Pruett wasn’t quite so bold when Cleopatra approached him. He edged toward the railing, kept a respectable distance behind Jakes and left the honors to me. That was no problem at all. Cleo was a perfect exemplar of her breed who looked as if she had just stepped off the pages of Horses and Hounds. Like most kids, I’d grown to love Palominos since watching that noble steed Trigger save Roy Rogers’s bacon on weekly television.
“She’s really lovely,” I told Jakes as Cleo nuzzled my pocket looking for treats. “Okay if I give her some carrots?”
He flinched as if I had offered poison. “I’m very particular about her diet.”
“Understood. I have apples if she prefers those.”
“Ugh!” Pruett said. “Pretty poor snacks if you ask me.”
“Not to a horse.” After Jakes nodded, I held my palm flat and fed Cleo her treat. Jakes smiled as she licked her lips and he relaxed enough for the interview to proceed. Pruett started slowly, asking innocuous questions about Jakes and Cleo’s history. I studied his face, marveling at the expressionless mask that overlaid his features. Pruett gave nothing away. Not a smile or a frown.
“You say you’re a biologist, Dr. Jakes? Your name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.” Pruett leaned in. “Got it! I’m a fan of your blog. Bag It. Isn’t that the name? A fascinating piece.”
Glendon Jakes was only human. Praise from a celebrity left him tongue-tied and totally disarmed. He sputtered a quick thank you.
Pruett immediately capitalized on his advantage. “Say, weren’t you on the site of that murder last week? The animal rights activist. Babette somebody or other.”
“I got there late,” Jakes was another facile liar. “Traffic, you know. The cops asked for my help. Practically begged for it. They’re in way over their heads.”
Bascomb begging? That’s one scenario I would pay to watch.
“My friend was there too,” Pruett said pointing to me. “Actually, she found the body.”
Jakes narrowed his eyes and studied me. “Why was she there?”
I’d had enough of Pruett’s sleazy tactics. It was time for some truth telling. “I’m a friend of Ms. Croy’s, and for your information, the dead woman was her secretary Ethel McCall.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know the lady.” Jakes sucked his cheeks in as if he were eating a lemon.
Pruett stepped closer and put his arm around me. “She’s still quite emotional about it. I’m sure you understand.” They exchanged men of the world glances that set my teeth on edge.
Pruett averted an explosion by embracing me, whispering a warning in my ear as he did so. “Go along with me, Perri. Just this once.”
I should have pulled away. Should have stomped on his foot or done something, anything except savor the faint scent of his cologne and the touch of his lips. I was out of practice and out of sorts.
“Were you able to help the cops at all?” Pruett asked. “They haven’t told the press anything.”
Jakes thrust out his chest, peacock-style. “I gave them a tip or two. That group of harpies was bound to stir up trouble. Impinging on the Second Amendment like they do, or try to do. As for Cavalry Farms, those old nags at that farm have no business occupying valuable real estate. I’m a biologist and believe me, I know a thing or two about that. Genetic stock is important.”
Pruett leaned in. “I understand that Mrs. Croy got plenty of threats, but this Ethel person was kind of a nobody.” He lowered his voice. “And she was almost naked.”
Jakes hooted as if that were comic gold. “That old bat? Believe me. No man would look twice at her body, naked or not.”
Pruett pivoted deftly and faced him. “I thought you said you never met her?”
Bullseye! “Ugly women always join those protest movements. That’s the closest they get to a man,” Jakes sputtered. He lunged toward Pruett. “What’s your game? You said this was about my horse.”
I had to hand it to Pruett. He stood his ground even after Jakes clenched his fists. I expected a brawl or at least a shouting match. The biologist was red-faced and out of control, but the journalist appeared to be enjoying himself. Looking at them, I gave Pruett the edge. He had a black belt in some form of martial arts and I’d seen him in action before.
An unlikely peacemaker arrived on the scene and immediately diffused the tension.
“Daddy! Where have you been?” Ella Pruett, accompanied by several other little girls, grabbed Pruett and hugged his waist. “Oh!” She ran up to Cleopatra and held out her hand. “She’s beautiful.”
The mare obliged by nuzzling Ella’s hand.
“I love her! Daddy, can we bring her home?”
Pruett’s horrified expression was priceless. I enjoyed watching him squirm, but I had to intervene.
“Cleo already has a home, Ella, and Guinnie takes up a lot of your time. Ask Mr. Jakes. He’ll tell you all about her.”
Jakes managed a smile and bent down to speak with the little girl. “Sit over here. I’ll show you pictures of Cleo when she was just a foal.”
Pruett and I locked eyes as yet another side of the biologist emerged. Call me easy, but any man who loves his horse gets my vote. Provisionally.
