The Magnum Equation

by Lisa Wysocky

“Dr. Carruthers rode with him to Tennessee Equine Hospital this evening. After they got there one of the veterinarians called us. Star has an intestinal blockage so they are going to do surgery. Probably doing it right now,” said Annie. “Dr. Carruthers thought it might be too upsetting for us to be there, so Tony is going to go in the morning. She also said Star would do better if we weren’t there. We’re so anxious, and Star would pick up on that.” She took Tony’s hand. “I don’t … I don’t know what we’ll do if Star doesn’t make it.”

  Tony suddenly looked old and unsure, and together, the couple turned to me with questions on their faces. I studied them, my dear friends, as I wondered what the colt’s death would mean for their future. Physically, Tony was a man overwhelmed by gray and roundness; round head and belly, bowlegs, short to average height. He carried the weight of middle age comfortably. A slow, quiet man, Tony had a comfortable, seasoned look. He’d lost most of his hair ages ago and what remained was short and gray. A pair of round horn-rimmed glasses, as always, perched on his good-natured face. The glasses normally enhanced the twinkle in his eye, but now served just as well to diminish it.

  I turned my attention to Annie, who was different from Tony in every aspect. Taller than her husband by several inches, Annie was outspoken and wore her bleached blond hair teased into in an outdated, shoulder-length flip. Cam had once unkindly said that Annie’s hair looked like a cat had sucked on it. His words should have been a red flag for me, but at the time I was still too much in love.

  Annie’s lipsticked mouth was wrinkled at the corners from years of smoking cigarettes, a habit she finally gave up last year as much for the safety of the horses and the hay in their barn as for her health. Although edging fifty, her figure was holding up nicely, a fact her skin-tight jeans displayed to full advantage. A lot of the froufrou show people didn’t like Annie because she still looked like the truck stop mama she used to be, but for my money, you’d be hard pressed to find a better person or a better friend.

  I shook my head. “It must have been some sort of internal stress, but until we know the cause of the colic we all have to be on alert. Maybe the shavings had a toxic chemical in them and he ate some. Maybe his feed soured, or there was something that didn’t agree with him in his hay.”

  Tony and Annie gave me looks of no, no, and no. They had checked all of that. They were still feeding the hay they had brought from home. And Noah wouldn’t allow less than top quality shavings anywhere near a show that he managed.

  Darcy, between blowing face-sized bubbles with her now bright pink gum, mentioned that she wanted to organize the youth exhibitors into a “Youth Watch,” “to keep their eyes open for, you know, stuff. Just in case.”

  The Zinners and I both thought it was a great idea, and, considering the source, very thoughtful. With minimal discussion we gave her our approval, as long as Noah also agreed.

  “Oh, Cat!” cried Darcy, leaning to her left to envelop me in an enthusiastic hug. “I just knew you’d let me save my Petey.”

  When I replied that I was under the impression that we wanted to do everything we could to prevent the tragedy from repeating itself, no matter which horse it was, Darcy just shrugged her shoulders and argued that she was sure she would be, you know, saving Petey from certain doom.

  In hindsight, Darcy’s Youth Watch may have saved many horses––and people.

  4

  JON WAS POUNDING NAILS SAVAGELY into the tack room wall. Nail after nail after nail. Then I saw that it wasn’t nails he hammered so fiercely, but huge silver spikes, like those used in horseshoes, only a hundred times larger. I begged Jon to stop, but he refused to acknowledge that I was there so I pulled on his sleeve and pleaded with him. When he finally turned around I saw that it wasn’t Jon after all, but a horrible, faceless being.

  I awoke to what I finally realized was very persistent knocking, and I still wasn’t sure if the knocking was in my head or at the door to my room. The knocking got louder and a short minute later I came to the conclusion that the sound was a combination of banging on my door and Hank howling.

  “Who is it?” I called. I hadn’t yet figured out the time. Not that I couldn’t find or see the clock. It was right in front of my face, its big fat numerals glowing a luminous red. I just wasn’t awake enough to decide what the numbers meant. Did I mention I’m a heavy sleeper?

