Golden Filly Collection Two (66 page)

“Murphy’s Law?” Trish wrinkled her eyebrows.

“You know, what can go wrong will go wrong.” Sandra picked up a breadstick and smeared the tip in a pat of butter. She waved it in the air before crunching a bite. “Never fails.”

“Oh.” Trish reached for her own breadstick.

By the time they’d finished eating and Sandra finished talking, Trish had that becoming-familiar steamrollered feeling. What in the world possessed her to think she could pretend to be a model or an actress? While Amy and Sandra finished another cup of coffee, Trish and her mother read and reread the contract.

“What I’d like you to do is drop this off at your attorney’s before we return to the farm for my car and he can go over it. You can sign it tomorrow in his office and fax me a copy, then send the real thing by overnight mail. Since you’re a minor, Trish, your mother has to sign all of them too. I’ll call you with a couple of names for agents if you’d like after I get back to the office.”

“Do I really need one?”

“Depends on if you want to parley your popularity into more endorsements or not. They can give you good advice too.”

“Why don’t you see how you like this before we go any further,” Marge advised. “It’s not like you don’t already have plenty to do. School has to come first.”

“I know.”

“We’re required by law to have a tutor on the set for minors still in school.”

“I can keep up. It’s not like I’m going to be gone for months or anything.” Trish could feel her old resentment flare. Her mother was showing her worryitis again. With her, school and good grades were most important, almost next to praying. What if her daughter decided
not
to attend college? Or at least postpone it? Trish tamped down the thoughts. They didn’t need an argument right now.

By the time they arrived back at Runnin’ On Farm, the sun was heading for its nest in the west. Trish felt herself getting impatient. She had planned to pick Caesar up right after school. Brad’s metallic blue Mustang occupied its usual place in the turnaround in front of the house. He would be down doing chores. Patrick would be at the track again, feeding and putting the racing string to bed.

Even so, the entire place seemed empty without Caesar barking his welcome.

Sandra bid them all good-bye and left with a promise to talk with them the next day.

Trish heaved a sigh of relief. Right now she needed a bit of calm to recover from all the excitement.

“Kind of like a whirlwind, isn’t she?” Amy joined Trish on her march to the house.

“I guess.”

Trish opened the front door and turned left to the kitchen while Amy headed down the hall, stopping in the bathroom.

Brad had dropped the mail on the counter, so Trish began leafing through, hoping for a letter from Red. Instead a small brown package sported her name. She took a knife from the drawer and sliced the tape, surprised at how heavy it was.

What would anyone be sending her?

She undid the paper and pulled the top off the tan box. Inside lay a brick with a note taped to it.

Trish felt and heard her shriek at the same instant.

Chapter
08

T
rish!” Amy barreled across the living room.

Trish stared at the package as if it contained live rattlesnakes. “Bang! You’re dead!” the letters on the note stated plainly.

Amy first checked out Trish to see if she’d been injured, then transferred her attention to the box on the counter. “It coulda been a bomb,” she muttered under her breath. She spun around and pinned Trish to the refrigerator with a glare tipped in ice. “Why ever did you open it? I told you to let me check any letters—that’s it!” She slammed her palm on the counter so hard the box jumped.

“It—it wasn’t a letter and I was so—so happy I didn’t even think about—about—you know. I just thought someone sent me a present, maybe Red—or—somebody.” Trish couldn’t keep from stammering. Or shaking either. She’d been having such fun and now this!

“Whatever is going on?” Marge charged through the door and skidded to a stop. “Oh, dear God, now what?”

“Let me set you both straight.” Amy’s voice slashed like a whip. “Let
me
open the mail, answer the phone, get the door. How can I get this through your heads? Some kook is out there trying to scare the daylights out of you…”

“He’s doing a bang-up job of it.” Trish wrapped her arms around her middle. She felt as if she’d stepped outside in the middle of an ice storm.

