Horse With No Name Read online

  Julia shook her head.

  Betty's eyes filled with tears and then spilled over. Her chin shook. She said, almost whispering, "Nearly five hundred dollars."

  The figure rocked Julia back. It was an enormous amount of money. No wonder Betty was worried. Julia wasn't sure what to say. This was far worse than she imagined. She reached into her purse and brought out a handkerchief to hand to her friend.

  Betty plowed on. "All the credit slips were hidden in a box at the back of a shelf under the counter. This morning I was searching for the scraps of a bolt of fabric that I thought I'd kept for quilting and I came across this box I'd never seen before. It was filled with credit slips." She looked off into the distance again and Julia could see the fear and sense of betrayal on her friend's face. "Nearly five hundred dollars. How are we ever going to recover from that?"

  The world was quiet while Betty thought about this. Finally she spoke up again. "And how will I ever trust him again?"

  The two women didn't come up with a solution, standing there in the yard. After sharing her tale of woe for a while longer, Betty eventually ran out of steam.

  "Come upstairs. Let's have some tea and talk about something else."

  The Mitchells lived above their store in a suite of rooms that included a kitchen, living area and two large bedrooms, one at the front of the building and one at the back. They had built the building when they'd moved to Horse and had lived at the Finnegan's hotel the previous spring and summer while it was being built. The furniture was sparse but well cared for, and the rooms had a cozy, welcoming feel. It was strange to Julia to be one story off the ground but she enjoyed the view from the sitting room windows, which looked out across Lake Okanagan. The lakefront was a few blocks away, but the water still glinted and sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

  The routine of making and serving tea seemed to calm Betty. Tears had stopped leaking from her eyes and she looked slightly less shattered than she had when Julia first found her in the garden. The carrots and beets were left in their basket on the back porch, and the women climbed the set of stairs that went up on the outside of the building.

  When they were settled with tea and biscuits, Betty said, "You didn't come over here just to counsel me, I'm sure, Julia. Were you looking for something?"

  "Now that you ask, I wanted to talk to you about James Hunter's beating."

  "Oh, good!" Betty took a bite of her goodie, "Please take my mind off ..." she paused, "well, everything."

  "I went to the hotel last night in search of information."

  "Did you? What sort of information?"

  "Let me back up. Yesterday afternoon, Earnest Hewitt came by the school to pick up his son and his neighbor's son. He does that sometimes. Out of nowhere, he mentioned a poker game that takes place each week."

  Betty's eyes widened.

  "Did you know about this?"

  The storekeeper shook her head.

  "Me, neither. And Mr. Hewitt didn't say where it was. I was so shocked and he drove off before I could ask him any more questions. So I asked the Engs..."

  "Who know everything," Betty chimed in.

  Julia nodded. "And they eventually told me it was at the hotel. Anyway, with a little persuasion Caroline Finnegan told me which room it was in and I went and played a few hands."

  "You did not!"

  "I did."

  "Julia Thom, you scandalous hussie."

  "Why, thank you." Julia smiled, pleased with the effect her story was having. Some of the light returned to Betty's eyes. "I wanted to find out if James Hunter owed anyone money or had annoyed anyone there. He's completely clammed up and won't talk to Merrick or anyone about what happened to him. But I'm determined to find the culprit who did this to him."

  "So what did they say?"

  "Hewitt had said that Hunter was a poor player, and they liked having him at the game for that reason. He always had a lot of cash with him and was good at sharing it with the other players, if you get my meaning."

  Betty took a sip of tea and nodded.

  "It took some persuasion but I was able to get Merrick and Walt and Finn to confirm this. Hunter was a terrible player, they said. But that wouldn't cause anyone to beat him up. Quite the opposite, in fact. They liked having him there. He was quiet and caused no trouble."

  "Oh," Betty sat back slightly in her chair. "So you're not any closer to finding out who attacked him?

  "I didn't say that," Julia said.

  "Do tell."