When Pruett joined his daughter, I made my escape. He raised an eyebrow but waved me on. Ella and Jakes were so engrossed in discussing Cleopatra that they never even noticed my absence. I power-walked across the field to Creature Comforts just as Becca started to lock it up.
“Just in time, Ms. Persephone. I’ve got a prospective client waiting for me outside ring six and he does not like to wait.”
She had a point—why pick a fight especially when a fat fee was in the offing? I hugged her as she breezed past me. “You’re a real pal. I owe you.”
The next two hours flew by as I filled orders, measured harnesses, and restocked the bins. None of my customers mentioned Ethel, alluded to Babette, or discussed Cavalry Farms, even though the memorial photo was prominently displayed by the cash register. When the show wound down at five, I signaled to Poe and Keats, and began the arduous process of loading my stock into the van. Most of my fellow vendors had vanished and I was glad for the canine company. Ethel had been struck down with an ordinary object, not an exotic weapon. Dog and horse shows were full of potentially lethal implements, a fact that made me eager to finish the task and get home. My back was turned when Keats growled, a low, menacing sound that raised the hackles on his neck. I whirled around, ready to stand my ground and fight. It was an automatic reflex, a throwback to my military training that came in handy during a physical confrontation. I was confident but not cocky—neither Wonder Woman nor weakling.
“Whoa, Morgan. Stand down. We swung by to help you.” Pruett stood well behind me, staring fixedly at my dogs. Ella had no such reservations. She ran over to the Malinois with a mile-wide grin on her face and threw her arms around them. Pruett’s eyes widened as if he were envisioning the dogs making a meal out of his precious child.
“You finished your interview?” I asked.
His smirk returned. “Our wayward biologist clammed up and left the area in a huff. Apparently, my legendary charm deserted me this time. Go figure.”
I’m not too proud to accept help even when it comes with strings attached. Pruett obviously saw the shows as a conduit to Babette and a source for Ethel’s grisly murder. How else to explain his show of interest and sudden appearance? I pointed toward the boxes. “Thanks. Just grab one of them. Maybe Ella can watch the pups for me.”
The little girl clapped her hands. “Can I, Daddy? Please.”
Pruett was an easy target. He obviously adored his daughter and would give her anything. “Okay. But be careful.”
We emptied out my stall and dismantled the booth in record time. The sunset was magical, a multi-colored tribute to the master painter of the universe. Pruett and I both stood there savoring it until one of the security trucks circled around and asked us to leave. I whistled for the dogs and slid open the door of my van. Pruett put his hand on my shoulder. “Wait a minute, Perri. Ella and I are starving, and I’ll bet you could use some dinner too. Come with us to Applebee’s.” A flush crept across his cheeks. “It’s Ella’s favorite place, as you well know. I promised her.”
I bent down to face Ella. “You have good taste. I love Applebee’s too, Ella, especially their boneless wings.”
“Yum,” she said.
“We’ll do it some other time. I have to get home and feed Thatcher and Zeke. You know how they get when they’re hungry.”
“Just like kids,” Ella said.
“Exactly.” The idea of a pygmy goat had always fascinated the little girl, prompting a flood of questions that alarmed her father. Pruett had no desire for a goat to spoil his elegant Georgetown address.
Pruett finally intervened, playing the daddy card. The contrast between his typical sardonic manner and stern parental pose was highly entertaining.
“Time to go, Ella. I can taste those wings even now.”
I nodded and bid them a final good night.
* * * *
Babette was waiting for me when I got home, and she was wired. A mournful tune by Adele blared from the car as my friend and the loyal Clara swayed to the music.
“You’re late. Where in hell have you been?” Her voice quaked when she spoke.
Babette was close to tears and to my surprise she tossed a cigarette butt out the window. She’d quit that noxious habit three years ago, or so I thought.
“Calm down. Culpepper shows were on today and yesterday. I told you. Remember?”
She covered her face with her hands and sobbed until I fished a tissue from my backpack and handed it to her through the open window.
“Here. Blow.”
“Forgive me, hon. I’m so frazzled I can’t think straight. This nightmare turned me into a big witch.”
I opened her car door and coaxed her out. “You? Never. Come on. I have some wine in the fridge from that Virginia vineyard you like so much.” I felt rather than saw Zeke’s evil grin emanating from his enclosure. “Tell you what. You feed the dogs and Thatcher and I’ll tackle Zeke. Then we can relax.”
Babette was a worker. Give her a task and she forgot her problems and pitched right in. In short order, my pets were fed and we were sipping wine and nibbling on cheese.
“Okay,” I said. “What’s up? Tell me what happened, and I’ll fill you in on some very interesting developments.” I expected a tale of marital discord or police harassment but that was not the case.
“My committee. They all quit.”
It took me a minute to process what she said. “You mean the Save the Farm group?”
