Susan Schreyer - Death By a Dark Horse

"You're accusing me of lying?" I nearly choked on the words.

"What's going on here?" Delores popped into the midst of our discussion.

"I think this young woman needs to come down to the station with me."

"You're Marty, aren't you?" she said to the officer. He nodded. "Now you just sit still for a minute."

His eyes widened as she turned to me. But I jumped in before she could utter a word.

"He thinks Blackie is responsible for Valerie's death." I glared at this sorry-excuse-for-a-deputy-Marty-person.

"And I think you need to come down to the station." Marty glared back.

"Fine," I snarled.

"What on earth for?" Delores asked. "You're only going to get more upset. Marty, she needs to go home. She's had a bad shock. You've got everyone's statements, you know where they live, there's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." She took Marty's arm, patting it in a little-old-lady fashion, and steered him away from me. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Eric's eye and jerked her head toward the truck. Eric's hand closed around my upper arm, but I stood fast.

Marty jerked his arm out of Delores's grasp, leaned toward me, and jabbed a finger at my face. "We have laws about dangerous animals in this county, and the law is they don't live long after they've attacked a human. It's the responsible thing to do. You might want to think about that. Tomorrow morning. Sheriff's office. Both of you." He jabbed at Jorge, too.

I rose on my toes, sputtering, but Eric's grip tightened on my arm and he half carried me toward the truck. Marty's lip curled.

"You believe me, don't you, Eric? Jorge?" I asked when Eric finally let me go. Their support was more important right now than the humiliation of being dragged around like a puppy. "Blackie didn't kill her. They can't shoot him."

A squeal of tires silenced me and stopped Eric's answer. A black Nissan Z slid to a stop, spraying gravel. Greg catapulted out the door and barreled toward the deputies.

"Hey, what the hell's going on here?"

Two deputies stopped him, taking him by the arms, their voices too low for me to hear what they said.

"No!" Greg struggled to get past them, but they stopped him. "No!" He leaned toward the place where the ambulance crew was now working. "Valerie, no!"

His knees buckled and both deputies shifted, supporting him this time. They steered him toward one of the patrol cars. Delores, Eric, Jorge and I watched in silence. I glanced at Eric. His mouth was set in a thin line, his face pasty pale. Greg's keening sobs turned the chill morning air to ice.

"Eric," Delores said. He didn't respond, but continued to stare. "Eric!"

His dark eyes shifted to her.

"Take Thea and Jorge home. It's best if you all leave."

"But Blackie -" I began.

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of him."

"Don't let them hurt him. You heard that deputy."

"Don't worry," she repeated, cocking her head and firing a narrow look at me. "Go on, all three of you. I'll catch up with you later. Get out of here. Now."

I had no choice but to trust my very capable friend. Eric, in his uncharacteristic mood, all but shoved Jorge and me into his car, demanded my cell phone, and made a quick call I paid no attention to. I had more important things to do – like figure out how to save my horse.

On the short trip to my house I tested and rejected a thousand plans. Hide him. Where? Run away. Impractical. A lawyer. Where do you find a lawyer to represent a horse? Delores will have ideas. So will Uncle Henry – and you can depend on him and Aunt Vi. They're right here in town, not ten minutes away, like Delores. They'll help you figure out what to do next. Blackie didn't kill Valerie.

The car slowed to a stop and Eric turned off the engine, distracting me from my tactical planning. We were in front of my old, Craftsman style cottage, and behind Juliet's motorcycle, angle-parked at the curb. Eric's call had been to my sister. The front door of my house opened and Juliet stepped onto my porch. Her sober expression contrasted with the layers of brightly colored tops she wore. She chewed her bottom lip as she watched me approach.

"You okay?" she asked as we put our arms around each other. The breeze lifted her long, golden-brown curls, and a few fragrant strands dropped across my face.

"Yeah." I hugged her tightly.

She released me, gave Jorge a quick hug, then moved to Eric. Her stiletto heeled boots put her close to his six-foot-plus height. His arms slid around her and one hand gathered her hair in a tight fist as he pressed her, hard, against him. His eyes shut and the hair by Juliet's ear stirred with his breath before he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. I'd never seen Eric so emotional.

I headed into the house, away from the awkwardness of the moment. The smell of freshly brewed coffee beckoned me to the kitchen.

"Eric and I just got back from breakfast when Jorge called Delores," Juliet said as we all settled at the big kitchen table with our coffee. "Miguel told me Valerie took Blackie and now she's dead. What happened? How'd she die?"

My shoulders tightened. "I don't know, but I can tell you one thing for sure. Blackie didn't kill her like that idiot deputy thinks."

Juliet's gray eyes widened. She started to speak, but stopped. Her hands dropped to her lap.

Eric looked quickly at Juliet. "It's possible he kicked out of excitement when she turned him loose, and got her by accident." He reached for her hands.

"Do you really think that's what happened?" Juliet almost whispered her question – to Eric.

"No, of course not," I snapped.

"I don't know." Eric leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He let out a long breath before he continued. "Blackie usually hangs around the gate when you turn him out. That's your doing, Thea." He opened his eyes a slit and gave me a wry smile. "Blackie thinks everyone's his friend. I can't see him deliberately going after anyone."

"I'm sure Blackie didn't touch her," I said, unmoved by his attempt to soften his opinion. "Besides, I noticed something odd."

"Besides her being dead?" Jorge asked.

"I'm serious. Blackie didn't kill her, accidentally or otherwise. I'm sure of it. The gate was secured with the same chain and snap set-up as Copper Creek and Uncle Henry have. It was fastened on the outside of the fence, not the inside. Valerie would have fastened it on the inside if she was the last to close the gate."

"Not necessarily," Eric said. "Although I'll admit it would be easier."

"Oh, come on, Eric. If you were turning a horse out in a paddock would you take the trouble -"

"Did you tell the police?" Juliet asked.

"Yes, of course I did. He just told me to put it in my report." I took a big swig of coffee.

"I think the deputy just wanted to blame it on Blackie," Jorge said and drained his mug. "It's convenient."

At least Jorge backed me up. My arms relaxed a little. "I have to find a way to prove Blackie didn't kill Valerie. Otherwise they'll put him down." The silence pulled my attention up from the table top. Everyone looked as if they were holding their breath waiting for me to blow. I was under control. I wasn't crying or yelling. I was simply determined. I changed the subject. "Greg drove up right before we left Valerie's place."

"Oh no." Juliet grasped Eric's hand tightly in both of hers. "What happened?"

"It was awful. He was so upset. Two of the deputies tried to help him."

Juliet's lip trembled and she slid a quick look at Eric.

"I talked to him at Copper Creek earlier today before I knew Blackie was missing," I said. "He had flowers and a little Tiffany's box for Valerie."

Juliet jumped to her feet, grabbed the coffee pot and topped off everyone's mugs. She sniffed, but her hair hid her face from my view. I shook my head. Okay, it was sad, but it wasn't like Juliet to react like this. I poured a bit of creamer into my coffee and stirred it slowly. A cup of coffee in a crisis-the Northwest version of the British cup-of-tea-in-a-crisis. In fact, if we were across town in Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry's kitchen we would be drinking tea. Although they moved here to Snohomish when I was a kid, they maintained their English traditions. I guess we weren't so terribly removed from our roots – just put our own spin on it.