  "Well," Julia was relishing sharing the story. She'd been sitting on it all day. "Apparently, despite Mr. Hunter's tendency toward being quiet and minding his own business, he and Roy Meddy got into an argument at last week's game."

  "Roy Meddy is a right bastard."

  Julia barked out a sharp burst of laughter at Betty's choice phrase. This was more swearing than Betty had done the entire time Julia had known her. She liked this new, angry Betty Mitchell.

  "It's true," Betty laughed along with Julia. "For a man whose business is making sweets, he's as sour as they come. That poor wife of his."

  "Exactly! Now, here's my question for you. I thought that I overheard someone say that Roy was violent and had beaten his wife on more than one occasion."

  Betty set down her teacup and thought about this. "I've heard that rumor too, but I'm not sure how true it is. I've never seen evidence of anything like that. Although some people are better at hiding that sort of thing. But he is a bastard, like I said, and always has to have his own way. Everyone knows that. He can't stand being wrong or even being unsure about something. Plus he's always got his nose in everyone's business. In fact, I stopped dealing with him. We used to stock a few loaves of bread here in the shop. Meddy would bring them over each morning when we were opening up and sell them to us at cost. But we never knew how many he'd bring and if we asked him to commit he'd get all fractious with us. I stopped dealing with him altogether because he was so rude to me. I left him for Christopher to manage. But even he got fed up with Meddy's behavior eventually. So we stopped carrying the bread." Betty thought for a few minutes, staring out the window. "He does make an amazing apple tart, though. I'll give him that."

  "Well," Julia took a last sip of tea and began pulling her gloves on, "he's the closest thing I've got to a suspect, so I'm going over there now to see what I can find out. Maybe he'll confess and that will be that."

  "Is Constable Merrick going with you?"

  Julia shook her head. "I am doing this without his approval, although probably not without his knowledge. He's busy trying to find the men who tried to attack me last Saturday night."

  Betty shivered. "Deputize me then, and I'll come with you."

  "Deputize you?" Julia looked at Betty quizzically. "I'm not a police officer. I'm not a deputy myself. Merrick would chew off his own left foot before he'd involve me officially in a case."

  "Go on. Wave your hands in the air or cast a magic spell, or whatever. Make me a deputy."

  Never in her life had Julia had a woman friend who understood her the way Betty did. Her heart swelled. She stood up. "Betty Mitchell, I do hereby declare that you are henceforth and furthermore my deputy. Amen. Or something."

  Betty grinned and stood up as well. "I live to serve."

  Sixteen

  Is there anything more enticing than the smell of warm bread? Julia's mouth began to water before she and Betty even entered Meddy's shop. The smell reminded Julia of home, and of Ella, the Thom's cook, who always let Julia help with the kneading and would use a tiny bit of dough to make her a very small bun. It was their secret and as far as Julia knew her mother never found out. When the baking was done, Ella and Julia would sit at the small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea between them. Julia would eat her bun with one ear listening for footsteps in the hallway in case her mother should make a surprise appearance. She rarely did. The kitchen was a realm she preferred to leave to others' care.

  Meddy's shop was tucked into a strange spot on Main Street.
The lot where it stood had, for whatever reason, been assigned a smaller width than all the others on the street. Consequently the bakery always looked squished to Julia, like it was a theater-goer in tight seats, holding in its shoulders. Meddy, on the other hand, was not burdened with a lack of spread. He was thick everywhere; thick neck, thick mid-section, thick fingers. And a thick head, Julia's father would have said, but she had thus far tried to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

  Today, however, he would have to prove himself to her. She was convinced he was the likeliest suspect for Hunter's beating. He had the means (his ham shaped hands and quick temper) and the motive (his argument with Hunter at the previous week's poker game). Whether he had the opportunity would remain to be seen. Could he account for his whereabouts on Monday? Julia found Hunter just after 3:30pm, but who knew how long he'd been lying on the floor of his shop. The Meddys tended to close up shop as soon as they'd sold out of everything, which was usually by 2pm. They lived in a house several blocks away and were rarely seen in the afternoons and evenings. They woke early, long before daylight, year round, to start baking, and went to bed early as well, to facilitate this.

