by Sasscer Hill
“Is just for today?”
I nodded.
“Sí, my friend will help.” Orlando grinned, then trotted down the dirt aisle and across the pavement separating us from the barn next door. He disappeared inside the building.
Sighing, I glanced up and down our shedrow. The two fillies had their heads out, taking in the view while they ate. The mingled scents of grain, hay, and manure hung in the morning air. On the far side of our barn, someone played salsa music and sang along off key. I reached up and combed through Imparable’s forelock with my fingers.
“I can hardly wait to get you two ladies out for training,” I told her. “But first, I gotta deal with your buddy Diablo. You think the all-purpose rake will work?”
When Imparable responded with a silent, inquisitive stare, I grabbed the rake from an overhead hook and knelt in the dirt outside Diablo’s stall. I stole an uneasy glance up at the colt.
I’d assumed he was a dark bay, but a bay’s black lower legs always give way to some shade of brown in the body. Not this colt. Black as night, and not a white spot on him, either. Unusual in a Thoroughbred.
Diablo lowered his head, studying me as if curious to see what I’d do next.
“I’m winging it,” I said.
Sliding the rake into the stall, I hooked the pan’s lip. As soon as the feed pan moved, Diablo grabbed the side with his teeth and pulled back.
“Let go!”
Diablo shook his head, bared those big yellow teeth, and bit deeper into the rubber.
Hopeless. Maybe bait would work. I yanked the rake out and went into the feed room. A bunch of carrots lay on a metal table. Grabbing them, I hurried to Diablo’s stall. Staying as far back as possible, I stretched my arm forward and offered him one. The black nostrils widened and narrowed as he sniffed. His lips, reminding me of rubbery fingers, worked the carrot into his mouth. When it disappeared, he flicked his ears toward me, and he gave me an expectant look.
“You want more? Here,” I said, tossing three carrots into the far corner.
He snorted as they sailed past, but turned to follow them, moving into the corner.
Squatting, I grabbed the rake, hooked the tub, and whipped it out. Faster than a horse that size had any right to move, Diablo whirled and rammed the gate with his chest. The impact shook the barn walls, and a pitchfork fell to the ground from its hook. Somehow the stall gate held, and the pitchfork missed me, but I landed on my butt with the tub on my stomach.
Jesus! That was close.
I heard the jingle of metal and looked up. Orlando, lugging two saddles, bridles, and a couple of different sized girths, stopped and frowned.
“Why you sit? You hurt?”
I gritted my teeth. “No.”
“Wha’ happen?” he asked his glance shifting to Diablo, the beginnings of a smile lifting his moustache.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
As I stood up and dusted my seat off, Orlando’s smile grew.
“Shouldn’t you be adjusting some of that tack to fit Diablo?” I asked. Before he could answer, I marched into the feed room, grabbed my phone and called the woman named Klaire.
A soft, breathy voice answered.
“I know who you are,” she said. “Let me give you a different number to use.”
“But I’m—”
“This line is not secure! Use this number.”
She read off a string of numbers, asked me to repeat them back. As soon as I did, the line went dead. This was ridiculous. But I punched in the new number.
“Nikki,” she said, answering the first ring. “It is important we meet. I spoke to Mello. He wants me to offer you my services.”
Her services? I exhaled slowly and stretched out my one-word reply. “Okay.”
I waited, hoping she’d fill in the silence, but she didn’t.
“These services Mello thinks I need,” I said. “What would those be, exactly?”
“Even on this line, it is not safe. You must come see me.”
“This is crazy!” I said. “I want to know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell me.” Her voice slowed, then changed to an eerie whisper. “Did you touch the sea horse?”
I almost dropped my phone. “How do you know about that?”
“Will you come?”
“Yes,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Where are you?”
I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and my hand shook as I wrote down directions.
CHAPTER 10
Orlando and I stared at the huge monster lumbering toward us. He looked like one of those Budweiser horses, tall as a skyscraper. I’d asked for a big “pony,” but this was ridiculous. Probably a Clydesdale. The long tufts of white fur pluming out above the animal’s ankles were a pretty good clue. That and the fact this walking mountain must weigh close to a ton.
