Рита Браун - Scarlet Fever

“Inky, I think that depends on the human and the circumstances. But they do kill more than we do. I mean, if we kill it’s to eat. They kill for strange reasons. Things we can’t imagine.”

“True.”

The crunch of tires on the crusher-run road diverted Diana. “Ben Sidel. He wasn’t out today.”

“He rides Nonni?” Inky liked Ben’s mare.

“Poor fellow. If a human does wrong he has to find them. Can you imagine tracking down other foxes?”

Inky considered this. “No, but if a fox stole one of my toys or some food, say when I was out of my den, I’d try to find out who it was and then take it back.”

“Bite their sorry butt,” Diana teased as she watched Ben walking into the tack room, close the door.

Bridles hanging from tack hooks filled the space, everyone cleaning their own bridle today. Part of the lingering was a way to make the hunt last longer. They looked up as Ben, in uniform, came through the door.

“Ben, sit down. Can I get you anything?” Sister asked.

He dropped into a chair. “No thank you. Bainbridge was finally able to talk. That will be on the news tonight, I expect, or tomorrow. The short version is he killed his father. Drew was an accessory. Both dragged the body down into that tight ravine.”

“Good Lord.” Betty stopped wiping down reins.

“Was he too much trouble?” Weevil wondered.

“That’s an extreme way to end it,” Betty replied.

“Sit down, you all. Those bridles are about done. You found him although you didn’t know what was under there. I’ll start from the beginning, as Bainbridge was willing to confess first time around.”

“Concussion?”

“Concussion, broken pelvis, smashed ribs. Enough to hurt for a long time.” Ben settled into the chair. “He started with stealing the silver, which he now admits he took.”

“The silver was his, was it not?” Gray remembered.

“Half. He was loaded, on drugs. We’ve all seen worse in the department, but let’s say when he was picked up with the bag in the car he was not an impressive sight. But he deliberately took it.”

“Which means Drew had become an obstacle of sorts,” Sister posited.

“The silver is what brought uncle and nephew to an agreement, oddly enough. Drew offering to pay any of Bainbridge’s bills, to put him in rehab, set off no warning lights for me. I didn’t know the Taylors as you did, but a family member, even one fighting with the addicted member, sometimes does step forward.” Ben put his feet up on the coffee table when Sister motioned for him to do so. Ben had been wiggling in his chair, a little uncomfortable.

“Drew and Bainbridge never fought as much as Morris and Bainbridge. Which makes sense,” Betty added. “Fathers and sons.”

“Bainbridge watched his uncle buy new cars, a new three-horse trailer, take trips to Paris, to Belize, to Hong Kong, to Patagonia, all over. He’d been watching this for two years. Finally he realized Taylor Insurance wasn’t paying for all this. He had a good idea of Drew’s abilities plus his laziness. He realized his father was paying for it. He wanted his share.”

“What do you mean?” Tootie asked.

“Drew received all of Morris’s pension checks, as he was now in charge of his brother, had power of attorney. Well, he was blowing every penny. Granted, he didn’t mistreat Morris, didn’t starve him or lock him up, although I suspect the latter would have happened soon. So Bainbridge made a deal with his uncle.”

“And that’s why he moved into the cottage?” Betty was figuring all this out.

“Yes. Bainbridge totted up how much his uncle had spent of his father’s pension funds. He demanded the receipts. Well, Drew really had no choice but to show him. So Bainbridge said he would look after his father along with the now part-time male nurse. In exchange, Drew would, over time, pay back half of the money he stole.”

“Why half?” Sister asked.

“To keep Drew on the team. Half per month would come to about five thousand dollars. Remember, Morris was a nuclear physicist, worked for big projects. He’d made money. So Bainbridge forgave half so long as Drew recognized that he was his father’s sole heir. Which is in Morris’s will.”

“Ah. And Bainbridge won’t say if he sweetened the pot. After all, if they killed Morris, how did he know his uncle wouldn’t kill him?” Sister folded her hands together.

“So they killed him for the money?” Tootie was horrified.

“Ultimately, yes,” Ben said. “But Morris was going down fast. Even if Drew and Bainbridge had locked him in his room, that couldn’t have lasted too long. He was tearing things to hell. Eventually he would need to go into assisted living. Then the pension funds would be under their control. That’s usually how they work those things. If there isn’t enough money to pay the monthly bills, they sell the dementia patient’s property. Given Drew’s funds, there was no need.”

“Money.” Betty pressed her lips together.

“Love or money. Usually what murder is about. Morris had become violent. In their minds he was better off. People can justify anything, as you know.” Ben spoke without rancor. “Drew could justify using Morris’s money for all his trips, the trailer, the vehicles, because in his mind he earned it by keeping Morris at Pitchfork Farm.”

“How did they do it? Would he tell you?” Sister asked.

“He’ll tell us anything to get his sentence reduced. He’ll sing for us, for the judge, for the jury. He’s scared. They took him outside for a walk and shot him in the head with a .38 pistol. The gun is in the house. We picked it up right where Bainbridge said it would be.”

“I thought I saw Morris. When Sister and I drove over to check the fixture.” Betty wondered.

“No. That must have been Bainbridge,” Ben responded. “Morris was dead by then. They thought they could keep the fiction of Morris being still alive going, maybe for a year or two. We’d all seen the deterioration. So it would be no surprise if Morris were locked up.”

Sister hung up her bridle, as it was swinging near her face, then turned around. “They resembled each other from a distance. Who would know?”

“That was their plan, so no one would know Morris was dead. From time to time someone would see Bainbridge from a distance, thinking it was Morris.”

Weevil leaned forward. “Drew and Bainbridge needed people to think Morris was alive. Otherwise the milk train wouldn’t stop there anymore.”

“You’re right about that.” Sister frowned. “Those monthly checks had to be wonderful. Free money, although I’m sure, as you said, Ben, Drew deluded himself into thinking he’d earned it.”

“What about Wanda? She was there five days a week.” Betty liked the stable girl.

“Don’t think they thought that far ahead but they could tell her Morris was violent and in his bedroom. Let her go if she questioned too much. We questioned her, of course. She had no idea. She’s worried about Binny and Ugh. Doesn’t want anything to happen to the horses.”

“Tell her not to worry. We’ll take them. There are people in the hunt club who could use two good, made hunters,” Sister offered.

Gray nodded. “We can pick them up tomorrow.”

“Now what?” Betty asked.

“Nothing to do except listen to everyone respond, give their ideas. The usual swirl of gossip and bullshit.” Ben put his hand to his mouth. “Sorry.”

Gray smiled. “Human nature.”

“Does Bainbridge know Drew shot himself?” Sister asked.

“He does. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. Even if he gets, say, twenty years, when he gets out he’ll be in his early fifties and he’ll have a lot of money. We can’t touch the money. Morris’s investment accounts, Pitchfork Farm, all go to Bainbridge.”