Free Death By Bridle by Abigail Keam Page B

softball team or any other team of that era? . . . You do? That’s great. Will you be there at work an hour from now? . . . Good. Will you put together all the softball pictures you have? Thanks. See you in a few.”
    Going into the kitchen, I spied a note from the Todd family saying they had gone to see a movie. I left a note telling them to make sure all the windows and doors were still locked when they got home. Following my own advice, I checked them while waiting for Franklin. It wasn’t long before I heard his car’s motor. I ran outside to meet him.
    “Just drive,” I ordered, getting in.
    “Where to?”
    “Frankfort – to the bee store.”
    “Why?”
    “I think Larry Bingham knew O’nan years ago and got him to request the Pidgeon case.”
    “Why would he care?”
    “Because he was having an affair with Tellie Pidgeon and they planned Richard’s death for the insurance money.”
    Franklin lost control of the car and almost swerved off the road into a slave wall. “Are you out of your mind?” he yelled at me once he got the car under control.
    I quickly told him about Larry lying to me about a note he gave Tellie at Richard’s funeral and that I found postcards from her on his desk.
    “You’re reaching,” cautioned Franklin. “No hard proof.”
    “I can have the handwriting analyzed. I know it will match.”
    “So Tellie writes to him. She might write to a dozen people in Lexington that you know nothing about. She’s never been charged with anything.”
    “Then why all the subterfuge?”
    “Because of Daffy Taffy, her daughter?”
    “I talked the DA into dropping those charges. See, it all adds up – the private post office box, the lies about the check. He was passing something to Tellie at the funeral and lied about it. I bet it was a note to leave town. He knew I was getting close to finding out that she killed Richard.”
    “People lie all the time. I lie. You lie.”
    “Goetz told me that O’nan requested the Pidgeon case.”
    “So what?”
    “Come on, Franklin. Use a little imagination.”
    “He heard the body was on your farm and used it as an excuse to give you grief.”
    “Maybe he was given a little nudge to take the case. I just can’t believe that after all those years, O’nan still hated my guts for getting him kicked off the UK baseball team.”
    “I would hate you still.”
    “I don’t care what you say. The answer is in Frankfort. I’ll find the connection there.”
    “Whatever you say,” he grumbled, shifting gears.
    “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
    “Aristotle?”
    “Sherlock Holmes.”

15
    Clay stood outside waiting for us with his jacket collar pulled up around his neck, as it had started misting. We hurried inside. Even though the day was warm, the rain caused me to shiver a little.
    Or was it the rain?
    He guided me over to a large table, which was covered in photographs and handed me a magnifying glass. “I went home to get the rest of them,” Clay stated.
    “Thanks, Clay. I appreciate it.”
    When I wasn’t more forthcoming, Clay reluctantly declared, “I’ll be in my office catching up on my paperwork. Call me when you’re finished.” Clay gave a questioning look at Franklin.
    The gaze may have been due to the fact that Franklin was wearing orange shorts with a dress shirt and purple bow tie. To top off the outfit, his feet were encased in hi-top Converse tennis shoes with small plastic GI Joes tied in the shoestrings.
    I just didn’t ask anymore about Franklin’s outfits.
    “I’m her Watson,” quipped Franklin, catching Clay’s eyes.
    “Huh?”
    “I’m her Watson.”
    “Whatever you say, friend.”
    I sat down and started systematically going through each picture, each face.
    “What exactly are we looking for?” asked Franklin.
    “Try to find a picture with O’nan in it.”
    “What?”
    “Just imagine him ten or fifteen years younger.”
    “This is a