Turning for Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

  The officer closes his writing pad at last and looks around. “I’ll expect to have all of you here and available for any additional questions in the days to come. And Ms. Joss as well.”

  I peek around the corner of the door as he exits and am not in the least surprised to see the ever-efficient Aleta hand him a thermos and what looks to be two nicely wrapped sandwiches to take on his way. His surprise turns to gratitude and I note the lines of weariness on his face as he thanks her.

  Mr. Silver Eyes sends the Roberts off to get some rest then nods to his assistant. “You can show Ryder in now.”

  “Thank God.” I detect a wealth of feeling in those two words. I gather the good deputy marshal has not been the most patient of visitors.

  Ah, well, one down and one to go.

  * * *

  Ryder glared at him. “What does that mean? The cat found the body? I asked what you and Ms. Summers were doing, both of you dressed for the festivities you abandoned, strolling through the barns where a dead guy just happened to be?”

  “We weren’t strolling,” Cade said patiently. “We were following Trouble. I told you, he came to get us.”

  “Bullshit.”

  The urge to grin took Cade by surprise. Nothing funny about death and even less about murder, but Ryder’s expression was priceless. Cade suspected the other man was more than a little irritated that he’d had to wait his turn to grill Cade and Malone. He wasn’t on the scene officially. He was there because Cade had been cooperative enough to call him. He owed Cade that, plus the spur with the leather strap which could prove to be worth something or nothing at all. Trouble had seemed to think it was evidence of something. Cade wasn’t convinced either way.

  Ryder looked from Cade to Malone and back again before his gaze flicked to the black cat in the window sill.

  “You think this dead guy has something to do with my investigation?”

  “I don’t know if it does or not. You asked me to call you if I saw anything I didn’t like. I damned sure don’t like what I saw in that barn.” Cade could feel Malone’s gaze on him and knew she’d be demanding explanations of her own as soon as they were alone.

  “So, you don’t believe Walker was killed because of a fight over a girl? That’s what was being hinted out there among some of the other contestants.”

  “I have no idea why he was killed, but I’m confident Luke Roberts wasn’t the person who broke his neck.”

  Malone straightened at that. “Luke didn’t kill anyone. He’s a good kid.”

  “But he punched the daylights out of the guy earlier today.”

  These were all questions they’d already answered. Multiple times. The answers weren’t going to change with retelling. Cade stretched his back and shoulders and rolled his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. It was hours past midnight after an already long day. He knew Malone must be exhausted.

  He got to his feet, forcing Ryder to do the same. “Look, I’ve told you everything I know. Just like I told the police everything I know. Now I’m going to ask you to go do your job and let me do mine which has little to do with a murder investigation.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Malone opened her eyes and froze. Joss! It was full daylight and she was alone in the trailer. Well, not quite. Trouble sat at the foot of the bed where she’d collapsed fully dressed too few hours ago.

  She let herself relax. The cat had proven a good barometer. Joss was someplace safe and Malone had horses to tend. She glanced at the clock, relieved that it was still early and that she felt more rested than she would have thought.

  Minutes later, dressed for the morning chill, she opened the door of her living quarters. Joss rose from one of the two canvas folding chairs she’d placed close to the door. She handed Malone a thermos and a wrapped sandwich. Her large, expressive eyes were troubled. “Horses are fed. I hand-walked Diablo but he’ll need to be ridden.”

  “We’ll ride everyone lightly except Scoop. I’ll hand-walk him.” The sleek sorrel would be her competition run tonight.

  Malone opened the wrapping and bit into warm bacon and cheese and eggs with real pleasure. Most of the time she cooked in her tiny kitchenette but this was a welcome treat and time was valuable considering how much of the morning she’d lost. Although, it appeared Joss had made up for that on her behalf.

  Because Trouble didn’t bat an eye as she savored her food, she knew he’d been happy with his breakfast. He’d probably had two of the croissants to her one.

  “How did you decide who you’re going to ride which night?”

