Tara’s heart jumped. There were only six thousand ninety-one dollars in the bank. How could that be? What the hell had Cory been doing? Jules had asked him to help when the manager had left. Why hadn’t he said anything? The business, a non-profit, relied on donations.
They had to raise more money. It took more than six thousand ninety-one dollars to feed thirteen horses and pay the salaries.
Chapter 13
Tara needed to call Cory, but the smell from Max’s Bakery was too tempting to ignore. A door chime rang as she entered, and it struck her that the bakery was almost totally opposite to the austere offices she’d just left. Large windows, banks of lights, and the red-and-white checked floor made it bright and cheery.
Delectable-looking cakes and desserts were displayed under the glass counter.
Max stood behind the counter, short and bald with a crisp white apron over his shirt and slacks. “ I heard you were back. I knew it was only a matter of time before you came in to buy donuts. How long has it been? A couple of years at least.” He came around the counter and hugged her. He smelled of vanilla and cinnamon.
Mrs. Tinsley came lumbering in. She hadn’t aged much—still had the red curls framing her round face—obviously dyed—and she still wore the same type of beltless, shapeless dress. “Well, knock me down with a feather. If it ain’t Tara Ericson. Heard you was comin’ back but didn’t know you was already here.”
Two more people came into the bakery before Tara was able to escape with a bag of the best cream donuts in Texas. She sat in the car and ate one. You would have to be crazy to wait to eat one of Max’s creations.
Mr. Rich had given her so much to think about and she couldn’t shake the melancholy mood. He believed Cassie was dead.
She wiped her mouth with the napkin and reached for the other donut, and then pulled her hand back. No. I’ll save it for later.
She drove the five blocks to Mrs. Pocket’s Boarding House, two stories high with white walls and dark-green shutters. Apart from operating the boarding house, Mrs. Pocket cleaned houses with a little added personal touch—like the way she had stocked the refrigerator and made up the bed for Tara. “Is Mrs. P here?” she asked the young woman standing behind the counter.
“In her office,” she said. “She’s real busy, though. I doubt if she’d see you.”
Mrs. P was always busy, and a nice person. She had been married once, and rumor had it she’d had an affair with Doctor Johnson before that, several years ago, before Tara was born. He was married, and she was a teenager at the time, and he paid for her to leave town and give birth elsewhere and give her baby up for adoption. Secrets were hard to keep in a small town like Hardship.
“I know the way.” Tara pushed through the door behind the counter before the receptionist had time to react.
Mrs. P sat behind her desk.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, “she just…”
“It’s okay, Janey,” Mrs. Pocket interrupted her and dismissed her with a hand gesture. Tall and in her fifties with short brown hair, she looked business-like in her khaki pants and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“I was in the area, and I stopped by to thank you for getting the house ready. Everything was perfect. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Oh, that’s what I do. No need to thank me. I did it for your mother, and then Lacey before you. I was surprised you didn’t come to Lacey’s funeral.”
Tara stiffened. “I had my reasons, but I don’t want to go into all of that now. “It’s none . . .”
The phone rang and Tara heaved a sigh of relief as Mrs. P. held a finger up while she answered it. She spoke for a short while and then put her hand over the receiver. “Sorry, Tara, but I need to take this call. Can you see yourself out?”
“Of course. Thanks again, I have to get back.” Anger roiled inside her as she stood up, but she forced a smile. What the hell did I want to personally thank Mrs. P. for? It seemed like a good idea until now. The woman would be coming into her house and cleaning once a week, and Tara wanted to stay in her good books because she was hopeless at housework.
She called Cory while she was driving. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” she spat as soon as he answered.
“Tell you what?”
“That you signed it all over to me.”
He sighed so loudly she could hear it. “Aunt Lacey loved you. She would want you to have it all.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know. A lot has happened here recently and I just—I decided I don’t need to be a partner in a business that quite frankly doesn’t interest me. Horses were never my thing. You know that, and I don’t need the house. I have my own.”
“What about Cassie? What if she comes back?”
The phone went quiet. “Sorry, Tara, but you know what I think about Cassie. She’s not coming back, and her share will eventually go to you. I’m going to sign papers to that effect. I don’t need the extra hassle. I’m happy for you to have the house and the Center all to yourself.”
She sighed. “She’s coming home. You’ll see. The finances are not looking too pretty. You must have known.”
Cory was silent for a few seconds. “I did and there’s a bit of a cash flow problem. It’s a sound business and if you examine the past records, you’ll see it generated more than enough income. Businesses go through ups and downs, depending on how they’re managed. I don’t know why there’s so little cash now, but it’s most likely because no one has been doing any marketing or taken care of the administration since Randall left.”
