Lead a Horse to Murder (38 page)

But this time, one photograph in particular caught my attention. There were two people in it, a boy and a girl about twelve years old standing with their arms loosely around each other’s waists. But it was the girl’s face that drew me in. Her expression was so blissful. She radiated happiness.

She also looked familiar. I leaned forward to peer at the picture more closely, wondering if the girl was Inez’s younger sister. But I recognized the distinctive shape of her eyes. It had to be Inez, about ten years earlier.

When I glanced at the boy at her side, I blinked.

I could have been mistaken, but the boy in the photograph looked very much like a young version of Eduardo.

But how could that be? I puzzled. When Inez was that age, she was living in Puerto Rico and Eduardo was living far away in Argentina. . . .

A cold, tingling feeling suddenly rushed over me. Was it possible that this photograph, and all the other photographs of Inez and her family, hadn’t been taken in Puerto Rico, after all? That she hadn’t been telling the truth when she claimed that was where she was from?

The wheels inside my head were turning.
There has to
be a way to find out if Inez lied to me about her background,
I told myself.

And then I had an idea.

Struggling to sound matter-of-fact, I said, “You know, one of my best friends went to Puerto Rico on her honeymoon. She really loved it.”

Inez glanced at me over her shoulder and beamed. “Ees so beautiful. I am not surprised.”

“I remember her saying there was one area she particularly liked. La Perla, in San Juan?”

“Oh, yes. Ees very lovely. The beaches, the palm trees. Many tourists enjoy going there.”

Inez’s words echoed through my head. I replayed the image that had come into my mind when Suzanne had told me about her nightmare of a honeymoon in San Juan. Somehow, sitting in the one area of the city that tourists were warned against, trapped in a car surrounded by men who looked like drug dealers, didn’t mesh with Inez’s characterization of the place.

I struggled to make sense of what I was hearing—and what I was seeing. Why would she lie? I wondered. Why would Inez pretend to be from Puerto Rico when she really came from the same tiny Argentine village as Eduardo?

Even in my confusion, the answer was becoming alarmingly clear.
Because she isn’t who she pretends to
be
. Because she has a long history with Eduardo. Because she came to this country with him, so the two of them could be together.

Or maybe she followed him, uninvited.

Almost as if I were following directions that someone was feeding to me, I turned toward the windowsill above the kitchen sink and studied the neat row of potted plants. I thought back to the last time I’d been here, picturing the windowsill—
before
Inez had changed what was on it.

A distinctive-looking plant that could only have been angel’s trumpet had been nestled among the herbs.

I tried to put together all the pieces of information tumbling through my brain. But for some reason, thinking straight was becoming increasingly difficult. I rubbed my forehead, realizing that my brain was beginning to feel foggy. I also felt light-headed.

“Inez, I’m going to sit down in the living room. I’m feeling a little dizzy.” My voice sounded far away. It was almost as if someone in the next room was speaking, rather than me.

I sank onto the couch, shaking my head as if that was a way of banishing the muddled feeling. Inez stepped back into the room and leaned over me anxiously.

“Dr. Popper? Jessie? Are you okay? You are not looking so good.”

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I’m probably just tired. Or maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“I theenk you should lie down,” Inez insisted. “Why don’t you go into my bedroom?”

“Maybe I should just go home,” I said.

“No! No, stay here. Eet would be bad for you to drive. Eet would be very dangerous, if you are dizzy.”

“I could call Nick,” I said, my voice seeming to echo around the room. “I could ask him to pick me up.”

“No!” she cried. “No, you must not call anybody.” Something about the urgency in her tone helped me think clearly, at least for a few seconds.

Oh, my God,
I thought.
She doesn’t want me to
leave, and she doesn’t want me to call anyone. Is it pos
sible . . . ?

I reached into my pocket, running one finger over the keys on my cell phone and dialing what I hoped was 911.
Please,
please,
let me hit the right numbers,
I begged silently.

