Something Most Deadly

by Ann Self

Brian’s eye was caught by the weather service showing on Sam’s monitor, and he drifted over to it. “Think that hurricane will hit the North Carolina coast? We just broke ground on a new resort there.”

  Sam gave him an uh-oh look. “Better batten down the hatches.”

  “Great,” Brian scowled at the screen. He straightened and took a heavy breath. His eyes traveled out the rain-splattered window to Sam’s truck parked against the South wing. Sam followed his gaze.

  “Is Miss Husted around?” Brian suddenly questioned him.

  Sam seated himself behind the desk. “Ah...yes. I just gave her my old typewriter to cart up to her room. Take that metal staircase out there,” he pointed out the door, “turn right at the top and go down to the third door on the left.”

  “Thanks,” Brian said.

  Sam leaned back in the groaning swivel-chair, twiddling a pen and watching Brian leave his office. Then he stood up and looked out the window, gazing at his new truck through the heavy rain.

  Jane was backed into a corner between her bed and the wall with no place to go. “Damn you Owen, get away from me!” She tried to duck by him and run, but he grabbed her and threw her back against the wall like a slingshot. Her head took a blow from the slanted ceiling, and her shoulder screamed in pain. She cried out, and he slapped her hard, making her gasp at the stinging slap. “Scream again, and it’ll be a fist!”

  “Get out of here! Get out of my room!” She yelled in defiance, and he slapped her again, making her bite her lip. Then he spied her Dressage whip where she had left it laying across the dormer window-sill. He snatched it up with a nasty smile. “Well, this is perfect,” he said, hefting and savoring the leather whip, slapping his palm. “Poetic justice. Let’s say we make some nice little whip marks on that pretty face—see how you like walking around the barn with a big X across it. Good for at least two weeks of embarrassment, even with makeup.”

  She gasped and tried to shield her face, but he yanked her arm away as he prepared to swing at her. The door banged open, crashing against the wall and they both turned to see Brian standing in it, his six-foot-three body filling the frame and his face dark with anger. Owen backed away, the blood draining from his face. His mouth hung open in a frozen expression and he quickly lowered the whip arm behind his body—as if Brian would forget that he had it if it was out of sight.

  Brian looked at the reddening handprints on Jane’s face, her bloody lip and angry tears, and he advanced slowly across the room. “Is this a hobby of yours? Beating women? Where do you get off being so goddamn abusive?!”

  “No! I...I...she...”

  Jane thought Owen was actually going to whine that she’d hit him first.

  Owen started looking for an escape route. This wasn’t at all the way he liked things, the balance of power was tipping way out of his favor. Brian crossed the room like a stalking lion, glowering down into Owen’s face. He grabbed a handful of shirt, gold chain and chest hairs and twisted. “Hand over that whip you moron. You won’t be using it anytime soon.”

  “Sure.” Owen tossed it in a quick, jerky motion and it landed on the bed. Brian smiled a nasty grin. He shoved Owen back, releasing the shirt. Then he turned his back on him and reached for the whip. Owen made a dash for the door—not even close to fast enough. Brian turned with lightening speed and golfed Owen full in the face with the whip. It hit him with such force that he spun like a top, crashed against a chair of Teddy bears and fell to the floor howling. He scrabbled to get to his feet and Brian hit him again in the opposite direction, hard enough to knock him backwards, and finishing a red crisscross on his face.

  “There’s your X,” he growled. Owen screamed and charged at Brian, his ferocious temper over-riding sense, and Brian took a final swipe straight across his upper lip, making him shriek and trip over the typewriter—fracturing his right arm in the process. The crack was audible. Owen howled like a banshee, as he clutched his arm and staggered to his feet, cowering at the sight of Brian.

  “Get out!” Brian roared at him. Owen stumbled for the door and raced through it.

  Jane ran after him. “Good luck in Florida,” she screamed, slamming the door so hard the frame splintered. Too late she remembered that she was shutting herself in with Brian. She turned to see an amused glint in his eye. It vanished when he looked again at the swollen lip and red handprint on her face.

