Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery) (10 page)

Leaving the other horses in the care of Jose and the show committee, Alejandro and Donny Ray made their way to the show office. Alejandro took care of the paperwork and gave a deposition of the events to the authorities. Hours later, Alejandro finally made it back to the stall area. Jose stood in front of the now empty stall, staring blankly at the ground.

"Jose, did Señor Martinez arrive here yet?"

"No, Alejandro, I no hear from him or from Dr. Huerta. It is very strange." He slumped against the door frame "I don't get it. She was okay when we arrived. The show people, they remove the broken stall after the police take photos. I helped clean up the…you know."

"Yes, Jose, I know. Well, we will not be allowed to show the other mares until they confirm cause of death, so we are finished here. We have to move these mares tomorrow morning. Let's find something to eat and call it a night." They ate supper and bedded down the other mares for the night.

Wondering what to do next, Alejandro patted his groom on the shoulder and went into the tack stall. He sat on the tack box, pulled out his cell phone. He again tried Martinez's number. He paced while the phone rang, but he reached the voice mail again.

In a rare display of anger and frustration, Alejandro spun around and kicked the tack box. Swearing in both English and Spanish, he picked up a currycomb and hurled it against the wall. He dropped back down on the tack box, put his head in his hands, and tried to think.

6

Back in White Bass Lake

The picture of Mag with the pancake sloughing off her butt stayed in my mind until I got back to my house. Still smiling, I absently gathered my notes from the glove box and took them to the house. Glancing at my shriveling plants in the window box, I sighed, thinking once again about Carole. Because I was so preoccupied, I did not prepare myself for when I opened the door, and promptly flew off my feet backward as I was hit full force in the chest by 160 pounds of doggie love.

"Wesley, for Heaven's sake, let me up!" I once again thanked my lucky stars I had talked the ex-husband into
not
putting a rail around the front porch. Had he done so, I would have crashed through it multiple times by now, and would have lain impaled and bleeding on the front lawn. As it was, I went ass over teakettle into the half dead impatiens at the base of the stairs. Good thing I left an old beanbag chair on the porch for the dogs–it cushioned the blow. While I dodged Wesley and his foot-long slimy tongue, I thought, where the heck is Hillary?

"Wes? Where's Hillary?" He sat up, looked west, east, and then up, grinning and waving his long black tail.

I laughed, rolled the three-year-old Newfoundland off me, and called for Hillary while I picked up my scattered notes. Wes decided it was playtime and helped me by proceeding to chew on my notebook. By the time I finished wrestling my book out of his gaping maw and wiping the doggie slobber off the cover onto my jeans, Hillary made her appearance.

She looked shyly around the doorjamb. I was struck as always by her quiet beauty and giving nature. She was a humane society acquisition, and at the time I got her, she rescued me more than I had rescued her.

Coming off an ugly divorce from an abusive alcoholic, I was scared and lonely, and decided I wanted a big, bad, killer watchdog. I went to the local animal shelter, thinking Doberman, Rottweiler, or Pit Bull, and came away with a quiet, female Bulldog who looked as damaged as I felt.

We healed together. I provided Hillary with a home and a purpose, and she provided me with unconditional love and undying loyalty. She used to go with me when I was still a full time investigator, and pulled my ass out of the fire on more than one occasion.

One time we were at a kennel a couple hours away and Hillary met up with the bad guy I had been chasing. She was badly wounded in the incident and I couldn't move her after surgery. I ended up leaving her at the kennel for a week to recuperate. When I came to pick her up, she was sleeping in a box with what appeared to be a little stuffed bear.

The bear lifted his head and I realized it was a Newfoundland puppy. The owners told me that her first night there, Hillary was whimpering in pain and loneliness. When they got up to check on her later, she was quiet and sleeping contently with the orphaned Newfie puppy. He was very gentle around her, so they just left him there. When I tried to leave with her, she began whimpering pathetically. After some discussion with the owners of the kennel, it was decided I would bring the Newfie home for a couple of weeks, so Hillary would have someone around while she was healing and I was at work. I fell in love with him just as quickly as Hillary did. Two weeks turned into four, and four turned into 'four-ever'. Wesley has now been a vital part of our family for over three years.

Hillary would not come out onto the porch. I knew she stayed back and gave me the injured look because Wesley had been naughty. She took all responsibility for his delinquent ways and he went blissfully through life wagging that long fluffy tail and grinning from ear to ear.

"Okay, Hill, what did he do this time?" She turned on cue and calmly walked into the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder to make sure I followed, and gave me the wounded look. Hands on hips, I examined the scene in front of me. The loaf of bread I had left on the counter that morning was nothing more than a few crumbs in plastic on the floor. The butter was completely missing, and the strawberry jelly jar I had thrown away was spotlessly clean and on its side next to the garbage can.

"Weeesley? Did you have a butter and jelly sandwich today?"

Grin, wag, grin. He let out a big sneeze–it was his only trick.

"You menace. That will not earn you points. Go outside and poop me a butter wrapper, would you?"

Grin, wag, grin. Jumping to his feet, the tail going 90 miles a minute, he danced to the back door, ready and willing to do as I bid. We all piled out the back door. Hillary trailed behind; she moved a little more slowly these days. She still had a slight limp from her injuries, and some days she was a little sore.

