The Flying Red Horse

Frances Crane

• Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN: 9781504075381
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Letteratura poliziesca e gialli

The Abbotts travel to Texas and their dachshund finds a dead body in a mystery starring "one of the more interesting married teams of detectives" ( Thrilling Detective).
 
When Jean Abbott arrives in Dallas to join her private investigator husband, Pat, she's disappointed to discover that their dog, Pancho, is not welcome at the hotel. She finds a temporary place for him with the daughter of Pat's wealthy client, oilman Iles Dollahan. Then little Pancho comes across a corpse on the secretive family's property—and the Dollahans put the pressure on to presume the death an accident so that it will be swiftly forgotten. With no obvious suspects to suggest murder, that could be a possibility—until Pat finds a will that changes everything . . .
 
Praise for the Pat and Jean Abbott Mysteries
"Lively and exciting." — The New York Times
 
"Well-plotted and mystifying." — Saturday Review
 
"Quite good." — The Miami News

Chapter 1

Dusk was closing in as we rolled along Route 77 and, across the green alfalfa fields, saw the lights pricking out in the piled up skyscrapers of Dallas, Texas. Light fountained above one and on top of another was a great flying red horse, which turned slowly like a weathervane in a soft but steady wind. Definitely the scene: was strictly modern, but for the moment it seemed as improbable as a picture in a fairy tale.

“We should be knights in armor, Pancho. Galloping towards that sparkling city across this blue-green plain.”

My companion, a satiny brown dachshund, sniffed rapturously at the alfalfa and wagged his skinny little tail.

My husband, and Pancho’s master, Patrick Abbott, would not be as happy to see Pancho as Pancho would be to see him. But, darling, I would say, he wanted so much to come. After all, six hundred miles is a long way to drive entirely alone. But how many times, dear, Patrick would answer, must I ask you not to bring the dog when we’re stopping at a hotel? Hotels and dogs don’t mix, Patrick would say, and I would say, smiling, “But this is Texas. Everybody in Texas is so broad-minded that of course the hotel will take in our dog.”

And Pancho would listen, his ears up, his big eyes so full of loving kindness that Patrick would break down.

“How a dog his size can be such a regular dog beats me, Jean.”

“It’s the life-sized dachshund character, Pat.”

“Nuts. He’s merely cockeyed. He’s little and he can’t bring himself to admit it.”

“He knows everything, Pat. Strictly everything.”

“Too bad he can’t talk.”

Using the flying red horse as a guide I drove towards the skyscrapers and after a few minutes arrived outside the Hotel Adolphus. Here we were to meet Patrick Abbott.

A doorman opened the car door and took my keys. He made no objection to Pancho. A colored boy sallied forth to collect my bags. He said I sure had a mighty pretty little dog. So far, swell, I thought. I snapped the leash onto Pancho’s collar and we stepped out on the sidewalk.

“Oh, Kim! Look! Isn’t he a dream? He’s the very picture of Sam.”

What a lovely voice, I thought.

“He sure is, Sally,” a boyish voice replied to the lovely girlish voice.

“Oh, Kim! Sam really was murdered. I had a post-mortem.”

“Darling,” Kim said.

This startling piece of conversation demanded attention.

I looked at them and met the starry-eyed glance of a tall, slim girl with a small face, thick brown hair, green eyes, a small straight nose, and a sweet wide mouth. She wore a gray flannel suit and on the crown of her head a small gray felt cloche. With her was a taller boy, also dressed in gray, with broad shoulders, gray eyes, a very dark suntan, and a sunburned crew cut. They were in love and didn’t care who knew it. So I smiled at them. They smiled back.

Then I followed Pancho into the hotel. As usual, he knew exactly what to do.

Patrick was in the lobby. Tall and lean, with long blue eyes, very dark hair, his slender western face extra brown from two weeks of South Texas sunshine, he was standing just beyond the top of the worn marble steps which led up from the main entrance of the hotel. With him was a big broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, gray-haired man and a slim, stylish woman who looked like a chic witch.

Patrick spied me at once and I saw the love light come into his eyes, even though they also spied Pancho. He hurried to meet me and kissed me, hard.

He stooped to pat Pancho, who was about to wag himself into two parts.

“How come the dog, Jeanie?”

“Well, he wanted so to come, and …”

“Nuts,” Patrick said fondly. He kissed me again. “I doubt if the hotel will take him. We’ll find out later. Come along and meet the Dollahans. Iles Dollahan was one of the oil men I met while on this Houston case we’ve just finished. Amanda is his second wife.”

Introductions were made. Iles had a deep voice and warm manner which made you sense his real friendliness. Amanda was gray-haired but a lot younger than her husband. Twenty years, I guessed, or even more. Her bewitching face was heart-shaped. Her eyes were a deep velvety black. Her skin was ivory and her only make-up was her ruby-red lipstick. Her smile was formal but not uncordial. She wore black, carried a big armful of minks, wore some stunning ruby earrings in the pointed lobes of her ears, and clipped at her throat were two ruby-packed replicas of the horse which flies over Dallas.

Probably thinking of her very superior nylons, Amanda moved away slightly when she looked at Pancho.

“Cute little dog,” Iles said. “What’s his name?”

“Pancho,” I said.

“Pancho?” Amanda asked. “What a queer name for a dachshund.”

“Not for him, Mrs. Dollahan. Pancho comes from a fine old Spanish dachshund family.”*

“Spanish? How quaint!”

“The little fellow looks like Sam, Amanda,” Iles Dollahan said.

“I daresay he does. They all look alike, Iles, dear.”

