Tacked to Death Read online

  Tacked to Death

  Michele Scott

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Michele Scott

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Praise for

  Saddled With Trouble

  "Filled with good murder suspects along with enough twists and turns, allowing the reader to guess and guess again throughout the novel."

  —MyShelf.com

  "So well written…A great cozy…There are so many wonderful red herrings that it will keep you guessing until the end. Terrific plot and characters really add to the reading experience. I highly recommend this book."

  —The Best Reviews

  "A pleasant and fast read. Her characters are likeable and the setting is interesting. I'm looking forward to her next Michaela Bancroft mystery…Recommended."

  —Armchair Interviews

  "A great cozy for animal lovers…Michaela is an engaging character."

  —Gumshoe Review

  Praise for Michele Scott's

  Wine Lover's Mysteries

  "All the sparkle, complexity, and romance of a fine champagne."

  —Nancy Fairbanks, author of Turkey Flambé

  "A perfect blend of murder and page-turning fiction!"

  —Holly Jacobs, author of Confessions of a Party Crasher

  "Edgy and suspenseful."

  —Romantic Times

  "A superb amateur-sleuth tale starring an upbeat heroine and a fabulous prime suspect."

  —Midwest Book Review

  "So many wonderful characters, and the California wine country is such a fabulous backdrop for this series. I loved this book."

  —The Best Reviews

  "An amateur sleuth…readers will grow to love."

  —The Mystery Reader

  "A scrumptious tale…Many twists from beginning to end. Michele Scott is a delightful author. I only hope her next book comes out quickly! I'm ready and waiting."

  —Roundtable Reviews

  The Horse Lover's Mysteries by Michele Scott

  SADDLED WITH TROUBLE

  DEATH REINS IN

  TACKED TO DEATH

  The Wine Lover's Mysteries by Michele Scott

  MURDER UNCORKED

  MURDER BY THE GLASS

  SILENCED BY SYRAH

  Thank You to the best writing coach around,

  Mike Sirota.

  You've been along for the ride

  and never let me give up on myself.

  This one is for you, Yoda!

  Cheers,

  Kid

  One

  The man standing across from Michaela Bancroft gave her the creeps. Sterling Taber was handsome by most women's standards: He had that tall-and-dark thing going on with brooding brown—almost black—eyes, his cheekbones were something Michelangelo would have been proud to sculpt, and his longish black hair hung slightly in front of his eyes. He'd been voted Coachella Valley's most eligible bachelor and Michaela had heard the word mysterious used in regard to him. Her word was repulsive.

  Sterling set the ropes on the glass-topped case, which inside held equestrian-related jewelry and various sets of spurs and silver belt buckles. Michaela and her friend Camden had recently delved into the venture of owning and running a tack store. Today was not only opening day, but Camden had convinced Michaela that an accompanying fashion show and charity polo match would make this an opening to remember, an event even.

  "So, isn't it true that you rope?" Sterling asked.

  "No. I rein." If he'd listened at all to her in the past few months, he would've known exactly what Michaela did. She'd spent plenty of time around Sterling as of late. He was one of the bigwigs on the polo team, and in less than an hour she'd be on the field playing against him in the charity event.

  "That's right. Reiner. You look pretty good up on a polo pony. Good technique." He fiddled with the ropes. "I like watching the ropers. Real cowboys, those guys."

  "Yes, they have great technique." Michaela narrowed her eyes, wishing he'd buy the ropes and get on with it.

  "You plan on continuing with polo when this thing is over?"

  She almost laughed at the thought. "No. It's been fun and hopefully we raise a lot of money for the autistic riding center, but I don't plan to continue."

  He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Right. You run that place. That handicapped riding place."

  She nodded. "It's for kids with autism."

  "Handicapped" was not really how she saw the kids with whom she worked. They had special needs, sure, but they were capable, loving children, and just the way he'd said the word handicapped, as if it were a bad one, bothered her. Again, if he'd taken the time to listen when they'd had meetings regarding today's event he'd be on top of it, but she got the feeling that he knew all this already. If anything, he enjoyed this head game she felt he was playing with her. She sighed.

  "You sure do look good up there on those ponies," he said again.

  "Thanks. But I can't afford polo and it's pretty rough." Granted, Michaela had inherited a large sum of money and her uncle's ranch when he was killed, but much of it was tied up in the ranch, establishing her center for the kids, and now in the tack shop that Camden promised she'd run, since Michaela was already busy with plenty of commitments. "Speaking of polo, we should probably hurry up. You want to buy these?" She wasn't sure what Sterling needed a set of ropes for. He wasn't exactly the rugged cowboy type. She was trying hard to be nice, silently reminding herself that this was a business she and Camden were running and he was a paying customer.

  Sterling leaned against the counter and folded his arms. A large diamond in a ring on his finger caught her eye. It was on his right hand, and for some reason it only annoyed Michaela even further that he was there. Show-off. He winked at her. "You bet. I've got some plans with these. You know that there are other things that ropes can be used for besides steers." He winked at her, held up the ropes, and set them back down.

