by Alison Hart
“And that’s some mouth.” Chase sat up next to her. “His coat’s a wreck.”
“And he’s probably tick-infested.” They groaned in unison at the thought of bathing such a big critter. “I wonder how he survived all this time.”
“Maybe he caught mice? Rabbits?” Chase stood. “If we’re going to get him home and cleaned up, we better get started.” He held out his hand to her. Jas took it and he lifted her to her feet. His arm circled her waist, pulling her close. “I’d say this was quite the adventure,” he said softly.
She nodded, her heart thumping faster than when she’d thought a bear was attacking. He bent his head. She tipped hers. All thoughts about Chase being only a friend vanished. Her eyes drifted shut and she held her breath. Their lips touched. Ever so lightly. And lingered until her mind grew dizzy.
“Nice,” Chase whispered when he finally pulled back.
Very nice. Jas ducked her chin, too flustered to reply or even look at him. Her palm was pressed against his chest as if ready to push him away. Instead, she nodded in happy agreement.
Since yesterday, when they’d held hands, she’d felt a slight change in their relationship. The kiss had only heightened it.
She tilted her head, wanting him to kiss her again. But a giant mass of stinky fur barreled between them. “Hey!” They sprang apart. Rising up, the Newfie planted two paws on Chase’s chest and slammed him again to the ground.
Jas burst out laughing as the dog licked Chase’s face with a giant pink tongue. “I think you just made a new friend.”
“Mrs. Quincey, this rum cake is to die for,” Jas gushed. It was a week later. She, Chase, and Grandfather sat around the kitchen table in the mobile home. All three were sampling Mrs. Quincey’s famous rum cake, soon to be featured in a fund-raising bake sale.
“You’re right, dear, it is to die for,” Mrs. Quincey said. She was seated next to Grandfather, a red-plumed hat perched jauntily on her head. “It was Mr. Quincey’s last dessert before his fatal heart attack.”
Chase choked. Jas set down her fork. Grandfather asked for another piece.
Mrs. Quincey sliced into the golden bunt cake, drizzled with creamy, rum-flavored frosting. “He died with a smile on his face and crumbs on his lips.”
“I believe it,” Chase said. “I’d like another piece, too.” He held out his plate.
Jas laughed and then said, “Thanks for organizing the bake sale, Mrs. Quincey. This cake will obviously be a hit.”
“My pleasure. How are the other fund-raising ideas going?” she asked as she served Chase and Grandfather a second piece.
“Terrific,” Chase replied. “Mrs. Vandevender’s employees delivered all the old fencing. She said she was glad to help.”
“And we’ve mailed out almost two hundred brochures.” Standing, Jas plucked one off the counter and handed it to the older woman. On the front was a photo of two horses taken the day they’d been rescued. Inside was a recent photo. “We sent them to businesses and organizations in other parts of the state.”
Mrs. Quincey opened up the colorful brochure. “Very eye-catching and with a heartfelt message.”
“Lucy had them printed—cheap,” Chase said. “One of her ‘boyfriends’ works at the Copy Shop in Stanford. He gave her quite the deal in return for …” He waggled his eyebrows. Blushing, Jas looked away. When she dared to glance at him again, he was grinning as if he had a secret. She blushed harder as she thought about their kiss.
Jumping up, she took her plate to the sink. While the three talked about fund-raising, she washed her plate and stuck it in the dish drainer. The photos on the brochure were bound to attract attention from possible adopters. And Flower had been adopted by one of Dr. Danvers’s clients. The young woman’s own horse had foundered and had to be put down. Horse and human had been a perfect match.
Yes, lots had been done to save the farm. But nothing had been done to save Whirlwind. There’d been no word from Mr. Jenkins or Ms. Baylor all week. Every time Jas got near the office phone, her finger itched to call Tommy Looney. Tell me where you hauled my horse! But she didn’t dare risk it.
Frustrated, Jas tackled the rust spots in the sink. Then she scrubbed the grime on the counter. Done with those tasks, she spun and began clearing the table. When she whisked the plate from under Grandfather’s fork, he sputtered in protest.
“Let him finish eating, dear,” Mrs. Quincey said in her syrupy voice.
