A Moment in Time (22 page)

She looked down and noticed the horse's
forelegs. "Ahhhh . . . no," she whispered to herself. She bent down
on a knee for a closer look, then scooted around to examine all of
the horse's legs. They were enormously swollen, and because they
were white, she could clearly see hemorrhaging through the skin, up
and down the length of the legs. Touching them delicately, she
could feel the same secretion here as on the neck. She wiped her
hand on her lab coat again and stood back up, a puzzled look on her
face.

She reached out and stroked the horse's body
in various places. The secretion was everywhere, oozing from its
pores. She stood back, her eyes still searching its body for clues.
What is going on?

Only then did she become aware of Conrad,
leaning against the wall in a darkened corner of the stall, his
arms crossed and his head down. He was in riding gear, even with
his helmet still on, she noticed, its visor casting his face in
darkness. All she could make out distinctly were his riding boots,
the light reflecting off of their highly polished leather. She was
startled, so intent had she been on examining the horse that she'd
forgotten all about him. Now, his silence in the darkened corner
perplexed her even further.

"I didn't see you," she said.

"I've just been watching," he said quietly.
And he had been, appreciating her sensitivity to the animal and its
condition. Marveling at her composure in the light of the horror
story that the horse presented. Perhaps it was to be expected, he
thought. She was a professional, after all, accustomed to the blood
and guts that her work sometimes entailed.

"Well, we've got a real problem here," she
said.

"I know we do," he replied. "I was going out
for a ride and heard Layla here making some strange whinnying
noises. The blood in her nose, I guess. So I called your
office."

"You found her like this?" Valerie asked,
discomfited that she could see him only in shadow.

"Exactly like this, Doc," he replied.

"Okay," she said, thinking, still puzzled by
the horse's condition. "What do you know about this horse's
history?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Santo bought her for
himself about a week ago from some people at a farm near
Saratoga."

"Do you have her medical records?" Valerie
asked.

"Uh . . . jeez," he said. "I really don't
know. I'm sure Santo must've gotten them, but I don't really know
anything about it."

"Is he here?" she asked.

"No," Conrad said somewhat testily, "and I
haven't been able to get him on his cell phone. I don't know where
the hell he is or why he isn't picking up."

"I really need to see this horse's records,"
she said, "or at least get some idea of its history. I know you
keep copies of medical records here," she went on, "because Santo
told me you did since he does some of the vaccinating himself.
Where would the medical records be?"

"In the office," he replied.

"Could you please show me?" she asked.

"Well, I ... I could tell you where they
might be," he said hesitantly.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Conrad," she said angrily,
irritated by his manner. "Layla is a very sick horse, and if you
give a damn about your animals, you'll get those medical records
for me. Or take me in there, and I'll help look for them. The
answer to her problem may be in those records, and I've got to find
out what's going on with her before it's too late."

Wyn glowered at the stall's straw-covered
floor. He hadn't given the horse's medical records any thought
because he'd been in such a panic trying to get Santo or the
Reinhardts on the telephone. When he couldn't get anybody, he'd
finally decided he'd have to handle the problem himself. He
couldn't under any circumstances let the horse suffer. But
now—this. What the hell was he going to do?

"Come on, Mr. Conrad!" Valerie cajoled. "The
sooner we get those records, the closer I'll be to solving Layla's
problems. You don't want her to die, do you?"

"No!" he said emphatically. "Aw, shit! Let's
go get the records."

What is his problem?
Valerie asked
herself.
You'd think I was asking him to give me all his
gold.
She stepped back out of the stall and turned toward the
office, waiting for him to join her.

Wyn shoved himself out of the darkened
corner, stalked around Layla and out the open stall doorway, then
rushed past her in a blur. "Follow me," he said without further
preamble.

Valerie was taken aback by his abrupt
behavior, but she followed along behind him, wondering what on
earth could make a man so disagreeable and rude.

When she reached the tack room, he had
already passed through it, presumably, and had switched off the
lights on his way.
What a creep
, she thought.
Is he one
of those filthy-rich misers who resents every kilowatt of
electricity burned?

She entered the office and saw that he'd
turned off most of the lights in here, too, leaving only a small
banker's lamp lit on the desk. His back was turned to her, and he
was bent over a file cabinet searching through folders, virtually
in the dark.
Well
, she thought,
he can search in the dark
if he wants to, but not me.
She reached over and flipped on the
wall switch, flooding the room in light from the ceiling
fixtures.

Conrad jerked up and turned around. Valerie
started to tell him that she needed the light, even if he didn't.
Then she glanced over at him and instantly started to scream.

BOOK TWO

Chapter Fourteen

In the split second before he did an
about-face, hiding his head away from the harsh overhead lights,
she understood everything. His aversion to the outside world, his
desire for complete privacy, and his unwillingness to interact with
a stranger.
No wonder he has Ducci act as his go-between
,
she thought.

Her initial horror dissipated, and she felt
sorry for him. She wanted to reach out and enfold him in her arms
and tell him that it was okay. But she couldn't do that, of course,
for she would only antagonize him. Some instinct told her that he
was not a man who wanted to be pitied, that he was in fact a man
who despised pity.

Her mind reeled with what she should say now
that she had learned his secret, and the only conclusion she could
come to was to behave as naturally as possible. She swallowed hard,
took a deep breath, and spoke. "Do you want to search for the file
alone?" she asked, giving him an opportunity to be by himself, away
from her outsider's eyes.

"No," he said after a moment's hesitation.
"It's . . . okay, Doc. You've got a job to do. I guess you need the
operating room lights."

She heard a note of irony in his voice.
Apparently he had a sense of humor, even if macabre, about his
situation.

"All right," she said, "you want to show me
where to look?"

