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Zusatztext "Delightful .... [A] cleverly constructed mystery chock-full of dysfunctional characters all hiding motives for murder."--Publishers Weekly Informationen zum Autor Cynthia Baxter is a native of Long Island, New York. She is the author of the Reigning Cats & Dogs mystery series, featuring vet-turned-sleuth Jessie Popper, and the Murder Packs a Suitcase mystery series, featuring travel writer Mallory Marlowe. Baxter currently resides on the North Shore, where she is at work on her next mysteries in both series. Klappentext When it comes to sleuthing! she's not horsing around... When full-time vet and part-time sleuth Jessica Popper is asked to treat a billionaire's ailing horse! she gets a deadly glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich and felonious.... Murder gallops after Jessie when an emergency call sends the traveling vet to a posh Long Island estate with her one-eyed Dalmatian! Lou! and her tailless Westie! Max. A prized Arabian steed needs minor medical care-but it's the rider who grabs Jess's attention. The handsome young horseman exudes plenty of animal magnetism as he canters across the field...and then takes an inexplicable! fatal fall. The dead man was one of the finest polo players in the world! but it was no accident that killed him. The culprit was poison. And as Jess soon discovers! a number of people had the means! motive! and opportunity for foul play! from the hostile barn manager to the businessman's disgruntled wife. But Jess will have to temper her feline instinct with good old-fashioned horse sense if she's going to stop a killer from leading a certain sleuth to her death. "Five paws up for Cynthia Baxter's Reigning Cats & Dogs series!”—Carolyn Hart Chapter One "A horse is dangerous at both ends and uncomfortable in the middle."—Ian Fleming My jeans and chukka boots were splattered with mud, my neck and armpits were coated in sticky sweat, I was practically choking from the pungent smell of manure trapped in the warm, humid air . .. It doesn't get any better than this , I thought blissfully, closing my eyes and letting the early September sun bake a few more freckles onto my nose and cheeks. There's nothing like being around horses to make you feel grounded. The ear-piercing sound of Max and Lou yapping their heads off snapped me out of my reverie. I turned to see what had sent my Westie and my Dalmatian, two whirling dervishes that masquerade as pets, into such a tizzy. And then I spotted him. A few hundred yards away, a lone horseman had cantered onto one of the grassy fields that sprawled across Andrew MacKinnon's estate. The steed was a magnificent Arabian, pure white with a massive chest and long, sturdy legs. From where I stood, he looked more like something Walt Disney had conjured up than a real animal. But it was the rider who captivated my attention. He was clearly in control of both his horse and the mallet he gripped in his hand, exhibiting a combination of power and grace that mesmerized me. His shoulders, so broad they stretched the fabric of his loose-fitting dark blue polo shirt, hinted at his incredible strength. I watched, fascinated, as he leaned forward to hit the ball, sending it flying across the field. Even from a distance, I could see he was extraordinarily handsome. His jaw, shadowed with a coarse stubble that gave him a roguish look, was set with determination. His dark eyes blazed as they focused on the ball. Yet a few locks of thick black hair curled beneath his helmet, making him seem charmingly boyish. Though the sight of the accomplished horseman was enthralling, I reminded myself that it wasn't the joy of spectator sports that had brought me to Heatherfield this morning. The night before, I'd received a phone call from Skip Kelly, the manager of Atherton Farm, a horse farm a few miles from my home in Joshua's Ho...
