Deadly Heritage: a horse mystery: a horse mystery

by Toni Leland

  “Yes sir,” she said. “The land was originally inhabited by several Indian tribes, but-”

  The man's gray eyebrows came together over piercing blue eyes. “There are no 'buts'-Guthrie was built in a day at the expense of our Native Americans.”

  Kellie had only been challenged once before, and she now tried to figure out how to maneuver away from the sensitive subject. The heckler did it for her.

  “Sorry. I'm a history professor at Kansas State.” He smiled sheepishly. “I can't change history, but I sure can complain about it.”

  The group laughed nervously and Kellie nodded.

  “I understand. Anyway...” She gestured toward the fields. “Philander Sutton was one of the smart settlers, in that he recognized that the poor soil would better support cattle than agriculture. By 1895, he'd purchased parcels from dozens of other settlers who'd given up and returned to their home states. At one point, Philander owned over six square miles of land. Eventually, he sold all but his original stake, here where we stand.

  “When Philander died, my grandfather, Daniel Sutton, took over the ranch. In 1913, this red dirt spewed black gold and he became a millionaire overnight.” She pointed at the old ranch house she called home. “He built what was then considered a mansion, and raised a daughter and son. My father, Joshua, took an interest in Quarter Horses in the late seventies, and inherited the land when Grandfather Daniel died. The Sutton family has lived and worked here for over a hundred years.” She turned back to the group. “Heritage is a precious commodity, and urban sprawl is threatening historic lands such as this. In twenty years, you might not be able to roam this beautiful country or absorb the echoes of the past-”

  “Kinda puts you in the Indians' moccasins, huh?”

  Kellie gazed at the professor, knowing she had no appropriate response.

  She broke eye contact with him and continued. “As you spend the weekend in town, be sure to look at the wonderful architecture. Guthrie is the largest contiguous historic district in the United States, containing over two thousand buildings, many of them meticulously restored.

  “Thank you for visiting the historic Sutton Ranch. If you have any questions, I'll be happy to answer them.”

  The sun had taken its toll on the visitors and most of them mumbled their thanks as they moved quickly toward the air-conditioned bus. Kellie's heart sank as the college professor approached her.

  “Ms. Sutton, I'd like to learn a little more about your great-grandfather.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  The man's features hardened a little. “I'm sure you're aware that most of the federal marshals illegally grabbed all the best land before the opening gunshot...How do you feel about that?”

  Stay calm. Kellie composed her features into what she hoped was a condescending look.

  “Sir, for all the speculation about who jumped the gun, the majority of claims were accepted as fair. With thousands of people swarming over the area, who could possibly have proven otherwise?”

  The professor smiled. “And at this point, who cares-right?”

  ~ ~

  By mid-afternoon, Kellie was losing the battle to keep her anguish at bay. For a while, work details had consumed her brain, filling every moment with ordinary thoughts and activities. Organizing the next ranch tour. Finalizing her speech for the opening ceremonies. Getting Belle shod for parade duty. Then the workday ended and the steel jaws of grief snapped at her again. This was only a bad dream-she'd wake up and find Dancer nosing through the hay. Sorrow and loneliness pressed into her, the memories almost more than she could bear. What would her dad have done in all this? Right up until the end, he'd always had the right answers.

  Suddenly, she felt as though she had to get out of there or she'd explode. She hurried out to her truck and, moments later, took a deep breath as she turned onto the highway. Letting her brain absorb the soft browns and yellows of the fields falling away on both sides of the road, she funneled her thoughts to happier times. There had been happier times, though they were buried behind the sharper edges of tragedy. She'd dig them out and let them temper her sadness.

  Farther up the road, her optimism faltered. The new construction site was no longer a mass of shifting mounds of red dirt. Foundation blocks in geometric designs mapped out a series of structures that would soon have walls and roofs. The speed at which the development was progressing was hard to believe. How soon would the newly sold farm next to her own be transformed?

