Рита Браун: The Tell-Tale Horse

“Nineteen ninety-eight,” Gray answered.

For a moment, conversation stopped.

Finally Sister said, “You’ve done your homework.”

He took her hand in his. “I want to learn everything there is to know about you.”

“Not everything, please,” she replied. She’d only sipped half a glass, but the champagne had put her one step from giddy, since she rarely drank.

“Oh?” Gray’s eyebrows rose.

“A girl has to have some secrets.”

“Here, here!” Joyce raised her glass, as did the other ladies.

“You could give us a hint,” Bill said.

“Dad, then it wouldn’t be a secret,” Jeanne responded.

“One hint. I’ll divulge one. No man in this room has any idea of the time it takes to remove the hair on your body, do the hair on your head, polish your nails, apply makeup, and so on.” Sister lifted her hand.

“Shaving takes time,” Gray said, “especially if you have a mustache.”

“Hope I never do.” Sister laughed.

The rest of the evening continued in this vein, laughter, dancing, marvelous food, good liquor, and Cuban cigars for those gentlemen and a few ladies who donned their coats, repairing to the pristine outdoors to puff contentedly away, all the while cursing an embargo in effect since the presidency of John F. Kennedy, who had humidors packed with Cuban cigars, enough to last decades if he’d lived, poor fellow.

Finally the clock struck twelve. The band played on, but Gray rose and kissed Sister’s hand. “Honey, I’d better be going.” He had a meeting in Washington, even though it was Sunday, with the number-two man in the IRS. Gray, retired from the most prestigious D.C. accounting firm, was often called quietly, away from prying eyes, to counsel on tax matters. Capital gains was his specialty. He didn’t mind performing regular audits for businesses, though. Gray lacked haughtiness and, much as he had flourished among the powerful, he was equally happy sifting through the records of a small local company, working with the owner. He truly loved accounting, hard as it was for many people to understand, because it gave him insight into different types of businesses. It also made him an extremely shrewd investor. There was a time when a rich and powerful African-American excited comment. These days, fortunately, success was becoming more evenly distributed.

After Gray left, Marion touched Sister’s shoulder. “Ready?”

“Of course.”

Not wishing to drive the whole way back to her farm, Sister had accepted Marion’s invitation to spend the night in Warrenton. Marion lifted her spirits, making her laugh until the tears rolled down her cheeks. Also, she liked seeing Marion’s house. Whatever Marion touched became colorful, dramatic, splashed with a hint of flamboyance like Marion herself. Sister’s house, by contrast, was subdued, anchored in the eighteenth century.

Driving back to town, roads packed hard with snow despite the snowplows’ steady work, the two chattered about the ball and about politics.

“You should run for office,” Sister counseled.

“Never,” came the swift one-word reply.

“Marion, you have uncommon good sense. You’d never squander the taxpayers’ money.”

“That’s not what people want these days. They want false glamour, a smooth liar, and, above all, a pious hypocrite.”

“There are a few good people in the game.”

“I know, but I couldn’t do it. Could you?”

“Actually, I think I could. Would I enjoy it? No.”

“You know what? I forgot to bring Trigger in. Do you mind if we swing by the store? Won’t take but two minutes. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Trudy when I realized I’d left him outside. She would have run her mouth all over the ballroom. And I did say I was worried he’d be damaged. Got so busy trying to get out of the store on time that Trigger slipped my mind.”

“Let’s put Trigger in his stall,” Sister agreed.

“It’s not hard for two of us to move him inside.”

“It will be a treat, in high heels and snow.” The older woman laughed, although she didn’t mind getting her feet wet. It wouldn’t take long.

Driving in from the west, they turned onto Main Street, then right onto Alexandria Pike, moving slowly down the steep grade. There were two parking lots, one larger than the other; Marion pulled into the smaller one out front.

Both women stepped out, heels sinking into the packed snow, and did a double take.

“Those damn kids! This is what happens when I forget to take Trigger in.”

A beautiful naked model sat astride the life-sized statue.

Sister paused before wrenching her heel from the snow. “Looks real.”

“Trigger’s been saddled with gorillas and with witches for Halloween. And it always makes the newspaper, the photograph. They’re so slick, those kids. They do it right under my nose when the store’s open.”

The snow made a small popping sound as the two be-gowned women worked their way toward the horse statue, now burdened by the naked woman.

Sister grabbed Marion’s arm just as she was about to unlock the chain that anchored Trigger to the building. “Marion, don’t touch anything!”

“Why?”

“This isn’t a model.”

“What?”

The rider, ravishingly beautiful, jet-black hair and dark eyes, had her hands on Trigger’s neck as though holding his mane. Her mouth was slightly open. A tiny hole was visible over her left bosom, where her heart would be. Sister walked behind the dead woman to behold a small exit wound.

“She’s real!”

Marion followed Sister’s finger. “Oh, my God!”

“Whoever did this had plenty of time.” With the sangfroid that was typical of her in dangerous and difficult situations, Sister had already quickly absorbed the details.

“What makes you say that?”

“When a person dies they void themselves. She’s clean as a whistle.” Sister stepped back to study the body. “What a beautiful, beautiful woman, in the first flower of life.”

Marion, voice low, whispered, “Lady Godiva.”

CHAPTER 2

Marion called on her cell phone, and the two women waited for the sheriff in front of the store. The door was still locked.

“That’s one good thing. At least nothing is stolen.” Sister wrapped her arms around herself and kicked snow off her shoes.

“I hope not. There’s a downstairs door that the public doesn’t use but we do. It’s storage.”

Without another word, the two women carefully negotiated the steep steps down to the lower level. Despite being plowed two days ago, the area was packed hard again, thanks to the recent snowfall. The February sky glittered with stars so bright some shone blue-white.

Marion fetched her car keys from her pocket, pressing the tiny LED light on the chain. A narrow bright-white beam illuminated the doorknob.

Relief filled Sister’s voice. “Nothing is smashed.”

Marion placed the key in the lock, but the door swung open without a click. “That’s odd.”

Sister knelt down. “It’s cut clean through. The tongue of the lock is in the door.”

Marion, face ashen now, grabbed Sister’s forearm. “Maybe he’s still in the store.”

“Do you have a gun in there?”

“No.”

Sister spied a box of twitches, a device used on the lip to make horses stand still for things they might not like, such as getting their mane pulled. A small loop of chain was embedded in a three-foot heavy wooden dowel. She grabbed one. “I’ll go first. If he’s in there, I want to get him.”

“It’s my store. I should go first.” Marion plucked a twitch out of the box too.

“I’m six feet tall and a master. I’m used to physical…” Sister’s voice trailed off as her foot touched the first stair. She flicked on the light, feeling incredibly alive. Danger was her element.