by Alison Hart
The woman was obviously not a volunteer. A rich donor? Jas guessed. Miss Hahn was always hitting up “society” ladies for contributions.
Jas draped the towel over her shoulder and turned out Shadow in the paddock. He immediately rolled, kicking his legs in the air. When he was thoroughly coated with dirt, he scrambled to his feet and shook like a dog.
“Jas, I’d like you to meet Marietta Baylor, the insurance investigator,” Miss Hahn said when they came up to where Jas stood by the gate.
Jas studied the woman with raised brows. Her makeup was flawless. Despite the heat, there wasn’t a glimmer of sweat or a hair out of place. Her clothes obviously came from a high-end boutique and not Wal-Mart. So how in the world was this Lucy clone going to help them? By shopping Hugh to death? Threatening him with her manicured fingernails?
“Nice to meet you.” Ms. Baylor firmly shook Jas’s hand. With each shake, her bracelets jangled. “I’ve heard all about your intriguing case, and I’m eager to get started.”
“Get started doing what? Accessorizing?” Jas pulled her palm from the woman’s grasp. “This isn’t The Case of the Missing Celebrity, Ms. Baylor. We’re searching for a horse, which means stomping through manure and flies, not waltzing down the red carpet.” She knew she was being rude, but after all this waiting, her patience was thin.
“Jas, that was not necessary,” Miss Hahn said sharply
Ms. Baylor smiled. “Don’t worry. I get that reaction a lot. No one expects a female investigator in heels. But you know the old saying, ‘You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ That especially holds true in the so-called genteel society of the horse world.”
Crossing her arms, Jas listened, slightly intrigued. Along with her beauty, the woman had killer calf muscles and biceps. Thank goodness Chase wasn’t here. His tongue would be hanging. But mostly Jas listened because right now, M. Baylor was her best chance for finding Whirlwind.
“Hugh Robicheaux and his cohorts are not going to be fooled by an investigator wearing a Sam Spade fedora,” the investigator went on. “I need to blend in.”
“Only, women like you don’t ‘blend in’ with rednecks like Tommy Looney,” Jas pointed out curtly.
Smiling slyly, Ms. Baylor unbuttoned her two top buttons. Then she moistened her lips and artfully mussed her hair. “Hey, fellas,” she drawled. Arching her back, she thrust out her chest. “Y’all want another beer?”
The transformation from elegant lady to sexy waitress was so amazing that Jas let out a startled laugh.
“Well,” Miss Hahn said, impressed. “You are quite the chameleon.”
“I need to be in this business.” Ms. Baylor rebuttoned her blouse. “Now, let’s get down to the reason I’m here: finding Whirlwind. The insurance company needs the mare in order to win the case against Hugh.”
Miss Hahn led the way into the office trailer. Mrs. Quincey was filing paperwork in the high cabinet. Half-glasses were perched on her nose.
“Why, hello,” she greeted, eyeing the newcomer.
“Thank you, Mrs. Quincey,” Miss Hahn said as she cleared file folders and unpaid bills off chair seats. “You’ve done enough for one day. You were wonderful help.”
“I did clear one spot on your desk.” Mrs. Quincey smiled cheerily. “Well, I believe I’ll go visit with your grandfather, Jas.”
“He’d love to see you. He’s been grumbling all morning about not having enough to do.”
“I’ll take care of that. Good day, ladies,” Mrs. Quincey said crisply as if slightly miffed that no one had introduced her. Jas helped her down the stairs. After she shut the door, she slid the list of dealers and the scrap of paper with the names of haulers from her back pocket. “Tommy Looney is our best lead to Whirlwind,” Jas said, handing the papers to Ms. Baylor, who sat down on one of the chairs.
The investigator crossed her tan legs. Pulling reading glasses from her purse, she slid them on and read the lists while murmuring hmmms and uh-huhs. Jas leaned against a desk and fiddled with a pen, too nervous to sit.
“I recognize all the agents,” Ms. Baylor said. “Scott Black and Jenny Ferraro buy and sell horses up and down the East Coast. I’ve never heard any complaints about them. Anthony Bixby and Rose McDonough, however, sell horses internationally.”
