Death by Greed, page 1
Josiah is working in her honeybee yard when she hears a commotion coming from her horse pasture. She rushes toward the uproar and comes upon a huge, enraged Texas Longhorn bull. The massive beast is angrily snorting, pawing the turf, and threatening a prized Thoroughbred stallion, Comanche. Josiah may not have much knowledge of cattle, but she realizes snorting, pawing, and lowering the head are signs to get out of the Longhorn’s way! Getting the bull to calm down is no small task and in the end, Josiah has a busted fence and a barn door ripped off its hinges. Once the Longhorn is secure, Josiah hurries to notify the bull’s owner only to discover the man is dead and lying in a pool of his own blood.
The police naturally assume the bull is responsible for the owner’s death, but Josiah has her doubts. She is convinced foul play is involved and works to save the Texas Longhorn from being “put down.” Will she solve the murder and save the Longhorn in time?
Death By Greed
A Josiah Reynolds Mystery
Book Eighteen
Abigail Keam
Worker Bee Press
Copyright © 2023 Abigail Keam
Kobo Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.
The history is true, but the rest is fiction.
The book is not about you or your friends,
so don’t go around town bragging about it.
Book cover by Cricket Press.
Edited by Penny Baker.
Author’s photograph by Peter Keam.
Special thanks to Melanie Murphy and Liz Hobson.
ISBN 978 1 953478 12 2
31423
Published in the USA by
Worker Bee Press
P.O. Box 485
Nicholasville, KY 40340
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books By Abigail Keam
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About Death By Theft
Books By Abigail Keam
About The Author
Books By Abigail Keam
The Josiah Reynolds Mysteries
Death By A HoneyBee I
Death By Drowning II
Death By Bridle III
Death By Bourbon IV
Death By Lotto V
Death By Chocolate VI
Death By Haunting VII
Death By Derby VIII
Death By Design IX
Death By Malice X
Death By Drama XI
Death By Stalking XII
Death By Deceit XIII
Death By Magic XIV
Death By Shock XV
Death By Chance XVI
Death By Poison XVII
Death By Greed XVIII
Death By Theft XVIX
The Mona Moon Mystery Series
Murder Under A Blue Moon I
Murder Under A Blood Moon II
Murder Under A Bad Moon III
Murder Under A Silver Moon IV
Murder Under A Wolf Moon V
Murder Under A Black Moon VI
Murder Under A Full Moon VII
Murder Under A New Moon VIII
Murder Under A British Moon IX
Murder Under A Bridal Moon X
Murder Under A Western Moon XI
Murder Under A Honey Moon XII
1
I was working my bees when I heard a thunderous bellowing and smashing of wood. Baby, my English Mastiff, took off like a rocket to a neighboring field, barking and growling. He repeatedly ran back to me as if saying “Are you coming? Are you coming?”
Jumping into my golf cart, I followed Baby to one of my horse pastures where I was stunned to see an enormous Texas Longhorn bawling out his poor, anguished heart. Frightened and angry, this behemoth had broken through my horse fence and was now snorting and tossing his head in protest at Comanche, a valuable breeding stallion rearing and neighing in fear and rage himself.
I was beside myself as I had given up boarding Thoroughbred stallions because they proved to be ill-tempered. Comanche had been moved next door to Lady Elsmere’s farm but temporarily relocated back with me as his pasture was being re-seeded.
The sight of Comanche tossing his mane and slashing the air with his dangerous hooves did nothing to deter the bull, who lowered his horns. That bull could gut Comanche with one tip of his powerful horns. Comanche lunged and then sidestepped the bull at the last moment. The bull shook his head and roared, stomping the ground. The Thoroughbred’s actions only incited the Longhorn to more fury. Both animals were a terrible sight to behold in their wrathful frenzy.
Oh, Lordy! What to do? What to do? I had never come across this situation before. Have you?
I knew the bull, feeling threatened would and could, with those long horns, spanning eight feet from tip to tip, kill that priceless Thoroughbred. The horse was my responsibility since he was back in my care. My friend had invested every penny she had in that horse. I shuddered at the thought of Comanche being injured and knew I had to rescue the ebony steed, but how?
I immediately ran into the stable for several buckets of sweet feed and hoisted the feed over the broken fence. I rapped the buckets on a fence post to create a distraction. “Hey, bully bull! Hey, you there, sonny! I got some tasty treats for you!”
The bull turned at the noise I was making, snorted, and pawed the ground. Now I’m not familiar with cattle behavior, but I am smart enough to realize that snorting, pawing, and lowering one’s head means trouble in Texas Longhorn behavior 101. Sure enough, the bull charged—at me.
