by Lisa Wysocky
The washer/dryer set in the barn was a new addition for Cat Enright Stables. We had badly needed a place to wash blankets, barn towels, polo wraps, and even English pads, so when I saw an ad for a washer and dryer on Craigslist and realized the seller was just across the Cumberland River from us in Ashland City, I dipped into my meager savings and snapped them right up. It was a luxury, but boy, the set sure came in handy.
When we got to the house, I showed Annie my office slash guestroom and said she could do whatever she wanted, but I was taking a nap. Darcy was already snoring across the hall in her room. Showing horses really was exhausting and as soon as I lay down on my bed I went out like a light. When my phone alarm sounded at two minutes after two, I had to drag myself from the depths of a sound slumber. It was like swimming into consciousness. Whew. I could have slept until morning.
Between the three of us we checked on the horses and got the newly washed clothes moved from the washers into the dryers. We were all quite hungry, so I sent Darcy up the road a few miles to the Riverside Restaurant. When I was away at shows I did not leave the kind of food you could eat without cooking in the house, because it always spoiled by the time I returned.
The Riverside didn’t do take-out, but Brent and Martin’s cousin Sissy worked there, and she always made an exception for anyone from our barn. I watched Darcy as she drove Jon’s ancient Datsun down our long drive to make sure she didn’t peel out and spin gravel where the driveway met River Road. Besides the fact that Jon’s tires couldn’t take much of that, it meant one of us would have to rake the gravel back into place. This time she drove sedately and I breathed a sigh of relief. With Darcy, I just never knew.
While we waited for Darcy’s return––and the food––Annie and I settled at my kitchen table. I made us large iced coffees with instant coffee, hot chocolate mix, powdered creamer, and all the ice I had in my freezer. My opinion was that just about every beverage in the world was improved by a dash of hot chocolate. Iced coffee was just one of them.
Of course when we finally sat at my grandmother’s butcher-block table, the show was the only topic of discussion. Who had killed Temptation and Dr. Carruthers? Who had put Annie in the hospital and damaged Mike’s cinch and my girth? Who had hurt Star and was sabotaging the show?
“My money is on Debra Dudley,” said Annie. “She’s got the motive, the means, and the opportunity. She and Brandon are in dire financial straits with no hope of help in sight––except for Temptation’s insurance policy.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “You really think Debra could murder her own horse?” I didn’t have a clue as to who the murderer could be and I was interested to hear Annie’s reasoning.
“Sure. She has a certain level of lifestyle she needs to maintain, not just because she’s used to it, but also because in some circles Brandon Dudley is a big star. She doesn’t want anyone to think that Brandon squandered all that money, which it sounds like he did.”
I pondered Annie’s words for a minute, then asked, “If it wasn’t Debra, who do you think it would be?”
“I know where you are going with that,” said Annie as she reached over to squeeze my hand. “As much as I know you’d like it to be Cam, I don’t see it that way. Cam is a cad and his personality is too weak for him to be a killer. It would be too much trouble for him. My goodness, he even gets the youth kids to sweep his barn aisle.”
“Or Sloan Peters,” I muttered.
“Now Cat, you chose to end things with the man. And it was a wise choice, too, if I may say so.”
“I think you just did.”
“Then leave him to his own devices and put your hard feelings aside. You deserve better, and I think,” she said with another squeeze of my hand, “that you may have found it.”
I smiled as I thought of Honeycakes. We had some issues to work through, but I thought we’d be okay. Then the door slammed and I jumped as thoughts of Brent were replaced with the smells of mouthwatering Southern cooking.
Darcy heaved bag after bag of food onto the table. Wonderful, warm, fragrant food of the kind I hadn’t seen in at least a week. My stomach rumbled and my virtuous thoughts of a salad flew right out of my head as I gazed at piles of redneck fish tacos, catfish sandwiches, sweet potato fries, fried okra, sweet tea, and my favorite, blackberry wine cake.
