Death By A Dark Horse, Page 3

Chapter Three

  Then I saw her. I exhaled over and over without inhaling. My feet would not obey my brain's demand to flee. My throat seized and the rush of blood in my ears obliterated every sound except a thin, high pitched wail. It came from me.

  "Ma'am? Ma'am? Hello? Are you still there?"

  I forced the wail into words. "I … Oh, God, she's dead!" Then I gagged on my next breath.

  "Who's dead, ma'am?"

  Valerie. It had to be Valerie sprawled a few feet away. Every detail of her body and clothing stood out as though magnified. One half of her once-beautiful face was crushed, her skin sickly gray, wax-like. Blood matted her blond hair. Blue eyes, surrounded by black, mascaraed lashes stared, vacant. Her jaw was slack and oddly bent. Flies crawled with jerky little movements over the gaping wound, the surface of her eyes and, with wings suddenly buzzing, darted in and out of her open mouth, pausing on lips that were pink only where lipstick remained.

  My stomach heaved and I fought to keep my breakfast from exiting with my words. "It's Valerie … oh my God, it's Valerie."

  "Valerie who, ma'am?"

  "Parsons. Valerie Parsons." My hand jerked, banging the phone against my ear. I heaved again and frantically swallowed down bile.

  "Did you take her pulse? Do you want to try to rouse her? Do CPR?"

  I shook my head to each question unable to look away. "No!" The word was half shouted, half begged. "She's … she's got blood, and flies … her head … oh, dear God, the smell."

  "I have an ambulance and patrol car in route. Don't touch anything and don't leave the scene." The calm in the operator's voice was finally reaching me. I clung to her instructions. "Is anyone with you?"

  "Yes." I tried to steady my voice to match hers.

  "Okay," she continued, "do you have somewhere safe you can go to, like your vehicle?"

  "Yes."

  "All right now, stay calm. I'll remain on the line with you until the police arrive. Go to your vehicle and wait. They're on their way."

  Wasting no time, I spun, collided with a live body, and screamed. My brain registered "Jorge" as he leapt away from me. His gaze, however, never moved from the place past my shoulder where Valerie lay.

  "Ma'am?" It was the operator's firm voice. "Are you --?"

  "Fine, I'm fine -- my friend -- I ran into him. I'm okay."

  "Are you certain there's not a problem with him?"

  "Yes, yes, I'm sure." I was gaining some control now that my back was to Valerie's body. "It's okay. I'm okay. We're going to the truck now."

  Jorge tripped over himself as he continued to back away. I lunged and grabbed his arm to steady him. He clutched at mine. His earlier, confident macho attitude had vanished.

  "What -- was -- is --?"

  "Yes," I said. "Don't look, Jorge. Don't look!" I pushed him toward the truck.

  He obeyed my command with alacrity, and dragged me with him, speaking rapidly in English punctuated with Spanish. The operator spoke to me at the same time, and I couldn't figure out what either one said. We reached the truck and I gave up trying to listen.

  "Ma'am?" I said into the phone. "Talk to my friend, please, he's kind of upset."

  I handed the phone to Jorge, dropped the truck's tailgate, and hoisted myself up. The cold metal bit through my riding pants. Muscles from my thighs to my shoulders clenched in response. A chill breeze blew through my short hair and around my neck. I turned my collar up, and pulled the jacket tighter around me. It didn't help.

  Jorge hopped up next to me, still on the phone, but I wasn't listening. The situation was too surreal. If anyone had suggested to me five minutes ago that Valerie might be dead I'd have laughed. I snuck a look in the direction of her body. My shoulders eased down when I couldn't see her from where I sat.

  Blackie turned from where he had stopped and went back to grazing. Thank God he seemed undisturbed. Then an awful, unwelcomed thought worked its way front and center.

  Could my gentle, kind horse have done this awful thing?

  No. How could I even consider such a question? Yet that's exactly what it looked like.

  I watched him graze, silently begging him to be innocent. As if sensing my distress, he raised his head and, with his ears pricked at me, whinnied softly. A lump grew in my throat. Of course he hadn't killed her.

  I knew why Valerie wanted my horse. Even at the tender age of seven my sixteen-and-a-half hand Hanoverian gelding finds the rigors of dressage easy. He applies himself to his job with cheerful cooperation. His disposition makes him a joy to work with, and he loves any and all human company. He would not have hurt her. In fact, anyone who makes eye contact with him is his new best friend. On the rare occasion when someone chooses to ignore him he follows their every move with those big, intelligent, brown eyes until he breaks through their indifference. The memory of his successful use of that tactic pulled me into a calmer frame of mind. He's sweet and handsome, and if he were a man I'd date him. Heck, I trust him enough to marry him.