Jas frowned. The woman was as syrupy as steel. She still hadn’t figured out the relationship between her and Grandfather. The older lady had shown up every day since they’d moved in. She brought them homemade casseroles. She mended Grandfather’s torn shirt. She read to him from the newspaper. She played pinochle with him.
She really seemed to care about him.
“Sorry.” Jas set the plate down. She couldn’t believe her minitirade. What was wrong with her? She should be glad for Mrs. Quincey’s help. Caring for Grandfather this week had been challenging. Getting him dressed in the morning took forever. Sometimes, if Mrs. Quincey showed up early, Jas left. There was so much to do on the farm it was overwhelming. And she’d rather spend her time with Chase and Shadow and the other animals.
“I’m just in a hurry,” Jas explained. “I want to ride before it gets too dark. Grandfather? More milk?”
“I’ll get it, dear,” Mrs. Quincey said. “You go ahead.”
“I’ve gotta get going, too,” Chase said. “Monster needs a walk before I head home.” The Newfie had been named, bathed, and dipped and was almost finished with quarantine. Manners were another matter.
Standing, Chase stretched his arms over his head. “Plus I gotta get up early tomorrow,” he continued. “Rand’s making me dig post holes at dawn while it’s not so blazing hot. My dad has a day off work, so he’s helping.”
Jas’s ears pricked. Chase’s dad had said there was nothing the Stanford Police Department could do about Hugh or Whirlwind. Still, he might have some suggestions. She was desperate for any help.
“I’ll walk with you down the hill,” Jas said to Chase. She plopped the sponge in the sink. “Will you guys be all right?” she asked, sounding like a parent talking to two teenagers. Grandfather, finishing his cake, nodded. Mrs. Quincey made a shooing motion with her hand.
Jas grabbed her helmet from a peg on the wall and picked up her riding boots, which were by the door. Following Chase outside, she sat on the bottom step to put on her boots. Though it was still hot, the sun was sinking behind the mountains. A perfect time to ride.
“I feel porked out.” Chase patted his stomach.
“Be glad that’s all you feel. You heard Mrs. Quincey. That cake killed her husband.”
“Must have been the rum. I feel a little loopy myself.”
“Seriously, Chase.” Bending, Jas tied her laces. “Don’t you think it’s weird she’s hanging around all the time?”
“No. I think it’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” Jas plunked her booted foot on the ground.
“Yeah. They’re like two lovebirds.”
“Gross.” She jumped up. “You’re talking about old wrinkly people.”
He arched one brow. “Old people can’t fall in love?”
“Not when it’s my grandfather. Can you imagine? She’d be my stepgrandma. That’s creepy.”
He grinned as they started down the hill. “I think you’re jealous.”
She didn’t disagree. “I’m wary. Maybe she’s Hugh’s spy.”
Chase stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. “Mrs. Quincey? That’s as crazy as suspecting Lucy.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Except she does hang around all the time.”
“Because she likes your grandfather. I know the feeling.” He took her hand in his. “You’re sweet on my grandfather, too?” Jas teased.
“Absolutely.” For a second, they grinned stupidly at each other before starting down the path, Chase walking in front. As the hill got steeper, he gained momentum. He broke into a
jog, pulling Jas with him. “Actually, I think the spy is Rose,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s always watching us with those beady eyes….”
Laughing, Jas hurtled after him. Since the day they’d found Monster, things had changed between them. All week, whenever she was around Chase, it felt as if her insides were humming. She loved the anticipation of seeing him. This new sensation was such a rush, she never wanted it to go away.
When they reached the front yard, they found Miss Hahn standing on the porch. A phone was in her hand. She waved urgently at Jas.
“It’s Ms. Baylor,” Miss Hahn said.
Letting go of Chase’s hand, Jas ran to the porch. Taking the phone, she swung open the screen door and went into the living room. Her heart was thudding. “Hello?”
“Jas. I need your grandfather’s help. I’d like him to go with me to talk to Tommy Looney.”
“You found something out?”
“Not really. Looney is talking to me, but the man has two topics of conversation: NASCAR and his hound dog. Tomorrow night, I’m meeting Tommy at Big Mama’s. I want your grandfather with me. I’m hoping since they know each other, he can weasel more information out of him.”