“Right. And maybe he has more than scaring you in mind.” Amy’s voice softened and she drew Trish into her arms. “Hey, buddy, I’ve come to care for you more than a little. You have to be careful—and let me do my job.”

Trish bit her lip. She
would not
cry. But it was easier to keep the tears back when Amy was yelling at her.

“Would someone please tell me what is going on here?” Marge stared from Amy to Trish and back again.

“You tell her.” Trish pulled away and jerked a tissue out of the box by the phone. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I’m going after Caesar.”

“No you’re not. I’m calling Parks and he’ll be right out to talk with us.”

“He can wait. Caesar is more important right now. He’s been waiting all day.” She snatched her purse off the counter and headed for the door.

“Trish, you can’t go alone.” Marge snagged her purse, shot Amy a look of apology, and followed Trish to the van. “I’ll drive home so you can stay in the back with Caesar. Otherwise he’ll be all over the car, and he’s still too weak for that.”

Trish shoved the key into the ignition and waited for her mother to get in. “All I did was open a package addressed to me. And no, I didn’t look to see who sent it—I was having too good a time. There must be a law somewhere against Trish Evanston having fun.”

Trish drove the car down the drive and out on the road, and still her mother didn’t reply. “Well? Aren’t you going to yell at me too?”

“No. You’re doing too good a job of that yourself.” Marge fastened her seat belt. Trish looked over at her mother when she heard the snap of the belt. Her words sounded calm but the two lines between her eyebrows furrowed deeper. Trish could tell she was worried.

But then, who wouldn’t be?

Most of the shaking had subsided by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the veterinary clinic. When Trish glanced at her mother, she received an almost smile in return. “At least we can thank God Caesar is getting better.”

“And that you weren’t hurt. When I think of that mail bomb that blew a man’s hand off not too long ago…Tee, I’m just grateful you’re only mad.”

Trish shook her head. “Let’s go get the dog.”

Caesar struggled to his feet when he saw her and heard her voice. His tail feathered only a bit, but at least he was wagging it. When she opened his cage, he tottered a step forward and made sure her face got a requisite cleaning.

“You old silly, you.” Trish tugged on his ruff and rumpled his ears. When just those actions made him waver, she turned to look at Dr. Brad-shaw. “You sure he’s okay to take home?”

“I’m sure. He’ll get better faster there with those he loves. Just keep him in the house or a kennel.”

“No kennel. We’ll make him a bed by the back door.”

“Make sure he has water all the time and if he quits voiding, bring him back in. That means his kidneys are in trouble. You might have to help him outside.”

“That’s fine, then.” Marge shifted her purse to the other shoulder. “Trish, we need to get home.”

Trish stepped back from the front of the cage so the vet could lift Caesar and carry him out to the car. She ran ahead to open the back door and climb in. When Dr. Bradshaw laid Caesar with his head in her lap, she smiled her thanks and buried her face in the dog’s ruff. Caesar licked her nose once, then sighed. His tail thumped against the wheel well.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, even if you do smell of disinfectant.”

But she wasn’t so glad to see the patrol car and Curt Donovan’s white newspaper car parked in their yard when they got home. “More questions,” she muttered. “If I never answer another policeman’s questions, it’ll be too soon.” Caesar thumped his tail. When the door opened to the face of a strange man, the dog bared his teeth and rumbled low in his throat.

“Tell him it’s okay.” Officer Parks stepped back. “I just want to carry him in. He’s too heavy for you.”

“Hey, fella, it’s okay. Parks is our friend.” Trish’s voice slipped into the croon she used on the horses with the same calming effect. Caesar allowed himself to be picked up in the officer’s strong arms, and with Trish right by his side, her hand on his head, entered the house to a hero’s welcome.

Brad, Patrick, Curt, and Amy gathered around while Trish grabbed a blanket from the closet and pulled a rug over to pad the bed for the weary dog. He lay down with a sigh, but as soon as Trish tried to move away, he scrabbled and lurched to his feet.

