Whisker of Evil (26 page)

“Of course. And you've already been helpful. I need more, Fair, more to convict this guy if he's our man, but this is the first real break we've had.”

“Did you find more bones up on those high meadows?” Fair inquired.

“Uh—yes, but not many. We did find part of a jaw. That will be a big help. I should have a positive I.D. soon.”

“I guess we all believe it's Mary Pat.” Fair rose. “What a mess this is. What a sad, tangled mess. Oh, before I forget, in the box are the names, addresses, phone numbers, and e-mails of those folks in our own county who breed for the track—in case you want to check who has sent mares up to Carroll County.”

“Thank you.” Cooper was overwhelmed by the amount of research Fair had done.

Rick walked Fair to the door, clapped him on the back. “Harry's rubbed off on you, old buddy. Now I've got two amateurs to deal with. Thanks, though.”

Fair blushed. “Keep it to yourself.”

47

W
hile Rick called the Carroll County sheriff, Coop drove over to Dalmally Farm. Rick had given her permission to visit Big Mim, a pipeline to high rollers like Marshall Kressenberg. She found the always immaculately attired older woman standing in a paddock, watching Paul de Silva jog a promising two-year-old filly, Violet Hill.

“Tracks okay.” Big Mim observed the fluid-moving youngster as she came straight toward her then straight away. “All right, let me see her from the side.”

Paul jogged her up and back so Big Mim could watch both the animal's left and right sides. Violet Hill was by an Argentinean stallion, Wolf, out of one of Mim's good mares, Fanny Hill, and was not intended for the thoroughbred sales. This one Mim wanted to keep for herself to foxhunt and maybe go to a few hunter shows.

The slender, petite woman liked a horse that was forward, that would step out and was, above all, brave. This blood-bay filly, her mane and tail glossy black, just might be the ticket.

“Again, Mrs. Sanburne?” A sweating Paul held the cotton lead rope in his right hand.

“No, you'll melt.” She laughed, then turned as she heard Cooper walking toward her. Violet Hill pricked her ears and nickered, as well. “Hello, Coop, what do you think of my girl?”

“What a beautiful color. I don't think I've ever seen a horse that color.”

“Blood bay. You don't see many of them, really.” Big Mim trod through the grass to meet the deputy at the fence.

Violet Hill enjoyed human company. She wanted to join the two women. Paul led her over so Cooper could admire her and pet her.

“She's a ham.” Paul tickled her muzzle.

“I have presence. I'm not a ham,”
Violet Hill replied.

The humans laughed, although they had no idea what Violet had just said.

“She likes her treats. Would you like to see anyone else today, madam?” Paul, obeying equine etiquette, deferred to the animal's owner and his boss.

“No, thank you. Violet shines like patent leather. You're doing a good job, Paul.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sanburne. Oh, is it convenient for Tazio to come by at four to walk the stable site?”

“You know what, tell her to come at five-thirty if she doesn't mind. Then she can just stay for the meeting about Herb's party. Otherwise she'd have to go back and forth.”

“Very good.” His Spanish accent sounded melodic.

“Going to heat up even more today.” Big Mim, like all country people, paid attention to the weather. “It's actually pleasant now if you're not jogging horses. Would you like to sit?” She indicated a wrought-iron bench, two seats, and a wrought-iron table under the old walnut tree near the barn.

As they sat down Cooper quietly said, “I wanted you to know that half an hour ago Doctors Sandra and Nelson Yarborough identified the bit of jawbone we found with the molars still intact as belonging to Mary Pat Reines.”

Big Mim closed her eyes for a moment. “God rest her soul. I don't suppose you know how she died.”

“No.”

“Poor Mary Pat.” She folded her hands together. “Harry finding the ring was the beginning of what I hope will be resolution.”

“Is that a nice way of saying we should find the killer and convict him?” Cooper ruefully smiled.

“Yes. Forgive me, would you like a refreshment?”

