Golden Filly Collection Two (64 page)

By the time she fell into bed hours later, they’d discussed the situation until her mind felt like a tangled skein of yarn. She thumped her pillow and flipped over on her other side. If only she could flip a switch and turn off her mind like she did the lamp.

The old rabbit race persisted around the tracks in her head. If God loved them, why didn’t He protect them better? But if God wasn’t protecting them, maybe someone in the family would have been hurt! Could God keep the animals safe? If He hadn’t been, Caesar would probably be dead by now. She ended up by ordering her rabbits back to their burrows and focused on her three things to be thankful for. Number one: Caesar was still alive and improving. She thought about the word
improving.
Was he? And wasn’t this one of those times like her father said, when you thanked God for the outcome in advance, going on faith that He was making it so? She sucked in a deep breath and let it all out, clear to the bottom of her lungs. The warmth seeping into her body felt like a warm bath but without the wet.

Number two was easy. Thanks for Amy. And for winning at the track, for a safe flight for David, for his coming home for the weekend.…Trish drifted off on her litany of praise.

First thing in the morning she called the vet. When he said Caesar was much stronger, she jigged in place to let some of the joy escape before she bounced on the ceiling like a runaway balloon. After sharing her news with Marge and Amy, she danced down the hall to take her shower. Caesar was mending. Now all was right with her world.

The phone rang just before Trish opened the door to leave for school. She reached for it but stopped when Amy grabbed it first and frowned at her. “Oops,” she grimaced and flinched. She always answered the phone. How would she remember not to?

“Runnin’ On Farm.” Amy waited, poised with pencil in hand. “Of course. I’ll get her for you.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “Wait to answer until I pick up the other line, okay?”

Trish nodded and reached for the phone. The wink Amy gave her pushed her curiosity button to full alert. When she heard the click on the line, she said, “Hi, this is Trish.”

“Trish, this is Sandra Cameron from the Public Relations Department of Chrysler Corporation in Detroit. How are you today?”

“Fine.” Trish’s curiosity button turned neon.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why I’m calling.”

“Ah, yes.” What an understatement.

“Mainly I’d like to set up an interview with you. We could bounce some ideas around. Would that be possible?”

“Sure.” The neon button turned into a flashing strobe light.

“How about tomorrow? I can hop a plane and be there about eleven.”

“I have school.” Trish felt her tongue stumbling over her teeth. What was going on?

“I think this is important enough you’ll want to miss a couple of hours. Please make sure your mother can be there also. Will this be all right?”

Trish mumbled an assent and then gave directions from the airport before gaining the courage to ask, “What’s this all about?”

“I’d really rather wait until we can talk face-to-face. I’ll see you tomorrow about eleven. Oh, and here’s my number in case there’s a problem.”

When Trish hung up the phone she understood what being run over by a steamroller felt like. What in the world was going on? She stared out the window down toward the barns. A thought teased the back of her mind but refused to be identified.

“You really don’t know what that’s about?” Amy asked from the front door.

“Not a bit.” Trish headed down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door, where she could hear the shower running, before sticking her head inside the steamy room. “I’m outta here. Oh, and, Mom, you gonna be home tomorrow about eleven?”

“I think so, why?”

“A Sandra Cameron called from the Chrysler Corporation—wants to meet with us.”

The shower stopped. Marge peeked out the shower door. “What?”

“Gotta go. Love you.” Trish shut the door on her mother’s “Tricia Marie Evanston!”

“You know anything about that?” Amy asked when they drove down the lane.

“Not really.” Trish shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” What was it she couldn’t remember?

When they picked up Rhonda they brought her up to speed on all the excitement.

“I’m so glad Caesar’s better. I prayed for him all night.”

“All night?” Trish glanced in the rearview mirror to check out her friend’s face.

“Well, every time I woke up. Seemed like all night. So you see this Detroit lady tomorrow?”

“Yeah…wish I knew what it was about. The suspense is killing me.”

“It’s about the advertising campaign, you know, the one that reporter down in San Mateo told you about. They want you to—”

“That’s it! The thing I’ve been trying to remember.” Trish thumped her hand on the steering wheel. “How do you think he knew about this? That was weeks ago.” None of them came up with any answers, just more questions, by the time they arrived at Prairie High School.

Trish dropped her things off at her locker and stopped at the front desk just as the second bell rang. “I need to talk to Mrs. Olson,” she told the student working the counter. “She’s my advisor,” she whispered to Amy.

“You better ask for the principal too,” Amy replied. “I need to talk with both of them.”

By the time the meeting was over, Trish remembered how little kids felt when grown-ups talked about them as if they weren’t there. They could at least have asked her opinion rather than planning her life for her.

“Sorry about that,” Amy said as they headed for first period. “It just seemed to work faster if I handled it.” Trish muttered her agreement. “But from now on, I’m just your favorite cousin from Spokane, right?”

“Right.”

“I forgot to tell them about the gift money from TBA.” Trish smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Now I’ll have to stay after school to catch them.”

“Would now be better?”

“No, we’re late enough for class as it is.” Trish didn’t need her nagger to call her names. She was doing a good enough job of that all on her lonesome. She retrieved her things from her locker and headed for class.

The boys at their lunch table reacted to Amy with the same drop-the-jaw expression David and Brad had adopted. Trish and Rhonda swapped their
oh brother
looks and kept from giggling by sheer willpower.