All talk ceased as we chowed down. I couldn’t believe how hungry I had been. When we got to the blackberry wine cake, Annie picked up where we had left off.
“Speaking of Sloan Peters, what do we know of her?” Annie asked.
“Or Hunter’s dad?” Darcy chimed in.
“Not much with regard to either,” I said, “although Reed Northbrook has represented the United States in the Olympics. But, there is someone I know very well who I could envision doing this, someone none of us has considered.”
Darcy and Annie both looked at me with identical blank stares on their faces.
“Well, c’mon,” said Annie finally. “Who?”
I looked out the east window of my kitchen and across the front lawn of Fairbanks, the Civil War era mansion where I had found the body of my neighbor, former film star Glenda Dupree. Then I moved my gaze all the way to the mobile home on the other side. The home of Hill and Bubba Henley.
“Hill?” Darcy asked. “You think Hill Henley is behind all of this? I know he’s gutter slime, but why? Why would he kill Dr. Carruthers?”
“Because he wasn’t invited to compete.” The idea had popped into my brain fully formed. Even better, it made sense. “Hill was so outraged when he realized that I had been invited (and he hadn’t) that I wouldn’t put anything past him, even retaliation that included murder.”
“Let me see if I understand,” said Darcy, wiping her plate clean with her fork. “Hill is targeting people at random around the show because he’s mad that he’s not there as a competitor? You know, I can actually see that.”
I filled Annie in on Hilly Henley’s lesser qualities: his neglect of Bubba, his womanizing, his dishonesty, and his questionable intelligence. I could have told her about the time he got out of his truck at the end of his driveway near the road, put his truck in neutral, ran behind the truck and positioned himself down on the ground just in time for the truck to run over his legs, but I didn’t. Hill then claimed that a passing car had hit him, but unfortunately for him I had seen the entire incident from my front porch.
Hill filed for permanent disability, but all he ended up with was a gigantic hospital bill. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I thought that Hill could be our man. I reached for my phone, although I wasn’t sure if I was going to call Noah, Martin, Brent, or one of the campus cops with my thoughts. Annie interrupted my reach.
“I’m not saying Hill isn’t behind this, but let’s give your idea a little more thought on the way back to the show,” she said. “It’s getting late and shouldn’t we try to get through Nashville before the rush hour?”
A glance at my watch showed it was already past three-thirty. Yikes, we needed to hustle.
Darcy gathered the food, bags, plates and the like and put them in the trash can outside. Then she and Annie gathered and folded our clothes while I went out to wrap Reddi’s and Gigi’s legs.
The girls looked good and I was glad that we had brought them with us. Gigi especially had needed to be a horse for a few hours and she loaded into the trailer with much less tension than when she had exited it.
I locked up the house, loaded the laundry, our purses, and us into the truck, and began the trek back to Murfreesboro.
Cat’s Horse Tip #15
“To raise or lower your horse’s energy, breathe in rhythm with him, then gradually breathe slightly faster or slower, depending on whether you want an increase or decrease.”
23
IT WAS HALF PAST FOUR by the time we pulled out of the driveway and turned left on River Road. I could see the road for quite a way in both directions so I didn’t stop at the end of the drive. There was a slight rise and if I sto
pped with the big, heavy rig, I knew I’d spin gravel, so instead I eased onto the pavement.
I looked at my watch again. Holy cow. We were on target to hit Nashville during the peak of afternoon traffic. If I was driving a car I’d hurry up, try to get ahead of the rush, but there was no hurrying when you had horses behind you. Sudden starts and stops were hard on the horses’ legs, and even taking a curve the tiniest bit too fast could knock them off balance. Plus, River Road was curvy, so slow and easy was the only way to go.
“I’ve been thinking about Hill,” said Darcy between chomps on her bubble gum, which today was a horrid shade of vomit green. “He definitely could have done it. But, what if it’s someone we don’t even know? I mean, like there are hundreds of people competing, and then there are the vendors. It might be someone like that.”
