Saddled With Trouble (12 page)

“I know. We all miss him.”

Bean opened the door and got out of the truck. “I will see you soon, Miss Michaela. Okay?” He crumpled the can in his hand.

“Sure. Be careful and take care of yourself.”

Bean spat a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground. She grimaced. “I didn’t know you chewed tobacco.”

“I don’t.”

“But . . . you just spit it out.”

“I tried it. I do not like it. Especially don’t like it with soda. Doesn’t taste real good.”

“I imagine that it wouldn’t. Where did you get the chew from?”

“Found it.”

“Where?”

He shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

Was he lying to her? She couldn’t tell. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Can I see the container it came in?”

He pulled it from his pocket. It wasn’t the brand that Davis found outside her barn last night, but it still made her wonder if Bean had anything to do with scaring her. He acted like a child, but even children had the capacity to frighten people. Some even had it within them to kill. Bean may have been a child inside a man’s body. Was he also a killer? “See you later, Bean.”

“Sure.” He slammed the door of the truck. She winced.
That was really odd.
Was Bean really as vulnerable and naïve as he seemed, or had he perfected an act that in many ways could have helped him cruise through life? The accident that he’d suffered happened when he was a kid. Could his injuries not be as serious as he’d presented? Was he someone who’d learned it was easier to get by, by victimizing himself more so than need be? It was hard to fathom anyone doing such a thing. An even more disturbing thought was, could Bean be off just enough to murder Uncle Lou? Could they have argued over something and Bean lost his temper, left the ranch, then came back after the police arrived and acted as if he had no idea what had occurred? She hated thinking these thoughts about him. But his behavior just now made her wonder. It also made her wonder if she wasn’t simply being plain paranoid. She glanced out her window, seeing Bean wave at her as she drove off, more confused than ever.

Michaela checked her watch. No time to mull this over in her mind right now. There were horses that needed exercising and she was way off with her schedule. One point that Dwayne— and even Cynthia, in a sense— had made was that Uncle Lou would not want her to sink into the misery of the situation. Hard to do, but the reality was that animals in training had to be worked.

She used her cell to try and call her dad. Her mom informed her that he still hadn’t returned home.

“Do you have any idea where he is, Mom?”

“No, honey, I don’t. I’m hoping that he’s only out for a drive.”

Doubtful. Michaela had a sick feeling that her father was probably somewhere making a deal with the devil. If he was in as much trouble as Dwayne suggested, he was likely covering his rear. It was also possible that the same question that had crossed Michaela’s mind, had crossed her father’s: Could someone have murdered her uncle to get back at her father for not paying his debts?

Instead of going home as originally planned, she headed over to Joe Pellegrino’s. Joe was a big, slick Italian guy she’d gone to high school with. Joe’d always had a crush on her, which she didn’t reciprocate. However, they’d become fast friends after he’d moved from a school at the other end of the valley, where he’d been teased ruthlessly about his size, even though he really wasn’t
that
big. A little pudgy, maybe. After all, Joe did like his pasta. Kids at her high school didn’t treat Joe much better when he came over as the newcomer, but she’d befriended him because she was also a bit of an outcast. Riding horses was far more important to her during those years, and still was, than the latest designer jeans or hairdo. Ethan had, as always, been her pal as well at the time, but he’d been quite a bit more popular due to his success on the football field. Joe, though not popular at school, kept her in stitches. He knew how to make a girl laugh.

Her mother did not approve of their friendship or his family, meaning that they didn’t see much of each other outside of school. Apparently, his family was noted to have Mafia ties around the country, especially a large connection out of Los Angeles. Supposedly Joe was on the up and up with the hardware store he owned, and Michaela wanted to believe that, but really didn’t. If anyone had ideas about who her dad was dealing with, it would be Joe. Dad had to have a bookie, and hopefully Joe could help her find out who it was.

A buzzer sounded as she entered the store. The smell of paint, resins, and metal permeated the air. “Be right with you,” a gruff voice from the back called out.

