Chapter Five
I still struggled with the words to use to convince Uncle Henry a horse he raised didn't kill his best student as I pulled into the gravel driveway. I drove past the two-story, steep-roofed brick house where my aunt and uncle lived, and parked by the arena next to the barn. Distractions were plentiful and I shamelessly took refuge in them. The rose garden looked recently tended. Daffodils were blooming. Other spring flowers would be doing so soon, if the profusion of green shoots was any indication. Large pots and empty window boxes sat on the back porch, lined up, clean, and ready for planting. By the time the first of May rolled around there would be enough flowers to make any Brit think she'd walked straight into an English country garden. I sighed thinking of all the work they did. I knew they hired help from time to time, but still, I wished Aunt Vi had called me to help with all this prep work.
Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry are my mother's aunt and uncle. Aunt Vi's older sister, my grandmother, lives in Seattle in a retirement community. She said life in the country was boring, and refused to move into the apartment Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry remodeled for her from their detached garage -- the one they now rented to Paul.
Uncle Henry was in the arena riding his old gelding Iron Duke. I wanted to watch, but I went first to the paddock to see Blackie. He was busy sampling the rich grass and gave me a loud half whinny as a cursory acknowledgment. I ducked through the fence and went to him, inspecting him closely, running my hands over his soft mahogany coat and down each black leg. Delores and Uncle Henry had undoubtedly done the same, but it was reassuring for me to do it. Satisfied nothing was amiss, I ruffled his mane, left him alone to graze, and went back to the arena. I made myself comfortable on my car's warm hood and allowed myself to be swept up watching a master at work.
Uncle Henry is a dressage trainer and former Olympian. He competed for Great Britain in two Olympic games: Tokyo in nineteen sixty-four and again in Mexico in nineteen sixty-eight, winning a silver and a bronze. He won two World Championships, as well as countless other international honors before retiring and moving here, to Snohomish, to breed horses and teach. Six years ago he sold the last of his brood mares and limited himself to teaching.
The farm's arena is the standard twenty-meter by sixty-meter dressage size, enclosed by a low white fence, and marked at specific intervals with letters. These are used in dressage tests to indicate where each movement starts and stops, and are useful when one is training to help with accuracy. Oddly, the letters are not arranged in alphabetical order. Even Uncle Henry hasn't been able to explain to me why that is, but they're the same wherever you go in the world. I recalled overhearing Uncle Henry's reassuring words to Valerie before she was to leave for her first international competition. He told her the familiarity of the arena, no matter where she was, would give her a boost of confidence. He was right. I watched the tape. She entered the arena with her chin up, shoulders squared, and the focused eyes of a competitor in "the zone."
Uncle Henry guided Duke through a series of schooling exercises I'd seen him do before, so I knew the movements he would execute and at which letters. As I settled in to watch, the sun managed to find a hole in the clouds and illuminated horse and rider for a few moments with spotlight brilliance. Duke's chestnut coat gleamed like polished copper, and the white of his legs accentuated his powerful, elastic strides. His hooves beat a steady, muffled rhythm on the sand, and from time to time he blew great, long, relaxed snorts through his big nostrils. The strength and grace of this horse, who I knew to be over twenty years old, held me mesmerized just as he did every time I watched Uncle Henry ride him.
They cantered a half-pass, an oblique sideways movement, with practiced ease across the diagonal of the arena and executed a text-book flying change at A, the mid-point of the short side. Uncle Henry sat straight in the saddle, a commanding, silver-haired presence. His aids were visible only as eloquently expressed answers from Duke.
Performing a quarter pirouette at E, they continued across the arena changing direction, but not canter lead. The flying change came after the ten-meter counter-canter circle at C. I could have wept. I longed for that level of skill. Every stride seemed effortless, every movement a consensus of two minds. They transitioned smoothly to walk and Uncle Henry let Duke stretch his neck after a few strides and patted him. He smiled at me and lifted a hand in greeting.
"I'll meet you in the house. We're done here."
I nodded and my insides did a twist. Great, I still didn't know what I was going to say to them. Sliding off my car, I went to the house.