I ran screaming into the stable with Baby close on my heels. I slammed the stable doors shut and put up the cross bar. True to his nature, the bull rammed the doors and almost knocking them off their hinges. “Merde,” I yelped. That’s French for “manure”, and I was deep in it at the moment.
Baby and I ran through the stable and out the other side. Now when I say run, that means a very fast walk for me as I limp with one leg and I am over fifty. Since Baby is a healthy English Mastiff, he left me high and dry. I don’t blame him. Just wish I could run as fast as he.
I had to get help. Climbing over fences (not my strong suit), I managed to get to my neighbor, Lady Elsmere, where I could ask for assistance. I knew her farm manager, Mike, had a tranquilizer gun. As I ran, I could still hear the bull slamming his massive head against my stable doors. BOOM! BOOM!
Thank goodness he was preoccupied with tearing up the stable.
I hoped I had an intact barn left once we got the beast under control—if we got him under control.
I certainly didn’t want to put that magnificent animal down.
2
My name is Josiah Reynolds and I’m a beekeeper living in the Kentucky Bluegrass—horse country. I make my living from selling honey at a local farmers’ market. I also board horses and own a catering business. I rent out my home, the Butterfly, for events. The Butterfly is built from local timber, slate, and limestone. The entire back wall is glass so one can see for miles. It’s perched on the edge of the Palisades which is a cliff system bordering the Kentucky River.
It was from this cliff that a rogue cop pushed me, causing my bad left leg and the need to wear a hearing aid. I shattered my teeth, fractured my jaw, and broke so many bones that I lost count. I should have died, but instead of falling one hundred feet to the river below, I landed on a ledge forty feet down hitting tree branches all the way. I made my way back to the land of the living after a long convalescence.
Before the accident, my husband left me for another woman and had a love child with her. That wasn’t the worst of it. He stole my share of our assets, my good jewelry, and designer dresses, which he gave to his girlfriend. I managed to keep the farm, but lost my job as an art history professor on track to becoming the next dean in my department at a local university, due to the scandal and gossip. I should have sued.
I refused to give my lousy husband a divorce until he returned my possessions including my money, but he up and died, taking the secret location of our assets with him. I know he gave everything to his mistress. Just can’t prove it. I was on the edge of bankruptcy for several years, but fought my way back to solvency. I have money in the bank now and have doubled the size of my farm. I still deal with physical pain, but it gets less every year.
“Josiah, I’m talking to you,” Mike said. “You drifted off.”
“Oh, sorry. Was thinking about something else. What did you ask?”
“Do you want to try a cattle prod?”
“Does that animal look like a cattle prod will bother him? It will just enrage him further. I think a sedative is the most humane way of dealing with him.”
“The problem is I don’t know how much to give a Longhorn steer.”
I bent over to take a peek and did a double-check. Yep, I had been right in the first place. “I think he is a bull.”
Mike checked and then chuckled. “How could I have missed those?” he said, referring to the bull’s obvious sexual prowess.
“Just wing it, Mike.”
“Is there a safe place we can bed this handsome fellow until you find the owners?” Mike asked, putting a dart into the gun.
“We can put him in the front stall. It’s large enough for his horns,” I replied, gawking at the bellowing bull who now had one of his horns stuck through my stable door. “He’ll be able to move around freely.”
Now a horse stall is usually 12 x 12 feet. Mine were 14 x14 feet to accommodate the larger horse breeds, but I had one double stall that was 24 x 24 feet. That’s where I decided to put him.
Mike ordered, “Fill his water bucket and put lots of hay and sweet feed in the stall. Once I shoot him, we only have a short time to work with him.”
“How are we going to move that monster if he falls?”
“I’m just giving him enough tranquilizer to calm him. He’ll stay on his feet, but we’ll be able to work with him safely.”
I replied, sarcastically, mind you, “Sure, Mike, anything you say.” I tried not to roll my eyes. This was a dangerous job and I knew it. So did Mike.
“It would be easier to work with him if he had a nose ring.”
I said, “The vet should be here soon.”
“You want me to wait?”
“No. He’s tearing up my barn, and I’m afraid he’ll injure himself. I’ll have the vet check him out when he gets here. He shouldn’t be long.” I filled the water bucket and put lots of feed into the stall before nodding to Mike. “I think we’re ready.”
“The vet should be able to give him more sedative so he can sleep off his hissy fit.” Mike took aim and shot the dart into the bull, which bellowed and kicked. It caused him to push into the door, which finally snapped off its hinges. The bull now had part of a barn door hanging off his horn. He was free and rushed us.
Mike and I jumped into his truck. The Longhorn lowered his head and rammed the vehicle almost turning us over. The part of my barn door attached to his horn shattered, causing the noise to frighten the animal even more as he turned to take another run at us. I think I screamed, but I’m not sure. I just held on. Mike reloaded his gun with another dart, aimed through the open driver’s side window, and shot the big guy in the shoulder as he was thundering toward us again.
