“I should’ve known Oliver was capable of such of thing. He never really saw these guys”—Monica gave Bucephalus’s velvety nose a pat—“as living creatures who deserve as much respect and as many rights as we humans have. He always viewed them as property, as investments or tools to achieve his goals. Not that he was cruel, but he only took good care of them the way you’d maintain a valuable car. Not because you really love it, but because it’s worth something in dollars.”
“No emotional attachment, you mean,” I said.
“Going to keep a lookout, for Oliver as well as the authorities,” Richard told us as he jogged over to the entrance to the barn.
Monica met my inquiring gaze with a nod. “That’s what I always thought. Which makes sense and should’ve given me a clue. That lack of emotional connection to the horses who were so important to his life and career should’ve told me that he probably doesn’t have much of an emotional attachment to anything—or anyone.”
“You’re sure he colluded with Dr. Duran to kill the horses and cover it up?”
Monica sighed. “Sadly, yes. I tracked down someone who also used to be employed here. Not in the stables, but in the house. He worked as a personal assistant to Oliver, dealing with business matters. He disappeared without a word one day, which made me wonder if he had a secret reason for leaving.”
Maybe he was the one who disabled the security system before the art theft, I thought, deciding not to share this idea with Monica. I didn’t know the details about her relationship with this person or where her loyalties might lie. Better to wait and alert the authorities about it later. They could follow up with Monica and her unnamed acquaintance.
“Anyway, I got confirmation from this guy that Oliver had the horses killed so he could collect the insurance on them. Apparently he needed cash, and quickly, because he’d gotten entangled with some less than legal financial operation.”
“He owed money to loan sharks?” I asked, casting a quick glance toward Richard. He met my gaze and shook his head.
“That’s what I was told. He knew I wouldn’t go along with his plan, which is why he carried it out while I was on vacation.”
“And kept Dr. Smithy out of it too,” I said.
“Right. He made sure no one who’d be likely to expose him knew the truth.”
“Meredith must’ve found out somehow,” I muttered.
Monica shot me a sharp gaze. “It’s possible, I guess. She was around at the time, and she and Oliver never really got along.”
Just as I started to make a comment about Meredith possibly using such knowledge to blackmail Oliver, Richard dashed back to join us.
“Oliver is heading this way, and he’s toting a rifle now,” he said, his voice breaking on the last words. “No sign of the Sheriff’s Department yet. What do we do?”
Monica took an audible breath. “No place to hide in here, and the paddock outside is wide open. Only thing is maybe”—she stared back at Bucephalus—“we head into the stall with Ceph.”
“What?” I shared a panicked look with Richard. “Won’t we be like ducks in a barrel?”
Monica shook her head. “Ceph’s worth a mint. I don’t think Oliver would take the chance of hitting him.”
“He could easily herd us out and then shoot us.” Richard’s knuckles blanched as he tightened his grip on the hammer. “You two get inside. I’ll stay out here and try to ambush him.”
I clutched Richard’s other arm. “But he has a rifle. That’s different from a handgun. He can fire at you from some distance.”
“And he’s a great shot,” Monica said grimly.
“All right, but I’m keeping this close,” Richard said, hefting the hammer.
Monica carefully opened the stall door and stepped inside. Keeping a hold on Bucephalus’s halter, she motioned for Richard and me to join her.
I stared at the horse, who loomed over me. He looked massive and dangerous. My mouth went dry. One kick from those hooves, especially in such close quarters, could be deadly.
“Come on,” Richard said, pulling me into the stall. I huddled next to him as Monica closed the door.
“Stay away from his hindquarters,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Ceph’s not vicious, but horses are herd animals and have an innate memory of being prey. They’ll strike out at anything they can’t see, especially if it comes up behind them.”
Still gripping the halter, Monica guided us under the horse’s head, and around to his other side. With all three of us standing between Bucephalus and the back of the stall, we waited.
To his credit, Bucephalus remained remarkably calm, simply snorting once or twice as he turned his large head to gaze at us.
“Good boy,” I said softly.
Heavy footfalls clumped against the wooden planks in the barn’s open corridor. “I know you’re in here.” Oliver’s voice was eerily calm. “You might as well come out. I may spare you if you give yourselves up.”
Richard slipped his free arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
“There’s really no way out,” Oliver said.
Glancing at Monica, I mouthed, “Need to let him know the authorities are on the way,” before I called out, “Not for you anyway. We’ve called the Sheriff’s Department. They should be here any minute. Maybe you’d better leave us and try to flee.”
Oliver appeared at the stall door, leveling the rifle at us through the open metalwork. But when he saw Bucephalus, he pulled the gun back. “Very clever, using my horse as a shield.”
“Your horse? You don’t deserve him,” Monica snapped. “Not after what you did.”
“Still upset about those two dead beasts?” Oliver tsked. “Such a lot of bother over nothing.”
