Tags:
thriller,
Suspense,
Romance,
Mystery,
amateur sleuth,
Horses,
dressage,
show jumping,
equestrian,
maryland,
horse mystery,
horse mysteries,
steve cline,
kit ehrman
*
Five days after the horse theft, I went back
to work.
I nosed the pickup down the long gravel lane,
swung the truck around into my spot, and switched off the engine.
It was a quarter of seven, and as usual, I was the first one there.
Except for a row of trailers parked along the fence bordering the
southwest field, the lot was deserted. I listened to the pings and
clicks as the engine cooled and tried to ignore the tension that
had crept into my shoulders and settled at the base of my
skull.
I climbed out of the truck and slammed the
door. As I walked down the lane past the entry door by the pay
phone, for a brief second, it was the middle of the night, and I
was back inside and scared half to death. Scared half to death and
hurting. Hell, I was hurting.
I shook my head and tried to lose the
sensation as I unlocked the office door with the new set of keys
Dave had dropped off at the loft the day before. I scooped up the
scraps of paper in my bin and flipped through them--a list of
horses to be medicated, a reminder to leave Mary Anne's gelding in
so he'd be ready for an early morning lesson, a note from Mrs. Hill
that Lori's mare had thrown her bar shoe again. She'd scrawled that
one in red ink and had underlined "again" three times. I added the
mare's name to Nick's list, jammed the slips of paper into my coat
pocket, and walked down to barn B.
Overnight, it had warmed up to a balmy thirty
degrees, and the barn was fragrant with the long familiar smells of
horse, hay, and sawdust. Listening to the usual chorus of nickers
and whinnies, I loaded medications and supplements into the feed
cart and was halfway down the aisle, when I felt as if someone had
kicked me in the gut. Fourth down the med list was a name I
wouldn't need to worry about. "Gold Coast--vit. supp.," it read.
Poor Shrimpy. He wasn't going to need a vitamin supplement anymore.
Neither were six other horses.
I rubbed my face. I hadn't thought it would
affect me like this. Hadn't prepared myself for any of it. I
glanced at my watch when I heard a thump in the barn aisle across
the way.
"Yo, Steve. That you?" Marty's voice.
"Yeah."
He cut through the small arena and strolled
down the aisle toward me. "There's the man hisself. Our hero.
Defender of horses everywhere."
"Give me a break."
He came closer and inspected my face.
"Pretty."
I ignored him.
"You got a nice rainbow going--black, purple,
green, yellow--kinda clashes with your blond hair, though."
I shoved the scoop into the grain, then
emptied some of the pellets back into the cart until I could see
the three-quart line. "How'd it go while I was out?"
"The usual circus. You shoulda been here
Monday. Mrs. Gardner came back from some cruise Sunday night and
found out about her horse secondhand," Marty said through a yawn.
"She had a fit, and Sanders made a scene, like he actually gives a
shit about his horse."
"We know better, don't we?" I said. "He
doesn't get a horse, and fast, he won't be able to show off for his
girlfriends."
"Man, oh man." Marty slapped his thigh.
"That's right. You missed it. The Monday you were off, before the
horses got pinched, Sanders brought this blonde to the barn. I
swear, the girl had secretary printed on her forehead."
"Administrative Assistant."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"She was really hot, man. If her skirt'd been
any shorter, I'd've been checkin' out her underwear, assumin' she
was wearing any."
I snorted. "What in the hell do they see in
him?"
"His money, what else? The guy's got no
redeeming qualities. Anyway, I happened to be hayin' down at the
far end of the aisle when she--"
"Happened to be? Yeah, right. You were
scopin' her out, man."
"Hey. I had to hay down there eventually,
didn't I? Anyway, they're lookin' in at that stud of Whitey's, and
he's hangin' like he always does. Well, she just about pees her
pants when she sees how big his dick is."
I chuckled.
"And get this," Marty said. "Sanders has the
nerve to compare hisself. Like he's even