Aunt Vi was busy in the big country kitchen, pinching a fluted edge on a pie -- strawberry and rhubarb, if I wasn't mistaken. She greeted me, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and folded me in a brief but comforting hug.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, then scrutinized me at arms' length.
"Fine," I replied. I inhaled the warm air laden with the aromas of cinnamon, vanilla, and yeasty dough, mixed with Aunt Vi's floral perfume. Not just pie, but cinnamon rolls, too. I loved her cinnamon rolls. The tension in my shoulders eased. A little. "What about you and Uncle Henry? How are you doing?"
"Oh, you know your uncle -- stiff upper lip and all that. But yes, the news upset him. We talked for a bit after Delores left. Then he went to the barn. He's been there ever since, doing chores and now riding." She shook her head. "I expect he'll give Hans a ring in a little while and let him know."
Hans Boermer, a friend and former student of Uncle Henry's -- and the current king of American dressage -- worked with Valerie and her horse Nachtfeder every winter from November to March in Wellington, Florida.
Aunt Vi hadn't said a word about how she felt.
"They had high hopes for Valerie and Nachtfeder, didn't they?" I knew the answer to my question, but I asked to be polite.
"Yes, I suppose they did. But the real tragedy is she lost her life at such a young age, and so violently." She contemplated me for a moment while she rubbed a bit of flour on her rolling pin. "I know you two girls never got on -- no, don't apologize. Valerie was who she was, and it was her nature to try and grab the spotlight all the time --"
"And buy people," I said, emboldened by Aunt Vi's honesty.
But the momentary silence telegraphed her anger with me. "Yes, you're right. She did that. And I sincerely hope, young lady, that you don't think we accepted all those lavish gifts."
I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, but my gaze dragged through the doorway to the dining room where a stunning, crystal Lalique horse held a prominent place in the china cabinet. Aunt Vi's cheeks flushed. Now I'd done it.
"Don't give me your uppity face."
Guilt smacked me hard. "No! I --"
"We exchanged Christmas presents. Only. You're well aware of that. The one thing Henry would accept without a quibble was that crystal horse. Valerie's determination and talent in the show ring impressed us, not her money. As a competitor she was top notch --"
That hit a raw nerve. "Yes, I'm well aware I could never measure up."
My aunt wiped her hands on the tea towel, pursed her lips and looked away. When she turned back to me the anger was gone from her expression. "You know, love, Henry and I have talked about this and I can tell you it never bothered him when you gave up showing. Why I've said to him, many times, he doesn't need to experience the thrill of competition through you. He agrees with me wholeheartedly. It's enough for him that you enjoy riding."
"I know," I said, sheepish. I sat at the kitchen table. This was going worse than I imagined -- thanks to me.
"I mean that sincerely. You're an excellent rider, too, and you've done a wonderful job with Blackie. Henry often says that the true test of training is what happens every day in the schooling arena, and not how lucky you get in the show ring."
"I know."
"Of course, if you should ever want to show, you know Henry would be there for you. You're better than you think you are. And don't go supposing Henry hasn't made his share of blunders -- so have ev
ery one of those judges you'd ride for. They don't expect you to be perfect, you know. And most of them are quite human."
"I know."
"Without Valerie now, I expect Henry will have a little more time on his hands, just in case you want to do more, that is."
"Thanks." My smile felt brittle. "He's always been available for me, and I appreciate it."
This was worse than uncomfortable. Aunt Vi knew why I didn't show. Why couldn't people just leave it alone? Why was it so damned important? I was tired of justifying myself on this particular issue -- especially since it was an issue Valerie had always picked at with such delight. I needed to shift the focus and I blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"I saw Greg this morning. He drove in to Valerie's after the ambulance and deputies --" I choked on the rest of the sentence, horrified at the topic I'd chosen. For the first time I had tears in my eyes. Neither one of us spoke. Then Aunt Vi cleared her throat and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a hankie she'd pulled from her sleeve.
"I never met Greg. He's quite a charmer, I'm told."
I nodded.
