Poor Cleo. She kept her tail down and lowered her head as if she were traumatized by her owner’s downfall. Horses, like dogs, are sensitive, intelligent beings capable of giving unqualified love to even undeserving owners. It is one of the strengths of the human-animal bond. Felines are far less forgiving and more discerning. Witness Thatcher’s elaborate system for keeping me firmly in my place.
I followed the steward as he attended to the mare’s needs and found a vacant stall for her to rest in while Jakes straightened out his feud. He probably wouldn’t get arrested although it was likely that a stiff administrative penalty would dampen his show career. Hers too, unfortunately. What a fool!
As word of the fracas filtered through the show community, a number of visitors agog with curiosity flooded into my shop trolling for information. Violence at these events was mostly verbal—deathblows to careers were administered through innuendo or falsehoods rather than fists. Boorish conduct and brawls were virtually unheard of in a genteel sport that valued decorum above all else. As the day wound down, I put up the closed sign and prepared to leave. Officials would ensure that Cleo was safe until Jakes was able to claim her.
Just before I locked up, the man himself flung open the door and confronted me. Keats and Poe were outside, and I could hear their growls of protest as they sensed danger.
“Where is she, bitch?” Jakes’s face was contorted with rage, his fists clenched. “Just can’t mind your own business, can you?”
I fought to remain calm and slowly unhooked my belt. The narrow aisles of the shop restricted room to maneuver, but I refused to panic. The heavy silver buckle could land a painful blow if needed. One false move and Jakes would feel its sting.
“Your horse is fine. Check with the stewards or the show officials if you’re interested.”
He gave a mocking laugh. “Oh, she is, is she? Is that part of your blackmail scheme?”
I was genuinely perplexed. Admittedly, Jakes was a nutcase, but I must have missed a vital clue, something that connected to Ethel. I had no idea what he was blabbering about.
“What did Ethel want from you?” I asked. “What was worth murdering her for?”
Jakes stepped closer, backing me against a rack of show collars. I clutched my belt waiting for the right opportunity.
“Murder?” he bellowed. “Lady, you are delusional. I have a solid alibi for that hag’s murder. Just ask the cops.” His eyes glittered with malice. “But I have a pretty good idea who killed the little twist and I plan to make it pay.”
He didn’t frighten me. Maybe he should have but he didn’t. I had handled far worse cases than a maniacal biologist. Instead of fear I felt disgust. Jakes was nothing but a puny worm masquerading as a man.
“You love calling women names, don’t you? Back off!”
“If the shoe fits… You need someone to teach you a lesson.”
I swung the belt—buckle first—at his face. At that distance I couldn’t miss, and it struck him squarely in the nose. Blood spurted everywhere on him, me, and my precious products. Jakes howled in pain and I lunged past him toward freedom. Unfortunately, he grabbed my shirttail, and spun me around. He deflected a kick toward his genitals and put his hands around my throat.
“Not so brave now are you,” he snarled, pressing harder. “You broke my freaking nose!”
My training kicked in as I jabbed him in the eye with my right elbow. Sadly, it was a glancing blow that only infuriated him more. I was perilously close to losing consciousness when suddenly the door swung open and my guardian angels arrived.
First came Keats and Poe in full military attack mode, followed by the agile form of Pruett. Jakes loosened his grip just enough to allow me to breathe and fall backwards. We both tumbled to the floor of the narrow aisle. I was relatively unscathed, but it was lights out for my assailant as Jakes hit his head hard against a metal rack. Pruett overcame his fear of my dogs and leapt forward to help me up. Jakes was down for the count.
“Are you okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me. I must admit it felt good having someone to lean on even though I was confident that I could have saved myself without his help. That was my narrative, born from years of independent living and I stuck to it. Only Pip had pierced the barrier that encapsulated me. Pruett was late to that party, but he was closing fast.
I nodded to him as I gulped blessed lungsful of air. Pruett kept one arm around me as he whipped his iPhone out and dialed 911. “What the hell happened?” he asked. Keats and Poe loomed over Jakes, watching his inert form for any signs of activity.
