“Nothing will be restricted,” he said. “We did ask them to push back the opening until this afternoon, just to give forensics a chance to look it over in the daylight, but I think they were thorough. So the whole thing is closed for now, but you should be good to go as it was before by one or so.”
“Thanks,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll just make a couple phone calls and make sure everyone knows.”
“Did you get that poor horse taken care of?” Gertie asked. “I swear I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He must have been scared to death. If you need a place to keep him, I’m resodding my backyard next year anyway…”
I had to hold in a grin. It wasn’t a stretch that Gertie loved animals and I had no doubt she’d let the horse stay in her backyard and probably cook for it, but that wasn’t the real reason for her inquiry.
“We located the owner and the horse is back home,” Carter said.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Gertie said. “He looked expensive. He wasn’t injured, was he?”
“Not that I could tell,” Carter said. “But I’ll be following up with the owner, of course. Unless she was the one who strapped the body to the horse and sent him off in the park, I’m assuming she’ll want to file a theft report.”
“I would,” Gertie said. “If someone stole Francis, I’d come down on them like hellhounds.”
Carter smiled. “I have no doubt about that. Well, if you ladies don’t mind, I’m going to grab a bite to eat before I get started unraveling this mess.”
We said goodbye and started down the sidewalk.
“Nice try on the horse thing,” I said to Gertie. “He wasn’t about to give you anything.”
Ida Belle and Gertie grinned.
“But he did,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle nodded. “Only a breeder would have a horse of that quality, especially a stud. And there’s only one woman in the area who breeds horses.”
“Great,” I said. “Then I guess we have another person to talk to. Are we on the list for any chores at the festival today?”
“Not a thing,” Ida Belle said. “I told you, I cleared us off the operating schedule. We only had setup duties. Of course, I did that thinking that after last year, no one would be able to blame us if something went wrong, and danged if another head didn’t fall in our laps.”
I grinned. “Lucky.”
“Let’s go get those casseroles and see just how lucky we are,” Gertie said.
“I’ll go get the food with Gertie,” Ida Belle said to me, “then swing by your house and pick you up.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
Fifteen minutes later, I hopped into Ida Belle’s SUV, giving the back seat a once-over.
“You put a cover on the back seat,” I said.
“A pet cover,” Gertie said.
“If the shoe fits,” Ida Belle said. “I got tired of steam cleaning the upholstery after Gertie’s escapades.”
“You always make me do the cleaning,” Gertie said.
“You don’t do it good enough,” Ida Belle said. “Which means I end up doing the bulk of the work.”
“She means going over every inch with tweezers and a toothbrush,” Gertie said. “It’s a car—not a priceless work of art.”
“Says you,” Ida Belle said as she pulled up to the curb and parked.
I looked over for my initial view of the late Gilbert Forrest’s house. It was in a cul-de-sac that backed up to the woods and was completely typical of the others in the neighborhood. Quite frankly, it was a little disappointing. The only standout item was the flashy red Mustang convertible in the driveway, which I assumed was Tiffany’s since Gil’s car had been stolen.
“I was expecting something bold,” I said as we exited the SUV. “From the house, I mean.”
“I’m sure he would have if he could have gotten away with it,” Gertie said.
“I forget about all of Sinful’s rules,” I said.
Gertie nodded. “There’s that, and he probably didn’t want the house detracting from him.”
“True,” Ida Belle said. “He didn’t like competition. He hated Ronald.”
“That’s probably because Ronald has a better wardrobe,” Gertie said as we made our way up to the house.
“Ronald has a better wardrobe than a lot of women in Hollywood,” Ida Belle said. “I’d hate to see his credit card bills.”
I frowned. “You know, I hate to even ask questions about the man because I’m afraid it’s like summoning him or something, but what does he do? Did do? I never see him leave to go anywhere, but he’s paying for all that couture somehow.”
“Inherited,” Ida Belle said. “His grandmother was a Texas oil baroness. The story is Ronald’s father was her only son and he always took issue with Ronald’s…unique personality. The grandmother was apparently a bit ahead of her time when it came to the ‘whatever floats your boat’ philosophy, so she cut the son out of her will and left everything to Ronald.”
“Really?” I asked.
“That’s the rumor, anyway,” Ida Belle said. “Seems to fit with what we see here, so I don’t think anyone ever questioned it beyond that.”
Gertie nodded. “God knows, no one is crazy enough to ask Ronald and in Sinful, that’s saying a lot.”
Ida Belle rang the doorbell and we waited. I was starting to wonder if anyone was home when the door finally swung open and a young woman peered out.
Midtwenties. Five foot four. A hundred thirty pounds, a considerable amount in boobs. No sign of grief or lack of sleep. Zero threat unless you were dating her and had a father with money and no ethics.
“Good morning, Tiffany,” Gertie said. “You remember Ida Belle and me, right? And this is our friend Fortune. We brought you a chicken casserole.”
She looked surprised and a little dazed.
“Oh,” she said. “I’d completely forgot about the food thing. It’s been a long time since I was around someone…anyway, come in.”
We stepped inside and I paused, taking in the living room as Tiffany headed off down the hall. Apparently the normalcy of the outside of the house was the cover for the inside. It was very modern—bright yellow walls and shiny black furniture with metal hardware, and a red velvet couch and love seat with the occasional leopard-print throw draped across them. I could see why Gil hadn’t liked Ronald. Compared to this mess, Ronald had the best taste in Sinful.
“Is that a painting of dogs playing poker with Jesus?” I asked, and nodded toward the painting leaned up against the wall above the fireplace.
Gertie nodded. “Wait until Celia drops by. She’s going to have a conniption fit.”
The kitchen was another room of shiny black and metal, with more gold than Fort Knox. Except this gold wasn’t real. We took seats at the kitchen table in strange bright red chairs that seemed to be designed for small cats to sit in them. Tiffany took the casserole from Gertie and offered us something to drink. I declined, hoping we could get something out of the widow and get out before I needed a chiropractor. Apparently, we all felt the same because Ida Belle and Gertie shook their heads, and Tiffany finally perched uneasily on the edge of one of the chairs.