“Easy, fella, you stay there.” But when her words had no effect, Trish sank down beside the dog. “Guess you’ll have to question me right here.”

They went over the events of the package-opening three times with nothing new coming up.

“I’ll take the package in for fingerprinting and see if we can’t deter-mine which post office it came from—see if anyone remembers anything.” Parks shook his head. “Whoever this is has to make a mistake pretty soon. Or he’s a lot smarter than I think he is.”

“All they have to do nowadays is watch TV,” Patrick grumbled. “With all the crime and police shows, a body can learn to commit about any kind of crime. Don’t take a genius.”

“Could this be a copycat crime?” Curt asked. “Since Highstreet doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it?”

“Could be. Highstreet would have a hard time. We’ve tapped his phone and have him under constant surveillance. He can’t blow his nose without us knowing.”

“Fat lot of good it seems to be doing.” Trish continued stroking her sleeping dog’s head.

“Yeah, cases like this don’t get solved in one hour, like on TV. Welcome to the real world of police work—patience and persistence.” Parks accepted the mug of coffee Marge offered. “Most cases are solved only through hours and weeks of digging out one detail after another.”

“Amen to that.” Amy joined Trish on the floor beside the collie. She ran a hand over the dog’s side and shook her head. “Boy, he lost a lot of weight. Wait till I get my hands on that—”

“We’re not sure if Caesar’s poisoning is connected to this case or not,” Parks reminded her. “He could have just picked up some bad meat.”

Amy shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “My women’s intuition says guilty.” She raised a hand, palm out. “No, don’t you go shaking your head. How many times have I been right on?” She grinned at his pained expression. “Bugs you, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I better get back to the track to feed. Brad—you coming with me or doing those here?” Patrick pushed back his chair.

“I’ll stay here.” Brad exchanged looks with Patrick. “Keep an eye out.”

“Thanks for the coffee. Good as usual.” Patrick picked his hat off the counter.

The phone rang and at Amy’s glare, Trish didn’t even begin to get to her feet. The police officer gave Caesar a farewell pat and stood. When she headed for the phone, Trish laid her cheek on Caesar’s head. She could feel her pulse pounding, all at the ringing of the telephone. What a mess.

“Trish, it’s Rhonda.” Amy stuck her head around the corner of the refrigerator. “How about if you call her back?” Trish nodded. Rhonda would freak for sure when she heard this latest news.

After Parks and Curt left, Trish and Amy joined Brad down at the barns. While Marge worked the babies in the morning, Trish trained the two almost-two-year-olds in the afternoon. They were to be ready for the track sometime after the first of the year. Late as it was, all the horses, from broodmares and young stock to old Dan’l, lined the fences of their paddocks, waiting for their treats.

“That’s some picture.” Amy took several pieces of carrot from Trish’s bucket. “Being here with you and the horses is going to make any other assignment stale by comparison.”

“You’re welcome to visit anytime.” Trish whistled just for the pleasure of hearing the responding nickers. Old Dan’l let loose with a full-blown whinny, tossing his head enough to set his gray mane flying.

“You want to ride him?” Trish asked when she fed the babies their treats. “Easy now, Miss Tee.” She grabbed the filly’s halter. “You know better than to shove like that.”

“Dan’l?” Amy sneaked Double Diamond a second carrot chunk.

Trish nodded.

“You mean it?”

“You said you know how to ride.”

“I do. Rode for years before I went away to college.” She gave the youngster a last pat. “You be good now, you hear?” The colt nodded and rubbed his forehead against her shoulder, leaving white hairs on her navy sweat shirt. Amy pushed his head away with a chuckle. “What a lover.”

Trish did the same with Miss Tee. “Yeah, these two ought to be really something about a year from now. Since Miss Tee was born last September, she’ll be running a year late.”

“This thing about all Thoroughbreds having their birthday on January first doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”