Foal Play: A Mystery (12 page)

“Then we’ve got to find whoever tried to kill you because until we do you can’t say a thing to Bobby.”

“I can as Mitch Connelly.”

“Stay away from Bobby, Myrtle. You hear me?”

Myrtle didn’t respond.

“Listen to me. You cannot, under any circumstances, have contact with Bobby,” Colleen said.

“Maybe I can, maybe I can’t,” Myrtle said in an almost singsong voice.

Myrtle wasn’t getting it. As much as she hated doing it, it was time for Colleen to drop the bomb. Myrtle’s life might depend on it.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that Bobby could have been the one who set the fire?”

“Please. You don’t know my Little Bobby. More mouse than man,” Myrtle said, rolling her eyes.

“You and I both know that the most likely suspects in a crime are those people closest to the victim, usually family members. Who’s the person closest to you?”

“Little Bobby?” Myrtle asked, her demeanor changing from one of condescension to one of apprehension.

“Yes,” Colleen said. “Little Bobby.”

Colleen and Myrtle rode the rest of the way in silence. They were both thinking about the fact that Bobby Crepe, Myrtle’s son, was now officially their first suspect. Colleen tried to read Myrtle’s expression but the fake dog fur mustache made it difficult. She had to give Myrtle credit. She was taking the news of her son as a suspect fairly well. Myrtle was tough and that earned her points in Colleen’s book.

Colleen was relieved to arrive home. As she cut the engine and was getting out of the car, Myrtle grasped her arm.

“We have to go back,” Myrtle said with urgency.

“If this is an attempt to—”

“Your bike. We left it at the station. How am I going to get around?”

“You’re not,” Colleen said, tugged her arm away, and jumped from the vehicle. “Come on, Sparky.”

Colleen and Sparky climbed the porch steps. Myrtle slammed her door closed and marched after them.

“But Nellie already knows I’m here. I don’t have to hide anymore.”

Colleen shook her head in disbelief. Myrtle was like a dog with a bone. She wasn’t going to let up. She faced Myrtle on the front porch. “I’ve had a long day. You’ve had a long day. Why don’t we save this discussion for the morning?”

Myrtle considered Colleen’s proposition for a moment. “Okay,” she said and ambled to the front door to be let in.

Colleen eyed Myrtle with suspicion. That was easy. Too easy. Still, she wasn’t going to question it. Whatever Myrtle’s motivation for giving in, it meant they wouldn’t be up all night arguing. She unlocked the door and switched on the lights. Myrtle padded into the kitchen. Smokey appeared from her hiding place in the hall closet and stretched.

“Hey, sourpuss,” she said to the cat. Smokey yawned.

“Smokey, sweetie,” Myrtle said from the kitchen. “Time for dinner.”

Smokey perked up and bolted into the kitchen. Sparky wagged his tail and eagerly followed the cat. Colleen leaned on the kitchen entrance doorjamb. Myrtle expertly moved about the kitchen fixing Smokey dinner and giving Sparky a treat from a secret stash she had never disclosed to Myrtle. Colleen observed the activity in amazement. In one week’s time Myrtle had taken over her house and her life.

“You want to watch the news? I recorded it,” Myrtle said, setting the plate of food down for Smokey.

“What do you think?” Colleen asked. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the memorial service.

“Suit yourself,” Myrtle said, passing Colleen on her way into the living room.

The television clicked on. Colleen headed toward the stairs and paused at the living room entrance. “Good night, Myrtle,” she said.

“Good night, Chief,” Myrtle said without looking away from the TV.

A slight smile formed on Colleen’s lips as she mounted the stairs. It was the first time in all the years she had known Myrtle that her former school teacher had called her “Chief.”

Early morning.
Colleen hated it when it came, but loved it once she was out of bed. Today the early rising was necessitated by a need to pick up items at the grocery store for Myrtle and get in a jog before proceeding to the station. As Colleen tiptoed down the stairs and by the living room, she was relieved to discover Myrtle still asleep on the foldout sofa. Myrtle had changed out of her disguise and was snoring softly, her mouth hanging slightly open. Smokey was curled in the crook of Myrtle’s arm, her paw resting on Myrtle’s chin. Colleen shook her head in disbelief at the strange bedfellows.