I waited a few seconds, then said loudly, “I think I might have eaten something poisonous.” When Inez remained silent, I said, “This might sound crazy, Inez, but did you put something in the salad you gave me?”

“Just stay here and rest, Dr. Popper,” she replied. “Everything will be fine.”

Despite the hazy feeling that had me in its grip, when I saw her walk over to the front door and lock it, I knew that my worst suspicions were true.

By that point, the room had begun to spin around. At the same time the walls seemed to be fading from view. I blinked hard, trying to fight off the weird sensation that I was drifting away. It didn’t help.

“You poisoned me!” I cried. “Inez, it was you!
You
killed Eduardo Garcia!”

I wasn’t even sure if she was still in the room. Then, in a low, angry voice I’d never heard before, she said, “You do not understand, Dr. Popper. Eduardo betrayed me.”

“How did he betray you, Inez? Why did you kill him?”

“Eet was the only way,” Inez said in the same hard voice. “You see, ever since we were children, Eduardo and me, we were together. We were so close—best friends. And then we became lovers. Everyone in our village knew that we would get married. I have always known, in my heart, that it was me that Eduardo really loved. We were meant to be together. But when he came to this country, he let himself be tricked. The money, the women . . . even Meester Mac, the way he treated Eduardo like he was a—a star. A celebrity.

“Eduardo had not been here long before he started to believe he was someone else. Someone so . . . importante. Too
importante
for me. But I know thees is wrong. Then he tells me he is going to make a big change in his life. He says he is waiting for the right time, and then he will tell me about it. But I do not have to know what eet is, because I already know that he will not want me to be part of it, that he will choose one of his other women. And if Eduardo will not stay with me, I will not let him stay with anybody.”

“Tell me what happened right before he died,” I said, struggling with each word. “Exactly what happened? How did you do it, Inez?”

“Eet was the night before he fell from his horse, right before the party he was going to with all his fancy new friends,” she replied in the same bitter tone. “I invited him for dinner, here at the cottage. No one saw him come. No one pays attention to what I do, because I am just the housekeeper. That night, I gave him salad with leaves from the locoweed. Eet grows everywhere here, just like in Argentina. But I grew my own plants, here in the cottage, so no one would ever see me cutting off the leaves.”

“You did the same thing tonight, didn’t you?” I accused, speaking as loudly as I could. “You put locoweed—angel’s trumpet—in the salad you gave me.”

“I had no choice, Dr. Popper. Surely you must understand that. You told me yourself the police were wrong to think he was poisoned at the party. At the
asado
, you said you were going to find out who he had been with the day before he died. I knew then that you were even smarter than the police and that it was only a matter of time before you figured out who killed Eduardo. That was why I started the fire. Only you didn’t go inside the stable, the way I expected.”

“But what about the other night, Inez?” I cried, my voice coming out in gasps. “I thought whoever murdered Eduardo had also poisoned you!”

“Eet was all an act. I knew that Callie would call you eef I told her to. Making you believe that I had been a victim of poisoning, just like Eduardo, seemed like the perfect way to keep you from thinking I had anything to do with his death. I picked a night when no one else but Callie was at home, because I knew eet would be easy to fool a leetle girl.

“And eet turned out to be just as easy to fool you.” Inez laughed. “I found out I am not such a bad actress. Even when I pretended I was throwing up in the bathroom, you believed me. But it was fake, all fake. I just act like I am sick!”

“So you killed Eduardo because you felt he had betrayed you, Inez,” I said loudly, hoping the 911 operator could hear us both.

“Yes. And everything would have been fine, except for you. The way you were asking questions, talking to people . . . I knew you were a danger to me, Dr. Popper. Last night, after you left, I realized something
importante:
that even though I managed to make you think that I, too, had been poisoned, I was only fooling myself by thinking that in the end, you would not figure out that I had killed Eduardo. That maybe I even made a mistake by pretending that I, too, had been a victim because it made me more involved. You were trying so hard to find the murderer. I had no choice but to try again to stop you. Eet is the only way I can be safe.”