  “I ran Diablo first because he can handle just about any ground but he skims across the top of fresh dirt easier than some of the others who like to dig deep. And, yes, he always needs to be ridden the morning after a run. It settles him back down. This ground is going to get deeper every night, not in a bad way because the crew will keep it good for the finals, but some deeper. Because of that, I’ll run Jaz on the last evening because she digs in hardest. The ones in between were pretty much a toss-up.”

  She finished her breakfast and opened the thermos, sighing with real pleasure at the deep, rich aroma of it. Not coffee. A latte. “Thank you for this.”

  Joss shook her head. “Luke brought it.” She hesitated then added in a rush, “He didn’t kill that guy.”

  “Of course he didn’t.”

  The teen’s shoulders relaxed visibly and Malone studied her over the rim of the thermos. “All of this is going to be okay, Joss. It’s truly ugly and I feel more than bad for Roland Walker’s family but the police will figure it out.” She hesitated. “But I’ll need you to be careful until they do. Stay close to me and keep the trailer locked when you’re inside alone.”

  Joss looked at her with those young-old eyes and Malone remembered she was talking to a girl who’d probably seen things that would make Malone shudder. She hoped that one day Joss would trust enough to share. What she feared was that one day Joss would disappear as soundlessly as she had landed in Malone’s life. For now, though, she was Malone’s to protect.

  Trouble accompanied them to the barn where things were busy for the next few hours. Malone was pleased to realize that Joss no longer ducked and turned away when acquaintances stopped to speak with them.

  After one such exchange, as they rode two of the horses at a quiet walk, side-by-side, Joss said, “You’re popular.”

  “I’ve been round longer than many and made a lot of friends.” A few enemies, too, she acknowledged to herself, but it had never been intentional.

  “The tiny blonde on the huge roan, that’s who beat your time last night, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. She’s ridden that mare to the finals three years in a row. They’re an awesome duo.”

  “But ...?”

  Malone chuckled. “But nothing as far as the competitor or the competition here goes. Courtney works as hard as anyone I know and gives everything she’s got every time and she’s friendly, always willing to extend a helping hand. It would scare me to have everything pinned to one horse. She’s got a couple of young horses she started hauling this year and they’re showing promise but she keeps them on the back burner. The others she has here are loaners she’s barely ridden. She’ll probably ride her good horse every other night which isn’t too much – only three runs but it would make me nervous.”

  “She seemed a little snooty to me. I was watching everybody when you were warming up. When the other girls tried to talk with her, she would cut them off and move her horse away.”

  “Most of that is nerves. You’ll find a lot of competitors want to be alone with their horse right before a run. It helps them focus. Others would rather be distracted with conversation. Courtney is actually very friendly, not snobbish at all. But she gets tense when the stakes are higher and the circuit finals are almost as high as it gets.”

  “I don’t care. I still hate that she had the fastest time.”

  Malone laughed and shook her head. “No single competitor is going to
pull first place at all six goes here. I’ve never seen it done in any of the events. I’m not done, Joss, no worries.”

  As she eased the horse beneath her to a canter, she was aware of Joss heading back to the barn for her next mount. She felt pleased she hadn’t even had to tell the girl what the horse had needed in pace and duration of this morning’s ride. Joss was picking up more and more regarding the animals Malone had entrusted to her.

  For a little while Malone was able to shake off the nightmare of the murder but as she slowed Diablo to a trot then a walk, she felt a gaze fixed on her. She glanced around but all she saw were fellow competitors, walking, talking, or otherwise focused on their own tasks. No one who appeared interested, much less overly interested, in her.

  The feeling stayed and she wasn’t surprised to find Tyge waiting for her when she led the untacked gelding into his stall. A bit unnerved, perhaps, but not surprised.

  Tyge rose from a crouched position in the corner of the stall and moved to the opening as she maneuvered the muscular horse around him. So, he wasn’t afraid to be seen. But when she gave him a searching glance, she could see that his eyes were shadowed. Haunted, even.

  “What have you done?”

