by Alison Hart
She hadn’t told Grandfather the reason she was going to Florida—too afraid that he would blurt it to Mrs. Quincey or another volunteer. Miss Hahn had made up a story about Jas needing to be in Florida for an emergency visit with her mother, Iris. Which was a laugh. Iris was working at some racetrack in Florida, but Jas hadn’t heard from her since last year’s Christmas card. Still, on short notice, the lie had to do.
Even worse, Jas had never talked to Chase. Finally, after midnight, she’d left a message on his cell phone. I can’t tell you everything, she’d told him, even though I promised no more secrets. She had told him that Ms. Baylor had found Whirlwind but not where. And she’d said she was sorry.
Would Chase forgive her for just leaving? For not telling him the details? The thought that he might not made her ache. At the same time, she was brimming with joy. Whirlwind. If Ms. Baylor was right, she would soon be with her beloved horse.
“We’re here,” Miss Hahn said.
Jas grabbed her carry-on bag from the backseat. Half an hour later, she had her ticket and was ready to go through security. “Thank you.” She hugged Miss Hahn, and for a minute, they kept their arms wrapped around each other. Then Jas pulled away. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
“No, you call as soon as you arrive in Gainesville.” Worry shimmered in Miss Hahn’s brown eyes. “You realize I trust Ms. Baylor; otherwise I’d never let you do this alone.”
“I am almost fourteen,” Jas reminded her, trying to sound confident, although inside she was a bundle of nerves. Ms. Baylor was ninety-five percent sure the mare was Whirlwind. That left five percent of doubt. And suddenly, that doubt seemed huge.
“I know. Now pay attention,” Miss Hahn added in her no-nonsense tone. “Watch the flight numbers and times, and don’t forget your bag when you disembark.”
“Gotcha.” Jas smiled a goodbye and then stepped into the security line. Waving one last time, Miss Hahn disappeared out the front doors.
The line snaked slowly toward the security checkpoint. Jas clutched her ticket in one hand, her bag in the other. Even though she was surrounded by people, she felt terribly alone. She missed Grandfather. She missed Chase. If she had a cell phone, she would have called him to say goodbye. He’d be half asleep and sweetly goofy.
But she didn’t have a phone. The message would have to do until she returned.
Six hours later, Jas landed in Gainesville. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. When she stepped from the plane, the humidity enveloped her. The sun was hidden under clouds, and puddles dotted the tarmac as if it had recently rained. Before landing, the captain of the plane had mentioned a tropical storm. But the speaker system was so garbled, she hadn’t understood his exact words. Still, even without the sun shining, Jas broke into a sweat. Ms. Baylor had forgotten to mention the gosh-awful heat.
Her carry-on banging against her leg, she followed the other passengers into the small terminal. She glanced around, looking for Ms. Baylor’s daisy yellow hair. The investigator had promised to meet her, but the flight had arrived early.
Jas waited just inside the entrance in the air-conditioning. Streams of cars drove past the double glass doors. Some discharged passengers; others picked them up. Jas checked the watch she’d borrowed from Miss Hahn. Ms. Baylor was ten minutes late. Hunger pangs hit her. She’d rushed to make her connecting flight in Atlanta, so she hadn’t had time to grab lunch. And, really, she’d been too nervous to eat.
Jas shivered despite the feeble air-conditioning. Outside, a car slowed along the curb, and her hopes picked up. But it was a man in the driver’s seat. A man who leaned over to stare out the passenger window at her.
She gasped. Hugh.
Jas dove through the double doors. The man straightened and the car drove off. She noted bumper stickers that read Universal Studios and My Son Is an Honor Student at Gainesville Elementary.
Not Hugh. Some Gainesville father. She rubbed her forehead, tired. Her nightmares about Whirlwind were making her loopy. There was no way Hugh could have found out she was in Gainesville. She’d been too careful.
“Welcome to Florida, Jas.”
She turned. A woman with honey-brown hair wearing big sunglasses and a floral dress with spaghetti straps came out of the terminal doors. “Ms. Baylor?” Jas asked, recognizing the investigator by the purse slung over her shoulder.
“Sorry I’m late. I’ve been hunting for you inside. We must have missed each other.” She slid her glasses to the top of her head. “Are you all right?”
