No Foot, No Horse: A Kelly Hamilton Mystery

By Joan Zurell

Kelly Hamilton-riding coach and member of the Greenfield, Connecticut, town board-finds herself having the swing vote in a proposal for an insanely expensive pork barrel project. Her stated intention to vote no is a matter of principle. Then things start going horribly wrong. Horses go lame. Town officials begin harassing her. The problems escalate to murder and kidnapping. With help from her friend, detective Mike Devoe, and her mother, famous actress Charlotte Hayes Hamilton, Kelly must find a way to deal with all this without sacrificing her principles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648019135

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No Foot, No Horse

A Kelly Hamilton Mystery

Joan Zurell

Copyright © 2020 Joan Zurell

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64801-912-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64801-913-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Acknowledgments

A huge thank you to Sam Dodge

Without his help, this opus would still be lost

somewhere in the bowels of my computer.

Note to Readers

The title of this book is an old saying among horsemen that means a horse with a sore foot is not available for work.

Chapter 1

There were millions of dollars and some powerful egos involved, so Kelly knew she’d be leaned on. Hard. But she was convinced she was right, and she was damned well not going to compromise her principles. Dripping from her interrupted shower onto the antique Persian bedroom carpet, she clutched the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. It was one way of hanging on to her temper. Listen, Bill, I don’t mind being called at 5:30 a.m., I’m up anyway, but just because I’m the junior member of the Board of Representatives doesn’t mean I can be pressured into voting the way you want me to.

Now, Kelly—Bill Santorini’s oily tone made Kelly grit her teeth—I just want you to hear my side of the story. You know I wouldn’t try to pressure you.

Oh right. And the pope isn’t Catholic either. How could the man lie like that? Indignant, she drew herself up to her full sixty-inch—well, fifty-nine and seven-eighths—height and swiped at a damp strand of bright copper-colored hair hanging in her face.

Santorini continued with what she was darned sure was another lie. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so early. I’ve been up for a while working on the specs for the new civic center. We really need you to vote for it. This project will be something Greenfield can be proud of, and we could name it after the senator. The Malcolm Hamilton Civic Center.

Kelly snorted her disgust. No dice, Bill. My father would turn over in his grave if I voted for some pork barrel project and let it have his name. I know Santorini Construction will make a million or more on the project if it goes through, but the town doesn’t need it, and I’m not going to vote for it. All the town’s departments can be housed in the old high school with room to spare, and there’s even an auditorium for meetings and a gym that could easily be converted to hold all the town records. There’s already a paved parking lot and room to add an elevator so the building will be ADA compliant. Why am I telling you all this? You already know it. You just want the contract for the new building, but you could make a decent profit renovating the old school. We need a town park, not a new civic center. I told John Paquette the same thing yesterday, and I know he’d make megabucks selling the site for the new building to the town. He wasn’t happy with me either, but that’s all I have to say, so I’m going to hang up now. I have to go out and feed my horses.

Abandoning his attempt at cajoling her, Santorini snarled, Damn it, Kelly, you’ll be sorry if you don’t vote the right way. I can renovate the school for low-cost senior housing. That should appeal to you. I want to build the civic center. Besides, you may not know I plan to donate part of the profit to a local charity.

He probably would too, trying to buy his way into Greenfield’s social elite. Kelly wasn’t about to continue this verbal sparring match. She was cold; she wanted her first cup of morning coffee; and she had work to do. Just to annoy him, she cooed into the receiver with exaggerated sweetness. Goodbye, Bill. Then she put down the phone and headed back to the shower. It was good to get back under the hot water. These late-September mornings were getting too chilly for standing around in a damp towel during extended phone conversations.

Should she be worried about Santorini’s threats? Naah, there was nothing he could do to her. Inherited wealth and social position insulated her from many problems. He couldn’t hurt her. Could he? Now George Richmond was another story. He was the one she had to worry about. And she did.