We rolled through a green light where River Road met Charlotte Pike near the Walmart. It was only a half-mile or so to I-40, and I scraped through each of the four intersections before the entrance ramp just as each of the traffic lights turned yellow. All right, so the last one might have been red by the time the trailer hit the intersection, but I was not going to slam on the brakes and risk the girls stumbling to keep their balance.
“You are absolutely right Darcy,” said Annie. “I think the only thing we can do is rule out the people that we know positively, definitely are not involved.”
“You, Cat, and me,” said Darcy.
“Tony, Jon, Noah, Agnes, and Lars,” added Annie.
There wasn’t too much traffic on I-40 so far. We had to travel up and down a series of hills before we reached Nashville, and the weight of the horses and the trailer behind us going down the first hill pushed the speedometer to just above the sixty-five mile an hour speed limit. I wasn’t worried about a ticket, though, as the upcoming hill would soon have us straining to stay above fifty.
“Ambrose,” I said. “He wasn’t even around when Star and Temptation got sick.”
“Bubba?” Annie asked.
I considered the name. “Doubtful, but not impossible. If Hill is involved he could have convinced Bubba to play a part. I hope Bubba is not involved, but he has been known to play pranks on other people, pranks that he doesn’t realize could have serious consequences.”
I recalled the time last February when Bubba had stood at the end of his driveway and batted rocks at passing cars. “Bubba is not good at thinking things through.” Some people thought Bubba was one fry short of a Happy Meal, but I was sure that his years of neglect and lack of a positive role model were more to blame. Our local country music super star, Keith Carson, lived next door to me and had taken Bubba under his wing. But, Keith was gone a lot and had four kids of his own to give attention to when he was home.
Speaking of Keith, he was performing at the show’s exhibitor party the next evening. I must admit, I have a bit of a crush on the man. Okay, I have it bad. What I didn’t understand though, was that Brent knew how I felt about Keith and didn’t give a whit. In fact, he thought it was funny. But when it came to Noah or Cam, he got all pissy. Men. I’d never understand them.
We crested the top of the hill that led to the exits for Briley Parkway and White Bridge Road. A quarter mile in front of us down the hill lay a sea of cars, and none of them were moving. Hot doodie. I tapped the brakes but nothing happened, so I pressed harder. The brake pedal went all the way to the floor.
Instinctively, I moved the truck from drive into a lower gear. The truck jolted and I winced, thinking about the horses in the back. Annie, who was sitting beside me, turned to look at me. What she saw on my face must have scared her because all she said was, “emergency flashers.”
I fumbled for the switch, but couldn’t find it. All I knew was that I must stop the truck and trailer before we plowed into the mass of cars just ahead.
“No brakes,” I said, as Annie found the switch and the flashers came on. Unfortunately, with all of the cars in front of us at a standstill, drivers to our rear might think the flashers were precautionary, rather than an indication of a real emergency.
“Darcy,” I called, “buckle up. We have no brakes.” Darcy had a bad habit of riding without her seat belt.
“What?”
“Listen up. We have no brakes. We’re going too fast for me to downshift again. Annie and Darcy, roll down your windows, see if you can get that blue car to our right to drop back so I can move over.”
We were in the center lane. The next exit was the Fifty-First Avenue ramp, which angled down, but we might be able to squeeze by the cars that were stopped in front of the exit if I could get over to the shoulder.
Annie and Darcy rolled their windows down and began yelling, and motioning with their arms, while I stomped on the brake pedal again. Nothing. I began to ease to the right amid a cacophony of honking horns, mine included. Then I took my left hand off the steering wheel long enough to flash my lights at the cars in front of me. Not that there was anywhere they could go.
I moved the truck onto the shoulder, and even with the downshift we were rolling at just under fifty miles an hour. But ahead, the shoulder narrowed to half the width of the rig. There was no way we could squeeze between the guardrail and the car that was stopped just next to it. Damn!
