Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (10 page)

A short time after, a car came up the drive, and I went downstairs. Two uniformed sheriff’s deputies ambled into the barn, found Hank, spoke for a moment, went outside. I stayed inside, armed with my canned cream.
 

Another car pulled up—a long, dark-blue sedan. An older man unfolded himself from the front seat. He was tall and all angles with brown hair graying at the temples. I squirted myself another mouthful of chocolate cream while he walked toward us. Clara met him halfway.

“Howdy, Frank.” She pulled him into a hug. “Terrible business about little Norman. He’s in the next field.” Clara pointed him to the manure spreader.

“That there’s my cousin Frank,” she said, pride filling her voice. “County Coroner. Postmaster, too.”

“Oh,” I said with a nod. “You want some whipped cream?” I showed her my can. Sometimes I thought it would be neat to have a holster for it.

She looked at me real concerned like. Like I was freaked. Well, I was.

Rain started to tap the tin roof. A state trooper tore in, lights flashing, and skidded to a halt next to the sheriff car, spitting a shower of gravel onto their fender.

“It’s chocolate,” I offered. “I have plain, if you prefer.”

She looked sideways at me. “Don’t ya need some pie to go under it?”

I took a shot of cream. “Nope,” I said after I’d swallowed, “I like it straight.”

She watched the trooper striding past the barn windows on his way to join the rest. “Yeah, sometimes you just gotta take it straight.”

Noire followed the trooper for a minute, just as she had the deputies and the coroner, sniffing their heels, hoping for a pat. Until the next vehicle arrived, then she went to the front of the barn again. A truck pulled up, and she wheeled to run toward it. This one a small, red Nissan.
 

“There’s Dex One,” Clara said. She set off to greet him at a fast waddle.

I swear, she was enjoying all the activity. I wondered how well she knew “little Norman.” I’d met him only twice and was having trouble keeping my whipped cream down at the thought of what might have happened.
 

Clara brought the man to me. “Dexter Hamill, this is Viola Parker.”

I winced at the use of my full name. “Vi” would have done. Of medium build with buzz-cut blond hair and matching mustache, Dexter One’s most distinguishing feature was a pronounced limp. The way he moved, it was an old injury to which he’d adapted long ago. How he rode with it, I could not imagine. I stood to shake his hand.

His grip was strong. The look in his eye was all warm molasses, but there was a hint of determination behind the softness, and I knew that whatever caused the limp kept Dex from very little.

“Let me talk to these fellers outside for a minute, see what’s up. I’ll be back.”

He hobbled out into the drizzle. Clara’s heavy body heaved a great sigh.

“That man can park his boots under my bed any time,” she whispered.

I blinked at her. Her and Hank looked like they’d been together forever, but he was a bit of a bow-legged little gnome. Dex was fairly ordinary looking until you noticed his eyes. Even with the limp, I could see how she’d find him attractive.

“You sure you don’t want a hit?” I brandished my can.

Clara plopped beside me. “Maybe I will,” she said.

She sprayed a generous dollop of chocolate whipped cream straight into her nose. It takes practice to get the technique right. She jumped to her feet and snorted it into the aisle with a flurry of waving hands, coughing and spitting. Good thing this wasn’t the crime scene. I’d call it compromised.

An emergency medical service truck pulled in and behind it a beat-up white compact. Sandy slammed her car door and hustled into the barn before the EMTs could disembark. Noire gave her a quick sniff and decided to ignore the others. Sandy probably reeked of all sorts of animal smells from the vet’s office. She wore her riding togs. Stretch black jeans and high-top sneakers. A red, checkered sports bra zipped up the front and didn’t look like it offered much in the way of support given the amount of bounce and sway coming our way.

Clara opened her mouth like she was receiving communion. “Hit me,” she said.
 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Sandy asked when she reached us.

I gave Clara a squirt while Sandy bent over backwards to get a glimpse of the crowd in the next field. Her breasts rolled to either side, and I wondered how she kept her balance. The Sheriff himself had arrived and drove straight to the field. Now, the EMTs were aiming their truck in that direction, too.
   

“Jesus effing Christ on a hot, brown shingle,” Sandy said. “Is that Norman?”

She started for the door, but Clara laid a restraining hand on her arm. “You’d better sit down, honey,” Clara said. She patted the step next to her.
 

Sandy lowered herself without taking her gaze from the scene outside. I didn’t look. Instead, I shook my can and took a squirt.

“Can I have some of that?” Sandy asked.

Splotches of bright pink bloomed on Sandy’s cheeks and her eyes filled with tears.
 

“Helps if you tilt your head back,” Clara said. She rubbed her nose.

Sandy had clearly used this form of nourishment before. She injected the stuff with a flourish, moving the can up and down for effect, and her face cleared. I went upstairs for my spare. Plain would have to do. But I’d need to get to the store soon for reinforcements.

“How bad is it?” Sandy asked when I returned.
 

She seemed to have regained her composure. Whipped cream is good that way.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Hank and I were cleaning up the manure pile. I was spreading it, and…” my voice broke.

Clara patted my arm.
 

“Don’t know more than that,” I said. “He was fine yesterday.”

“Dang,” Sandy whispered. “What a way to go.”

She was making light, but her voice sounded tight.

“He didn’t go thataway,” Clara said. “You don’t fall into the middle of a manure pile like that and accidentally get buried. Stuff’s too…you know, firm-like. You might fall on top of it, get overcome by the smell, roll to the base. He had to be dead already.”
 

That was the first time anyone had said
dead
.
 

Clara continued, “Yep. Somebody put him there.”

We all looked at each other, then away.

“Anybody want pie?” Clara asked. “There’s tea, too.”