Dressing quickly, she rooted in the bottom drawer for a warm sweatshirt. Then she combed her hair by raking her fingers through it. She used to wear it in a long braid down her back until one day, in a fit of frustration because she couldn’t stuff it under her riding hard hat, she hacked it off with the shears she kept in the barn for banging horses’ tails. The result, though a little lopsided, wasn’t bad; and since then, she’d forced herself to make time once a month for a professional job.

As always, she lingered a moment to look at the photographs on top of the bureau. There was her late husband, Darren Stafford, smiling and handsome. His death had been part of a horrible time in her life, but she had resisted the impulse to put his picture away. Looking at it every day was like letting fresh air get at a wound. It healed more quickly and cleanly than if it was covered up and allowed to fester. Besides, there had been good times too. The other side of the double frame held a grinning likeness of Darren’s eight-year-old son, Clarence George, named for his late mother’s father and grandfather. How he hated those names! Kelly didn’t blame him. What red-blooded kid wanted to be called Clarence? She had begun calling him Clancy the first day she met him, and he had adopted the name enthusiastically.

Thank God for Clancy. She couldn’t have loved him more if he had been her own child, and she knew he felt the same about her. He was the best thing to have come out of her short, turbulent marriage to his father.

With the assistance of therapist, Dr. Eric Reinhardt, they had helped each other recover from the trauma of Darren’s violent death a year ago. They had cried together, comforted each other, been brave for each other. And they had survived. The scars weren’t quite healed, but recovery was well on the way. Time and horses were what they needed now. Horses were almost as good therapists as Dr. Reinhardt. She grinned back at the freckle-faced carrot-top.

The third picture was recent, taken at this summer’s Olympics. A beaming Kelly sat astride her big chestnut thoroughbred, Sky Dandy, wearing the gold medal they had won in the three-day event. The medal itself, suitably framed, had pride of place on the mantle in the library, and the thrill was still new enough to take away the residue of irritation left by her early-morning caller. I’m on my way with your breakfast, big guy, she said softly to the horse’s picture.

On the way out to the barn, Kelly thought about the only two real problems she had. Being pressured to vote to suit someone else didn’t count. That was just politics as usual. The real problem was with George Richmond, Clancy’s maternal grandfather. Since Darren’s death, she’d been trying to adopt Clancy, and the Richmonds were trying to take him away from her. Well, George was. She doubted if his mousy second wife, Sarah, had much to say about it. Kelly’s lawyer and George’s lawyer were slugging it out.

It hadn’t come to a court battle yet, but it probably would. If it did, there was no telling what a judge might decide. After all, Richmond was the boy’s blood relative, while she was only his stepmother. George was in his sixties, but Sarah was considerably younger. A judge might very well decide in Richmond’s favor. Meanwhile, she was doing the best she could for the boy, and she told herself not to worry about it. It might never happen. But that didn’t stop her from worrying just the same. If George took Clancy away…oh god, she didn’t know how she could bear it. Grief hurt. She felt a sob building at the mere thought of it. She put her hands over her face and told herself to shape up. Think about something else.

Think about her other problem, that was a lot easier to solve. Typical for her, it concerned a horse. Or more accurately, a pony. Clancy had experienced a growth spurt in the past year and had outgrown his beloved Sky Rocket. So for months, no one had been riding him, and even on only a taste of grain a day, the pony was getting unhealthily fat. Many of her riding students had their own horses, and those who didn’t were too big for the pony. She supposed he should have been sold, but Clancy couldn’t bear to part with him, and his father’s death had been bad enough. The poor kid didn’t need another sad thing in his life right now. Besides, she had to admit she was fond of the little chestnut herself.

She decided she would break Sky Rocket to harness. Maybe he could be shown in pony roadster classes. If not, it would still be good exercise for the pony and fun for her. She’d refurbish the old cart that for years had been stored in the shed with the tractor and farm truck and she’d get started on his lessons right away. There was some harness out there, too, that probably just needed a good oiling.

On the way past Clancy’s door Saturday morning, Kelly knocked. Up and at ’em, sleepyhead. Fox Hollow Horse Show today.

