Whips and Spurs and Murder

  Whips and Spurs and Murder

  Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries #11

  Patti Larsen

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2019 by Patti Larsen

  Find out more about me at

  http://www.pattilarsen.com

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  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Cover art (copyright) by Christina G. Gaudet. All rights reserved.

  http://castlekeepcreations.com/

  Thanks, as always, Kirstin!

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  Chapter One

  There were times when I made truly bad choices in life, moments when I knew better but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. You know what I mean, right? How logic and common sense seem to diverge with the powerful urge to act despite the innate understanding such actions will likely get you into a world of trouble and may not, in the end, be worth it? And, despite knowing all that, no matter how much you work to convince yourself some things are better left undone, let go, abandoned, you just can’t seem to allow yourself the freedom to be a good, normal person and simply mind your own business.

  Wait. Was that just me? Sigh.

  Yeah. Just me. Okay then.

  Not that I was actively having this particular conversation in my head while I used the low-hanging branch of a near-by maple tree to vault over the chain-link fence. At least, I don’t recall if I was berating myself when I landed like a well-practiced sneak thief, my knees flexing when I let them absorb my weight when I hit the ground on the other side, ducking low and scooting down the line of the fence toward the long, narrow building on the other side of the decorative white rails of the paddock. No, I’m pretty sure that my mind was simply intent on not getting caught as I hustled on sneakered feet toward the back of the nearest stable, the sound of voices nearby making my stomach clench though I didn’t for a second regret my break and enter.

  Nope. Not this girl. I had a wedding to witness and I’d be damned if anyone was going to keep me from seeing Alicia Conway in her gorgeous white dress.

  Okay, so I was imagining she’d be wearing a floofy, puffy, princess-esque gown of unimaginable beauty that would put my own wedding selection to shame. Mind you, she was a tiny little blonde thing, perfectly suited to the whole elaborate fantasy that was the modern wedding dream. Me? A bit too tall (according to Sophia Bell at The Bride Boudoir), a bit too wide in the hips (thanks for that one, Robert, because my darling cousin just had to be walking by when I was trying dresses on, didn’t he?) and my hair, apparently, was the wrong shade, my complexion just a bit too provincial, to make the perfect, pristine, pinup bride (that was all on me, I admit it).

  Not that I cared, though, honestly. I was marrying the man of my dreams. That was all the detail I chose to consider. I got to spend the rest of my days with Crew Turner in my life, in my heart, in bed next to me… so society’s ideals of what I should look like on the day I actually tied the knot?

  Whatever.

  Sure, yeah, I know, I was deluding myself, but it was my delusion, so I got to lie and say it didn’t bother me. While obsessing over my (former?) friend’s wedding to the point I drove up the mountain on the switchback road to the rear entrance to the Marie Patterson Olympic Equestrian Center, parked behind a bank of bushes, climbed an obliging tree, hopped the fence and now, as surely as I’d lost my marbles, was creeping like a hunted fugitive or assassin-for-hire through the compound toward the main building where I could only imagine the amazingness that was a Patterson wedding—Alicia’s incredible talent for detail and design aside—would presently be unfolding.

  And there was no way in hell Fiona Fleming was going to miss it.

  No, I wasn’t above B&E. Despite the loose promise I made to the man I loved before he left town to return to California for an undisclosed reason I hadn’t pressed him about, despite my father’s pleas with me to just keep my distance and my own internal arguments assuring myself the last place in the world I needed to be today, at this moment, was here, skulking like a criminal, like an unwelcome guest, just for a chance to see my friends get married.

  If Crew wondered why I didn’t push him for information when the mysterious phone call he’d received carried him away from me for a few days, he didn’t put it together with Alicia and Jared’s wedding. Or, if he had, he didn’t say so out loud.

  “You weren’t invited,” he said, sadly at least, kindly if blunt about it while I watched him unload his carry on from the back seat of my car, his face creased in worry, the airport doors swishing open to beckon him inside. “Fee, just let it go. Please.”