  Twenty minutes later, she drove between the stone pillars marking the entrance to Summit View Cemetery. She stopped, letting the peaceful quiet of the setting wash over her, stilling all the prickles of irritation and disappointment. Lush green grass wandered between elaborate headstones, their polished marble surfaces reflecting the light. Mature trees shaded the road and cast silhouettes against the bright sky. Kellie eased the truck forward and wound slowly along the lane toward the back of the cemetery, admiring the contrast of salmon pink quince and bright yellow forsythia against the myriad shades of green. She pulled over and parked, then sat for a moment, gazing at the Sutton family plot. She hadn't been there in a long time, and apology crept into her thoughts. She'd neglected many things in her quest to be the biggest and the best, and now someone had knocked her down to size and brought her back to her senses. So many things needed reconsideration. She left the truck and stepped through the iron gate surrounding the Sutton graves.

  She stopped to gaze at a large red marble headstone with a bucking bronco and cowboy carved into the polished surface. “Randy Sutton. Always a Champ.” She ran her fingers lightly over the stone, thinking back to the day of the funeral and wondering if she'd ever know what happened to Jethrow. Shaking off the unhappy thoughts, she moved toward the rear center of the plot where a simple granite obelisk towered over the other headstones. Kellie had read the inscription many times during her life, and could recite it from memory. “Philander Sutton. A Man With a Vision. Born 1859 - Died 1909”. What would he think of Guthrie now? He'd been a forward thinking man who relished growth and prosperity, but would he have welcomed the big-city folk with open arms?

  Philander's only son, Daniel, lay buried at the base of his father's monument, and Daniel's son, Joshua, rested beside the obelisk. Kellie dropped to one knee and brushed some dry grass clippings from the base of her father's marble headstone. The family plot was well cared for and she wondered briefly if Roy still made the weekly trip to trim the grass around the grave markers and fence. Shame crept into the thought-it should be her. She cared so much about preserving the land, but couldn't seem to make time in her busy schedule to care for her departed loved ones.

  Without warning, her brain flashed an image of a backhoe and Dancer's lifeless body tumbling into a huge hole. Pain slammed her back into reality and she sank to the ground in a fresh torrent of tears.

  “Kellie?”

  The familiar soft drawl whispered through the stillness.

  She scrambled to her feet, swiping the tears from her face and chin, a barrage of emotions rolling over her at the sight of the one person she needed most right then.

  Her voice squeaked. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Came by to visit Dad's grave...” Ed touched her arm, sympathy clouding his beautiful eyes. “I saw Doctor Browning earlier...I'm so sorry.”

  The full impact of what she'd given up so many years ago hit her hard. She began to sob again, her grief spanning a lifetime.

  Ed pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him. His badge bit through her blouse, but the emotional intensity of the embrace dulled the pinch. She sank against him, her body aching for a long lost passion, her mind closed to everything but the man she'd always loved.

  “I'll get whoever did this, Kellie. I promise.”

  She choked back a sob and pressed her face into the smooth fabric of his shirt, inhaling the heady scent of safety. His heart thumped steadily against her ear, and more memories rose to claim her as he stroked her h
air and kissed the top of her head.

  Her turbulent emotions rose to a boil and she lifted her chin to gaze at him, examine the intricate mosaic shading in his gray eyes, the small white z-shaped scar on his chin, the lips that had always driven her crazy with their softness. The face was familiar, but now mature and bearing signs of a life she knew nothing about.

  Her voice broke. “Eddie, we never even had a chance. What happened?”

  Pain hovered behind his words. “More than I could have imagined.”

  “I wrote to you every week. You never answered.”

  “But I read your letters 'til they disintegrated.”

  She caressed his cheek, absorbing the warmth and texture, waiting to hear what his eyes were saying.

  He broke eye contact and his voice grew husky as he released her. “I can't talk about this right now, but I promise we will.”

  A million questions whirled through her brain as she watched him walk down the cemetery lane toward his car. Would all the answers fall into place for them? Could she help fit the pieces together, or would her inborn resistance to change trip her up again? She rubbed her shoulders where his arms had been, the sensation of the embrace still singing through her body. For the first time in years, she felt a ripple of joy and optimism in her heart. It was up to her to change the course of her destiny.

