked her hand back. The man beside her scowled at Kellie.

  “If this is dangerous, you shouldn't be having the public in here.”

  Oh crap, here we go.

  “Sir, the tour company passed out information on this facility, which included a disclosure about the possible dangers of being around farm animals.” She smiled tightly to take the sting from her rebuke. “I'm sure this mare wouldn't hurt anyone, but I don't want to take chances.”

  The man huffed loudly and guided his wife to the back of the group.

  Kellie headed toward the small office where refreshments had been set up. Why did she go through this every year? There never failed to be one hard-ass in each group, and she always promised herself it would be the last year. However, her determination to educate people on the importance of retaining history and protecting heritage and historic lands always overruled her irritation at human nature.

  Fifteen minutes later, she led the group out of the barn and instructed them to line up along the fence.

  “For as far as you can see-and farther-is Sutton land. Six hundred-and-forty acres, or one square mile. My great-grandfather, Philander Sutton, was appointed as a federal marshal in 1889. He was instrumental in the preparations for opening the land to settlement. At Noon on April 22, 1889, twenty thousand people dashed across the Kansas and Missouri borders to lay claim to land in the Territory.”

  A deep voice pierced the warm air. “Indian Territory. Land stolen by the government through the cunning Dawes Act.”

  Kellie exhaled slowly. This is definitely the last time I'm doing this.

  An elderly gentleman stepped forward through the group. Well-dressed and neatly groomed, he looked like one of the many college professors who spent their holidays traveling.