“Nothing?” Monica’s strangled cry made Bucephalus snort and paw at his bedding.
“They were my property. I needed the money. It was a necessary evil.” Oliver peered in at us. “Sorry it’s come to this, Amy. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Really?” I said, taking a gamble. “Is that why you followed me that day and tried to squish me between those shelves?”
“That was just a warning,” Oliver said, confirming my suspicion.
“And the vandalism to my aunt’s garden, along with the threatening text? Did you do that as well?” I asked as Richard’s grip on my shoulder tightened.
“Not personally. I outsourced that.” Oliver poked the gun barrel over the top of the stall door. “Now come out. I know Monica thinks Ceph is a proper shield, but trust me, I won’t hesitate to shoot him if you three don’t get out here.”
“So you can kill us?” Monica spat into the straw at her feet. “I don’t think so. We’ll wait until the authorities arrive.”
“I hear sirens, I shoot,” Oliver said, his voice sharp and cold as sleet.
Richard released his hold on me and inched closer to Bucephalus’s head. “I’ll come out. You can use me as a hostage, if you want.”
I opened my mouth but snapped it shut again when I realized that Richard was adjusting his hold on the hammer, which he’d kept down by his side, out of sight.
“Not good enough. I want the three of you.”
I pressed my palm against Bucephalus’s flank, feeling his muscles ripple under my fingers. A new thought filled my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. If Oliver shoots Ceph, he’s likely to react with justifiable wildness—thrashing and kicking and ultimately falling. It might not take a bullet to kill us, and Oliver can just blame it on the horse.
“We should go,” I told Monica and Richard, who gazed from the nervous horse to me as if the same thought had just occurred to them.
“See, I knew you were a smart one, Amy,” Oliver said, sliding back the rifle. “You’ve realized you don’t want to be crushed to death by a thousand pounds of horseflesh.”
I could tell by Monica’s thunderous expression that she’d gladly volunteer to take Oliver out for that comment alone. “Don’t harm the horse,” I said. “We’ll come out.” I brushed my fingers over Richard’s hand gripping the hammer. “You next, I’ll distract,” I whispered as I shimmied past him.
Richard’s other hand gave my shoulder a swift caress as I ducked under Bucephalus’s head.
Oliver threw open the stall door. It clanged, metal hitting wood, raising a chorus of whinnies and snorts from the other horses in the barn. Which in turn unnerved Bucephalus further. He threw up his head, jerking Monica’s arm.
Keeping the rifle trained on my chest, Oliver motioned for me to step out of the stall. My mind racing with ideas of how to distract him long enough for Richard to leap forward and attack him with the hammer, I took a few halting steps into the corridor.
Before I could enact any sort of plan, Oliver grabbed my arm and yanked me forward, pulling me close to his side. “Drop it,” he ordered as Richard jumped out of the stall, the hammer raised.
Somehow, Oliver had managed to shove the barrel of the rifle up under my chin. I wobbled as the cool metal pressed into my flesh, but Oliver’s implacable grip kept me on my feet.
“I said, drop that hammer,” Oliver commanded.
Richard, his face white as a sheet of blank paper, complied. He slid away from the door, his back pressed to the wooden slats of the next stall, his desperate gaze fixed on me. “Let her go.”
“Very well.” Oliver swung the rifle away and shoved me aside. “Line up there with your loving husband.”
I stumbled over to Richard, who grabbed my hand when I huddled next to him, leaning back against the rough wooden planks of the adjacent stall for support. Oliver lifted the rifle and aimed it at us as the faint whine of sirens wafted through the air.
Something clicked. He’s cocking the rifle. I closed my eyes and squeezed Richard’s hand. Wish I could’ve told you about the baby, I thought, sending up a prayer as I waited for the crack of the bullet.
But instead of a gunshot, other sounds filled the barn—the tattoo drumbeat of hooves and a piercing scream. My eyes flew open in time to see Bucephalus, who Monica must’ve released, standing on his hind legs and slamming his front hooves into Oliver’s arm. The rifle flew across the barn as Oliver crumpled to the floor, still screaming.
Bucephalus pranced over Oliver’s prone body, just barely missing his limbs with his stomping hooves. When Oliver curled into the fetal position, the horse backed away and stood at some distance, tossing his head and snorting, white rimming his dark eyes.
As the wailing sirens drew closer, the other horses neighed and thrashed about in their stalls. Monica, ignoring Oliver’s writhing on the ground, approached Bucephalus, murmuring calming words.
Richard let out a gasping breath before hugging me. As he pulled back, he pointed toward the rifle. “Back in a second. Should grab that.”
I held onto him. “Stay here. I don’t think Oliver’s in any shape to move, much less use a gun. Let the deputies secure it.”
