by Toni Leland
“Thanks for coming back, Hyde. I expect you've had a long day.”
“No problem. I don't have anyone waiting on me at home. How are the patients doing?”
She fell into step beside him. “Dancer isn't eating, but Boots seems to be in a little better condition.”
“I think he might have been given a smaller dose...How was the horse show?”
Kellie's anxiety level increased. Was he being evasive? Or was he just trying to reassure her?
“The classes these days are huge-nothing like when we were kids.”
“Uh-oh, the famous good ol' days.”
He stepped into Dancer's stall and the mirth faded from his eyes. Silently, he examined the horse's legs and the bandaged wound. Dancer didn't flinch as the skilled hands gently touched and probed.
Kellie's voice rattled in her throat. “Can you-”
“I need to get some x-rays before I know where we stand.”
While Hyde returned to his truck, Kellie stroked Dancer's warm neck and battled the crushing pressure in her chest that made every breath an effort. A soft nicker rumbled from deep in the stallion's throat, and he rested his chin heavily on her shoulder. She pressed her face against his cheek, soaking up his familiar scent and struggling to keep fear from conquering her.
Hyde returned with a portable x-ray unit slung over his shoulder, and Kellie stepped away from the horse, trying to steady her emotions.
Hyde's manner was brisk and professional. “You'll need to hold his head.”
Relieved for the distraction, she grabbed a soft leather work halter and slipped it gently over Dancer's ears.
Hyde fiddled with the dials on the unit. “See if you can swing him around about forty-five degrees so I can get behind that good foot.”
For the next twenty minutes, the x-ray unit clicked and hummed, the only sound in the still air. When Hyde finished, Kellie ventured a question.
“Any word yet from the forensics lab?”
Her friend's dark eyes softened with sympathy and he shook his head.
“They've never seen anything like this, but they're going to run some other tests.”
He closed up the x-ray unit, then turned to her, puzzlement furrowing his forehead. “I was wondering...why wouldn't your dogs bark if a stranger came on the property?”
“Frank takes them home with him every night, except when he's, uh...with his girlfriend.”
“I think you should install some security cameras.”
Her chest thumped. “You think this person might come back?”
“If he or she does, wouldn't you like to find out who it is?”
~ ~
The morning newspaper landed with a plop on top of Kellie's work schedule, sending several sheets of paper spiraling to the floor. She jerked at Frank's ugly tone.
“What the hell is this?”
He towered over the desk, his square jaw knotted, his eyes glinting with anger.
She stared hard at the dark headline. “Champion Quarter Horses Vandalized.”
“Oh, boy,” she muttered, reading on.
“Who says small towns don't have any excitement? In a classic Dick Francis whodunit scenario, Rocking S Quarter Horse Ranch is the scene of apparent malicious vandalism that has crippled two of Kellie Sutton's finest horses. According to our sources, sometime last week, an intruder allegedly entered the barns at the historic ranch and injected an unknown substance into world champion Docs Dirty Dancing and state champion Boot Scootin' Doc. The Logan County Sheriff's Department is investigating.”
Frank's irritation clogged the air. “Jesus, we don't need this kind of publicity. Why did you talk to the press?”
Kellie shoved the paper aside and rose from her chair. “I had nothing to do with it. The editor is your friend.”
She strode out into the barn aisle, anger crawling over her skin and confusion fracturing her thoughts. What's his problem, anyway? He doesn't seem to give a darn about the horses. Frank's boots thumped behind her and she braced herself for more of his tirade.
“Kellie, hold up. I feel as bad about this as you do, but I can't believe it was an intentional act-that's ridiculous. The horses probably tangled with some insect, or maybe rats. Certainly nothing that warrants a headline on the front page.”
She whirled to face him. The lame ideas sounded defensive. And why was he so concerned about the publicity? Wouldn't he want the culprit caught? His expression revealed only irritation.
Keeping her tone level, she said, “If you can't be supportive in this, why don't you look for another job?”
He opened his mouth to retort, then frowned, his gaze diverting to the barn door. Two men in tan work overalls walked toward them, and Kellie glanced at her watch.
“That's the crew to install security cameras.”
Frank's stunned expression hardened into sharp planes. “Pretty damned hard to be supportive in a one-woman show.” He turned and clumped away.
Kellie instructed the installers to place a camera at each of the four main barn doors and two in the mare barn. The office phone rang and she hurried across the aisle, feeling as though she'd been swept into a movie set where the bad guys were winning.
Ed Campbell's tone was all business. “I trust you've seen the morning paper.”
“Will the article hurt the case?”
“Can't really say. If the culprit is still around and knows we're looking, he or she might disappear. Any idea how the story got out?”