"Sure, Doc," he said. "Why not?" He slid a
filing cabinet drawer open, then gestured toward it. "Ought to be
in there," he said. "Help yourself. I'll be right here if you've
got any questions." He sat down in a chair over in a corner, his
head turned slightly sideways.

Valerie quickly thumbed through the files to
get an idea of how they were arranged. It was the simplest system
possible, using each animal's name for a file folder, arranged in
alphabetical order. It looked like the four dogs, the cat, and a
number of horses were there, no more than twenty-five or thirty
files. She searched for Layla's file, and found it exactly where it
should be. She pulled the file out and began looking it over in
silence.

She saw that Santo Ducci had bought the horse
only a week previously from a couple named Hurley. It listed their
address and telephone number. Then she saw that Santo had
vaccinated the horse himself only yesterday. It was the usual
vaccination against multiple horse diseases, except rabies. Nothing
unusual there at all. An owner was permitted to vaccinate against
everything except rabies. She stood puzzling over the record,
forgetting about Conrad, who remained silent.

There was nothing in the record that could
explain the horse's condition. Then suddenly it occurred to her
that the problem might lie in that fact itself: there was nothing
indicating any past vaccinations or diseases or conditions.

Valerie put the file down. "I've got to call
the previous owners," she said, thinking out loud.

"What seems to be the problem?" Wyn
asked.

Valerie turned and looked at him, still
preoccupied with thoughts of the horse. Her initial fright at his
appearance had become almost like a distant memory as she'd become
caught up in the mysterious nature of the horse's plight.

"I don't know," she said frankly, "but
there's no history in her file. So what I need to do is get in
touch with the previous owners. They may have the key to her
problem."

"How so?" he asked, intrigued.

"I'm not sure," she replied, shrugging her
shoulders, "but the file contains absolutely nothing to go on
except for the vaccinations."

"It's strange," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"That Santo would've bought a horse like
that," he replied. "I mean, without a lineage, let alone without
any records at all."

"I guess it is," she agreed, "especially when
you consider the other horses. They all have impeccable
bloodlines." She picked up the file and flipped it open. "It's
getting late, but I'm going to try to call these people, the
Hurleys, anyway. If I wake them up, so be it. I need to find out
everything I can about this horse."

She looked down at the telephone and saw that
there were several lines, then glanced over at him. "Do I have to
dial anything special on this telephone or just punch in the
number?" she asked.

He came over toward the desk and peered down
at the telephone. "Just dial the number," he said. "A button is
already pushed for an outside line."

She looked at the file again, then keyed in
the telephone number, all the while aware of the fact that Conrad
was gradually becoming more comfortable in her presence.
Maybe
he realizes that I don't think he's some kind of a monster,
she
thought,
even if the initial shock was disconcerting.

The telephone rang several times but was
finally picked up. "Hello?" It was a woman's voice, sleepy and
annoyed.

"Is this Mrs. Hurley?" Valerie asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Who's this?"

"This is Dr. Valerie Rochelle," she answered,
"and I'm over at Stonelair examining a horse, Layla, that Mr. Santo
Ducci purchased from you last week."

"What's wrong with it?" the woman asked.
"There wasn't anything the matter with her when he bought her. I
wouldn't sell a man a sick horse."

"No, of course not," Valerie said. "I didn't
mean that. Anyway, I'm not really certain what's wrong with her,
and that's why I'm calling you." She was making an effort to choose
her words carefully. She might alarm the woman, especially if the
horse hadn't been properly cared for, and then she would not find
out anything.

"Mr. Ducci failed to get any medical records
for the horse at all," she went on, trying to shift the onus to

Santo, "and I thought you might be able to
fill me in on her history."

"I'll tell you whatever I can," Mrs. Hurley
said. There was the sound of relief in her voice now that she
realized she wasn't being accused of anything.

"Has Layla ever had any diseases or
conditions that I should know about?" Valerie asked.

"Well ..." The woman seemed to be thinking.
"I can't think of—oh, wait a minute. I do remember something now.
She got colicky on us once, but it wasn't anything serious. That
was sometime back. I don't remember exactly when."

"Can you think of anything else?" Valerie
persisted. "It's really important. She's got a badly swollen neck
and her legs are, too, and—"

"A swollen neck?" the woman broke in.

"Yes," Valerie said. "Why?"

"I just remembered," the woman said. "She was
the one that had strangle. Her neck was all swollen up then. She
had abscesses in her throat."

"You're certain about that?" Valerie asked
excitedly.

"Sure," the woman said. "Had to call the
vet."

"Who saw her?" Valerie asked. "Which
vet?"

"Old Dr. Kramer," Mrs. Hurley said. "It was
right before he retired."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hurley," Valerie said. "I'll
try to get hold of him. You've been a great help."

"I hope so," the woman said. "She was healthy
as could be when that man bought her."

"I know," Valerie said, "and we want to get
her back in good health. Thanks again. I'd better hurry and get
hold of Dr. Kramer. Good night."

" 'Night," Mrs. Hurley said.

Valerie replaced the receiver in its cradle.
Conrad was looking at her expectantly. He'd been listening to her
every word, guessing at the other end of the conversation, but had
remained silent, letting her handle the situation.

"From the sound of things, you're on to
some¬thing," he said. "What'd she have to say?"

"I've got to call Dr. Kramer before I'm
sure," Valerie said, "but I think I may know what's going on. Mrs.
Hurley says that Layla had strangle sometime before Dr. Kramer
retired. If that's the case, then we've got our culprit."

Wyn nodded knowingly. "Because if the horse
has had strangle and Santo vaccinated it against strangle disease
..."

"Then the vaccination is what's caused the
problem," Valerie finished for him. "The strangle vaccine would set
off a chain reaction in the horse's system, causing the swelling
and hemorrhaging."