  Julia and Betty's discussion hadn't begun until mid-afternoon and now it was nearly four o'clock. Julia was surprised to find the Meddys still in their shop. The baskets that lined the shelves in the shop were nearly empty, though there were a few loaves left. Julia assumed this was what was causing the late opening.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Meddy," she said brightly, feigning delight at seeing the baker. "Thank goodness you've got some bread left!" Julia eyed the baskets beside her. None of the bread was her favorite and, in fact, she'd just made a loaf for herself on Sunday.

  "You left it a bit late, didn't ya?" Meddy asked, hardly looking up from where he was sweeping flour dust and grains into a pile.

  Charmer, Julia thought. "I'll take this last loaf of rye," she said, "and Mrs. Mitchell will have these last two loaves of sourdough." Julia jabbed her friend gently in the ribs.

  Betty startled but she recovered quickly. "Yes please, Mr. Meddy. And Julia will be paying for everything today."

  Touché, Julia thought.

  With great ill nature, Meddy put the loaves into the basket Betty had the foresight to bring with her. Then he acted like he was doing Julia a favor taking her payment.

  When the women stayed where they were, rather than turning and leaving the shop, Meddy glared at them both and asked, "That it?"

  "Now that you mention it, we have a question for you," Julia said.

  "We?" Betty muttered under her breath.

  "What is it?" Meddy barked.

  "You're an acquaintance of Mr. Hunter, the watchmaker, aren't you?" Julia led with an easy question but Meddy wasn't ready to take the bait.

  "Not really, no. Can't say I am."

  Julia played one of her best cards; a little early she reflected later, but then, she was new at the suspect interview game. "You see him each week at the poker game at Finnegan's though, correct?"

  Meddy hardly reacted at all to this revelation. If Julia hadn't been watching closely she would have missed the slight movement backwards of his head. "Who says?" he countered.

  "Well, let's see," Julia pretended for a moment that her bow was empty and then loosed a surprise arrow. "Constable Merrick, Mayor Billy, Walt Sheehan and Edgar Finnegan for a start."

  This time Meddy had prepared himself. He didn't flinch. "Is that right? And what have they got to say about this theoretical poker game?"

  Two points to you for the use of 'theoretical', Julia thought. Perhaps she had underestimated the size of the brain encased behind Meddy's porcine eyes and ill humor. "One thing they said last night when I was playing with them," she paused for effect, "was that last week you had quite a disagreement with Mr. Hunter. You accused him of cheating."

  Julia raised her voice a little in triumph which caused Meddy to glance back toward the back door of the shop.

  "Keep your voice down, woman," Meddy said. Clearly Mrs. Meddy wasn't aware of her husband's participation in the game.

  Julia made a mental note and filed it for later.

  Meddy continued, at a hissed whisper. "You're goddamned right I accused that little weasel of cheating. He rarely wins and then suddenly he had a night when he couldn't lose. How is that possible? I told him I would break all his limbs if I ever figured out how he was doing it."

  "Doing what?"

  "Cheating, of course!" Meddy looked at Julia as though she was an imbecile.

  "And did you?"

  Now Meddy looked puzzled. "Did I what?"

  "Did you try to break all his limbs?"

  "I wish I had," Meddy hissed. "That little turd deserves whatever he got. Keeps hisself to hisself and then flounces into the game and fleeces us all. Smarmy little bastard. I'll figure out how he did it one day. And then he will receive a beating. You mark my words." He paused slightly, perhaps suddenly aware of what he'd just said. "But no," he eventually continued, "I didn't touch him this time. And I got no idea who did."

  "Are you sure, Mr. Meddy? Edgar Finnegan said he and Walt Sheehan had to remove you from last week's game because you were so enraged at Mr. Hunter. It would have been so easy to find him at his shop, all alone, and give him what you thought he deserved. I'm sure you were justified if Hunter was cheating." Julia was laying it on thick now, trying to get Meddy to admit his wrongdoing.

