Give First Place to Murder (9 page)

There was a pause, then Irma gave a deep sigh and went on.

"He died in my arms. He waited till I got there, and then he died."

I had no idea what to say, so mumbled the obvious. "I'm so sorry"

"Yeah. Well, it’s been hard. Bud and I never had children, maybe that’s why we were so--close." Her eyes blinked rapidly for a moment. "Bud ran the transport business, and I ran the breeding business. Then we’d sit at dinner and tell each other all about everything. It’s taken a while, but I’m gettin’ there.” She gave a rueful little laugh. “That was one time I could have used Wes's bossiness. Chovalo, bless him, wasn't in much better shape. He did the best he could, but grief is a hard taskmaster. Anyway, after a couple of months Chovalo said we had to get someone, there was too much work for the two of us. So I hired Wes and Linda."

"How did you find them?"

"They found me. Wes appeared one day and said he heard I was looking for someone experienced to run the hauling business. He had some good references from people I know back east, and Bud had been talking about getting some help before he died. So we could have more free time, he said. We'd earned it. He'd even bought the mobile home Wes and Linda live in. So I hired them. I think they've retired me. I don’t even do the little I did for Bud. One good thing, it gives me more time with the horses."

Now I really didn't know what to say, but picked up on the key word. Horses.

"Tell me about Last Challenge."

A smile broke through on her tired face.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. My knowledge of horses starts at zero."

"Well..." Irma's smile faded to a thoughtful look. We were at the top of the grade now and she shifted gears before she went on. "Bud and I bred him. We knew from the beginning he was the best thing we'd ever had. His mamma is a great mare, had some darn good babies for us, but Bud always felt she could do a little better. We really scratched to pay the stud fee, but the minute he was on the ground we knew he was good."

"Everyone keeps talking about choosing a stallion, stud fees, breeding. Doesn't sound like anyone ever consults the mares."

Irma gave a surprised laugh. "Guess women’s lib hasn't gotten that far, but they don't get much choice in the wild either. Mares run in herds. They breed with whatever stallion can fight off all the others. Not too much different now except the stallions battle it out in the show ring."

"Neil started talking about that last night, but I still don't understand."

"Not too hard. If a horse wins a lot, people notice. People who own mares. If the horse wins big, like regional shows and especially at the national level, people will send him mares from all over the country. Or we can transport the semen. It's big business and you can make good money, but the cost of getting to that level is pretty heavy. You need to advertise, go to lots of shows, and have the best handler you can find. Or afford."

Which brought us to Bryce, but before I could ask her about him, Irma switched subjects.

"Neil Bennington. He's a nice boy, comes from a good family. He'll be just right for a smart girl like Susannah. They'd have good looking kids too."

What? What was she talking about? "They're friends,” I protested, “just friends." All this talk of breeding was getting out of hand.

"Can't stop nature, Ellen. They're at the age."

That's what she thought. Susannah and I were going to have a talk, tonight I vowed, as we bumped through Irma's gate.

"Looks like Wes figured it out."

A large silver transport van was parked in front of Irma's barn, facing us. Red letters spelled out, "There's a LONG Way to Go," brilliantly against the silver metal. The side door was open and a ramp stretched to the ground. The van appeared empty, but the barn wasn't. Loud voices came from it, or rather one loud one. Another, softer, belonged to Susannah and that sent me hurrying through the barn door, Irma on my heels.

All the noise came from a room directly inside the barn on the right, where saddles sat on racks, halters, bridles and other strange equipment hung from pegs. Shelves held neatly folded blankets, bins and pails were full of brushes, combs, jars, and cans of stuff. I had just time to notice how orderly and clean it all was before my attention was consumed by an ongoing soap opera. Bryce stood in the middle of the room, facing Chovalo over an open red and white trunk, the same kind that had propped up Rusty. An angry flush stained Bryce’s normally tanned face. He was yelling, screaming actually, as we came in.

"Never again. Do you hear me? Never again."