“No. I'm also here to ask your help.”

These magic words enlivened Big Mim. “Of course.”

“How well do you know Marshall Kressenberg?”

“I've known him since he was an exercise rider for Mary Pat. I know him through the horse business.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He left after Mary Pat disappeared. I don't remember exactly when. Perhaps a few weeks after she disappeared. It was all too depressing. He got a job in Maryland—a better job, as he moved up to apprentice trainer. He found Ziggy's full brother, who due to injury had not raced. Marshall, who paid attention to Mary Pat's program, tracked down the horse. He borrowed to the hilt and bought the stallion from Old Wampum Farm in Kentucky. That's how he started his own business. The rest, they say, is history. Tavener never forgave himself for not locating and buying Ziggy Dark Star himself. But he had sense enough to purchase a small share. He knew Mary Pat had bred back her mare the year after Ziggy Flame was born. She took the mare back to Tom Fool, so Tavener knew Ziggy had a full brother. Lost opportunities. We all have our share of those.”

“Perhaps not so lucrative.” Cooper watched a buck-moth caterpillar crawl along a limb, followed by others. They seemed to be gregarious creatures. “Do you consider Marshall a friend?”

Big Mim thought a moment. “No. A business associate. We have a good relationship. As I said, he's a good horseman and I appreciate that. He has good manners, is pleasant company.”

“Anything else you can think to tell me?”

She paused. “Well, he's hardworking. He always says he's lucky, he had good advice early. Studied Mary Pat's organization. Hung out with Humphrey Finney, the auctioneer. He tried to learn from the best. He married a lovely girl, a St. Mary's County girl, I believe, and they have four children. Also, he gives generously to various charities, and his wife heads the Heart Fund in Carroll County.”

“How much business do you do with him?”

“Not too much, Cooper. He's strictly a flat-racing man, and I'm a ‘chaser,' if you will. Occasionally I'll run a horse on turf or dirt, but my real love is steeplechasing and foxhunting, of course. I don't think I've bought more than two mares from him over the years. I liked their conformation, the bloodlines. I see him at the sales, at the Preakness, and occasionally when he comes back here to Albemarle County.”

“You never took a mare to Ziggy Dark Star?”

“No, no. That would have been foolish.”

“Why?”

“Seventy-five thousand dollars for a season to Ziggy Dark Star. For what I do that would be throwing money away. You see, dear, I can go to the ‘two-year-olds in training and up' sales—meaning older horses—and find a well-bred horse who isn't fast enough on the flat track for a reasonable amount of money. I can turn those into steeplechasers. Or I can breed one of my mares to a good stallion who isn't as expensive. I have always liked doing business with Payson Stud in Lexington, Kentucky. I've had wonderful luck crossing my mares to St. Jovite, Lac Ouimet, Salem Drive. Granted, St. Jovite is a little pricey for my purposes, but he's a marvelous animal, just marvelous.” Big Mim loved studying bloodlines, watching horses move, run over fences, or walk around the paddock. She possessed a razor-sharp eye.

“I'm totally ignorant. I don't see steeplechasers in your barn.”

“They're with a trainer in Pennsylvania. I like him and I like the way he brings along my horses. There's no point in my building a track, hiring a trainer, the whole nine yards. This works better, and when the horses retire, I bring them home and Paul will turn them into foxhunters.”

“How do you know they can do that?”

“Steeplechasing grew out of foxhunting. I know the horses can jump. What Paul has to do is let them mellow out, if you will, teach them to go in company, and we have to acquaint them with hounds. He's a good man with foals, too. I'm quite pleased with him, and I think he's going to work out.”

“Do you think Marshall Kressenberg was capable of murdering Mary Pat and stealing Ziggy Flame?”

This took Big Mim by surprise. She sat up straighter. “Why, I don't know. I never thought of such a thing. I—I don't know.”

