winners of the breeding classes have to go back in for a final judging,” she began. “That's when they choose a Show Champion Stallion and Mare. You need to win a local Championship to qualify to show at a Regional or National level."
"Besides," Neil wiped some foam off his face with the back of his hand, ignoring his mother's offered napkin, "winning is what gets a stallion mares."
"What?" Pat and I both stared at him, but this time I was the one who voiced the question.
"The way you make money with a stallion is to have people who own mares breed them to him. For a fee."
Neil, a scant twenty-one, was enjoying his role as adult as well as instructor. He kept giving Susannah little glances and was rewarded with a beatific smile. He took another gulp of his beer and went on. "The more a horse wins in the show ring, the more mares he is likely to be bred to. If his foals ---"
"Those are baby horses," Susannah put in kindly.
"Thank you, dear." I gave her “the look.”
Neil dismissed our interruption with a wave of his cup.
"If his foals also start to win, then his breeding fee can go up. But it starts with the stallion winning at small shows held at fairs in small towns, just like this one."
"Why didn't you tell me about all this horse breeding stuff?" Pat turned to her husband indignantly.
"I'm a small animal vet," Carl reminded her complacently. "The day I graduated from vet school I vowed never to work on anything larger than a Great Dane. A vow I've kept. Good beer."
"Oh, you." Pat turned with exasperation back to her son just as I commented, "So the whole thing boils down to money."
"Most things do," said a voice in my ear. "Move over. Hello, Carl. Neil." Dan Dunham slipped onto the bench beside me, picked up the last paper cup and reached for the pitcher. “Did you save some for me? Where are we eating?"
"Aren't you even going to say hello to the rest of us?" Susannah asked him, falling into the trap.
"I haven't decided yet." He carefully tilted his cup while he filled it, looking sideways at Carl and Neil. "Did they tell you about this morning?"
"Some," Carl replied, with a straight face. "Probably not all."
"But they told you about finding that kid murdered."
"In detail. Not a pleasant experience for a couple of innocent citizens."
"No," Dan agreed. "Not pleasant for anybody. But when innocent citizens stumble across something like that they have an obligation to cooperate with the police. Don't you agree?"
"That seems reasonable." Carl nodded, avoiding Pat's gaze.
"Because the police have a procedure that needs to be followed. Evidence, crime scenes, questions that need answering. Anyone who has watched TV in the last twenty years knows that."
Carl wisely buried his smile in his cup.
"Did they tell you they escaped?"
"I don't think I heard that part."
"We didn't escape," Susannah put in eagerly. "We had to get the colt into the Championship. We came right back."
"You couldn't expect them to miss that," Neil contributed seriously.
Dan looked at him, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and buried his own face. He came up with foam on his mustache.
"My entire crime scene could have been jeopardized." He continued when he got his breath, still addressing only Carl. "All my witnesses disappeared, my..."
"We really did come back." Susannah also addressed Carl, and included Neil.
"You're foaming." I handed Dan a napkin. "How long are we going to do this?"
"I thought maybe through dinner, maybe even until the Oak Ridge Boys come on."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Aunt Mary’s been raving about the flower show this year, and I understand the 4H beginning cooking exhibit is a ‘must see’. Then there’s always the home canning.
"OK," he conceded with a laugh. He put his arm around me and gave me the kiss I’d been expecting all day. "But you're still not completely forgiven, any of you."
"You sure were mad," Susannah told him, looking relieved. She turned to Neil. "You
"Besides," Neil wiped some foam off his face with the back of his hand, ignoring his mother's offered napkin, "winning is what gets a stallion mares."
"What?" Pat and I both stared at him, but this time I was the one who voiced the question.
"The way you make money with a stallion is to have people who own mares breed them to him. For a fee."
Neil, a scant twenty-one, was enjoying his role as adult as well as instructor. He kept giving Susannah little glances and was rewarded with a beatific smile. He took another gulp of his beer and went on. "The more a horse wins in the show ring, the more mares he is likely to be bred to. If his foals ---"
"Those are baby horses," Susannah put in kindly.
"Thank you, dear." I gave her “the look.”
Neil dismissed our interruption with a wave of his cup.
"If his foals also start to win, then his breeding fee can go up. But it starts with the stallion winning at small shows held at fairs in small towns, just like this one."
"Why didn't you tell me about all this horse breeding stuff?" Pat turned to her husband indignantly.
"I'm a small animal vet," Carl reminded her complacently. "The day I graduated from vet school I vowed never to work on anything larger than a Great Dane. A vow I've kept. Good beer."
"Oh, you." Pat turned with exasperation back to her son just as I commented, "So the whole thing boils down to money."
"Most things do," said a voice in my ear. "Move over. Hello, Carl. Neil." Dan Dunham slipped onto the bench beside me, picked up the last paper cup and reached for the pitcher. “Did you save some for me? Where are we eating?"
"Aren't you even going to say hello to the rest of us?" Susannah asked him, falling into the trap.
"I haven't decided yet." He carefully tilted his cup while he filled it, looking sideways at Carl and Neil. "Did they tell you about this morning?"
"Some," Carl replied, with a straight face. "Probably not all."
"But they told you about finding that kid murdered."
"In detail. Not a pleasant experience for a couple of innocent citizens."
"No," Dan agreed. "Not pleasant for anybody. But when innocent citizens stumble across something like that they have an obligation to cooperate with the police. Don't you agree?"
"That seems reasonable." Carl nodded, avoiding Pat's gaze.
"Because the police have a procedure that needs to be followed. Evidence, crime scenes, questions that need answering. Anyone who has watched TV in the last twenty years knows that."
Carl wisely buried his smile in his cup.
"Did they tell you they escaped?"
"I don't think I heard that part."
"We didn't escape," Susannah put in eagerly. "We had to get the colt into the Championship. We came right back."
"You couldn't expect them to miss that," Neil contributed seriously.
Dan looked at him, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and buried his own face. He came up with foam on his mustache.
"My entire crime scene could have been jeopardized." He continued when he got his breath, still addressing only Carl. "All my witnesses disappeared, my..."
"We really did come back." Susannah also addressed Carl, and included Neil.
"You're foaming." I handed Dan a napkin. "How long are we going to do this?"
"I thought maybe through dinner, maybe even until the Oak Ridge Boys come on."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Aunt Mary’s been raving about the flower show this year, and I understand the 4H beginning cooking exhibit is a ‘must see’. Then there’s always the home canning.
"OK," he conceded with a laugh. He put his arm around me and gave me the kiss I’d been expecting all day. "But you're still not completely forgiven, any of you."
"You sure were mad," Susannah told him, looking relieved. She turned to Neil. "You
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