As if he needed reminding. He’d been talking about it for weeks. Though he had been competing in hunt seat equitation since early spring, this would be his first time at a class A show. Now that he was ready for class A, he’d need a better horse than Meadow Mist, the school horse he’d been riding. They’d have to go horse shopping soon; they’d have a great time finding the right one. Clancy had a long list of desirable qualities, starting with looking like Sky Dandy, acting like Sky Dandy, and being as talented as Sky Dandy. Faint hope. If you were really lucky, you got a horse like Sky Dandy once in a lifetime, but there were a lot of good horses out there; they’d find one.

I’m up, Clancy shouted.

A great thumping and shuffling behind the door told Kelly he was most likely hopping around in one tall riding boot while struggling to pull on the other one. She chuckled and went downstairs just as the tall case clock in the foyer made its clearing-the-throat noise and struck six. Kelly sketched a salute in the clock’s direction, G’morning, Grandpa.

The barn was full now with Sky Dandy, Sky Rocket, six school horses, and twelve boarders, all but a few of them owned by the kids she coached. Kelly had a barn manager who could have fed them, but she liked to do it herself. Feeding was such a pleasant job.

At the sound of the barn door rolling back, Sky Dandy whinnied imperiously. For good measure, he banged the stall door with a front hoof.

Oh cool it, Kelly scolded good-naturedly. You know perfectly well I won’t forget who gets fed first around here.

The big thoroughbred’s arrogant summons changed to a welcoming huh-huh-huh when he heard her voice.

Here’s your carrot, brat. She stroked his velvet muzzle as he crunched his treat. With several deep breaths, she took in the fragrance of hay stored overhead, the sweet smell of clean horses, and Sky Dandy’s carrot-scented breath.

She plucked a wisp of hay from a bale and chewed it, imagining it tasted of sunshine. She loved this quiet moment every morning. Dust motes sparkled in a sunbeam slanting through the door of the pre-Revolutionary barn. The horses shuffling in their stalls awaiting breakfast and the pigeons talking softly among themselves in the rafters underlined the peacefulness of Kelly’s favorite place in the known universe—Sky Meadow Farm, Greenfield, Connecticut, USA, Planet Earth, Galaxy Milky Way.

The quiet was shattered by Clancy’s arrival. Was there anything quite as noisy as an eight-year-old boy? Probably not, but it was part of the package, and Kelly loved the package.

Here I am, he panted. Other boys ran or sprinted; Clancy, as horse crazy as Kelly, always cantered or galloped.

Well, tuck your shirttail in and give Misty her breakfast. Let her eat in peace before you start grooming her. You have plenty of time before the van arrives.

Kelly followed the boy to the feed room. He scooped up grain in one of the empty coffee cans they used for feed measures and scampered to Misty’s stall as if he were afraid she’d die of malnutrition in the next ten seconds. Smiling after him, she started down the barn’s center aisle, pushing the wheeled garbage can in which she kept grain. It was an efficient way of getting the feed to the horses. She was just dumping Sky Dandy’s ration into his bucket when Clancy yelped in horror.

Kelly, come quick! Look at Misty’s leg.

The feed measure clattered to the floor as Kelly abandoned it and ran to the mare’s stall. Through the open door she could see that Misty was standing on three legs. Her near fore was horribly swollen, the knee misshapen and hot to Kelly’s expert touch. The mare was sweating and shaking with pain.

Easy, girlie, Kelly soothed. We’ll get it cooled out right away. Clancy, run to the kitchen and get all the ice cubes you can. We’ll ice it down, and I’ll give her some Bute and call the vet. Poor old girl, she said as Clancy took off at top speed. What on earth did you do to yourself? You were fine last night.

She headed for the medicine cabinet in the feed room and got the bottle of Butazolodin, the horseman’s standard remedy for painful inflammation. She was still calculating how many tablets Misty would need based on body weight when the phone rang. She automatically picked it up, but her answer was distracted and curt. Yes?

A hoarse voice on the other end whispered, You have a lame horse this morning?

Kelly could manage only a startled gulp by way of reply. How could this person, whoever it was, have known? Unless…h God, had someone deliberately injured the mare? Who? Why? How? How had he gotten into the barn undetected? Or was it someone who could be expected to be there? Or maybe he had done his dirty work while Misty was turned out in the pasture yesterday after lessons. What had he done to her?

