Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [47]
I smiled. “Except once or twice.”
She smiled back. “Everyone is entitled to an opinion, and I do respect yours. I’m not proud of the way he and I got together, but that’s water under the bridge now.” Her face sobered. “I just want you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with Nora’s death, but I’m not sorry she’s dead. She wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she led everyone to believe.”
I didn’t answer, not knowing quite what to say. Grace’s stories about Nora were colored with the prejudice of a woman in love with a man in the midst of a bitter divorce. How much could I believe?
“I didn’t kill her,” Grace repeated. “And Roy didn’t either. You believe me, don’t you?” Her face tensed as she waited for my reply.
“Of course I do,” I said, flinching inwardly at the tiny lie. Did I think she killed Nora? Though she was quiet and easygoing most of the time, I’d seen Grace lose her temper before. It was as quick and volatile as an illegal firecracker and just about as predictable. Once Roy had to physically hold her back when she took a pitchfork and went after a teenage boy who’d jerked the mouth of one of her horses so hard it broke skin. If Roy hadn’t caught her, I have no idea what would have happened. Could that protective instinct toward her animals carry over to her lover? Though I hated admitting it, both she and Roy had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill Nora. They both had bad tempers, a reason to want Nora dead, access to ropes....
She looked past me to the thick oak groves that bordered her property. “Thanks for the lie, but like I said, I’d suspect me, too.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. I toed the ground with my boot tip. “Need any help today?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Thanks, I’ve got things pretty much under control. Want to have a ride? Tony can always use the exercise.”
I glanced at my watch. It was close to three-thirty, and in the next half hour the arenas, small rings, and hot walkers would be as crowded as rush-hour traffic in Orange County. “I’ll take a rain check. I’m really just avoiding work, but I needed a quick animal fix.”
She grinned. “Then stick around. I’m giving the Three Amigos a flea bath this afternoon. They’re about ready to drive me nuts.”
I automatically scratched the back of my neck at the thought. “No, thanks, I don’t miss them that much.” As if on cue, Dos, the second of her three male Kelpies named Uno, Dos, and Tres nudged my leg, wanting to be petted. I bent down and vigorously scrubbed behind one upright brown ear. He smiled his little dingo smile. “You shameless old beggar, I’m going to take you home with me.” He yelped in answer, blinking his golden eyes.
“Please, take them all,” Grace said.
“After their flea dip,” I answered.
“Coward.”
“We sold three of your wreaths over the weekend,” I told her as she walked me out to Gabe’s truck. As a sideline, Grace made bay leaf wreaths out of leaves she gathered off the Ramsey Ranch. Decorated with dried native flowers and cleverly laced thin satin ribbon, they’d become a popular gift item in the museum’s gift shop.
“Great, we need the money. Roy’s doing okay now that he’s got regular customers, but that can change in a heartbeat.” She bit down on the corner of her lip, her face worried.
I hadn’t even thought about Roy’s connection with the murder affecting his farrier business. Horse people were particular and fickle about who took care of their babies. There were quite a few good farriers practicing their trade in San Celina County, so Roy did have something to worry about. I touched Grace’s hand. “I’m sure Gabe will find who did this fast, and things can get back to normal.”
“Whatever that is,” she said, then laughed uneasily. She ran her hand down the old Chevy’s shiny blue fender. “Why’re you driving this old thing? Or more accurately, why is Gabe letting you drive it?”
“That’s right, we haven’t had time to talk about my problems.