At Risk

  * * *

  Monday morning, I fixed a bowl of corn flakes, and while I ate, I made a list of people who might, for whatever reason, be waging a hate campaign against Foxdale. Or maybe the evil-mindedness was directed at me, though I couldn't guess why.

  I started with the people I had fired. Mark, Tony, Bobby and, most recently, Alan.

  I printed a second heading, "Discontinued Services:" Dr. Weston--vet, Rick Parker--farrier, Luke Barren--farrier, Pence--grain dealer, Schultz--hay dealer. I added Harrison's name. Although he still supplied us, he was pissed at me, and so was his driver.

  The list looked ridiculous. I couldn't imagine any of them having a grudge strong enough, and where was the connection to James Peters? I doodled in the margins and thought about motive. I wrote that down, too.

  Greed, jealousy, hate. I thought about Boris the cat and added psychosis.

  What was their motivation, if not simple, straightforward malice? Maybe Foxdale's success was hurting someone, possibly another horse farm with the same hunter/jumper focus. Maybe they were losing clients while we were flourishing. They would be jealous, envious, hateful. Maybe they were losing clients to us.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and stared at the lists until the words blurred. So far, Foxdale had prospered despite the campaign. It wouldn't last forever. There was only so much the boarders would overlook.

  I yanked the calendar off the wall and tossed it on the counter. It hit the surface with a resounding smack. The loft was too quiet, and it was getting on my nerves. I switched on the audio system, turned up the volume, and tried to work the kinks out of my neck

  As best as I could remember, I listed all the events I'd learned about in the past six weeks: George Irons, PA, horses stolen two summers ago. James Peters, murdered Saturday, August 4th (last year). Tack theft, S. Miller, PA Saturday, December 21st. At Foxdale, we had the horse theft on Saturday, February 24th, the tack theft/Boris on Saturday, March 9th, and the burnt jump/graffiti on Monday, April 1st.

  Assuming the events were related, our man liked to work on the weekend.

  In the past week, I'd scanned old headlines until my eyes glazed over, yet I had only uncovered two other horse thefts. I'd discounted both out of hand. A boarder had stolen his own mares and skipped town without paying his board, and in the other case, only one horse had been taken.

  As of yet, I hadn't discovered a connection between the Foxdale and Hunter's Ridge. The rig was the only lead, and that was looking more and more like a dead end.