“No. Charly loves horses, even if sometimes he’s too harsh for my taste. But then he says to me, ‘A horse that’s woman-broke is no good.’ Pissed me off.”
“Actually, Renata, there is a scrap of truth to that, whether it’s horses or dogs. Women have a tendency to be too lenient—not every woman but most women. An animal must have consistent discipline, good nutrition, and love, but you can’t leave off the discipline.”
“You train your horses?”
“Do. If you ever can, please come visit us. If you come in the fall you can foxhunt.”
“God, I’d love that.” She brightened considerably. “Think I could do it? All I really know is saddle seat.”
“Ride with the Hilltoppers. They don’t jump, and if there’s one thing I know about saddle seat, most of all you need good hands. The horse I would put you on, Tomahawk, would be most grateful.”
“I will do it. You think I’m just shooting my mouth off, but I will.”
“Shortro has the right attitude for the hunt field,” Harry said.
“Three years plus a few months and he really does have a good mind, doesn’t he?” Renata smiled.
“I’ll introduce you to Alicia Palmer.”
At this Renata straightened up. “Alicia Palmer, the movie star?”
“Renata, you’re a movie star.”
Renata laughed. “Harry, Alicia is a real movie star. No one is like that today.”
“She’s a wonderful woman and a pretty good horsewoman, too. In fact, one of the reasons Fair and I are here, apart from our honeymoon, is to find a horse for Alicia that I can make into a hunter. She has a lot of youngsters, but many of those go on to the steeplechase circuit or to the Keeneland sales.”
“I bet she’s still beautiful.”
“Unbelievable.” Harry finished her cigarette, dropping it on the wet ground, grinding it to bits. “When you worked with Charly, did you ever see drugs? Human drugs, I mean?”
Renata shrugged. “Horse world is full of it. So is every other industry, but have you ever noticed Hollywood and the horse biz are the scapegoats for everyone else?”
“But those big corporations drug-test. Don’t employees sign a paper for those jobs stating they will allow random drug-testing?”
“I don’t know, but I know it doesn’t mean much. Any test can be beaten. But I don’t care. It’s not the drugs that bother me, it’s the hypocrisy about it all. Does Charly take drugs? Well, I think if he wants to celebrate he might drink some champagne while inhaling an illicit substance. Is he an addict? No.”
“Might he be a drop-off station?”
“No. I can’t stand him, but I’m not going to accuse him of being a dealer.”
“Someone in the barn?”
She waited. “I couldn’t say.”
Tucker remarked, “She can say well enough. She just won’t say.”
Harry, either visited by divine inspiration or having a crazy moment, blurted out, “If I find your horse, will you do something for me?”
“Yes,” Renata replied without hesitation.
“Will you advertise my wine? You know, say it’s good?”
“If it’s fit to pour on a dog. If it’s not fit to pour on a dog you’ll make a laughingstock out of me. Look, if it’s awful, I’ll give twenty thousand dollars to you, cashier’s check.”
Harry gulped hard. “Renata, I don’t want your money for doing something that’s right. The horse comes first.”
“Take the money and run.” Tucker let out a little yelp.
“No, Tucker, Renata as a spokeswoman is worth a hell of a lot more than twenty thousand dollars.”
“I thought you farmed.”
Energized by this exchange, Harry answered, “I put in a quarter of an acre of grapes, Petit Manseng. I won’t get a true harvest—a mature one—for three years, so you’re off the hook until then. I wish I could do more, but it costs about fourteen thousand dollars an acre to establish a vineyard.”
“Fourteen thousand dollars,” Renata echoed in amazement.
Harry held out her hand. “Is it a deal? You advertise my wine so long as it’s fit to pour on a dog.” She smiled.
Renata gave her her hand. “If you find Queen Esther, I will live up to the bargain—as long as you throw in an introduction to Alicia Palmer.”
“Deal.” Harry grinned.
“Deal.” Renata suddenly felt happy, even though it seemed absurd under the circumstances.
They leaned back against Barn Five.
“Sometimes I wonder if our beloved Harry is one brick shy of a load.” Tucker found this deal amusing.
“Tucker, sometimes I think that about you,” the tiger teased.
Renata said, almost languidly, “If you find Queen Esther, maybe you’ll find whoever killed that poor man in there.”
“Might could.” Harry used the old Southern expression against which English teachers had fought for over a century.
Whatever Harry would find was as cloudy as a night’s sky. The one certain thing was that out of the moist, dark soil of fear, rumors would multiply like mushrooms.
M rs. Murphy and Pewter curled up on the bed pillows. After wiping Tucker’s paws, Fair spread an old blanket at the end of the bed, lifting Tucker onto it.
The animals listened as the humans showered, washing for warmth as much as cleanliness, for both were clammy and cold from the night air, the temperature having dropped after the monumental thunderstorm. They could hear Harry and Fair talking as they scrubbed each other’s backs.
“Ever notice how all animals like to groom one another?” Tucker lifted her head off her sparkling paws.
“Cleans those hard-to-reach spots,” Pewter, fond of her toilette, replied.
“Makes us feel closer.” Mrs. Murphy felt drowsy.
“You’re right,” Pewter agreed. “I’d never let anyone I didn’t like groom me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you imagine grooming Miss Nasty? Even another monkey wouldn’t do it.”
“Booty gives her baths. I heard Joan telling Mother that he lavishes attention on her. Joan says it’s a surrogate child or maybe he does it as penance. Don’t know for what, but Joan was laughing about it.” Tucker rolled onto her side, stretched her legs fore and aft.
“Men are descended from apes,” Pewter declared with authority. “Booty’s grooming a family member, sort of.”
“If men are descended from apes, then what are women descended from?” Tucker smiled mischievously.
“Angels,” Mrs. Murphy answered, her eyes half closed.
The three laughed at that, then Tucker thoughtfully wondered, “Is that why men behave as they do—you know, can’t face reality, dream a lot—because they’re imperfect monkeys?”
“Apes,” Pewter corrected her.
“Same difference. Size—” Tucker didn’t finish, because Mrs. Murphy interrupted.
“They’re a mess because their senses aren’t good, and they are even more eroded because of pollution—noise pollution, too.”
“But so are we.” Tucker wasn’t argumentative as much as curious.
“Yes, but our noses and ears are so much better that even with some damage we remain vastly superior to the human animal.” Mrs. Murphy did not say this with a conceited air.
“That’s a thought.” The day’s excitement and upset caught up with Pewter. She felt tired all at once. “I do hate to think of Harry and Fair being related to Miss Nasty.” With that statement she closed her eyes, let out a tiny little puff of air, and was asleep.