“Hungry. And tired. I slept about an hour last night. Too excited.”
“I couldn’t sleep, either.”
“And I barely recognized you,” Jas admitted sheepishly. “For some reason I was expecting Shasta.”
Ms. Baylor laughed. “I left that gal at Big Mama’s. Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”
“A drive-through, please. I can’t wait another minute to see Whirlwind.”
Twenty minutes later, they were speeding through Gainesville. Jas ate a chicken sandwich while Ms. Baylor filled her in. “Whirlwind is stabled at a top show barn outside of town. Her owner, a Mrs. Pavia, bought her from Scott Black. The transaction was aboveboard, and Mrs. Pavia believes she owns a Thoroughbred mare named Early Star.”
Early Star. A picture of the dead horse in the paddock popped into Jas’s head. Had Hugh killed the real Early Star in his greed? Had the mare once been some girl’s show horse? Or had she raced on the track, trying her hardest, never suspecting she’d end up …
“How does Whirlwind look?” Jas asked quickly, trying to chase away the gloomy thoughts. “Is she healthy? Happy?”
“She’s had excellent care. Gerald Fordham, the trainer at the barn, knows his stuff. I visited him this morning. Mr. Fordham has been cooperative.”
Finishing her sandwich, Jas started on the fries. As she ate, she peered out the side window. It was only about four in the afternoon, yet the sky was dark. “The pilot said something about a storm.”
“Unfortunately.” Ms. Baylor sounded so uncharacteristically anxious that Jas turned to look at her. Leaning forward, the investigator flicked on the car’s radio. “They’ve been broadcasting hurricane warnings.”
“I thought the pilot said a tropical storm warning,” Jas said.
“Well, this is hurricane season and we are in Florida. It seems Hurricane Hilda has taken an abrupt left turn. Forecasts range from the storm missing this area completely to high winds and four inches of rain.”
“Rain we could use in Virginia.” Jas stuck the last fry in her mouth. “So how did you convince Scott Black to tell you where Whirlwind was?”
Ms. Baylor smiled. “I used gangsta threats sugarcoated with Southern charm. The gentleman crumbled like a pecan pie crust.”
“A weather update …” came over the radio, and Ms. Baylor turned it up.
“Hurricane Hilda, a category two hurricane, is expected to reach the Gainesville area by eight o’clock this evening. All precautions should be …”
“Category two isn’t too threatening,” Ms. Baylor said. “And folks here are prepared.”
Crumpling her fry wrapper, Jas dropped it in the bag. “I can’t wait to see Whirlwind.”
“Won’t be much longer. But, honey, a warning. Mr. Fordham has been cooperative but Mrs. Pavia, Whirlwind’s owner, has not. She’ll be there when we arrive.” Ms. Baylor snorted delicately. “No doubt with a lawyer or two.”
Instantly, the fries felt like lead in Jas’s stomach. “What can she do?”
“Not much if the horse is Whirlwind. The mare is evidence in a crime and was sold under fraudulent conditions. But she can get her lawyers to delay extradition to Virginia.”
“Extradition?”
“That means surrendering a criminal to another state or location. In this case, I’m using it to mean surrendering evidence, which is Whirlwind, from Florida to Virginia.”
Twisting her fingers together, Jas stared straight ahead. For
some reason, she’d naively believed that once they found Whirlwind, they’d simply take her home. Except now she realized, Where was her home? Whirlwind didn’t belong to Mrs. Pavia or Hugh. And she didn’t belong to Jas.
“Ms. Baylor?”
“Honey, call me Marietta. I’ve had enough of this formal stuff. We’re going to be together for a while.”
“Marietta, what will happen to Whirlwind if she is extradited?”
“Right now she’s property of the insurance company. So it depends on what they choose to do with her.”
A great idea flashed into Jas’s mind. “Can I use your phone to call Miss Hahn? I need to tell her I arrived safely. I was supposed to call as soon as I got here. More importantly, I want to ask her to call Mr. Jenkins. She needs to tell him that if—no, when—Whirlwind comes back to Virginia, the mare needs to stay at Second Chance Farm.”