  “It’s Noah. Open up.”

  I shushed Hank and stumbled to the door without bothering to throw a robe over my faded nightshirt. Once done in bright, neon colors, the knee-length shirt was now a faded version of its former self. Noah had given the shirt to me ten years ago, a year during which we thought we were in love. We’d been such good college friends we thought we needed to take the relationship a step farther. We worked at it pretty hard for half a semester. But, there were never any sparks for either of us and we’d parted. Strangely enough we ended up even better friends than before and had remained close.

  “What time is it?” I asked as I let him in.

  “Three-fifteen. Another colt has colicked.”

  The news woke me up pretty fast.

  The victim was Temptation, a refined Arabian colt owned by Debra Dudley. I didn’t know Debra, but had heard that she was the wife of a former child model who was now a never-present Kansas wheat farmer. She was known mainly for the way she spent money like it was water. No one really thought all the money came from wheat, although, to be fair, few cared.

  My personal take on most wheat farmers was not in line with the multi-stone diamond necklace I’d seen Debra wearing when we bumped into each other at the show office. For all I knew she’d won the lottery, or maybe she’d robbed a bank, even though she didn’t look the type.

  Short and chubby with long brown hair and an olive complexion, I’d also heard that she and her resident trainer, Zach Avery, had a penchant for parties. Privately referred to as the “dynamic duo,” Debra and Zach were quite popular, both socially and professionally. It was, in fact, after a bit of midnight revelry with the owners of several other horses that Debra and Zach went to check on their own herd before turning into their respective hotel rooms. That was when they found Temptation stretched out in his stall in much the same predicament that Starmaker had been in his.

  Symptoms of colic are many, and not all horses show every symptom, but typically a colicking horse stands with his head hanging. Or he might paw the ground, bite at his sides, or try to roll. If he lies down, most lie with their feet tucked under them, much as a cat might lie on the sill of a window and observe the world.

  Noah’s hands fell between his legs and he shook his head at the floor. One case of colic was not abnormal; two in less than twelve hours was disturbing. It was imperative that Noah find the source of the colic––if there was one. His reputation as show manager was on the line and trainers and owners would quickly pull out of this exciting and potentially lucrative new competition if they thought their horses were at risk.

  Finding the cause was important for another reason: insurance. Many owners had hefty insurance policies on their horses and would reap tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars if their horse died. Others had insurance that covered major surgery, such as the kind that Starmaker had. The Zinners, however, could not afford that kind of policy.

  “What about security?” I puzzled to Noah. “Did anyone there see or hear anything?”

  “Nothing. But you know, our security force here is mostly college kids. The show grounds are part of a university campus and that’s what the venue provides. The kids make their rounds once an hour and then go back to their office and watch TV or play video games until it’s time to walk around again.

  “But you know what the worst part is? The show has spent a lot of money to cordon off the barn area from spectators. As you know, everyone has to have a pass to get back there. In addition to security, the show office had two people on site all evening, because horses are still coming in. We’re sure that no one without a pass was in the barn.”<
br />
  “That means either something at the show facility is tainted, or if someone is intentionally causing this, it is … one of us.”

  Noah nodded, exhaustion showing in every ounce of his being. “Tomorrow, of course, we’ll advise everyone to hire their own security, and the show’s entire management team is coming in early to deal with exhibitors, who are sure to be panicked. But other than that, I’m not sure what else we can do. I’m not even sure what we’re dealing with.”

  “What about the gun that security found?” I asked, remembering how Noah had sped off on his golf cart.

  “It was in a mostly-empty dumpster, one of the big tan ones to the left of the barns. We turned the gun over to the campus police and they were especially interested because, other than licensed security, Tennessee has a “no gun” rule on state property. That means no one involved with our show should be armed––even if they have a license to carry––unless the gun is in their vehicle and stays there. If any of our exhibitors has a gun that isn’t locked in their truck, I want to talk to them.”