  “Old boyfriend?” he asked. She looked offended and her eyes flashed with anger as they locked on his face, making him wish he’d come up with a better start to the conversation. He also felt a little stunned under her direct scrutiny.

  “If he were the last man on earth, he would not be my boyfriend,” she answered him coolly. “I hit him with the whip when he tried to force himself on me—so this was payback. He’s always after me, no matter how hard I try to get rid of him.”

  Brian frowned. “Was that fop responsible for your arm being in a sling? If he was, I think I’ll break both his legs too...”

  “No—no, I got struck by a horse’s hoof. It was a strange horse, not one of ours. Had a slight mental problem.”

  “Seems to be running rampant here.” Brian looked at her shoulder, and she realized she was clutching it. She dropped her hand.

  “I hope that idiot didn’t re-injure it.”

  “No. It’s a little sore, but it’ll be fine.” She stood staring squarely at him, not looking away, not trying to hide her eyes. He was mesmerized.

  Loud rapping on her door broke the spell and Jane opened the door to Sam. “Jane, what happened, are you all right? Who beat up Owen? I heard screaming and I ran out of my office to see him rolling down the staircase unconscious. Oh...Brian, is that your work? Good job. Okay—I can die happy now,” Sam exclaimed as he backed out quickly. “Excuse me, I guess I’ll just go make sure Owen doesn’t expire on the barn floor down there...” Sam left them, and Jane and Brian went back to staring at each other.

  Brian noticed Jane’s eyes were an incredible topaz blue—reminding him of a Caribbean Sea—or sky—he wasn’t sure which, and they were fringed with long smoky lashes. Before today, he wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what color her eyes were. It was not lost on him that they were still smoldering with anger.

  “Ah, look...” he began, “I know things are in an upheaval here...”

  Jane guessed Brian knew she’d been fired, and God knew what else Elliot had told him, not to mention his own detective’s information.

  “Well, if they are, I won’t be here to see much of it. I’ll be moving out next week.” Her voice sounded stiff and stilted to her own ears.

  “Where are you going? Olivia...will miss you,” he said as he righted the chair that Owen had knocked over, re-stacking her teddy bears on it.

  “When I get settled in a new job, I’ll be sure and get in touch.” She remained next to the open door.

  “Will you be at the show next week?” He arranged a bean bag teddy on top of the stack, hooking one of his bear arms over the back of the chair, and crossing his legs in a jaunty pose. She watched him transfixed; the sight of Brian Canaday arranging teddy bears in her room was almost surreal.

  “I...don’t know—possibly if Elliot wants me to ride. Lucinda fractured a bone in her ankle, so she can’t demonstrate Charmante.”

  He shook his head. “Amazing number of accidents around this place. Not to mention outright assaults and homicides.” Brian looked around at her room, taking measure, and Jane knew her living arrangements had to be slightly shocking to someone of his wealth. He looked down and nudged the mangled typewriter with his foot. “I think this has seen its last letter.” He hefted the thing up to examine it. “Yup, it’s on life support now. Want me to bring it back to Sam?” Jane looked dazed and Brian suddenly felt like a trespasser in her room, so he stepped past her and out the doorway.

  “Thank you for helping me.” She made a stab at civility.

  “Anytime. Are you sure you’ll be okay? You should put a cold compress on that lip.”

>   “I’ll be fine.” Damn if I didn’t say fine again.

  This time he was unfazed by her icy reserve. “We’ll be looking for you at the show.” He juggled the typewriter to one hand, pulled a skewed tie out of the way, and dug in his shirt pocket and handed her a business card. “So you can reach me when you’re settled in a new place.” He left and she closed the door.

  She read the card that included the Boston address, phone, fax, email and home numbers. She placed it on her dresser and went into the bathroom to repair the damage. Jane wrung out a cold wet rag and looked into the mirror. She hadn’t realized the collar had separated from her shirt, and her bra-strap and her shoulder with all its colorful bruises was visible in the gap.

  “Well, that’s special!” she complained to the mirror. “I hardly know the man, and he’s now seen all my underwear...” Her eyes were slightly red rimmed, both cheeks had angry welts, and her lower lip was slightly swollen. The fact that the other guy looked much worse didn’t help, and silvered tears started to overflow the lids. She mopped her face gently with the cold wash rag—wincing when she touched her lip—and straightened a lopsided ponytail.