She made eye contact with Sparky, who popped up from his bed in the corner of the room and joined her. She grabbed her keys, wallet, and phone; quietly unlocked the door; stepped onto the porch; and gently closed the door behind her.

“Get the rabbit,” she said to Sparky.

The dog took off around the side of the house in search of the rabbit that lived under Colleen’s storage shed. The rabbit was Sparky’s Moby-Dick. The two had been engaged in a game of cat and mouse for more than a year but the rabbit had always managed to elude his canine nemesis. If Colleen thought Sparky would really catch the rabbit she’d never give him the job. Sparky would be happily occupied with trying, though, until she returned from the grocery store.

Colleen inhaled deeply and filled her lungs with the cool, salty air. The smell reminded her of summers as a teenager when she explored the island on her bike with her best friend, Annie Michaels. The two rode everywhere, quizzing each other on the flora they had learned about in school, singing songs from favorite musicals, and stopping at the local ice cream parlor to purchase pints of mint chocolate chip and pecan ice cream, which they promptly ate from the containers.

The ice cream parlor had been a great place to flirt and giggle with boys. All the guys had liked Annie. In the summer, her dirty blond hair brightened to platinum and she tanned a flawless bronze. It didn’t hurt that Annie had also been the most well-endowed girl in their class. Colleen had watched with amusement as Annie made fun of the boys and teased them. Occasionally, a boy had actually dared to approach Colleen. She remembered one in particular, Pete Fowler, who had been half her size, though that hadn’t deterred him. No matter how sassy she had been or how many times she told him to go away, Pete came back for more. Eventually, Annie told Pete to scram and, to Colleen’s wonder, he did. Pete and Annie had never liked each other.

Colleen grinned at the memory of Annie and Pete as she descended the porch and got into her vehicle. Little did she know those many years ago that Annie and Pete would end up married with three beautiful children. Yes, mornings like this brought back pleasant memories of the lazy summers of her youth.

Colleen sped down Route 12 to the Monteray Plaza Food Lion. She wanted to make her trip quick so she could get back before it became too hot to jog and before Myrtle had a chance to do too much snooping. In addition to basic staples, Myrtle had requested that she pick up a six-pack of Ensure, various toiletries, and a bag of pretzel sticks. Colleen added a bottle of wine to the list. Considering how things had been going lately, she had a feeling she might need it.

She passed a series of colorfully painted wooden cut-outs of horses “grazing” along Route 12. The painted cut-outs had been done by children participating in the Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society’s weekly Paint-a-Mustang Day. The activity was part of the Society’s mission to promote awareness of and protection for Corolla’s wild horses. Myrtle and Nellie had also developed activities that allowed visitors to safely meet and ride a mustang under the vigilant eyes of a preservation officer and take guided four-wheel-drive tours inside the sanctuary. These activities had done much to garner financial support, but it was the Society’s efforts that led to the H.R. 306 Corolla Wild Horses Protection Act that most impressed Colleen.

Myrtle and Nellie had convinced members of North Carolina’s congressional delegation that the Corolla horses needed government protection, not only because of their status on the critical lists of the American Livestock Conservancy and the Equus Survival Trusts, but because the mustangs were part of the state’s heritage. A bill was proposed that would allow a herd of between 110 to 130 horses to roam free in and around the sanctuary; provide for cost-effective management of the horses while ensuring that the natural resources within the sanctuary were not adversely affected; and allow the introduction of a small number of free-roaming horses from the Cape Lookout National Seashore herd as was necessary to maintain the genetic viability of the herd in Corolla. To Colleen’s amazement, when the bill came up for vote in the United States House of Representatives in early 2012, it passed without opposition. Myrtle and Nellie had taken their fight for protection of Corolla’s Spanish mustangs to Washington and won. Once approved by the Senate and president, the bill would become law. When that happens, Colleen thought, it will be a day of celebration in Corolla.

Colleen reached Monteray Plaza and maneuvered her vehicle through the crowded parking lot. Vacationers and fishermen were clearly getting an early start on the day. She found a space near the Tomato Patch Pizzeria. She remembered how she had initially hated the large restaurant sign of a mustached tomato wearing a chef’s hat and holding a pepperoni pizza in a white-gloved hand. She and the other islanders had grumbled for months about how tacky it was … until they tried the pizza. Now she regarded the sign and restaurant as one of the gems that gave the island its charm.

