Murder on the Hoof: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (26 page)

The lights dimmed, the audience quieted, and Lane took the stage.

“The story of Corolla’s wild Spanish mustangs begins in sixteenth-century Spain,” he said in a booming voice as he began his opening narrative.

Fawn entered with the blue satin fabric. Bobby, substituting for the arrested Sam, aimed a fan at the fabric, and it billowed like the waves of the Atlantic. Nellie and Myrtle entered behind the fabric waves and manipulated the wooden sailing ships. Lights flickered and Bobby shook a metal sheet, creating the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Colleen surveyed the faces of the audience. All were transfixed. Yes, she thought, a smash hit.

“I had my doubts,” Bill whispered, “but they pulled it off.”

“That’s theater,” she whispered back. “Somehow, it always comes together.”

“Yes, but not every production has to contend with two deaths and two arrests.”

She couldn’t argue with that. It was short of a miracle, what they had managed to accomplish, and a testament to Adam’s leadership as the show’s director. She had been touched that Adam had credited Doris’s and Rich’s contributions to the production in the program notes, dedicated the play to both, and was setting up a theater camp scholarship fund in their memory. Nellie’s nephew was a good guy. She’d be sorry to see him leave for Hollywood at the end of the summer.

Her mind drifted to Adam’s footage of the emergency training on the beach. If it hadn’t been for him, they might never have known who had poisoned Doris. And then she might never have discovered the laptop in the casket’s memory drawer and the identity of Rich’s killer. It had taken a bit of work from Bill’s IT expert, but he had eventually cracked the password on Rich’s laptop: Shakespeare. Of course, she had thought when Bill had told her.

Once the laptop had been unlocked, they had discovered dozens of documents about the murder of Mickey Parker’s business partner, wanted notices, decades-old pictures of Mickey, and, yes, images of his ears. Armed with Rich’s research, it hadn’t taken Bill long to get Sam to admit that Rich had confronted him with what he had found and demanded that if he didn’t turn himself in, Rich would go to the authorities with what he knew. Rich had naïvely believed, despite his research, that a man like Mickey Parker would act honorably. Perhaps it was having known Mickey as Sam Riddle, an affable guy with a clean record, that had made the funeral director let down his guard. The mistake, sadly, had cost him his life.

Colleen’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She retrieved it, read the text, and returned the phone to her pocket.

“What was that?” Bill asked, noticing the smile on her face.

“You’ll see,” she said, and nodded toward the stage.

A moment later, water sprayed up from behind the back of the Whalehead Club and gently rained down on the roof. Light from the now-setting sun bounced in the droplets and a magnificent rainbow formed above the Whalehead Club and the production. The audience gasped and clapped in awe.

“The station’s contribution to the play,” she said with pride.

Bill shook his head in wonder. “How’d you know you’d get a rainbow?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “We were just asked to provide the rain. I guess that’s Mother Nature’s contribution.”

Bill affectionately bumped her with his side and inadvertently squeezed Sparky between them. The dog wagged his tail, hitting each in the thigh, and pushed them apart with the force.

“Our chaperone,” he said, indicating Sparky.

She met his gaze, and it became clear that they didn’t need words. What had apparently been obvious to everyone in Corolla but the two of them was that they weren’t just friends—they were best friends—and that perhaps now it was time to be more. She resisted the urge to leap with joy and instead broke his gaze with a smile and turned her attention to the audience.

She spotted Pinky sitting several seats over. As if he could sense her looking at him, he turned, caught her eye, and bowed to her like a boy at a dance. Her eyes widened. That’s where she had first met Pinky … at the Italian Festival seven years ago. Everyone had done a handkerchief folk dance and she and Pinky had briefly ended up partners. She motioned as if waving a handkerchief at him, and he grinned broadly. Yes, Pinky, I remember.

“What was that about?” Bill asked about her pantomime.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she said to him, and squeezed his arm.

