Puss 'N Cahoots (9 page)

“Here I am, fussed up over a pin. Jorge is dead and Renata's horse is missing.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I can't believe myself.”

“Joan, it's human nature. We can't fix the big problems so we concentrate on the small ones.”

“Well, I've got some whopping big problems.”

“Would you recognize Queen Esther if you saw her?” Harry asked.

“I would.”

“I think I would, too, even though I haven't seen her as much as you have. But she's regal, she truly is a queen. Why don't Fair and I cruise around and look, say, at Charly's back pastures? You're on overload. We might come up with something.”

“I'll draw you a little map where the different trainers have their farms.” She reached for a pad and pencil, always on the counter. “But I'll tell you this, you won't find Queen Esther at Charly's.”

“Why?”

“He knows people think he's behind this because he's so angry with Renata. If he did take the horse, he'd put her with someone else.”

“Out of state?”

“Maybe, but I bet when all this quiets down, Renata will get a phone call or e-mail. Could be wrong, but I think he's trying to rattle her cage. If the horse were truly stolen, she would have received a ransom note, like you said.”

“Charly is rattling her cage.”

“In all respects.”

Harry leaned forward as Joan drew county lines and made arrows to where the farms were. “Sex thing.”

“Charly is a snob—I mean, he hides it, but he wants good things, the best, and if he could marry Renata, wouldn't he be on top of the world? He wouldn't be the first good horseman to marry a rich wife.”

“Ah, what about her?” Harry's eyebrows raised quizzically.

“I don't know. I expect she has stronger feelings for him than she's admitting. Would she marry him? Who knows? Look at all the actresses who marry men who become their managers, or they marry their directors. It's not such a far jump to marrying their trainer. I mean, an actress is told what to do. They look for leadership.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Because you don't. Maybe not every actress or actor is looking for someone to pick up the reins, but a lot are. Her career is sagging. She's looking for something.”

“Wouldn't a good script make more sense?”

Joan laughed. “When have people used sense?”

“You've got a point there. What about Booty? Maybe she'll go over to him.”

“On the one hand, I'd like her here. The publicity is good for us, and Larry could make her a better rider. She's not bad now. But she'll need a lot of attention. Larry doesn't have it to give and neither do I, although I doubt she'd need it as much from me as from him.” She smiled slyly. “Booty's good. Big rep, but she doesn't like him, I can tell, and one of the reasons is Miss Nasty.”

“She is pretty awful.”

“She is, but it's the humiliation aspect: he's telling the world his ex-wife is a monkey. The duplicate wardrobe is screamingly funny. I can't help it, I laugh, but Renata gets it, you know. She'd never fall for Booty.”

“Another actor?”

“Could be, but she loves the horse world. She'll land here ultimately one way or the other. And who knows, Charly might be a good husband, although at this exact moment it is hard to picture.”

“Monkey business.” Harry smiled.

T
he deep-green pastures of central Kentucky reminded Harry of Virginia. Missing were the dense oak and hickory forests of the Appalachian states, as well as the allure of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

However, the picturesque towns testified to the fact that, with few exceptions, Kentucky had emerged from the War Between the States relatively intact.

Whether Paris, Versailles, or Harrodsburg, the towns evidenced a tidiness, a coziness, that could beguile even the snottiest Virginian.

Neither Harry nor Fair was particularly arrogant about their old bloodlines, back to the first quarter of the seventeenth century, so central Kentucky charmed them without recourse to reciting Virginia's many virtues.

At this moment, lack of virtue was on their minds. Fair, upon hearing of Harry's plan to sneak around Ward Findley's, figured he'd better go with her. No telling what hornet's nest she'd stir up. He didn't say that.

What he said was how much he'd like to cruise the countryside, no particular destination or timetable in mind.

As the two cats, the dog, and two humans were pulling away from the main Kalarama barn, Cody Howlett and two deputies arrived to go through Jorge's effects.

In the rearview mirror, Fair saw Larry leading the law-enforcement officials to Jorge's trailer.

No sooner had Fair and Harry turned onto Route 55 than they passed the sheriff of Washington County, the one in which Springfield was located, two counties south of Shelby.

“Turf war,” Fair remarked.

“You think?” Harry watched the cruiser slide by.

“Oh, someone from Washington County will have to supervise. The newspapers will call it interdepartmental cooperation.”