  She didn't comment. She picked the ropes up off the counter and scanned the price into the computer. Sterling handed her a credit card and she slid it through. It came back denied. She put it through again—still denied.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked.

  "Do you have another card?"

  "Why?"

  She felt her face flush. "This one's been denied."

  "That couldn't be. Put it through again."

  "I put it through twice already."

  "You did it wrong then."

  "No, I didn't."

  "The card is fine. I own nine polo ponies; I think my card works. It's your machine."

  From the back room, where the office and kitchen were located, Michaela heard raised voices. She recognized them immediately and knew she needed to put out a fire, because the two who were arguing were not exactly the most amicable of personalities. She tossed Sterling the ropes. "Here, take them. They're yours." She was done dealing with him.

  She started out from behind the counter as a smug smile spread across his face. "See you on the field. I'm looking forward to it."

  She walked quickly past him feeling like she'd just seen a cockroach crawl across the floor.

  Michaela found the cause of the commotion in the kitchen.

  "Oh no, no, no! I don't want spaghetti, Pepe. You can't do this to me!" Camden tossed her coppe
r-colored tresses behind her shoulders and screamed at the rotund, older Italian man. He appeared to be matching her temper for temper, with his arms crossed and a look on his face that said he didn't care one iota about Camden's complaints. "You promised me that we would have veal scaloppine and chicken parmigiana. You said it wouldn't be a problem. I could kill you for this! Do you know how many people are coming to this event? I can't believe I already paid you up front!"

  Michaela watched Camden's face contort with rage. Next to Pepe Sorvino stood his twenty-year-old daughter, Lucia. It was hard not to notice that Lucia turned heads when she entered a room with her pale green eyes, long, wavy dark hair and voluptuous body—a young Sophia Loren in the making. She stood about Michaela's height at five feet six inches and she could see by the fire in the young woman's eyes that she was about to explode, along with her father.

  "You didn't pay my father enough. Not for all these people."

  "Wait a minute," Michaela interrupted. "What's the problem?" They would need to get it solved sooner rather than later. Sorvino's was catering the Sunday afternoon event, and people would be arriving shortly expecting hors d'oeuvres and champagne while they watched the polo match and a catered lunch during the fashion show.

  "The problem is," Camden shouted, "these two are trying to rip us off."

  Lucia took an aggressive step toward Camden. "Whatever. I don't think so. You're a cheap ass. That's the problem."

  Camden pulled an arm back. Michaela grabbed it before she had a chance to swing.

  "Did you see that?" Pepe said, his Italian accent growing thicker in line with his anger.

  Michaela placed a hand on Camden's shoulder. "Why don't you take a breather? Let me work this out."

  Camden held up a finger, her face the color of her hair. Michaela shook her head at her best friend, and then nodded her toward the front door. Camden glared at Pepe and his daughter, but heeded Michaela's advice and left. "Go see Dwayne," Michaela suggested, knowing that her assistant trainer and Camden's fiancé was helping set up the tables for the lunch outside. If anyone could calm her down it would be him, with his Hawaiian philosophy and mellow attitude.

  "I cannot work with her. She's crazy. You see how she yelling at me, and swearing at me, she saying she gonna kill me!" Pepe took his index finger and made the loopy sign around the side of his head. "Crazy!"

  Michaela took a step back. "Listen, Pepe, I agree that my friend can be a bit temperamental—"

  "A bit temperamental?" Lucia said. "She's a bitch. We're not doing this thing, and we're keeping your deposit money."

  "Wait a minute," Michaela said.

  "What's going on?" Mario Sorvino, Pepe's son, walked in with a boxful of tomatoes in his arms. "Oh great. My sister and father giving you a hard time?"

  Michaela mustered a smile. Could it be there was a levelheaded individual amongst this clan? Mario set the box down on the counter and put an arm around Lucia, whom he towered over. He was definitely one of the tallest Italian guys Michaela had ever seen—long but muscular, his dark hair slicked back into a ponytail, and an apron covering his barrel chest. "Bella, run along and be a good kid. Leave Michaela alone. We'll work this out."

  Lucia opened her mouth to say something, but Mario cut her off. "Go. There're tables to be set." She stood her ground a second longer. "Now!"

  Pepe watched as his daughter skulked away. Mario looked at his dad and shook his head. "Papa, she doesn't need to be trying to run things. She's a stupid kid, and you give her too much freedom. Now, what's the issue here?"

  Pepe frowned at his son but didn't retort. It appeared as if Mario Sorvino pulled the strings in the family.

  "That other lady, that Camden, she's a hothead and she doesn't want to pay what they owe us." He pointed at Michaela. "We gonna make spaghetti and that's it."

  "Yes, well, you see, we do have a contract." She directed her reply to Mario. "Your father agreed to make chicken parmigiana and veal along with spaghetti, so I'm confused as to why there's a mix-up."

  He crossed his arms. "You not pay me enough, that's the mix-up."

  "No, that's not true. We paid you exactly the amount you quoted us." He was beginning to try her patience. No wonder Camden had lost it on him. Everyone knew Pepe had a tendency to be cheap.

  "It's not enough."

  Mario held up a hand. "Okay, Dad, if there's a contract and you didn't estimate properly, it's not Michaela's problem."