“Should I tell them the bad news—that she’s engaged?” Trish whispered behind her hand.

Rhonda shook her head. “Naw, let them suffer later. Serves ’em right.” She glared at Jason Wollensvaldt, a foreign exchange student from Germany and her somewhat boyfriend, who looked as star struck as the rest.

Mrs. Olson and Mr. Patterson, the principal, kept Trish waiting for an extra fifteen minutes after school before they could see her. Counting the seconds as the clock ticked them off did nothing to calm her twitching fingers. If only she had the vet’s number with her. But by the time she decided to head for the pay phone with a phone book, they beckoned her into the office.

Trish laid the check on the desk in front of the man whose shoulders were as broad as his forehead was bare. He tipped his head to peer through horn-rimmed bifocals. “What in the world?” He looked at Trish, question marks all over his face, while handing the paper to Mrs. Olson.

Mrs. Olson read it and grinned. “Okay, Trish, come clean. What’s going on here?”

Trish sat forward on the edge of her seat. “Like it?”

“Of course.” Patterson leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. “But what did we do to deserve a thousand dollars?”

“It’s in thanks for the work Prairie kids did to collect signatures. I was going to give it to you this morning but I forgot.”

“Well.” Mrs. Olson picked up the check and studied it again. “Did they make any recommendations for how we use it?” Trish shook her head. Mrs. Olson shifted her gaze to the principal. “Then I think the government class that started all this should vote on how it’s put to use. Agreed?”

Mr. Patterson massaged the shiny front part of his scalp with beefy hands. “Don’t see why not. That should be another good lesson in government by the people. What do you think, Trish?”

“You mean it?” She could feel a grin cracking her cheekbones.

“Yes, and I think you should be the one to tell them.”

“Really?” She caught herself just before sliding off the chair. “Even Ms. Wainwright?” At their nods, she slapped the arms of the chair. “All right!” Trish jumped to her feet. “I’ll tell them in class tomorrow. What a blast that’ll be!” She headed for the door, only pausing to beckon, “Come on, Amy, we’ve got stuff to do.”

Trish opened the glass-windowed door. “Oh no! I won’t be here tomorrow.” She spun back around. “That woman from Chrysler is coming.”

“Then you’ll have to tell them Wednesday.” Mrs. Olson rose to her feet. “You can handle the secret for one more day, can’t you?”

“I guess.” Trish rolled her eyes and shrugged. “But it won’t be easy.”

“Good things never are.” Mrs. Olson patted Trish’s shoulder. “We’ll get a thank-you letter off immediately. Pick up the check to show the class after lunch on Wednesday, all right?”

Trish nodded again. “Thanks.” And out the door they went.

As soon as Trish walked in the front door back at Runnin’ On Farm, she called the vet. “Caesar’s been drinking water on his own,” she announced. “Vet says he maybe can come home tomorrow if he continues like this.” She executed a jig step to the refrigerator. “Amy, you want something to drink?”

The warm glow stayed in her middle while she changed clothes and headed for the barns. Patrick would be at the track feeding the racing string, and someone had to take care of the home stock. Amy carried her can of soda with her.

Trish breathed both a sigh and a prayer of relief that night when she snuggled down under the covers. They hadn’t heard a peep from the stalker. That was the good news. The bad news? She couldn’t get him out of her mind. Where—and how would he strike next?

She woke in the morning feeling like her nagger had been going at her all night—with his foot to the floorboards. Here she was beginning to think he’d moved on to pester someone else. The vacation had been grand.

She rubbed her eyes with both hands, then dragged the same through her tangled hair. Even the sheet and blankets were wrapped around her legs as if they’d been the opposing side in a free-for-all. She lay still a moment trying to remember what she’d been dreaming about. Nothing. Just this heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach and a pounding headache.

Caesar! She jerked her feet from the binding covers and sprinted down the hall. Good thing they had the veterinarian’s number on speed dial. She punched 4 and drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for an answer. When she looked at the clock, it registered only six-thirty.

“Come on, be there.”

The answering machine kicked in. Trish groaned and dropped the receiver in the hook, fishing for the phone book under the counter with her other hand. His home number was listed in their file at the front of the book. She dialed again.

When he answered, she could hardly keep the quiver from her voice. “Dr. Bradshaw, this is Trish Evanston. Is Caesar all right?”

“Far as I know. He was so much stronger last night I planned to release him today, just like I told you. What’s the matter?”

Trish shook her head. “I don’t know. I—I just had this awful feeling.” She stumbled over her words, all the while calling herself names inside her head. “Sorry I bothered you.”

As Trish hung up the phone, Marge stepped out of the bathroom, pink towel wrapped around her head. “Trish, are you all right?”

Trish rubbed her aching temples. “I guess. I—I’m not sure.” She took the aspirin bottle from the cupboard and poured two tablets into her palm. After downing the pills with a glass of water, she leaned on her arms over the sink.

Marge came up behind her and felt her daughter’s forehead. “No temp. Any other symptoms?”

Trish shook her head, which only accelerated the beat of the bass drum echoing in her skull. “Patrick okay?”

Marge nodded.

“All the horses?”

“Far as I know. Trish, what in the world…”

Trish started to shake her head and caught herself just in time. “Where’s Amy?”