“The murder took place in Shelby County. What's there to fight over?”

“Publicity.”

Harry smiled. “Ah.”

“Humans like getting their picture taken.”
Pewter figured the Washington County sheriff wanted to be seen on TV, too.

“Unless it's a mug shot.”
Tucker settled on Harry's lap.

Fair turned off the highway in a half hour, and soon they cruised on blacktop two-lane roads. They passed through Versailles, the impressive public buildings evoking admiration.

Within another fifteen minutes they drove by the new Thoroughbred lay-up facility.

“Spent the bucks,” Fair laconically noted.

“Did.” Harry observed what she could. “I really like Paula Cline's place, Rose Haven—the right balance between high-tech and a real farm.”

Breeding establishments such as the august and successful Lane's End Farm would send some horses to Paula for rest, rehab, and relaxation. As Paula was a longtime friend of Joan's, the two pushed each other along, each seeking to know more about the latest medical advancements than the other.

Joan, knowing Harry's active mind and Fair's profession, had introduced them to Paula years ago.

Somehow, good horse people always found one another and never ran out of things to talk about.

“Must be the aquatic building.” Fair slowed. “My God, they've got an outdoor pool, too.”

“Fair, every horseman in North America, maybe the world, owes a great deal to the Thoroughbred industry and to Kentucky.”

“We do.” He slowed again as a hay truck coming from the opposite direction swayed toward his truck. “Honey, intersection coming up. Left? Right? Straight?”

She checked Joan's notes on her map. “Straight. Then the next left.”

The left appeared so fast, it was more of a dogleg turn. Fair braked.

Pewter, aroused from her snooze, stretched.
“Are we there yet?”

“Just about.”
Mrs. Murphy, ears forward, had her hind paws on Harry's knees, her front paws on the long dash.

“Huh.” Fair grunted.

“More four-board fencing. Ward may not be in the big bucks like Larry, Charly, and Booty, but he's not on food stamps.”

“Not by a long shot.” Fair whistled. Four-board fencing cost more than three-board fencing.

A dirt farm road snaked between two pastures. Fair turned in and cut the motor. “Wonder if anyone can see us.”

“If we can't see them or a building, I reckon we're okay.” Harry had already opened the door.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter shot out of the truck.

“Hey, you two.” Fair lifted Tucker down. “Tucker, herd those cats, will you?”

“Fat chance.”
Pewter, running quickly for an overweight girl, blasted into a verdant pasture.

“If anyone does come after us, we can say we had to let the cats go potty and they ran away.” Harry put her boot on the bottom rail of the fence, throwing her leg over the top.

“I'm not saying ‘go potty,'” Fair growled.

“Not manly enough?” she teased him.

He smiled. “Need to keep up my butch credentials.”

The little family walked toward three mares. The sweetness of the clover mix, the humming of the bees, exalted their senses.

Mrs. Murphy reached the three mares first.
“Hello, girls.”

“Hello, pussycat. Who are you?”
an older bay mare inquired, her soft eyes beautiful.

“Mrs. Murphy from Crozet, Virginia.”

The other two mares looked at each other, then down at the pretty tiger.

Pewter, clover buds rubbing against her fur, arrived.
“Hi.”

“Hi,”
the mares responded.

Tucker came next.
“I hope we aren't disturbing you.”

“Not at all. We like company,”
the older mare replied.
“I'm Brown Bess, this is Amanda, and that's Lucy Lu. Those are our barn names. We're retired now from showing.”

“Miss it?”
Pewter asked.

“Sometimes,”
Lucy Lu, who'd had a good career, replied.

“Not me.”
Amanda thought this was the perfect life.

“Girls, any new horses come on the farm in the last two days?”
Tucker asked.

“Oh, during show season the vans are in and out every day,”
Brown Bess said.

“This would be an elegant mare wearing Ward's green and white summer fly sheet. She'd be black where her fur showed, but really she's chestnut.”
Mrs. Murphy filled them in.

Harry and Fair walked up to the mares.

“They belong to us,”
Pewter announced.

“That's the first time I've heard you say anything like that.”
Tucker, surprised, lifted her nose to touch Brown Bess's downturned nose.

“They do belong to us. They can't do anything right without us.”
Pewter puffed out her gray chest, quite fluffy.

Lucy Lu laughed. Fair patted her neck. “Happy horses.”

