The Magnum Equation

by Lisa Wysocky

  After my shower I donned a cotton hospital gown and a pair of ugly blue paper slippers, and shuffled to a clean trauma cubicle in the emergency suite. Then I waited. The waiting confirmed my suspicion that the smell of horse dooky sped things along. I was not ready, however, to find my clothes and put them back on in an effort to speed things up. I did think about it, though.

  Eventually the ER doc returned and sat down on a rolling chair.

  “The good news is: no concussion,” he said. He was a young cheerful type.

  “And the bad?” I asked.

  “Well it looks as if you somehow ingested some gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, better known as GHB.”

  He must have noticed the blank stare on my face.

  “GHB is a hypnotic depressant, also known as liquid ecstasy. It’s a date-rape drug. I’ve spoken to the police and we think it was added to something you drank last night.”

  My mind whirred into gear and I thought of all the people I had seen and talked to at the party. I came up with at least a dozen names. There were probably more, but my memory of the event came in bits and pieces. The doctor was speaking again and I zoned back in on him.

  “… some of the effects are drowsiness, forgetfulness, slowed heartbeat and breathing, loss of muscle tone, and even coma,” he said. “The coma lasts one to two hours, with full recovery in about eight hours, so the timing is spot on for you. What also might be of interest is that the drug’s effects usually begin fifteen to sixty minutes after ingestion and lasts up to six hours.”

  I tilted my head in hopes that the new position would allow me to better process this information. Unfortunately, I was still just as flabbergasted as I had been when my head sat evenly between my shoulders.

  “As your test results pertain to a crime, and I hear they might be relevant to a murder investigation, I’d like to share the specifics with the police.”

  I nodded my assent.

  “You can refuse,” he added, “but they’ll just send out a subpoena. Your refusal would just slow the investigation down.”

  “Okay.” What else could I say?

  “Good, I’ll get the paperwork started. In the meantime, here’s some information on date-rape drugs.”

  I read the pamphlet he gave me and realized how good it was that Jon and the detectives insisted that I come to the medical center, because GHB can only be detected in urine up to twelve hours after ingestion. It was also good that I was not given more than I was, because GHB can cause breathing to slow down enough that a person has to be put on a ventilator, or even life support, until the effects of the drug wears off.

  Bottom line: I could have died.

  I was just signing my statement for the police when Annie peeked around the corner of the cubicle with a plastic grocery sack filled with clothes. She handed the sack to Detective Rey. I couldn’t remember when I was so happy to see someone.

  Annie looked at the nurse and the two detectives. They filled the cubicle, so Annie said she’d meet me in the waiting room. I couldn’t wait. As soon as all the paperwork had been signed and everyone had left, I turned to the bag and pulled out the clothes. I recognized them instantly as Jon’s. His must have been the only spare set around. There was a pair of shorts, a polo shirt, some flop flops and, yes, a pair of his boxers. Jon was about five nine and slim, but Annie knew the clothes would probably be too big, so she had added a length of bailing twine to tie around the waistband of the shorts. The only item of clothing that was not Jon’s was a bikini swimsuit top. I didn’t know who it was borrowed from, but I was grateful for it.

  Ten minutes later I fell into Annie’s arms. I was so glad that she was the one who came to pick me up. All of my emotions came bubbling to the surface and I bawled huge tears of anger and relief as my dearest friend held me tight.

  By the time we stopped for breakfast at the nearest drive-though and got back to the Miller Coliseum, I had pulled myself together. I had to. I had two classes today and had to support Darcy in her event. I also could not let the horses see how upset I was, so after Annie and I got to the grounds, I went to the spa area before I went to the stalls. I was hoping that either Richard Valdez or the keeper of the vibration plates could work me in. As it turned out, Richard was booked but another trainer had not shown up for a vibration appointment. I vibrated for ten minutes and stepped off feeling much more like myself.

  Due to the schedule change after they had canceled classes last Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, all of the saddle seat classes were being held today. As a trainer, I liked to have classes spread out. With the way the schedule was today, Sally’s class was first, followed by Reddi’s, then Darcy and Petey. All three classes were one after the other.

  That meant I’d have a clothing change at the gate, which involved stripping down to change from one outfit to the next right there in front of everyone. I’d have to be sure to wear a tank top and thin leggings underneath my show outfit. Show rules gave a trainer three minutes for tack and clothing changes, but I could do it in about ninety seconds––if I had help.

  Usually my helper was Darcy. On occasion it was Annie, and once it was Agnes. That was a disaster I do not care to remember. Suffice it to say that neither the horse nor I made it into our second class. But, Annie and Tony were headed out to Tennessee Equine Hospital to see Star today and due to Darcy’s class, she would not have time.

  The other option was to wear the same outfit for both classes. Both Sally and Reddi were chestnut in color, although Sally’s coat had a lot of white mixed in, while Reddi was a solid bright chestnut with snowy white hair over her rump. I guessed that my gray saddle seat habit would work for both. I had planned to wear a showier black outfit for Reddi’s class, which better set off her fancy style and matched her tack. But Agnes owned both horses and I did not think she’d mind if I wore the one suit. And given the option, I’d rather spend the extra ninety seconds connecting with Reddi before the class.