  Um-hum.

  He was right about that. I let one hand glide over the trim under the wide, low window that served as a lookout for the horse stall I passed, the siding slippery under my fingers, lingering odor of equine occupation making my nose twitch. The whole freaking town had been invited, hadn’t they? Even Rosebert. Snarl. I think maybe if Daisy’s half-sister hadn’t rubbed that particular tidbit in my face yesterday, perhaps logic and practicality might have won the battle.

  Except she did, didn’t she? Right there in the entry to Sammy’s Coffee, flashing the invitation in my face like some prized possession, the efforts of a childish mind to trigger my anger, to make me do something stupid, to raise the wrath of my redheaded stubbornness.

  Well, it worked. I exhaled softly as I peeked around the corner of the barn, the sound of hooves clip-clopping by. I watched the tail-end (literally) of a large bay gelding stroll past, a small woman in a golf shirt and breeches, boots to her knees and a helmet on her head at his side. He towered over her, snorting softly against her forearm before they disappeared through the wide open entry to the stable. With them gone into the dim interior, the central yard stood empty, the five matching buildings facing the elaborate and ostentatious (judging the décor, who, me?) fountain splashing heartily in the middle of the ridiculously big and parklike space.

  My jaw clenched while I shoved down my furious reaction to Rose’s successful tweak of my temper. Thing was, I knew I hadn’t been the only one in Reading to be left off the guest list. I inhaled before hurrying across the center of the stable area, head high, pretending I was supposed to be there, while my mind churned. Sure, there were other exceptions, and they hardly surprised me. Like Dad. Mom. Daisy. Crew. Despite the fact I got it, I understood with precise reasoning exactly why I was on that list (or, at least, that the Pattersons had chosen sides and we weren’t on theirs) it did nothing to assuage the furious reaction I’d had to the fact my jerk cousin Robert and his viciously monstrous girlfriend, Rose, were going to see Alicia in her dress.

  And. I. Wasn’t.

  Oh, Fee. So irrational. Yes, admittedly. About as irrational as my mother when it came to my wedding. So there.

  I made it to the other side of the yard without being spotted, though there were several paddocks where riders cantered over jumps, observed by other breeched and helmeted folks who seemed intent on what was going on in front of them and, thankfully, ignored the fact a strange redheaded woman with what had to be a rather fixated look on her face marched through their midst.

  It was still a fair hike to the main building, up a long lane, past what had to be housing for the riders. Why hadn’t I just picked a closer tree, a nearer stretch of fence? I had no idea
, even, what time the wedding was going to happen, only knowing that sometime in the next hour or so two people I cared about were going to tie the knot and I wasn’t allowed to watch it happen.

  Why, exactly, did I care? I wished I knew. Though perhaps the burning desire inside me to have Robert catch me here had something to do with it. What did I have to prove, anyway? Nothing. Though I actually caught my breath while a faintly hysterical—and maniacal, if I was going to be completely honest—giggle at the thought of my cousin even trying to arrest me burbled its presence while I shoved it down under an attempt at control.

  Oh, what fun would be had. What fun, indeed. Ever since Crew’s attempt to have Robert fired in June had failed, my cousin’s boldness, his arrogance, had only grown in stature, along with his sagging gut and that disgusting creature on his upper lip that was surely a dying caterpillar and not human hair. Was that what this was really about? A chance to challenge that most despicable of human beings?

  No. No, damn it. This was about friendship and family and the fact there was something dirty, rotten and truly dark going down in my town and I had been cut out of it with surgical precision.

  Nosy? You betcha.

  I was so lost in my thoughts, in my intense need to defy the Patterson ban on all things Fiona Fleming, I made a calculated error. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I was that lost in my own head I really deserved what I got, picking bold brazen over erring on the side of caution. Regardless, I took full responsibility for what followed because there was no one else to blame.