  Noah glanced at his watch. “Oh, man,” he groaned. “It’s almost four o’clock. I’ve got to get back to the grounds.”

  But instead of rising out of the chair, Noah’s eyes closed and he began to snore. I grinned and pulled the spread off my bed and covered him.

  Too upset to sleep myself, I tried to figure out how best to protect the horses entrusted to my care. It was bad enough when one of your own horses had the misfortune to colic, but it would be a thousand times worse when a horse owned by someone who trusted you with their care, and paid dearly for the service, wound up deathly ill, or even dead.

  Of all the theories that had flitted through my mind in the past twelve hours, I first dismissed the idea that the Zinners engineered the destruction of their own colt. It was an idea that disgusted me, and although it happened rarely in the horse world, unfortunately it did sometimes happen.

  Tony and Annie, however, had worked too hard for too many years and could only afford minimal insurance. For them, there was too much at stake and not enough motive. Besides, if this idea was to be given any consideration, then why did Temptation also colic? I also dismissed the idea that the colic was the result of the two colts eating any hay, grain, or bedding that caused their intestines to knot. One colt? Maybe. The odds of two? Unlikely. Temptation was probably fed an entirely different brand of grain and definitely had a different supply of hay.

  I was concerned that both victims were yearling colts. Coincidence? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Anyone not connected with the show would have a hard time knowing that those two particular horses were going to compete against each other. Especially because, beyond their ages, the two colts were vastly different.

  Starmaker was partially named for the unusual spot in the center of his forehead. Most spots like this, which were ironically called a star no matter what the shape, were shaped like a diamond. Starmaker’s, however, was in the shape of a five-point star. Star was an Appaloosa who sported a “leopard” coat pattern: a white body covered with quarter-sized brown spots. Most of the spots were clustered on his head, neck, and shoulders, with the spots on the rump area being slightly larger and spaced farther apart. The five-point star on his forehead looked as if the colt couldn’t decide whether that area of his face should be white or brown, and compromised. Star was huge, and muscular in build, drawing much from the Quarter Horse blood carried by his mother.

  Temptation, on the other hand, was smaller with a delicate build, typical of Arabians at that age. I’d seen him being led down the aisle the previous afternoon and his coat pattern was a bright, rich bay: black legs, mane, and tail, with a mahogany colored body. By the great stallion The Tempest and out of an own daughter of Jubair, the breeding of the two colts couldn’t have been more different. Two very unique horses, each exquisite in their own individual way. Both near death due to colic.

  Although I didn’t dismiss the possibility completely, I put low on my list the likelihood that the colics were a personal vendetta against either the Zinners or the dynamic duo. All were known to be likeable, honest people who prided themselves on representing quality horses.

  But maybe, I thought, the glimmer of an idea taking hold, one, or even both of the colics, was a mistake. What if Temptation was the real target, and Starmaker was given something to make him colic by mistake? It was not inconceivable. If the stall numbers were close, maybe Starmaker happened to be in a stall that was mistaken for that of Temptation’s. I made a mental note to ask Noah where the Dudley horses were stabled. But then again, I sighed, given the vast differences in the physical characteristics someone would have to be totally unfamiliar with horses to mistake the two. Then again, there would have to be a reason for wanting Temptation out of the way.

  It was unfortunate that the two colts were born in the same year. In virtually any other year, each could easily have won the competition here. Last fall Temptation had won the Arabian national championship for weanling colts and Starmaker had won the Appaloosa nationals last month. Plus, Mike and Judy Lansing’s yearling quarter horse colt, Master Attack, had been second in his weanling class at the Quarter Horse Congress last year. While the Lansings were mainly in the Appaloosa business, they also had some Quarter Horses.

  Then there was the Canadian Thoroughbred colt, Moon Striker, a yearling winner at the big Canadian sport horse show just a few weeks ago. As much as I hated to admit it, Cam Clark also had a really nice colt, as did several other breeders and trainers. Depending on how you looked at it, it was either fortunate or unfortunate that last year’s colt crop was exceptionally tough.

