Рита Браун - Puss 'N Cahoots

“Weird, isn’t it? No one loves animals more than you and me, and now there are people actually saying we shouldn’t domesticate them. Hell, they’ve domesticated us. Well, I’m off the track and I’m sorry. It’s been pretty intense here.”

“You saw the explosion?”

“Heard it and ran right out. If Ward, Benny, or horses had been there, they’d be in pieces all over the parking lot. It was by the grace of God that Benny left the van once he cranked it to warm up. He walked over to Charly’s barn to talk to Carlos.”

“Whoever did this wanted them dead just like Jorge.”

“Connected?” Harry thought so.

“I believe it is, but I don’t know why. Something to do with the illegal workers. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I think about illegal workers, but Ward works like a slave. It’s only himself and Benny. If he were part of some kind of smuggling ring, wouldn’t he have help at his own barn? He could afford grooms. Maybe he’s getting close to whoever did kill Jorge.”

“That’s what I’ve come to think, but…” She took a while. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll relax until the five-gaited class is over, and Larry, Manuel, the boys, and the horses are back at Kalarama. Harry, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“You do.”

“Well, then I don’t want anyone else to know I know except you, of course.”

“One other thing.” Harry scrupulously did not spill the beans about Renata leaving, but she did say, “Renata gave me Shortro.”

“She did!”

“She’s grateful I found Queen Esther. She promised to help me with my wine if it turns out potable. ’Course, that’s three years down the road. Guess she wanted to do something now.”

“How good of her. He’s a great guy. The Shortros of the world should be gold-plated. That wonderful mind.”

“You’ll lose a boarder. Sorry.”

Joan laughed. “He wouldn’t stay long. She’ll wind up back with Charly. Too much emotion there. Takes a woman to know a woman.”

“Yes.” Harry bit her lip.

“I expect her to pull Queen Esther after the show. She did call and say she wasn’t showing the mare tonight. I wanted to make sure—after all, this is her last prep before Louisville. She’ll be up against even more horses at Louisville. Said she didn’t trust whatever was happening, so she wasn’t going to show her. I thought she’d do it for the publicity.”

“Can’t blame her.”

“No. Well, does this mean you’re going to show a Saddlebred?” A merry tone lifted Joan’s voice.

“Actually, Joan, I’ll just walk him under tack, then see if he’s willing to do more.”

“I knew it. I knew you’d turn him into a foxhunter.”

Harry laughed. “He’ll tell me what he wants to do.”

“That’s why you’re a good horseman.”

“I’ll do anything,” Shortro promised.

As Harry and Joan finished up their conversation, Fair stood in the aisle of Charly’s barn. The smoke finally was dissipating and wafting eastward. The smell of it, the burned oil and metal, still hung over the place.

“Seeing more of it.” Charly walked the aisle with Fair as they looked in on each horse. “More shows. More pressure. And if you have a client who has a four-hundred-thousand-dollar horse and they tell you not to turn him out in the pasture because they’re afraid of an injury, what do you do?”

“I know it takes patience, but you need to show them what gastric ulcers are and how they affect an animal. Keep a horse in a stall with limited turnout, cram them full of high-energy food, subject them to high stress, you’re going to get ulcers. Performance drops. Once the ulcers are diagnosed, it takes twenty-eight days of a full tube of Ulcergard every day. And after that it’s a quarter tube a day. Don’t change the regimen and the ulcers return. People have to learn these are living, breathing, emotional creatures. They aren’t cars.”

“I know. I know. Had five horses in my barn suffer from them.”

“How many horses at the farm?”

“Sixty. Give or take.”

“How many in work?”

“Well, horses come in and out. Some are there for specific training, a course, and they’re gone in a month, say, but on average, twenty-five.”

“If you only have five with ulcers, you have a good program. Some people don’t use Ulcergard, by the way. They use papaya juice. I prefer Ulcergard. Ulcers are a bitch.”

“Now if I could calm mine.” Charly smiled ruefully. “It’s feast or famine in this business.”

“This last week can’t have helped.”

“Never been through anything like it.” Charly folded his arms across his chest. “Well, the first Gulf War was bad, but we knew what we were about. This,” he held out one hand, keeping the other arm across his chest, “I don’t know. I feel like there’s someone behind every bush. That damned raid, along with Jorge’s murder, has everyone looking over their shoulders. Now this.” He shook his head, then stood straighter. “I’ll worry about it after the show. I will beat Booty if it kills me.”

“Or him.”

“Given all that’s happened, I probably shouldn’t say that, but I really do want to wipe his face in the dirt. Frederick the Great is going to win Shelbyville, and Louisville, too. He’s a world champion.”

“For my part, I hope there’s good competition tonight.” Fair smiled at him and said, “No glory in a walkover.”

Charly smiled, too. “They’ll make it hard for me. You’ll see a pretty damned exciting class.”

As if the portents since August 2 hadn’t filled people with wonder and anxiety, the yellow stakeout around the debris of the van completed the aura of incipient danger.

The show officials wanted the bits hauled off, but the sheriff declared they had to stay. Plus, they still were warm. Bomb experts called in from Louisville needed time to consider the pattern of debris.

The result of this wise decision on the part of young Sheriff Howlett caused the officials consternation. Half of the main parking lot would be cordoned off, so they petitioned the sheriff and the mayor to allow them to mark the westbound shoulder of Route 60 for parking, as well as side streets closest to the fairgrounds. Residents didn’t complain about Route 60, but having their streets clogged up proved a major irritant. The smarter ones parked their cars at the foot of their driveway so no one could block them. Windows had been smashed for less.

As for Route 60, traffic to the show from both east and west would need to be rerouted to park along the curb of town streets.

Many of the officials feared that spectators would remain home after the week of wild events; after all, how many Saddlebred shows endured a murder, a van blowing up, and a horse being stolen, and then recovered? The reverse proved true. What is it about the human race that draws it to danger, drama? Let there be a car crash, a house fire, a bridge collapse, and folks will travel for miles to view the disaster. The final night of the horse show was no exception. People started pouring in two hours before the first class.

The grooms feverishly worked to prepare the horses and riders, bringing extra water for themselves as the heat remained unabated; the trainers all dodged the unbelievable press of flesh. By five, two hours before the first class, all prior attendance records had been shattered. Despite the expense for extra security and the anticipated cost of extra cleanup of the grounds, the coffers would overflow.

Ward, hearing the sounds of cars, people, feet, quipped to Benny, bridle over his shoulder, “This proves there is no such thing as bad publicity.”