  “I didn’t kill Walker.”

  She sighed. “I know that.” And she did. Just as she knew Luke had not. Tyge skated the line on respectability but there was no meanness to him. There never had been. She slipped the halter off and watched as Diablo shook vigorously then moved to his hay bag. Too many thoughts crowded her mind.

  “But you’re involved. Somehow.” She didn’t make it a question and he didn’t answer.

  “Not with murder. That’s not me, Malone.”

  Wordlessly, she picked up the bucket that held Diablo’s grooming gear and brushed past Tyge. He moved out of her way while she secured the stall door.

  When he fell into step beside her, she whirled on him in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Tyge? You called me in a panic, warning me to be careful, begging me not to tell some nameless someone where you were. Then you’re here in the wide open and not hiding at all. And a man is murdered. Murdered! What the hell is going on?” Instead of rising, her voice had gotten lower and lower with the apprehension that held her in its grip, so low the last few words had to be forced past the constriction in her throat.

  Tyge put both hands on her shoulders and, for one brief moment, she saw a different man, a man who’d once been front and center in her world. He’d cared about her hopes and her ambitions as much as he’d cared about his own. And he’d had them. Tyge was going to be a world champion. He had the skill and the physical ability and the mental determination. And he’d been close, so close. Malone had respected that man, shared her dreams with him, trusted her future to him.

  That trust had long since turned to dust and been swept away with the wind.

  For a moment, she thought he’d walk away, just as he’d always done before. That was Tyge. Take the easiest way out.

  He surprised her when he didn’t. “Sometimes a man has to be more than he thinks he can be. More than the woman he loves thought he ever could be. I’m in trouble. I’ll admit that. And I don’t want you dragged into it. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. I didn’t kill Walker. He wasn’t a threat to me. But I’d kill for you, Malone.”

  She felt no warmth at his declaration. She couldn’t be moved by words of caring from him. Not anymore. Not ever again. Particularly when coupled with mention of murder. Instead, ice touched her spine. Tyge wasn’t loquacious or eloquent. If he bothered to speak, it was with intent. Something bad was going on around him and he’d brought it close to her and to Joss.

  Frustration made her feel harsh and the harshness was reflected in her tone. “Maybe if you disappeared again, any threat to me would disappear as well.”

  “If I believed that, Malone, I’d make it happen, no matter how much money they owe me.”

  Money. She tried not to think of all the things that could be tied to money and murder.

  She took a deliberate step back and Tyge’s hands dropped from her shoulders. His look of regret spoke volumes.

  As he turned away, she sighed and shook her head. She had things to do and no time to worry over things she couldn’t control.

  She started forward but was stopped in her tracks as the large black cat stepped into her path. She’d been so intent on her exchange with Tyge, she hadn’t been aware of Trouble’s arrival. He swung his green gaze from her to Tyge’s retreating figure and back again.

  Trouble growled softly and she said, “Yeah, me, too. I don’t like it one bit but there’s not a damn thing I can do.”

  * * *

  Oh, dear, I take that to mean she has no intention of sharing this exchange and that could be a serious mistake. I do understand not taking it to the authorities. She has nothing concrete to offer, after all. Nor do I think Mr. Silver Eyes more astute or better able to solve this mystery. I do, however, suspect that each will have different pieces of this puzzle and will need to work together to fit them all together for the final analysis.

  Most unfortunately, this is all as I suspected. There’s a very real threat here and the danger is tied to this Tyge and to the chap who got his neck broken. Or rather the person who broke it for him. Joss’ precipitous arrival on the scene, which is what occasioned my involvement in the lives of these people, appears to be nothing but a twist of fate and, yet, something warns me to remain wary of happenstance.

  My senses are on hyper-alert but I believe all is safe for now. It is daylight and Joss is extraordinarily vigilant for a young human female. That is most certainly due to whatever dark deed sent her our way initially. I think if I am to learn much of anything for now, I’d best tag along with Tyge. Ouch. I can only wince at that feeble alliteration though it was certainly not intentional.

