TheCart Before the Corpse (22 page)

“I’m stuck.”

“Can you twist around far enough to give me your right hand?” Merry’s voice. He rotated his right shoulder back and felt Merry’s strong hands grasping his wrist across the back of the seat. “Slide forward so I can lower the seat back.”

She sounded remarkably calm. Who was looking after the horse? He spared a glance and saw Heinzie trying desperately to keep the carriage upright.

“He won’t move,” Merry said. “Not for a minute, anyway. We need to make this quick. Amos, you have Peggy?”

“Got her,” Amos said. “Come on, Peggy, upsy-daisy.”

Geoff braced both feet against the dashboard to push himself toward the back of the carriage as Merry hauled on his right arm with both hands. For a moment he stuck, then he slid forward and landed face down on top of Merry. For a moment they were nose-to-nose before she shoved him off and rolled away from him. Even in his present state, he had time to register the soft cushion of her body.

“Come on.” She rolled to her feet. “We’ve got to hold the carriage upright long enough for me to get Heinzie loose. Can you hold up the wheel?”

He rubbed his shoulder and nodded. The wheel was no longer round, but had collapsed into an ovoid with a bent rim. He could see several broken spokes.

“Peggy, are you all right?” Merry said as she ran past Geoff toward Heinzie’s head.

“I’m fine, but Amos probably has a double hernia from hauling me out.”

Amos grabbed the rim of the wheel next to Geoff, grinned at him and hefted half the load. Geoff was amazed that after his initial terrified buck, the horse had fought to stay on his feet without fussing or trying to run away.

“Heinzie, good boy, walk forward,” Merry said. Geoff could see her on the left and Peggy on the right by the horse’s head. “Good boy. That’s it.”

A moment later the horse was free of the shafts. The weight on Geoff’s hands and arms lessened. Then Merry and Peggy lowered the shafts to the ground.

“Heinzie, whoa. Stand.” Merry said. She called to the men, “Let the wheel down easy. Try not to let the carriage tip all the way over.”

Throughout, her voice had remained calm and steady. Amazing. Everybody else himself included, he suspected, had been screaming and shouting. As he and Amos both released the wheel, Merry touched Geoff’s shoulder. “How’s your head?”

“I thought you were crazy to make me wear this stupid hat,” he said as he unclipped it and pulled it off. “Thanks.”

“What the hell happened?” Amos asked.

Geoff dropped to his knees. “Some spokes broke.”

A moment later Merry knelt in the sand beside him. “Not like that, they didn’t. Spokes break, all right, but not in the middle, and not three at once.” She propped herself on her right elbow to look at the back of the wheel. He heard her breath catch. “Geoff, look at this.” She scooted back to give him room. “Peggy, reach me the spares box. I don’t want this cart falling on our heads.”

Peggy handed Merry the heavy wooden box from behind the driver’s seat. Merry forced it under the back of the carriage to take weight off the broken wheel.

Geoff propped himself on his right arm, then lay down on his back and slid behind the wheel. His left arm and shoulder felt bruised and sore, but with his right he felt along and broken spokes. “Hell,” he whispered and slid away. “Amos, you better take a look at this too.”

“What?” Peggy asked and bent down. “All I see is three fractured spokes.”

Amos checked behind the wheel, stood up and brushed off his no-longer immaculate uniform. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“Look, I have to get Heinzie out of his harness, check to see he hasn’t hurt himself, and put him out in the pasture with the others,” Merry said. “I’ll meet you in the stable in ten minutes.”

“You go with them,” Peggy said. “I’ll look after Heinzie.” She pointed to the donkey, who stood once more shoulder to knee with Heinzie. “Don Qui too.”

“But . . . ”

“Go.”

“Leave the harness on the fence,” Merry said. “I can wash it and put it away later.”

Peggy nodded, rolled up Heinzie’s reins from where they trailed behind him, tucked the traces under his britchin, and led him away toward the pasture. Don Qui trotted along behind.

Merry stalked off toward the stable with her head held high and her chin stuck out a mile.

Geoff and Amos followed.

“That’s one steady horse,” Amos said. “He could have totally freaked and hurt himself, not to mention Peggy and old Geoff here.”