“As you wish.” Richard leaned in, kissing the hollow of my shoulder and my neck before finding my lips. After a minute, he lifted his head, and we both turned to greet the deputies rushing into the scene.
“Everyone all right?” Brad Tucker asked, as he strode up to us.
“We’re fine,” I said. “Well, except for the guy on the floor. But he deserves it.” I turned to face Brad, Richard’s arm still around my waist. “Meet your murderer.”
“Well, well.” Brad tipped back his hat as he surveyed the scene. “Oliver Lance. Makes sense. We’ve found out some things from his half brother that allows this to all click into place.”
“Like what?” I asked, as paramedics lifted Oliver, protesting between moans, onto a stretcher.
Monica, leading Bucephalus back to his stall, paused and fixed Brad with a stare. “Yeah, like what?”
Brad jumped away from the dappled gray’s pawing hooves. “First put that beast up, and then I’ll explain.”
“Hey now, Ceph is a hero, aren’t you, boy?” Monica patted Bucephalus’s sleek neck.
“Yes, he certainly is,” Richard said fervently.
Monica led the horse into the stall, grabbing his water bucket before exiting and closing the door. “Horses can’t have water when they’re overheated,” she told us, as Brad, Richard, and I stared at her quizzically. “It can make them ill.”
“Well, we don’t want that.” I moved close enough to stroke Bucephalus’s nose. He snuffled my hand, dripping a bit of mucus. “Gee thanks,” I said without rancor. I wiped my hand on my already filthy pants and turned to Brad. “What did Nate tell you?”
“That he knew Meredith Fox had blackmailed Oliver in the past.” Brad’s gaze shifted to the ambulance roaring away, with Oliver safely stowed on board. “When we got your call, we rounded him up, along with Glenda Lance. They were having lunch together at the Taylorsford Inn, conveniently enough.” Brad grinned. “Which made it my jurisdiction. So I asked him to accompany me out here, and grilled him along the way.”
“And he decided to come clean with everything he knew?” Richard asked.
“After we told him that we’d gotten a 911 call from Blue Haven Farm, he did.” Brad frowned as one of the deputies bagged the rifle. “Be careful—that’s evidence,” he called out before turning back to us. “Anyway, Broyhill was aware that his former wife had discovered some dirt on his half brother and used that information to squeeze some money out of him. Apparently to support the dance company Broyhill and Ms. Fox had established.”
“Ah, that fits one of my theories like a glove,” I said.
“Nate didn’t know the secret Meredith was holding over Oliver?” Monica asked.
“He says not, but of course he’s lied to us before, so who knows?” Brad shrugged. “He also claims that it was a short-lived extortion, that Ms. Fox didn’t continue to blackmail Oliver once her marriage ended.”
“And the dance company failed,” Richard said.
“Right. That’s his story anyway.” Brad looked us up and down. “We’re going to need statements from all three of you, of course.”
“Yes, but I still don’t understand.” I pulled free of Richard’s arm and stepped forward to look up into Brad’s somber face. “If the blackmail stopped a few years back, why would Oliver murder Meredith now?”
Brad offered me a wan smile. “Because, according to Broyhill, Ms. Fox recently had a change of heart. He wasn’t sure why, but he claimed she came to him and said she wanted to expose Oliver Lance’s fraudulent behavior. Something to do with collecting insurance on horses, I think.”
Monica’s lips thinned. “I can fill you in about that.”
“Good,” Brad said, casting her an appreciative look. “But whatever the reason, Ms. Fox was about to expose Mr. Lance. And unfortunately, she trusted her ex-husband a little too much.”
“Nate told Oliver about Meredith’s plan?” I asked. Of course, I thought. That’s why he was so determined to shut down your questions. He was protecting his half brother as well as himself.
“He did. He said he thought it wouldn’t be that big a deal and that he could handle it. That’s why he was planning to have a talk with Ms. Fox at the theater the day she was killed.”
“But Oliver got to her first,” Richard said darkly.
I glanced over at him. Nate Broyhill had a good deal of culpability in this case, and I knew Richard would be more than happy to see him answer for it.
“Exactly. We don’t have all the details on that yet, of course.”
“Maybe once you question Oliver, you’ll know more,” I said, although I wasn’t sure he’d be that forthcoming.
“Now—you three need to give us your statements, so you can be on your way.” Brad looked Richard in the eye. “I think you have a performance to prepare for, if you’re still up for it.”
Richard squared his shoulders. “Of course. I’m not going to let anything derail that.”
“Glad to hear it,” Brad said with a smile. “Alison and I have tickets, and I know she’s really been looking forward to the show. I’d hate for her to be disappointed. Pregnant ladies have to be pampered, you know.”
“I haven’t experienced that yet,” Richard said, sliding his arm over my shoulders. “But I bet that’s probably a good philosophy.”
I leaned into him, burying my face against his chest to hide my smile.