  As I approached the far side of the large courtyard and its ridiculous fountain, I failed to notice a rider approaching before it was too late. She noticed me, though, didn’t she? And when she pulled her tall, black mare to a halt, I almost jumped, a meep escaping at the sight of the pair of them towering over me. Made worse when her eyes widened and her eyebrows arched just as she spoke.

  “I know you,” she said. “You’re Fiona Fleming.”

  Whoops.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  I expected to be booted immediately, or at least called out for my presence. Surely the look the young rider gave me told me she knew exactly the state of affairs surrounding my identity and my illegal presence on the premises. Instead, she smiled, offering one hand, strong as I shook it in too much shock not to react on instinct.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said like we’d met casually and not during my lowest moment of criminal enterprise. “My aunt speaks very highly of you.”

  Aunt? It took me a second to make the connection, to pair the dark brown eyes with ones familiar already, to note the blonde bun pinned under the rim of her black velvet helmet, the shape of her cheekbones, lips, jawline. Even her build and the way she carried herself as she retrieved her hand, using it to pat the neck of the mare next to her, the giant creature bobbing her head and snorting, one large hoof impacting the ground in a thud of protest at being forced to stand still.

  “You’re Pamela Shard’s niece?” Weird, I had no idea Pamela had family. Then again, it wasn’t like we were on regular speaking terms these days, but had she ever mentioned a sibling with a daughter…?

  “Sarah Shard,” she nodded to me. “Aunt Pam is a big fan.” She glanced over her shoulder, grimacing. “Though, I’m not so sure she’s as happy about the family she married into.”

  Well now. Was this then a source of some insider information I previously lacked? I jumped on the opportunity to dig for details without thinking things through. Wedding? What wedding? Yeah, so the real reason I was there reared its ugly head and I hugged it tight like an addict needing her fix.

  “I haven’t talked to your aunt in a few months,” I said, knowing it likely sounded a little whiny but pushing on anyway. “I’ve been worried about her.” Okay, that at least emerged from my lips as genuine and heavy with real concern. Enough Sarah shrugged, glancing back yet again as if she expected to be chastised for speaking up.

  “Me too,” she admitted. “She and my dad might not have gotten along, brother and sister or not, but I’ve adored her since I was a kid.” Sarah shifted her stance in her tall, leather boots, the gravel underfoot crunching. “You didn’t warrant an invite to the wedding?”

  Maybe she had no idea of the truth of things. I wasn’t about to fill her in. “You know small towns,” I said, doing my best to laugh it off and failing miserably at not being weird about it. “Politics.”

  Her nose wrinkled while she soothed her horse one more time. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “Grew up in Boston. Though I can tell you the horse community is pretty small. So maybe I do know.” Her laugh sounded enough like Pamela’s I caught myself laughing with her, even as my heart tightened against the feeling I was missing out on my friend’s life. Regret, Fee. That was regret jerking hard on your emotions.

  I wanted to ask a million questions—who, me? Ask questions of total strangers uninvited and without cause?—but we were interrupted by a second rider who joined us so quickly I didn’t get a chance to even feel nervous about this additional witness to my break and entering activity.

  The handsome young man made no bones about how he looked Sarah up and down, grinning at her and nodding to me, though his entire focus seemed pinned on the attractive blonde beside me. She ignored him for the most part, and I couldn’t miss the eye roll she did her best to disguise while he spoke.

  “Great ride out there, Sarah,” he said. “SuSu was fantastic. You handle her like you two were meant for each other.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy,” she said, patting the horse one more time. The big mare’s dark brown eyes blinked slowly, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent from Sarah’s offered fingers. “She’s a great girl. I’m lucky to get to ride her.”

  “She’s not yours?” I almost kicked myself for interrupting, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. Way to make myself noticeable and everything. Like standing out in the open the way I was, doing nothing to actually pursue my clandestine goal of hunting down the bride and stalking her until I got to see her dress in person. While, apparently, wanting much more to dig up details as to the wrongdoing I was positive lurked in the Patterson compound.