The mare would love it at the farm, Jas knew. She’d be surrounded by people who appreciated her just because she existed. Her days of standing in a stall 24/7 would be over. She could roll in the dirt and graze like a real horse. Jas would groom her until she shone and would ride her in the woods. The mare would never have to trot around a ring again—unless she wanted to. And best of all, she and Whirlwind would never be apart again.
Forgetting about Hugh, the hurricane, and that five percent of doubt, Jas grinned excitedly. For the first time in months, true happiness filled her.
Twenty
“YOU CAN CALL TO LET MISS HAHN KNOW you’re safe.” Marietta slid her cell phone from her purse. “But, Jas, you know as well as I do that Whirlwind can’t stay at Second Chance Farm. It’s too risky. She needs to be somewhere where Hugh can’t find her.”
Jas’s elation deflated. Marietta was right: as long as Hugh was free, neither Whirlwind nor the farm would be safe.
“Mr. Jenkins and I already discussed it over the phone,” Marietta went on. “I suggested a farm in Harrisonburg, not too far from Stanford. I personally know the owner. She loves horses as much as you do.”
Jas nodded numbly. Whirlwind’s safety was more important than her own wishes. Even if it meant she might not be able to see the mare until after Hugh’s trial. She could live with that. She’d have to live with that.
Marietta punched in a number and handed her phone to Jas. When Miss Hahn answered, Jas told her that she’d arrived safely and was headed to see Whirlwind. “Any news about Tommy’s murder?” she asked before disconnecting. Miss Hahn replied that there was no news. And that Grandfather was as fine and as stubborn as usual.
Jas said goodbye, then quickly added, “Tell Chase I miss him. Will you? I didn’t get to tell him goodbye.”
When Jas turned the phone off, Marietta glanced at her. “Nothing about Tommy’s investigation?”
“No. Why haven’t the police arrested Hugh? He’s got to be their only suspect.”
“Sweetie, if homicides were that easy to solve, the United States wouldn’t be the murder capital of the world. Here we are.”
Springing forward in her seat, Jas stared out the windshield. She’d been so busy talking, she hadn’t realized they were now in the middle of horse country.
Unlike the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, central Florida was fairly flat. A long white barn with a black roof sat far off the road. A few groves of trees shaded the barn, which was surrounded by paddocks that were laid out like checkerboard squares. Each paddock had a run-in shed and automatic waterer. Jas counted about ten of them. They were fenced with white posts and boards and separated from each other by grassy aisles. Beyond the paddocks was a field bordered by a thick grove of loblolly pines and oaks. There were no horses anywhere. In the barn, Jas guessed, due to the storm warnings.
Marietta turned right at a sign that read SWEET SPRINGS STABLE. QUALITY HUNTERS AND JUMPERS. TRAINING AND LESSONS: GERALD FORDHAM ESQ. She drove the rental car up the winding driveway lined with palms. Newly paved, of course. Before they reached the parking area, they passed a huge outdoor ring filled with freshly painted jumps: oxers, in-and-outs, a brush box and brick wall.
Except for the palms, the farm could have been High Meadows’ twin. In other words, it was everything that Second Chance Farm wasn’t.
“Let me do the talking,” Marietta said as she parked between an Escalade and a BMW. “Mrs. Pavia believes her wealth entitles her to anything she wants.” She pointed to the sportier car. “Like her M6—costs over a hundred grand.”
Jas broke into a sweat. And not because of the sticky heat that rushed into the car the second she opened the door. “Please don’t talk too long. I have to see Whirlwind!”
“Patience, darlin’. Do you have rain gear with you?” She gestured to the ceiling of thick, gray clouds. “In case the heavens open before we leave.”
Jas dug in her bag for her Windbreaker. Marietta draped a rose-colored raincoat and matching umbrella over her own arm. Then she led the way to the stable office. The wind had picked up, whipping the tops of the palms. Jas noticed that storm shutters already secured the office windows.
The door opened into a tack room, which was frigid compared to outside and dark because of the shuttered windows. Light and voices spilled from an open doorway.
“Hello? Mr. Fordham?” Marietta called, and a man bustled from an office and turned on the tack room lights. He wore riding breeches and tall black boots. A woman, her cranberry-red lips pinched as if ready for war, followed behind him.
Marietta introduced everyone. “We need to make this fast,” Gerald Fordham said. “I’ve secured the barn. However, I need to get home before the hurricane hits.”