Inez’s voice sounded farther and farther away. Her words echoed through my head, making me feel as if I were falling deeper and deeper into a bottomless canyon.

“I don’t understand. It took Eduardo more than twelve hours to die. But I—I . . .”

“Eduardo ate only the leaves, so it took a very long time for him to be poisoned. As long as no one knew he was here for dinner before the big party, no one could connect me to his death. But for you, I do not have so much time, so I added the root. In Santa Rosita, everyone say eet works so much faster.”

Her words seemed to get softer and softer.

“Inez, please!” I cried, my voice sounding as far away as hers. “You’ve got to help me—”

I heard her shrill laughter.

My head was suddenly filled with a loud rumbling sound, as if a train were running through it. And I kept blacking out, if only for a few seconds at a time.

I had to get outside.

Blindly, I staggered toward the kitchen, trying to find the back door. I walked with my arms outstretched to keep me from bumping into anything. Behind me, I could hear Inez, laughing and speaking in Spanish. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, it occurred to me that she might come after me and grab me. But I also knew that she’d already done her worst. Now, the only thing left for her to do was to let me die.

When I reached the back door, I clutched the knob, grateful that I’d found a way out. I stumbled outside, relieved to feel the fresh, cool air on my skin. But I realized after only a moment that even that wouldn’t do me any good.

Then I remembered the phone—and my 911 call to Police Emergency.
Scream!
a voice inside my head urged.
Tell them to send an ambulance!

I opened my mouth—at least, I thought that was what I was doing. But even though I tried, I couldn’t manage to make any sound come out.

I stared straight ahead, trying to focus. I could see the bright yellow of the stable, and for some reason that struck me as a safe destination. I staggered toward it, blacking out every few seconds, finding it more and more difficult to concentrate or even to catch my breath.

The last thing I saw was the MacKinnons’ barn cat, standing in my path and blinking at me in puzzlement. And then, nothing but darkness.

Chapter 18

“Anyone who is concerned about his dignity would be well advised to keep away from horses.”

—Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh

When I opened my eyes, I didn’t recognize any-thing around me.

I blinked hard, trying to make sense of the pale green walls that surrounded me. I was lying in a narrow bed with an IV stuck in my arm, covered with a thin white sheet.

If I hadn’t known better, I might have concluded that I was in a hospital.

“What happened?” I asked, even though I seemed to be alone. I was surprised by how difficult it was to get my mouth to work. “Where am I?”

“You’re at North Country Hospital—and you’re doing fine.”

I stared at the grinning face that was suddenly looming over me. It took me a few seconds to remember who it belonged to.

“Forrester? What are you doing here?”

His cheeks turned pink. Running his fingers through his thick, disheveled hair, he said, “Making sure you’re okay. I rushed over as soon as Falcone called me on my cell. You gave us a real scare, Popper.”

“What time is it?” I asked Forrester. “What
day
is it?”

“It’s still Wednesday night,” he replied. “Good thing, too. If we’d waited much longer to get you to a hospital, you might not have made it.”

“I feel like a hippopotamus stepped on my stomach,” I groaned. “Right after somebody Roto-Rootered my throat.”

“That’s because they pumped your stomach.” Sounding half teasing and half worried, he added, “You really should think about cutting back on the amount of angel’s trumpet in your diet.”

I suddenly felt as if a dark cloud had moved into the room. “It was Inez, wasn’t it? She killed Eduardo and she tried to kill me! We have to call the police! We have to tell them what happened!”

“Don’t worry, Popper,” Forrester said with his usual breeziness. “Falcone nabbed her.”

“But how did he know?”

“Your call to the police, of course. You did good, Popper. Dialing nine-one-one was nothing short of brilliant. Even Falcone admitted—begrudgingly, of course—that you’d done an incredible job. The cops have Inez’s whole confession on tape. It couldn’t have been better if they were right there in the room with you two. Right now, she’s is in police custody, charged with murder one.” Frowning, he added, “Attempted murder, too. Where you were concerned, she meant business.”

“She left the anonymous notes and set the fire, too?”