“Dr. Danvers and I talked about the possibility that Whirlwind could have been sold overseas,” Jas said.
“Where she’ll be tough to trace,” Ms. Baylor said.
At least she didn’t say impossible to trace. Miss Hahn put her arm around Jas’s waist and squeezed comfortingly. But the investigator wasn’t saying anything Jas didn’t already know.
“I know most of the haulers on your list, too. Except for Tommy Looney. He must be strictly local. Which was smart of Hugh if he did hire the man. May I keep these for my file?”
Miss Hahn nodded. “I made copies.”
Ms. Baylor slid the papers into her purse. Pulling out a BlackBerry, she faced Jas. “Now tell me about your phone conversation with Mr. Looney.”
Jas repeated it word for word, adding, “Grandfather said he lives in Craigsville on Oak Mountain Road in a house trailer. He’s got a big rig parked in the front yard.”
While Jas talked, Ms. Baylor entered the information into her BlackBerry. “Did your grandfather say where Looney hangs out?”
“At Big Mama’s Bar and Café.”
Miss Hahn gave directions to the popular watering hole. “Be careful if you go there alone,” she cautioned.
Ms. Baylor’s smile was as sugary as a Southern belle’s. “Honey, don’t worry about me.” Before Jas could blink, the investigator slipped a knife from somewhere. Holding it in under the throat of a pretend assailant, she said coolly, “I’ve handled all shapes and sizes. From brawny truck drivers to bald businessmen.”
Miss Hahn chuckled. “Yes, I believe you can handle any situation.”
“But thanks for the warning about Big Mama’s.” Just as magically, the knife disappeared and Ms. Baylor’s professional manner returned. “Now, I need a photo of Whirlwind for identification.”
Jas slid the worn picture from her back pocket. Her heart twisted as she handed it to the investigator. She hated giving up her only photo. But that wasn’t the only reason she felt messed up inside. Finally something was happening. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if it didn’t work? What if the investigator came up with nothing?
“This is a good photo,” Ms. Baylor said. “The irregular star and three white socks are clear. So unless the new owner has dyed her markings, she’ll be easy to identify.”
“Whirlwind also has a scar under her forelock near the crown,” Jas said. “When she was a yearling, she reared in a horse trailer and needed stitches. Dr. Danvers should have a record of it.”
“I’ll check with him.” Ms. Baylor stood up. “Thank you both for your help. I’ll contact you as soon as I find out something.”
Jas slid off the desk, her anxiety rising. “That’s it? That’s all you want from us—from me? Can’t I help in some way? Can’t I go with you?”
Ms. Baylor tilted her head as she hooked her purse strap over her shoulder. “I understand your impatience, Jas. You want Whirlwind found immediately. However, investigations usually take months.”
“Months?” Jas sucked in a breath.
“Scam artists like Hugh Robicheaux are careful and clever. We just recently shut down a scheme where racehorses were being sold for inflated prices. An agent and appraiser were both in on it. Before a sale, the appraiser would place a high value on a horse, even though the actual money changing hands between the previous owner and the new owner was way lower. Based on the appraiser’s value, the new owner could insure the horse for the inflated price. If the horse injured itself on the track or proved not to be a winner, it was killed.”
Miss Hahn shook her head sadly. “It’s bad enough that horses are dying from neglect. I didn’t realize that killing them for profit was so common.”
“Not co
mmon. But money does corrupt. Fortunately, when we arrested the agent, he implicated the others. Still, even with all the evidence, it took us two years to get a conviction.”
“Two years?” Jas repeated, horrified.
“You’ve given me good information on how to find Tommy Looney,” Ms. Baylor said. “He may be gullible enough to spill the beans after a wink and a beer. Or it could take weeks of earning his confidence. That’s the reality, Jas. In the meantime, I’ll also be checking the agents’ records for any suspicious transactions.”
“You can do that?” Miss Hahn asked. “Legally?”
Ms. Baylor only smiled. “As for you, Jas, pack a bag. When I find Whirlwind, I’ll need you to identify her right away, even if she’s as far away as California. And I don’t need to tell you both”—she looked from Jas to Miss Hahn, her expression grave—“that everything we’ve talked about remains confidential.”