“Of course. I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll pick him up at nine o’clock.”
“He’ll be ready.” Heart thumping, Jas pressed the OFF button. And so will I. There was no way she was going to miss talking to Tommy Looney. No way she was missing a chance to find out what happened to Whirlwind.
“Chase! Miss Hahn! Finally something’s happening!” Jas hollered. Pushing open the screen door, she burst outside, excited to share the news.
Sixteen
JAS JIGGLED HER LEG. TAPPED HER LIP. PEERED out the window at Big Mama’s. It was dark, and moths fluttered around the lone light above the bar’s glass door. Flopping back against the car seat, she let out a frustrated breath. What is taking them so long?!
Grandfather and Ms. Baylor had been inside for half an hour. Ms. Baylor had warned Jas that it could take a while. She’d brought a book just in case and stayed hunched in the backseat, the car doors locked.
She was dying to go in after them. But a girl her age would attract too much attention. Tommy Looney could get suspicious. And she didn’t want to distract the man from his purpose tonight: telling Grandfather where he’d hauled Whirlwind.
Still, waiting was frustrating. She glanced again at the front of the building. On the concrete stoop, five bikers smoked and talked. Smoke clouded the air, and even though it had to be eighty degrees, they were all dressed in leather jackets.
Digging in her back pocket, Jas pulled out the piece of gum she’d swiped from Chase. He’d been mad that he couldn’t come. After all, wasn’t he James Bond? Jas had to remind him that, no, he wasn’t. Now she wished he was here to keep her company. Except two teenagers hunkered in the backseat of a car …
Jas’s face flamed. I’m not going there, she reminded herself as she stuck the gum in her mouth. But why had she finally let herself like Chase? From the moment she’d met him in Miss Hahn’s kitchen, she’d felt something. And they’d always had fun together. Had she simply gotten tired of running away from her feelings?
The front door of Big Mama’s swung open. Jas bolted upright. Grandfather hobbled out, followed by Ms. Baylor, who didn’t look anything like M. Baylor, the investigator. Her black jeans and hot-pink tube top hugged every curve. Her chin-length hair was bleached sunbeam yellow and teased into a frothy dome. Her lips and nails were ruby red, matching her cowboy boots.
Even Grandfather had been blinded by the outfit when she’d climbed from a Ford Escort sedan with chipped paint and bald tires. “A vehicle befittin’ a gal down on her luck,” Ms. Baylor had explained.
Taking a misstep, he’d stumbled over his own cane. And Chase had stammered, “Nice ta m-meet ya,” as if he didn’t have a brain in his head.
With frustrating slowness, Ms. Baylor escorted Grandfather out the door and through the bikers. Wolf whistles rang out. Grandfather whacked a biker’s leg with his cane and barked, “Mind your manners, boys.”
Jas cranked the handle to roll down the window, dying to find out what had happened, but the glass didn’t move. Opening the door, she jumped out. “Well?” she asked impatiently as they crunched like turtles across the parking lot gravel.
Ms. Baylor shook her head. Jas opened the passenger side door. She took Grandfather’s cane and, holding his elbow, helped him climb in. Grumbling under his breath, he lowered himself into the sunken seat. Jas lifted his right leg and tucked it inside. Then she laid his cane on his lap.
“’ooney wasn’t there,” Grandfather finally said. It was late, and his face looked drawn.
“What do you mean he wasn’t there?” Jas looked over the top of the Ford at Ms. Baylor, who’d walked to the driver’s side. “Wasn’t he supposed to meet you?”
“Get in the car,” she said, keeping her head down. “We don’t need to attract any more attention than necessary.”
Jas shut Grandfather’s door and quickly jumped in the backseat.
“Tommy never showed,” the investigator explained as she drove from Big Mama’s lot.
Jas leaned forward so she could hear every detail. “Never showed?”
“Frank, the bartender, said Tommy had been at Big Mama’s every night for weeks. He said not showing up wasn’t like the guy.”
Grandfather snapped his hand to indicate a left. “Turn ’ere on Oak Mountain to ’ooney’s trailer.”
Ms. Baylor slowed the car. “I’m not sure we should go to his place. I tried to call and didn’t get an answer. It might seem odd if we just show up.”
