Tucker smiled as she looked up. “Good business.”
“Yeah, until all those goons showed up.” Miss Nasty, spoiled, wanted Booty to make lots of money, as then she’d get more toys, treats, and dresses.
“Did you know Jorge?” Mrs. Murphy asked.
“Not really. He had something to do with that business, but I don’t know what. Booty works with the people in Texas. Charly dealt with Jorge. All three of them hooked the workers up with their employers.”
“Who took Booty’s hair dye?” Tucker was sure those bottles had been used to blacken Queen Esther’s neck and legs.
The monkey’s eyes widened. “Don’t you ever mention that! Booty would die.”
“Because he dyed the horse?” Pewter couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I’m not talking to you.” Miss Nasty grimaced.
“Is it because he dyed Queen Esther?” Tucker reiterated Pewter’s question.
“No. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s gray. He’d die.” Miss Nasty was very loyal to Booty. “He’s afraid to get old.”
“Who dyed Queen Esther?” Tucker asked. She knew, but she was testing the monkey.
“Not Booty. But I’m not everywhere.” She swung around again. “I’m tired of talking about this. I want to talk about me. Did you know that I can eat a raspberry sherbet cone faster than Booty? I can. And I can use the can opener, too, so I can open any can in the kitchen if I’m hungry. I bet you can’t do that.” A malicious gleam enlivened her eye. “Maybe Pewter.”
“Eat you!” Pewter snarled, fangs at the ready.
Just as Harry and Fair walked up to Barn Five, Miss Nasty clapped her hands. The humans spied the animals at Barn One.
“Come on, kids,” Harry called.
Reluctantly, the three friends turned from the monkey.
Calling after them, Miss Nasty yelled, “I know things.”
“We just want Joan’s pin,” Mrs. Murphy called back.
“I want to kill her,” Pewter threatened.
“Wouldn’t mind that myself,” Tucker agreed.
“Not until we find that pin,” Mrs. Murphy paused, “and the rest of it.”
“What rest of it?” Pewter thought the monkey was a blowhard.
“What she knows.” Mrs. Murphy glanced over her shoulder as Miss Nasty hung from the light fixture with one hand and made an obscene gesture with the other.
T he acrid smoke frightened many of the horses. Trainers and grooms did their best to comfort the animals. None of this boded well for those who needed to perform tonight, the last night.
The black billowing smoke spiraled upward as the firemen pumped water onto the van and the sizzling debris. Little by little the cloud flattened out, the flames subsided, but the smell of burned rubber and upholstery remained.
Fair called Larry, who was back at Kalarama working a horse from a jog cart, a light sulky used to develop an animal’s stamina. Saddlebred training, like any type of equine training, demanded patience, knowledge, and a variety of methods. Harry didn’t need a jog cart, since she could throw her leg over a horse and jog for miles across country. Saddlebred trainers worked on their farms, using outdoor tracks and indoor arenas. They rarely rode across country. Fair reassured Larry that everything was all right in Barn Five and that he, Harry, and Manuel and the other grooms would do whatever was necessary to calm the horses.
“Need to tranq?” Harry asked when Fair clicked off the cell.
“Let’s see what we can do without,” Fair told Harry and Manuel. “Hate to tranquilize them before a show, even if it is hours early.”
With Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagging along, the humans began visiting each stall.
Before Charly and Booty walked back to their barns, Ward pulled them aside. “I’m taking the big risk.” He sneezed violently, and they moved farther away from the smoke. “It was my van, not yours, so someone knows.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Booty counseled.
“Easy for you to say. Not your van.”
“We’ll get you another van,” Charly volunteered, patting Ward’s shoulder once. “Blessing in disguise. You collect insurance. We buy you a brand-new, reliable van. Everyone’s happy.”
Ward’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s got to be a three-way equal split. I’m the one carrying the freight. You two aren’t. I’m the one with your workers still at my farm, Charly.”
“We make the deals.” Booty ran his hand over his hair. A thin, dark sheen appeared on his palm, which he wiped on his jeans.
“Soot,” Charly generously said, checking his own hair. “Ward, I understand your position. But Booty and I have the contacts. We make the payment to our man in Texas.”
“Your man or an independent operator?” Ward’s eyebrows rose.
“Independent.”
“See, I don’t think that’s quite the way it goes.” Ward was upset—after all, he or Benny or both could have been blown to bits. “I think Jorge was the go-between.”
A moment passed, then Booty said, “He was sure helpful, but there’s someone in Texas. We told you when we agreed to do business to let us,” he nodded toward Charly, “take care of the setups, the pickups. You make the deliveries.”
“I run my van to Memphis or Louisville. Hell, one time I had to go to St. Louis. I’m smart enough to know the rivers prove safer passage than roads, but I still make the last trip on the roads to pick up the boys off the river. It’s me that will get stopped, not you. And I’m telling you, someone’s on to us.”
“I still say your van blowing up and burning could have been faulty wiring.” Booty avoided the main question.
Charly said, “Booty, it was a bomb. I’d bet my life on it.”
Churlish since he was being contradicted, Booty spat, “Let’s hope you don’t have to.”
“No, it’s me that’s betting my life. If I have to take this risk, I want an equal third. If not, I’m out,” Ward said.
“Out where?” Booty crossed his arms over his chest.
“In for a penny, in for a pound.” Charly said this in a lighthearted manner.
“How do I know you won’t run to the feds to save your skin?” Booty’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t be an ass, Booty.” Ward, emotions close to the surface, raised his voice.
“Shhh, shhh.” Charly held his palms out toward the ground and made a slowing motion.
“Dammit!” Booty did keep his voice low.
“If I turned tail, if I double-crossed you all, I’d be in the slammer. They wouldn’t let me walk free. Plea-bargaining is a crock of shit. I’d still get it.” Ward’s voice was urgent, worried.
“Not as many years,” Booty shot back.
“I don’t want any years. As I see it this is a needed business, supply and demand.”
“Got that right.” Charly agreed with Ward, which he hoped would help defuse the situation.
“The fact that this is illegal is ridiculous. The laws will change.” Ward also lowered his voice. “They must. White folks ain’t doin’ this work.” He half-smiled. “But in the meantime, we’re breaking the law. I’ll pay for it. You two will be safe. ’Course, while I’m in the slammer, maybe Congress will figure out a way to make these guys legal. Then you two have a head start on an upright business while I’m punching out license plates.”
“If whoever blew up your van is the same person who killed Jorge,” Charly hooked his thumb into his belt loop, “Booty and I won’t be safe. I’ve been thinking about that.”