Golden Filly Collection Two (50 page)
“It takes time and cooperation,” Rhonda answered.
“Good.” After waiting for more answers, Ms. Wainwright finished. “Government is a method of solving problems, hopefully for the good of the greatest number of people.”
“Yeah, and if you’re absent, you don’t have no say.”
Again, the chuckles rippled around the room. “So true. So voting is a must.” She started two sheets of paper down the outside aisles. “Now sign up together when the paper comes to you. Then you have five minutes to talk about your project.” She raised her hand for silence. “Deadline for the topic is Friday.”
“Don’t we get to vote on that?”
She shook her head, laughing along with the rest.
“She’s cool,” Rhonda said as they left the classroom at the bell.
“Yeah, but what are we gonna do?” Doug walked beside Trish.
“Got me. Guess we could attend a trial or something.” The three looked at each other and shrugged.
“How about stringing up a certain pain-in-the-neck lawyer?” Trish tossed her books in her locker. She grinned at the rolled-eye looks from her friends. “Just a thought.”
When she got home from school, there was a message from Curt to call him back.
“Hi, this is Trish Evanston.” She polished the apple she’d retrieved from the refrigerator.
“Guess what? Your suspicions were right on. Smithson, the assistant manager, has put two rather large deposits into his savings account in the last six months. And one in his checking. These are besides his regular paychecks.”
“How’d you…”
“Don’t ask. Let’s just say I owe a computer friend of mine a favor.”
“The deposits could be legal.”
“Sure. But at least if we need them, the police will have some place to start.”
“Whoa, this gets scary.” Trish turned and, leaning her elbows on the counter, stared out the window. “Now what?”
“You suppose you could ask some questions over at the track? Just if anyone’s noticed anything unusual. They’ll talk with you since they all know you. Better not to have a stranger like me butting in.”
“I guess.” Trish munched her apple after she hung up the phone. As he’d said, at least they had a place to start. And all she’d be doing is talking with her friends at the track. Surely her mother couldn’t yell at her for that.
Trish wasn’t exactly thrilled about the topic idea her team turned in on Friday, but they hadn’t thought up anything better. They would contact their local legislator and ask how they could help with her campaign. They’d probably end up stuffing envelopes.
But Saturday morning she headed to Portland Meadows. When her mother had asked why, Trish just said she’d like to see how things were going there.
That wasn’t a lie. That’s what she told her nagger when he started grousing.
Since many of the local trainers used the barns and track on a regular basis (not everyone had their own track like Runnin’ On Farm), Trish felt right at home in the bustle. She answered all the greetings and stopped to visit with some on her way to the Diego stalls.
“Trish.” Bob Diego leaped to his feet when she thumped on the desk where he sat going over training charts. “Good to see you. You bringing your horses in?”
“No, just came to…”
“I know, you need some extra money, so you’ll ride for me in the mornings.”
Trish shook her head and laughed.
“Okay, then how about I buy you a cup of coffee?” Bob closed the book on his desk and slipped it into the drawer. “Or breakfast.” He checked his watch. “Mine’s long overdue.”
They discussed the goings-on at the track on their way to the kitchen, and after getting their food, Trish brought up the council meeting. In an undertone, she told Diego of the money in the assistant manager’s account.
“How’d you find that out?” Diego asked after chewing a mouthful of pancakes.
“Don’t ask, as the man told me.”
The trainer shook his head. “You better stay out of this, young lady, or your mother’ll—”
“I know. I’m being careful. Just told him I’d ask around. See what the scuttlebutt is here.”
After they finished eating, Diego pushed back his chair. “I better get back. Some of us have to work for a living.”
Trish grinned up at him. “You could ride in the Triple Crown too.”
“Cheeky kid.” Diego knuckled her cheek. “You be careful.”
Trish caught the gaze of a couple of jockeys at another table. Beyond them sat a table of owners/breeders. Trish noticed a new man talking with the owners she’d ridden for. Who was he, she wondered.
“Hey, come on over.” Genie Stokes waved. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
Trish visited with them for a while, and soon others came by. But no one had heard anything for sure. Just made jokes about the new Corvette and grumbled about the possibility of the track not opening. Some thought they’d head for California maybe; others mentioned the South. None of them had met the new man.
Trish felt the weight of everybody’s depression by the time she left the track.
Someone
had to do
something
; that was clear.
