Рита Браун - Puss 'N Cahoots

Watching 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.

“The good thing about Queen Esther walking off is we’re off those damned leashes.” Mrs. Murphy sat on a Kalarama tack trunk.

Paul Hamilton drove up in his cream-colored Mercedes E. He got out, appearing calm, and walked into the barn.

Joan, in the aisle talking to Manuel and Jorge, felt relief when her father stepped into the barn.

“Boys.” He nodded to the two men. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the reporters swarm over us from Louisville. Forty-five before they come on from Lexington.” He pushed his square-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “And I reckon some of those entertainment reporters will show up, too.”

Joan, her father’s daughter, which meant she could see the big picture long before others even squinted at a blurry outline, replied, “Daddy, we were just discussing that. I say we take them to the empty stall, let them shoot their footage, then park them in the hospitality room for more questions. Won’t hurt for people to see the ribbons and photographs hanging up there.”

“Where’s Larry?”

“Working horses. If we let this get us off track, we’ll lose more than Queen Esther.”

He nodded, radiating confidence. “Well, it’s a hell of a mess, but I expect the Kalarama name will stick. No such thing as bad publicity.”

Joan knew when her father was trying to shore her up. “I hope you’re right.”

“Where’s Renata?” Paul half-expected her to be emoting full force.

“She’s walking from barn to barn, checking every stall.”

Just then, Harry came around the end stall of the aisle on her hands and knees.

“What you doing there, Shorty?” Paul, despite all, was amused at the sight.

“I wanted to check the stalls and aisles before more people came through. You never know, the thief might have dropped something.” She stood up, brushing off her knees. “Found you have flashlights stuck in tack trunks and on ledges.”

“It’s not Shelbyville if we don’t enjoy at least one big storm and lose power,” Paul informed her as he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

Mrs. Murphy gracefully jumped off the tack trunk to return to Queen Esther’s stall. Tucker, lying down in front of the trunk, and Pewter, snoozing on a director’s chair next to the trunk, roused themselves to follow.

Manuel, tack in hand, baseball cap pushed back on his head, suggested, “Show them Larry working horses.” He meant the reporters.

“Good idea.” Joan smiled as Manuel kept walking toward a stall, Jorge behind him.

“Jorge, you make sure that every horse in this barn shines like patent leather.” Paul put his hands in his pants pockets.

“Sí.” Jorge left, calling out some orders to the other men.

“They always do.” Joan loved her father, but sometimes when he butted in, it worked on her nerves. “Is Momma upset?”

“She’s been on the phone to her sisters.” That meant she was upset.

Joan bit her tongue, because Frances would be even more upset when she found out about the pin.

As the humans kept talking in the aisle, Tucker dug a few spots to see if there was anything under the cedar shavings.

“Scent’s fading.” Pewter curled her upper lip toward her nose, which helped gather what odor there was.

“The cedar shavings are overpowering.” Tucker sat on her haunches. “I should have thought of that!”

“The cedar shavings are always overpowering. What’s the big deal?” Pewter twitched her tail.

“The big deal,” Tucker was irritated, “is that we were minutes behind the deed. The dye smell was still potent.” Tucker stated what was obvious to her.

“You’re right. But who dyed Queen Esther, who walked her out the back of Barn Five to hand her off to Ward? We know he took the horse.” Mrs. Murphy swept her whiskers forward.

“Did he know he was taking stolen goods?” Pewter wondered.

“I expect he did, but let’s go to Charly’s barn first,” Tucker suggested, and before the last syllable left her mouth, the cats shot out of the stall, bits of cedar shavings hitting the corgi in the face. “Hey!” Tucker called after them as she roared out of the stall, soon catching up.

The three animals scooted around trainers, riders, and grooms between barns, only slowing down if the humans were mounted or leading a horse. At only ten-fifteen, August’s sultry reputation was well earned.

By the time they reached Barn Three by the practice arena, Tucker’s pink tongue hung out. She stuck her head in a water bucket for dogs that was tucked in the corner of the barn, as there’s no such thing as a horseman without a dog. The cats, on their hind legs, also drank.

“Hotter here than in Virginia.” Pewter panted.

“It is. At home we’re by the mountains, and the ocean’s not that far away,” Tucker thoughtfully replied. “There’s usually a cool breeze.”

“From our farm it’s one hundred forty miles—well, first you run into the Chesapeake Bay if you draw a straight line, but still, almost the same, to big water,” Mrs. Murphy stated. She thought of the Atlantic Ocean as big water.

“How do you know that?” Pewter doubted the tiger.

“Because I read the map with Mom. If you draw a straight line from Crozet east, you wind up just below Point Lookout, where the Potomac River pours into the Chesapeake Bay. If you crossed the water you’d wind up at Assateague Island, and that’s the Atlantic Ocean. Okay, so it’s more than one hundred forty miles to the Atlantic, but it’s not all that far to where the river meets the bay. Even though we’re about the same latitude as here, our weather’s different. Anyway, that’s what Mom says, and she cares about the weather.”

“Will you two shut up? Let’s get to work,” Tucker commanded.

Neither cat wished to take orders from a dog, but Tucker was right, so they fanned out, alert to any possibility.

Mrs. Murphy, claws like tiny daggers, climbed up the side of a stall to walk along the joists overhead.

Coming in the opposite direction, the large ginger cat in charge of the barn stopped, thrashed his tail vigorously, eyes wide. “What are you doing in my barn!”

Below, Pewter heard the challenge just as the rest of the barn-cat crew emerged from the hospitality room.

Tucker, large enough to scare them, bared her fangs so the cats scattered to encircle Pewter. Tucker was on to that.

Overhead, Mrs. Murphy loudly answered the ginger cat. “We’re looking for clues about the stolen horse. We figure Charly had the most incentive.”

“Wasn’t in my barn.” The ginger allowed his fur to settle down, but the tip of his tail swayed.

“No, she wasn’t, but we saw her being loaded onto Ward’s van. Do you work for Charly?”

“No. I work for the fairgrounds,” the fellow replied.

Mrs. Murphy checked where a stall corner was, so she could back down just in case he decided to fight. Looked like he was calming down, so she relaxed a bit.

“Why do you care about the horse?”

“Kalarama. I’m,” she told a white lie, “a Kalarama cat. If anything unusual happens, please tell me. I’m in Barn Five. Doesn’t have to be about a horse. Could be anything, you know, sort of strange.”