  Jon could ride, but rarely did so. On occasion, however, I had to press him into service and today was one of those days. If he could just keep Reddi at a strong working walk while I was in the class with Sally, do some flexing of her head and neck, maybe move her hips off the rail each direction, she should be loose enough to compete well.

  I got to the barn bathroom with enough time to not have to hurry as I changed out of Jon’s clothes and into my gray saddle seat habit for the classes. I did my makeup and my hair–– which was extra curly as I had not had the luxury of my smoothing hair products, or even a hair dryer, at the medical center. I topped the resulting bun with a gray snap-brim hat, adjusted my traditional man’s tie, and pulled a pair of soft gray riding gloves out of my Thursday bag.

  Before I went back to the stalls I took a moment to mentally focus on the classes ahead. I did a deep breathing exercise to clear my mind and visualized how I would ride each of the classes in a bluish purple haze. When I walked out of the bathroom, I felt ready.

  What I wasn’t ready for was bumping into Cam and Hill. Fortunately, the encounter did not last long, because Agnes and Lars also appeared and swooped me away. I will spare you Agnes’s comments about my ordeal, but the quaver in her voice let me know how much she cared.

  Saddle seat is not Sally’s best class. The best horses for the event are slimmer and have longer legs than Sally does. Because we would be competing with elegant Arabian horses, leggy Saddlebreds and Morgans, and gaited Tennessee Walking Horses, I did not hold out much hope that Sally could hold her own.

  I finished loosening Sally up in the warm-up arena and saw Cam and Hill near the out-gate. Was Cam the person Hill had met with? Was he the person Hill did not want to tell us about when Bubba had wandered over to our stalls? Did either of them dump me into the dumpster? Or, was it both of them? Zach Avery rode by and I wondered about him, too. Did Zach look surprised that I was here? Or, was it my imagination? Debra was standing near the rail and called something out to Zach. He nodded absently, absorbed in his horse. Was Debra in on i
t?

  Zach was riding a flashy coal black Arabian whose tail was so long that several feet of it dragged on the ground. They would be in our class and I hoped Sally and I wouldn’t step on the tail by accident. That would be a disaster, especially if the tail was enhanced by hair extensions. Could be an embarrassing moment for all. I’d make it a point to steer clear of them.

  I saw Sloan approach Cam and Hill. She had rescued me, but was it a coincidence that she rode by that morning? Or, was she checking to see if I was still alive? Other than my inner circle, I realized that I could not trust anyone. It was a terrible thought that left me feeling cold.

  I had wanted to be last into the ring, but riders of two Saddlebreds and a Morgan snuck up on our rear and I had to go in ahead of them. I collected Sally and pushed her into a perky working trot. We trotted down the runway that lead to the in-gate, but ten feet from the ring Sally came to a screeching halt and almost caused a wreck as the other three horses piled up behind us.

  The riders made their displeasure known through the use of some very creative foul language. I wished their mothers were there to hear them. I am sure several mouths would have been washed out with soap.

  I pushed Sally forward with my seat, legs, and voice, and as soon as she entered the arena her balkiness disappeared. Instead of a hunched back and clamped tail, she had forward ears and a swinging gait. Sometimes I could not figure this mare out.

  Right away I noticed that many of the horses had long tails. These horses had not been in the warm-up arena so I had not seen them before. A flat shod Tennessee Walker whizzed past us at a running walk. Some breeds do not trot, and instead have an alternative gait. The Walker’s tail was extra long, too. Whew, there were a lot of tails to dodge in a busy ring.

  There were so many breeds and variations in breed standards that this was going to be a difficult class to judge. Sally remained energetic throughout, but ultimately could not compete with the more graceful breeds in this very elegant style of riding. We did not make the final cut, and thus, did not place.

  I did not have time to process this turn of events, as I had to jump off Sally and onto Reddi. Unlike Sally’s stocker build, Reddi had more of a saddle seat body ––well, as much of one as an Appaloosa can have. Because of that I had hopes that she might do better than Sally. I handed Sally to Jon and he gave me a leg up.

  “I’ll meet you just past the out-gate, so you can stay to watch Darcy’s class,” he said over his shoulder as he led Sally away. He was already assuming that Reddi and I would not need to head to the photographer’s area for a win photo. I badly wanted to prove him wrong, and we almost did.

  Reddi always got a little excited in her classes and today it worked for her. She had a lot of knee action and brightness in her expression, yet executed each gait transition perfectly. We were held for the placings and were awarded a sixth place ribbon. An Arabian, a Morgan, two Saddlebreds, and a Tennessee Walker placed ahead of us, but I was thrilled that we were in there at all. Our sixth place was a big win in my book.

  As promised, Jon was right where he was supposed to be and I hopped off Reddi and trotted up into the stands to sit with Lars and Agnes for Darcy’s class.

  “Basketball,” said Agnes patting my knee.

  “What?” I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

  “Your story about basketball players when we were watching the Dressage. Dear, dear Cat, I get it now, and I’m as proud of you and my horses as pea soup.”

  I was pretty sure that whatever she said was meant as a compliment.