  Chapter 10

  Ed unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped into the small living room, a whitewater surge of emotions and memories rushing through his head. Kellie in his arms had sent his world-weary brain into teenage overdrive. The scent of her hair, her body pressed against his, trembling with grief, seeking his protection, if only for the moment. The years melted and she was his again-his alone, with an entire lifetime to savor every moment of their love. He sat on the side of the bed and stared at the carpet. He had less than two months to find out if she'd disappoint him again.

  The small white phone vibrated against his chest and he tucked Kellie into a private part of his brain.

  “Hello Chief, I was about to call you. I spotted Hermano in town again this morning. He was at the title office, then I tailed him out to a big new development west of town. He seemed pretty cozy with a couple of the workers.”

  “Let me know if you see him around there again. I might need to send in one of our Hispanic agents to get near him.” Some papers rustled on the other end of the line. “We have a new twist in Okee City. Seems Columbian drug lord Estevan Rodriguez has set up headquarters at Remington Park. Perfect cover-the place is teeming with Mexicans and money. I'll have the agent in charge down there bring you up to speed. I think we're getting close.”

  Ed nodded thoughtfully, trying to piece together the connections between Frank's race activities and his apparent association with Hermano. How would racing tie in with real estate? Ed squinted at a spot on the carpet. Had Frank received part of the Sutton land in the divorce settlement? Maybe land with a lot of strings attached? Land worth a lot of money to the developers? Enough money to destroy Kellie's business so she'd sell out?

  “Ed? Commissioner McBee tells me you have a high visibility crisis going on down there. Anything I need to know?”

  “Nope. I can handle it.”

  Tossing the phone onto the bed, he exhaled sharply. “Crap. How did this get so complicated?”

  He shook his head and toed out of his black trooper boots. “I should have busted Frazier in the chops.”

  No, that would have taken the situation to personal. Can't let anything jeopardize shutting down these scumbags.

  He donned faded jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, then pulled on a pair of scuffed brown western boots. He looked around at the unassuming quarters he'd called home for the past four months. A vivid contrast to his upscale condo in DC's Germantown.

  He picked up the bedroom phone. “Campbell here. Did Frank Frazier's polygraph come in this afternoon?”

  “Yeah, but the guy said he wanted to talk to you about it. I told him you'd be in tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Tell Deputy Stearns to go out to the Rocking S and stick close to Kellie Sutton. She's being stalked and I promised her some protection.”

  An hour later, Ed cruised through the mass of cars at Remington Park race track. Every imaginable make, color, and style of vehicle produced a sparkling art deco pattern in the early evening sun. The array covered the gamut from faded broken down pick-up trucks to tenderly cherished vehicles costing many thousands of dollars. Horse racing-everyman's game. Eventually, he spotted the black HumVee parked inside a gated area marked “Owners Only”.

  ~ ~

  Frank leaned both elbows on the table, and ran his finger through the condensation on the beer bottle in front of him. Loud voices, laughter, and the clamor of televised races filled the dim smoky bar, and he retreated into his thoughts. He needed some time to figure out what to do about the situation at the ranch. The newspaper editor was a loose cannon, and Frank could do nothing to keep the details of Dancer's death off the front page. Kellie's devastated face crowded into his thoughts and a small trickle of remorse found its way into his head. Under normal circumstances, he should have comforted her, shared her grief. But nothing had been normal for them, not even in the beginning. And though he'd never admit it to anyone, he had no one to blame but himself.

  He rubbed his arm where the blood pressure cuff had squeezed. Fuckin' sheriff, all full of himself, struttin' around town like he owned the place, making a big splash to impress Kellie. How could Campbell think he, Frank, would destroy perfectly good horses? And for what reason? Dancer had been the biggest moneymaker on the ranch. Frank thought hard, trying to remember how much semen they'd collected and frozen over the winter. The gravy train would come to an end eventually, but now that the stallion was gone, Frank could raise the stud fees for the horse's valuable genes.

  Another surge of anger bristled over his skin. Kellie had no business treating him like the hired help. He'd kept the ranch finances in the black for years. She could at least show some gr-

  A short dark skinned man slid into the opposite seat. “Frazier, there's a problem. Boss wants to see you.”