She parked and rushed into Food Lion. The efficient air-conditioning of the supermarket hit her like a wall of ice. She silently scolded herself for not wearing sweatpants. By the time she made it to the checkout line she’d be a popsicle. She picked up a basket and proceeded to the pet products first. Maybe she could finish shopping before her fingers turned blue.

She made her way around the store, picking up dog food, Myrtle’s requests, wine, and coffee. She always picked up the milk at the end so that it wouldn’t warm in the store. Not that there was any chance of that today, she thought as she grabbed two half-gallons of two-percent milk and squeezed them into her overflowing basket. As usual, she was accumulating more items than she had expected and could have used a cart.

“Things won’t be the same without Myrtle,” Colleen heard someone say as she let the door to the milk section slam closed.

Sam, a former businessman who stocked the dairy section as his retirement job, approached the refrigerated shelves with a dolly filled with a yogurt shipment.

“No, they won’t,” she said, not wanting to get into a long conversation. Sam could spend the better part of an hour talking with just about anyone, which wasn’t a problem unless that person was in a hurry.

“Nellie said Little Bobby seems to be holding up pretty well under the circumstances. Actually, I’m more worried about Nell than Bobby,” he said.

“They were close,” Colleen said, trying not to be rude as she inched away from the dairy section.

“Best friends since grammar school. She and Myrtle started that wild horse society together, though to hear Nell tell it Myrtle took all the credit. Man, was she bitter about that. They even had words. If you ask me, she’s still a little miffed. Well, as much as she can be now with Myrtle gone.”

“I didn’t realize Myrtle and Nellie ever had words. It always seemed like Nellie deferred to Myrtle,” Colleen said, now interested.

“Oh yeah,” Sam said and leaned closer. “It was a real doozie.”

“Really?” Colleen said, resting her basket on the floor.

“It happened after Myrtle caught Edna Daisey stealing the papers they keep on the horses. I don’t know all the particulars but I believe Myrtle and Nellie had a difference of opinion about where the best place was to store those files. But I guess they worked it all out—like sisters do, I suppose.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, processing this new information.

“Sam, cleanup needed in aisle five” came a voice over the store’s speakers.

“I better get that,” Sam said. “Nice talking to you, Miss Colleen.”

“Nice seeing you again,” she said and watched Sam scurry off toward aisle five.

Colleen carried her basket to the front of the store to check out. She considered the possibility of Nellie as a suspect in Myrtle’s homicide. Would Nellie really kill Myrtle over matters pertaining to the Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society? It didn’t seem to be in her nature. Nevertheless, otherwise sane people had been known to do insane things. But even if Nellie had a motive to blow Myrtle up, it didn’t seem likely Nellie would have the means. Besides, hadn’t Nellie been concerned the night of the explosion about the Society’s documents? Would she really blow up the house and risk losing them forever? Then Colleen remembered how passionate Myrtle had become about the documents the night before. Did Nellie feel the same way? Would she kill for them? Colleen shook her head. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d think everyone in Corolla was a potential murderer. Still, if Little Bobby was a suspect because he was Myrtle’s closest relative, then she’d have to rule Nellie in by virtue of the fact that she was Myrtle’s closest friend. The number of suspects had just doubled.

Colleen got in line behind two fishermen at the checkout and placed her basket on the conveyor belt. She carefully opened her fingers, now stiff claws from lugging the heavy basket.

“You hear about the guy from Pennsylvania?” the fisherman with a beard asked the other.

“What guy?” the other asked.

“Heard about it last night at Joe’s. Some fella comes down every year to fish and get away from the missus.”

“I hear that,” said the second fisherman.

Colleen and the female cashier made eye contact. Men.

“Apparently when the wife didn’t get the nightly call about his daily catch she got worried. When she couldn’t get him on his cell phone, she called the Bait and Tackle and Joe’s to see if anyone had seen him.”

“Maybe he’s cheating,” the cashier said, adding her two cents.

“Who would waste a week fishing messing with a woman?” the bearded fisherman said, and the two men chuckled.