For the next three days, I worked feverishly to fill orders and replenish my stock. Show customers were an impatient lot who demanded that vendors instantly fulfill their needs. Horse enthusiasts were even edgier. Better to be overly prepared rather than to risk being abandoned for a competitor. I also gathered some surplus gear for the equine beauties at Cavalry Farms. They might be castoffs, but they deserved a bit of primping too. During that time, I heard not one word from Pruett. No email, voicemail, telephone or text. Naturally, I refused to initiate contact unlike the fawning, slobbering females he was accustomed to.
Babette brought Carleton home and feigned a devotion I never dreamed she was capable of. She answered all Bascomb’s questions but was wise enough to retain one of the best criminal defense attorneys in DC as backup.
Unfortunately, Carleton had absolutely no information to offer about his assailant. He had seen a light in Ethel’s house, gone to investigate and been clobbered by person or persons unknown. The experience was not unlike my own, although his injuries were more severe. According to Babette, a steady stream of students and their mothers had trickled in to comfort their fallen hero, bearing cakes, casseroles, and kisses. Lots of them. Carleton bravely bore up under the strain and vowed to return to his teaching duties as soon as possible.
That Friday, I loaded up my truck, popped Keats and Poe into their crates, and headed for the horse show. When he saw his buddies leave, Zeke hung his head over the fence and emitted a strangled cry of either anger or frustration. His water trough was filled to the brim and his hay supply was plentiful, but his emotional needs for companionship were unfulfilled. I had toyed with the idea of getting another goat but quickly abandoned the thought. One Zeke was more than I had bargained for. Two would put me down for the count. I blocked all thoughts about having Raza, the Arabian beauty, keep Zeke company, even though horses and goats coexisted peacefully on many farms.
As I eased into the vendors’ area, I saw Sheila with Cecil at her side waving madly to me. Most stores didn’t open until mid-morning, but I liked plenty of time to set out my stock and relax before hordes of frantic horse fanciers descended. Sheila made herself useful by loading bridles, stirrups, and one saddle into the cart and pulling them toward my stall. Cecil valiantly masqueraded as guard dog and general factotum. Since he was still a pup and timid by nature, the impact was more theoretical than practical. Keats and Poe, on the other hand, were effective sentinels who sat silently and calmly surveying everyone who passed by.
“What’s our strategy?” Sheila asked. “Should we confront him? Jakes goes in the ring at noon. I checked.”
I had no intention of confronting Jakes or anyone else. This was strictly reconnaissance, an information gathering mission that required finesse and a delicate touch. Since Sheila was masterful at chatting up her pals, I suggested that she start there.
“Try to find a witness. Someone who actually heard something. If we ask Jakes directly he’ll only brazen it out. He told Pruett that he never even met Ethel.” I winced when I said his name, even though I told myself it was no big deal. “You’re zoning out again,” Sheila said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I busied myself with arranging woven leather leads by length and color and pairing them with padded collars. “Just thinking. You schmooze the owners and I’ll take the rest. If you see anything let me know. I’m set for tomorrow at Cavalry Farms.”
Sheila saluted and tugged Cecil out toward the exercise pen. “You can count on me. This is so exciting. My first detective mission.”
“Be careful,” I warned. “Your husband would go berserk if he knew what you were up to.” I shuddered to think what Ellis Sands would make of the whole scheme. He was highly protective of his bride and extremely jealous. If ever a man was besotted by his wife, Ellis was it.
She laughed. “My life is pretty dull these days, you know. At his age, Ellis isn’t exactly Mr. Excitement even though he tries, bless his heart. Forget those television commercials. That little blue pill can only do so much.”
Sheila checked her watch. It was a clunky-looking thing, a Rolex Cosmograph. For some reason, she preferred the men’s version originally designed for race car drivers. To me it looked big and bulky, but it suited her taste and needs not mine. She had the solid gold men’s version too, although I hadn’t seen her wearing it for some time.
“Whoops! Got to run. My gelding goes on in thirty minutes and I have to check with the farrier. Thought he was favoring his right hoof a tad.” She winked. “My horse, not the blacksmith! Don’t worry. I am on task.”
I busied myself with the mundane matters of show life, pricing my items and arranging a sale bin. Customers always loved that even though the discount was often miniscule. It caught their attention and drew them in. The first lesson of retail strategy was reel them in then clinch the sale.
My first customer was really just a visitor. Rebecca, aka Becca, limped in wearing a black jacket with patches displaying her client’s emblems. It was a sophisticated choice but a challenge to keep free of hair.
“Save me, Perri,” she cried holding up her right shoe. “Some idiot didn’t clean up after his mount. God, I hate that!”
Becca was always high drama but this time she had a point. For everyone’s sake, owners and riders had to clean up after their charges or someone else paid the price. They knew the rules and most scrupulously obeyed them. I guided her to a seat, gingerly picked up her shoe and gave it a thorough cleaning with a baby wipe.
“There you go,” I said. “Now tell me, what’s new?” Becca kept her ears open at all times and was an invaluable source of show scuttlebutt. Horse people trusted and confided in her.
She shrugged. “Nothing much. Just the usual drama.”
“I heard that Jakes and Ethel had it out the week before she was murdered,” I said. “Know anything about that?”
“Oh that. Yeah. I did hear something about it.”
“A lovers’ quarrel?” I asked.
“Are you daft? It was about something important—horse shows. Whatever Ethel said to him about Cleopatra made Jakes crazy. He got all red-faced and started shouting until one of the officials shut him down.”
It wasn’t hard to picture that scene. Jakes had reacted the same way toward Pruett.
