Death By A Dark Horse

Chapter Two

  I fought to hold back the knife edge of panic, ignored the numerous, pointed suggestions to walk, and hurried to the Copper Creek office. I was sure to find a reasonable explanation for my inability to locate my horse in the form of the equestrian center's owner, Delores Salatini, who was always in the office in the mornings regardless of the day of the week. My sister Juliet was there, too -- I'd seen her motorcycle. It was conceivable she would be able to help since she made it her business to know what everyone was doing all the time.

  I nearly lost my grip on the office door's knob when I pulled it open, and didn't quite manage to get it closed behind me before I hauled myself to a stop inside the office. Delores sat at her old wooden teacher's desk, coffee mug raised halfway to her lips, and phone pressed against an ear.

  "We seem to have a problem," she said into the handset, eyebrows hovering above her reading glasses. "I'll call you back." She hung up the phone, not once taking her eyes off me.

  It took me a second to get words out. I was uncharacteristically out of breath for a short jog. "Where's Blackie? I can't find Blackie."

  She leaned forward slightly, frowning. "Blackie?"

  "Yes, Blackie. I can't find him. I've checked every barn, every stall, and every paddock." I steadied my breathing and glanced around the office. "Where's Juliet? I thought she'd be here since her bike is. Where's Eric? I haven't seen him this morning -- or Miguel."

  Delores pushed away from her desk and grabbed her old down vest off the back of her chair. "It's Eric's day off. He does get them, you know. Miguel's on break. He's in charge of the barns today."

  I spun to go. "He must be at the house."

  "Wait for me." She hustled around her desk, pulling the vest over her flannel shirt.

  We lost no time crossing the parking lot to the two-story white house where the staff -- except for Eric, Copper Creek's barn manager -- lived. Maria, Miguel's wife, answered our knock, purse over her arm, dressed for church. She greeted us with her customary warmth, but her smile vanished. She pressed a hand to her heart.

  "There is something wrong, no?" she asked in heavily accented English.

  Delores's chin jerked an affirmative. "I need to talk to Miguel --"

  I edged forward, next to Delores. "I can't find my horse."

  Maria's eyes grew twice their normal size. Her gaze darted from me to Delores. "Come in, come in!" She hustled through the tidy living room ahead of us. The staccato click of her heels on the hardwood floor punctuated her words. "¡Miguel! ¡Miguel! ¡Delores y Thea están aqui! ¡Miguel!"

  I followed Delores into the living room, but she didn't sit. She stood with her shoulders drawn up, hands jammed into her vest pockets, mouth and eyes narrowed to mere slits. I'd never seen her look like this. Any hope I had that Miguel would be of help sank.

  The big, mustachioed man emerged, yawning and rumpled, from the direction of the first floor bedroom. "¿Que pasó?" He didn't appear to notice Delores or me.

  "Miguel, I can't find Blackie." My breath shook around the words, surprising me.

  He turned toward us, a flush turning his normally dark complexion ruddy as he shoved his shirt tails into his pants. "You checked the paddocks?"

  Unable to voice a word, I nodded. Oh God, I'd read Delores right. He didn't know where Blackie was.

  "Yes, of course she did." Despite her severe expression, Delores's reply was no more brusque than usual.

  All traces of sleep were gone from Miguel's expression. "I did not do his barn this morning. Jorge did. I will ask him." He dashed up the stairs, surprisingly agile for a man of his age and girth.

  There was a pounding on an upstairs door then a conversation in breakneck, agitated Spanish that I couldn't follow. One pair of heavy footsteps crossed the floor and thudded a brisk beat down the stairs. Miguel returned to the living room, his bandito moustache in a fierce downward slant, and a deep furrow between his eyebrows. Before he could open his mouth Jorge's footsteps clattered down the stairs. He arrived with his boots mostly on, buttoning his jeans. His gaze flitted between Delores and me.

  "Tell them." Miguel, arms folded high across his barrel chest, jerked his head at us.

  Jorge licked his lips and swallowed. Maria echoed her husband's stance, but the accusing glare she aimed at her son had the edge only a mother is capable of honing. Jorge shrank under his parents' scrutiny, then forced his shoulders down and focused his worried gaze on me.

  "Last night, about ten, when I was checking the barns I saw you drive off in a truck and horse trailer with Blackie. He had his head out the window and whinnied at me."

  My arms dropped to my sides. I stared.

  He hurried on. "At least I thought it was you, Thea. I figured someone forgot to tell me you were coming."

  "No." I swallowed most of the word and it came out overly soft. This went beyond his usual goof-up. He should have known better than to let an unexpected rig go unchallenged. Even I knew it was one of Eric's rules. "I didn't take Blackie anywhere. Besides, I don't own a truck and trailer. You know that."

  Maria's short, round frame vibrated with fury and her temper blew with a single exhale. "You men! You have let Thea's horse be stolen! The best horse in the barn, the one every professional horseman has wanted to buy, her Blackie who she loves with all her heart, and you let a thief drive off with him! I am ashamed to know you." Her eyes flashed from son to startled husband.