  Blackie already had his own groupies among the young teenagers who rode at Copper Creek. During training sessions we often had an audience, and my incorrigible showoff always put in extra effort for any noises of appreciation. Actual dressage shows, however, are not something I'm particularly inclined to do, and Valerie fired that spit-ball at me every chance she got.

  According to her, I did not deserve a horse like Blackie. I should, in her opinion, admit my massive shortcomings and sell him to her. But Blackie was not for sale. Not to anyone. At least her constant pressure was no longer a worry.

  The wail of sirens announced the arrival of the first Snohomish County Sheriff's car. Relief welled up, mixed with a good dose of anxiety. This ordeal was not over.

  The approaching noise and sudden appearance of flashing lights from the white and green Crown Victoria sent Blackie, in true equine fashion, fleeing to the far end of the pasture. Jorge handed my cell phone back to me as a brown-uniformed deputy swung out of his patrol car and walked purposefully toward us, one hand resting on his utility belt near his holstered gun. I pointed in the direction of Valerie's body without speaking or getting off the truck's tailgate. The deputy nodded sharply and told us to stay put. Someone would talk to us soon. I shivered.

  The ambulance lumbered into view not thirty seconds later, with its own impressive display of flashing strobes and pulsing noise. The deputy waved an arm directing them to a spot close to the barn. Before the ambulance crew finished unloading their gurney, another vehicle roared around the side of the house, brakes rasping a squeal as it stopped. Eric's car. Both doors flew open. Delores popped from the driver's side and jogged toward us. Eric, Delores's barn manager, followed at a quick walk.

  "I called right after I hung up from the 9-1-1 operator," Jorge said, heading off my question.

  I could have hugged him. And I thought he'd spent all those "anytime minutes" on my phone with the operator. I sat up a little straighter. Time to get a grip, Thea.

  "You look like hell, missy," Delores said.

  I drew a breath, but was unable to speak. Cripes. I was going to cry.

  Delores looked away, casting a critical eye on Jorge. "You don't look much better. I see you found Blackie."

  "Yeah, among other things," Jorge said.

  Delores shook her head and strode off toward the barn and the deputy, with an extremely worried-looking Eric on her heels.

  "I see she found Mr. Tall-dark-and-got-no-time-for-my-buds," Jorge said, watching Eric's back.

  "Jorge!" His snippy tone surprised my voice into use. Everyone liked Eric. I thought they were friends, despite Eric being his boss and a good ten years older.

  Two more Snohomish County Sheriff's cars arrived, diverting my attention. Vehicles now clogged the once spacious area around the barn. How was I going to get the truck and trailer turned around? Delores could manage it. Or Eric. Jorge could probably do a better job of it than I could. I wanted to take Blackie and leave. Now. Did we have to wait to be dismissed? I glanced at Jo
rge. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees and swinging his feet while he watched the official activity. Damn. Even he knew we were going to have to wait. And we were probably going to have to give statements to someone. Double damn. I huddled deeper into my jacket, shivering again, and desperate for a distraction. Jorge's earlier comment about Eric was preferable to thinking about Valerie's body.

  "What's with the attitude?" I asked, teeth chattering. "I thought you and Eric were friends."

  "We are. Sorry. I should be glad he's got himself a lady, right? Guess I'm just jealous. Your sister's too old for me anyway, but she's mighty fine."

  My eyes widened and I snorted. Wishful thinking, kid. Yeah, Juliet was a "major babe," and at twenty-three, too old for Jorge, who'd just turned nineteen. I wondered who …. "Who's Eric dating?"

  Jorge turned his attention from the police cars and leaned slightly away from me as his eyebrows shot up. "Juliet. You mean you didn't know?"

  "Juliet? My sister, Juliet?" Not possible. It was like trying to picture Mr. Darcy with Lucy Ricardo. Cripes. I was looking for a distraction, not another problem. What was going on here? I always knew who my little sister was dating. She regaled me with each new hunky guy's sterling qualities. She'd said nothing about Eric.

  "Yeah. You know any others? It amazes me a hot woman like her would be interested in a boy scout like Eric. Didn't the last guy she was going with climb the outside of the Space Needle? Man, extreme to the max."

  I stared at Jorge, speechless for half a moment. "The idiot got arrested before he went twenty feet."

  "Well, still …." Jorge shrugged and swung a leg.

  Never mind Juliet and her heretofore poor choices in men. Even though Eric was a "boy scout" there wasn't a woman on the planet who didn't know what my sister saw in him. But Eric -- what was he thinking?

  I turned my unseeing gaze to the police cars. Juliet was not making me happy right now. She'd just added secret-keeping to her recent spate of unreliability. I'd called her to come pick me up after last night's disastrous date with my now-likely-ex-boyfriend, but she never showed.

