“Nothing, thanks.” He noticed Ward Findley leading a quality black mare by the practice arena. He was heading to his green and white horse van. She wore a green blanket piped in white, Ward’s colors. “Nice horse. Must be one Ward’s carrying to a farm. You know, he does a pretty good business vanning horses. Ever notice how Ward always sticks his whip in his back pocket or his boot? He’s kind of like a guy who isn’t a very good polo player, so he wears his whites two hours before the match and two hours afterward.” He guffawed. “Hey, he’s not on food stamps, so Ward’s contributing to the economy.” He shrugged.
“Right,” Fair succinctly agreed.
Mrs. Murphy watched the beautiful mare step right into the van. She said in passing, “Bet she’s expensive. And from the same line as Queen Esther, too. Same head conformation.”
A few strides behind Ward walked Charly, who wasn’t paying much mind to Ward. One wouldn’t have known Charly was a trainer until it was time to ride. He wore deck shoes, khaki pants, a solid white T-shirt of high-priced cotton. A ribbon belt, deep blue with a red pinstripe, added a little color.
“Mr. Prep.” Booty indicated Charly. “You know, it’s going to give me great pleasure to beat his ass Saturday night. I’ll grant you Frederick the Great is a good horse and Charly will get the most out of him, but Callaway’s Senator is at the top of his game. I’m going to cream Charly.”
“What about Larry?” Harry asked.
“Next year—and who knows how many years after that—Point Guard will rule. But not this year. This is Senator’s year. Last class Saturday night, and I’m telling you to put your money on me because I’ll ride right over him. Hey, after the show I might just punch out his lights for good measure. Can’t stand the bastard. Excuse my French, ladies.” He paused, then smiled. “But you’ve heard worse.” He wanted to see if Renata would react, since he figured she and Charly had been lovers. There was too much emotion when Renata quit him, and once he settled down Charly was too nonchalant.
“Charly won’t be a pushover Saturday night.” Renata betrayed little.
“I’m going to make him eat dirt,” Booty promised.
Mrs. Murphy observed the high-spirited man. “If he hates Charly so much, he didn’t act like it early this morning.”
“Hypocrite,” Tucker remarked.
“Or a good actor.” Mrs. Murphy lifted her silky eyebrows, as Miss Nasty, suddenly silent, listened intently.
“I hate that you two went off without me,” Pewter huffed.
“Wake you up in the middle of the night? Not me,” Tucker replied.
“Ditto.” Mrs. Murphy leaned on the dog.
“I can wake up.” Pewter lifted her chin.
“Yes, you can, and you’re mean as snakeshit.” Mrs. Murphy laughed.
“How crude.” Pewter had decided she liked Renata anyway, so she sat in her lap.
All heads turned as they heard a commotion from Barn Five.
“Better see what’s going on. Excuse me, ladies. Fair.” Booty trotted toward the noise, the monkey on all fours on his shoulder.
Moments later, Larry walked out of Barn Five. Booty turned to fall in step with him.
Pewter jumped off Renata’s lap as Larry and Booty strode up.
“Renata.” Larry, ashen-faced, stopped to catch his breath. “Did you move Queen Esther?”
Joan, wide-eyed, walked up behind Larry.
“No,” Renata replied.
“She’s gone.”
“How can she be gone? The place is full of people! How can my horse be gone?” Renata was one step from a hissy fit.
Joan, quick to appreciate the potential for a major scene, said, “Renata, the first place we all need to look is Charly Trackwell’s. That will upset you, but I wouldn’t put it past him to move the mare back in his barn.”
“How could he do that? How could he do that and no one saw him?” She was shaking.
“That’s just it. They probably did. It’s broad daylight. People assumed you’d patched it up and gone back to him.” Joan, thinking fast, put her hand under Renata’s elbow. “Let’s have a look.”
The small entourage hurried into Barn Three. Charly, talking to Carlos, his head groom, swiveled his head toward them. “Did you come to your senses, Renata?”
“Do you have Queen Esther?” Renata asked, voice hard.
“See for yourself.”
“He’s too cool,” Tucker mumbled.
“Is, isn’t he?” Pewter agreed.
The group looked into each stall. No Queen Esther.
Charly sarcastically directed this to Booty: “Why don’t you all troll Booty’s barn? Maybe find some hair dye while you’re at it. Man can’t stand to go gray.”
“You’ll pay for that,” Booty growled.
“Not as much as you will. Saturday night, brother, you’ll be dog meat. In the meantime, get out of my barn. All of you!”
Tucker lingered, then followed the others. “He’s enjoying this.”
“Some people need a competitor, a rival, an enemy for their life to have meaning.” The tiger cat studied humans.
“And some people like to see others squirm,” Pewter, in Harry’s arms, called down to the dog.
Larry flipped open his cell to call the sheriff, who was at the bank drive-in window across from the show grounds on the Route 60 side. Within four minutes he met them at Barn Five.
Cody Howlett, young to be a sheriff, paid close attention to everything. His deputies scoured all the barns as he took notes from Larry, Renata, Manuel, Jorge, Booty, Carlos, and other grooms and trainers.
He stopped for a moment when he was questioning Joan. “You all are having some hard luck here with losing things.”
Larry, arms folded across his chest, said, “Joan, what’s Cody talking about?”
“I lost Grandma’s pin.”
“Does your mother know?” Larry said the first thing that came into his head.
“Well, no. I’m hoping this will resolve itself before that happens.”
While the humans were speaking to Sheriff Howlett, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker investigated the empty stall, door open. All three sneezed.
“Shoe polish.” Tucker’s eyes watered.
“Or hair dye.” Pewter’s eyes watered and she sneezed again.
“The humans can’t smell it. The stall is clean. No evidence to them,” Mrs. Murphy noted.
“Even if they could smell, the scent will dissipate fast as the heat comes up.” Tucker inhaled again, sneezing violently, little bits of crushed cedar bedding flying around.
“Someone walked that mare out of here in front of everyone.” Pewter appreciated the boldness of the enterprise.
“They did, but he or she knows the Kalarama routine.” Tucker was astonished at all this.
Mrs. Murphy closed her eyes as the cedar dust lifted up. Once she opened them, she said, “He knows the routine, yes. But he stood in here pretending to groom Queen Esther when he was actually dyeing her. That had to be how he got away with it.”
“No way,” Pewter disagreed. “Someone would notice an entire horse changing color.”
“Wasn’t the entire horse. Fitted light blankets are on some of the horses. He’d only have to do the neck and legs,” Mrs. Murphy replied.
At once all three said, “The black horse being loaded onto the van.”
“Under everyone’s nose.” Tucker sneezed again.
W atching a wind come from the west, one can see trees bend, then calculate how long before the wind arrives. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker watched the news of Queen Esther’s kidnapping travel from barn to barn like the wind. People moved quickly from one to another. The noise level rose. Then the owners, trainers, grooms, blacksmiths, and vets emerged from their barns to stand in the sunlight and stare at Barn Five. A few walked over to offer help and sympathy to Renata, Joan, and Larry.