Vasquez lowered his hands and looked up at Mattie. “What the hell’s going on?”
Stunned speechless, Mattie couldn’t give him an answer.
The man on the ground was a dead ringer for Roger Howard.
Chapter 21
Cole said good-bye to his last morning client, glancing at the clock as he held open the door. The girls would get home from school around three. He’d better whip and spur if he was going to make it up to Dark Horse and get back home to greet them.
“Tess, did we get those lab results on Diablo?” he called through the pass through as he cleaned up.
“Yes, I printed them for you.” She handed them to him through the opening.
He paused his cleaning and scanned the results. No improvement from the initial blood-work. “I’m going to leave now for Dark Horse Stable. Did you get the schedule set up for me?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I had to schedule several appointments starting at four o’clock this afternoon. I’ve got you booked until six, and you’ll have to start at seven thirty in the morning.”
This isolated stable was wreaking havoc with his schedule. “That’s fine. I just need a little time with the kids when they get home from school. I can make the rest of it work.”
Cole grabbed some medications out of the refrigerator and headed out the back door to his truck. After putting the meds inside the fridge in his mobile vet unit, he climbed into the cab and fired up the engine. When he drove past his house, he wished he could stop and grab a sandwich. But he didn’t have time for a conversation with Mrs. Gibbs about Angela. Or maybe he just didn’t want to take the time. He’d rather stop at the grocery store and pick up something on his way out of town.
After stopping at Crane’s Market to do exactly that, he unwrapped his store-bought ham and cheese sandwich, opened his bag of chips, and ate while he drove. The morning breakfast routine hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked. When he’d come downstairs, everything seemed normal. Mrs. Gibbs was at the stove cooking scrambled eggs, and Sophie was perched at the table with her hair braided and drinking orange juice. Belle sat beside Sophie patiently waiting for her to drop a bite of something to eat.
“Where’s your sister?” he’d asked.
Sophie shrugged as she raised her toast to her mouth to take a bite and then followed up by poising her juice glass in front of her lips while she chewed. Clearly she didn’t want to reply.
“Has Angie been down yet?” he asked Mrs. Gibbs.
“No, sir. I haven’t seen the young lady yet this mornin’.” She set a plate filled with toast and eggs on the table for him while he poured his own coffee.
Carrying his coffee with him, he went to the bottom of the staircase and called up. “Angela. Come on down and have some breakfast.”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Dad,” she called back.
Believing that she would be down soon, Cole went back to the kitchen, thanked Mrs. Gibbs for his breakfast, and dove in. Things went smoothly for the next ten minutes.
“I’m afraid the bus will be coming soon,” Mrs. Gibbs said. “Angela is going to miss her breakfast. Sophie, you need to go get on your coat and hat, and be sure to put on your mittens. It’s frightful cold out this morning.”
When Cole went to see what was taking Angela so long, she barreled down the stairway, planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed by on her way out the front door. She was already wearing her coat and had it zipped up to her chin.
“Angie, slow down for a minute. I don’t like you missing breakfast. You need to grab some fruit or something to eat,” he said.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got a granola bar and apple in my backpack. I’ll be fine. C’mon, Sophie, we’d better run or we’ll miss the bus.”
He watched the flurry of Angela helping her sister with hat and backpack as she pushed her out the door, and it dawned on him that this had all been planned. He might be slow, but he wasn’t stupid. His daughter’s eyelids had been darkened with more makeup than usual, and he wondered what she was wearing under that coat.
He’d turned to find Mrs. Gibbs standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a small paper bag and wearing a frown of disapproval.
“I packed some food for Angela to take, but she was in fine hurry this morning, she was.”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “She’ll be all right without it.”
The frown on Mrs. Gibbs’s face deepened. “I wonder why she had such a bee in her bustle.”
“I’d hate to guess. I’ll talk to her about it when she gets home from school.”
He’d pick a tussle with a longhorn bull over that conversation any day.
He turned his thoughts from his kids to the horse that he was headed up to treat, hoping that he’d find it better after starting insulin yesterday. He finished his lunch about the same time he turned off the highway, and he headed up the rough county road toward his destination with both hands free to steer around the potholes.
When he pulled into the stable yard, he saw the red chestnut horse out on the racetrack, streaking around the turn with Carmen on its back. He left his truck and walked over to join the groom named Juan at the guardrail. Juan tipped his head in greeting, shielding his eyes with his cowboy hat for a second. When he raised his eyes, Cole smiled at him, but the man’s dour expression didn’t change.
“He’s fast,” Cole observed aloud.
Juan shrugged with a slight shake of his head, signaling that he didn’t comprehend.
With a hard tug on the reins, Carmen tried to slow the horse as it pounded past. When she finally got it under control, she turned to come back to them, the horse snorting and tossing its head as it pulled on the bit. Juan ducked under the rail to take the horse’s reins, allowing Carmen to slip off. From the looks of it, she must have given the horse quite a workout. Sweat saturated its red coat and it was all lathered up. Still, the big animal danced at the end of its reins as Juan led it down the track to cool off.
Carmen pulled off her riding gloves. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I’m afraid Diablo is losing ground.”
Not the news he wanted to hear. After passing the Doberman, who kicked up his usual vicious fuss, Cole followed her inside the barn to look at the stallion, dreading what he might find. The horse was lying down, stretched out flat, his black coat dull and lifeless. He looked thinner even than yesterday. Cole could count every rib.
Pulling his stethoscope from his pocket, he let himself into the stall and squatted next to the sick horse. Cole listened to his heart, counting the beats—not as rapid as it had been the day before, but still faster than it should be. He examined the mucous membrane in his mouth, pressing the gum above the top teeth. Delayed capillary refill time.
He crabbed his way toward the horse’s back end, palpating the muscles of his back, haunch, and stifle as he went. As his hand traveled down the leg near the rear hoof, he could feel heat radiate from the hoof wall. He placed his palm flat on the bottom of it, well aware of what this level of warmth meant. Inflammation.
“I think his muscles are less bound up, but now he’s got laminitis,” he told Carmen. “He’s down because his hooves are too sore for him to stand on.”
“How can that be?”
Cole knew what she meant. This horse was barely eating anything, and the typical cause of laminitis was overeating rich foodstuffs, like grain or lush green grass. “I’m not sure I know the answer to that. You stopped the grain, right?”
“We did.”
“How much is he eating?”