Joan frowned, then suddenly laughed. “Guess it’s mine today, too. Well, let’s go bow at Queen Esther’s hooves.”
Cookie bounded up from the enclosed arena as Manuel, obviously down since the loss of Jorge, opened the doors. Cookie bolted out, turned right at the main aisle, little legs churning, and she came out into the sun. Seeing the other animals, she joined them in a flash.
“Wow. Wow. Wow.”
“Cookie, if only you’d been with us.” Tucker then told the Jack Russell everything.
Just then, Ward rolled out the gangplank, and who should come out, horse in hand, but Renata, tears streaming down her cheeks as she led the mare out of the van.
“Guess she left her truck at Ward’s.” Harry tended to focus on and remember practical details.
“This makes a better entrance,” Joan said out of the corner of her mouth and then, in a shrewd move of her own, walked up to the other side of Queen Esther. Both women led the mare to a stall specially prepared for her.
The reporters and cameramen followed, some walking backward.
Renata, face wet, kept repeating, “I’m so happy. I’m just so happy.”
“We hear you owe it to two cats,” the raven-haired female reporter from Louisville said, voice filled with humor.
“Mrs. Murphy and Pewter are the real heroes.” Renata let go of the lead shank as Manuel, now at her side, led the mare into her stall.
On cue, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker sat in the sunshine at the barn’s entrance. Cookie started in, then joined her friends.
Made a great shot.
This continued for an hour, until Renata excused herself and got back in the van—the cab this time—with Ward, who had also been peppered with questions.
Once they left, the reporters withdrew like low tide.
Joan walked down to the arena. Larry was in the center on foot, watching a client drive her hackney pony, an elegant gelding with high knee action. The wheels of the practice sulky kicked up the arena loam. “The last one left.”
“Jesus.” Larry whistled low. “Be more tonight.”
“Won’t be as bad, I hope.”
“Where’re Mom and Dad?” Larry inquired.
“Lexington. Dad had business. Mom went shopping. I called, gave them the news, and told them to take their time getting home.”
After a few more words, Joan rejoined Harry and Fair. They told her all they knew.
“This is a strange situation.” Joan sat down gratefully on the leather couch. “The horse reappears. Renata doesn’t believe Ward stole her, and Jorge has been murdered.”
“For today anyway, this story will overshadow the murder,” Harry said.
Joan dropped her head back on the couch. “What if that’s the point?”
“God, Joan.” Harry’s voice dropped.
“We were caught up in the horse, Renata’s reaction, Ward’s protestations of innocence.” Fair slid his palm along his cheek.
“Right. Jorge fades away and maybe some evidence fades, too.” Joan sat upright. “If only I knew what this was about!”
“If you knew you might be the next victim.” Mrs. Murphy swept along Joan’s legs.
“Don’t say that!” Cookie yelped.
“It’s true. Cookie, we need to find out what all this is about before they do.” Tucker indicated the humans.
Cookie bared her long fangs. “No one is hurting Joan. My bite is worse than my bark.”
N o sooner had Joan walked back into the small office than the phone rang.
“Kalarama.” Krista’s feminine voice pronounced the name with a lilt. She listened, put her hand over the mouthpiece, and whispered to Joan, “Renata.”
Harry watched with amusement as Joan sighed loudly, then took the phone from Krista. Harry knew just how Joan felt, since the phone, useful though it may be, was also an infernal device for interruption.
“Renata, Queen Esther is a happy girl.” Joan sounded as though she was as happy as the horse.
On the other end Renata said, “Don’t take her to Shelbyville. I know our class is tomorrow night, but I want to ride her in your arena. Well, actually, I don’t want her at Shelbyville in her stall. Don’t trust it.”
Joan paused. “Queen Esther is very sensitive, I wonder if traveling to a big show before she has to compete might affect her negatively.”
“What I was thinking—and I have to give Ward credit for this—is that she likes to be on a trailer or van. He noticed driving her to Kalarama. Don’t ask me why, but she’s pretty relaxed. Why don’t we trailer her to the show and let her stay on the trailer? She has her hay bag and we can put down a big water bucket and the crowds won’t know where she is.”
“We can try it, but I’m not allowing her to travel alone and be there alone. We’ll have to put another horse in the trailer with her, and, Renata, given all that has gone on, one of my men needs to stay on that trailer, too. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I’ll pay for the extra horse’s travel and for the guard. I know the bills run up.”
“That’s not necessary, Renata. My request is you ride the best you ever have.” Joan was impressed that Renata offered, since most clients rarely factor in extra costs such as these.
“I will, although I confess I’m considering not riding Saturday night. She’s been through a lot and so have I.”
“We all have,” Joan agreed.
Joan kept a sharp eye on the money. She’d be out of business in a heartbeat if she didn’t. But she was wise about people and knew that not toting up every penny for Renata would help cement the relationship. Renata could and would, over time, buy a lot of horses. Joan devoutly hoped some would be bred by Kalarama. Renata might also use Joan to find horses suitable for her from other breeders. Joan had an incredible eye for a horse, as did Larry.
The worry was that Renata would become needy. Amazing how many women clients became needy the longer they worked with handsome Larry. Joan kept a good perspective about it, but it could be wearing.
Fortunately, Renata carried no bad reputation on that score, nor did she suffer from the jumping-bean disease—jumping from barn to barn and trainer to trainer. Whatever had happened between Renata and Charly happened after a fruitful and relatively long association.
Once Joan handed the phone back to Krista to hang up, she filled Harry and Fair in, then asked Harry, “Do you think Renata’s going to be a pain in the ass?” Joan liked to double-check her own feelings.
“How do you mean, apart from her horse being stolen?” Harry countered as Tucker walked behind the desk to visit Krista.
“Needy.”
“No, I don’t get that sense of her, but,” Harry paused, “I don’t believe her even though I like her.” Joan and Krista sharply looked at the slender Virginian. “I don’t believe her concerning her split with Charly, and I have even deeper doubt concerning Ward Findley. He had to have known and she let him off the hook. She called you from the van?” Joan nodded in the affirmative. “Joan, they’re in cahoots.”
“Ward and Renata?” Astonishment shone on Joan’s face.
Even Krista blurted out, “He’s such a small-fry. Why?”
“Maybe because he’s a small-fry.”
“What on earth could she gain by this? And it’s a hell of a risk to the mare.” Joan thought a minute. “Maybe not. She did say Queen Esther likes to ride in vans.”
Krista, who had known Ward from childhood, added, “He’s not exactly a liar and not exactly a cheat, but if you left one hundred dollars on the table and walked away, he just might pick it up and say the dog ate it.”
“That’s a recommendation.” Joan laughed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Harry, get to the point.”
They were dear friends and Harry took no offense at Joan being direct. Besides, Joan was under tremendous pressure. “What if Renata stole her own horse?”