  After the hasty repairs, she went to her dormer window, still holding a cold rag to her face, and gazed down through the heavy rain to the yard. Sam’s truck backed out of its space, and sped down the drive, splashing a small rooster tail of water. The truck suddenly came to an abrupt halt, as a sodden Brian Canaday stalked into her view through the rain, and approached the front of the vehicle. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked around to the driver’s side and yanked open the door. The rain was beating so hard on the windshield that she couldn’t see inside, even with the wipers plowing water at full speed. Jane wondered what in heck Brian was saying to Sam. She stayed in place, unmoving, fascinated by the little drama unfolding below her.

  If one could die from curiosity, she’d be a gonner.

  ELEVEN

  Monday morning. The clock-radio read 9:30 AM. Jane awoke, rolled over, looked at the time, and rolled back.

  I’m too depressed to actually get out of bed.

  The dormer windows were wide open, birds were singing an opera to morning, but there wasn’t a hint of brisk cool chill or the slightest air movement. Monday was going to be yet another stifling hot day. The weathermen in her little TV on top of the refrigerator complained that the east coast was now in a “holding” pattern, and they saw no relief in sight.

  Covers up to her nose, despite the warm morning, she stared out the open screens watching birds fly by. She wondered if anyone would care if she didn’t get out of bed at all—or if she even had a reason to get out of bed. Sam, Reggie, Lars and Dylan still had jobs to work at, they were extra busy getting ready for the weekend show. She didn’t want to follow them around like a useless fifth wheel.

  Jane decided she could probably stay right where she was until bedtime and no one would notice. She could probably die up there in her turret and no one would find her for three days. Madeline had flown off Friday morning for her weekend neuroscience seminar—before she could hear about Jane’s run-in with Owen—so she wasn’t around to be a sympathetic ear. She glanced at the ruined wires Gladys had left behind. No phone to call with anyway. Jane expected Madeline to be flying back into Boston sometime that morning. She sighed again. There were no lessons for her to give, and no one was clamoring to have her train their horses. Boarders, students and parents barely said hello to her; when they didn’t duck out of sight altogether.

  I’m tainted, disgraced, and thoroughly alone, she groused in her mind. Jane decided it would probably be a good idea to pack up and get to Madeline’s condo right away. No use prolonging things and wallowing in misery. No use further exposing herself to the danger that still might be lurking. As that thought entered her head, her eyes shot sideways to her paneled wood door to check the bolt. It was still firmly in lock position.

  She had hoped, as Sam said, that Elliot would ask her to ride Charmante in the show on Sunday—but so far she’d heard nothing from him. No one was seeking her out for anything. Most likely the “elegant” Ashley would get the job after all, to spare the family the embarrassment of using tainted stable help. The time needed to practice was dwindling away. My moment to leave the barn has arrived, she thought. I’ve been ignoring the obvious—I need to move on. She looked again at the digital display on her clock. Now it was 9:35 AM—a whole five minutes had gone by. She flopped the covers off, the heat in her small room finally getting to her. She never did get that fan. Not going to need it anyway.

  Jane sat up and rubbed some life into her stiff shoulder. It was much improved but still took longer to wake up than the rest of her body. She glanced at the open cardboard boxes spread around the plank floor—boxes she’d pulled out from the closet under the eaves and partially packed over the weekend. Four boxes that held most all her belongings, except for riding equipment and the collection of Teddy bears. Dozens of plastic eyes stared at her from the stack of plush bears piled on a chair, as if to ask what now?

  “Finish packing, that’s what,” she yelled to the bears while slapping her feet on the rough pine floorboards. “And then I’m going to use Sam’s phone and call Madeline and tell her I’m on my way! Enough is enough...I’m done with this place,” she informed the stuffed audience as she stood up and stretched, ready to move on with her life, giving herself a mental kick in the rear.

  Sharp rapping on her door made her jump. Slipping on a heavy terry robe, she ran to stand against the closed door, her heart pounding.

  “Yes? Who is it?”