Merry whirled to glare at him. “
Whoa
means do not move a foot until I tell you different. I knew he’d stand. My
daddy
trained him.” She brushed her fingertips along her cheeks and turned away. “Hiram may not have been the world’s best father, but he was one hell of a horse trainer.”

The three walked into the stable and down to the hay bales that constituted the only place to sit down. Merry sank onto the nearest bale and wrapped her arms around herself.

Geoff could tell she was crashing fast.

“Somebody sabotaged your cart,” Geoff said. He leaned against the stall and rubbed his sore shoulder. His fingers still tingled. “Unless you’re in the habit of sawing kerfs straight across the backside of three spokes.”

“Why didn’t it break the minute Peggy and Yoder started driving?” Amos asked and took up a position two bales down from Merry’s.

“Whoever did this is either sneaky, lucky, or knows his way around carriages and hand tools,” Geoff said. “Cuts weren’t deep. They might have held up fine, even with two people in the carriage, at a nice sedate walk, although I doubt it. Not for long.”

“Might have lasted longer if Peggy had been driving from the left, too,” Merry said. “Although anyone with driving knowledge would know the driver traditionally sits on the right.” She turned to Amos. “Yoder is skinny and you’re not a heavy man. Even weakened and at a slow trot, the spokes apparently held.”

“From the jagged edges where they broke, however, I’d say they were already starting to split,” Geoff said. “My weight was enough to finish the job the minute the horse started to trot with me in the left seat.”

“But why?” Merry cried. “You could have broken your neck.”

He came across, hunkered down in front of Merry and took both her hands. “Who other than Peggy knows you don’t drive any longer?”

She looked confused. “I suppose Hiram could have told someone. He probably told Yoder, but I don’t know who else. It wasn’t exactly secret in driving circles. Peggy didn’t know until I told her.”

“But you did announce that you’d be resuming Hiram’s teaching schedule, didn’t you?”

“Sure. So?”

“So, wouldn’t someone who didn’t know about your driving problem assume you’d be riding left seat during the lessons?”

He watched her eyes widen.

“Me? You think someone was out to hurt
me
?” She began to shake her head. “No way. Of all the wacko, inefficient, stupid ways . . . ” She glared at him. “I’ll have you know I do not weigh nearly as much as you do.”

“I doubt whoever sliced those spokes did beta testing on how much weight it would take to break them.”

At that moment Peggy walked into the front of the barn. “Heinzie’s out in the pasture discussing his adventures with Don Qui. What have I missed?”

“Geoff thinks somebody was out to hurt
me,”
Merry said.

Peggy nodded at Geoff. “Makes sense.”

“Makes no sense at all!” Merry said. She strode up and down the aisle. “The only person I know around here other than you all is Jacob, and he
wants
me in one piece so I can keep paying him. Besides, he knows I don’t drive.”

Geoff got to his feet and put out an arm to stop Merry. “Whoever sabotaged that carriage didn’t do it for their health.”

“Or yours,” Peggy added.

Chapter 25

Thursday evening

Merry

By the time we arrived at the mortuary for the viewing— although the coffin would remain closed—heavy clouds were rolling in across the mountains to the west, and drum rolls of thunder followed lightning.

Mountain storms are different from flatland storms. Flatlanders come at you from far away. Plenty of warning to head for the storm cellar or an inside closet with cats, dogs and children and hope there’s no tornado around.

Mountain storms roar down at you from behind hilltops and catch you flatfooted. Of course, they normally don’t bring tornadoes with them, but they can sure touch off forest fires, not something I’m used to. No danger of that this early in the year.

NOAA weather is marvelous and saves a great many lives. Still, I sometimes miss sitting on my front porch enjoying a good old thunderstorm that begins with that buttered toast smell when the first raindrop hits dry dirt and drops the temperature twenty degrees in twenty minutes.

Now, we huddle around our portable television sets looking for hook echoes on the radar. Much safer, but not nearly as much fun.

“Rain in ten minutes,” Peggy said as we pulled into the parking lot at the funeral home. “The weather forecast says it’s going to be a wet Friday.”

“Perfect weather for a graveside service. I don’t suppose I can wear my muck boots with my black dress.”

She slammed her car door and trotted toward the funeral home entrance. “Dig your pumps into the mud like everybody else,” she said over her shoulder.

