One Hoof In The Grave [Carriage Driving 02] (30 page)

My God, this wasn’t about animals. It was about Morgan versus the rich, which, according to Dick, she was part of. She’d even been a debutante. Maybe that was what caused the disconnect.

Peggy had spoken of herd instincts—pity, compassion, love, grief, loyalty—the ineffable connection between human beings and The Other. How could Morgan possibly feel the awe of gazing down at a cat asleep on her lap? Or a horse nuzzling her cheek? For that matter, watching a whale spout or a tiger pad through his jungle. She wasn’t doing this because she felt a part of the animal kingdom. She was doing this because she
didn’t
.

Morgan was running on hatred and envy. No empathy for animals or human beings either.

I am so grateful and in awe of people who fight to save the mustangs or rescue fighting dogs or stop testing of cosmetics on rats and rabbits or scrub excrement off kennel floors, or protect manatees or break up puppy mills or battle for humane treatment of chickens . . . the list is endless. I may not always agree with them or their methods, but I know they care. Animals are real to them.

“I have a suggestion for you, Morgan,” I said. “Go herd sheep in Montana or drive cattle in Texas or volunteer at a veterinarian’s office. Go watch what happens when a dog visits an old people’s home or opens a door for a kid with MS. See if you get it. I don’t think you will, but if you don’t give it a try, your soul is going to shrivel up and die on you.”

“You self-righteous bitch,” she whispered. “I hope one of your precious horses kicks your brains out. Come on, Troy.”

“Nunh-uh,” he said. “Mrs. Abbott, can I have a ride back to Mossy Creek? My—Catherine can pick me up there.” He didn’t sound angry so much as stunned.

Morgan threw him a venomous look, dove into the Mini, whipped it around, barely missing the fender of my truck, and spurted gravel all over us.

“Slow down,” I shouted. I didn’t want her to fly over the edge on her way down. Or did I?

“I’ll phone you,” Troy called after her, his voice full of hope even now. “We have to talk.”

“Don’t bother,” she shouted over her shoulder.

“I think you just lost a girlfriend,” I said.

He watched until the Mini drove out of sight. “She didn’t mean all that stuff. She’s really a nice person underneath. She’s just upset.”

“Gee, ya think?”

His shoulders hunched. He was trying to convince himself, not me. And not doing a very good job of it.

In my book she was a dangerous harpy. If anybody I’d met lately seemed capable of murder, she did. But why would she target Raleigh? Did she even know the man?

After a moment, Troy looked up at me. His eyes belonged on a Cocker Spaniel that had just been kicked. “Man, I thought I knew her. I believed in what she said we were doing. Get a little publicity, you know? No harm, no foul. How come I still love her?”

“You’ll get over it.”

He called Catherine, who promised to pick him up at the Hamilton Inn.

On our drive into Mossy Creek, he sat in the back seat of the truck and never said a word. Neither did Peggy, although I could tell she was itching to discuss what had just happened.

Maybe Raleigh had an actual reason to think that banner was aimed at him. Maybe he even guessed Morgan was behind it and knew why. Had he done one of his seduce-and-run numbers on her? She wouldn’t take being dumped by a rich and powerful man well. If she threatened to cause a scandal, he’d fight back hard and dirty.

If he decided to get Troy and Morgan kicked out of school, he’d find a way. A previous animal rights stunt might lead to expulsion. Then there was the perennial favorite of campus cops—smoking dope in the dorm. Everybody did it. The cops usually turned a blind eye.

But they could be convinced or bribed
not
to look the other way.

Had he threatened Morgan after the banner incident?

Maybe she agreed to meet him at the dressage arena Saturday morning to talk him out of it. He’d think she was capitulating. Did she have the strength to knock Giles off his driving seat? Did Troy?

She might step out of the trees and sweet talk him into getting down on his own. Then a tap on the head to drop him, and zap, in goes the spike.

Theoretically, she and Troy had been together in bed at the motel. But he’d have lied for her in a heartbeat. Or he might have been so zonked out from marathon sex that she could have driven an ATV out of the motel room without disturbing him. Or she could have drugged him. Or they were together killing Raleigh.

As Morgan had said, he needed to grow a pair. She conned him into raising that banner, but after his reaction to her ‘kill them all’ speech, I couldn’t see him murdering Raleigh. I needed to report to Geoff, and incidentally ask him if the medical examiner had found any bruises on Raleigh’s skull.

