A Churn for the Worse

by Laura Bradford

  Valerie closed the gap between them to address Claire. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done to bring Carrot Thief back to me. I had all but given up hope on ever seeing her again.”

  Aware of the sudden weight of everyone’s eyes, Claire did her best to acknowledge the woman’s words with the closest thing to a smile she could offer at that moment. After all, none of this was Valerie’s fault—she was as much a victim in this whole mess as Esther. “I . . . I take it your Carrot Thief is a good racer?”

  Valerie laughed. “No. Not really. In fact, Carrot Thief has never won a race. She almost placed . . . once, but that’s only because the horse in front of her stumbled.”

  Squatting down beside the horse, Eli ran his hand down the animal’s leg, speaking softly in Pennsylvania Dutch as he did.

  “Eli has taken good care of Car”—Esther stopped, swallowed, and tried again—“Carrot Thief’s leg. She is almost better.”

  “I used ice and changed her bandages each day, but it is my wife who made your horse well.” Eli guided their attention back to the horse and the young woman she was now nuzzling. “Carly loves Esther. It is as if she knows Esther is with child.”

  Sure enough, the horse lowered her head from its resting spot alongside Esther’s and gently nuzzled it against the growing mound beneath Esther’s lavender-colored dress.

  “My sister is the one thing Carly loves more than my root beer candies,” Hannah said between sniffles.

  Slowly, step by step, Valerie returned to the stall, her full attention trained on her beloved Carrot Thief and a tear-ridden Esther. “Carrot Thief may not be a good racer, but she has always been an excellent judge of character. At one race, in New Jersey, she rebuffed the attempted pet of another horse’s trainer. And by rebuffed, I mean rebuffed—as in nearly bit this man’s hand off. I was positively mortified. I’d never seen Carrot Thief conduct herself like that.”

  Esther whispered something in Carly’s ear and then turned to look at the horse’s rightful owner. “That does not sound like Carly.”

  “I agree.” Valerie stopped next to Esther and lifted a gentle, reassuring hand to Carrot Thief. “Two days later, a local paper revealed that this particular man had been brought up on animal cruelty charges.”

  Esther drew back. “I do not understand.”

  “This man was mean to the horses in his care.”

  “That is not right!”

  Valerie looked from Esther to Carrot Thief and back again. “It was as if Carrot Thief sensed evil.” The woman grew silent as she returned to petting her horse. After several long minutes, Valerie dropped her hand to the top of the half wall and readdressed Esther. “Likewise, Carrot Thief senses true goodness. It is why she loves you whether you are holding her favorite candy or not.”

  Esther’s throat moved with a swallow, but she said nothing.

  “That is why,” Valerie continued, “I am certain this is where she must spend her retirement years.”

  Claire sucked in her breath so quickly, so loudly, that Carrot Thief’s head shot up. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Please. Keep going.”

  “Carrot Thief isn’t a racer. Not a good one, anyway.” Valerie smiled up at her horse. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, she tried. Gave it her all each and every time. But she’s really just a great big teddy bear—far more interested in people than in flowers and a fancy sash she can’t read anyway.”

  Eli and Esther traded confused glances, prompting Jakob to step forward, his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “What are you saying, Ms. Palermo?”

  “I’m saying I want Carrot Thief to live here, with Esther and Eli. I want her to have a chance to get to know their child and the many children that will surely follow.”

  Esther brought her hands to her face, her gaze on no one but Valerie. “Y-you want us to keep your horse?”

  “I want you to keep your horse, Esther.”

  “M-my horse?” Esther repeated as Carly, again, nuzzled her stomach. “I cannot accept such a gift!”

  “My business is racehorses, Esther. Carrot Thief—I mean, Carly—is not a racehorse.”

  “But—”

  “Will you and Eli take good care of her?” Valerie asked.

  Eli rose to his feet and came to stand as close to Esther as the half wall between them would allow. “Yah.”

  Wiping the back of her hand across her tear-soaked face, Esther echoed her husband’s words with a simple, yet no less meaningful nod.

  “Then this is where I want Carly to remain . . .”

  Here’s a special preview of Laura Bradford’s Emergency Dessert Squad Mystery . . .

  Éclair and Present Danger

  Coming June 2016 from Berkley Prime Crime!

  “I’m sorry, could you, um, read that one more time, please?” Winnie Johnson rested her elbows on the edge of Charles Woodward’s desk and willed herself to concentrate. “I’ve been a little scattered these last few weeks and I think my mind is playing tricks on me.”

  For a moment she wasn’t sure he’d heard, but, eventually, he nodded, cleared his throat, and began rereading from the semi-tattered paper in his hands.

  “I, Gertrude Redenbacher, being of sound mind and body, do bequest my precious angel Lovey to my sweet neighbor Winnie Johnson. I’m sure, given time, Lovey will come to adore Winnie just as much as I have these last two years.” Charles glanced up, his tired eyes pinning hers. “Are you still with me, Miss Johnson?”

  All she could do was nod, his focus shifting back down to the paper as she did. “Additionally, having never been blessed with any children of our own, I also must bequest to Winnie, my late husband’s beloved vintage ambulance. He may not have finished restoring it to its true original grandeur, but it runs and it will keep Winnie from having to walk to the bakery in the rain.”

  Nope. Her mind wasn’t scattered. She’d heard every last word exactly the same way the first go-round. Only this time, when the attorney’s monotone delivery came to an end, it touched off an almost maniacal laugh track in her head.

  “Miss Johnson? Are you alright?”

  She glanced around the room, her gaze falling on a miniature bonsai tree on the corner of the man’s desk. “Oh, I know what’s going on here . . .” Without waiting for a reply, she reached over, parted each branch, and then moved on to a complete and thorough inspection of the soil in which the tree was planted.

  No camera . . .

  “Miss Johnson, I notarized Gertrude’s wishes myself not more than six months ago.” Charles pulled the pot closer to his chair and brushed the disturbed soil back into place. “Her body was failing her, but her mind was sharp as a tack as you well know. This is what she wanted.”

  “Wait.” She fell back against her chair, a new and different laugh making its way past her lips. “Mr. Nelson put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  “Mr. Nelson?” Charles parroted.

  “Yes. Parker Nelson. My downstairs neighbor.” Suddenly, it all added up. Mr. Nelson was always playing tricks on her—whoopee cushions on her porch furniture, toy mice on her steps, even hiding her newspaper in a different place each day . . . She felt the smile spreading across her face and didn’t bother to hide it. “Okay, how’d he get you to do it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Nelson. How’d he get you to read that one instead of the real one?”

  Charles let her finger guide his attention back to the paper on his desk before he pushed his chair back and stood. Then, leaning across the polished mahogany surface, he pressed the intercom button on the side of his phone. “Susan? Could you please bring in Miss Johnson’s items?”

  “I’ll be right in, Mr. Woodward.”

  Releasing the button, he spun the paper around and scooted it across the desk to Winnie. “I’ll need to keep the original, of course, but I’ll see that Susan mak
es a copy for you before you leave. That way you don’t have to worry about taxes on the vehicle in the event the government should ever question—”

  A door opened behind her and she turned to see the same kind yet efficient woman who’d whisked Winnie into the attorney’s inner sanctum within moments of her arrival. This time, though, instead of Gertrude’s file and a mug of steaming black coffee, the secretary handed her boss a pair of keys and a brown and white tabby cat who promptly turned and hissed at Winnie.

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