"Never again what?" asked Irma.

Bryce whirled around at the sound of her voice, his face turned an even deeper red. Chovalo looked steadily at Irma, his expression unreadable, hidden under hat and mustache. Maybe Irma saw something I couldn’t, because she stared back at him. It was a long minute before she went on. "What's going on here?"

Stephanie stood beside Bryce, Susannah behind Chovalo. Susannah looked relieved to see us. She was the one who answered. "Bryce accused Chovalo of going through his things."

"He is. Was. I caught him."

"That's right," Stephanie contributed. "We both saw him. He quit when we came in."

Ignoring her, Bryce angrily pointed down at the open trunk. The top tray was on the floor, filled with brushes and bottles. The trunk seemed to be filled with a variety of things, the most obvious several beautiful fine leather halters decorated with silver. Clean white towels were neatly stacked on the floor. One lone empty beer can lay on its side beside the tray. I wondered how it had gotten there.

Susannah didn’t bother to hide the exasperation in her voice. ”It’s a tack trunk, Bryce.” She ran her fingers through her hair in a gesture I knew only too well. "The farm's tack trunk. Irma's tack trunk. Irma's tack. Chovalo was unpacking it, which I for one appreciate. It's your job, but I usually get stuck doing it."

"He was snooping. Looking for stuff." Bryce ignored Susannah's little jab, his jaw set as he turned all his attention to Irma.

"Looking for what. This?" Susannah kicked the beer can. It clattered across the concrete floor and came to rest in a corner under a saddle rack.

"I rent this part of the barn." Bryce evidently had no intention of quitting.. "He's got no right to be in here. He hates me. He'd do anything to make me look bad."

"Why, Bryce?” Susannah’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Is there something in there we’re not supposed to see?"

"Of course not.” Bryce whirled to glare at her, then immediately tried to change his expression to project injured dignity. It didn’t go over very well. “Go ahead and look if you want. But he was going to do something." He transferred his glare to Chovalo, hanging on to his grievance like a Jack Russell terrier hangs onto the end of a sock.

"He's always picking on Bryce." Stephanie's voice was filled with hostility. "You all pick on him. You don't give him credit."

Susannah snorted.

"I do not need your opinion, Stephanie. Chovalo is the farm manager here, not Bryce," Irma said through tight lips, "and he goes anywhere and does anything he wants on this ranch, with my blessing.” She turned to Bryce, her face tight. “With everything Chovalo’s got to do, you should thank him for helping."

Bryce opened his mouth and Irma threw up her hand. "I'm in no mood for one of your tantrums.”

She sagged a little and lifted one wrinkled hand to a face suspiciously gray. Susannah produced a stool from somewhere. Chovalo took Irma gently by the arm and eased her down on it. Straightening, he turned slowly to face Bryce.

"The son of my cousin will begin work for you tomorrow, as agreed. His English is good, so you will not need me here. However, I will take care of the colt. You will not touch him unless I am there." The expression on his face didn’t change, his tone said plenty.

Bryce started to protest, but Chovalo went on in that same low dangerous voice.

"You push hard, Bryce. Be careful. Someday you will push someone too far."

"There you are." The voice coming out of the shadows of the barn aisle made us all jump. "What are you all doing here? Irma, the clinic called."

Wes walked in the room holding a cellular phone like a trophy, followed closely by Linda. He stopped abruptly, looked first at Bryce, then at Chovalo before he turned back toward Irma. Linda, who had almost run into him, glanced quickly around the room, then curiously at the open trunk before she too turned toward Irma.

"Oh," was all Irma said as she reached out for the phone, but quickly drew her hand back.

It was Chovalo who asked the important question. "The news. Good or bad?"

"So far, so good." Wes chuckled. "She made it through the surgery just fine and is in recovery. Doc says if she does OK the next 24 hours she'll probably make it, and so will the foal."

You’d never know this was the same man whose only concern a few hours earlier had been for his trailer.

