In the background the phone rang. Rick Shaw, the Sheriff of Albemarle County, was summoned to it.
"He never gets a break. Coop neither," Harry observed. Shaw's deputy was Cynthia Cooper.
"Lots of drunks on the road after Montpelier."
"They don't need the races for an excuse. I figure they IV the stuff."
Rick hung up the phone, whispered something to Mim, and left the party. Mim's face registered shock. Then she quickly regained her social mask.
Sheriff Rick Shaw, penlight in hand, pulled back an eyelid. Nothing. He continued carefully examining the body before him, with Dr. Larry Johnson observing. Shaw didn't want the corpse moved yet.
Nigel Danforth sat exactly as Fair Haristeen had found him—upright on a tack trunk, wearing his red silks with the blue sash. A knife was plunged through his heart.
Although the murder appeared to have taken place in Orange County and Rick Shaw was sheriff of the adjoining county, Orange 's sheriff, Frank Yancey, had called him in. Rick had handled more murders than he had, and this one was a puzzle, especially since the knife had been plunged through a playing card, the Queen of Clubs, which was placed over Nigel's heart.
Fair, arms crossed, watched, his face still chalky white.
"His body was exactly like this when you found him?" Rick asked the lanky vet.
"Yes."
"See anything, anyone?"
"No, I walked in through the north doors and turned on the lights. All the horses should have been removed by then but I thought I'd double-check. He was sitting there. I didn't know anything was wrong, although I thought it was peculiar that he'd sit in the dark. I called to him, and he didn't answer. When I drew closer, I saw the knife sticking out of his chest. I felt his pulse. Goner."
"What about his body temperature when you touched him?"
"Still warm, Larry. Maybe he had been dead an hour. His extremities hadn't started to fill with fluid. He really looked as though he was just sitting there."
"No sign of anybody—anything?" Rick sighed. He'd known Fair for years, respected him as a vet and therefore as a scientific man. Fair's recollections counted heavily in Rick's book.
"None in the barn. A few big vans pulled out across the road. Their noise could have covered someone running away. I checked the stalls, I climbed into the hayloft, tack room. Nothing, Sheriff."
"The card's a neat trick." Frank Yancey shook his head. "Maybe it's a payback for a gambling debt."
"Helluva payback," Larry Johnson said.
"Helluva debt?" Frank gestured, his hands held upward.
"Frank, you've got the photos and prints you need?" Rick continued when Frank nodded in the affirmative, "Well, let's remove the body then. Do you mind if Larry sits in on the autopsy?"
"No, no, I'd be glad to have him there."
"Guess I can't keep this out of the papers." George Miller, Orange's mayor, unconsciously wrung his hands. He had arrived minutes after Yancey's call. "Colbert Mason and Arthur Tetrick were horrified, but they turned cagey pretty fast. They especially didn't want a photo of the body to get into the papers."
"One murder in the steeplechase world doesn't mean it's seething with corruption," Larry remarked sensibly.
"Five years ago there was another murder." Fair's deep baritone sounded sepulchral in the barn.
"What are you talking about?" Frank leaned forward.
"Marylou Valiant."
"Never found her, did they?" Frank Yancey blinked, remembering.
"No," Rick answered. "We know of no connection to steeplechasing other than that she owned a good string of horses. That's not a motive for murder. There are some who think she's not dead. She just walked away from her life."
"They say that about Elvis, too," Fair replied. "Anyone told Adelia Valiant?"
"Why?" Frank and George said simultaneously.
"She was dating Danforth . . . pretty serious, I think."
Frank eyed the big man. "Well—can you tell her?"
Rick and Fair glanced at each other, then at Larry.
"I'll tell her," the old doctor said gently. "But I'd like you fellows with me. And Rick, don't jump right in, okay?"
The sheriff grimaced. He tried to be sensitive, but the drive to catch a murderer could override his efforts. "Yeah, yeah."
Two ambulance attendants rolled the gurney into the barn from the south doors as Fair, Larry, and Rick left through the north.
Rick turned to Fair. "Was he a good jockey?"
"Not bad."
Will Forloines's face fell longer and longer. His color deepened. He couldn't hold it in any longer. "That was a damn fool thing you did to Nigel."
"Bullshit."
"Don't cuss at me, Linda. I can still kick your ass into next week."
"I love it when you get mad." She sarcastically parodied old movies.
He shifted his eyes from the road to her. "You're lucky he didn't file a complaint."
"Had him by the short hairs."
"Oh—and what if he'd nailed you? You didn't know he wouldn't file against you."
"Will, let me do the thinking."
The wheel of the brand-new Nissan dropped off the road. Will quickly returned his gaze to the road. "You take too many chances. One of these days it will backfire."
"Wimp." While she insulted him, she took the precaution of dropping her hand into his lap.
"Things are going good right now. I don't want them screwed up."
"Will, relax. Drive. And listen." She exhaled through her nose. "Nigel Danforth has bought a shitload of cocaine over the last two months. He can't squeal."
"The hell he can't. He can finger us as the dealers."
"Better to be mad at me over one race than lose his connection. And if he blew the whistle on us, he'd be blowing it on himself—and his girlfriend. All that money isn't coming from race purses."
Will drove a few minutes. "Yeah, but you're cutting it close."
"Paid for this truck." She moved closer to him.
"Linda, you"—he sputtered—"you take too many risks."
"The risk is the rush."
"Not for me, Babe. The money is the rush."
"And we're sitting in the middle of it. Dr. D'Angelo's loaded, and he's dumb as a post."
"No, he's not," Will contradicted her. "He's dumb about horses. He's not dumb about his job or he wouldn't have made all that money. Sooner or later he'll figure things out if you try to sell him too many horses at once. Take it slow. I'd like to live in one place for a couple of years."
She waited a moment. "Sure."
As this was said with no conviction, Will, irritated, shot back, "I like where we live."
She whispered in his ear, enjoying her disagreement with him just so she could "win" the argument, get him under her control. She might have loved her husband, but she truly needed him. He was so easy to manipulate that it made her feel powerful and smart. "We'll make so much money we can buy our own farm."
"Yeah ..." His voice trailed off.
She smiled. "Nigel will forget all about it. I guarantee it. He owes me for a kilo. He's coming up tomorrow to pay off the rest of it. I got part of the money today before the race." She laughed, "Bet he couldn't believe it when I whipped him. He'll forget though. He'll be so full of toot, I'll be his best friend."
When Fair Haristeen walked through the door of Mim's party, Harry determined to pay no attention to him. However, she couldn't help noticing his jaw muscles tightening, which she recognized as a sign of distress. Dr. Larry Johnson and Sheriff Rick Shaw flanked him, and Larry headed straight for Addie Valiant. Fair turned to follow them.
"Doom and gloom," Susan Tucker observed.
"Hope someone didn't lose a horse," Harry said.
"I know. It was such an unusual Montpelier. The worst was that bowed tendon, pretty fabulous when you consider some of the accidents in the past. But maybe it's because the course is so difficult. People are careful."