The sedative worked fast this time. The bull stopped suddenly, blinked heavily, looked woozy, and started to go down. One of Lady Elsmere’s farm workers ran up and put Styrofoam on the tips of the bull’s horns and a blanket over his eyes. The other farm hands, which had been standing at a discreet distance, now ran over to push and pull the confused and dazed bull into the stall. The bull eased down onto his knees, sounding a thud.
Mike exited his truck and put another dart into the gun just in case. “He’s good, Josiah. He’s pretty doped up. I think it is safe.”
Assured the bull was inside the stall, I got out of Mike’s truck and went inside my damaged stable. “Check his breathing,” I requested, observing the bull from outside the stall. “It looks a little labored.”
Mike entered the stall and carefully moved the animal’s head so the horns would not be obstructed when the Longhorn moved his head. He finally put a bale of hay under the bull’s chin to keep the horns stable. They had to be heavy.
The bull gave one last hostile snort as a spasm shook its heavy bulk causing the men to run out of the stall. I slammed the stall door shut after them. I didn’t like the angle of the bull’s head as I didn’t think cattle laid their heads like that, but I wasn’t going into the stall to fix it. As I was calling the vet again, he pulled up in his van. I went out to meet him.
Esau Clay is his name and he’s seen me through a number of “situations” with my critters. I must brag that Esau is a direct descendant of Henry Clay, the Great Compromiser who is considered one of the greatest statesmen the U.S. ever had. Henry Clay is also credited with bringing Kentucky bourbon to Washington D.C. and introducing the Mint Julep to his fellow congressmen at the Willard Hotel. Apparently, congressmen and senators would meet in the late afternoon at the hotel and drink a little nip or two before going home to dinner. Taking charge, Clay would make Mint Juleps from behind the bar. No wonder Henry Clay is called the Great Compromiser. He was getting his colleagues liquored up and sloppily agreeing to his proposals—I surmise. Kind of brilliant in a sleazy way.
“What is it this time, Josiah?” Esau asked, staring at the front of my mangled barn. He gawked at it curiously.
“That is the problem,” I replied, thumbing at the barn.
“May I go in?”
“By all means, Esau.” I followed the vet inside and stood back with Mike and the rest of the men in the aisle.
Esau looked aghast. “Good lord. How did this Longhorn get here?”
I asked, “Do you know him?”
“He belongs to a breeding facility in Madison County.” Esau poked the bull through the stall slats and when the bull didn’t respond except for a grunt, he went inside to examine the animal. “We gotta get this animal back on his feet first thing. I don’t like his breathing.”
“I didn’t like his breathing either. You said you know this bull?”
“I do. His name is Tex, and I’ve treated him a couple of times.”
“That’s an original name for a Texas Longhorn,” I commented, sardonically.
Mike asked, “Okay, but how did Tex get here?”
Esau replied, “I imagine he broke loose and swam across the river.”
“Cattle can swim?” I asked.
As he examined the animal, Esau commented, “If they are desperate enough. This bull has been abused. He’s got cattle prod burns all over him and bizarre scratches and cuts. He’s in bad shape. I’m going to give him a shot of antibiotics and one for pain. Then I’m gonna wake him up. He needs to be up on his feet.” Esau turned to me. “Can you keep him here until I see what’s going on with the owner?”
“Sure, but will he be willing to stay? He can go right through that stall if he has a mind to.”
“I’m going to give you pain pills and more sedative doses in a pill form to give Tex—just enough to take the edge off his fear. He should be calmer when he feels safe. Like I said, I’ve worked with this bull before. He’s actually gentle.”
“Yeah, right.” But once I heard that the animal had been mistreated, I knew my duty. Tex had to stay. No wonder he was tearing up the countryside. “Sure, I’ll keep him here—for a little while.”
Esau gave me a thumb up. “You’re a good egg, Josiah.”
“All I can say is ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’”
“It will be fine. You’ll see.”
I didn’t respond. I knew I was going to regret Tex staying in my barn, but what else could I do? I shrugged. “Whatever you say, Esau.”
The vet turned to Mike’s men. “Okay, gentlemen. Two men on the horns and the rest of you on the other side of me. When I say okay, let’s get him up.”
Neither Mike nor his crew looked very happy as they followed Esau’s instructions, as he gave the creature antibiotic and pain medication before rubbing antibiotic cream on his wounds. Satisfied, Esau mumbled, “That should keep bacterial infections at bay. Now let’s listen to his heart and lungs.”
After the vet put his stethoscope away, I asked, “How is he?”
“His lungs sound a little ragged, but his heart is sound. Let’s get him up on his feet. He should breathe better then.” Esau administered a stimulant.