"So." Her hankie covered a discreet sniffle, before she tucked the bit of lace away. "Last night everything turned out all right? I mean Paul didn't have any trouble finding you?" She tossed a ball of dough on the floured board. Another pie was in the offing.
"No. No problem." I cleared my throat, too.
"Lovely of him to drive all the way down there. Henry can't see as well at night as he used to, you know. He doesn't fancy driving after dark if he can help it."
"Uh huh." What luck. We'd managed to hop right to another topic I wasn't too thrilled with at the moment.
"Paul's a nice young man. Good looking and smart, too." She made a quick, angled pass over the dough ball with the rolling pin.
"Uh huh."
"He's been a lot of help around here this week since he moved in." She rolled the dough in a different direction.
I nodded.
The kettle whistled and Aunt Vi wiped her hands before pouring some of the hot water into the teapot to warm it. She dumped it out, spooned in some loose tea, poured in more water, and covered it with a cozy to let it steep.
"So I take it your dinner with Jonathan and his parents didn't go awfully well." She took three cups and saucers from the cabinet and set them on the kitchen table.
"You could say that. He asked me to marry him in the middle of the restaurant after dinner, with his parents and everyone else as an audience."
"Oh my." She stopped arranging cups and saucers and trained her attention on me.
"Yeah, well, he caught me by surprise. I was under a different impression."
"What impression was that, love?"
"I didn't think he cared for me any longer."
Aunt Vi watched me intently, saying nothing. I swallowed and waved a hand through the air to disperse her concern.
"Oh well, you know how he's always finding fault with me. I figured our relationship had run its course. Obviously, he had a different opinion. I didn't handle the situation very well."
"Now Thea, I'm sure you're being too hard on yourself."
I had the impression her reference took in more than the way I'd handled Jonathan's proposal. My adversarial relationship with Valerie was in there, too, and a lot of other things I typically beat myself up over. I drew little designs on the smooth table top with a finger as I answered her—mostly so I didn't have to see her expression while I pretended we were still talking about Jonathan.
"Aunt Vi, I literally ran out of the restaurant."
"Ohhh. Have you talked to Jonathan yet today?" The rolling pin made a soft rattle and a little whoosh. I glanced up. Aunt Vi's attention was back on the dough.
"No."
"I think you might want to do that."
Uncle Henry came through the kitchen door. "Do what?" He hung his jacket on a peg.
Aunt Vi left her dough-rolling to pour tea. "Talk to Jonathan. He asked her to marry him last night."
He cocked his head at me. "Did he now? So …."
"So nothing. I overreacted and left without giving him an answer."
"Ah, that's why Paul --"
"Yes," I said, a little sharper than I intended. "But it was Juliet I called to come and get me."
I poured milk into my tea and stirred it, spilling some into the saucer. Uncle Henry watched me before fixing his own tea. "Was there a problem with Paul?"
"No."
"Oh?"
"He picked me up and dropped me off at my car. That's all. Nothing happened. He was perfectly fine. I'm just upset with Juliet for putting everyone out. By the way, why didn't you tell me Paul was Delores's nephew?"
"I thought you knew, dear," Aunt Vi said. She put the strawberry-rhubarb pie in the oven.
"No, I didn't. Though everyone else seems to have been told." I winced at how whiny I sounded.
"He used to come out here in the summers from Minneapolis when he was a teenager and clean stalls at Copper Creek." Aunt Vi said with extreme patience. "I suppose you were too interested in the horses to notice him."
That explained exactly nothing. I grunted a response. Whatever.
Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry exchanged a look, and we sat in silence drinking tea while the pie baked. My shoulders sagged. I wanted to curl up on the big overstuffed sofa in the living room, but I was too tired to move. At least I had Blackie back.
"I notice the tractor is working again, Henry," Aunt Vi said.
"It's limping along. I had to order parts for it again."
"You can get parts for that old thing?"
I half listened to their discussion. I wanted to tell them Blackie didn't kill Valerie. It was important. I debated the best way to broach my murder theory. Maybe it would be best to return to my concerns from last night's dinner. I botched it, big-time. Obviously, I needed advice.