  "But Mom—"

  "None of your excuses. None! I am done with them."

  Miguel opened his mouth to speak but, wisely, closed it again as she snapped a look at him.

  "I must miss church because of your carelessness. How can I go to church when my husband and son cannot be trusted out of my sight? If you know what is good for you, you will ask the good Lord to forgive you. I wash my hair of you both!"

  Miguel shifted uncomfortably and Jorge studied his boots. Maria's struggles with English usually drew teasing from her son. Not this time.

  Then Jorge looked up and snapped his fingers. "The truck and trailer -- I can tell you what they looked like." His eager gaze swept all of us, and a thread of hope dragged me up from complete despair.

  "Don't keep us waiting," Delores said.

  He drew a quick breath. "The truck was new, a Ford F350, super-duty dually, silver, with a four-door crew cab."

  At least he remembered the vehicle. But, everybody in Snohomish drives a truck. Half of them are gray, or grayish.

  "I didn't get the license plate," he added, dejected. A beat later he brightened. "The trailer was a Sundowner goose-neck, same color as the truck, three-horse, with a camper in the front."

  Hope surged. An expensive rig -- and familiar sounding. Delores's eyes narrowed and she shook her head once, but she was silent. Maybe I was wrong. Despair made a comeback.

  "Well, that very tiny news could be helpful," Maria said, and sniffed disparagingly.

  "I really screwed up, didn't I?" Jorge said, and pressed both hands to his head. "I should have stopped a rig I didn't recognize."

  "We'll discuss that later." Delores tapped an index finger against her lips. "Did you see who was driving?"

  "No. The truck was pulling around the corner of the Big Barn when I saw it so I just had a quick look at the rig."

  Blackie was truly gone. I pulled in a shaky breath trying to control the tears. Nearly eleven hours -- he could be in California by now, or who knew where.

  "I'm sorry, Thea. I --" Jorge's voice caught.

  Delores put a hand on my shoulder.

  "Did you let Valerie think you changed your mind about selling Blackie?"

  I could only gape at her. Delores knew I'd never sell him.

  "The rig Jorge described matches hers," she said.

  I walked two steps and dropped into a chair. "No. Valerie? No. I never…." My words trailed away into disbelief. That didn't make any sense. I looked, again, at Delores. She nodded. I closed my dry mouth and straightened. Crap. Valerie offered to buy Blackie several times and for
increasingly exorbitant amounts of money, although I'd made it clear he was not for sale at any price. But Valerie never believed me. To her, everything had a price.

  I imagined the self-satisfied look on her face when she waltzed off with my horse in her trailer, and my initial anguish rebounded into rage. Not only could I handle this, but I would make that self-centered, miserable excuse for a human-being sorry she was ever born. Cold, clear purpose had me on my feet and in motion.

  "Thea!" Delores barked.

  "I'm going to Valerie's." I shot over my shoulder. "That bitch stole my horse!"

  "Thea!" Delores's roar stopped me, and I turned to challenge her. She tossed her keys at me and I snatched them out of the air in a one-handed catch. "Take my truck and trailer. Jorge, help her hook up and go with her. I'll call the police and report the theft."

  I ran across the parking lot to Delores's dark green Dodge Ram 3500, Jorge on my heels.

  Damn. This was unbelievable, just plain effing unbelievable. How could she? Bitch.

  Fifteen minutes later I stomped on the clutch and tried again to downshift without grinding the truck's gears. No success. The gnashing of metal on metal as the stick shift jerked and vibrated under my hand pissed me off even more.

  "Goddammit." I tried to force it.

  "Do you want me to drive, Thea?" Jorge's offer was his third.

  "No." I found the gear and accelerated carefully.

  I knew exactly where Valerie lived and where to look for my horse, having been there twice before over the past year. At the end of the summer she'd hosted an auction for the Puget Sound Sporthorse Breeders' Association, and on another occasion invited the local dressage club there to hold a special meeting.

  "At least let me drive back. If we find Blackie at Valerie's your driving will sour him on getting in a trailer for the rest of his life."

  I shot him a scowl. He was right, of course, but considering my frame of mind, he was lucky I didn't drop him off at the side of the road and tell him to walk home. A small portion of my mind, a fragment that still retained some semblance of reason, reminded me that it was Valerie I was angry with and not Jorge. I needed to keep my head if I was going to make sure she paid for this. The very first thing I'd do was call the police, if they weren't already there from Delores's phone call. Then, when they hauled Valerie away in handcuffs I'd load up Blackie and take him home. Then I'd get an attorney and sue her ass.

  We approached the turn on to OK Mill Road and I eased the truck into second gear to negotiate the turn. The gears ground, again, and the truck bucked despite my efforts to finesse the clutch. Jorge slouched in his seat and covered his face with his hands. I dismissed his silent critique, turning my attention back to self-involved Valerie. Could she really be so stupid as to steal my horse? Arrogance was normal for her, but she'd made quite a leap from conceit to criminal, and in one greedy move destroyed her chances to ride in the Olympics.

