Horse of a Different Killer

by Laura Morrigan

  “Can I help you?”

  A young woman, maybe a couple years my junior, stepped out of one of the stalls to my right. She wore riding breeches, boots, and a pale blue polo sweater. Her long auburn hair was secured in a braid that fell over one shoulder.

  “I’m looking for Lily Earl,” I said.

  A smile lit her face, showcasing dimples.

  “I imagine she’s in the office flirting with my daddy. Come on, I’ll take you.”

  We walked past several horses: a palomino, a lovely bay, and a chestnut.

  No Friesians.

  “Are these all walking horses?”

  “That’s all we have. My name’s Bonnie, by the way.”

  “Grace.”

  “Nice to meet you. Here we go,” she said, heading up a trio of steps leading to a door. “They’re probably in the kitchen pretending to be more interested in coffee than one another.”

  She pushed the door open with a wink and called, “Daddy! Someone’s here to see Lily Earl.”

  We walked into what looked more like a formal study in a manor house than an office attached to a barn.

  Bonnie led me through to a kitchen bigger than many I’d seen on my recent house hunting adventures.

  A man and woman stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, each leaning on their elbows toward the other and cradling coffee cups in their hands.

  The man straightened and turned toward us as we entered and I saw the second reason Lily Earl would be excited to visit The Oaks.

  “Daddy, this is Grace. Grace, this is my father, Sean Breen.”

  “Mr. Breen,” I offered my hand.

  “Sean,” he amended as we shook.

  I turned my attention to Lily Earl, who looked at me with what seemed like equal parts curiosity and annoyance.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I was hoping to ask Lily Earl a couple of questions about a horse she delivered to R-n-R stables about a week ago.”

  “The Friesian,” she said and, seeing my surprise, added, “Hunter told me someone was asking. And it’s the only horse I’ve delivered lately where something strange happened.”

  “Let’s start with the something strange,” I said.

  “This sounds like a story that calls for coffee,” Bonnie said and began making two more cups.

  “Well,” Lily Earl began, “right off, I noticed there was a car following behind me. Which isn’t that unusual. People sometimes drive along with their horses. But when I stopped to gas up I noticed these two guys poking around the trailer. It was almost like they were trying to get inside. Of course, I asked them what they were up to and they claimed to be checking on a friend’s horse. It’s just . . . they weren’t horse people.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You could just tell. When I walked up, one guy was making a comment about how filthy horses are. And he had a weird accent. Thick. I don’t know—Greek, maybe.”

  “And the other guy?” I asked.

  “He was just too”—she paused to summon the right word—“spiffy.”

  “Spiffy?” I repeated, trying to picture what she meant.

  “Like he was wearing a suit?” Bonnie asked.

  “Not a suit with a tie. A sports coat and slacks. But it was his shoes that I remember. They were shiny as a chrome bumper.”

  Shiny. I thought about what Minerva had said about the shiny bells. This could be a fit.

  “Do you remember what kind of car they were driving?”

  “It wasn’t a truck or anything. Just a regular car. Dark. Black or dark blue, maybe.”

  The dark sedan?

  “Was there anything else you remember about the men?”

  “One of them had a couple tattoos, couldn’t say what they were of, though. There was something else a little weird, not about the men.”

  I waited.

  “Dr. Simon showed up just as Boomer was taking the horse into the stables. She seemed, I don’t know, anxious to check him out.”

  Both Bonnie and Sean looked surprised at that.

  “What?” I asked, glancing around the group.

  “Dr. Simon, well, she sits a wee bit high on her horse.”

  “He means she’s snooty,” Bonnie translated.

  “She doesn’t do checkups,” Lily Earl added. “Or get dirty.”

  “I thought you said she was a vet.” Staying clean, especially in a rural area, would be a challenge.

  “She doesn’t act like one,” Bonnie said.

  “Struts around acting important, mostly,” her father added.

  I looked around at each of them in turn. Stop the presses. Could it be? Had I finally found a clue?

  “Do you know where her office is? Does she have a practice?”

  “As far as I know she works out of her home,” Sean said.

  “Do you have an address?”

  “Just a phone number. She only just moved here a couple of months ago,” Sean said, pulling a phone out of his breast pocket. He found the number and recited it to me. “Right now, the closest cell tower’s down. I’m not sure you’ll reach her.”

  “Boomer would know her address,” Lily Earl said.

  Boomer again.

  Dang it, it was looking like I was going to make another attempt to talk to the man.

  “Do you have Boomer’s number?” I remembered seeing it on the sign advertising eggs, but hadn’t written it down.

  Sean found it and gave it to me, then said, “It’s his home number. He’s there most evenings.”

  “You could just go by,” Bonnie suggested. “He lives right next to R-n-R.”

  “Hunter told me you work for the Friesian’s owner?” Lily Earl asked.

  “Yes, she’s offering a reward for Heart’s return.”

  “Heart?”

  “The horse.” I felt a flutter of apprehension. Was I tracking the wrong Friesian? “Didn’t you see his name when you made the delivery?”

  “The paperwork only lists their registered name.”

