Lead a Horse to Murder (39 page)

Forrester nodded.

“So Falcone got her—thanks to me.” Even though every single molecule of my body felt as if I’d been zapped through time by a teletransporter, I managed to smile.

“By the way, he told me to give you a message. I don’t really understand it, but he said you would. He said, ‘Tell Dr. Popper I owe her—again.’ ”

“I’ll keep that in mind. By the way,” I added, “thanks for saving me.”

He grinned. “Hey, I really wish I could take the credit. But I’m not the one who found you lying in the grass outside the stable and called the ambulance.”

“Who did?”

“Our pal Johnny Ray. Guess he had a soft spot for you, after all. You’re quite a charmer, Popper, winning over a crusty guy like him. It’s a good thing, too. While the police knew you were in trouble from the nine-one-one call you made on your cell phone, they didn’t know
where
you were.”

“Dr. Popper?” I heard a female voice call softly.

Glancing across the room, I saw Luisa standing shyly in the doorway. She was the last person in the world I would have expected to visit me.

“Come in, Luisa,” I told her. I glanced at Forrester, who looked equally surprised.

“The nurse said I could visit for a short time,” she said. “Ees all right? I have something I would like to tell you, something I think ees maybe important.”

I nodded, encouraging her to go on.

She looked over at Forrester uncertainly before she began. “Eduardo came to me the day before he died. It was late in the afternoon. Maybe five o’clock, fivethirty. Eduardo, he always makes me laugh. He tells me I am his mother here in America. That his real mother is at home in Argentina, so far away, but that God has sent him a second mother to look after him.

“Usually, Eduardo is so happy. Why not? He has everything here. The money, the horses, the women who treat him so special, even the men who have so much power, like Meester Mac. But that night, Eduardo is not laughing and having fun. In fact, he is very serious.

“He tells me he has made a very big, very important decision. He has decided to go home to Santa Rosita. He says the life he once thought was not good enough for him, living in his village with his
madre
and
padre
and raising a family of his own, is now the life he desires. He says he wants to go back and marry the one woman he has always loved, his sweetheart from the time he was a little boy.”

“Inez,” I said softly. “He was going home, and he planned to take her back with him.”

“Sí,”
she replied.

It took me a moment to comprehend what she was telling me. “When was he going to tell her?” I finally asked.

“He told me he had already tried,” Luisa said. “Just a few days before, he had told Inez that he was about to make a big change in his life, one that would have an effect on her life, too. He could see that she had a very big . . . what is the word, reaction? That was when he decided to make his announcement special, to create a moment the two of them would remember for the rest of their lives. He wanted to make a big occasion.

“That was the reason he wanted to talk to me the day before he died—the night he had dinner with Inez at her cottage. He said he wanted to propose marriage to her in some very wonderful place. He asked me where I thought it should be. A restaurant, maybe, or a garden . . . I told him she loves flowers, and that maybe he should take her to a place with beautiful gardens. He thanked me and said he would do that, the very next day.

“But then . . . everything went wrong.” She shook her head slowly. “I theenk Inez expected that he was going to tell her something very bad. Maybe that he was getting married to someone else. . . . She was so afraid she would lose him completely. And I believe she felt, in her heart, that she could not let anyone else have him. So the night before Eduardo was planning to propose marriage to Inez, the one thing she had been waiting for her entire life, ever since she was a leetle girl . . .” Luisa choked on her words, unable to go on.

“A day late and a dollar short,” Forrester muttered. “Tough luck.”

“What a tragedy.” I closed my eyes, suddenly overwhelmed.

I opened them just as quickly. “Luisa, there’s one more thing I have to know. What about Callie? What kind of relationship did she have with Eduardo?”

She sighed. “Poor Callie. I know she had a terrible— what is the word, crush? I used to tease Eduardo about it all the time. He would laugh and say that Callie was his little sister here in thees country the same way I was his mother. He even had a special name he called her: ‘Nena,’ which is—what is the word, slang?—for ‘leetle girl.’ But whenever he would tease her and tell her thees, she would get very angry. I could see she did not like Eduardo to treat her like a child, even though that was the only way he could see her.”

“I’m sure she didn’t like it at all,” I commented, more to myself than to Luisa.

“Dr. Popper, I am so sorry for bothering you at a time like this,” she said. “You must be very tired. I will leave you to rest.”

“Thank you for coming,” I told her. “And thank you for telling me about Eduardo.”

As soon as she left, Forrester reached for his jacket. “Well, Popper, I should probably get going, too. I think you’re supposed to be sleeping this off.”

“Thanks for coming, Forrester,” I said sincerely. “And for everything else.”

“Listen, if you ever get tired of the veterinary biz, give me a call. I know some folks over at
Newsday
who’d be thrilled to have a top-notch reporter like you on staff.” He hesitated, then leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you at the next murder, Popper. Until then, stay out of trouble, okay?”

As he strode out of the room, I heard him say, “ ’Scuse me.”

And then Nick was standing next to my bed, his face tense and drawn. “I came over as soon as I got a call,” he said anxiously. “It was from some guy named Forrester, whoever that is. He assured me that the doctors say you’re fine. How do you feel, Jess?”

“For someone who’s had her Minimum Daily Requirement of hyoscyamine and scopolamine, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“I want to hear the whole story,” Nick told me, reaching over and taking my hand.

“It’s kind of what’s known as a
long
story,” I told him ruefully. “Right now, I’m not so sure I have the energy.”

“Okay.” He hesitated before adding, “We have a few other things to talk about, too. You know, you-and-me-type issues.”

“I
know
I don’t have the energy for those.”