  I'd sat in a popular tavern in downtown Seattle for an hour, which was where I'd run into Greg. He'd never paid much attention to me in the past, and really wasn't that obnoxious until right before I'd left. I hadn't expected the kiss. But now I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. When he heard about Valerie he was going to feel exponentially worse about last night's indiscretion.

  This was insane. Every train of thought was leading me back to Valerie.

  "I need to get statements from both of you." An officer with aviator sunglasses and shaved head startled me out of my brooding. He stood with his feet well apart, and chest thrown out, holding a large notebook against one hip and his fist on the other. He looked from me to Jorge, lips compressed into a frown. "Which one of you found the body?"

  "I did." The body, not Valerie or Miss Parsons. Two words reduced her to the status of road kill. Just how many bodies did baldy see on a daily basis? Didn't he feel any compassion at all?

  "Well," he said, flipping open his notebook, "let's start with you. Let's have your driver's license."

  I retrieved my purse from the front seat of the truck and fumbled through my wallet for my license. I handed it to his royal highness, and waited while he copied the information. He took Jorge's when he was done with mine, then slid a couple of clipboards out from under the notebook and shoved them at us.

  "Write what happened," he said, and left to join his buddies.

  I tried the pen that came with my clipboard, scribbled with it to get some ink to flow, then rifled through my purse for one that worked. Then I settled in and wrote diligently, but when I got to the part where I'd entered the pasture I caught my breath and stopped writing. I hadn't picked up on this detail earlier -- this important detail. Too important to skim over. The chain securing the gate to the fence post was fastened all wrong. The chain that held the gate closed was the loose type. Many other people use the same simple set up. It loops around the fence post and the upright on the gate, attaching to itself with a snap. This is impossible for a horse to unfasten, but easy for a human. I had unsnapped it, gone through, then slid the chain so I could secure the gate from the inside of the pasture. It was habit -- a routine everyone does to make sure no horses escape out the gate. Valerie would have done the same. She could not have been the last one to close the gate.

  Blackie had not killed Valerie.

  The sound of shod hoof steps on gravel drew my attention. The ambulance crew scattered giving more than adequate room for Delores to pass with Blackie. The men kept watch as she led him into the barn.

  This wasn't good. People were already jumping to conclusions. I hopped off the tailgate and, clipboard in hand, jogged toward the deputies.

  "Excuse me," I said, approaching the bald deputy. He lounged against his car, arms crossed over his chest, watching what was going on in the vicinity of "the body." He rocked upright and hooked his thumbs on his utility belt.

  "Yeah?"

  "The gate -- the chain was fastened on the outside when I got here."

  "So?"

  "So, I think Valerie would have fastened it on the inside when she went into the pasture."

  His chin lowered as he pulled off his sunglasses and squinted at me. "What's your question?"

  "I think it's important. I don't think --"

  "Just put what happened in your statement. Not what you think happened."

  "It's important I let someone know --"

  "Write exactly what you remember." He put his glasses back on and returned to leaning on his car.

  I lifted my chin. "Okay," I said, but he ignored me. I could prove Blackie wasn't responsible for Valerie's death, but he obviously wasn't the right person to talk to. Never mind the fact I could save them all a lot of trouble.

  I stalked back to the truck and again hoisted my butt onto the icy cold tailgate. Jorge, finished with his paperwork, wandered around, hands in his pockets, kicking at an occasional piece of gravel. I applied myself to writing every detail of my account and was still at it when the truck was jostled. I looked up. Eric, his complexion an unhealthy shade of green, had parked his butt against the fender and was rubbing his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand.

  "Delores put Blackie in a stall," he said, obviously confident I was listening. "He's too curious about all the people."

  That was tactful of him. "We need to take Blackie home." He didn't answer. I cleared my throat. "Eric," I said louder. "We need to take Blackie home. Okay?"

  He nodded, without looking at me. Was he just responding to the sound of my voice?

  "As soon as I'm done with my statement, let's load him up and take him home. Eric, are you listening?"

  "Yeah, I heard you." He rubbed his hands over his face then crossed his arms and stared at the ground.

  I gritted my teeth and took a breath. No, forget it. Finish your statement, it's more important. You won't be able to leave until it's done anyway.

  I went back to my task, but Jorge's fiddling with the trailer hitch, the lights, and the condition of the paint on the trailer was distracting. I climbed into the truck's cab to complete my lengthy narrative.

  Once done, I sought out the deputy and handed him the clipboard. He skimmed it and grunted.