  I downshifted to negotiate the curve where OK Mill became Carpenter Road, flinching as the gears ground -- again. Thankfully, we were almost there. Just a little farther up this twisty, gear-shifting excuse for a road before we arrived at Valerie's and rescued Blackie.

  The steep, sharp curve ahead required another downshift. I shoved the clutch to the floor, found second gear, and eased my foot onto the accelerator. Success. My shoulders dropped and I exhaled at the exact moment a silver sedan hurtled around the blind curve, straddling the centerline. I jumped on the brake and twisted the wheel, heading for the nonexistent shoulder. Too late, I remembered the clutch. The truck stalled, lurching to a stop. I braced for the impact. The car missed us by inches.

  I exhaled in a rush, too surprised and relieved to cuss out the other driver. Jorge managed for me.

  "Shit! Bitch!" He spun against his shoulder harness trying to get a look at the other car. "How did Valerie know we were coming? That was her BMW."

  "It wasn't Valerie." I shoved the clutch in, pushed the stick into neutral, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared back to life. The image of the other driver was seared into my retina. I'd been unable to blink. "Just looked like Valerie's car. I saw the driver. It was a man. He might have been able to see the damn road if he'd taken off the damn sunglasses."

  I put the truck back into gear and it bucked as I let the clutch out. Yeah, well, my knees were still shaking. Jorge was silent, but he wasn't slouching in his seat anymore, and he'd taken off his own sunglasses.

  In less than a mile I turned the truck and trailer onto Valerie's asphalt driveway, managed to keep the gears from grinding, and carefully plied the turns up the wooded hillside. A quarter mile later we emerged onto the edge of a twenty-two-acre manicured meadow, made more impressive by its contrast with the wild forest we'd just driven through. The house, a huge old Victorian-type farmhouse, painted yellow and trimmed in white and blue gingerbread, was positioned perfectly to grab one's attention regardless of the availability of a view. And on a clear day the view of the Cascade Mountains to the east was spectacular.

  "Wow," Jorge said, then slid me a nervous glance.

  "Get over it," I muttered between clenched teeth.

  The only vehicle in sight was Valerie's BMW parked in front of the house. Good. She was home, and I was right -- her's hadn't been the car I'd nearly flattened. A single-minded calm settled over me. I was so going to nail her.

  I didn't drive to the house, but turned onto a secondary, gravel driveway and steered Delores's rig to the barn -- a miniature version of the house -- around in back. I wanted to be able to load my horse without wasting time. And I needed to make sure Blackie was there before I knocked on Valerie's door.

  For the first time since leaving Copper Creek, I had a moment of gut-wrenching doubt. What if Blackie wasn't there? How was I going to find him? Even sitting, my legs lost strength and I gripped the wheel tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

  But as we rounded the old Victorian I saw my dark bay horse out in one of the large pastures, happily munching rich grass. He lifted his head and whinnied loudly before returning to graze. I swung my arm to point, nearly punching Jorge in the face with my exuberance.

  "There he is. Thank God. I hope he's all right." Then, with the same speed the elation had swept me when seeing my horse, anger blew in full force. "Dammit, I could rip her a new one. What the hell does she think she's doing?

  Jorge rolled wide eyes at me, and was silent.

  I slammed the truck to a stop, jumped out, and ran up to the house. I hammered on the back door.

  No one answered. She had to be hiding.

  "I've come to take my horse back," I yelled. "I suggest you get your sorry ass out here and explain why I shouldn't call the police."

  Still no answer. I stalked back to the truck and grabbed my cell phone.

  "I'm calling the cops," I shouted at the house.

  "Delores already --" Jorge clamped his lips together.

  "I'm calling again," I said.

  Jorge nodded, his large, unblinking brown eyes reminding me of a horse ready to bolt.

  Blackie ambled to the white rail fence near the truck and watched me with ears pricked in friendly interest. I jogged to where he stood. He stretched his head and neck toward me, and I took his big dark face between my hands, kissed his velvet nose, then rubbed the large splotch of white on his forehead.

  "Are you okay, buddy? We're going home. I won't let anyone drive off with you again. I'm so sorry." I kissed his nose once more, and gave him a cursory nose-to-toes examination, checking for any obvious signs of injury. He looked okay. I stroked his neck.

  "Come on, Blackie. Gate. Let's go home." He heaved a sigh and moved off in the direction of the barn. The gate to this pasture was on the other side of it.

  I grabbed a halter and lead rope out of the truck, and dialed 9-1-1. As I walked I explained the situation to the operator and gave her Valerie's address.

  "Has the horse been injured or abused in any way?" she asked.

  "Not that I can
tell right now, but I haven't had a chance to thoroughly check him." I reached the gate, my attention divided between managing the latch and the phone call. "I'm --" I stopped. Something was wrong. Where was Blackie?

  The wind shifted, blowing my hair across my eyes. With my hands otherwise occupied, I turned my face into the breeze to clear my vision and inhaled a stench so dense it had weight.

  A thousand spiders crawled up my spine.