Death By a Dark Horse

afternoon.'

Juliet covered her eyes with a hand and turned away. Delores glanced at her.

What was the big deal? Was I supposed to know who all of Delores's relatives were? She had hundreds of them. Italian Catholics, most of them. Just say 'no' to birth control.

'I'd have thought he'd say something,' Delores said. 'If he picked you up downtown and took you home then you spent a good hour in his car.'

'He didn't take me home.' I sighed at the ceiling. 'He dropped me at the Snohomish airport where I left my car. Jonathan insisted on flying his plane to Boeing Field and his parents' driver picked us up. Anyway, I was kind of upset and didn't feel much like having an actual conversation last night.'

'Oh, tell me you didn't cry.' Juliet half laughed.

'Oh, give me some credit. I just gave him a brief run down of what happened so he wouldn't wonder why he was being so inconvenienced, thanks to you.' It was her fault I'd subjected him to forty minutes of whiny monologue.

Delores snorted.

'What?' I drummed my nails on the table. 'I called Juliet to come get me and she bailed. And how the hell am I supposed to know who all your thousands of relatives are?'

Delores shrugged. No one else commented. Or looked at me. Eric broke the uncomfortable silence.

'Since Blackie won't be at Copper Creek, how about I take some hay and grain over to Henry? Thea paid for it already anyway.'

'Fine.' Delores pushed her chair back and stood – everyone's signal it was time to go. 'Where's your car, Thea?'

'I'll bring it over,' Eric said. 'Sorry. I forgot it was still at Copper Creek.'

I dug my keys out of my pocket, handed them to him, then followed everyone out the door.

'Are you angry with me?' I asked Delores as the others pulled away from the curb.

'No, Thea, I'm not angry with you.' She smiled at me and patted my arm. 'Things aren't going quite the way I expected, that's all.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing you need to worry about.' She patted my arm again. All this patting made me think she was worried. 'Why don't you go check on your horse when your car comes back? Henry and Vi want to see you. It would make them feel better if you would stop by and explain what happened.'

'I will.'

'Come get your equipment tomorrow. I expect you'll be keeping Blackie at the farm until November. Might as well. You'd be moving him there next month anyway.'

Every spring I take Blackie to my aunt and uncle's. It's so much more convenient for Uncle Henry to do our dressage training at his farm. Blackie also enjoys the big pastures and companionship with Duke, Uncle Henry's horse. Then, in late fall, when it's dark early and begins to rain in earnest, I move Blackie back to Copper Creek. Uncle Henry's arena doesn't have a roof.

'I'm sorry for jumping on you in there.' Delores gestured toward my house with a sideways nod.

'That's okay. It's been tough on everyone this morning.' I started to turn away and a thought tugged at me. 'Where did you find Blackie's halter? The leather one, not the nylon one I took from the truck.' I remembered seeing it somewhere at Valerie's, but so much had gone on I couldn't be sure.

'It was on the ground outside the gate,' she said.

'Hmm…'

''Hmm' what?'

'I'm trying to imagine what would cause Valerie to drop the halter on the ground and go back into the paddock.'

'Maybe she went in to toss him some hay,' Delores said.

'With all that grass? You're right, though. It'd be like her to do that – would have been like her.' Valerie was past tense now.

'Wait a minute. That can't be right. When I put him in the stall I looked for hay so he'd have something to do. There wasn't any. What about the water tank – where's that? Maybe she went back in to fill it.'

'Next to the gate, I think. She could have filled it easily from outside the pasture.'

She looked at me and frowned. 'Looks like support for your tell-tale-gate theory. What about last night? You said you ran into Greg. Was Valerie with him?'

'No.' I thought I'd mentioned Valerie's absence from McMurphy's. 'I guess she was busy stealing my horse.' Even I could hear how harsh that sounded. I bit my lip.

'Humph.' She patted my shoulder once more. 'Let me know if you need help lining up an attorney.'

'I appreciate your looking out for me, but after we prove Blackie didn't kill Valerie there'll be no reason for anyone to involve me.'

'I hope you're right.'

I watched her drive off in her big truck and empty trailer, then wandered back toward the house. I hoped I was right, too.

As soon as Eric brought my car back I would go see Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry. They needed to hear, from me, all that happened this morning. This couldn't possibly get any more personal for them. Blackie was one of the last horses they bred at their farm. Valerie had been one of Uncle Henry's most successful students. She would have followed in his Olympic footsteps.

The wind gusted. I hunched my shoulders against it, but it seemed to whistle right through me. I felt small and desperate as I hurried back into the comfort of my house.

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