Tara wondered if the cash shortfall had anything to do with the ex-manager. “So what do we do if there isn’t enough money to pay the bills? The payroll and insurance and utilities have been accounted for, but there’s a feed bill that I know is outstanding, and there will be another when I have to order again. And what if I have to pay for veterinary bills, the farrier, and other unscheduled expenses? You know how it is.” She wondered if Jared would send an invoice for fixing the well pump.
“If you’re short, I’ll loan you some dough.”
She heard someone in the background talking to him. “Sorry, sis, I have to go now, but later on, you and I can put our heads together and figure out what needs to be done, okay?”
“How are you and Mel doing?”
“It’ll take a while, but the boys are keeping us busy. Thanks for asking.”
She ended the call as she drove into the driveway. Aunt Lacey, you sure landed me with a shitload of fucking problems. I bet you’re sitting up there laughing at me. “That’ll teach her for not visiting me when I was sick,” you’re saying. And maybe you’re right.
Tara took a couple of Advil and changed. The dogs launched themselves at her as soon as she opened the back door, and she sat down onto the pavement and petted them.
Jules stood in the center of the sand arena with two clean-cut young guys on horses walking around the track. Her heart went out to them when she saw that one had lost an arm, and the other a leg and a foot. She clenched her jaw in anger. I hate that soldiers have to go through that. And they’re so young. She knew most military patients suffered some form of PTSD and the horse therapy helped with it. Jules had explained it to her.
“People who have PTSD live in a state of hyper-vigilance, and can feel threatened by everyday events. Horses exist in a similar state, which somehow creates a bond. Working with horses also forces people to come out of their comfort zones. The other benefit is that animals are known to lower blood pressure and calm anxiety.”
Should I have tried equine therapy for my own problems?
Tara didn’t know all the ins and outs, but her mother totally believed in the healing power of equine therapy for all sorts of different afflictions. She remembered her mother telling her about hip
potherapy—the name of one of the disciplines of equine healing practices that worked on the principle that a horse’s rhythmic, repetitive movements could generate responses in patients that are similar to and essential for walking, which was why some disabled children actually learned to take their first steps right here at the Center. Steps that no one had ever imagined they would take. That in itself was mind-boggling to Tara, but there were so many more benefits. She had no doubt in her mind that equine therapy had helped her sister’s autism.
Christy sat on the railing, watching the session “Oh, hey, Tara.” She smiled.
“Everything going okay?”
“Yeah. It’s great. The weather’s cooperating and it looks like it’ll be fine for my kids this afternoon.”
Tara remembered the donut packet she was holding. She handed it to Christy. “These are for you guys. I’m gonna do some work in the office.”
“Oh, thanks. I almost forgot, a cop who said he was a detective from Groover was here looking for you. He gave me his card and said to tell you to call him.”
Tara’s heartbeat quickened. Her hands were shaking as she stared at the card. Detective Moore was one of the investigators handling her parents’ murders. He was also the one who arrested Jared. What could he possibly want with her?
What if he had a lead—something to tie someone to the murders?
Chapter 14
Tara made her way to the Center’s office. She couldn’t let Jules see her reaction.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the small room, which abutted the rec area, and could be accessed from outside or inside the house. The air inside smelled musty, and the thin blue carpet needed a clean—what she could see of it. Not being tidy was one of her weaknesses, but the clutter of cardboard boxes and old files on the floor irritated her. The dogs had followed her in and they lay on the carpet together, panting.
A desk and a PC stood close to the single window, which provided a view of the arena and barns. A bookshelf loaded with binders stood against one wall, and an outdated calendar with wild mustangs galloping across it hung on another wall.
She banged hair and dust off the chair, sat down at the desk. Her hands were still shaky as she turned on the computer. While she waited for it to boot up, she stared at the card. Detective Moore, one of the investigators in her parents’ murders. Why would he have come calling? What if he had information about the real killer after all these years? She wondered if he had ever apologized to Jared for all the hard time he served.
She sat back in the chair and stared at the wall, at first not seeing anything, but then she focused on the notice board. Flyers hung drunkenly, held on by single push pins, and business cards crammed every vacant space.
Unopened mail lay in a jumbled heap, covering most of the desk’s surface. She dug a letter opener out of a drawer, wishing her hands would stop trembling as she started going through it. Most of it was junk which she crammed into the already full waste bin. The attorney had told her they had handled most of the bills. She wondered when Jared would send an invoice for fixing the well, and whatever else he had done recently, or did he do it for free?
He had a way of sneaking into her mind when she was least expecting it.
She turned to the computer and scrolled to the Center’s website. She noticed there were some script errors on the home page. She would have to find someone to fix it. The layout and pictures looked okay, and the info about Jules and Christy. As a non-profit, they relied on donations, and there were no fixed prices for treatment. Every person’s case was negotiable. Her mom used to hold fundraising events—gymkhanas and mounted games to add to the coffers. She wasn’t sure if Aunt Lacey had continued with that. The Center had a group of benefactors—past patients, government officials, and people who supported what the Center aimed to achieve, who donated regularly, but she figured they probably needed a reminder every now and then.