I had wanted to run, screaming, from Jonathan, and had done almost exactly that. How was I going to save face with him? My own mother was going to be more than willing to hand me an itemized list of how completely I'd screwed up and disappointed her. By Mother's standards Jonathan was quite a catch. Blond haired and handsome, a successful attorney in his father's law firm, secure future. Even Jonathan made it clear I was lucky to have him.
When Mother found out I was dating an attorney, she began to drop hints. Visions of tiny lawyers and accountants danced through her head, along with four thousand square feet of house in any upscale Seattle suburb. Let not forget matching BMWs. If I wanted any peace I'd better not broadcast last night's disaster. Ha! Now that Juliet and Aunt Vi knew, I could kiss that idea goodbye. Fortunately, Mother and Dad lived near San Francisco and it would take at least until this evening before the news reached them. But, judging from the lack of opinions being tossed in my direction by Juliet, Aunt Vi, and Delores, a lot of talking was going on behind my back. It wasn't like us to keep our mouths shut and let others make their own mistakes. Everyone had to have a hand in it. Their lack of spirited advice made me edgy.
"I don't know, Henry. If we can get some more use out of it—"
"Depends on the cost to repair it this time. Might be worth finding a used model in good shape. Paul can't spend all his time tinkering with it, you know."
Paul. I'd met him for what I swear was the first time yesterday. Met. Right. Now that's stretching a definition. Jonathan and I conducted a rather loud discussion in the middle of Uncle Henry's driveway. When Jonathan drove out in a high-handed snit, I'd made an obscene gesture at his back that turned into a feeble wave as I saw him look into his rear view mirror.
"Hubby having problems keeping the little woman in line?"
I'd spun to confront the speaker, mortified not only because my silent opinion had been witnessed, but because the nature of our confrontation so obvious. And there he was, standing by the old tractor, dressed in jeans and t-shirt so worn they looked like they'd lost their will to live, wiping his hands on a rag, a sardonic grin on his face. I
thought he was the tractor repair guy.
And I thought he had a hell-of-a-nerve.
"Not that it's any of your flippin' business, but he's not my husband."
"My mistake." That damn grin was still there.
"Damn right it's your mistake. And another thing—I'm nobody's 'little woman' and nobody keeps me in line."
"I can see that." Still grinning.
I could have come back with something to put him in his place if I hadn't been so flustered. It wasn't his undeniable masculinity that threw me off stride (I know plenty of good looking men), or that he'd witnessed my rudeness. It was those eyes. Those blue eyes. They cut right through my crap. The unwavering look told me he knew how much of the fight with Jonathan was my fault. I felt a complete fool. Then, later that evening, when he arrived at McMurphy's instead of Juliet embarrassment rendered me incoherent. Juliet would have died laughing.
"Tell me what happened this morning, dear," Aunt Vi said. "It might make you feel better if you don't keep it all inside. Delores said it was quite a shock."
Aunt Vi just handed me the answer to how I could tell them Blackie had no part in Valerie's death.
I sipped my barely warm tea and set the cup carefully on its saucer. "Blackie didn't kill Valerie. I know it, and I'm sure I can prove it. Someone murdered her and is trying to make it look like Blackie kicked her. I need help protecting him until I can convince the sheriff."
Aunt Vi clasped both hands over her mouth. Uncle Henry drew up, taller, in his chair, his gaze fixed on me.
I reached a hand across the table toward him and plunged on, attempting to soften my raw statement. "I can't imagine someone hating her enough to want to kill her. It's possible it was an accident and someone is frightened. The thing is, though, I don't understand why she would steal my horse and take him to her place. That's plain stupid. But I'm convinced Blackie didn't kill her. He never would have kicked her. I need to prove it. If I can't they'll put him down."
"I'm surprised at you, Thea." Uncle Henry's tone had a hard edge I rarely heard from him. "You, of all people should know any horse is capable of causing severe injury to a person."
"But --"
"Including Blackie. Furthermore, you have no proof she stole your horse. None. It is completely contrary to what she wanted. She worked hard for years for a chance to be selected for the U.S. Team, and she would not have risked her dream by stealing Blackie. I can't and I won't believe it. It simply makes no sense."
