~ Hurdles, a Menopause Murder ~

by

Eleanor Sullo

I tried to shake off the molten feelings still tumbling inside me from Devlin’s touch, and, even more, my response. I turned away and walked toward the parrot cage, lifting its cover so the bird would stop his incessant mumbling.

“You don’t think I’m going to trust one ordinary equine vet with this, do you? I have to consult the experts, get busy on it right away. Be an advocate for the poor animal.”

Devlin rose and took me by my arms. He nodded, looking glum, hurt maybe, but as my eyes pleaded with him to understand, and Ramon cut the tension by squawking, “Hello, goodbye,” he eventually smiled that wonderful crinkly-eyed smile of his. “I just wanted you to relax, forget it for a few minutes. Feel how much I care... But you’re right, Ada, the timing is bad. I’m the selfish one. I took advantage. I shouldn’t have pushed. I mean, we hardly know each other. Right? I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Ramon ducked his head beneath a wing, a familiar gesture whenever he heard the word “sorry.” I laughed a little, and so did Devlin. Before I could argue with him and end up sounding desperate, I looped my arm through his, turned and walked him to the front door.

“Research, huh?” he said with a grin still on his face.

I said, with a forced air of nonchalance, “Hannah showed me, you know, how to Google things on the computer, follow links and all. She’s so good at it.” I tried not to let out another little laugh imagining Devlin’s daughter as my girlfriend. The irony of it.

Devlin cleared his throat. “But will you rest, then? After you do your research?”

“I promise,” I said, staring at my stockinged feet on the marble floor. “I’ll see you later. I’ll call. You’ve been so—kind.” He’d left then, and finally the parrot began to chide me as I slunk out of my jacket and took a step onto the thick Aubusson carpets. Alone again.

“See ya later,” the parrot squawked.

“I hope so,” I whispered as I went up the stairs to change.

Now, slipping on knit slacks and a warmer jersey top and soft tennis shoes, I worried I’d been a fool to let Devlin Doyle go. Back in my twenties and even a few times in my forties, I’d have fallen into such a man’s arms with abandon when an occasion presented itself. My dear first husband always said I was a bit over the edge on sexual appetite, and I’d reveled in that, when I had willing partners. Not that any of my woman friends would have guessed it.

After all, back then I was young, I felt sexy, and brought up as a rich girl by a doting father, I got used to having anything I wanted when I wanted it.

With a tiny frisson of embarrassment, I thought of a certain stable boy I’d caroused with when I was in college, and later, that very sensual friend of my father, an older man, who’d seduced me, or I him, and, well...

My reminiscences dried up when I recalled what Devlin had said: “We hardly know each other,” he’d said. And left without an argument. That in itself was hard to swallow, that he hadn’t made more of an effort, so when I heard a car pull up at the door, I took a deep breath and ran down to the foyer. Maybe he’d rethought it; maybe he wanted more of me now. Wouldn’t take no—

I pulled up short as the door swung open.

My stepson Danny had used his key, and held the door open for Dorie, then Janet. He followed them in, head down, feet dragging.

Dorie took hold of my hand without looking me in the eye and asked me to come sit at the dining room table.

I took a step forward, and felt the energy inside me fizz away like stale champagne. I gulped hard. Something must be wrong, really wrong to make them look so straight ahead, avoiding my eyes. Even little Janet, who tried hard to be cheerful around me, so kind and sweet, yearning to earn my favor.

I touched Janet’s arm lightly. “Dear, there’s iced tea in the refrigerator. Get some glasses. You three look parched.”

Janet nodded and went, clinking glasses together softly in the other room as we took our seats.

I folded my hands in front of me. Stay strong, I told myself. Keep the others strong. You can do it.

“So—it’s bad news about Sigourney?” I eyed Dorie but got a confused head-tossed look from my artist friend. It reminded me of Fitzgibbons when he wasn’t in the mood to be let out, or bothered at all. Before, that is, I gave him a treat. “My God, is she...”

Danny jumped in. “No, Mom, not all bad. Siggy, Sigourney’s doing okay. She waved to us from the exam room, though we couldn’t talk to her just yet. But the doctor doesn’t think there’s a severe brain injury, just a, well, a shoulder injury.”

