by D. C. Brod
I assumed that Blood was going to be moved to the track a day or so before the race next weekend, and so I asked, “Will Sassy here go with Blood to Plymouth?”
“You bet.”
Blood, apparently used to being the center of attention, had returned and thrust his nose in Mick’s direction. Blood was huge compared to Sassy; it would have been easy for him to squash or otherwise take out the smaller creature. But he blew air out his nostrils and gave the goat a gentle nudge. Just standing next to Sassy had a calming effect on the big animal. He wasn’t baring his teeth or showing us the whites of his eyes.
And there it was. The idea didn’t smack me upside the head or anything, but it rose like some leviathan out of the sea—first the snout, then the fangs and finally the reptilian eyes—looked me straight on and said, “Well?”
Outside, the storm raged in earnest. Inside, my mind was also raging—finding flaws and obstacles, but recognizing that it might be a good idea. If I could pull it off.
Across from the stall were two bales of hay, one piled on top of the other. I sat down on the makeshift bench and took another drink of beer. Surely, this idea was the beer talking. I wasn’t drunk, but I suspected my super ego was passed out somewhere.
Sassy’s hooves clopped against the concrete floor as he approached me and nuzzled the bale of hay. I gave him the last of the goat nuggets.
Mick looked over his shoulder, saw me sitting there, my feet dangling above the ground, and he came over and took a seat next to me.
When thunder growled again, Mick said, “We’ll have to wait it out.”
From where we sat, I could see outside the door, and the rain was coming down in sheets. With the next clap of thunder the stables shuddered. “Yeah. I figured.” I crossed one leg over the other and said, “Blood’s a beautiful animal. I’m thinking this book will have photos. I imagine he’s quite photogenic.”
I felt Mick watching me, but he didn’t say anything and, finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I turned toward him. “What?”
He cocked a smile. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“I said bullshit.” He drank some beer and looked toward the animals. Sassy had returned to the stall, but kept his eyes on me.
“I heard you. I just don’t know what you’re talking about.” But my mouth had started to go dry, so I must have suspected.
“Horses and their relationships with their owners,” he said, and I didn’t think I imagined the acerbic tone he was taking.
“So?”
“You’re not writing a book.” He laughed—a kind of harsh laugh, maybe a little bitter as well.
“Of course I am. I may not be able to sell it, but I—”
“Robyn,” he sighed as though he regretted what he was about to say, “I’m not sure why you’re here, but it’s not because of a book you’re writing.”
“Oh?” I honestly didn’t know what else to say. All I could come up with was: “What makes you an authority on my motives?”
He turned to me, chin tilted. “You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.”
“I’m not? I thought I was.” I wondered where he was going with this and suspected he was about to zing me.
“Bull Severn ripped off your mother.”
I considered saying “He did?” and acting like I didn’t have any idea what Mick was talking about, but I knew how the exchange would end. So I said, “How do you know?”
“I’m his accountant.”
“So you helped?”
“No, that was before my time.” He shrugged. “Not that I haven’t covered up a few indiscretions for him, but none of them involved your mother.”
I waited.
“If it weren’t for Bull, you wouldn’t be trying to get a loan that would put you in debt for the rest of your life from a guy with a reputation for taking loans seriously.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Then I added, “The loan money would have bought me some time.”
“That money would have bought you a lot of grief.”
I shrugged. “But it would have postponed it.”
“You wanting to meet Bull really has nothing to do with a book you’re writing—the hug-me horse book—and it’s all about figuring out how you’re going to rip him off. With interest.” This man had my number. And I knew it.
I swallowed. “Yes,” I said, hearing the rasp in my voice and willing the tears away. I hate being found out; it was bringing out an emotional response I needed to squelch. Denying it was pointless. Besides, I hadn’t done anything yet.
“And that’s why you went out with me.”
“Partly. But only partly.”
He nodded as though that were acceptable. “What were you going to do?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do it.” I drained the beer and set the plastic cup next to me. Sassy eyed it with interest. “I wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m lousy on follow through.”
“But you had an idea.”
“It only just came to me, so I haven’t had a chance to find all the flaws, of which I’m sure there are many.” I shrugged. “Also, I’ve had a few beers. Ideas I get when slightly wasted are usually also slightly wasted.”
“What is it?”
I looked at him. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Professional curiosity.”
“You’re going to tell Bull.” I knew he wasn’t, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“No, I’m not.”
“I’m sure it’s got so many holes in it... you’ll laugh.”
“I won’t.”
I looked toward the stall. Blood had his head over the door, but seemed focused on a stray thought. Sassy was now half in and half out of the stall and was lying in an upright position staring toward us—picture the sphinx as a goat. “I was going to kidnap Sassy.”
Mick followed my gaze.
“If Blood can’t perform without his little friend, that would make Sassy as valuable as Blood.” I took a breath and continued, “So I figured I could steal Sassy and hold him for ransom. Figured Severn would pay good money to make sure his horse raced.”
Mick leaned back against the wall, the plastic beer cup resting against his chest. For a minute he just stared straight ahead, but then he started smiling and nodding. “That’s pretty good.”