  I did a mental head-slap. “Right, and a lot of horses are called something else. Nicknames.”

  She nodded. “I can’t exactly ask them to tell me, can I?”

  “No, that would be crazy.”

  I relaxed and made a mental note to ask Jasmine for Heart’s registered name, which was something I should have already thought to do. “Actually, do you still have that paperwork?” This could be what I needed to get Boyle to take the case seriously.

  “I might still have my copy in the truck. What day did you say it was?”

  “I’m not really sure. Probably around a week ago.”

  She looked thoughtful. “I turn in my paperwork at the end of each month, so I should have it.”

  Bonnie’s interest in the mystery seemed to have swayed Lily Earl to help and we all walked out to her vehicle together.

  “This is an impressive setup,” I told her as she went through her paperwork.

  “Thanks.” Lily Earl smiled. “She’s almost paid for.”

  Her smile faltered and she started flipping through the papers again. “This is weird. I don’t have anything about a Friesian anywhere. The paperwork is missing.”

  Lily Earl promised to try to get a copy of the missing paperwork but didn’t seem optimistic. Her contractor was old-school and didn’t use computers, which meant there was only one paper copy floating around somewhere.

  It was still early and I had time to go to R-n-R to try to catch Boomer and make nice. Before turning to leave I asked, “You haven’t seen a brown and white goat wandering around loose by any chance, have you?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Last week. On the road between here and R-n-R. Just walking right along the side of the road. I was g
oing too fast to stop without injuring the horses but I did turn off and circle around. By the time I made it back, she was gone.”

  She? “You knew it was Nelly?”

  Lily Earl nodded. “I stopped in at R-n-R and told Boomer. He lives pretty close by, so he said he’d look. I guess they still haven’t found her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out, then. For the Friesian, too.”

  I thanked her, gave her a business card, and headed to Bluebell. I’d just opened the door when Bonnie came running from the barn.

  “My dad found Dr. Simon’s address.” She held out piece of notepaper. “It’s not far.”

  She gave me directions that seemed simple enough, not that I’d been having much luck lately in that department.

  I handed Bonnie one of my cards. “If you think of something that might help.”

  “I’ll call. I hope you find him.”

  I nodded a thank-you, climbed into Bluebell, and headed down the drive.

  Was it terrible to admit I was relieved I wouldn’t have to talk to Boomer to get the vet’s address?

  Oh well.

  Actually, I kind of liked the guy. Thinking of the I DO MY OWN STUNTS bumper sticker made me smile. But I needed to save my limited people-pleasing skills for my talk with Kai and helping with the interview at Happy Asses.

  I paused before turning onto the road and checked my phone, both to see if any calls had come through and to determine if I had a signal. No to both, which meant I would have to track Dr. Simon down in person if I wanted to ask her about Heart.

  A quick check of the clock told me it I had a little over half an hour before having to head to Happy Asses, so I followed the directions Bonnie had given me. As I made the final turn into the neighborhood, I passed a parcel of land marked with a FOR SALE sign. I recognized the name on the sign. Farmstead Properties. Parnell had one of their brochures on his desk.

  Was that the reason he’d brushed me off? If he was looking to sell, he’d want to avoid any scandals.

  No one had mentioned R-n-R being on the market, but I hadn’t asked.

  The question would have to wait because, a moment later, I found myself in front of Dr. Simon’s house. The driveway was empty, but I wasn’t completely discouraged. Hoping her car was in the garage, I climbed out of Bluebell and started toward the house.

  I hadn’t made it more than a few steps before someone said, “If you’re looking for the doc, she ain’t home.”

  I turned to see a small, elderly woman standing on the opposite side of a hedge of rosebushes that lined the drive. She wore a vibrant orange University of Florida sweatshirt and matching pants. Her visor, too, displayed the school’s logo—a fierce alligator, mouth open to display a profusion of teeth.

  I wondered if the woman had ever been herping. The thought produced an involuntary chuckle.

  The woman narrowed her eyes.

  Apparently, laughing while looking at someone’s clothing is not the best icebreaker.

  For once, I knew what to say.

  “Go, Gators.”

  Her wrinkled cheeks gathered up in a smile. “Go, Gators,” she responded.

  And just like that, we were comrades.

  “You know Dr. Simon?” I asked.

  “I do,” said Gator Lady.

  “Do you know if she keeps regular hours?” The woman seemed the type who kept her eye on things like that.

  “She leaves in the morning, then sorta comes and goes, you know. The doc’s real busy.”

  Which meant I’d have to rely on luck if I wanted to catch her either at home or on the phone.

  I looked back at the house, wondering if I could leave her a note.

  “I hate to see her go,” the older woman said. “But, family’s family.”

  “Go?” I glanced at Gator Lady. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s moving back home. Said her momma was having health problems.”

  “But didn’t she just move in not long ago?”

  “Rented the place first part of September. Paid six months in advance.”

  “Are you the landlady?”

  “You think I’d let that Loropetalum get that leggy?” She pointed at a shrub with burgundy-purple leaves and several long, spindly shoots sprouting in all directions.