“What is he?” I asked the heavyset pony girl on his back.
“Three parts Clydesdale, one part Quarter Horse. My recipe for bombproof. His name’s Bullwinkle. I’m Beth,” she said.
Curly hair peeked from beneath her helmet, and perspiration trickled down her neck. A burgundy safety vest protected her torso, and heavy leather chaps covered her jeans.
“Where’s this colt we’re ponying?” she asked, adjusting a protective rubber pad that covered part of Bullwinkle’s neck and withers.
I pointed at Diablo, who stared over his stall gate at Bullwinkle, seemingly mesmerized by the pony.
“That’s him,” I said. “A real prince.”
Beth’s mouth tightened. “Isn’t this the one that attacked that guy on the van yesterday?”
I nodded.
“How’d you get that saddle on him?” she asked.
“Bribed him with carrots and got lucky.” Only Diablo hadn’t been that horrible with me. Maybe because I was female and didn’t threaten him with a crop.
I took the leather strap Beth handed me and slid it through the ring of Diablo’s bit. I led him out, handed the strap to Beth, and stepped back. She nudged Bullwinkle with her boot heels, and the two horses moved away. I’d never seen two more massive sets of hindquarters. Bullwinkle, however, won the size prize and when Diablo tested Bullwinkle by purposely bumping against him, Bullwinkle slammed the colt back, causing him to stagger.
Orlando and I exchanged a look.
“Is just what he need,” Orlando said. “That Boowink, he cut Diablo down to size, no?”
“Somebody has to.” I watched Beth and her charges continue down the shedrow.
Further along, the trainer who shared this side of the barn with us started to bring a horse out. He took one look at the towering twosome bearing down on him and backed his horse into its stall. I shouldn’t be grinning. I still had to ride Diablo. I slipped on my helmet and protective vest.
Moments later, Beth finished her circuit of the shedrow and pulled Diablo up next to me. Orlando stepped in fast and gave me a leg up, and before Diablo had time to think about me on his back, Beth moved us along the aisle.
“You always hold your breath when you ride?” Beth asked.
“When I’m scared I do.” I took a deep breath, and forced my hands to relax on the reins. No sense in telegraphing fear.
We were nearing the end of the barn when two people walked around the edge of the building. A redheaded woman and a guy built like a squat gorilla. Detective Bailey and the partner who had driven us to the Hallandale Beach Police Department.
From my vantage point, Bailey looked short. She wasn’t wearing pumps today, but flats with a black pantsuit. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize me on the horse. Under the helmet.
She stared at Bullwinkle. But then, who wouldn’t? Then her gaze settled on me.
“Ms. Latrelle, I need to talk to you,” she called.
“Who is that?” Beth whispered.
“Damn,” I said softly. “She’s a cop.”
Beth threw me a questioning look. I could do without the doubt flickering in her eyes. A couple of grooms c
leaning tack outside our barn stopped working and stared.
“Detective Bailey,” I said, as we drew closer. “I have to get this colt onto the racetrack. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“You two stop right there,” she said, holding up her badge.
Beth pulled Bullwinkle up. Then Gorilla Man went into action, rushing over with an outstretched hand like he thought he could stop us.
Instinctively, I grabbed the martingale strap around Diablo’s neck and hung on. Diablo’s muscles bunched beneath me just before he lunged at the detective. From the expression on the man’s face, and the way he threw himself under the wood rail, I assumed the big teeth were bared. I heard them snap.
On my left, Beth white knuckled Diablo’s lead strap, as an unconcerned Bullwinkle ambled forward and pressed his bulk into Diablo’s shoulder.
My horse reared up. His front hooves sliced the air above me, then streaked down toward Beth’s head and the pony’s neck. Bullwinkle sidestepped neatly, and Diablo’s hooves glanced off the protective rubber pad.