His eyes held mine in a silent reprimand. I closed my dry mouth and swallowed. With his mouth still set in an angry line, he turned his attention to his tea cup and nudged the handle with his index finger until it lined up precisely parallel to the edge of the table.
He'd missed my point completely. Blackie's life was at stake. I raised my chin and laid my hand on the table. "I don't care who took him. It's not important any more. What's important is that Blackie not be blamed for something he didn't do. They'll kill him if they think he's at fault. Uncle Henry, please. I need to know what to do."
"You're losing sight of what's important. Valerie's reputation --"
My imploring hand turned into a fist. I barely restrained my impulse to pound the table. "Valerie's dead. What's important is Blackie didn't kill her."
"Stop it, both of you! Not one bit of this makes any sense!" Aunt Vi's voice, now that she'd found it, was half an octave higher than normal. "Henry, you will stop trying to shoulder the responsibility for all of this. You've been blaming yourself all day and I've had enough. And you, young lady, could show a little more compassion and a little more sense. Neither one of you has given one thought to what this means. I must say it frightens me to even consider that the poor girl was murdered. And the thought of you involved in the … oh, I can't bear it!" My aunt sprang to her feet, took her cup to the sink, dumped out the contents, then refilled it from the teapot on the kitchen table.
Alarmed at the degree of her anxiety, I half rose from my chair and knocked my cup over. Milky tea spread across the table and dripped onto my leg. I grabbed a handful of napkins from the nearby holder and rushed to sop it up. Aunt Vi didn't seem to notice.
"What if the murderer is looking for you? What if he thinks you know more than you do and you're a threat to him?" She sat and set her tea cup, rattling, in its saucer. She took my free hand in both of hers, arresting my attempt to clean up the spill.
I perched on the edge of my chair, my mind struggling for something coherent to say. She was coming at this from a completely different angle than Uncle Henry and me. Anything I said was going to be wrong.
"Now, Vi --" my uncle started.
"I'll make another pot of tea." She jumped up, snatched the kettle from the range top, and filled it from the tap.
"Vi!"
"Henry, have some sense," she snapped. "There's nothing that can be done for that poor girl now, and your niece may be in danger. That was Thea's horse in that pasture. You don't think he got there on his own, do you? The murderer put him there."
You made a huge mistake burdening them with your theories, Thea. You should have asked them to help you protect Blackie and left it at that. What were you thinking?
"We don't know with any certainty how Blackie got there or what happened," Uncle Henry said, his words clipped. "It could have been an accident like the police think. They'll figure out what happened. Speculation won't help and will just get you more upset."
My aunt's lips pressed together until they were white. Her bosom heaved twice before she spoke. "Better upset than sticking my head in the sand, Henry. I don't believe we should be so naïve as to let our guard down. Thea could be in grave danger. Valerie is already gone, and the circumstances are anything but clear. We can't allow anything to happen to our niece." Little bright pink spots glowed on her cheeks.
Uncle Henry's expression made a quick change from anger to distress.
"Well, um, why don't we have Thea stay here with us?" Relief washed across his face as the bright pink spots began to fade from Aunt Vi's complexion and her mouth regained its usual appearance.
"That's more like it," she said. Then she went to the sink, got a handful of paper towels and gave them to me. "You go into the bathroom. Take those pants off and rinse the tea out with cold water -- from the back -- before that stain sets. Put them in the wash right away when you get home."
I swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." And did what I was told.
In the bathroom, I stripped and rinsed, not listening to the murmur of my aunt and uncle's conversation that reached me through the closed door. At least neither sounded angry anymore, but I still felt guilty. They never got mad at each other.
I squeezed what water I could out of my pants and pulled them back on. I wanted nothing more than to go home -- okay, and dry clothes, too -- and stay there. But I had to come back. I opened the door in time to catch my aunt's question to my uncle.
"What are we going to do? This isn't going the way we planned."
I stopped.
"There's nothing we can do. Remember, we weren't going to be involved past this point, anyway."