I kept honking, and flashing the lights. I was close enough to see that on the other side of the guardrail there was a huge cement support column for the overpass above. The column was as big as a silo. Decision time. Hit the guardrail and possibly smash into the cement column? Lots of damage to horses, vehicle, and people. Or, hit the car to our left and possibly the cars in front of it as we barreled through the narrow gap.
“Do something!” cried Darcy.
Gee. What a good idea.
“Hang on!” I yelled.
I took a risk and downshifted the automatic transmission another gear. The engine whined and the truck jolted, and even though we slowed to about forty, the weight of the horses and trailer kept pushing us.
I have no idea what happened next, but somehow the cars in the lane nearest the narrow shoulder inched forward and to the left enough that we could squeak through. We rolled up a small hill to the Fifty-First Avenue ramp. Only going about thirty now. I never realized how scary thirty miles an hour could be.
We picked up speed again going down the shoulder of the crowded exit ramp. Other drivers were trying to exit the freeway to get out of the traffic jam, so the ramp was almost as crowded as the freeway. Darcy and Annie began to shout and wave again, hanging as far outside the vehicle as they could and still remain buckled in.
The exit ramp merged with a frontage road to our right, and ahead, maybe four hundred feet, was a stoplight. To my horror, it was red. Sweat trickled down my back as I watched cars from the cross street drive through the intersection. I thought of Reddi and Gigi. I would be heartbroken if they got hurt. And Annie. Dear, sweet Annie did not need this kind of stress so soon after her ordeal. My heart lurched as I thought of Darcy and tears began to fall down my face.
I had no time to be terrified. Instead, I gripped the steering wheel harder. Amazingly, the drivers on the frontage road seemed to be paying attention to Annie and Darcy, for those cars had stopped. And, as the exit ramp widened to meet the road, a clear path formed between the intersection and us. I drove right down it. The light was still red, but the cars moving through the intersection from the cross street were no longer nose to tail.
We hit the intersection at thirty-seven miles per hour. I looked to my left and was horrified to see a bright red sedan barreling toward us. I could see the driver, a man, talking on his cell phone, oblivious to the huge rig that was crossing in front of him. This was it, I thought. The sedan would barrel into us. I prayed that no one would be badly hurt.
Just as I braced myself for the impact I heard a screech of brakes as the man stopped his car just inches from us. Then we whizzed past him and drifted to a stop on a strip of grass a block away.
Cat’s Horse Tip #16
“The first hor
se trailers are thought to be horse-drawn horse ambulances for fire departments. The trailers took wounded but savable horses from the scenes of accidents (which were common then) to the veterinarian at the firehouse.”
24
NONE OF US SAID A word. I still had the steering wheel in a vice grip and could not get my fingers to loosen up. My breath came in shaky gasps and I saw hundreds of tiny, colored spots dance in front of my eyes.
Annie was the first to realize I was about to faint and began barking out orders. “Cat, put your head on the seat down here. Darcy, you go check on the horses.” Then she reached over, took the key out of the ignition, and turned off the truck. The silence was deafening.
Within seconds of lying down, my head cleared and my breathing returned to normal. I was even sitting back up by the time Darcy appeared at the passenger window.
“They’re both okay, I think,” she said. “But they are rattling around in there. I’m going to go back and stay with them.”
“Good,” I said. Internally, I heaved a sigh of relief. No one, not a person or a horse, was hurt. It was a miracle. “Be sure to open all of the windows and vents, but leave the back door closed for now. If you open it the girls will think it is time to unload.
“Darcy,” I added. “Did you hear me?”
“Keep the back door closed. Open windows and vents.”
Darcy said the words as if she was speaking to a simpleton. Good. Things were getting back to normal.
When we were alone, Annie turned to me and asked, “What happened?”
“I have no idea. My truck is older, obviously, but I keep it maintained. I just pushed the brake pedal and nothing was there.” I wiped more tears from my cheeks.
“We’re all fine. That’s the important thing,” said Annie. “The next step is to figure out what to do.”