Brock followed, “Hey, don’t walk out on me.”

Whitehead didn’t answer him. He tossed a bill beside the cash register and let the door close in Brock’s face. Brock followed him, protesting all the way.

“You want some coffee, hon?” The waitress asked.

“Uh, I’ve got an emergency,” I said. I gave her a couple of dollars and left. Neither Brock’s truck nor the BMW were in the lot, so I drove to the farm and unloaded the feed.

Peggy had errands to run Thursday morning, so I was alone. As soon as I fed and watered the horses, I organized my incursion into the governor’s land. I had to know whether it was possible to reach the highway from my pasture through the governor’s land.

I put on my snake proof Wellington boots with heavy socks under them, and an old pair of heavy canvas pants I used in the wintertime. I’d be hot, but that was better than being bit by a copperhead. These clothes would protect me from poison ivy and oak as well. I put on my thickest leather driving gloves, my hard hat, and a pair of wraparound sunglasses, holstered my pistol, and grabbed the machete I used for clearing brush. I also made certain my cell phone was charged and getting a signal. Sometimes when the weather’s bad, cell phone reception to and from Hiram’s mountain disappears only to reappear with the sun.

“Okay, George of the Jungle, let’s see where the sniper went.”

Not for the first time I wished I had a dog. Not necessarily a big dog. A yappy Jack Russell terrier would do to alert me to danger. Maybe I should check out the Bigelow animal shelter.

Nah, not until my house was finished and I moved away from Peggy’s. It would be lonely enough without her and the cats. I needed a few barn cats to keep the rats in check, although after Morgan’s ranting I was no longer sure if letting cats kill rats in my barn was enslaving them or setting them free to fend for themselves.

My musings had taken me to the far end of the lane between the mare and gelding pastures. It was a cul-de-sac with my fence at the property line. No gate. On purpose.

I hadn’t given much thought as to how I intended to get past the fence. It was heavy thoroughbred diamond wire mesh with white electrified tape along the top. At the moment, the tape was not live. Generally, horses get one shock and never go near it again. However, I had a stallion once that tested it every morning, just to make certain nobody had screwed up and left it off, so he could go hunting for a mare to breed.

In the north corner, I found someone had carefully clipped the wire mesh to make a hole large enough for a human being. I crawled through and reached back for my machete. I could see the grass was flattened, and the vines pulled aside, but the ground was too hard to take foot or hand prints.

I scrambled to my feet and bonked my hard hat on a low-hanging branch. The men who owned this land theoretically used it as a hunting preserve, but I doubted they bagged many deer on it. There was more to eat on my side of the fence.

The trail I found was narrow and ill-defined, but passable on foot. It led along the fence for ten yards or so, then veered off down the side of the mountain in a switchback. I swung the machete to clear the way, even though that meant leaving evidence that someone had been there.

The woods were too still. This early in the year there should be several species of birds calling for mates. Even the breeze couldn’t make it through all the underbrush. I had grown up on manicured training facilities. This was alien. I was not welcome.

Something stirred under the carpet of dead leaves. I froze. I couldn’t see a snake, but it was there. Since it was slithering away from me, I let it go in peace, but after that I was even more careful where I put my feet.

I was concentrating on the path so hard I nearly cracked my hard hat on the upright of a fancy aluminum deer stand nailed against the thick trunk of a tall oak. I traced the ladder up to the platform and realized that it was aimed directly at my stable. Whoever sat up there had a perfect view of everything that went on at my place.

I wasn’t about to climb the thing. I don’t do heights. I’d have to tell Geoff about it.

Which would mean I’d have to tell him about my trespassing as well.

In the nineteenth century there was a minor gold rush among these rocks. The miners were responsible for the arsenic that seeped into the ground water and kept the governor and his cronies from securing permits to sink wells in these woods. Getting off the path was foolhardy. I could fall down a mineshaft.

The deer got down the hill. Surely I could.

Then ahead I saw light. Ten feet farther I came to the edge of a raw, twenty-foot cliff of scree and dirt with a rough trail down. Below me lay a parking area, and a gravel driveway that disappeared back into the trees. I could just glimpse the highway beyond.

I’d proved my point. It
was
possible to get from my pasture all the way down here to a parked car.
I
wouldn’t want to do it at night, but if I were one of the people who hunted over this land regularly and had a good flashlight, I’d feel fairly comfortable.