“What about Ethel? That must have shaken her up too.”
Becca thought about it for a bit. “That I can’t say, but I saw her not long after and she was at the Cavalry Farm rescue booth looking cool as the proverbial cucumber.”
That sounded like the woman I thought I knew. Cool, calm and collected. Nothing fazed her, even Babette’s manic periods. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that she was a blackmailer with a hefty bank balance. That could have a calming effect on anyone.
“Funny thing,” Becca said. “I asked Ethel about it and she said something strange, like if you want to get under someone’s skin find his passion and go for it. She got a big grin on her face and just laughed. Never did explain what the hell she meant.”
After Becca left, I thought long and hard about what she had said. Was Glendon Jakes passionate about anything? He was certainly fervent about his blog, Bag It. For a wimpy man, a chance to rub shoulders with macho gun-toters had to be exhilarating. If Ethel knew that he faked everything, she might blackmail him, but somehow it just didn’t seem important enough. Not life and death important.
An influx of customers occupied me until lunchtime when I hastily closed the shop and sprinted toward ring twelve. Jakes and Cleopatra had a ring call at noon and I planned to be there, front and center. What had Becca said? If the quarrel between Jakes and Ethel had something to do with Cleo maybe that was the answer. Winning meant a lot to a man like Jakes. Had Ethel somehow threatened that simple pleasure?
My self-absorption almost caused a collision with a family group. Luckily, Ken Reedy reached out and pulled me from harm’s way.
“Whoa there, Perri. You’re in a fog.” Even though he was codger-age, Ken radiated a type of confidence and masculinity that made him a useful ally.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to miss the hunters,” I said. “Why are you here instead of at Cavalry Farms? Not giving up on those horses, I hope.”
Ken smirked. “I’ve got energy enough for both, don’t you worry. It’s you I wonder about. Got a crush on Glendon Jakes or something? I thought that news guy was more your type.”
I was used to his teasing. “Ha. Ha. I doubt any woman has ever had a crush on Mr. Jakes although I did hear that he and Ethel McCall were close.”
“What? Who told you that?” He chuckled. “They went at it hammer and tongs at the Fredericksburg horse show. Thought we were going to have to call the cops.”
“Really? That’s weird. Wonder what it was all about.” I did my best to look disinterested, but Reedy wasn’t fooled. He shot a quizzical look my way and folded his arms.
“Still playing detective? Watch your step, Perri. This isn’t some silly television show. People get hurt in real life. Thought you’d know that by now.”
I opted for truth telling. It was the best defense I had. “This is for Babette. The police suspect her and I’m worried. Glendon Jakes was on the premises the day that Ethel died, and it appears that she was…well… unethical enough to blackmail people. I just can’t figure out what she found out about Jakes.”
Reedy paused for a moment. In another life, he had been a hard-charging prosecutor. I got a taste of that by looking into his eyes. They were cold and calculating, a glacial blue. “Look. This is only rumor and innuendo so take it for what it’s worth.”
“Okay.”
He lowered his voice. “People say some judges will rule in your favor for the right price. You know how subjective the whole process is anyway.”
He was right of course. Objective standards were used to assess jumping, but hunter classes were based on a judge’s personal view of the horse and rider’s deportment and style.
“Bribes?” It shocked me but then again it also made sense in a warped sort of way. I recalled Jakes’s intensity in the ring and the way he bragged about Cleopatra. The equine world would act immediately to snuff out any whiff of scandal and Jakes would be banned for life. Poor Cleo would suffer too. Who knew what Ethel, the mousey matron quietly observing everyone, could have heard or surmised?
My conscience began to bother me. I felt obliged to share information with Bascomb, but his attitude annoyed me. The solidarity of the thin blue line felt remote in the chilly confines of the Great Marsh police station. Bascomb acted as though I were a meddler, or even worse, an amateur. Besides, I really didn’t know anything for sure. As Ken said it was only rumor and innuendo. Dog and horse shows were rife with conspiracy buffs who attributed every loss to vendetta, favoritism, or malfeasance. If only Pruett were around. I could use a sounding board, a dispassionate listener to bounce theories off. I was honest enough to know that there were other reasons I wanted him around too. I immediately blotted out any thought of Pruett. Those matters were better left to lonely evenings by the fire surrounded by my pets.
As the hunters lined up, I studied Jakes. The man’s intensity bordered on mania and his demeanor was one notch north of twitchy. He had the whole psychotic thing going for him—bulging eyes, pursed lips and heightened color. Beautiful Cleopatra shared none of her master’s traits. She trotted calmly and confidently into the ring and turned in a winning performance. No doubt in my mind that the lady deserved to win her class.
As he exited the ring, Jakes saw me and glared. Had smoke belched out of his ears, I would not have been at all surprised. Instead of basking in his win, he dismounted and stalked up to me.
“You again! What do you want?”
I decided to take a risk. After all, I could handle myself in a fracas and I knew how to vanquish bullies. “Congratulations on your win, Mr. Jakes. As for me, I want the same thing Ethel McCall wanted. No more. No less.”
Jakes clutched Cleo’s lead so tightly that she balked. An adjacent rider immediately leapt to her defense.
“Hey, cut that out. You’re hurting her.”
Jakes loosened his grip. “Mind your own business if you know what’s good for you.” He then pointed a finger my way. “And that goes double for you.”
He didn’t frighten me despite the nasty scowl distorting his face. I had faced too many drunken soldiers to worry about one adenoidal biologist. Instead of cowering, I cackled. “Wow! Big, tough man. Just remember what I said if you know what’s good for you.” I turned on my heel and strolled away as coolly as Cleopatra herself.