“You’re right. This probably isn’t the best time. I guess we can wait until you’re out of the hospital.”

“It’s a deal.”

“But in the meantime,” Nick continued, “there’s something I really need you to do.”

“Anything.”

He gave my hand a tight squeeze. “I want you to promise me that from now on, you’ll keep as far away from murder as possible.”

“But—”

“No buts, Jess. Maybe you’re tough enough to handle nearly getting killed, but I’m not. Please?” Looking into his eyes, I saw an intensity I couldn’t remember having seen before.

I blinked. “It’s that important to you?”

“Of course it’s that important!”

“In that case—” The annoying trill of my cell phone stopped me mid-sentence. Casting him an apologetic look, I grabbed it off the table next to me, where it sat along with my keys and other belongings. “Hello?”

“Jessie! I’m so glad I got you!” The desperation I heard in Suzanne’s voice told me that she wasn’t calling simply to complain about a glitch in her social life.

“Suzanne, what’s wrong?”

“Jessie, you’ve got to help me! I—I don’t know what to do! This whole thing is so crazy—”

“Slow down,” I insisted. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, Jessie, I’ve been accused of murder! Robert’s fiancée was killed, and the police think
I
did it!”

“Jess?” Nick interrupted gently. “What’s going on?”

I raised my eyes and just looked at him.

About the Author

CYNTHIA BAXTER is a native of Long Island, New York. She currently resides on the North Shore, where she is at work on the next
Reigning Cats & Dogs
mystery, which Bantam will publish in Summer 2006. Visit her on the web at
www.cynthiabaxter.com
.

Dear Reader,

In my next mystery, Jessica Popper’s role as amateur sleuth takes on new urgency when one of her closest friends, veterinarian Suzanne Fox, finds herself the number one suspect in a murder.

Jessie’s investigation leads her to Long Island’s pastoral North Fork, once covered with potato fields but today home to more than two dozen vineyards and a booming wine industry. In writing the book, I tried to capture the area’s beauty—as well as its colorful history, which includes notorious pirate Captain Kidd and his buried treasure.

As Jessie once again struggles to discover “whodunit,” this time to save her friend, she encounters an intriguing collection of suspects, uncovers secrets and lies more numerous than the jewels in Captain Kidd’s chest, and strives to decipher some surprising clues . . . purposely left behind by the victim herself.

I hope you enjoy this special preview!

Read on for an exclusive sneak peek at
the next

Reigning
Cats
and
Dogs
mystery

by Cynthia Baxter

Coming in Summer 2006

A new
Reigning Cats and Dogs
mystery

On sale in summer 2006

“A kitten is more amusing than half the people one is obliged to live with.”

—Lady Sydney Morgan

As I drove east to the island’s wine region Saturday morning, retracing my steps of two days earlier, I was struck once again by how beautiful this part of Long Island is. In fact, I found it difficult to believe that I was in the same universe that contained the offices of Jerry Keeler, Attorney at Law.

There was one major difference between my last foray and this one, however: the traffic. Even though it was barely 11 a.m. on a weekend, a steady stream of cars was heading east along Route 35, a strange twist on the rush-hour concept. At first, I thought there must be road construction up ahead. Then I realized the reason for the congestion was that plenty of other people had discovered the East End wineries. While I was seeking information, however, they were heading to the North Fork in search of the perfect chardonnay—or at least a relaxing day spent tasting wine and enjoying the scenery.

I knew I’d reached Thorndike Vineyards when I spotted a huge white sign with a large gold “T” surrounded by a ring of dark green vines. I recognized it as the same logo that appeared on their label. I pulled into the parking lot, where sightseers were already vying for parking spaces. Of course, the two big tour buses that took up a good chunk of the pavement didn’t help. I lucked into a spot when a couple who’d just loaded two cases of wine into the trunk of their BMW backed out hurriedly, probably rushing to the next winery on their list.

The day was surprisingly cool for late September. I was glad I’d worn my navy blue polyester fleece jacket. I was equally glad the Thorndike Vineyards Visitor Center was just a few steps away. It was a large, barnlike building that looked at least a hundred years old. At least on the outside. Stepping inside, I saw that the interior had been completely renovated, with high white walls and sleek wooden fixtures that gave it the look of a Manhattan boutique—one that just happened to have a bar running along one wall. Even though it wasn’t yet noon, the room was lined with wine lovers who were taking advantage of the opportunity to taste.

All manner of wine-related paraphernalia was displayed on tables and shelves. Bottle stoppers topped with bunches of purple grapes or chubby sommeliers. Glittery gift bags designed to hold a single bottle of wine that would serve as a hostess gift. Fancy snack foods like paper-thin English crackers and obscure French cheeses that were the perfect accompaniment to a fine wine, along with ceramic plates hand-painted with vines to serve them on. Most people were just browsing, although a few were filling the straw baskets the shop supplied with the frenzy of last-minute Christmas shoppers.

Then there were the wines themselves. Two of the room’s walls were lined with shelves displaying bottle after bottle of Thorndike wines. I saw chardonnays, pinot noirs, merlots, and a half dozen other varieties. Every label was emblazoned with the same logo I’d seen on my way in.

A large white sign proclaimed that Thorndike Vineyards had been named “Winery of the Year” at the previous year’s “New York Wine Classic,” and had won gold medals for its 1999 Merlot Grand Vintage and its 2002 Barrel Fermented Chardonnay. Pretty impressive, especially to someone like me who had always thought there were basically two varieties of wine: white and red.

“The eleven-thirty tour is about to get under way,” a woman’s voice announced, cutting through the din. “We still have one or two places available, if anyone is interested in touring the winery.”