Babette sniffled. “They think I did it, Perri. Can you believe that? I’ve known those people for years. Why would they think I’d hurt anyone, let alone murder Ethel?”
That puzzled me. Babette was many things but anyone around her also knew her kind heart and generous nature. She had rescued Ethel from financial ruin, given her respectability, a job and a spacious place to live. It didn’t compute. Unless…
“Maybe it’s not you they suspect.” I kept my voice neutral and spoke quietly.
“You mean?”
I nodded. “You know how small towns are. Rumors fly, especially when the victim is found naked.”
Babette clasped her hands in front of her and sat quietly. I expected harsh words and a quick denial but didn’t get them.
“Has Bascomb been talking to your friends?” I asked. “He’s very blunt. Not the most tactful person you could meet.”
At first, she smiled. Then Babette dissolved into peals of laughter. “That’s absurd! Ethel and Carleton. Honey, I can tell you that when he cats around, he chooses some sweet young thing who thinks he hung the moon or an heiress who just doesn’t care. Ethel saw right through him.”
She had a point, one that I had no intention of arguing with. As Carleton’s former spouse who still allowed him to live in her home, Babette was hardly a disinterested spectator. My strategy was to serve up Jakes as a suspect. With his unpleasant personality and perpetual sneer, he was easy to dislike. There was only one problem: I couldn’t for the life of me think of a plausible motive.
“We had quite a crowd at the show,” I said, “and I found out why Ethel shed her clothes. It was actually very innocent.”
“What?” Babette clutched Clara in a grip so firm that the Border Collie yipped.
When she heard about the horse costume, my friend broke down into sobs. It took almost superhuman willpower to avoid joining her. A moment of levity had caused poor Ethel to risk her reputation and lose her life.
I focused instead on following the facts. “Tell me. Did Lieutenant Bascomb find that costume?”
“He never mentioned it if he did. Let’s call him and ask.”
I shook my head. “Not yet. That wasn’t the only thing I found out.”
Babette gasped when I mentioned Pruett and Ella. The news about Jakes made her choke. “That sidewinder has a horse? I can’t believe it.”
“Relax. He might still be a murderer even though Cleopatra is quite a charmer.” I shared Jakes’s comments about Ethel and Ken Reedy’s warning about Jakes’s temper. “Jakes knew who Ethel was, no matter what he said. But why kill her?”
Babette furrowed her brow. “It doesn’t make any damn sense. Jakes hates me but that’s mutual. Ethel never fought with anyone. You know how smooth she was.”
Smooth? Inoffensive maybe but not exactly smooth. I thought about the complicated woman who was Ethel McCall. She was so unobtrusive that when she first moved to town three years ago, I barely noticed her. Pip met her through the no-kill shelter and invited her over for a drink. He sipped bourbon, but Ethel was strictly a diet Coke girl. Even her facial features were uniform and unremarkable. Grey hair styled in a short smooth bob, rimless glasses, and nary a touch of makeup or jewelry. I am no style setter but next to Ethel I felt like a supermodel. I pondered that for a moment. Maybe that was the point.
“How well did you really know her?” I asked. “Did Ethel ever mention her home or family?”
Babette hesitated, carefully parsing her words. “She came from the West Coast. Oregon or California. One of those states. Didn’t talk much about her past but I got the idea that her ex-husband abused her.”
That wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. If Bascomb wouldn’t keep us informed, we had to develop our own sources. I walked over to my computer and punched in Ethel’s name and Oregon. A general Google search yielded absolutely nothing of interest. There were a number of Ethel McCalls, most of them elderly, others long deceased.
Babette looked over my shoulder and shook her head. “Time to bring in the big guns, hon. Try PrivateEye.com, then take a pass at the Mugshots website. You wouldn’t believe the folks you see. I’ve got an account with both of them.” She flinched when I squeezed her arm. “I feel disloyal even suggesting it about Ethel, but we have to know.”
PrivateEye.com listed a number of Ethel McCalls, none of whom fit our age criterion. The Mugshots website was even more problematic. If the name was an alias, combing through that sad collection of losers was an exercise in futility.
“I give up,” Babette said. “Spying on someone isn’t exciting at all. It’s tedious!”
She seemed reluctant to go home but I was exhausted. It took a great deal of effort to avoid dozing off in mid-sentence.
“You’re welcome to stay in the guest room tonight,” I said. “This weekend was rough, and I can barely stay awake.”
“I better mosey on home or Carleton will be positive that I’ve been arrested.” Babette called to Clara. “Come on little darlin.’ Let’s make tracks.” Before opening the door, she swung around and pointed my way. “We’re just spinning our wheels. Call Pruett tomorrow and get some help. No excuses.”
“What about you?”
She grimaced. “Tomorrow I’m going to take the bull by the horns and go mano a mano with Lieutenant Bascomb.”