Ignoring Jas, Mrs. Pavia glared at Marietta. “This nonsense about Early Star being another horse should only take an instant to rectify.” Her tone was as icy as the tack room. “I purchased the mare from a reputable dealer. I have a contract and her registration. My lawyers have assured me that the sale is legal and binding.”
Jas crooked one brow. It appeared that Mrs. Pavia would be more lethal than any storm. The woman was dressed in a waist-hugging suit jacket and skirt made of linen. Nylons, open-toed pumps, and a matching purse finished the outfit. Jas wondered if she’d come from her lawyers or if this was her normal horse-wrangling outfit. More than likely, she was one of those wealthy owners who left the riding, grooming, and patting to the hired help. Jas had met too many of them at High Meadows Farm.
She stepped toward the woman. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Pavia.” Jas kept her own voice steely. “It will take me only an instant to know if the horse is Whirlwind.”
“Fine, then. Let’s get this over with. You’ll quickly see that this Whirlwind you’re looking for is not my Star.” Mrs. Pavia’s high heels rapped angrily across the wooden floor of the tack room. Murmuring soothing platitudes, Gerald Fordham hurried after her.
Marietta gave Jas an encouraging smile. “Ready?”
Jas nodded. As she headed from the tack room, she clenched and unclenched her fingers. I’m ninety-five percent sure it’s Whirlwind, she repeated Marietta’s words. She had to believe them.
The huge barn was modern and well kept. A perfectly raked aisle stretched left and right from the tack room door. About twenty-five stalls opened into the aisle. Overhead fans swirled the sultry air. Electronic bug zappers zinged discreetly in the distance.
Turning right, Jas followed Marietta, Gerald, and Mrs. Pavia down the aisle. A state-of-the-art washroom; a clipping area; a restroom; and a supply room filled with balms, sprays, supplements, and totes full of brushes were located on the right side of the aisle. On the left of the aisle, the horses were housed in roomy stalls. Whirlwind had been living in four-star accommodations.
Gerald stopped in front of one of the stalls. The tops of all the doors were barred so the horses couldn’t hang their heads over. “I want to introduce you to Magic Man, four-time Florida Hunter Champion.”
Jas frowned, wondering why he was stalling when all she wanted to do was see Whirlwind. Then she noticed Mrs. Pavia on her cell phone, p
robably trying to roust a lawyer. Marietta was on her phone, too. The investigator held up one finger as if telling Jas to hold on one minute.
Impatiently, Jas peeked through the bars. Magic Man wore a fly sheet, although she hadn’t seen one fly. He also wore a cribbing strap. And no wonder. The handsome Thoroughbred was probably in his stall day and night. No chance to let off energy rolling, grazing, and hanging out with his buddies. So he’d developed the horrible habit of cribbing, or wind sucking. She also noticed the stall walls were high and solid so even in the barn the horses couldn’t see each other. Typical of a show barn; what wasn’t typical was the piped in classical music.
“You play music for the horses?” she asked Gerald.
“Of course. That way they can’t hear each other, so they think they’re alone.”
“But horses are herd animals,” Jas said, horrified. Even Hugh hadn’t gone that far.
“True. But if they don’t see or hear each other, they never get attached or herd bound. Nothing worse than a young horse neighing for his friend when he’s in the show ring.”
Jas blinked in amazement. Had she been just as brainwashed when she’d lived at High Meadows?
“Where’s Whirlwind?” she suddenly asked, charging past him down the aisle.
“Wait.” Gerald’s boots thudded behind her. Even Marietta had snapped her phone shut and was hurrying after her. Jas glanced in each stall as she passed: black, bay, too tall, too short. Abruptly, she skidded to a halt and stared through the bars of the end stall. A chestnut horse faced her, its head hanging. It was covered with a fly sheet, its mane was covered with a mane tamer, and the tail was wrapped in a tail bag.
Still, Jas recognized the fine head, the soft brown eyes, the white star.
“Whirlwind.” She slammed open the latch on the stall door. “Whirlwind!”
At the sound of Jas’s voice, Whirlwind threw up her head. Her ears flicked. Dancing forward, she greeted Jas with excited puffs and whickers.