Michaela went to the hammer aisle and grabbed a new one. Last week, while changing out some of the nails that had deteriorated on the saddle racks, she’d snapped the old hammer in two when she’d smashed it down on her thumb and in a fit of pain and anger had thrown it against the wall.

“Well, look what the cat drug in.”
Joe Pellegrino approached her. He was at least fifty pounds overweight. The pasta was treating Joe well, or maybe poorly, depending on how you looked at it. He had warm brown eyes with a twinkle in them when he smiled. His chubby, dimpled face made Michaela think of an Italian Pillsbury doughboy. Joe had thick lips, flushed cheeks, and a thick cap of wavy black hair, which always looked shiny and coiffed. All in all Joe looked like the nicest guy in the world. He wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Been mixing some paint back there. How you doing? You look as pretty as always. Sure is nice to see you.”

“Thanks, Joe.” She waved the hammer at him. “Need a new hammer.”

“Came to the right place. You need anything else? Nails, paint, you know I’ve got all that stuff. Oh, and I’ve got a great power drill. You want to take a look?” He smiled at her. “Right. I’m sure you don’t want to take a look. I get excited over the damndest things, my Marianne tells me, but it’s a guy thing.” He lowered his voice. “Speaking of men, I heard about you and Brad. That jerk. Sorry, but he is.” Michaela nodded and didn’t say anything. “We’ve known each other since we were what, fourteen? You’re a good lady. I like you. But you know that. You know, I could make sure your ex gets a little pain in return for all he’s caused you. Maybe a little smack upside the head would remind him how to treat a woman.”

That did sound like an opportunity not to be passed up. But in all good conscience Michaela wasn’t a vindictive woman. “No, Joe. But thank you. Something tells me he’s got all the problems he can handle with his new girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s sure full of herself. Came in here the other day, bossing me around, needing a few things. Pain in the ass, that one. Brad deserves her.”

“Listen, I don’t need you to do any smacking around, but I do need a favor.”

“You name it.”

“Did you hear about my uncle? Lou Bancroft?”

“Yeah, my friend, sorry. Read about it in the paper. Was gonna send over some flowers and ring you when I got a chance. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, thanks. This is kind of personal so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it between us.”

“Discretion is my middle name. Whaddya need?”

“It’s my dad. He’s gambling big-time from what I’ve heard, and he’s in for quite a bit of money. He’s got to be working with a bookie. I need to know who the bookie is, and I need to know how much he owes.”

Joe frowned. “That don’t sound too good to me. You may want to let your pop handle his own problems.”

“Joe, he’s my father. Just get me a name, and . . .” She looked out the store window.

“And, what?”

“You don’t think my uncle’s murder could have anything to do with my dad’s gambling?”

Joe waved his hands animatedly. He really could’ve landed an acting job on
The Sopranos
. He had the drama thing down. “Come on, you know that would not be a likely scenario. It wasn’t your uncle dealing with the cash. Look, from what I know about the families— and I’m not saying I know anything, because I only know this stuff from the TV and movies— but, uh, you know the families, they don’t do that kind of thing. You piss them off, they take care of
you
. Retaliation on a loved one, well, that’s not what they do.”

Michaela nodded. “Right.” She touched Joe’s shoulder. “Could you just ask a few questions, see if I can’t help get my dad out of trouble and see if anyone knows anything about my uncle Lou?”

“I got some cousins who might be able to help me out. I’ll do what I can. Give me a day. C’mon, let’s go ring up your hammer. You still hanging out with that friend of your’s, Camden?”

“She’s living with me, believe it or not.”

“She’s a firecracker, that one. I remember meeting her with you, what was that ’bout a year ago at The Dakota House?”

“I think so.” The mention of The Dakota House saddened her. She should’ve had breakfast with Uncle Lou there the day before.

“Hey, if she’s not hooked up with anyone, I got a cousin who could use a date. He’s a nut like she is. Think they’d have a good time together.”

“I’ll mention it to her. I better run.” She thanked him, but before she could get out the door he stopped her, his large hand grabbing her by the arm. “You be careful, Michaela. You need someone to watch your back, you let me know. You know, old crushes die hard.” He smiled and winked at her.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. His face turned the color of the red paint he’d been mixing.