“But it’s a mean thing to do,” I said. “To Blood. Who may be a pain in the ass but didn’t take my mother’s money.”
“He’d survive,” he said, then, after a few moments, asked, “How were you going to pull it off?”
“Like I said, I’m not sure yet. I just came up with the idea.”
“Just like that?”
“I’d been thinking about Blood. I’m not sure why, but I thought the horse was the way to go.”
After a moment he said, “I know why.”
I waited.
“You don’t want to just take money from Bull. You want to hurt him.”
After giving that some thought I had to concur. “I guess so. A man as rich as Bull shouldn’t be able to steal thousands from a little old lady and get away with it. And just taking some money from him wouldn’t hurt him like I want to.”
“So think about it now. How would you do it?”
I felt as though we were equals on that level—one con artist talking to another, and I was kind of flattered. I gave it a minute’s thought before saying, “I don’t know. I suppose I’d do it at night. But I imagine there’s some kind of security network. I don’t know.”
“You got that right.” He swallowed some beer.
“This place isn’t bugged is it?”
He chuckled. “No.”
Now that it was no longer going to happen, it had become an intellectual exercise. Apparently, when it came to crime, I was an “all talk” kind of gal.
“I’d have to figure out how to get past those front gates.” I paused. “I assume this place is all fenced in.”
“Right.”
&nbs
p; “And then once I got Sassy—I guess I’d have to rent a van or something, because he wouldn’t fit into the back seat of my Civic—I’d have to figure out where to put him. There’s no way Sassy would pass for a ‘dog under thirty pounds’ so my apartment is out.”
As I was trying to imagine Bix’s reaction to Sassy, Mick said something that I had to ask him to repeat.
“I think the two of us could pull it off,” he said again.
“You? Why?”
He shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can use a few bucks.”
I remembered old pale blue eyes and wondered if this was what he referred to.
“How?” I asked.
“It’d take two,” he said.
I waited.
“One to create a distraction while the other takes the goat.” As he spoke, Sassy stood and walked toward us.
“I wish Bull didn’t seem like a nice guy—”
“He’s not. Trust me.”
“Right.”
“And Gwen...” Mick snorted. “Gwen makes Bull look like Mr. Rogers.”
“Her name was on the land company Bull set up.”
He nodded. “She knows exactly what her husband is doing.”
“Would this hurt her as much as Bull?”
“Yeah. But in different ways. Gwen doesn’t care about the horse, but she does care about the attention she’ll get if he wins the Million.”
“Hate to deprive her of that,” I said, smiling.
Then I said, “I’m guessing it would be easier to take Sassy here than at Plymouth.”
“That’s for sure.”
“When is Blood going to Plymouth?”
“Not until Saturday morning,” he said, his inflection rising as though he just realized this was a good thing. “With most races, Blood is at the track a couple of weeks ahead of time. But he’s been training at Plymouth for the past month. He likes the track. It’ll be less stressful for him to get there the morning of the race. Less time to fret.” He paused. “Besides, Bull’s throwing a big party on Thursday night. He wants to show off Blood. Can’t do that if he’s not here.”
I leaned back against the wall. The rain had eased up and the thunder had moved past us. The beer had left me pleasantly lightheaded and full of possibilities. I wondered if Bull’s party might provide an opportunity, but the combination of heat and beer was making my eyelids heavy, and I couldn’t hold the thought.
“We could do this.” Mick said, and his breath warmed the curl of my ear. I turned toward him, and he placed his hand against my cheek and then he kissed me. Something stirred inside me that had been hibernating for a very long time. I responded, slipping my hand around his neck.
I’d read about couples who engaged in criminal behavior mainly because they couldn’t wait to get home and tear each other’s clothes off. Apparently I was of that persuasion.
That was how Gwen found us. Locked in a criminal embrace with Mick’s hand slipping under my filmy top to cup my breast. I may have been moaning.
“Thought you two might need an umbrella.” One was at her side, still dripping and another in its nylon case.
I sat up, brushing myself off, adjusting my clothes. Mick brushed his hair off his forehead and gave her an annoyed look.
“You were always the one with the good timing,” Mick said.
Gwen worked her lower jaw, her eyes practically spewing acid.
I wondered why Gwen would care if we got wet, but I quickly figured it out. Of course, she didn’t. And she hadn’t come out here to see me. She and Mick had a history together. Possibly a recent history.
“Yes,” she said, “well I shouldn’t be surprised to find you out here with your tramp du jour.”
Very recent. But now she was getting personal. “Who’s calling who a tramp?”
She turned toward me, and for a second I felt the heat from the searing look she’d been giving Mick. Next to me, Mick cracked up. For some reason.
Sassy bleated. It was a long, drawn out “Whaaaaaa,” and it was definitely aimed at Gwen. Now I started laughing.
Gwen spun around and stalked out, taking both the umbrellas. Along with them, she took my inclination to continue where Mick and I left off. Her appearance had the same effect on my passion that a hot needle has on a balloon. Gone. Just like that. Mick’s attempts to rekindle the mood were wasted. Not that he didn’t try.