"Dear God, thank you." Irma looked a little less gray. "I'd been trying to resign myself to losing her, but it wasn't working any too well. Now--well, we'll wait and see."

Chovalo hadn't moved from beside Irma. He lightly patted her arm.

"Good. She is muy espesial, that one. Now, Senora Irma, go home. There is nothing more you can do here. There is nothing more any of us can do here. I will finish outside and will see you tomorrow."

He took one more hard look at Bryce, who studied the far wall, glanced briefly at Stephanie, who looked mulish, then turned back to Irma. “You are going up?”

"Yes," she said, "Home sounds about right. A snifter of brandy, a hot tub and maybe I'll start to feel human again."

Chovalo smiled at her. A full on smile, the first I’d ever seen him give anybody. He smiled only a shade less broadly at Susannah. He nodded gravely to me, not quite so amicably to Wes and Linda, ignored Bryce and Stephanie, and left.

That seemed to bring Bryce back to life. He moved in on Irma, neatly cutting off Wes who had taken a step forward.

"Let us drive you up. We're leaving anyway, and I'm sure Susannah won't mind putting the rest of this stuff away."

Susannah started to open her mouth, but I got there first.

"Susannah’s not doing one more thing. She’s as tired as anyone else and I think I heard her say that all this," I waved at the tack trunk and tray, “is your responsibility, Bryce."

"Mom." Susannah divided her angry look between Bryce and me. This time Irma stopped her.

"If Bryce wants to stay, that's fine" Irma struggled to her feet, waited a second to make sure she was firmly on her legs, then faced Bryce. "Ellen's right. Susannah is going home. As far as I'm concerned that stuff can just stay where it is until tomorrow." She paused. "The horses. They’ve all been taken care of?"

Bryce looked blank, but Susannah answered promptly.

"Of course. Fed, bedded and blanketed."

"I knew I could count on you. Bryce, go on. And take Stephanie with you. I'm going to ride up the hill with Wes and Linda. We've got some talking to do."

Wes looked a little taken back, but not nearly as much as Bryce.

"I didn't mean...ah, Susannah, I'm sorry." It wasn't hard to see how Bryce charmed his way through life. Not only was he beautiful when he turned on that smile, but he looked amazingly sincere. "You always do so much and do it so well, I didn't mean for you to do my job, or Rusty's either. If he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed, making us all suffer like this..."

"Rusty did a little suffering of his own," Susannah told him disgustedly, "and furthermore..."

"Go home, Bryce," Irma interrupted tiredly.

He looked at each of us in turn, even me, then with an injured air said, "All right. I have to meet clients for dinner anyway. Important ones. People who might have mares to breed to Challenge."

He paused for a moment, waiting for praise I supposed. He got some.

"Good." Irma nodded. "I know you'll make sure they’re quality mares. Let me know tomorrow how it goes."

Apparently mollified, Bryce left, with a scowling Stephanie on his heels. No one said anything until we heard the roar of his sport car engine. Then Wes broke the silence.

"Arrogant little son of a bitch. And that pet amazon of his is just as bad. Come on, Irma. I'll trade you an apology for a glass of that brandy." A little awkwardly, he reached out to help her.

"I'll take you up on that apology, and the ride up the hill.” Irma said. “I'll even throw in the brandy. But the bath I'm taking by myself. Ellen, take your child home."

She started for the door followed by Wes, who’d chuckled at Irma's tired joke. Linda hung back for a second.

"Irma, you sure you don't want me to stay and put this stuff away? I'd be happy to, only take me a minute."

"Well, that's real nice of you, Linda." Irma paused. She looked at Linda with obvious surprise. "No, don't bother. The stuff’s not going anywhere." A small smile appeared for the first time in awhile. "Besides, since Bryce is so hung up on no one touching ‘his’ equipment, we'll let it wait for him."

She walked out the door, Wes trailing her. Linda paused again, gave the trunk an uncertain look, gave Susannah and me a backward glance, shrugged, and followed.