  Sarah didn’t seem to mind, though Jimmy did frown slightly, the handsome brunette’s matching brown eyes narrowing at me just slightly. Interfering with his mating ritual, was I? Huh. Didn’t expect to feel suddenly protective of the young woman I’d just met, but our mutual connection to Pamela seemed to be all my heart and mind needed to spike my instincts.

  “Sotheby Suzette belongs to the Pattersons,” Sarah said. “I could never afford her myself.” That sounded like real regret. “Fortunately, thanks to my invitation to join the center to train, I get to ride horses of her caliber in prep for my Olympic trial run.”

  “You’ll nail your qualifier,” Jimmy said, soft tenor pleasant enough but the leer he was giving her making my maternal drive simmer below the surface.

  Wait. My what?

  Sarah shrugged, though I noted the faint blush in her cheeks and realized then it wasn’t standoffishness that kept her from returning his notice and attention. It was nerves, plain and simple. As attractive as Sarah was, had she really spent her whole life focused on horses and avoiding guys? Made me all the more Momma Bear.

  Dear god. Was I really thinking with my uterus at a time like this?

  “Are you also competing?” I chose to engage this young upstart in a conversation to give Sarah time to collect herself. Her brief, thankful look told me I’d pegged her while my heart constricted for her. I’d been where she was, a gangling redheaded girl with a big mouth who had no idea what to do with the young men who hit on her. Though, I’d lost that sense of discomfort in high school and Sarah had to be in her early twenties. Maybe her discipline and focus on her riding goals had taken priority.

  “I am.” He smiled then, easily, flashing perfect white teeth, tan even and attractive, shoulders broad but body lean, a natural athlete in his breeches and boots. “James Hogan.” He
extended his hand, shook mine, without the intense pressure I’d been expecting, just firm and warm. Okay, maybe he wasn’t so bad. Sarah could do worse. “But everyone calls me Jimmy.”

  Charming. I did an internal headshake and got a grip. Was I matchmaking for Pamela’s niece while trying not to get caught breaking into the wedding I’d been pointedly not invited to? Yes. Yes, I was. Because Fiona Fleming never did anything halfway.

  “Jimmy, Bronc is ready for you.” Wow, I was losing my focus, clearly, my lack of attention to detail meaning yet another person joined us before I could make a clean getaway. This guy was older, maybe in his early thirties, like me, short, dark blond hair almost buzzed, his hazel eyes locking on me a moment while he frowned and paused. “Can we help you, ma’am?” I could see him stiffen as he took me in. Trust issues? Well, I had my own so I could hardly blame him. And, after all, I was committing a crime. Still put my back up, though, when he looked at me like that. “This is a restricted area.”

  “She’s with me, Charlie,” Sarah said, instantly, with so much calm self-assurance I almost forgot this was the same young woman who could barely take a bit of flirting from a handsome guy her age. Honestly, she surprised me with her choice to back my presence, her private wink almost triggering a grin I could barely contain.

  This wasn’t fun. Wasn’t. Really.

  The man she’d called Charlie wasn’t dressed like her and Jimmy, his shorter, stockier frame draped in a dark blue coverall, gloves dangling from one pocket, rubber boots flecked with straw. He worked here?

  “You know you’re supposed to clear visitors with Melina.” He didn’t sound argumentative, though, backing down.

  Sarah’s sunny smile seemed to do the trick. “Sorry, Charlie. Fiona came to meet SuSu.”

  I reached out, hesitant, encouraged by Sarah’s nod, and touched the mare’s soft nose. Okay, so I’d met a few horses in the past, was a fan of the gigantic and mostly gentle creatures I’d encountered, even ridden one or two in the kind of safe environment that included someone holding the reins while I held on for dear life. But this was an entirely different experience. The black mare turned her head toward me, hot breath washing over my skin, raising goosebumps on my arm as she delicately mouthed my fingertips before sighing heavily and shaking her head. The carefully braided folds of her short mane bounced on her glossy neck, that impatient hoof stamping one more time while Sarah laughed.