Something Most Deadly Read online

  “Hi Madeline—what’s up?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.

  “What’s up? What’s up! Oh just a little matter of a nasty, gruesome death that’s all over the TV and papers and just happens to be on your doorstep. That’s what’s up! I leave you alone for a few days—and look what happens...”

  “What are they saying in the papers?”

  “They’re calling it suspicious circumstances—under investigation. Did that horse doctor fall, or was he pushed into the cellar? Was he really impaled on hay spears? Yuck!”

  “The lights didn’t work, someone left a trapdoor open and he fell.”

  “God! Trap is right—that sounds awfully suspicious to me. It could’ve been you that fell in there!”

  “Well, I didn’t, and I’m fine.”

  “Can I visit you?”

  “Sure!”

  “I just have such an awful feeling...a foreboding.”

  “Are you practicing psychology or soothsaying?”

  “Gut feelings should never be dismissed.”

  “When are you coming?”

  “I’m just turning into the estate—but I see I’m going to have to fight through a squadron of guards...”

  After rescuing Madeline from the guards at the front gate, Jane spent the afternoon showing her friend around the grounds. She first introduced her to Sam as he finished cleaning and hitching the horse trailer to his truck to pick up the new schoolhorse. Then she took her inside the barn where she met Dylan, Reggie and Lars. After the introductions, Jane spent a half hour in front of Charmante’s stall with Madeline, arguing about how much danger she was putting herself in, especially after Madeline discovered the exact details of Bill Welsh’s demise.

  “Everyone in the barn is going to keep a real close eye on me until the police catch the culprit. I was a sitting duck without a clue before, now I’m careful and wary.”

  “What if one of the people watching you is the killer? What if another trap is being planned as we speak? Something could be in the works right now—your next little nasty surprise,” Madeline stated as she idly stroked Charmante’s forelock.

  Jane shuddered at the words. Words that would haunt her later.

  “It sounds to me,” Madeline stated, “as if you have a really deranged person lurking on this estate. Any ideas?”

  “I really have none. I can’t picture any one of them setting such a malicious trap. The chicken thing yes, but not murder.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t mention the rooster attack to me—or that idiot Owen trying to molest you.”

  “They just seemed like silly incidents.”

  “I don’t find them silly at all. In fact I find the rooster thing an indication of a really sinister, dangerous mind, and I wish you’d be sensible and leave this place.”

  “Coming from you, that’s terrifying.”

  “Good. Stay terrified, stay alert and stay alive.”

  “I plan to. In fact I think I’m terrified most of the time.” She looked down at her arms, rotating them for inspection. “I still keep having the crazy crawling feeling that I told you about. Every now and then, it feels like my skin is going to run off my body. Really getting annoying.”

  Madeline looked at her closely. “I’m beginning to think you have some extra-sensory perception going on there.”

  “You think that’s what it is?”

  “You’ve become a sort of smoke alarm for evil.”

  “What?” Jane laughed, looking dubious.

  “I wouldn’t dismiss it—you may have an important tool there for defending your life; a sort of early-warning system. I’ve seen too much in my career to ignore the reality of psi phenomena—precognition, telepathy, clairvoyance. Parapsychology is a fascinating area of study. Even the CIA investigated it for twenty years for possible use in espionage; although I think their studies were flawed. I don’t doubt their conclusions that it was unreliable for spying, but I think the techniques they used for studying ESP fell short.”

  “Are you researching ESP too?”

  “Well, it all comes together under Biopsychology. My focus is always on the brain and nervous system—and the action of nerve cells and brain chemistry; whether it be the criminal mind, or psi phenomena.”

  “You really are a pioneer.”

  “Ah yes, the brain—the last frontier. More exciting than outer space.”

  “So what’s my brain up to?”

  “Somehow you can sense evil—and it triggers the sympathetic branch of your autonomous nervous system.”

  “My...what?”

  “And you thought I couldn’t spout medical gibberish.”

  “Okay, I give up.”

  “Fight or flight response, in lay terms. It shuts off the blood supply to the skin by tightening capillaries—your standard goose bumps—accelerates the heartbeat, releases sugar into the bloodstream. All sorts of physiological responses.”