She scrolled to the donation page, where people could pay by PayPal or credit card. She wondered if the software was working. She donated ten dollars to find out. She would check back later to see if the cash was moved from her personal bank to the Center’s bank.
Tara stared out the window at the scene in front of her—at the horses grazing peacefully, their tails swishing to get rid of the flies, and the enormous oak trees dotted through the pasture, laced with Spanish moss. Hard to imagine such carnage had taken place here. Why? Who could have possibly wanted her parents dead?
After a while, curiosity got the better of her. Her stomach turned as she picked up the office phone and punched in Detective Moore’s number. After four rings, she got his voicemail. “I—this is Tara Ericson. I had a message to call you.”
Chapter 15
Jules came to the door. “You eaten?”
“No,” Tara said. “I had a donut and I’m not so hungry now.”
“Oh, God, yes. They were good, thanks. I’m gonna sit outside there and eat my lunch. Wanna grab a Coke and join me?” She pointed behind her at the rec center.
Tara shut down the PC, stretched, and locked up the office. Her stomach was still queasy from the shock of seeing the detective’s card, but she bought a Coke from the vending machine in the rec center and parked herself in a chair at one of the patio tables. The shade from the umbrella gave little relief from the warm air.
“So what do you think of my two military guys? Cute, huh?” Jules offered the dogs bits of her sandwich.
Tara smiled. “Very. Where’s Christy?”
“She’s in the barn getting ready for her session this afternoon. You ready to go for a ride?”
“Definitely, but I want to ask you something first. Can you make a list of all the personnel, and the duties each one of you performs, including Randall if you know what he was doing? I can see your rate of pay on the computer, but I need to know your job descriptions.”
“Got some paper? I’ll do it now.”
Tara fetched a pen and a yellow pad. She sat quietly while Jules wrote and spoke aloud. “Let’s see, Roberto feeds and waters the horses and checks on them, and cleans the stalls and the grounds. He also feeds the dogs and kind of watches the property.”
“When does he take his days off?”
“Not sure, exactly. With him living here in that cabin, it’s not too tough for him to stick around most of the time.”
“Okay. How about you? What do you do, when do you work, and when do you take your personal days?”
“I’m a therapist as you know—the senior therapist.” She chuckled. “It sounds so fancy.” “I work whenever people can come. If I have to work a weekend, I arrange with Christy to take a day off during the week. Being hourly paid, I don’t mind not getting too much time off. I also check on the horses and make sure the volunteers are doing what they’re supposed to do.”
“Which is?”
“They groom, clean tack, and assist during therapy sessions by holding the horses or walking beside them so they can catch anyone who starts to slip off.”
“How many are there? I saw the two Brixton girls.”
“It changes all the time. At the moment, there are nine of them who we can call on. We give them a ride once in a while to keep them interested.”
“What about Christy? Does she do the same as you?”
“Pretty much. She works with kids more than me, but I usually stay and help.”
“And Randall.”
“I’m not totally sure, but he spent a lot of time in the office, walked around and inspected things, and watched us work and made asshole-ish comments.” She mimicked his accent. “If you girls did more work and less fooling around, I might negotiate a raise for you.”
Tara smiled.
“So now that you’ve seen Jared, what do you think? I mean, it must be tough on you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but he made me prom
ise.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Tell you the truth, I don’t know how I feel. It’s all so fucked up.” Tara rubbed her forehead.
“Yeah. I can’t imagine being in your shoes.”
Christy rounded the corner and slumped into a chair beside Jules. “Everything’s under control. The horses are saddled.” She glanced at her watch. “The kids’ll be here soon.” She pulled off her sunglasses and flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes.
Tara stood up. “I’m gonna go for that ride now.” She turned to Christy. “You don’t need any help with the session, do you?”
“Nah. Jules will be here if any of the kids freak out or anything—or if one of the horses goes crazy like they have been recently.”
Tara frowned. “You wouldn’t put a kid on any of the horses if you thought they would get hurt, would you?”
“This thing with the horses going crazy is bad shit, but of course we always make certain every horse is acting calm before a session,” Christy said. “That’s what I’ve just been doing. You know all the ponies, and you know they’re bomb-proof in normal circumstances. I just went in the stall with each one and handled them and picked up their hind legs to try and get a reaction, and they’re fine.”
“I apologize. I know you’re both dedicated professionals. I just wish Doc Grainger had found something in the blood and other samples he took.”
“The problem we have is that the horses can look perfectly calm and then suddenly they start acting uptight for no apparent reason,” Jules said. “But we’ve told the volunteers to report anything abnormal, and we’re being as vigilant as we can. I don’t think there’s anything more we can do.”
Tempestuous Taurus Page 6