I grabbed the portable phone and a Diet Pepsi on the way out the door. As the dogs investigated the back yard, I sat in the big swing and checked my messages. One from Mom, two from Al and one from the pet shop Fred owned. Mom's was from this morning, asking if I'd come help her find the cowboy lamp. I now wished I had been in Kokomo or Ashland. I called Fred. She wasn't in, so I left a message. Al, I ignored. No call from Malcolm or J.J., so I began to relax.

Watching the dogs play and root around was like watching tropical fish at the doctor's office. It had a calming effect on me and let the burdens of the day melt away. Wes brought me a slobbery ball, dropped it, and sneezed. I absently tossed it into the yard. I smiled as he bounded after it, barreling down the length of the fence like a runaway freight train.

I admit I got a little mushy feeling as I watched him retrieve the ball, drop it in front of Hillary, and patiently waited as he watched her bring it back to me. He bumped her with his head as they turned around and headed back out into the yard. He dropped her off about ten feet from my chair and took off down the fence line again, eager to repeat the game. I threw the ball again and let my mind wander.

I realized it was probably a good idea to involve Mag in the investigation after all. A partner was good for bouncing theories and ideas back and forth. I knew Mag well, and knew what to expect of her. How I was going to tell our parents that I was going to involve not one, but two of us in a homicide investigation, I had not a clue. I figured if it came down to it and Mom had a fit, we'd just lie. The biggest advantage of having my sister as a partner was that we could sit around in our underwear eating pizza and discussing the day.

Come to think of it, that was about the only thing I had liked about being married, too, but then I was married to a cop. Mom always said, if we wanted a man who did not cheat and was at home at night,
never
marry a cop, a lawyer, or a doctor; marry a nice farm boy instead. Did I listen? Hell no, and I have the physical and mental scars to prove it–but I digress. Mag would make a good partner, and she was not afraid to kick some major booty if the situation called for it. The problem was keeping her mouth under control; she can get people pissed off in three sentences or less. Oh well, I'll stop at the hardware store and buy some duct tape or something. I dug my toe into the ground and started up the swing, relaxing my mind and body. I floated into another vision.

Horses. A coliseum. People running. Carole running, scattering seeds over a cactus. In a boat on a river, the Sears Tower looms in the distance. A man, holding a horse over his head, the horse looks like the dying horse in my other vision. Who is that man? Carole entering a greenhouse, beckoning me to follow.

My feet are stuck, and the bad men chase her through the door. A huge gun materializes and points to my head. The trigger slowly pulls back. Tic, snick. I hear the cylinders roll and I squeeze my eyes shut and scream for J.J. The blast fills my head and I am jolted back to reality.

Reality slammed into me with a physical force…then I noticed Wesley on my lap. I was breathing hard and tears streamed down my face. I raised a shaky hand and Wes stuck his head under it. I collapsed against him, buried my face in his fur, and cried until I was empty.

7

A shadow crossed over Alejandro as he sat on the tack box. He looked up thinking it was Jose. He opened his mouth to apologize to Jose for his outburst and froze. What looked like three large refrigerators stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the stall aisle. Alejandro blinked. The refrigerators took the shape of three very large Hispanic men. Knowing better than to stand up, Alejandro addressed the Frigidaire closest to him

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

A rumbling noise came from the direction of Fridge Number One. Alejandro realized he was speaking.

"You Huerta?"

"No, Montoya. Alejandro Montoya.
I'm the head trainer. I have not seen Dr. Huerta since…" Pain blasted through his head as Fridge Number Three sent him flying off the tack box with a kick to the jaw.

He looked through pain-filled eyes at Number Three. "What was that for?"

Number One stepped closer, dragged him up by the shirt, yelled loudly, "Huerta! Where is he?"

Before he could answer, a knee nailed him hard between the legs. Sucking in air and gagging, Alejandro fell to the floor. The men kicked him repeatedly, but Alejandro was beyond pain. He weakly shook his head and whispered incoherently before passing out.

He came to at the sound of Jose's high-pitched screams. He dragged himself across the floor and silently lifted the tack box lid. Digging out the .38 caliber Smith he kept for emergencies, he crawled toward the door. He watched the thugs relentlessly beat the helpless Jose. He used the jamb to stand. Pain shot through his ribs.

A sound Alejandro did not even know he made must have alerted the 'Refrigerators Three' to his presence in the doorway. They turned as one hulking mass toward Alejandro, who stood with the cocked revolver aimed at the middle monster's family jewels.

The dead calm on Alejandro's bleeding face must have told them he was ready to commit murder.

He said in a lifeless voice, "Huerta is gone. Yesterday morning was the last time we saw him. We are employees of the Martinez ranch, not Huerta. Whatever business you have with him has nothing to do with us. Go now or he dies." Alejandro again gestured to the middle hulk.

Watching him with matching lethal eyes, they backed slowly away. Alejandro kept the revolver on them until they disappeared around the corner of the barn. He stood frozen, continuing to hold the pistol on the door until a mewling sound distracted him.

"Jose!" Alejandro fell to his knees and crawled to Jose, lying sprawled, broken, and barely breathing. "I will get help." As he flipped open his cell phone, barn security entered their aisle and saw the two of them on the floor. They rushed over, one called on the radio and the other kneeled by Jose. Alejandro looked on as if it were happening to someone else. He felt detached from the shouting of security, the screaming sirens, the scurrying of medical people and the rapid-fire questions of police.