  She sighed. "No, it's not our fault if you miscalculated the price."

  "Not gonna do it."

  She looked at Pepe. "I don't have time for this. I have to be on a horse in an hour, swinging a mallet in front of a hundred or so people, who afterward expect to have a gourmet Italian meal while they watch a fashion show. I know that you would not want those influential people to walk away hungry, thinking poorly of Sorvino's, now would you? Those are well-to-do folks out there." She rubbed her finger and thumb together. "Cha-ching. Capisce? I'm certain that a man with your business sense and your talent will want to impress the people and have them come back to dine at your divine restaurant." Yeah, so she was pouring it on, but she could tell she was getting to him as the downturn at the corners of his lips started to relax. If his son couldn't convince him, she'd give it her all. "I mean, after all, you do make the best veal I have ever had. Really." She leaned in closer. "And, I heard that a food critic from the L.A. Times may join us today. Oh, and I believe my friend Joe Pellegrino and some of his cousins might be around, too."

  She knew it was not very nice of her to mention Joe. He'd been a friend of hers since childhood and he owned the local hardware store. It was rumored he had some unsavory family ties. She had made a conscious decision not to ask him about those rumors. Joe was a good friend, and he'd saved her butt on more than one occasion.

  At the mention of Joe, Mario shot her a dirty look. "You'll get your veal and chicken. The Sorvinos don't go back on their word. Right, Papa?" He said it so that his father didn't have much choice but to agree; however, Michaela got the distinct feeling that tossing out Joe's name helped.

  "Hmph. Capisce."

  Pepe stormed out of the kitchen and Mario said, "Sorry about that. My family can be overbearing sometimes. I'll make sure they stay in line for the rest of the day." He took a tomato from the box he'd brought in.

  "Thank you." She started to walk out.

  "Michaela?"

  She stopped. "Yes?"

  "One thing about my family though, is that threats, subtle or not, don't usually sit well with us."

  "What?"

  "I don't miss much, in case you hadn't noticed." He smiled. "Mentioning Joe Pellegrino was unnecessary. I know why you did it, but I didn't like it."

  "I'm sorry."

  "We're even then. You'll get your food and you now understand how I operate." He picked up a sharp knife and sliced through the tomato. For some reason Michaela felt like he was taking his time cutting that damn tomato and it sent a chill down her spine. He eyed her. "I think you should be careful the names you toss around and threaten people with. It could get you into some trouble."

  Michaela winced. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Take it as you like," Mario said and slammed the knife directly through the tomato, squirting seeds and liquid onto the wall. He looked at her and then at the mess he'd made. "Sorry about that. I'll get it cleaned up."

  Michaela walked away shaken and unsettled, with the definite decision to never again hire the Sorvinos for a damn thing.

  Two

  Hopefully Michaela had really doused the fire in the kitchen. Between Sterling Taber, Camden, and the Sorvinos, she was already exhausted; now she had to go and get on a horse, run it full speed with balls flying this way and that, and pray to God she didn't somehow get clobbered with a mallet. Sure, she could ride. She'd ridden horses all her life; but the sport of polo was a whole 'nother ball game altogether—literally.

  She took a few minutes to splash water on her face and pull her long blonde h
air back into a low ponytail in order for her helmet to fit over it. She slathered on a good-sized dollop of sunscreen across her already sun-kissed, freckled face. She didn't have freckles like many redheads did, but enough years in the sun on horseback had dotted them across her nose, giving her a somewhat younger appearance than her thirty-three years. After a few more minutes of pulling on her boots and breeches and changing into the light yellow polo T-shirt her team had chosen to wear for the event, she figured she was as ready as she'd ever be to play the match.

  She spotted Camden as she was leaving the shop, which wasn't exactly a tack shop in the true sense; rather, it was like a department store with equine-related equipment for sale. Her friend had gone over the top, like she did with everything in her life. The place had hardwood floors and faux cream and butter yellow paint on the walls, which gave it an almost marblelike look. The tack was organized by event, announcing the section with wooden engraved signs: hunter jumper gear here, dressage over there, western upstairs. Yes, there were two stories to the place—and the apparel section, which Camden definitely enjoyed best, was displayed in a large section in the back of the store. At first Michaela found it ostentatious, but she was proud of Camden for putting it together. Only five months earlier Camden could barely bring herself to go out to the horses' stalls. But since becoming engaged to Dwayne, she'd taken it upon herself to learn everything she could about horses and the lifestyle. To her credit, she was doing a good job.

  Still, Michaela pondered on a regular basis—especially after the way her morning had gone—as to how in the world had she been roped into this idea with Camden. She should've known better, even in her buzzed state that night over margaritas, four months earlier. She really should have known better when she committed to the two-thousand-square-foot place that Camden had turned into the Saks Fifth Avenue of tack stores. Everything from jazzy jeans to highly polished leather saddles, stationery and art featuring the beautiful animals, to protective leg wraps for equines was available at Round the Bend, and lately Michaela found herself hoping that the opening day would be as lucrative as Camden promised. Having so much cash tied up in inventory was extremely uncomfortable for her.