Before she could ask, the voice continued, She’ll get over it. This time. It’s only some sterile water injected under the skin. Next time it’ll be bleach in the knee joint unless you vote the right way.

You slimy bastard, Kelly screamed into the phone. How dare you hurt an innocent horse… She broke off when she realized she was screaming at a dial tone. Shaking with rage, she squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths. She didn’t have time for a fit of temper right now. Misty was in pain and needed her help.

Kelly was no stranger to violence. Her sister and her husband had both been murdered by the person who had tried so hard to kill her. Sky Dandy had saved her life twice before it was all over. She took several deep breaths to steady herself. Even though the killer was now dead himself, the memories were still painful. She wasn’t sure she could go through another reign of terror.

She shook her head. Hang tough, Kelly, she said aloud. You’re a survivor. You’ll do whatever you have to do. With these words of self-encouragement, she forced her concentration back to Misty’s plight. She counted out the required number of tablets, dissolved them in water, and used a huge needleless syringe to suck up the resulting mixture. As she headed back to the stall to administer the medicine, Clancy came rushing back with a big bag of ice cubes.

Good, you can hold Misty’s tongue for me so she can’t close her mouth while I squirt this Bute down her throat.

Kelly could have done the job perfectly well by herself, but she knew Clancy was anxious to help. Between them, they got most of the medicine into the mare and then rigged a makeshift ice pack for her knee. Kelly debated with herself whether to tell Clancy about the phone call, but in the end, she decided not to. There was no point in scaring the poor kid. She was scared enough for both of them. Could this have been what Santorini meant when he said she’d be sorry if she didn’t vote for the civic center? If she could prove he had hurt the mare, she’d, she’d…she didn’t know what she’d do, but something. She felt like strangling him with her bare hands.

By the time Kelly and Clancy had finished their first aid, Tom Tippitt, the barn manager, had arrived and was feeding the rest of the horses. Tom’s coffee-colored face screwed up in a scowl when they told him about Misty’s leg, but once again, Kelly kept the phone call to herself so Clancy wouldn’t overhear it. She could tell Tom about it later.

Kelly felt sure that Tom was absolutely trustworthy, and maybe he’d have some ideas about how to secure the barn. They couldn’t lock it at night because old wooden barns could be fire hazards. If the worst should happen, there wouldn’t be time to look for a key and fiddle with a lock. That’s why she insisted that all the horses wear their halters in the stalls too. Getting them out of a burning building alive might depend on not having to stop to put on halters. Oh god! what if somebody tried to burn down the barn?

Kelly fought down her panic and tried to be matter-of-fact. She stuck her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking. Now we have to figure out who you’re going to ride in the show today, she said to Clancy.

Clancy’s eyes grew wide. Gosh, I was so worried about Misty, I almost forgot about the show. Do you think I’ve been working her too hard or something? She’s kinda old. Maybe I should stay home and take care of her today.

What a good kid he was. More concerned about the horse than about riding in the show. He might not be the child of her body, but he was certainly the child of her heart. Kelly reassured him. No, you didn’t overwork her. She’s not young, but she’s fit and strong. It must have been some kind of accident. She’ll be okay, but we’ll call the vet just to be on the safe side.

Tom’s scowl was replaced by his nice smile as he reassured Clancy. Mos’ likely she just stepped on it wrong while she was runnin’ around in the pasture. Don’t you worry none about her, sport. Ol’ Tom’ll take good care of her. You go on to the show and win yourself a big blue ribbon. You’ve already done all you could do for her anyway. Staying home wouldn’t help.

But who will I ride? Clancy asked. I’m way too tall for Sky Rocket now, and Misty’s the only other one I’ve ridden.

Kelly smiled at him. True, you’re already taller than I am. Big deal, everybody’s taller than I am. It isn’t easy to compete on a strange horse, but we still have an hour or so before the van arrives. Let’s throw a saddle on his majesty and see how you do with him.

Clancy goggled at her. "You mean Dandy? You never