She’d try to find her dad later, but for now she was thankful that Joe Pellegrino had never lost the ache in his heart for her.

FIFTEEN

MICHAELA TOOK LEO A HANDFUL OF SLICED APPLES. The other horses down the breezeway gave her a curious look, and she was sure if they could speak they’d be saying,
Um, excuse me, what about the rest of us?

She knew she spoiled Leo, but she couldn’t help it. He was her baby, and— if her gut was right— a future champion reining horse, a horse that would make her a household name in the industry. She planned to show him as a three-year-old in the National Reining Horse Association Futurity in Oklahoma City. Leo came from the perfect bloodlines suited for reining . . . an event designed to show the athletic ability of a ranch-type horse with a little added elegance and finesse. Michaela had not ridden in the futurity before and although she had a little over two years to go, she felt certain that Leo was destined to be a winner.

Training him, in and of itself, was a challenge she would relish. She would have to teach him to move in very unnatural ways and perform extremely challenging and controlled maneuvers with grace. They included small slow circles, large fast circles, and flying lead changes— meaning that as he galloped, he’d have to switch the leg leading with each stride— while maintaining the same speed. He’d also have to learn how to do rollbacks, or a 180-direction change turning around on the hind end and continuing motion in the opposite direction, 360-degree spins done by pivoting his body around one hind leg that stays in place and doing it at a high rate of speed, and finally very long, smooth, sliding stops. She patted his forehead. Dream big. That was always Uncle Lou’s motto. Dad’s was, “Be cautious.” Funny how he hadn’t listened to his own advice. At least right now it didn’t appear so. Gambling, and owing the kind of money Dwayne suggested, was anything but cautious.

She walked to the other end of the barn, took out her seven-year-old stallion Rocky and groomed him. He was a big, beautiful sorrel. She’d taken him to a few events as a four-year-old and he’d shown great promise, earning out a decent amount for his first year on the circuit, but she’d been trying to get pregnant at the time and that’s where her focus was. Then her world went to pot with the discovery of Brad’s infidelity. Rocky was past his prime now as far as the show scene went. Since she hadn’t shown him much over the years, it wasn’t likely he could bring a lot of money in stud fees. However, like Loco and Leo, Rocky was from good lines— his full name was Rocky Chex, with his great-grandsire being Bueno Chex. Now her options were to geld him and make a pleasure riding horse out of him, or turn him out to stud and see if he could still help supplement her income. She had to decide soon what to do with him. But for now, Rocky needed his exercise. She threw the saddle on him; the animal shifted his weight and turned his head toward her with a look in his eye that said,
Can’t I just go back and eat?

“No. You can’t, but if you’re a good boy today, maybe there will be a treat in it for you.”

She retrieved his bridle from its post in the tack room and brought it back, sliding the halter off and slipping the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. She led him out of the breezeway, stepped up into the left stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn and reins with her left hand, and swung her right leg over and sat comfortably in the saddle. She adjusted her seat and slightly squeezed her calves into his rib area, cueing him to go forward. He responded accordingly, and headed toward the arena.

Rocky side-passed around to the gate. Michaela reached over and unlocked it, maneuvered him inside, backed him around and shut it. Moments later they were working on conditioning techniques to better their patterns— flying lead changes, circles, and spins. She then pushed him into a full canter with a strong squeeze of her legs, shifted her weight slightly forward and loosened up on the reins. Reining horses, which were typically of the Quarter horse breed, shorter and stockier than most of the other breeds— had good heads about them and maintained calm demeanors. But like the thoroughbred on the track, the quarter horse trained for reining was a fierce competitor inside the ring. There were no other horses in the ring at the same time as the reiner— only horse and rider. But it was as if the animal had a complete understanding of what he was bred for and what was at stake— for him— a bucket of grain and a lot of praise from his rider. For the rider, a wad of cash and some major recognition. For Michaela as a woman, that recognition meant more to her than most of the riders on the circuit, who were men. She wanted to be at the top of her game. She wanted to be the trainer that everyone looked up to: horseman— or in her case, horsewoman— of the year.