“Spell it out, dear,” I said.

“Broken, at the top of the humerus,” Janet offered as she rejoined us. She’d taken courses in anatomy; so she could well explain the break and how they’d be operating to repair it in a day or two, removing some bone fragments. Followed by lots of therapy.

Dorie drank some of her iced tea, then nodded, a little more enthusiastic. “Theo’s relieved. I mean, you can deal with a bone injury. Wilson was there, her father, and he said it will take a lot of work on her part. Theo thinks her stepdaughter ought to be able to ride again at some point.”

“If she wants to,” Danny added.

I exhaled with a prayer of thanks speeding across my mind. Other thoughts came unstuck like cars in gridlock suddenly coming apart when a traffic light changes. Why on earth was Dorie so fluttery? And Danny so crestfallen?

If not Sigourney, then the horse. My Fitzgibbons.

Danny seemed to read my mind. “Fitzgibbons’s good, too, Mom. I called. Doc Ingmanson’s got him on the way up to UMass for x-rays. They’re opening up special for him, even though it’s Sunday. Then after the tests, Doc will take him to his animal hospital.”

Dorie jumped in to join the wave of optimism before the clearly waiting ax must surely fall. “Yeah, Hannah says they had him on a cross or something—”

“Cross-tied, she means,” Dan said. “Like before, only in the truck, so’s they could keep him stable and move him around better.”

“He’s not bleeding anymore,” Janet added, then stared into her tea. Dorie nodded.

I tapped the table with my iced tea spoon.

“Okay, sounds good, so why are you three looking so glum?” Something suddenly occurred to me and I nearly jumped out of my seat. “Wait. What do you mean Hannah said? Why is Hannah involved? Why is she at the barn? My God, people, tell me!”

The guilty parties exchanged worried glances. Danny drew his glass to his lips and shifted his eyes to Dorie. Janet clamped her lips shut and stared at her hands.

“Dorine. Talk!” My heart raced, I could taste the metal of fear along with my tea.

Dorie tugged at the errant strands of platinum hair that always fell across the side of her face. “Oh, Ada. This part’s not good. It’s Mac. Your trainer.” Her last word was inaudible. She shrugged and tears burst from her eyes.

I shuddered. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t this darn woman keep herself together? Ever?

“What? What did Mac say? What did he do? Dorie?” I tried to take a deep breath but my diaphragm felt locked, too tight to budge. “Something’s happened to Mac?” The silence in the room wrapped its cold digits around my throat.

“They found him later, when Doc got back with his equipment. And Mac was, was...” Dorie covered her mouth with her hand and again mumbled something inaudible. Danny coughed. My eyes darted from one to the other, my heart raced. Finally it was Janet who reached out and placed a hand over mine on the mahogany table.

“He’s dead, Ada. In Fitzgibbons’s stall. They found him...” She gestured upward at the brilliant Williamsburg chandelier. “I’m so sorry...”

“H-hung? Omigod, he hanged himself?” I know for once my voice was a feeble whimper. I couldn’t stop shaking my head. “No, no, it’s a mistake. No.” Danny got up and stood behind me, pressing his cheek to mine. Dorie pulled out a tissue and passed it across the table. Something turned inside me and suddenly I crumpled the tissue in my fist.

“The bastard!” I said. “He must have had something to do with Fitzgibbons’s accident. Knew he’d done wrong, and would be found out.” I pounded the table with my fists, only vaguely aware of Danny slipping away toward the front door.

“The weasel,” I said, my voice now rising to a shout. “To kill himself to avoid the recriminations for not properly training my Fitzgibbons.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was wrong, I knew no matter what Mac had done it shouldn’t have cost him his life. Mac loved Fitzgibbons, too.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and, then, footsteps. I bowed my head and my body shook with unshed tears. “Suicide, how awful.”

Hannah’s voice came through to me like hail stinging a metal roof: “Awful, yes,” she said, coming closer and grasping my hand. “Ada, I’m so sorry. But it might be worse.”

My voice came out like a tolling bell, low, and final. “Murder.”

Hannah nodded, and let Danny provide the hug.