  “How did I come to have this...extra-sensory perception, if that’s what it is?”

  “Don’t know. Like I said, the brain is one mysterious organ—we’ve hardly begun to crack the surface, so to speak.”

  “Great. So now I’m an evil-alarm.”

  “Be happy you don’t let off an ear-piercing whistle.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Jane suddenly looked around at the familiar sound of tapping boots.

  “Uh oh. Here it comes. Brace yourself...”

  Madeline looked over her shoulder. “That fluffy booted creature approaching us is, I take it, Lucinda herself? She looks a little better now that she doesn’t have a rooster for a hairdresser.”

  Jane chuckled. “Yep, that’s Lucinda cleaned up—without the blood, fat lip and shredded clothes.” They both turned back to the horse, paying him great attention and ignoring Lucinda’s approach.

  “Jane!” It was a sullen, screechy command. Madeline raised her eyebrows and shot Jane a wry look, which Jane returned with eyeball-rolling before swinging around to face Lucinda. She looked irritable, which was bad news. Lucinda in a good mood was trouble.

  “Is this a student?” Lucinda snapped her head towards Madeline.

  “This, is my good friend Madeline Fanning, a Psychologist at Boston General.”

  “Oh...” Lucinda’s expression changed slightly, but if anything she seemed more agitated.

  “How do you do, Lucinda.”

  “Fine...thank you,” she answered distractedly. “Jane, I might as well let you know, Charmante and I are going to New Jersey tomorrow for a ten day seminar with Claus Von Henneberg at Gladstone.” Lucinda flung a sidelong glance at Madeline to see if she were listening.

  “Gladstone!” Jane gasped, “with the Claus Von Henneberg?” Von Henneberg was one of the most sought after Dressage coaches in the world. Riders fought tooth and nail and parted with a lot of cash to be in his seminars and clinics when he made a rare visit from Germany.

  Lucinda was pleased with the desired effect. “Yes. Dad is a big corporate sponsor and he arranged this. He wants me to do better than I have been, so that I’ll be ready for our show here and start qualifying for some of the big national shows.” She moved over to pat Charmante and the other two women stepped away. “I’ll be staying with a business partner of Dad’s—the Ayers—at their estate in Peapack. Very swanky area, Jackie Onassis used to belong to a hunt club near there.” Lucinda paused for the effect to settle in.

  When no one made a comment Lucinda sighed and then plunged on with her original thought: “Jane, you and Lars are just not used to working with a priceless horse like Charmante. I’m afraid he’s outstripped your talents and capabilities, and I have no choice now—it’s imperative that I have only the best training. I need the top people, not second best.”

  “It’s up to you Lucinda,” Jane replied stiffly. “It’s your horse and your choice.”

  “That’s exactly right.” Lucinda patted the horse again, but he stepped back and returned to his hay. Lucinda was unaffected by the equine slight. S
he suddenly shifted gears and pounced on Jane. “By the way, did you have to sic those idiot detectives on us? They’re such an unpleasant nuisance!”

  Madeline could stand no more. “You know, damnit—it was such a nuisance of that vet to go and get himself murdered. Skewered on machinery no less! I’ll be out front in the car, Jane.” She adjusted her small shoulder briefcase and walked away in a slightly furious stride. Lucinda watched her with her mouth agape.

  “They don’t know for sure that Bill was murdered!”

  “The cops and detectives think so.”

  “That’s just because of the stuff you probably told them. You exaggerate so. I’m sure it was just a plain and simple accident.”

  “I only told the exact truth, Lucinda.” Jane left to catch up with Madeline.

  “Yeah, right!” Lucinda snarled at her retreating back.

  “Madeline...Wait up!” Jane called, as she caught up with her at the double front doors of the north wing. They exited the barn together, walking down the portico steps.

  “I could wring that girl’s scrawny little neck with my bare hands!” Madeline yelled, as she fished for her car keys. “Make her tiny little chicken bones pop in two. How do you put up with these outrageous people?” She adopted Lucinda’s high-pitched squeaky voice: “Peeeepack... God, could she be more irritating?” Before Jane could answer, or Madeline could press the remote to unlock her Jaguar, Owen’s Frog-Mustang slid up on the opposite side.