Jas opened her mouth. Should she tell Ms. Baylor that someone might be leaking information to Hugh? She had no proof, and since that day at the courthouse, Hugh hadn’t contacted her. Plus, other than her own paranoia, there hadn’t been any real evidence that someone was spying.
Turning, Ms. Baylor opened the office door. Heckle and Jeckle stood on the top step. When they saw the visitor, they brayed loudly. Most people shrieked with surprise when the two burros greeted them, but Ms. Baylor calmly scratched their fuzzy necks and cooed, “Hello, loves. Aren’t you the cutest things?”
“You mean the most annoying things.” Jas shooed them off the stairs.
Ms. Baylor handed her a business card. “Call my cell any time.”
“Thank you.” Jas tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. “For everything,” she added, meaning it. Her first reaction to the woman had completely changed. She was glad Ms. Baylor was on her side.
At the bottom of the steps, the investigator paused and looked up at Jas. “I need to caution you. If Hugh Robicheaux finds out we’re looking for Whirlwind, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Oh, I know what he’ll do.” Jas narrowed her eyes. “Any person who can kill a horse for money has no soul. No conscience. Which means Hugh Robicheaux won’t hesitate to kill a person—especially one who gets in his way. Like me.”
Thirteen
LIKE ME. JAS COULDN’T GET THE TWO WORDS out of her head. She’d spit them out like a dare, hoping Ms. Baylor wouldn’t see how afraid she was. But, really, Hugh scared her.
She was huddled in the clean straw in a corner of Shadow’s stall. The barn’s ceiling fans rotated, stirring the hot air and keeping the flies away. Beside her, Shadow chewed contentedly on a flake of hay.
Like me. Jas had lived at High Meadows Farm since she was nine. She’d worked with Hugh almost every day. Yet she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if he found out she was still looking for Whirlwind.
Closing her eyes, she pictured her old life. Grandfather had always worked on horse farms, so Jas had been riding since she could walk. But Hugh was the first to notice her talent. Taking her under his wing, he’d instructed her every day. Not only did she love the hours of riding, but also she was a natural. It wasn’t long before the horses she rode won classes, then championships. Soon he’d called her his protégé. Soon he’d loved her.
Or so she’d thought.
But Hugh loved only Hugh. She’d been a pawn. “Great job!” he’d tell her, but his praise was always followed by “You bring out the best in Hero”—or Blossom or Raisin or whatever horse she was riding.
His praise had seduced her into thinking he cared about her. But really, the only thing he’d cared about was that she made his horses shine in the ring and in front of clients. Her talent sold horses. It made him money.
And it had been a curse. Like Chase had said, she’d been on her way to becoming a mini Hugh.
Thank goodness for Second Chance Farm. She glanced up at Shadow. He gazed at her with big brown eyes, a hunk of hay sticking from his mouth. Whirlwind’s “death,” the farm, and especially riding Shadow had saved her.
Drawing up her knees, Jas wrapped her arms around them. Shadow bent down and blew at her hair. She reached up and stroked the white stripe that ended with a dot. “Thank you, buddy,” she whispered. “For helping me break the curse.”
Outside, a car door slammed. Jas startled, banging her head against the stall wall. Wincing, she rubbed the bump already forming. No wonder she was jumpy. Ever since meeting Hugh in the courthouse, she’d felt his eyes peering from every dark corner. Felt his fingers squeezing her neck.
Rubbing her throat, she tried to erase him from her mind. He was still after her, that she knew.
It was stupid of her not to have said something to Ms. Baylor. Maybe Hugh hadn’t acted on his threats, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
Chase’s voice came from outside. It was late afternoon, time to turn out the horses. He was talking to George about which horse went in which pasture.
Jas held her breath as the two came into the barn. She didn’t want to see George or Chase. She wanted to stay hidden in the stall, Shadow’s bulk safely between her and the door. Because, if she was honest with herself, Hugh wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. Last night, she’d helped Grandfather change into his pajamas. It had taken forever—he’d insisted he could do it himself, yet couldn’t. And she’d been all thumbs. Finally they’d given up on his buttons and he’d slept in his cotton T-shirt. By then, he’d been so exhausted and Jas so frustrated she’d forgotten about helping him wash his hands and brush his teeth.
