Golden Filly Collection Two (53 page)

The fury let loose in tears.

Marge looked across her sobbing daughter’s head to meet the matching blue eyes of Rhonda and Dot Seabolt. “Trish’s car was keyed. The police are impounding it.” Rhonda patted Trish’s heaving shoulder.

“Keyed?”

“Someone scratched it up.”

“Actually, the message was…”

“The message?” Marge interrupted. “What in the world is going on here?”

“It said ‘Stay out of PM or eLSe!’ on both sides and a tic-tac-toe game scrawled on the trunk.”

“Oh my! Are you all right?” Marge stepped back to study her daughter.

“Yes! Mother, it’s my c-a-r!”

“Cars can be replaced. Daughters can’t.” Marge clutched Trish to her chest but let her go when Trish jerked back.

“How can you be so calm? I—my car—” Trish sucked in a breath that finally made it past the boulders blocking her throat. “They won’t give me my car back for months.”

“So you can drive the van. I’ll use the pickup.” Marge handed her daughter a tissue. Her clipped words said she wasn’t as calm as she acted.

“You want me to come back and help with the horses?” Rhonda asked.

“I guess. With my luck, I’ll probably get dumped and break a leg.”

“Trish!” Marge’s order cut through Trish’s self-pity. “We’ll hear no talk like that!”

Trish started to say something but clamped her mouth shut instead.

“Now, where is that card Officer Parks gave you?”

“In my purse, why?”

“To let them know what happened. It’s time for someone to get serious about this—now!”

Trish dug in her purse and handed her mother the business card.

“I take it we’re not going out to collect petition signatures tonight?” Rhonda asked.

“No, you’re not, at least Trish isn’t.” Marge’s tone brooked no argument. When Trish started to sputter, one look did her in.

“But
I
am.”

“Me too.” Dot added her vote. “And tomorrow during the day, I’m available too.”

“There’s a TBA meeting tonight.” Trish hesitated to remind her mother.

“Fine. You go take care of the horses—I’ve already worked with the babies—and I’ll meet you there. I’ll pick you up, Dot, in say…” Marge checked her watch, “half an hour.”

“I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Dot took her daughter by the arm. “I’ll bring Rhonda back with me.”

Trish and Rhonda looked at each other, their total shock evident in wide eyes and shut mouths.

“Oh, and call Curt. Ask him for the DA’s number. Tell him about the meeting and that I want a few minutes to talk with him.” Trish did as she was told.

Later that evening after the meeting, Trish wanted to rehash the events with her mother, but Marge said she had letters to write. Trish worked on her zoology and then ambled into the kitchen for a drink and an apple. Just then the phone rang.

“David!” Trish’s squeal brought Marge on the line too. After they exchanged greetings David said, “Thanks for the goodies. I still have some hidden in a box under my bed.”

“Under your bed, yuk. Along with all the dirty socks and…”

“Listen, bird brain, I’ll have you know we vacuumed just last—uh, last week.”

“Okay, children,” Marge interrupted their banter, “knock it off. Tell him what’s gone on here, Tee, and I’ll add what you miss.”

“Maybe I better come home,” David said when they’d brought him up-to-date.

“What good would that do?” Marge asked. “We’ll handle it. You are going to Kentucky, though, aren’t you?”

“I guess. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought. How many horses are you taking?”

“Only Firefly.” Trish hugged the phone to her ear. This was the first time her mother talked about Kentucky like it was a for-sure thing. Even though they’d paid the earlier racing fees, they still could back out. “Adam’s taking two others, running one in the Breeder’s Cup.”

“He gonna have Red ride for him?” David’s chuckle echoed over the line. “How is he anyway?”

“Fine, last I heard.”

“I can’t believe they keyed your car.” David returned to the earlier discussion.

“Me either. Take care of yourself, brother. You’re the only one I’ve got.”

“I’m not the one in trouble. You ever thought of keeping your mouth shut?” He groaned. “Don’t answer that. Love you guys.”

Trish took her treats and returned to her bedroom, resolved to read a chapter in english and write to Red. By the time she finished the letter, her eyes refused to focus. She signed it “Thinking of you” and “Yours, Trish.” She thought about signing “Love, Trish,” but she couldn’t.

Did she love him? What did love really mean? Sure she felt all warm and melty inside when he held her hand. And yes, the kisses were nice. No, nice was far too…too…nice a word. She
liked
kissing Red and being kissed back. But was this love? More than love between two friends?
Real
love?

She clicked off the desk lamp and got ready for bed. After crawling under the covers, she took her Bible from the bedside table and flipped it open to her verse for the night. She chuckled when she read the first part. “Count it all joy, my brethren, when you meet various trials.…” Guess you could call what she’d been going through “trials.”

But the “count it all joy”…now that was the sticky part.

You haven’t even been giving God the glory like you promised,
her nagger whispered in her ear.
Let alone counting it joy. What happened to giving thanks for all things?