  “What problem? The horse is jacked up real good. He'll win.”

  “I wouldn't keep the man waiting, if I were you.”

  Son-of-a-bitch. I know exactly where this is headed. Frank rose, threw a dollar on the table, and followed the groom. The afternoon races were in full swing, and throngs of bettors crowded up to the windows and filled the passageways to the grandstands. The concrete floor was sticky with spilled soda and beer, and littered with popcorn and discarded tickets. He usually enjoyed the ambience, but now it seemed depressing, shadowed by the prospect of a conversation with the man in charge of his financial future.

  Frank followed the groom through a door at the end of the public area and descended a flight of iron stairs. At the bottom, the messenger turned left and they passed a dark red fire door guarded by a thuggish looking man with a rifle. At the end of the hall, Frank rapped twice on another fire door, then entered a small dim office.

  He stepped up to a gray metal desk, face to face with Estevan Rodriguez. The Colombian scowled, accentuating the deep acne scars that peppered his cheeks.

  “Why are you all over the newspapers?”

  “I didn't know that was going to happen. My ex-wife went off the deep end and the story got out before I could stop it.”

  “My people say your property is crawling with cops. Is this so?”

  Frank nodded numbly, and Rodriguez rose from behind the desk, malice thickening his accent.

  “You fix it. Understand?”

  “I don't know what I can do-”

  “Figure it out. Every day we are out of operation costs hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  Frank swallowed hard. He was a mere pawn in something so big and so sinister that he had no control over his fate.

  The Colombian's smile was little more than a grimace. “I see that your beautiful daughter and her pinto pony wi
ll be part of the celebration this weekend. What a shame if it would be spoiled by an unfortunate accident.”

  ~ ~

  Ed pulled his baseball cap down over his forehead and slipped on a pair of dark glasses as he strode toward the entrance to the wagering area. The temperature was still warm, and the gun in his waistband stuck to the skin at the small of his back. Inside, he stopped and pulled the glasses down to let his eyes adjust. Signs indicated the direction of the barns, the clubhouse, the bar, the restrooms, and the restaurant. He pondered for a moment whether to try to locate Frank at the barns. Too risky. He'd stay here where the crowds would provide good cover.

  Just then, Frank and a short Hispanic man with a limp emerged from the bar, and Ed shrank back against a pillar. The two men walked toward the end of the concourse and Ed followed, moving with groups of people who milled about, waiting for the next race to begin. Frank's companion opened an unmarked door and the two of them disappeared. Ed waited a few moments, then followed. The door led to a flight of stairs, and he heard footsteps echoing somewhere ahead of him, then a door closed with a thud. At the bottom of the stairs, he rounded the corner and came up short, face-to-face with an armed guard who looked like something out of a 30's mob movie.

  “You don't belong down here.”

  Ed affected a silly grin. “I'm lookin' for the crapper.”

  The man's stony expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened visibly around the barrel of the rifle. “Upstairs.”

  Ed kept his eyes on the guard and backed toward the stairs. “Uh, sorry. Thanks.”

  In his peripheral vision, a door opened at the end of the long hallway, and Frank emerged alone. Ed hurried up the steps and strode down the concourse toward the safety of the crowds. If he had to bet on anything, it would be that Frank and Estevan Rodriguez were doing business.

  ~ ~

  The heavy fire door closed with a thump behind Frank and he strode down the passageway toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. Bile rose in his throat. Goddamned Spic! I oughta break his ugly neck! Grabbing the handrail, he took the stairs two at a time, and pushed through the door to the main level. The odor of stale popcorn and cigarette smoke hit him in the face, and he exhaled sharply. He looked up at the large clock over the entrance to the track, then glanced around and caught sight of Celeste. She walked toward him in sexy open toed high heels, her curves moving seductively under the soft folds of a peach colored dress. Her blonde curls were caught back in a chiffon scarf, and her dazzling smile immediately took the edge off his anger. She made him feel good because she always cared about what was going on in his life. Kellie had never made that effort-the specter of Ed Campbell had always been between them.