Pretty Fraudulent and Venomous Read online

  “What?” I had trouble reading over Kate’s shoulder.

  “In 1996 Dr. Dorset’s license was suspended at Philadelphia Park pending an investigation. He was never charged,” Kate said.

  “What did he do?”

  “He was the state vet there, too. Someone accused him of allowing sore and injured horses to run. There were several fatal breakdowns.”

  Like Love the Money. I sighed and stared out my window. Behind the cemetery’s wrought-iron fence the marble tombstones lined up like soldiers.

  “Authorities suspected him of taking bribes from trainers. Nothing was ever proved. You don’t suppose he was taking money from Tapply, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But nobody can ask Tapply now.”

  Our eyes met, and Kate lapsed into silence.

  I thought a minute. “Carol Merkel was pretty angry at Tapply. See what you can find on her.”

  Kate searched but found nothing useful.

  “Still,” I said, “she was upset with Tapply when Love the Money broke down.”

  “Very upset,” Kate said as my phone started ringing.

  I grabbed it. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Simpson?”

  “Yes.” I tried to place the man’s voice.

  “Detective Curtis, Anne Arundel homicide. I think we need to talk.”

  * * * *

  I headed right over to Tapply’s barn to meet Curtis. The yellow police tape had been removed from the storeroom area. Curtis stood waiting by his cruiser.

  “Thanks for coming,” Curtis said as I walked up. “The reason I wanted to see you is some things have come to light. But first I want you to try and remember yesterday morning clearly.” We walked to the storeroom door. I took a long look and focused. “You said Tapply was carrying a box.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see any writing or content identification?”

  “No. It was plain cardboard.”

  “How did Tapply appear?”

  “You mean his demeanor?”

  Curtis gave the ghost of a smile. “Sure, his demeanor.”

  “His usual self. Looking like he owned the world.”

  “So he wasn’t trembling or pale? Didn’t appear to have difficulty breathing?”

  “Hardly. He was hounding that pretty groom, Carmen, totally unconcerned his attentions weren’t wanted. Anyway, he hadn’t entered that storeroom yet, hadn’t been bitten by the snake.”

  “Roy Tapply wasn’t bitten by a snake, Mrs. Simpson.”

  “What?” A cool breeze kicked up, ruffling my hair with cold fingers. “The autopsy—they didn’t find fang marks?”

  “No,” Curtis said, watching my face carefully. “If, as you say, Tapply was normal before he went into that storeroom, then someone must have injected him with a hypodermic after he went inside. A hypo loaded with cobra venom.”

  “The article was right…”

  “What?”

  “I read an article online about how some sleazy horse trainers milk cobras for their venom. Then they give it to horses so they’ll run through pain. No matter the consequences. I guess what’ll dull the pain in a horse will kill a human.”

  Curtis shook his head as if now he’d heard it all. He handed me his card. “Anything else happens, call me.”

  “There is something,” I said.

  “What?” His voice held a note of impatience.

  Oh, phooey. He’d just have to listen.

  I told him about the circumstances surrounding Doc Dorset’s trouble in Pennsylvania.

  Curtis studied me. The amusement and mockery I’d seen at our first meeting had disappeared, leaving his eyes flat.

  “You need to stay out of this, Mrs. Simpson. You’ve gotten yourself too involved. Stop before you get hurt.”

  * * * *

  When the detective’s cruiser disappeared through the gate, I glanced nervously around the stables. It was one thing to snoop from the safety of my condo. But here the vast grounds left me feeling vulnerable.

  I dropped Curtis’s card inside my handbag. When I glanced up, Carmen was walking toward me. As she closed the distance, she gave me a wan smile. Was she out of a job? I felt sorry for the woman

  . “Holá, Carmen,” I said, using almost my entire Spanish repertoire. “How are you?”

  “Okay.” She stared at the ground, frowning. “Is very hard Señor Tapply die.”

  “Do you need work, Carmen?”

  She nodded quickly. “Sí.”

  “I don’t know if Leonard Cushman has work, but he might know someone who does. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Her quick smile gave her brown eyes a warm glow. We went to find Leonard. Maybe he’d hire her, and she’d take care of Pearl.

  When we got near Leonard’s barn, Carmen paused and said, “I have—how you say—resoo-may?”

  She unzipped her red waist pack and pulled out a small notebook stuffed with papers. Opening the notebook, she searched through the contents.

  The breeze strengthened and whistled through the barns, snatching at the papers, launching them into the air. As she raced to catch at them, the contents of her waist pack spilled to the ground. She muttered angrily in Spanish.

  “Let me help you,” I said, picking up some photos, a few of the papers, and a small bottle that had rolled behind Carmen. I glanced at the bottle, startled to see the skull and crossbones stamp indicating poison. I stared at the label. The words “Cobra Venom” were like a slap in the face.

  Jesus. Could this sweet girl be involved in Tapply’s murder? I slipped the bottle into my pocket. A hurried glance at Carmen found her chasing a yellow sheet blowing toward Tapply’s barn.