“Do you think Alicia Palmer capable of the crime?”

“Never.” She was vehement. “She loved Mary Pat.”

“Lovers routinely kill each other.”

“No.”

“She became rich beyond most people's wildest dreams,” Cooper probed.

“No.”

“What if she made a deal with Marshall? He kills Mary Pat and she gives him Ziggy Flame.”

“No. Absolutely not. Alicia's a heart person, not a money person. You don't know her.”

“No, I don't, but she certainly had a crystal-clear motive. And you are her friend. One can be blinded by friendship.”

“Cooper, I'm not even blind to my own children's faults. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not a subjective person. It causes my family some distress. It's one of the reasons my son, Stafford, moved to New York. He says I was never a warm, loving mother.”

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you, but we've had a break in the Mary Pat case. I have to ask difficult questions. What do you think about Ziggy Flame and Ziggy Dark Star being the same horse?”

“Ziggy Flame was a chestnut. Ziggy Dark Star was a bay. A horse of a different color,” she wryly commented. “Are you sure you're on the right track?”

“Marshall could have dyed the horse.”

“Good Lord!” This had never occurred to Big Mim.

“We've combed all the articles about Marshall, and each one says only he handled the stallion. This was presented as fanatical devotion. It was, but perhaps for the wrong reason.”

The queen of Crozet, speechless for a moment, opened her left hand, her large engagement diamond catching a ray of light. “Oh, Cooper, never, never would I have thought of such a thing. It's horrible. It's too horrible.”

“Clever. And he's gotten away with it—or they've gotten away with it, if Alicia is involved—for thirty years.”

“Cooper, I know, know in my heart of hearts that Alicia could never do such a thing.”

“I know, but none of us thought of Ziggy Dark Star being Ziggy Flame, either.”

Big Mim leaned back in the chair, the wrought iron hard against her back. “Does Marshall have any kind of criminal record?”

“Rick checked. Speeding tickets. Other than that, clean as a whistle.”

“I see.” Big Mim paused. “Are you going to question him?”

“Yes.”

“Might I make a suggestion?”

“Please. You know so much more about people than I do.” Cooper meant this sincerely.

Big Mim smiled. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. It would seem to me inevitable that Marshall Kressenberg will find out about Mary Pat. It will be in the news tomorrow, right?”

Cooper nodded, then grimaced. “Along with the story that Carmen Gamble is nowhere to be found.”

Big Mim, wise in the ways of Sheriff Shaw, and picking up the lack of urgency in Cooper's voice concerning Carmen, simply replied, “Carmen will appear in good time, hair the latest cut, nails polished, lipstick bright.”

“Let's hope so.” Cooper smiled. “What's your idea about Marshall?”

“If you question him, he'll be defensive, alert, whatever. However, if we have a ceremony for Mary Pat, bury her remains, and Marshall is invited, then perhaps you can spring a trap.”

“What if he doesn't want to come down?” Cooper asked.

“Let me take care of that. I'm going to present this as a gathering of all who loved her and worked for her. We put her to rest at last. Just let me handle it. Herb can conduct the actual service, and the burial will be at St. James, with Alicia's permission.”

“Don't tell Alicia—about Marshall, I mean.”

“I won't. Have you told Alicia yet about Mary Pat?” Big Mim folded her hands together.

“I have not. I was going to her after seeing you.”

“Allow me to go with you.”

“All right.”

By the time they reached the large, varnished front door with the pineapple knocker at St. James's main house, Cooper was curious as to what Alicia's reaction would be. Big Mim had enlarged on her idea for a trap on the drive over. That was on Cooper's mind, too.

A housekeeper led them to Alicia on the screened-in porch.

Big Mim broke the news.

Alicia took it calmly until Mim hugged her, then she broke down with racking sobs.

She tore Cooper's heart out, except in the back of the young deputy's mind was the nagging fact that Alicia was one of the greatest actresses of her generation.