The lady is cultivated as hell, I thought. She chooses every word in advance and spits it out whole.

“Iles?” called a sweet voice. It was the girl in gray. She came flying up the steps; followed by the boy with the sunburned crew cut.

“Honey!” Iles said. He kissed her and nodded at the boy. “Like you to meet my daughter, Sally, Mrs. Abbott.”

“Hello,” we said.

“And Kim Forsythe. Kim’s one of our engineers. He and Pat are acquainted already.”

“What fun!” Sally Dollahan said. “We saw you outside, remember? We were talking about your dog. Isn’t he beautiful, Iles? He looks exactly like Sam.” To me, “Sam was my dachshund.”

Amanda said in her precise, toneless voice, “We hope you will dine with us tonight, Mrs. Abbott.” I glanced at Patrick. His eyes said to accept. I said thank you and Amanda said, “Around eightish, at the Club. I’m sorry we can’t have you at the house. It’s the servants’ night out, you see.”

“We’ve told. Pat how to get to the Club,” Iles said.

I had misgivings now, for I had not come prepared to dine with anybody quite as elegant as Amanda.

“Must we dress, Mrs. Dollahan? If so …”

“Hell, no,” Iles said. “Come the way you are.”

“Formal clothes are not necessary,” Amanda said, in the kind of tone that makes you think like fish they’re not. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do something about your dog, though. This hotel does not allow dogs, and the Club …”

“Oh, damn the Club,” Iles said. “Bring the little fellow right along.”

“Let me keep him,” Sally Dollahan said. She was so earnest about it I felt a little puzzled. “He’ll be all right with me. I’d just love to have him all the time you’re here.”

“Sure she would,” her father said. “Sally is just crazy about dashhounds. Don’t you worry about that little dog, Mrs. Abbott, so long as he’s with Sally.”

I now looked at Pancho, since he was the one to decide this, really. He was sitting upon his small haunches and looking up at Sally and wagging his little front feet. He looked like a brown penguin. That our dog should fall so hard and so serenely for somebody he had only just met gave a kind of pang. But anyhow that settled the problem of Pancho at the moment—and also led to complications that no one could have foreseen.

We had a suite on one of the top floors. Through the slanted louvers I could see that great flying red horse, still high above us.

I took a good look at the horse after Patrick stopped kissing me, and I said, “Did you notice those ruby clips Amanda Dollahan was wearing, Pat? I suppose they were rubies.”

“They are,” Patrick said.

“Oh. You know?”

“I wasn’t told it, but they would be.”

“You mean, they’ve got money?”

“Who hasn’t in Dallas? Gee, you’re sweet, Jeanie. Why talk about money? I wish we didn’t have to go out to dinner. We could call room service, order up dinner with champagne, shut out the world, and …”

“Hey? I’ve been in seclusion while you’ve been away. Up in Northern New Mexico, remember? We’re heading back to New Mexico in a couple of days and you can shut the world out up there.”

Patrick groaned.

“Anyhow we have to go. It’s business, in a way. Iles didn’t tell me exactly what’s on his mind but he said in Houston that he had something he wanted to consult me about. We flew up this afternoon in his private plane. His pilot was with us, and also Kim Forsythe, so Iles didn’t open up about whatever it is he’s worrying about. I’m to see him about that in the morning. What was your impression of the Dollahans, Jean?”

“First, a cigarette.”

“Okay.” Patrick gave me one and took one himself. “Sit on my lap while we smokethese.”

He gave me a light and chose the best chair and cradled me, after long experience, expertly.

“Iles, I go for,” I said. “Also his lovely daughter Sally. Also her boyfriend, Kim. They make a beautiful pair. Amanda … well, I don’t know.”

“She’s very brainy, Iles says.”

“I’m sure of it. Somehow I don’t vibrate to Amanda. Maybe it’s because she seems too perfect.”

“Amanda is one of the Willoz sisters.”

“Who?”

“Dallas girls. I heard about them in Houston, but not from Iles. Like Iles Dollahan, the sisters started from scratch. There are three of them. Amanda is the eldest. Juliana is a year younger than Amanda. Juliana was divorced from Ulysses B. Green, said to be one of the richest men in the oil business. The third is Rosemary, who is much younger than the other two. She married some elderly gent or other when she was sixteen and the marriage was annulled. Juliana calls herself Mrs. Willoz. Rosemary is Miss Willoz. Rosemary lives with the Dollahans.”

“Why all this detail?”

“You’ll meet them at dinner. Thought you might like to get the dope on them first. I have a hunch that what Iles wants to talk to me about is a family affair. I’d like you to keep your eyes open. From what I’ve heard, Amanda Dollahan is the smart one of the three sisters. Juliana doesn’t seem to register specially. Rosemary is said to be pretty as a peach. She’s about Sally’s age, I should guess. Iles struck it very rich about six years ago. Amanda was then his secretary. She is credited with much of his financial success. Iles is a wonderful guy, Jean. No education to speak of, climbed the ladder all by himself.”

“And there sat Amanda. At the top, in her web.”

“Hey?”

I put his hand against my face.

“I’m jealous. I’m jealous of her chic. I’m jealous of her flying ruby horses, specially. They’re the smartest gadgets I’ve seen.”

Patrick said, “Would you like something like them, set with emeralds?”

“Pat!”

“But you don’t need to hanker after anybody’s gadgets, Jean. I love buying emeralds, but every time I’ve wanted to, since we got married …”

“Idiot! Steak is a dollar and a quarter a pound. Mike’s nurse costs a mint. We haven’t ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• 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
• About the Author
• Copyright