  “Speaking of outrageous,” Jane muttered under her breath.

  Owen exited his car and strutted like a millionaire in his boots and breeches. The whip mark had mostly healed, but he did not look straight at them, just whisked by with a derisive sniff as he casually aimed his key ring back over his shoulder and set the car alarm. The car chirped and blinked as they watched him disappear into the barn.

  ”Well, hello to you too,” Madeline said sarcastically. “What a peacock!”

  “That was Owen.”

  “What? He’s the jerk that...?! No wonder you beat him with your crop. I’d like to have a swipe at him myself.”

  Detective Westerlund pulled up in a department-issue, blue Crown Vic, and parked a few spaces to the left of the Jaguar and Mustang. He hopped out, thin tie flapping like a wind sock.

  “Uh oh again,” Jane murmured.

  “Who’s this guy? Someone else who needs a good whaling?”

  “Maybe. Hello detective,” Jane greeted as he approached.

  On the short walk to where the two women were standing, Detective Westerlund used the moment to scrutinize Madeline, keen cop-eyes seeking to fit her into his entertaining puzzle.

  Another tall one.

  A dizzy blonde horsy type, he surmised, driving Daddy’s Jaguar, spending all his money. The color of her hair influenced him to peg her intelligence as hovering somewhere in the vicinity of the Whitbeck’s idiot daughter. The tall dark-haired woman he suspended judgment on; not quite sure she fit his profile of a silly, pampered child-woman.

  “Afternoon,” he said affably, coaxing an introduction and smiling benignly.

  “Afternoon,” Jane smiled back. “Detective Westerlund, this is my close friend Madeline Fanning.”

  Westerlund shook hands with Madeline and walked right into it like a lamb to the slaughter. She locked intelligent hazel eyes on the man, picking over his face and soul with a fine tooth comb. He felt like a jolt of electricity had gone through his body.

  “Hello Detective.” Her grip on his hand was amazingly strong and she showed not the slightest hint of the nervous fear he liked his interviewees to accord him. In fact, he didn’t think she’d let go of his hand until she was damn good and ready—as if she were siphoning information out of the contact. Which she clearly was, grasping his hand tightly so she could stare levelly into his face. His train of thought was derailed, his brains momentarily scrambled.

  “Madeline is a Medical and Forensic Psychologist at Boston General,” Jane stated—at the same time thinking Gotcha!

  “Ah,” Westerlund said, dropping his hand and flicking a wry glance at Jane as he quickly regained his scattered wits. A new experience for him.

  “Did you come to see me?” Jane inquired.

  “Came to see everyone. Were you leaving?”

  “No, just seeing Madeline out.”

  “Well, I just have a few questions.” He swept a glance at Madeline, but she was not about to leave. She folded her arms and leaned against her Jaguar. He studied the car and the woman for a moment, struggling to revise his instant evaluations, and at the same time considered dumping them completely. They worked so well for him in the past, but were now failing at every turn. So far, only Lucinda Whitbeck fit neatly into the pigeon hole. She was the dumb, spoiled, bad-tempered nitwit he expected—he could take some comfort in that.

  Westerlund reached into an inside suit pocket for the annoying notebook and glanced at it. “Let’s see here...a Mr. Owen Flint here seems to think Lucinda has strong reasons to dislike you.” He eyed Jane for a moment. “He says, quote, that you had the rooster attack her first and that you didn’t do a good job training Lucinda and her horse because you want to win all the blue ribbons and trophies. End quote.” He watched Jane with a steely gaze, the same kind she’d seen from Madeline for ages.

  Madeline shook her head and laughed at Owen’s quote, and Jane looked at Westerlund as if he were crazy.

  “Sounds like I definitely should be murdered without delay.”

  “This stuff’s not true?” He asked, raising his eyebrows mildly.

  “Very not true,” Jane answered. “I don’t know how that rooster escaped the night of Lucinda’s party, but I certainly did not let him out.”