When she got home, she heard her mother blowing her nose in the kitchen. Marge hastily wiped away telltale tears as Trish walked into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Trish felt that much-too-familiar clutch in her heart region.
“Nothing.” Marge drew another tissue from her pocket and blew her nose again. “Just all of a sudden this house seemed so empty I wanted to scream.” She tried to blink back the tears, but one escaped and rolled down her cheek. “Some days I miss your dad so much I…” She shook her head and squeezed her lips together. “I don’t know…it’ll go away again.” With shaking fingers, she scrubbed at the tears that continued to fall.
Trish put her arms around her mother’s waist and held on. She understood…oh, how she understood! They remained in each other’s arms for a while before Trish leaned back.
“How about we bake some cookies for David?” Trish suggested. “I’ll call Rhonda and Brad. Maybe they’d like to help. The house won’t be so empty if we have a party.”
Marge nodded and mopped her face again. “Let me get myself together first.”
“They can.” Trish hung up the phone and turned with a grin. “Said they’d be here in half an hour.”
“You’re pretty special, you know that, Tee?” Marge brushed back a lock of hair that refused to stay confined in Trish’s braid.
“Thanks.”
By the time they finished, the box for David contained chocolate chip, peanut butter, and oatmeal cookies, plus brownies. All the cookie jars bulged, and more containers made it to the freezer.
After helping Patrick, Brad went out for pizza, and the party continued, including the trainer.
When Trish fell into bed that night, she hugged herself and couldn’t quit smiling. What fun they’d had. Like old times, even without David and their father. Her thank-you’s to God were the music she slipped into sleep by.
She was totally unprepared for what happened in church the next morning. Pastor Mort read her letter, deeding the third red convertible to the congregation.
“The church council has voted to use the money from the sale of the car to begin a fund for a fifteen-passenger van to be used by all the organizations here at church.” He smiled at Trish. “But especially for the youth groups.”
Someone stood in the back of the church. “Why don’t we change the idea from a van to a full-sized bus? Seems that would be much more practical.”
“I’ll pledge a thousand dollars.” Trish had no idea who volunteered that amount, but within five minutes, thousands more had been pledged. She gripped her mother’s hand.
“Guess that makes it all legal, then.” Pastor Mort winked at Trish. “The council will appoint a committee to find us a bus.”
Pastor Ron, the youth pastor, rose to his feet. “I think we should name our bus
Hal,
in memory of Hal Evanston and in thanks to his daughter, Trish.”
That did it. Trish fought down the urge to flee and instead let the tears flow. After all, if even a pastor can cry from the steps of the altar, why should the congregation do less? And from the sniffs she heard, there weren’t many dry eyes in the entire place.
Marge tugged on her hand so that together they got to their feet and turned to face their church family. “Thank you.” What other words were necessary?
Amidst all the community hugs and happy discussion, Trish felt like pulling a “Rhonda” and spinning in place as her friend still sometimes did when the excitement grew too great.
“You didn’t tell me,” Rhonda whispered when they had a moment.
“Didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Trish whispered back.
“Right! With Pastor Mort in on it, anything can be a big deal.”
Trish returned a watery grin. “But who knew all the others would jump in like that?”
“God?”
The glow stayed with her through the night and all day at school.
When she walked in the door at home, her mother handed her an envelope. Trish’s name and address were typed on it. There was no return address.
Trish looked at her mother, shrugged, and slit open the envelope. The message leaped out at her. Letters cut from newspapers and magazines spelled out “Keep your nose out of other people’s business. Stay away from Portland Meadows!”
S
he felt like she’d been slugged in the gut.
“Trish, what is it? You’re white as a sheet.” Trish handed her mother the piece of paper. “Oh, my…” Marge stared at her daughter and then read the letter again. “That’s it! You are
not
to talk to anyone again. Who did you talk to? What’d you do?” Her voice rose with each word.
“Mom, Mom. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
“Then why this letter?” She flicked the paper with the backs of her fingers.
“I don’t know.” Trish swallowed the thought of
All I did was ask a few questions, get people talking to me. Someone sure told the wrong party.
Her mind cataloged all the people she’d talked to at the track. Which one of them was the snitch?
The phone rang. Trish answered it and only muttered answers before hanging up.
“Curt is calling the cops. He got one just like this.”
“Oh, wonderful! They’ll be shooting at you next.” Marge rubbed her forehead with her fingertips.