“Nah, ’ooney ’ill love an old friend coming by,” Grandfather said.
“Yes, please let’s go,” Jas urged. “Maybe he was doing a hauling job and got delayed. Or NASCAR’s on TV. Or his dog had a tick. We’ve got to see him tonight. The waiting is killing me.”
The investigator flicked on the turn signal. “All right. But, Jas, you stay in the car.”
“No way. Looney knows Grandfather has a granddaughter. He may even have seen me at High Meadows.”
Ms. Baylor sighed, giving in. “Okay, but Looney thinks I’m Shasta, not Marietta. So don’t slip up.” She wagged a finger in Jas’s direction. “And I’m warning you—he is either really dense or really cagey. So no blurting out questions about Whirlwind, got it?”
“Got it.” As they drove down Oak Mountain Road, Jas chewed a nail in anticipation. Sweat dripped down her temples. “Doesn’t the AC work?”
“Nope.” Ms. Baylor rolled down the window. Steamy night air blew inside, bringing with it the sound of tree frogs. The car lights illuminated thick woods on both sides of the road. Jas didn’t recognize the area but knew they were in the middle of nowhere.
“It’s black as pitch out here,” Ms. Baylor said. “I think your grandfather has fallen asleep. I need him to show me where Tommy lives.”
“He’s used to going to bed around nine.” Reaching around the seat, Jas jiggled his shoulder. “Grandfather?” He woke with a snort. “Where’s Tommy’s house?” Jas asked. “We haven’t seen any driveways.”
“Huh? What?” Blinking sleepily, he stared at Ms. Baylor and then over his shoulder at Jas with a befuddled expression. She rubbed his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He nodded but still looked confused. Jas wasn’t sure if he knew where he was or who he was with, and it worried her.
“Grandfather, we’re trying to find Tommy’s trailer.” As she explained again where they were going and why, his nods grew more vigorous. “’es, ’es. He lives down the ’oad.” He waved Ms. Baylor ahead.
Jas blew out a relieved breath. He really was too old for all this intrigue. Maybe Chase should have come along.
“’ere! ’ere!” Grandfather flapped his hand to the right. Half hidden by weeds, a rusty mailbox on a post jutted from the middle of stacked truck tires.
“Nice outdoor decor,” Ms. Baylor m
urmured as she turned down the rutted drive. Jas peered out the window. To the left, the headlights picked up the hulking form of a tractor trailer. Parked beside it was a horse van. Grass grew high around the tires of both vehicles, as if they hadn’t been moved for a while. A trailer perched on concrete blocks stood at the end of the drive. Abandoned cars and lopsided stacks of firewood decorated the lawn.
Ms. Baylor parked and turned off the motor. A dim light shone in the house trailer. “Looks like he’s home.”
Jas opened her car door. A dog bayed. She hesitated, not sure where the sound was coming from. “’ooney’s dog,” Grandfather said. “He ’oves the flea-ridden critter.”
Ms. Baylor made a noise of disgust. “I spent an entire evening listening to stories about that hound treeing raccoons. It was mind-numbing.”
“What’s its name?” Jas asked. “In case it comes to check us out.”
“Digger,” Ms. Baylor said. The hound bayed again.
“’ooney keeps him tied up behind the trailer. Got a big dog ’ouse.”
Jas climbed from the car and opened Grandfather’s door. By then, Ms. Baylor had walked around to the passenger side.
Hands on her hips, the investigator studied the trailer. “That dog’s really noisy. I’m surprised Looney isn’t brandishing a shotgun out the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“That is weird,” Jas agreed. At the farm, the dogs announced every arrival. There was no way a visitor or stranger could sneak up.
Holding Grandfather’s arm, she hoisted him from the car. Ms. Baylor took his elbow on the other side, and together they got him square on his feet. For a moment he swayed. Then, using his cane, he headed toward the house.
The stairs to the front door were made of stacked concrete blocks. Stopping at the bottom, Grandfather grabbed Jas’s arm for support. He rapped hard on the screen door with the tip of his cane and hollered, “’ooney! Tommy ’ooney!” The name echoed as if through an empty building. He rapped again, the aluminum door clanking loudly. Still no one responded.