  Quickly I examined the papers and photos in my hand. The last two pictures sent a tingle down my spine. One showed a close-up of the venom bottle on a table with a filled syringe next to it. The second was of the interior of Tapply’s storeroom, with Richardson’s hand on the bottle of venom as if he were picking it up.

  What was Carmen doing with these pictures and the bottle? Looking over, I saw her fingers were closing on the elusive yellow paper. I hurriedly stuffed the venom pictures into my pocket with the bottle.

  Carmen returned, and I handed her the remaining photos and documents. She shoved them into her notebook and handed me her resume.

  “Can we go see Mr. Cushman now?” she asked.

  I nodded, and we began walking toward the barn, but Carmen stopped abruptly, staring ahead. Pausing, I squinted and saw Leonard speaking with Richardson just outside the stable office.

  I bet Richardson wanted to steal my trainer now that Tapply was gone. Tapply. Had Carmen tried to blackmail Tapply? Or Richardson? Or both? Had these men used cobra venom on Love the Money?

  I needed some answers. Palming the bottle tight, I turned to Carmen and held it up.

  “What do you know about this venom?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Were Tapply and Richardson using it on the horses?”

  Carmen looked like a wild animal deciding whether to fight or flee. She took a long breath. “I no sure. But they don’ wan’ anyone to see.”

  I bet they didn’t. I marched over to Leonard. “Look at this.” I thrust the bottle into his hand. “And these.” I handed over the pictures.

  Richardson stepped closer. As he stared, recognition flared in his eyes, and he glared at me. “Where did you get those?”

  My gaze slid to Carmen who’d frozen in place.

  Richardson’s strange gold-brown eyes locked onto her. “This little bitch must have been blackmailing Tapply.”

  Carmen puffed up like an angry cat. “Is no true! You say you tell immigration if I no give you key to room.” She paused a moment, and her eyes widened. “You let snake out!”

  “You’re crazy.”
A deep anger flushed Richardson’s face. “Give me those things.” He crowded Leonard.

  “Just a minute!” Leonard said. “You and Tapply were using venom?”

  I pointed to the bottle and tried to keep a tremble from my voice. “I bet they used it on Love the Money. And other horses too, didn’t you?” Suddenly it all became clear. “And I bet Carmen didn’t blackmail anyone. Tapply was blackmailing you. She merely found the evidence.”

  Richardson paled, but the hatred in his eyes grew stronger. Only I was too angry to be frightened.

  “You were walking toward Tapply’s storeroom early yesterday morning,” I said, remembering. “You attacked him and slipped out before being noticed. You killed him!”

  He blinked, and I knew I had him.

  Richardson grabbed at the photos and the bottle in Leonard’s hands. Leonard tried to jerk away. Richardson shoved him, knocking him into the stable wall.

  I dug into my purse, searching frantically for Detective Curtis’s card. Where was it?Leonard was struggling with Richardson. Leonard was a tough old bird, but Richardson was younger, bigger, his face dark with menace. He punched Leonard in the nose. Blood spurted. Someone screamed.

  I snatched the paper from Leonard’s hand a second before Richardson could. Those pale eyes turned on me, and I backed away, digging in my purse for a metal nail file. Anything!

  My fingers closed on something hard. I yanked the bottle of Predator from my purse and squirted perfume into Richardson’s face.

  He screamed, staggered back, hands clawing at his eyes. He stumbled against a post and held onto it for support.

  Blood still gushed from Leonard’s nose, but he shoved Richardson hard and knocked the larger man down, then grabbed a length of bailing twine hanging on a hook.

  “Help me tie up this son of a bitch.”

  I did, and when we’d finished, I called security, then Curtis. The detective answered on the first ring.

  “This is Janet Simpson. Are you still in the area?”

  “What is it now? Are you in trouble?”

  “Not anymore,” I said, trying not to gasp. “I just found your murderer.”

  PRAISE FOR SASSCER HILL’S MYSTERIES

  “If you miss the late Dick Francis’s racetrack thrillers, you’ll be intrigued by Sasscer Hill’s Racing From Death.”

  —The Washington Post,

  August 29, 2012

  “Sasscer Hill brings us another exciting racehorse mystery…the real asset of this excellent series is the hard-riding, hard-partying Nikki herself. Spirited to a fault, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly…an utterly unique take on racetrack thrillers.”

  —Betty Webb,

  Mystery Scene Magazine,

  Summer Issue, 2012

  “New novel about a Laurel Park jockey is a wild ride. While compared to Dick Francis and Sue Grafton, Hill’s work reflects her respect for horse racing and the influence of the late Walter Farley. A page-turner, the book’s sentences are short and crisp. The action comes off as authentic.”

  —Sandra McKee,

  Baltimore Sun,

  April, 2012

  “Sasscer Hill has hit her stride with her second, and hopefully one of many more, race track mysteries, ‘Racing from Death’. A page turner that does not disappoint.”

  —Martha Barbone,

  Horse of the Delaware Valley,

  April, 2012