Mrs. Murphy dropped back on all fours and looked at his opened palm from the vantage point of sitting on his thigh. “Two crosses.” Tucker wondered, “Two? Maybe he was extra religious.”
“It’s cut into his palm but more scratched than cut real deep.” Cookie turned her head to view the palm from another angle.
Just then the curtain was pulled back and Harry and Joan stepped inside, flashlights in hand, quickly pulling the curtain behind them.
“Oh, my God,” Joan gasped, but she held steady.
“Jorge!” Harry exclaimed.
Larry, having grabbed one of the many stashed flashlights, pushed his way into the changing room. Fair, right behind, guarded the curtained entrance once inside.
Meanwhile, Renata had collapsed in the aisle right outside the hospitality room. Frances, mother of eight children, was equal to any crisis. She propped up the beautiful actress, called for a bottle of water. In the darkness, people fumbled about; a few slipped out, knowing the authorities would show up sooner or later and they’d be questioned, held for who knew how long.
Manuel, another flashlight in hand, fetched water and knelt beside Renata.
As Renata’s eyelids fluttered, Frances fanned her with a lace handkerchief. “You need a little water, Renata.”
When Renata opened her eyes, she let out another bone-chilling scream that was so loud, Frances dropped the bottle of water she’d just taken from Manuel. The water spurted out, but Frances quickly picked it up, wiping off the mouthpiece.
Manuel held Renata steady, for she was prepared to scream more. Finally the two got her under some control.
Paul Hamilton, soaked to the skin, hurried over from the large grandstand. Despite the thunder and rain, the piercing scream had reached the hundreds of people huddled there. All he could think about when he heard the screams was the safety of his wife and daughter. He didn’t know, initially, that the terror was coming from Barn Five.
Joan, always fast-thinking, called her father on his cell as he hurried through the downpour.
Larry had stepped back out of the changing room to see if he could find an umbrella for Paul. He found none. Larry walked outside into the storm just as Paul ran toward him, oblivious to the trees bending over, the rain slashing sideways. Joan’s call had given him a few minutes to compose himself.
Larry led Paul through the people in the hospitality room. As Larry threw open the changing-room curtain, people tried to see, but there wasn’t enough light for them. Paul stepped in.
Dead bodies didn’t rattle him—he’d seen enough in the war—but murder upset him. He felt a sudden chill as water dripped over his face, his shirt stuck to his body.
“Dad,” Joan simply said.
Fair knelt down to touch Jorge’s wrist, confirming again that the murder was but minutes old. He stood back up. “Mr. Hamilton, this happened under everyone’s noses. He’s been dead ten minutes at the most.”
Paul noticed the clean cut, the severed jugular. “Someone knew what they were doing.”
“And had the tools to do it,” Fair corroborated.
Manuel, still on the other side of the curtain, did not yet know his second-in-command and friend had been sliced from ear to ear.
Paul, arms folded across his chest, ticked off orders in a low and calm voice. “Larry, go outside and keep everyone here. If you can find a bigger flashlight or anything, set it up so they aren’t standing around in the dark. Joan, is anything missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Count every piece of tack, every coat and vest.” His voice imparted strength. “Fair, is there any way you can better examine the body without disturbing evidence? It would be good if we knew before Sheriff Cody arrives. Given the circumstances, it would be easy for even the best forensics team to miss something.”
“Fair, if you go back outside, the tack trunk with vet supplies is in the center aisle. It’s the one that stands upright like a cupboard. There are rubber gloves there,” Joan said.
Fair borrowed Joan’s flashlight, stepped out, and groped his way uneasily through the talking people.
Fair soon returned with his own flashlight, as there’d been one in the Kalarama vet trunk, and he returned Joan’s to her. As he carefully checked Jorge, Joan inspected all the clothes. Larry, following Paul’s orders, now returned with another flashlight, which he tied to the side of the door using baling twine.
Joan held her breath. She was going to have to tell Manuel but not right this minute. She called out to him as Harry told her he was still inside the hospitality room. “Manuel, will you go count the saddles and bridles in the tack room, then come back here and call for me?”
“Sí.”
The two cats, not even twitching their whiskers, crouched on a tack trunk as they watched Fair. Pewter hadn’t been able to stand it any longer, so she’d come into the changing room. Tucker and Cookie sat in the corner, also watching.
Outside, the storm moved east. Although the rains continued to lash, the lightning and thunder mercifully grew fainter.
A siren in the distance gave hope that the sheriff was on his way.
Fair, turning over Jorge’s right hand, noticed the two crosses. “Look at this.”
Joan swung the flashlight onto Jorge’s palm. “Two crosses.”
Harry, bending on one knee, whispered, “Double cross.”
I t was still pitch black, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Although it was only eight-thirty P.M., Harry felt like it was one in the morning. The sticky hot days tired her, but being in semidarkness made her want to go to sleep. She struggled to keep alert.
“Does anyone mind if I walk outside? I feel like I’m going to fall asleep,” Harry asked the small group in the changing room.
“Go ahead, honey. When the sheriff arrives, you’ll know. If he needs you, I’ll find you.” Fair then quickly added, “Don’t go far. There’s a killer out there.”
“Oh, Fair, he isn’t interested in me.” Harry, a logical soul, knew the double cross carved in Jorge’s palm had a special meaning to someone. She felt perfectly safe.
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker felt otherwise. Harry might not be in immediate danger, but her curiosity coupled with practical intelligence landed her in trouble too many times and made the animals want to stick close.
As Harry pushed open the curtain, picking her way through the now-hushed crowd, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed. Pewter pleaded that one of them should stay in the changing room in case of developments. She fooled no one. The gray cat hated getting her paws wet. Cookie stayed there, too, to protect Joan.
Leaning outside the barn, tucked just under the overhang, Renata smoked a cigarette. In the darkness no one could see her until right upon her. She was grateful for that, since her hands trembled.
Harry leaned next to her. “Feeling better?”
“A little. Would you like one?” Renata offered Harry a Dunhill menthol.
“You know, I don’t smoke, but under the circumstances, I believe I would.”
Renata plucked one out of the green pack and handed it to Harry, who lit it off Renata’s half-smoked cigarette.
“The trick is not to let a raindrop hit the end.” Renata inhaled deeply.
Tucker looked upward, blinking. “Smells so awful.”
Mrs. Murphy, standing next to her friend so as not to get her bottom wet, replied, “Some of them mind the smoke, others don’t, but it burns my nostrils.”
“Supposed to calm the nerves.” Tucker thought a moment. “Must be like chewing a bone. Calms my nerves.”
“Chewing a bone won’t give you lung cancer.” Mrs. Murphy didn’t much like chewing bones herself, although if they were quite fresh she could be persuaded to do it.