  “It’s Elliot, Jane! Open the door,” he puffed, breathless from the steep climb.

  Grand Pooh Bah! Banging on her door, instead of the usual office summons. She could hear the anxious rattling of change and keys.

  “Jane?” More pounding.

  “I just got up, Mr. Whitbeck,” she answered, nervously raking fingers through her wild hair. She hoped he would be polite and come back later, but when was Elliot ever polite?

  “Jane! This is important. I need to speak to you now—I can’t hang around waiting just because you decide to sleep all day...” He had the temerity to shove against the door and yank at her doorknob, trying to charge through without waiting for her to admit him. If it weren’t for the heavy bolt, he would’ve pushed the door into her face. He did own the door, after all, and her room and every stick of the barn. Or did it belong to the bank?

  She realized Elliot had probably been pacing around the ground floor waiting for her to get up and working himself into a snit. Someone did notice after all that she hadn’t gotten out of bed, and wouldn’t it have to be him! Jane sighed, wrapped the robe tighter, brushed her hair back over her shoulders, then unbolted and opened the door. Whitbeck’s eyes flashed impatiently over her as he charged through without invitation, pushing “his” door out of her hands and shoving it wide against the wall—to show clearly that this door would stay open when he wanted it open. There were no boundaries for the Grand Poo Bah.

  He was wearing a gray woven-silk suit over a powder blue shirt, and his spicy cologne quickly overpowered the cramped space. He looked around as if he expected to see someone, catching his breath and allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the seediness of the tiny one-room apartment.

  “I thought I heard voices..?”

  “Oh, just me ranting and raving.”

  He looked askance at her, as if she’d lost her marbles, then wiped that expression away since it didn’t serve his purpose. His face became smooth and friendly, with just a tell-tale flush of color from the unaccustomed challenge of the steep staircase. He reached inside the satin lining of his suit coat to retrieve a business-sized envelope; cream colored with the Springhill Stables logo stamped on the outside in raised gold. “Your severance pay,” he explained, still puffing.

  She wondered if it would bounce.

  “And let me apologize if my mother-in-law was a little harsh when she dismissed you. We really had lit
tle choice in the matter. You seem to have a way of getting under her skin.”

  “Yes, that’s quite obvious.”

  Elliot was taken aback at the sarcasm. He was unaware that Jane knew more of his financial troubles than he did himself. He eyed her crossly for a moment to emphasize her state of disarray; thus leveling her and subtly leaving a question hanging in the air about her worthiness for any job. Then he walked to the window, allowing himself time for his breathing to recover. She heard the swish of fine material as he moved aside the suit-jacket to return his hands to his pockets.

  Did these people never sweat in those fine clothes? she wondered. Maybe it was because they spent so much time in air-conditioned vehicles, homes and offices that it lowered their core body temperature enough for them to step into unmanaged air for a limited amount of time without perspiring. Dodging the sweatiness of poverty.

  “Now...” Elliot began as he casually walked around looking out the windows, his pale blue eyes sharply picking over the line of cars and trailers parked against the south wing, checking for any rule-infraction that might be visible. “I have something of the utmost importance to ask of you. It’s going to mean a great deal to this estate and the future of Trakehners here. Not to mention to Cecily and myself.” He watched her closely, but her expression was flat and he found this disconcerting. Sam had almost the same expression lately and it worried him. He continued: “What with the accident to Lucinda, well it has put us in a terrible situation...her ankle won’t tolerate a riding boot.”

  Jane pictured Travis hanging by his thumbs from the rafters.

  “Lucinda’s injury was quite a blow to us, she was coming along quite well, making a lot of progress. Sunday’s exhibition was going to be of the greatest importance to my future plans.”

  No kidding.

  “I see,” she answered out loud.

  Elliot drew in a breath, smoothed a muted-blue tie with tiny gray diamonds and buttoned the crisply cut suit; shrugging his shoulders as if he was mentally already on his way out of the scruffy apartment. “I have several important business friends, some show business people and a few politicians attending. Many of these people may be interested in getting involved in an extensive breeding operation—if they are impressed with the show. You see how important Sunday is?” He raised his thin gray eyebrows at her.