  Darcy’s class was an equitation class, so Petey not being a classic saddle seat breed should not make as much a difference as it had in the pleasure classes I had just ridden in. That didn’t make it any easier for Darcy, though. Saddle seat was ideal for people with long legs, and Darcy didn’t have nearly the length she needed. That meant her form had to be perfect. In an ideal world, she needed to keep her elbows in at the waist and her forearms parallel to the ground. That should provide a straight line from the bit, through the reins, to Darcy’s elbow. But because Darcy was short and Petey was tall, and because Petey carried his head lower than an Arabian or Saddlebred, that straight line could not happen.

  Agnes’s scream of delight at Darcy’s third place was deafening. I was thrilled, too, but had just realized how exhausted I was. I was sore from my head to my toes, and despite the shower at the medical center, I still did not feel clean. I just wanted go back to my hotel room, soak in a hot tub, and call Honeycakes. Yes, I was somewhat surprised at how much I missed Brent.

  My hotel would have to do until I could go home, which is where I really wanted to be. But that left another set of problems. The show was scheduled to end Saturday evening. What would happen if the police did not find the person who was causing all the mayhem? I didn’t know what others thought, but I still operated on the assumption that one person was behind everything.

  It was Thursday night. That left just forty-eight hours for the police to solve these crimes. I was terrified that would not happen, and that I would return home having to constantly look over my shoulder.

  Cat’s Horse Tip #20

  “Fluorescent lights, such as those often found in the barns of show facilities, can quickly tire a horse’s eyes and brain.”

  30

  I AWOKE FRIDAY MORNING MORE refreshed than I ever thought possible, and was in a cheery mood when I got to the barn. My good spirits were dashed, however, when I found Jon and Tony in a brawl in the middle of my aisle. Both were yelling, circling each other, and throwing out punches whenever they thought they could land one.

  “All right,” I yelled. “Enough.”

  Neither man responded, although it is quite possible that I could not be heard over the insults they shouted at each other. I grabbed the top off of a plastic tote in the tack room and threw it between the two. Then I repeated my words. Both Jon and Tony stopped, and had the decency to look embarrassed.

  “Whatever it is between you two. It will stop right now,” I said. “I will not have two grown men upset my horses by getting into a fist fight in the middle of my aisle. That is beyond unacceptable.”

  I could almost see the testosterone wafting off the pair. I took a deep breath and blew it out. Then did the same with another. With the third breath Tony joined me. Ah ha! It worked on people as well as horses.

  If I’d had a way to put them into time-out I would have, but as I didn’t, I told them I did not want to see hide nor hair of either them for at least an hour.

  “But,” Jon said, “I was going to feed––”

  “I’ll do it.” I was already getting the buckets.

  “I’ll leave,” said Tony, “but not unless Jon stays. I don’t want you alone here on the grounds.”

  “I’m a big girl,” I said, as I poured grain into Reddi’s bucket.

  “A big girl who has had three attempts on her life in the past few days,” said Tony. “Be reasonable.”

  “I am.” I held up my phone to show Tony a text that had come in less than a minute ago. “Darcy just got here. She’ll stay with me.”

  Tony looked uneasily at me, and then at Jon. But both of them left when Darcy walked around the corner seconds later.

  Darcy and I continued to feed, then we locked up the tack room and she walked with me to the coliseum. The show was finishing up a few classes during the day, then tonight the championship classes would start. Gigi’s was the only class we had this evening, and we had none throughout the day.

  I had wanted to see some of the jumping, specifically because Reed was riding. It wasn’t every day that I got to see an Olympic rider compete. Darcy and I found seats to the left of the announcer’s booth, several rows behind the judge’s stand. For this early class there must have been all of a hundred people in an arena that sat several thousand. I didn’t mind. I was not in the mood to make conversation.

  Just after Reed went around with his second horse (in some jumping classes a rider can com
pete on more than one horse), Tony plopped down on my left. I sighed.

  “Darcy, would you excuse us?” Tony asked.

  Darcy looked at me and I nodded. I might as well hear what the man had to say.

  Tony dangled his hands between his knees.

  I waited.

  “I don’t have a lot of time this morning,” Tony finally said. “I’m leading Master Attack, Mike Lansing’s colt, in the yearling class and I have to get ready. But I wanted you to know that the reason Jon and I were fighting this morning was because of you.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Tony held up a hand and I closed my mouth back up.

  “There’s something he and I, together, should have told you a while back. At first, we decided you did not need to know and we were both comfortable with that. But more recently I felt you needed the information. Jon disagreed. That’s what our fight was about and I apologize for upsetting you or your horses. You were right. It was unacceptable.”

  I considered Tony’s words as a thousand possibilities skipped through my head. None of them stuck, however, so I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Are you here just to apologize,” I asked, “or are you going to fill me in?”

  I watched Tony’s face as he worked through the pros and cons, and I don’t think he knew the answer to my question until the last second.

  “Jon,” he said. Then the words stuck in his throat. He was quiet for a time before he tried again. “Jon is my son.”

  “What?”

  I was so surprised by the news that I didn’t realize that I shouted the words or remember how I had come to be standing.