Trish nodded. He was right. She finished reading the verse. “For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you might be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

Now, perfect and complete, that sounded pretty good. She closed the book and put it away. “God, how am I supposed to do all this? And you know, it doesn’t really make a lot of sense.”

She waited, as if hoping for a mighty voice to explain all these goings-on. Outside, the branches of the tree scraped against the house in the night breeze. Beside her bed, the clock ticked as the number panels fell to the next minute.

“What am I supposed to do? What’s going to happen?” She sighed. What a mystery. She clutched the blanket under her chin. What was happening was she was changing from girl-super-jockey to girl-sleuth, and she’d never read a mystery in her life.

She lay in the quiet.
So I just give thanks and count it all joy—right?
Her song trickled through her mind. She hummed along with it. How easy to picture eagle’s wings and soaring over the earth. She snuggled deeper. And those large, warm hands holding her. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and a matching one in her heart.

“Curt’s story hit the front page.” Marge handed the paper across the table. “He writes well.”

Trish studied the story of the TBA meeting and the continuing investigation. “At least he didn’t quote me this time,” she said after finishing the bottom few paragraphs about the students gathering petition signatures. “Mom?”

“Ummm?”

“You remember that new man at the meeting last night?”

“Sure, why?” Marge lowered her paper.

“He looks so familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember when.” Trish rubbed her forehead with the fingertips of both hands.

“His name was—ah—Highstreet, Kendal Highstreet. He’s a businessman up from California, thinking of buying a farm up here since land prices are so outrageous in California. He wants to breed and race Thoroughbreds.”

“That’s it. I saw him at the track kitchen the morning I went over there. He was sitting with…” Trish scrunched her eyes closed, trying to see the picture again. “With a couple of owners and Ward Turner, the track manager.”

“So?”

Trish shrugged. “I don’t know. Just seemed important somehow.” She carefully brushed toast crumbs into her palm and dusted them off over the plate. “You doing anything special today?”

“I’ll let you know more when I do.” Marge disappeared behind her paper again.

Trish drained the last of her milk and got to her feet. Her mother’s curious response bugged her all the way to Rhonda’s.

“You thought anything about your birthday yet?” Rhonda asked. “It’s only two days away.”

“I’m not having a birthday this year.”

“Trish, why that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

Trish rolled her eyes and sniffed. Good thing they were stopped at a stop sign. How could her mood change so fast? Raindrops splattered on the windshield. How fitting. Tears both outside and in. And here she’d promised herself no more crying. Especially after the storms of yesterday.

“You need to pay better attention, lass,” Patrick reminded her when she brought the bay gelding back to the stables that afternoon. “He nearly dumped you out there.”

“I know.” Trish patted the deep red neck and jumped to the ground. Sure she knew enough to pay attention. And her inattention nearly cost her. Blowing leaves were enough to spook any horse, but a good rider would have anticipated his reaction—been prepared.

She was reminded again when they worked each of the horses through the starting gates. Old gray Dan’l acted as instructor and tran-quilizer, pacing through the gate without the flicker of an ear. But one of the fillies didn’t care for the tight squeeze and bolted—or rather tried to. Trish caught her in time.

“Tomorrow we’ll close the front gate and let them stand there.” Patrick slipped the saddle off the filly. “You two wash this one down and I’ll take care of Dan’l. Oh, Brad, Marge said to remind you about supper tonight.”

“You mean dinner?” Brad winked at Trish. Patrick still couldn’t get used to calling the evening meal dinner.

“Whatever. Just get busy, you two, or we’ll eat without you.” Patrick went back to his brushing of the gray gelding.

Trish and Brad could hear him muttering about “smart aleck kids,” but they knew he was teasing. She wondered sometimes if he didn’t say some things just to get a rise out of them.

They’d finished dinner before Marge brought up the reason for the family meeting. Trish scraped the plates, stacked them, and carried them in to the sink. On her return, she brought the coffeepot and poured three cups. She only felt like drinking coffee in the morning and then at the track.

“I was hoping you could go to Kentucky with us,” she was saying to Brad. “With all you’ve done, I thought you might like a trip.”

“Would I! Old David will be there too?” At Marge’s nod, he said, “Good.”

“Adam called today and asked if we’d decided yet when or if we were bringing the horses back up. Or if we were bringing others down. Either way, he has to arrange for stalls, so he needs to know. I told him what’s happened here and that we still don’t know if The Meadows will open or not.”

“When does he have to know?” Patrick pulled on one earlobe, a sure sign that he was thinking.

“Soon. Also he wants to schedule races for those down there if they are going to stay.”

Trish could feel the slow burn starting again. “Well, why not leave them there? I haven’t raced for so long, I’ve probably forgotten how.” She shoved her chair back and stood up. “I have homework to do. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

Liar!
That seemed to be one of her nagger’s favorite names for her. He repeated it as she strode down the hall.