“Officer, no disrespect,” I said, “but if I don’t keep this colt moving, somebody’s gonna get hurt.”
Beth’s lips were pinched, but she booted Bullwinkle, and we headed forward.
Bailey backed out of the way.
“Ms. Latrelle, do whatever it is you’re doing with that horse, then get back here! We’ll wait. There are some questions about your relationship with the victim.”
I stared at her. Relationship? What was she talking about?
Bailey’s expression hardened. “We think we know who she is.”
Her words punched me in the stomach. I grabbed Diablo’s mane to steady myself. I didn’t want to know.
Beth guided the two horses past Bailey’s hard stare and headed for the racetrack.
“She looks really mad,” Beth whispered. “What kind of trouble you in, anyway?”
“I witnessed a…crime.” I swallowed hard. “Let’s just ride.”
CHAPTER 11
When we reached the racetrack, Diablo surprised me. All business, he had the big loose walk of a pro, his ears and attention straight ahead. Beth kept him secure and snug against Bullwinkle by using her pony strap. She watched Diablo as she urged both horses into a trot.
“You know, he might be all right.”
“I sure hope so.” I breathed in his heady horse smell, then the sharper scent of sweat hit my nostrils as he warmed up. I felt alive. Worries about Detective Bailey and the rest of it could wait until later.
A couple of horses sped by us in the opposite direction. Breezing along the inside rail, their hooves kicked up dirt and scattered it behind them with little clinking sounds, like coins. Diablo took it all in stride.
Beth pushed us into a canter. “I’ve known a few that are lunatics in the barn but behave pretty good when you put them to work.”
When Bullwinkle shifted into a gallop, his heavier frame made his stride ponderous. Diablo remained fluid, even with Beth’s tight hold on the strap that forced the colt’s neck to bow until his chin almost touched his chest. Amazingly, he accepted it. For now.
Beth’s cheek’s flushed pink and moist with heat. “I don’t know how much good this is doing your horse. Most are smaller and get more out of pony work than your guy will.”
“Take us a mile, and we’ll see,” I said.
“You got it.”
I’d only missed one day of riding, but damn, it felt good to be on a horse again. This one gave me a strong sense of unleashed power, and an ability for self discipline I wouldn’t have thought he possessed. Smooth, too. I was aching to turn him loose.
Beth took us the “wrong” way, purposely traveling clockwise on the mile oval. Races run counterclockwise in North America, and exercise riders generally go the “wrong” way for slower speeds. In Europe, they do the whole process backwards. If I ever rode a race in England, I’d probably end up cross-eyed.
By now, we’d covered most of the backstretch, staying closer to the outside rail, away from the inside where riders set horses down for speed. Diablo was still behaving. A few moments later, Beth eased us to a walk and turned us the “right way.”
“When you get us to the turn, let him go,” I said. “But track us in case he gets tough.”
“You got it,” Beth said.
She held both ends of the smooth, slender pony strap in her left hand. Like a long leather rein, the strap folded in half where it threaded the ring of Diablo’s bit. As the horses approached the turn, she let go of one end. Diablo felt her hold ease, lengthened his stride, and the strap slid away easily.
Don’t run off with me, you devil.
Once he reached an open gallop, I kept my hands near his withers, far from his head, taking what’s called a “long hold” on the reins. This steadied Diablo. His stride reminded me of a stakes filly I’d ridden named Daffodil. She’d been a lovely mover. So was this colt, only more powerful. A lot more powerful, and still businesslike.
We motored along for a mile before I pulled him down to a jog, heading for the gap in the rail that would lead us back to the barn.
Just ahead, a chestnut filly sashayed down the track with her tail up in the air. Diablo’s head lifted, and with a sudden squeal, he bobbed up and down beneath me like a giant rabbit.
What the hell?
The filly surprised her exercise rider by doing an about face, as if to check out Diablo. The rider, a young woman, took one look at my colt and frantically booted her filly.
This was not looking good. I drummed my heels into Diablo’s sides, tried to get him moving forward. He bunched up beneath me, made a sound more like a scream than a squeal, and bolted toward the filly.