  Madeline straightened from her car with her arms still folded, and tipped her body towards Jane. “Didn’t you in fact, rescue that wretched girl from the nasty chicken?” The Detective swept another glance at Madeline and the long blonde hair that had helped fool him. He was definitely going to have to retool the instant analysis. The woman was not only not dumb, he sensed—belatedly—that she was astoundingly intelligent. Also, he finally noticed, beautiful skin and lovely eyes. Incredibly pretty. Both of the women were stunners, but he sensed an instant connection with the blonde. The dark-haired woman was still cool and aloof.

  “Yes,” he said, snapping his attention back to the job, “that’s what most people around the barn have indicated. A lot of them have also said...” he consulted his notebook again, “that, quote, Lucinda is a lousy rider who would never win blue ribbons no matter who trained her. Unquote. But I’m not supposed to say who said that.”

  “Well, if I want to keep my job I’d better not say it either,” Jane retorted.

  “A Mr. Owen Flint also says you have a violent temper and that you battered him with your riding whip.” Westerlund was pleased to think that he had been right about that, at least, the woman was prone to beating boyfriends with a whip. Score one for the Detective, he complimented himself. “Any explanation?” he asked.

  “A very simple one. I absolutely refuse to lower my standards and date him. He attacked me in a stall and I had to literally beat him off me.”

  “I see.” He produced a pen and scribbled again, a rueful smile curling his lip. Madeline watched him intently. Then he said: “The Whitbecks, and the old mother-in-law Mrs. Barrett, are ranting and raving that Mr. Welsh wasn’t murdered, and that you aren’t in danger, that you simply have an over-active imagination.”

  “Oh, right! Someone hacks the wire to the lights, a trap door that hasn’t been opened in years is pried up, Reggie’s coffee is drugged...but no, clearly it was an accident!”

  “How did you know the wire was chopped?”

  “I saw the cop find the place where it was cut, and later Sam saw them remove a hatchet from the shavings bin and take it away, tagged and wrapped in plastic. Doesn’t take Einstein to put that together.”

  He wrote without expression.

  “Why did you take away Sam’s
boots?” she asked.

  He sighed, straightened the tie and looked at her. “The boots are covered in damp earth. We’re studying footprint molds and analyzing soil.” He flipped the book shut, and she knew that was the end of her information.

  “Okay, who’s at the barn today?” He inquired.

  “Just about everyone, except Lucinda and her parents.”

  “I’ve already hassled them up at the house. I’m afraid they find me quite irritating.” He almost smiled again, and the two women struggled to maintain straight faces.

  “Nice to meet you Ms. Fanning...” He nodded with a slight smile at Madeline and then looked back at Jane with a hard shrewd look. She guessed he was adjusting his estimation of her and raising her IQ several notches. He shoved the notebook into his suitcoat and said: “Talk to you later Ms. Husted...and please take care around here.”

  “We’re all keeping an eye on her,” Madeline assured him as she watched him walk up the portico stairs and disappear through the front doors of the north wing.

  “No wedding ring,” she commented as she unlocked her Jag and slid behind the wheel.

  “What? Oh, right. But he’s the worst pain-in-the-neck, to put it politely. He’s a dinosaur when it comes to women—has old dog-eared opinions.”

  “True, but we just rearranged his thinking for him. He puts himself at a distinct disadvantage when he underestimates people—not such a good thing for a detective,” Madeline grinned, slipping on big sunglasses. “We’ll teach him better, maybe improve his job performance.”

  Jane laughed and then jerked at thumb at the detective’s unmarked car. “I bet you can take it to the bank there’s no skateboard in that trunk.”

  “I think that’s a good bet. And—he’s at least four inches taller than me.”

  “That’s important?”

  “I’m not going down the aisle in flats—see you!” Madeline pulled the door shut, fired up her car, and backed out. As Jane watched Madeline’s Jag roar out of the front parking area, she saw her wave as she passed Sam’s pickup truck returning with a two-horse trailer. He was heading toward the west wing with the new horse. Jane walked back through the barn to check out Whitbeck’s latest purchase. They were in desperate need of another good schoolhorse; it was tough to find horses with just the right temperament to be useful for teaching. She hoped this one would fill the bill.