  "I'll need you both to come down to the station and sign your statements when we've got them ready. Looks like an accident. That horse of hers nailed her pretty good." He shook his head in disgust. "Dangerous animals like him ought to be put down." He patted his holstered gun for emphasis.

  "No!" This guy couldn't be serious. He was acting like he wanted to shoot Blackie on the spot. "First of all, he's my horse, and secondly, I'll have you know he would never hurt anyone. Read what I wrote before you jump to conclusions, for God's sake."

  I had his undivided attention. He reached for his notebook.

  "Your horse, huh? Maybe you didn't notice, but he's the only animal in the field. That
kind of narrows the list of suspects."

  "If you'd read my statement, you'd realize how wrong you are." I swung toward Eric and Jorge. "Eric …." My voice shook.

  My friends strode over. Eric put a hand on my shoulder.

  "Blackie never would have hurt her on purpose. He's a nice horse, very gentle."

  Jorge nodded, and held the deputy's gaze when he looked at him.

  "Not so gentle this time," the officer scoffed and hooked a thumb on his gun belt.

  "No, you're wrong." I set my jaw. Maybe if I said it enough I'd convince him to listen.

  "Look lady, uh, Miss Campbell --"

  "No, you look. You have no evidence to accuse my horse of this."

  Eric increased the pressure of his hand on my shoulder. I pulled away.

  "Seems to me there's plenty of evidence lying a few yards over that way." The deputy whipped off his sunglasses and pointed them toward Valerie's body.

  "You're jumping to conclusions."

  "Not much jumping needs to be done to solve this one." His lip turned up in a sneer.

  "You haven't even bothered to investigate. You're assuming."

  "Thea --" Eric started.

  I ignored him. The deputy needed convincing. "It's so easy to blame my horse because he happens to be here. That'd sure save you a lot of paperwork, wouldn't it?" The officer's face glowed red. I wasn't done. "Even I noticed the way the gate was latched, and I told you about it. If you had any brains you'd realize --"

  "That you could be making it up?" His eyes narrowed.

  "You're accusing me of lying?" I nearly choked on the words.

  "What's going on here?" Delores popped into the midst of our discussion.

  "I think this young woman needs to come down to the station with me."

  "You're Marty, aren't you?" she said to the officer. He nodded. "Now you just sit still for a minute."

  His eyes widened as she turned to me. But I jumped in before she could utter a word.

  "He thinks Blackie is responsible for Valerie's death." I glared at this sorry-excuse-for-a-deputy-Marty-person.

  "And I think you need to come down to the station." Marty glared back.

  "Fine," I snarled.

  "What on earth for?" Delores asked. "You're only going to get more upset. Marty, she needs to go home. She's had a bad shock. You've got everyone's statements, you know where they live, there's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." She took Marty's arm, patting it in a little-old-lady fashion, and steered him away from me. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Eric's eye and jerked her head toward the truck. Eric's hand closed around my upper arm, but I stood fast.

  Marty jerked his arm out of Delores's grasp, leaned toward me, and jabbed a finger at my face. "We have laws about dangerous animals in this county, and the law is they don't live long after they've attacked a human. It's the responsible thing to do. You might want to think about that. Tomorrow morning. Sheriff's office. Both of you." He jabbed at Jorge, too.

  I rose on my toes, sputtering, but Eric's grip tightened on my arm and he half carried me toward the truck. Marty's lip curled.

  "You believe me, don't you, Eric? Jorge?" I asked when Eric finally let me go. Their support was more important right now than the humiliation of being dragged around like a puppy. "Blackie didn't kill her. They can't shoot him."

  A squeal of tires silenced me and stopped Eric's answer. A black Nissan Z slid to a stop, spraying gravel. Greg catapulted out the door and barreled toward the deputies.

  "Hey, what the hell's going on here?"

  Two deputies stopped him, taking him by the arms, their voices too low for me to hear what they said.

  "No!" Greg struggled to get past them, but they stopped him. "No!" He leaned toward the place where the ambulance crew was now working. "Valerie, no!"

  His knees buckled and both deputies shifted, supporting him this time. They steered him toward one of the patrol cars. Delores, Eric, Jorge and I watched in silence. I glanced at Eric. His mouth was set in a thin line, his face pasty pale. Greg's keening sobs turned the chill morning air to ice.

  "Eric," Delores said. He didn't respond, but continued to stare. "Eric!"

  His dark eyes shifted to her.

  "Take Thea and Jorge home. It's best if you all leave."

  "But Blackie --" I began.

  "Don't you worry, I'll take care of him."

  "Don't let them hurt him. You heard that deputy."

  "Don't worry," she repeated, cocking her head and firing a narrow look at me. "Go on, all three of you. I'll catch up with you later. Get out of here. Now."