We agreed we all needed tea and walked up the step into the tack room.

When we went out again, Renee, the tall black woman who had taken care of Smitty the day I arrived, stood in the aisle looking through the back door. Near the fence line, an old couple walked arm-and-arm under an umbrella. I recognized Melba from the grocery store. The man must have been Fred. Yellow police tape flapped in the breeze now, and all the horses stood staring, heads high, ears twitching. Cali trotted up and down inside the riding ring. She kicked out, and broke the top fence rail. The loud snap sent her off at a dead run to the other end, bucking and farting the whole way.

Renee turned to look at us. “What on earth?”

“Hey, Renee,” Sandy said. She’d been sniffling and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Vi, remember Renee?”

“I remember,” I said. “You took care of Smitty. Good to see you again.”

Renee raised an eyebrow at me, turned away. I looked to Sandy, who shrugged. “Were you coming over to ride this afternoon?” I asked Renee.

“You expecting points because you remembered the only black woman within fifty miles of this place?”

Okay, fine. Everybody handles stress differently. There was no reason to get snooty, but I get that maybe she was upset and decided to take it out on me.
 

Renee murmured to no one in particular, “Um, um, um. Norman, Norman, Norman. What kinda mess you get yourself into, boy?”

I turned on my heel. “If anyone’s looking for me, I’ll be right back.”

“Where you gonna be at?” Sandy asked.

I held up my can of Reddi-Wip. “We’re going to need a couple of cases.”

A man’s voice called to me before I reached the end of the barn aisle. Dex. I stopped.

“Miss Parker, these gentlemen need to ask you some questions.”

I turned in time to see him indicate the deputies. Crap.
 

We went into the tack room where they both helped themselves to tea and one grabbed a piece of Clara’s pie without using a plate. He crammed most of it in his mouth at one time. Crumbs sprinkled his chest and caught around his shiny badge.

“Miss Parker, where were you last night?” the other asked.

I narrowed my eyes. Was he questioning me like I was a suspect? At my hesitation they exchanged a look. Dex sat next to me on the love seat. He smelled like freshly-baked bread, and I wondered if that was why Clara wanted his boots under her bed. He patted my knee as if we’d known each other longer than a minute.

“It’s routine, Vi. Just answer them.” I stared at the back of his hand. He removed it from my leg, lowered his head, and rubbed his temples. If his headache was anything like mine, it was going to take more than that to fix it.

The deputy hadn’t specified a time. Which meant they didn’t have a fix on time of death. “I was here until six-forty-five, then I went to Mel’s.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“JJ…” Crap. I didn’t know the guy’s name, but at the mention of him, Dex’s head came up.

“John Jenson?” the deputy asked.

Figures they’d know. I glanced at Dex. “Is he the guy who used to work here?”
 

Dex nodded, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, as if this was bad news.
 

“That’s him,” I said. “He was here in the afternoon. Then, he left, and I met him at Mel’s at seven. We were there until around ten.” I’d noticed the time when I got in my truck. I get stupid when I drink, but not unable-to-tell-time stupid.

“And what transpired while you were at Mel’s? Did either of you leave and return during that time?”

What
transpired
? Sheesh. “We ate pizza and played darts and talked, and we were both there the whole time.”

“Did you imbibe liquor?”

“I had a couple of drinks, yes.”

“One, or two, or more?”

“Two.” This much I knew for sure. I really didn’t think there was a third. Beer didn’t count.

“Miss Parker arrived at Winterlight for the first time on Saturday evening, officer,” Dex said. “She’s been working almost non-stop since.”

The deputy eating pie crammed in the last crumbs, licked his fingers, cut his gaze to Dex, then to the other deputy. I glanced around for the security camera I must have missed. How the hell did Dex know what I’d been doing? Did I ask him to defend me? Did I need defending?

“Do I need an attorney?” I asked. I thought of my parents’ lawyer in Connecticut. He might not be the best one to call, but I didn’t know any others.

“Like Mr. Hamill said, routine. When was the last time you saw the deceased?”

When do people go from being persons with names to
the deceased
? How did that make it easier? My stubborn streak, which has a habit of raising its ugly head at the most inappropriate times, chose that moment to make an appearance.

“You mean Norman?” I asked. I didn’t know Norman and didn’t care for him the little I did know. Didn’t know his last name either, but he’d had one. He’d been a person who thought he was “moving on to bigger and better things.” A person with hope.

They exchanged a look. I’d seen that look before. I took a turn rubbing my temples. When was the last time I’d taken any pain pills? Surely it was time for more—with a whipped cream chaser—which even I knew wasn’t appropriate during a questioning. My tummy started an uncomfortable roiling at the thought. Maybe I’d already had enough.

Dex squeezed my shoulder. “Take your time,” he said.
 

Either he mistook my manner for grief, or he knew I was getting pissed. I voted for the latter. I remembered then Malcolm saying Dex One was a retired-mounted-cop-sometime-private-investigator. I’d bet nothing much got by Dex.
 

“Monday morning around ten-thirty,” I answered. “He rode his four-wheeler up the road.” Hank had probably already given this information as well.

The deputy made notes and nodded. “And after ten p.m. last night? Where did you go when you left Mel’s?”

I’d so hoped he would not return to that timeline. But I don’t lie, and there was no point in it I could think of. Except for my pride. Except I’d already sunk so low by coming to work at a hack barn, pride hardly figured in.
 

“We went down to the river for a little while, no more than fifteen minutes. I’m not sure where, but not far from here.”

“You don’t know where?”

“It was dark. I followed JJ, but I don’t exactly know my way around yet.”

“Mr. Jenson was with you?”