“If nothing else we know Ward takes good care of them.” Harry scratched Amanda's ears, then reached over to Brown Bess.

“He does,”
Lucy Lu confirmed.

“Come to think of it, last night, a mare in Ward's colors did come in. A real beauty. Black. But I haven't seen her since she stepped off the van. She'd be on the other side of the farm if not in a stall,”
Brown Bess told them.

“Where were you when you saw her?”
Mrs. Murphy inquired.

“By the barns. Two barns. This pasture's almost fifteen acres. Goes right down to the barns,”
Brown Bess informed the cat.

“Lot of people there now?”
Tucker wanted to keep looking without being conspicuous.

“Hard to say. Shelbyville show is always busy,”
Amanda volunteered.
“But it's lunchtime.”

“It's been so nice meeting you.”
Mrs. Murphy thanked the mares, then scooted over the rise. She could now see the two barns.

“Murphy, come here,” Harry called, walking toward the cat.

Mrs. Murphy kept a few steps ahead of Harry as she angled toward the barns.

“I'm not going to miss this.”
Pewter hurried up to Mrs. Murphy.

“Damn!” Harry hated the thought of being caught trespassing.

“If we turn and leave, she'll come 'round,” Fair predicted.

“No, I won't!”
Mrs. Murphy moved at a more determined pace.

At six feet five inches, Fair's legs could cover more distance in one stride than Harry's. He began trotting. “Miss Pussycat, stop.”

“Never.”
Mrs. Murphy kept in front to tantalize him.

He started running, and she took off like a shot, Pewter a little behind.

Tucker, sensibly, stayed with the humans.
“You'll get in trouble.”

“Where's your grit?”
Mrs. Murphy called over her shoulder.

Fair stopped. “Dammit, I know better than to chase a cat.”

“She's got something on the brain.” Harry watched as the tiger cat and her gray sidekick, tails to the vertical, bounded toward the green barns with the white trim. “Now what are we going to do?”

“Let's stand here for a minute to see what they do. So far there's no sign of life down there at the barns.” Fair saw the two cats circumvent the barns to dash into the adjoining pasture. “What's gotten into those two?”

“They're on a mission.” Harry couldn't help but laugh, even as she was concocting what to say if they were caught.

“Guess we are, too.” He jammed his hands in his jeans pocket. “I don't know about you, but I'm going after them. I'm not running, though.”

“Too hot.” Harry walked alongside Fair.

Tucker didn't go all the way to the barns. She darted across the main drive to the barns, then under the fence into the pasture where Mrs. Murphy and Pewter walked.

“Good idea.” Harry followed.

Within a minute all were in the large pasture, which mirrored the retired mares' pasture.

If someone came out of the barns looking in their direction, they would see them, but if they left by the other side, they'd miss the small convocation.

“That's her!”
Mrs. Murphy cried jubilantly when she saw Queen Esther, whose neck and legs, although washed, were still a tad darker than her chestnut body.

Pewter dashed up to the sleek mare, who chatted with five other ladies at the peak of their show year.
“Queen Esther.”

Bemused, the chestnut laughed at the rotund cat.
“I am.”

“We've been looking for you,”
Mrs. Murphy piped up.

“Well, I'm right here. Food's good. I'm glad I'm not at the fairgrounds. Where's Renata?”

“Esther, you've been stolen!”
Pewter blurted out.

Tucker, now with them, asked,
“Sure you're all right?”

“Of course I am. I didn't like that awful dye, but Ward washed it off the minute I arrived here. I'm not stolen.”

“You didn't think it odd that you were painted?”
Mrs. Murphy noticed how hard and healthy Queen Esther's hooves were.

“Of course not. They put hair shine on our manes, tail sets when we're in the stalls, dye those little white spots or scars on the forelegs should we have any. No, I didn't think it strange at all. Seemed like one more human peculiarity to me.”

At this, the other horses laughed along with Esther.

“Who led you out of the Kalarama stall?”
Tucker smiled at Queen Esther.

“Jorge. Dyed my legs, face, and neck, too.”

“And you weren't scared? No one treated you badly?”
Pewter felt something was strange beyond the theft.

“I've been treated like a queen!”

The other horses laughed again.

Finally, Harry and Fair reached the gorgeous mare.

“That's her! I swear that's her.” Harry was excited.

“I think so, too.” Fair looked all around. “Ward's farm is in the back of the beyond, but she's out in a pasture.”