Then this morning, when she went in to wake him, he was lying so still she’d thought he was dead. No, worse than dead: paralyzed and unable to care for himself for the rest of his life. Fortunately, he’d only been sound asleep. But guilt had instantly swept over her. What kind of granddaughter was she? Grandfather had taken care of her for fourteen years. He’d nursed Grandmother when she was sick. Couldn’t she lovingly do the same for him?
Except if he couldn’t work at Second Chance Farm, what would happen to them? What would happen if he had another stroke? Miss Hahn couldn’t afford to keep them on as charity cases. Jas wouldn’t stand for that, anyway. It had been bad enough being a foster kid.
“Hiding?” someone asked.
Jas jumped as if Hugh had opened the stall door, knife in hand, instead of Chase carrying a lead line.
“I didn’t know I was that terrifying,” he said.
“You could have warned me,” she snapped as she pushed herself to her feet, angry for being so skittish.
“It’s not like I was sneaking around.” He pointed a thumb down the aisle. “You didn’t hear me cussing up a storm? George left the supply room door open, and Rose snuck in and tore open a feedbag.”
“No, I didn’t.” Grabbing the end of the lead line, she tugged on it. “I’ll turn Shadow out.”
“You don’t need to bite my head off.” He tugged back.
Jas bristled. “Are you talking to me or Shadow?” She yanked harder.
Chase studied her hand on the rope; her knuckles were white. “Are you looking for a fight?”
“No.” Stepping back, she let go. “Sorry.”
“Sure you are.” He tossed the lead line at her and strode from the stall.
Jas kicked Shadow’s bucket. Darn, darn, darn. Why do I do that? Hooking the lead onto Shadow’s halter, she hurried after Chase, who was leading Jinx from the barn. Outside the door, Hope was curled in a pile of raked up straw. Jas almost tripped over her. Shadow missed her tail by an inch. The little dog didn’t budge.
“Chase? Wait.” She caught up to him at the pasture gate. He’d already turned out Jinx, who was trotting off.
“I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Jas said as she led Shadow into the pasture. “It’s just that—”
Shadow reared back, eager to be with Jinx. The lead line ripped through her fingers. He raced after Jinx, the rope flapping. “Shoot!” she swore as she ran after him, hollering, “Who
a! Whoa!” But he flew down the hill, out of sight.
Stopping, she blew out a frustrated breath. There was no use chasing him. He’d think it was a game of tag that he wasn’t going to lose.
She turned. Chase was leaning back against the closed gate. His arms were loosely crossed. His grin was crooked and, she thought, a little sad.
Jas strolled over, fingers shoved in her front pockets. His grin widened as if he’d shaken off the hurt. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You are, horse girl.” Chase jutted his chin toward Jinx and Shadow, who had stopped to graze at the farthest possible spot. “You handle Equus caballus as well as you handle homo sapiens.”
“Look who’s flinging out scientific words to impress.”
“No need to impress someone who’s already doing a good job of screwing up.”
Her mouth fell open. “That was a mean thing to say.”
“You deserve it.”
“All right. I do.” Jas flopped back next to him. “I had an attack of the Hughs. I’m sorry. I know that’s no excuse for snapping at you. But I keep expecting him to pop up, match in hand, and burn down the barn.” She frowned. “Why isn’t he skulking around trying to destroy us?”
“How do you know he’s not?”
“I don’t. That’s what’s so freaky.” She shuddered, suppressing the urge to glance over her shoulder.
“Let’s hope he’s lying low, letting his lawyers do the dirty work,” Chase said.
She rubbed her bare arms, which prickled with goose bumps as if it was a winter day. “No. He’s planning something. I can feel it.” Just then, Shadow came thundering over the hill. He slid to an ungainly halt in front of her. His nostrils flared and he puffed dramatically.
Reaching up, Jas unsnapped the lead line. “Thanks for not killing yourself, dummy.” She gave him a quick pat before he wheeled and raced off again.