The rider wacked her filly with a crop. “Move it! Move.”
Ignoring the whip, the filly planted her feet and whickered at Diablo.
Oh, for God’s sake. The filly was in heat, and Diablo was ready to oblige. “No!” I yelled, trying to turn his head.
I was used to fillies going to the track even when they were “in season,” as trainers can’t afford for them to lose a day of exercise. But colts at the track are inexperienced sexually and usually not studdish. Lucky me, I’d gotten a real Romeo.
“Get that freak away from us,” the exercise rider yelled. “He’s gonna try to mount!”
I glared at her. “Do I look like Wonder Woman?”
That filly of hers could use some cycle-suppressing Regu-Mate. Both horses needed a cold shower, and I had no control. It was like the reins weren’t connected to Diablo’s bit.
The filly’s rider screamed once and bailed, launching through the air. As soon as she landed, she scrambled away.
Diablo lunged at the filly and reared onto his hind legs. A large, bulky figure loomed in my peripheral vision. Bullwinkle rammed Diablo sideways. I flew through the air and landed on my side in the dirt. Rolling to my hands and knees, I saw Beth grab Diablo’s rein. Like a cow pony, Bullwinkle knew just what to do and herded Diablo away from the filly.
The Gulfstream outrider showed up and grabbed the filly’s rein. It was over.
As I stood up, a gray horse cantered toward me. Will Marshall pulled the gray to a stop, slid off and looped his reins over his horse’s head. He walked toward me.
“You’re lucky. You’ve got more lives than a cat, Latrelle.”
I wasn’t hurt, but I didn’t feel that lucky.
Beth glanced at Diablo and her eyes widened. “That’s a pretty serious fifth leg he’s got going.”
I’d already noted the large companion Diablo had sprouted, but refrained from comment, dusting the dirt off my clothes instead.
“Need a leg up?” Will kept a straight face, but his lips compressed a little with the effort.
“Sure,” I said, tightening the strap on my helmet.
Frustrated, Diablo stomped and snorted next to Bullwinkle. I ignored Diablo’s tantrum and slid my boot into Will’s cupped hands.
As he threw me into Diablo’s saddle, h
e muttered, “I know just how he feels.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. But his eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity.
I looked away, and Diablo skittered forward until I tightened the reins and brought him up short. The colt must sense my emotions.
In an effort to calm down, I breathed in the warm air and took in my surroundings. A few horses jogged nearby, and a set of three galloped away on the wide expanse of dirt. The blocky outline of tall condos and fancy hotels broke the skyline in the distance, hiding the ocean from view. But I could smell the saltwater.
Above the skyscrapers, a jet flew silent and fluorescent white in the morning sun. God, Carla would arrive that afternoon, and I still had to have that talk with Bailey.
“What’s wrong, Nikki?” Concern tightened the sharp planes of Will’s face.
“Can you ride back with me? I should talk to you. I’ve got this little problem with the police, and…”
Will held up a palm. “Give me a second.” He put his hands on the gray’s withers and vaulted easily into the saddle.
Beth’s mouth hung open. “How does he do that?”
I shrugged. “Beats me.”
“I’ll take it from here, Beth.” Will grasped Diablo’s rein and headed us toward the barn.
CHAPTER 12
As Will and I headed back from the track, we rode past half a dozen backstretch barns. Grooms were cooling out horses, cleaning tack, and raking the dirt aisles on their shedrows until the surface was clean and smooth.
Still grasping Diablo’s rein, Will remained silent as he digested my tale about witnessing a murder, being questioned by the police, and the search for Carla’s daughter.
I steadied Diablo when he spooked at a rack of green and pink bandages that fluttered in the breeze outside a nearby barn.
“So,” Will finally said, “this detective’s waiting at the barn?”
“That’s what she said.”
Will stared at me. “You’re a trouble magnet, Latrelle. You know that?”
“That’s not fair!”
He shrugged. “Fair rarely happens. But it might help if you were more cooperative with the police.”