The play couldn’t have been more successful. At intermission, people lined up to fill the volunteer buckets, and in the second act it became clear that Lane had a right to his acting swagger, bringing several ladies in the audience to tears. Fawn was sweet and pretty and had no doubt attracted a few more admirers, and Nellie and Myrtle hoofed it across the stage in a delightful horsey tap number that had the audience demanding an encore, which, of course, they were happy to oblige. But what came next was a surprise to everyone and, Colleen thought, the most perfect ending to the play.

Hayley joined Lane onstage as he finished his closing narration and then the two announced in unison, “Ladies and gentleman, please put your hands together for the true star of the show,” and motioned toward the side of the building.

All eyes focused on the spot, and then from around the corner emerged Doc Wales with Rodrigo—a handsome chestnut-colored wild horse that had been rescued from the herd after being injured and was now healthy and serving as an ambassador to the public. As the horse made its way toward the front of the stage, one by one the actors took a curtain call. The audience leaped to its feet in applause and cheered “Bravo! Bravo!” Sparky barked and wagged his tail at the excitement. Colleen’s eyes welled with tears as Doc Wales led the horse to center stage.

“Are you crying?” Bill asked, surprised.

“No,” she said, and laughed as a tear made its way down her check and she wiped it away.

“I had no idea you were a softy,” he teased, and put his arm around her shoulders.

There’s a lot you don’t know about me, she thought, and leaned into him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hayley said, trying to get the audience’s attention.

“Please,” Lane said in his deepest voice. “Ms. Thorpe would like to announce how much money was raised.”

That got the audience to quiet. Everyone remained standing and held their breath. It reminded Colleen of when lottery numbers are called on a big drawing, only now everyone was waiting to see how much they had given, rather than received.

Hayley read what was written on the slip of paper, then looked out over the audience. “I don’t think I’ve seen a more beautiful group of people in my life,” she said. “I’m pleased to announce that tonight, at this very performance, all of you have raised one hundred thirty-six thousand twenty-two dollars and seventeen cents.”

The audience was silent a moment, stunned by the amount, and then applauded anew. Myrtle and Nellie hugged. Doc Wales rubbed the horse on its nose and it nuzzled his chest. Colleen and Bill simply stared at each other. It was an unbelievable amount of money.

“And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention,” Hayley added, “that one hundred thousand dollars of the total was given by one donor, who wishes to remain anonymous.”

“I wonder who it was,” a woman in front of Colleen said to her husband.

Colleen knew. She spotted Pinky and nudged Bill. Pinky was grinning, enjoying the audience’s speculation, and then he caught Colleen’s eye. She mouthed
Thank you,
and Bill motioned as if tipping his hat. Pinky raised his arms in feigned ignorance, then smiled and gave them a subtle salute. Colleen looked at Bill and then out over the crowd to the Whalehead Club and the lighthouse beyond. This was a night she wouldn’t soon forget.

Also by Kathryn O'Sullivan

Foal Play

About the Author

KATHRYN O’SULLIVAN is a winner of the Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Novel Competition. She is also an award-winning playwright and creator of the Web series
Thurston
. She is a theatre professor at Northern Virginia Community College. O’Sullivan lives in Reston, Virginia, with her husband, an award-winning film and video director and cinematographer, and their rascally rescue cat.

Visit her Web site at
www.kathrynosullivan.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

An Imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

MURDER ON THE HOOF.
Copyright © 2014 by Kathryn O’Sullivan. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

O’Sullivan, Kathryn.

    Murder on the hoof : a mystery / Kathryn O’Sullivan.—1st ed.

            p. cm.

    “A Thomas Dunne Book.”

    ISBN 978-1-250-04946-9 (hardcover)

    ISBN 978-1-4668-5048-4 (e-book)

  1.  Women firefighters—Fiction.   2.  Fire chiefs—North Carolina—Fiction.   3.  Sheriffs—North Carolina—Fiction.   4.   Murder—Investigation—Fiction.   5.  Corolla (N.C.)—Fiction.   6.  Outer Banks (N.C.)—Fiction.   7.  Mystery fiction.   I.  Title.

    PS3615.S66M87 2014

    813'.6—dc23

2014008155

e-ISBN 9781466850484

First Edition: May 2014