I summarized the day’s activities ending with Jakes’s strange behavior. “He knows something about the murder,” I croaked. That sound was the best that I could manage. My vocal chords were still recovering from the trauma of Jakes’s attack and my neck felt tender.
Pruett brushed my bangs out of my eyes and squeezed my hand. Once again, his tenderness overwhelmed me. “Your neck has bruises all around it. Such a pretty neck too.” He winked to show me that he was kidding. “Ah well. Attempted murder should keep him out of circulation for a bit while the cops sweat him for details.”
My wits were still scrambled, and any lucid thoughts were banished by the simultaneous arrival of paramedics and the imposing figure of Titus Bascomb. The medics immediately bundled Jakes off to the hospital. After examining my throat and asking some basic questions, they cleared me to face Bascomb.
He took one look at Pruett and motioned toward the door. “Out, Mr. Pruett. Unless you are her attorney or her husband you don’t belong here.”
Pruett grinned. “Can’t claim to be her husband yet but I am her legal representative. So, ask away, Lieutenant.” He smothered my outraged squeak in another hug.
Bascomb rolled his eyes. He had the jaded look of a cop who had seen it all before and wasn’t fooled. “Fine. Now take me through it. Slowly.” Bascomb wedged his ponderous frame into a corner of my shop. Since his sergeant wasn’t there, he used his phone to record our conversation. “I assume you have no objections, Counselor.” He nodded toward Pruett and received a curt nod in return.
My narrative started at the show ring and continued to Jakes’s sudden onslaught. When I mentioned blackmail and innuendos about Ethel’s murder, he switched off the phone and held up his hand.
“Stop. He knows the identity of the killer? Who is it?”
“He didn’t say but I think he plans to blackmail him or her. Jakes said there were big bucks involved.”
Bascomb’s expression was snide. “Mrs. Croy has big bucks.”
“So do half the people in this area,” I retorted. “We should focus on Ethel. Her character and behavior encouraged all kinds of blackmail.”
I knew immediately that I’d said something wrong. Bascomb’s face contorted and he wagged a meaty finger my way. “There is no ‘we’ in this, Ms. Morgan. The murder is a police matter. Butt out.” He swung toward Pruett. “And that goes double for you, Mr. Pruett. I better not see anything in the media about this. Do you understand? And don’t give me any of this first amendment crap either.”
Pruett’s expression was nothing short of angelic. “Absolutely.”
Persistence was my middle name. “What have you found out about Ethel or whatever her real name was?”
Through gritted teeth, he spit out the answer. “Until she moved here two years ago that lady didn’t exist. No trace in any of our databases. Now what does that suggest to you?”
I could almost feel my eyes widening. “Witness protection. She was probably a mob informant or involved with a drug cartel. I guess that clears Babette of suspicion.”
Pruett had a different theory. “I vote for identity theft. The real Ethel McCall was probably a child who died young many years ago. Funny that her prints weren’t on AFIS though.”
Smoke doesn’t literally spew from someone’s ears, but Bascomb gave a fairly good imitation of it. “You both must have a hearing problem. What about the term ‘butt out’ don’t you two understand?” Before I said one word, Pruett spoke for me, an annoying habit that I vowed to nip in the bud as soon as possible. “Of course, Lieutenant, but how else can you explain the money in her bank accounts? Ethel was obviously up to no good. Someone around here was paying to keep a mighty big secret from getting out.” He helped me up. “May I take Ms. Morgan home now? She’s had one rough day.”
Bascomb’s snort was world class and highly unprofessional. “Get out of here. Both of you.” He thrust his arm out and stalked off.
To Pruett’s credit he didn’t flinch. “Sounds like good advice. I better drive,” he said. “You still seem kind of shaky.”
“What about your car?”
“No problem. I’ll leave it here overnight. They have security.”
I didn’t argue. Frankly I welcomed the thought of having company for the evening. My brush with death made me yearn for the solace and safety of my home and pets. Pruett’s presence was an additional bonus.