Serpentine

“We’re looking into a thirty-six-year-old murder that may or may not be related to her.”

“That’s around the same time as Arlette.”

“One year after.”

“Someone else was taken in by his charms?”

“Dr. Des Barres?”

“That’s who we’re talking about, right?”

“You didn’t like him.”

“I judge people by how they treat animals. When he thought no one was watching, he kicked his mounts way too hard. One day, Robert the Bruce — my biggest, strongest stallion — got fed up and gave him a good rock and roll, nearly threw him. Tony was lucky he didn’t get brained.”

“He called himself Tony.”

“Everyone did.”

“He’s got a son named Tony.”

“That one was called Junior. Handsome kid, very bright. They both were, there were two sons. The little girl was much younger. Quiet. They all deserved better than Tony.”

“Not a great dad.”

Winifred Gaines snorted. Hard not to hear it as equine.

I said, “Sounds like you knew the family pretty well.”

“Just from a business perspective. Arlette was British. She grew up with horses, learned to use the Western saddle, really got into our way of life. She got two beauties from me and boarded them with me. Sometimes she’d ride with Junior or the other one — forget his name. She wasn’t the boys’ real mother, you know. He was a widow when they met but she raised those kids as if they were hers. The baby was hers. That one didn’t ride, rarely came to the stables. When she did, she sat in the office and drew pictures.”

“The boys and Tony rode.”

“More the boys, once in a while him. When Arlette brought the kids, she’d ride Butter, a lovely pinto, and Junior would ride Bramble, the other one I sold her, a black beauty. The younger boy — Bill, that’s what it was — would take a rental. When it was just two of them, both their mounts got ridden. The time he almost got thrown, he showed up late and Junior was already on Bramble.”

Her eyes flashed. “Not only did he kick too hard, he’d dig his heels into their flanks and grind.” Scowling, she twisted a fist to demonstrate. “He had these fancy cowboy boots with big heels he bought in Beverly Hills of all places. Rodeo Drive — did you know they named it that because in the old days you could ride horses up and down? Now it’s traffic and tourists.”

Another snort. “World’s going this way fast.” She aimed a fist downward and let it plummet.

Milo said, “The day Arlette died—”

“She was riding Bramble because I thought Butter had a touch of white line disease. Turned out it was just some superficial gunk, but I needed the vet to see her. Either way, it made no sense, her being thrown. Both horses were gentle and Arlette knew how to ride.”

I said, “Could Bramble have gotten spooked by a forest animal?”

“Could the sky fall? Anything’s possible, there’s cah-yotes out there, high-strung deer, even a bear or a puma once in a blue. But if it was a puma, believe me, it would’ve taken advantage, they wouldn’t have found Arlette intact. And Bramble wouldn’t be standing a few yards away whimpering. Besides, they were followed.”

Milo and I sat forward.

Winifred Gaines’s smile was smug — an oracle entrusted with a sacred truth. “You didn’t know, huh?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Figures,” she said. “I told those clowns, they couldn’t care less.”

“Tell us,” said Milo.

The smile turned wicked. “Guess I will if you behave yourselves — here’s our dinner.”

When Milo’s anxious and is presented with food, he either gorges or abstains. This time he just watched in admiration as Winifred Gaines began a frontal assault on her food.

Four thirty was early. I had no appetite, either.

Two chew-and-swallows, a breather, one more mouthful, then: “What’s your problem? Can’t handle fish before dark?”

He picked up his fork and knife, excised a tiny piece of shrimp.

“Hmph. What about you, Slim?”

I ingested a french fry.

She shook her head. Loss of faith in humanity.

A minute or so later, she put down her utensils and grinned. “Keeping you in suspense? Yeah, I’m a coldhearted biddy. Learned about delay of gratification from being married.”

I said, “Your delay or your husband’s?”

She glowered at me, then her lips worked as she fought laughter. Finally, losing the battle, she let out a belch of guffaw. Her chest heaved. A pearl snap came loose. “Slim’s a comedian. Well, I’m taking the Fifth on that.”

She swigged Diet Coke and sat back.

“Okay, I won’t torture you anymore. Strictly speaking, Arlette wasn’t followed. But someone rode into the forest soon after her.”

Milo said, “How soon?”

“A few minutes — three, four, five. I didn’t think much of it until I heard what happened to her.”

Milo said, “Who’d you see?”

“Can’t swear to it but my impression was a woman, from the size and the way she moved in the saddle. Women have wider pelvises, sometimes they shift around a bit until they get a firm grip. That’s what this one was doing.”