The first drops hit the metal roof over the funeral home entrance as we opened the door to the hall. “Mr. Straley has left for the evening,” said his assistant. He peered at Peggy and me and kept his distance. Straley must have warned him we could erupt into hysteria. “A number of ladies have dropped dishes by.”

“Funeral ladies?” I asked.

“Oh, no. The funeral ladies won’t arrive until mid-morning tomorrow to set up. These are Mossy Creek ladies. They said they wanted to be sure we had snacks, and since you weren’t home . . . Well, they brought them here.”

“Don’t worry,” Peggy whispered. “We’ll make sure they all signed the book, although I can’t see anybody trying to poison an entire group in public.”

Not much chance of wasting away from grief. At least not for a while.

Looking at the array of tiny quiches and individual cheesecakes the ladies had brought, as well as chips, dip, and one elegantly arranged veggie tray, I hoped we’d have a few people show up.

The funeral home had furnished a coffeemaker with cream, sugar, and artificial sweetener on a credenza opposite the casket. The Styrofoam cups and plastic spoons spoiled the effect, but you can’t have everything. I wondered how much I was paying for it.

We’d barely stashed our purses out of sight behind the red velvet drapes when our first visitor arrived.

“Oh, Lord,” Peggy whispered. “What’s
he
doing here?”

Had to be a politician or a banker. Something that allowed him to get that light brown hair with its hint of gray at the temples razor cut by the same caliber of barber that did John Edwards. A real GQ kind of guy. He wore a pale blue shirt that matched his eyes, a red power tie, a dark gray suit that had been made for him by someone who knew his fabrics, and spit-shined Italian loafers with tassels. I always check out the shoes.

My heart did not ache with despair when I saw his wide platinum wedding band. He was entirely too pretty for my taste. I don’t do pretty. I prefer the Tommie Lee Jones craggy-faced guys who never use moisturizers or pluck their eyebrows.

He came toward us with his hand outstretched. I saw Peggy hesitate a moment before she took it. Interesting that he was so obviously trying to be socially correct when he didn’t know that a woman always offers her hand first, if she chooses to do so. I doubt Peggy would have.

He clasped her hand with his right and covered it with his left. “Mrs. Caldwell, how nice to see you, even under these dreadful circumstances.”

Peggy withdrew her hand and tossed him a micro-expression of distaste before she smiled. He didn’t pick up on it, but I sure did. “Good evening, Ken,” she said, slightly emphasizing the use of his first name.

He couldn’t really be named Ken, could he? He was such a perfect Ken that I longed to grab his crotch to see if he actually had genitalia.

“Merry, this is Governor Bigelow’s henchman, Ken Whitehead. Ken, Merideth Lackland Abbott.”

He chortled. “Right hand man, Mrs. Caldwell. Henchman sounds nasty.” He did the two handed thing with me, but let go before I had a chance to pull my hand away. His hands were a bunch softer than mine. I didn’t look down at his nails, but I’d bet he had a manicure every week when he had that hair trimmed. “Such a terrible thing, Mrs. Abbott. I assure you Bigelow is one of the safest counties in the state the whole region.”

Tell that to Hiram.

“No doubt some tramp wandering through, and now long gone. Terrible thing. Terrible.”

“Yeah, Hiram did like a good tramp. Or is that dirty tramp? I always get that confused.”

Duh, the old ‘wandering tramp’ scenario. This guy was one big cliché.

Then I looked into those too-pale blue eyes and caught Peggy watching him as though he were a six-foot water moccasin coiled to strike. I could certainly see him holding his own among the power brokers, but I wondered how he handled himself among the good ole boys. Probably switched to jeans, a Wal-Mart polo shirt, muddy work boots, a John Deere baseball cap, and a completely different syntax. I couldn’t see him going so far as to rub dirt into those immaculate cuticles.

I made a sound that he might take for assent. “How nice of you to come. Did you know my father well?”

He reached for my hand again, but this time I was too fast for him. I stuck both hands in the pockets of my blazer.

“You wouldn’t know, of course. I represent the consortium that owns the acreage that abuts Mr. Lackland’s property. We are neighbors.”

This time he was too quick for me. He slid his hand under my elbow and cut me away from Peggy as expertly as a wrangler with a prize heifer. At that moment several other people I didn’t know walked in and Peggy went to meet them.

She glared at Ken over her shoulder and gave me a tiny shake of her head that I took to mean “do not buy property in the Everglades from this man.”