Finally, I squirmed out of his embrace and stood, brushing straw off my pants. “Maybe we should just leave.”
He leaned back on one arm, looking up at me. “Don’t let Gwen get to you.”
“Speaking of Gwen, what kind of history do you two have?”
“We don’t.” He plucked a shard of hay from the bale. “She just can’t stand it when a guy doesn’t flirt back at her.”
“She’s awfully possessive for a sore loser.”
“Gwen Severn isn’t used to rejection.”
“Well, Gwen,” I mumbled under my breath, “practice makes perfect.”
Mick flicked the piece of straw to the ground.
“Let’s go,” I said. Since everyone had moved inside, I figured we could make our escape without anyone being the wiser, but apparently Mick was raised to have manners.
“Can’t just leave,” he said, pushing himself up from the hay bales. “I’ve gotta talk to Bull.”
“We could send him a note.” I blew a lock of hair out of my eye. “Tell him what a nice time we had.”
He gave me a look.
I gave Sassy a hug before we left and Blood just huffed at me.
The rain had all but stopped as Mick and I walked from the barn up to the house, my sandals squishing in the gravelly dirt. I breathed in a lungful of the fresh air and said something about the cool front arriving.
“No kidding,” Mick muttered under his breath.
The inside of the house was as opulent as the outside implied. We went in through a covered porch that wrapped around the back of the home, part of which jutted out from the main building, where a number of the guests had congregated to watch the storm. The wait staff had barely lost a beat, continuing to hoist trays of beer and wine.
Some of the guests had left, but the majority carried on in the confines. Some looked a little damp, but most had survived the storm without any water damage. I couldn’t say the same for the soggy caterers.
We entered a large room that abutted the kitchen. A dark wooden bar ran the length of one long wall. Above it were glass racks and behind it a mirror reflecting the bottles set up against it. Padded stools lined the bar and five or six round tables were strewn across a muted blue and green plaid carpet. There were four beer taps—Guinness and several British ales. Paintings of wildlife and fox hunts hung from the walls. It really did look like a pub, but the image kept colliding with my first impression of the house—as if a twister had snatched a pub off Fleet Street and plopped it down in Morocco.
Bull was holding court from behind the bar, gesturing with his beer toward the kitchen. “It’s only fair,” he was saying. “Gwen gets her room; I get mine.” Dutiful laughter from his subjects followed.
When Bull saw us, he wagged his chin, and Mick nodded at him. “Give me a minute,” he said, giving my arm a pat.
“I’ll be exploring the kitchen.”
When I stepped into the kitchen I saw Gwen standing across the room talking with a couple of women around her age. I nearly did an about face, but the kitchen looked amazing, and I was determined not to let one unpleasant person—even if she owned the place—keep me from checking it out.
Bottles and platters lined the granite island in the center of the kitchen. Dark wood cupboards surrounded sleek appliances. I ran my hand along the stainless steel stovetop. It looked like it had just arrived from the high-end appliance store. If I had a kitchen like this—and I sometimes dreamed about it—I would have copper and steel pots and pans suspended from the ceiling so I wouldn’t have to dig through three others to find the right one. There’d be bottles of olive
oil and spice grinders on the counter. And the stove would look like it had been used. My kitchen would not look like an operating room.
The two women with Gwen were oohing and aahing over her necklace. When Gwen saw me standing nearby, she stepped back in order to include me in the group as she explained, “Bull gave it to me last month. It’s similar to one of the pieces we had stolen last year. But,” she tilted her little head and clucked softly, then continued in a lower voice, “it just doesn’t have the same sentiment behind it. You know?”
The two women nodded as if they did.
“I mean, that one Bull gave me after Tyra was born.”
“You get jewelry for giving birth?” It just slipped out.
“It’s the least I deserve,” she said, and the others joined in the laughter.
I had seen no sign of children in this place. No kids at the barbeque, no photographs, no toys. But according to Gwen, there was a nice piece of jewelry in it for her every time she gave birth. I imagined there could be any number of offspring living in the children’s wing.
As though she were reading my mind, I noticed a flicker of distaste as Gwen’s mouth curled up into a smile and she introduced me. “Girls, you know Mick Hughes. This is his... date. Robyn.” She placed her hand on my arm. “What was your last name?”
“Guthrie,” I said, and then she introduced me to Ashley and Jocelyn.
Then I looked around the sterile kitchen and said to Gwen, “You must enjoy cooking.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the stove and the double oven beside it and said, “When I’m properly inspired.”
That made Ashley laugh but only got a taut smile out of Jocelyn.
I quickly sized up Ashley, who was pretty with a thick shock of auburn hair that, in the minute or so that I’d been standing there, she had tossed at least seven times. Jocelyn was less flashy and had the hazy, heavy-lidded look of someone who was slightly tanked.
“How do you all know each other?” I asked.
“We went to high school together,” Gwen said.
Why wasn’t I surprised?
“Where is Mick?” Ashley asked, craning her long neck to get a better view of the room.
I was about to say he was talking to Bull, but then I didn’t see him with Bull, nor did I see him in the pub.
