Death By a Dark Horse

'What is this, a joke?' Furry radiated to my fingertips.

'You don't recognize the bill of sale?'

'No, absolutely not.'

'Is that your signature?' He paused long enough to point to the bottom of the page.

'No.'

'You're sure?'

'Of course I'm sure.' My answer was shrill. I pulled my wallet out of my purse and handed him my driver's license. He compared the two signatures and handed the license back to me.

'There isn't even an attempt at forgery,' he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

'I don't understand this,' I said to his back. Dammit. I wanted to tie him to a chair.

'Neither do I. Shall we see if Detective Thurman can enlighten us?' He went to the door and opened it.

Detective Thurman wasted no time in returning. He, at least, sat down. Mr. Green pushed the paper back to him and made a flicking motion with his hand from my purse to Thurman. After a moment's confusion I understood it as a command for me to display my driver's license. Thurman compared the two signatures and flipped my license back to me.

'Is this your horse described here?' He tapped the paper.

'If it is, it's a poor description.' I crossed my arms. 'Wrong color. He's not black. The name's wrong, too.'

'It's not,' he read off the paper, ''The Black Bishop'?'

'No. His registered name is, 'The Black Queen's Bishop.'' I cringed and glanced at Mr. Green, realizing I'd probably said too much. Sweat prickled in my arm pits.

'Funny name for a horse, but aren't they all?'

I didn't comment.

'Is this Valerie Parsons's signature?' He showed me the paper again.

'I wouldn't know. I've never seen her handwriting, much less her signature. You must realize if this were a legitimate bill of sale my horse's breed, registration number, sire, dam, detailed description of height, markings, and other information would be included.'

Detective Thurman scratched his nose, thinking. I glanced at my attorney. He stopped pacing and instead fidgeted with the change in his pants pocket.

I hated this silence.

'What's this all about? Where did you get this?' I tapped the table top near the folder harder than I'd intended.

'It was dropped off at our office this morning.'

'By whom?' I leaned forward and our eyes locked. After a moment Thurman cocked his head.

'Is it important?'

'It might be.' I tipped my head, imitating him. 'Someone sure seems determined to drag me into this murder investigation.'

'Why would someone want to do that?'

I sat back, staring at him in disbelief. 'Gee, you're the detective. I would think you could figure that one out with one hand tied behind your back.'

'What's your theory?' He acted like he hadn't heard the insult.

'Theory?' I squeaked. 'Isn't it obvious? Someone is trying to frame me. If that fake bill of sale isn't enough, just look at this.' I turned to Mr. Green and held my hand out. He picked up my hint, produced the folded sheet of newspaper, and slid it across the table to the detective.

'What's this?'

'My client found it taped to her front door this afternoon.'

Thurman unfolded it, looked at both sides and frowned briefly. ''Stoping ions ask quest'? 'Stoping' is spelled wrong.'

'Read it top to bottom, two words in each column,' I said.

His eyes flicked back to the page then settle back on me. 'So, someone wants you to stop asking questions. Why is that?'

'I don't know. I haven't even started asking questions.'

'Is that right?'

'Yes. What are you going to do about this?' I pointed at the message.

Thurman appeared to mull over my question. 'Throw it out?'

'It's evidence. In fact, it sounds like a threat.'

He scrutinized it again, at such length I knew he was mocking me. 'You think so?'

'Yes, I do.' My voice trembled with frustration. I was surrounded by idiots. 'I have some questions I would like the answers to.'

'Ask away.' Thurman leaned back and calmly folded his hands on his stomach. This particular chair didn't creak like the one in his office.

Mr. Green sat down and stared at me, steadily jiggling one leg.

I wanted to rub away the headache these two were giving me, but I didn't want to appear weak. Bad enough I had to clear my throat twice before any words would come out. 'Are you looking into any 'persons of interest' other than me?'

'Like who?'

'Like whoever forged this bill of sale. Like any of the people who knew Valerie and might send me this?' I tapped the newspaper. 'And do you always have to answer me with a question?'

Thurman raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't budge. I sat up a little straighter and set my jaw. He was deliberately trying to make me nervous.

''Yes' to your first question, 'no' to your second.' One edge of his mouth rose.

'So, of those people, who would benefit from her death?'

'Benefit how?'

I gave him a hard look. 'Financially, I have to assume, since she was wealthy.'

Mr. Green coughed, but I ignored him. He stopped jiggling his leg.

Detective Thurman shrugged his answer.

'It seems to me you should be looking into these things,' I said. 'After all, isn't money often a motive for murder? And what about relationships she had? Aren't you curious to find out who was close to her? Maybe somebody close to her wanted her dead. There's some significant statistics that support that line of inquiry, you know.'

He pursed his lips and nodded at me, looking for all the world like he'd never had the idea before. He was starting to irritate me. I looked at Mr. Green. I was already irritated with him. He looked at the table and rubbed his forehead. Well, hell. Was I the only one with any ideas?

'Oh, for crying out loud. Did you even think to look for jewelry on her? Maybe she was killed in a robbery attempt.'

'It did occur to us, but nope, I don't think that was the motive.'

'But she always wore big diamond stud earrings and a Rolex watch. If those were missing it could have been robbery.'

'Expensive stuff to be wearing around every day.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Valerie had the best and most expensive of everything. She had to be better than everyone else, all the time. If Valerie saw that someone had something wonderful, then she had to have it. And if she wanted it, she got it.

'Except your horse.'

'Except my horse.'

'Why?'

'He's not for sale. He never will be.'

'But didn't she want him?'

'Look, he's not the only nice horse in the world. I don't think she wanted him as much as she enjoyed pushing my buttons.' Crap. Thea, you're saying all the wrong things. What's wrong with you? Can't you think at all? My heart pounded against my ribs and I dripped sweat. I was sure