  The air is more enjoyable this morning, crisp and clear without the wind clawing at my fur. More what I expect on a nice autumn day. Which reminds me that the holidays will be upon us soon and it behooves me to solve this case so that I may return in time for my favorite festivities. I have fond memories of batting Christmas ornaments from low-hanging branches, always careful to discern the unbreakable from the breakable as I was never a destructive kitten. These days it’s not the bright-colored décor that most appeals, although I do enjoy the twinkling of colorful fairy lights. No, for me, the pleasures of the season have become the edible delicacies, the slivers of tenderloin, the tidbits of well-spiced ham, and even, on occasion, pâté. I prefer mine warm but humans seem to have a preference for it chilled. Fortunately, my Tammy Lynn caters to my preferences.

  Equally enjoyable, now that I am coming into maturity, is the convivial gathering of old friends with new. On occasion, we have guests who stay a night or two. I eagerly anticipate those who bring with them some of my favorite female felines. There’s healthy pleasure in sharing a cozy corner of a loveseat on a night where the windowpanes reflect winter’s chill. But I grow indelicate.

  And rather far off topic from my mission … although I do anticipate Ms. Rodeo and Mr. Silver Eyes numbering among those I’ll see at the occasional future holiday gathering, whether paired or individually though I have my thoughts on that. And, for those merry reunions to occur, I must ensure their safety through the perils to come.

  Upon my word, this Tyge appears to be ambling with no direction in mind. The layout of the structure is well suited to that, I might add. Whoever designed this barn may have had method to his madness, but it eludes me. The twists and turns are that of a rabbit warren.

  In the same moment I realize we have circled the same space over again, I comprehend that Tyge’s gaze is searching and far more keen and intent than his ambling steps would imply. It may be that his goal is to ‘accidentally’ cross paths with someone. It is inexcusable in me that I didn’t pay attention sooner to more than his boots dawdling along.

  And, there! Tyge hesitates then moves toward a cowboy who wears jangling spurs
and a belt buckle that – as they say – is bigger than Texas. The cowboy moseys just ahead, a cell phone to his ear. Mosey is a nice cowboy word I heard on the television and I do like to stretch my vocabulary. Tyge takes advantage of the cowboy’s inattention. With hand to shoulder, he turns him about with a sharp aggression and the phone goes flying from the other’s hand.

  “You owe me,” Tyge says angrily.

  No mincing of words with Tyge this morning.

  “Only thing you got comin’ to you is an ass-whooping.”

  Tyge bristles a bit like an English bulldog at those words. “You want to try, asshole? Go ahead.” No one’s fool, but equally no one’s epitome of gentlemanly engagement, Tyge doesn’t wait for the first punch to be thrown after issuing the challenge. And he makes his first strike count. The ‘jangling spurs’ cowboy staggers and puts a hand to a nose that is no doubt as broken as it is bloody.

  “You bastard.”

  “Yeah,” Tyge taunts, “that’s me, a son of a bitch of a son of a bitch. But quit whining and bring it.”

  Unfortunately, it appears that the cowboy will have help ‘bringing it’. Without warning, there are two additional pairs of hands, one on either side, holding Tyge immobile as the cowboy swaggers close.

  Tyge has two things in his favor. He has shown a tenderness for Ms. Rodeo, which must carry weight with me, and I have an affinity for symmetry, even in fisticuffs. Three to one is not symmetrical. Adding another will not even things out but will bring it a bit closer, especially if that other is me.

  My leap, quite agile I feel I may boast, lands me squarely against a thick neck. I dig my claws into a meaty shoulder and close sharp teeth on a vulnerable ear. The bellow the thug emits can only be likened to that of one of the rodeo bulls as it exits the chutes with an unwanted rider on his back. As thug one spins in confusion, I make the leap for thug two and am disappointed as I miss my intended point of landing. My claws dig for purchase through hair in need of a good soaping. The squall that erupts is satisfying, as I sink into a correspondingly unwashed scalp.