  I didn’t know enough about the background of the MTSU horse facility to know if someone was playing their own game of revenge with the venue, or with the show. Maybe someone tried to schedule a show here and couldn’t because this special all-breed event was coming in. Maybe a trainer wasn’t invited to the show and got so ticked off that he (or she) was systematically destroying the horses who were competing.

  With that thought, my neighbor, Hill Henley, came to mind. He was a marginally successful Tennessee Walking Horse trainer who used harsh methods that I didn’t approve of. It was his ten-year-old son, Bubba, who had disappeared earlier this year during the murder investigation of a mutual neighbor of ours. On one hand, I wouldn’t put it past Hill to do something vengeful, as he had not been one of the trainers invited to compete. But why then wouldn’t Tennessee Walking Horses have been targeted, if in fact there was any targeting going on at all. Holy hot cakes. It was all so confusing, and there were too many unknowns for any of it to make sense to me.

  I got up and walked aimlessly around the little room. All this speculation did not make my horses any safer and I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable until the problem was resolved. A look at the clock told me it was five-fifteen, almost time to rise and shine. Noah hadn’t stirred since he nodded off over an hour ago and a study of his face confirmed that he still looked at least as tired as I felt.

  Noah was a study in contradictions. His neat, dark blond hair, perpetual tan, and turquoise eyes hinted of Southern California and plenty of surf, but his accent was pure East Coast Ivy League. Just thirty, he looked years younger. Noah’s interest in horses stemmed from his early childhood, and he had since parlayed his equine interest and an MBA into one of the top horse show management firms in the country. He was energetic, enthusiastic, and possessed an innate ability to solve difficult problems, making everyone feel like the winner. He was a good friend and I loved him like a brother.

  My alarm finally buzzed, officially starting a new, and hopefully better, day. I yawned as Noah jumped up and acted as refreshed as if he’d enjoyed a full night’s sleep.

  “Don’t worry, Cat,” he said giving me a confident hug, “we’ll get ’em.”

  I prayed that he was right.

  5

  JON WAS POUNDING NAILS SAVAGELY into the tack room wall. Nail after nail after nail. Then I saw it wasn’t
nails he was hammering so fiercely into the wall, but our bridle and saddle racks.

  “Gigi got a bit rambunctious during the night,” he explained as I made my way into the almost organized room. “Kicked the wall a few times and knocked everything down on top of me. After the second time I just left everything on the floor. With all that was going on I was a nervous wreck anyway, and the last thing I needed was to be knocked out of a sound sleep by a bunch of metal bits.”

  I looked around the dividing wall that separated the stalls. Our problem child, Glamour Girl, whom we affectionately called Gigi, was standing at the back of the ten-by-ten box stall, her head and nose raised, fully engrossed in smelling something on the wall. She caught me out of the corner of her eye, frog-leaped her way to the front of the stall and gave me a welcoming splay-legged snort. Gigi was a beautiful copper-colored yearling filly but operated totally without any semblance of an attention span. Gigi didn’t care where she was or what she did, she was just happy to be there. Her biggest problem was that she couldn’t figure out why everyone else wasn’t having as much fun as she was.

  I found my main goal as her trainer was not to keep her fit, she did that on her own, but to keep her from injuring herself. Now I did a quick visual check of her legs. All looked good, with no signs of puffiness.

  “About one-thirty I took her up to the warm-up ring and longed her for twenty minutes or so. Boy, was she a pistol,” Jon laughed and then quickly sobered. “I, uh, suppose you heard.”

  “About the gun, and about Temptation,” I said, giving the other horses a morning once over. “Noah stopped by this morning and filled me in.”

  I walked back to the end stall we used as a tack room and sat in one of several tall, green director’s chairs that were strategically placed in front of it. The chairs were great for sitting on, but they also kept other trainers from using that end of our aisle to get to the shower stalls, which were across from us, but partitioned by a cement block wall about five feet tall. Before you jump to conclusions and think I am mean, hear me out.