  But Meddy was having none of it. "If I had figured out how he'd cheated I'da beat him for sure and taken whatever punishment was coming to me. Finnegan and Sheehan threw me out and I had time to cool off. I'm choosing to bide my time and get to the bottom of whatever that little rat is doing. I want that useless tit, Merrick, to know. He refused to get involved last week. Wouldn't hear what I had to say. I'll show them all when Hunter comes back to the table and I figure it out."

  He sounded adamant. Julia didn't know the man well enough to tell if he was lying. He was a bully and in her experience bullies often made up their stories to fit their victimized version of things. She decided to approach from another angle. "Where were you on Monday afternoon, Mr. Meddy?"

  "Where the hell do you think I was, lass? Right where you see me now. We don't get..."

  The back door of the shop opened and closed. Meddy snapped to attention. "Thank you ladies," he said loudly, "enjoy your bread. The missus and me will be heading home now." He put an arm each behind Julia and Betty and ushered them in no uncertain terms toward the front door. Before they knew it they were out on the street and the door was closing and latching behind them. Betty still had her basket over one arm.

  "Two loaves of sourdough?" she asked her friend. "What on earth am I going to do with them?"

  "Sell them," Julia suggested, "and make back some of the cash you need to cover the debts your husband is owed."

  "And make what? A penny each?"

  "Every penny counts, as my old gran used to say."

  Seventeen

  "Do you think a woman could have inflicted that harm on Mr. Hunter?"

  Julia was sitting in Dr. Parker's office. He was a man of few words. He reminded Julia of Walt Sheehan in that way, except it was different with Parker. There was a tightness about him, like something coiled. Where Walt was quiet because he was observing and accepting everything around him, Parker seemed always to be restraining himself, holding back somehow. Julia imagined that being the only doctor in town couldn't be easy. Much like Constable Merrick's job, she thought the doctoring position in Horse might be a lonely one. Parker was unmarried and Julia guessed him to be about fifty years old. She didn't know if he had been married at some point. She had never been in a social situation with the man so that she could ask him more about himself. She suspected he preferred it that way.

  He had an impressive mustache that was greyer than the hair on his head. It floated down over his upper lip and made Julia's own lips tickle just looking at it. He often looked tired, she thought, and his expression was stern, which went al
ong with his personality. He kept his hair cut quite short, much shorter than most men. His hands were always clean, the nails trimmed right back. He had thickened through the middle with age, and occasionally seemed self-conscious about that, covering his belly with his hands.

  He was thinking about her question, leaning back in his chair, which tilted on its base when he did so. The walls around her were gleaming white and the sunlight coming through the windows caught in the glass jars around the room and made them sparkle.

  Julia waited, knowing enough not to rush the man.

  Parker came forward on his chair and laid his hands on his desk. "He's not talking?"

  "No. He won't speak to Constable Merrick. He says he doesn't remember anything about the attack."

  "Why are you asking?" Parker placed the emphasis on the word 'you', highlighting that Julia was not officially employed to ask such questions.

  She straightened her spine. “I want to help. Merrick is swamped with other work and Hunter isn't able to provide him with any information. I thought I'd do a little digging and see if I can put the pieces together.”

  Parker watched her with a calm detachment that she found unnerving. "Does Merrick approve?"

  "No."

  For the first time a faint smile touched Parker's lips. "I expect not. Well..." he nodded, thinking again. "I can't say too much. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. But since you saw Hunter's injuries yourself I can speak to those. My assessment is that most of the injuries were not inflicted by a weapon."

  This didn't surprise Julia. Until now she had been operating on the premise that it was fists that had caused the bruising and wounds on Hunter's face.

  "What about his broken arm?"

  "He could have fallen on it during the attack. The break is low down on his arm. Almost at his wrist. That tells me it could be the result of an impact."

  "Like landing on it."

  "Yes, like that. Land on it at the wrong angle and the bone snaps under the weight being forced down on it. He's not a big man but when we fall, of course, our weight is multiplied by the force of the fall."