  I wasn’t much of a gardener, but shook my head in solidarity anyway. Gator Lady pointed out another problem planting—something even less pronounceable—and before she could get too carried away with the critique, I pointed to her roses.

  “I just noticed all these are orange. And you have hydrangeas, too.” They weren’t blooming this late, but the large, serrated leaves made the bush easy to identify. “I’m guessing they’re blue, to go with the orange roses?”

  “What other color would they be?”

  We shared a laugh, and I waved good-bye to my new friend, wishing everyone was so easy to connect with.

  Football, go figure.

  • • •

  The breezy morning had settled into a beautiful, sunny afternoon. The only clouds in the sky were wispy confections of white fluff which, thankfully, carried no threat of rain. Humidity was low, the temperature mild. I was no expert on filming news spots but conditions seemed to be pretty optimal.

  Someone had decorated by stacking bales of hay here and there. In the field between the gazebo and the donkey pen, a life-sized scarecrow, complete with overalls and a floppy, felt hat sprouted from the ground. At its base was a hand-painted sign welcoming visitors to the pumpkin patch. Two upright bundles of multicolored corn stood on either side and pumpkins dotted the grass.

  “Grace!”

  I turned toward the excited voice and smiled at the pretty teenage girl jogging toward me. Her high ponytail swung in tempo with her steps. She had dyed the ends of her dark hair a deep teal. The color flashed like a peacock feather in the bright sun.

  “Hey, Brooke. A pumpkin patch, huh?”

  “Isn’t it cool?”

  “Sure is.”

  “We give the cats pumpkins to play with every year around this time and Emma thought it would be cool to make it so people could come pick their own pumpkins and feed ’em them themselves.”

  “Feed who?”

  “The cats. Well, not all of them. Samson, he’s one of our caracals, doesn’t like them. And they don’t really eat the pumpkins.”

  “More like claw and shred?”

  “Pretty much. They love it! We’ll be doing a drawing for each cat, then the winner gets to come behind the fence with us.”

  “Not in the enclosures,” I said, alarmed at the thought.

  “No, just behind the people fence. Emma thought it would be a good way to bring in new visitors. If you don’t win the drawing you get to keep the pumpkin anyway. And there will be other stuff going on. Ozeal will have Jack-Jack out for the kids to pet and take pictures with.”

  Jack-Jack was an adorable mini-donkey. He was smart, friendly, and, aside from a few specific issues, well behaved.

  Thinking of him made me wander to the fence.

  The little donkey trotted over when he saw me, barking out a shrill, excited bray.

  “What’s he saying?” Brooke asked me.

  In a moment of insanity, I’d decided to tell Brooke the truth about my ability. So far, I hadn’t regretted it—much.

  “You don’t have to be telepathic to know,” I told her.

  “Come on, Grace.”

  I’d promised Brooke I would translate on occasion. In return, she’d promised not to tell anyone about my ability or talk about it in front of people.

  “He wants his Skittles.”

  Skittles! Jack-Jack confirmed as I pulled the small packet of candies out of my back pocket. Soon, the rest of the herd had gathered at the fence, all asking for their share.
When all the treats had been doled out, Jack-Jack made a soft sound.

  Grace! My name was infused with snapshots and thoughts blending together. A request to play a game interwoven with gratitude and suffused with a handful of Skittles.

  “Maybe in a little bit, buddy. I have to help with these shenanigans first,” I said, giving his soft velvety nose a quick rub.

  “What?” Brooke asked.

  “He wants to play tag.”

  “Tag?”

  “I’ll show you later.” I was far too conscious of the fact of a news crew’s presence to keep discussing Jack-Jack’s request.

  “So,” I said changing the subject, “how’s Josiah?”

  “Good. Mr. Reedy stays with him a lot.”

  “Oh?” I asked, thinking of Reedy’s five pit bulls. “Who takes care of his dogs?”

  “They stay with Josiah, too. In fact, one of them, Scarlett, even gets to sleep in the bed. She pretty much stays with him all the time.”

  I remembered the sweet, even-tempered dog.

  “His doctor says it helps to have an animal to take care of. Keeps him occupied and, you know, more focused.”

  I did know. Josiah’s head injury had affected his grip on reality. Having someone like Reedy, grumpy old coot that he was, keeping track of Josiah’s meds was essential. A therapy dog was icing on the cake.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I asked Brooke.

  “Better. She decided to go back to rehab, so I’m staying with my dad.”

  We rarely talked about her father. The less I knew about the crime boss’s life, the better. But I couldn’t help but ask, “And Logan?”

  She gave me an elaborate shrug. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Really?”

  Her eyes went wide with innocence. “What? I haven’t.”

  I knew Brooke viewed Logan as her guardian angel and would never think otherwise. Guardian? Yes. Angel? Not in a million years.

  “Even if I had seen Logan,” she said, “it’s not like the cops could catch him anyway.”

  I nodded, conceding the point. You don’t earn a nickname like the Ghost without good reason.

  “He called me last night.”

  “Shut up. Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “What did he want?”