“At first, I thought Frank was responsible, but we had a major blow up over it a few minutes ago and now I'm not so sure.” She moved to the window and closed her eyes, pushing away the altercation with Frank, and trying to absorb Ed's presence at the other end of the conversation.
He remained silent for a moment before continuing. “What do you think about offering a reward? It might encourage anyone with information to come forward.”
“Good idea.” She pressed the phone against her ear, not wanting the connection to end yet. “I'm also having surveillance cameras installed today.”
“Excellent. We don't want anyone slipping in there again. I'll be out later to ask you some more questions.”
“Wait, did Dani find out anything yesterday?”
“She took everyone's statement, but I haven't had a chance to look at them yet.”
For long moments after she hung up, Kellie gazed out the window, trying to fathom why, after twenty-four hours, Ed still hadn't read Danielle's report. Shaken by the thought of a lunatic returning to the barn, she reached for the phone to call him back, then changed her mind. I can ask him about it when he gets here. She shuddered and moved back to her desk, trying to obliterate her increasing fear that more horses might be attacked. She dropped to one knee and began gathering the scattered papers from the floor. As she retrieved the last one, she spotted the mystery photograph wedged beneath the leg of the desk. Examining the picture again, she squinted, trying to figure out where or when it had been taken. In the dim background-out of focus, but still readable-a banner stretched across a stall door. A horse show. And her hair-she'd cut it very short over a year ago. Before or after I had the run-in with that exhibitor? Why did this image bother her so much, and why didn't she remember it? How had it appeared on her desk? Had Frank put it there? Had he taken it? The dizzying parade of questions bombarded her, but no answers followed. Could the snapshot be connected to the attacks on the horses? Should she have mentioned it to Ed? She closed her eyes, fighting the paranoia that threatened to destroy any vestige of clear thinking.
The confusion pressed her into action. How much money would be enough to entice someone to speak up? She pulled the checkbook from Frank's desk drawer, and dropped into his chair. As she focused on his precise handwriting and neat numbers, his nasty remarks echoed in her head. Clearly, if she wanted any cooperation, she'd have to start including him in the plans-or eliminate him from her life. Easier said than done.
“Ma'am? Where do you want the monitor screen?” A
short man wearing a baseball cap stood in the doorway.
“Does someone need to watch it all the time?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Only in the movies. These here cameras are on twenty-four hours around the clock and are triggered by motion sensors. If you get any intruders, they'll show up on the tapes.”
She gestured toward a file cabinet in the corner. “Put it over there.”
The installer picked up a small black monitor. “Hear you've had some bad stuff going on here.” He placed the screen on the cabinet. “I'm real sorry-I like horses. Rode my granddad's nag when I was a kid. Always wanted to be in a rodeo.”
He squatted down and reached behind the file cabinet to find the electrical outlet and, in seconds, the dark screen brightened, giving Kellie a view of the main barn aisle. The unfamiliar downward angle of the camera distorted the stall doors somewhat, but she recognized the view from the north entrance. The silent scene flicked to another angle as a different camera sent its image to the monitor. A ranch hand stepped out of the tack room and closed the door behind him. The screen changed again and Kellie shook her head, struggling with the surreal circumstances, and wondering what misstep she'd taken to bring on such vengeance. Who could hate her so much?
The previous day's mail lay unopened on the corner of the desk, and she idly leafed through it, thinking about how fast disaster could strike. She snatched up an envelope from the state unemployment board. Of course! Tina Brown! The obnoxious stall cleaner had gone ballistic about being fired. No doubt, this mess was revenge.
The camera installer stepped into her line of vision. “Ma'am? This picture was on the floor in the corner. It must've fallen off your bulletin board.”
Kellie plucked the photograph from the man's hand. The snapshot was grainy and underexposed, but not so much that she couldn't identify the subjects-she and Hyde standing beside a fence rail. They both wore their usual barn garb, but nothing in the picture gave a clue as to when it had been taken.
~ ~
Travis Mack shifted his lanky body on the lumpy mattress, trying to find a comfortable position, then pulled his knees up and buried his face in the pillow to sink back into the depths of tormented sleep.
The old house creaked with night noises and shadows stretched up the stained walls to crisscross the cracked ceiling of the small room. The bedroom door opened and she stepped in. Her blouse was unbuttoned, exposing her immense breasts. He tore his gaze from the bobbling brown nipples to focus on her bright red gash of a mouth forming words thick with alcohol.
“Your daddy's making a mess in the living room.”
The strong odor of whiskey drifted on the air and he looked down at the broken toys scattered around his feet.
When he looked up at her again, she was wearing a black chiffon negligee, draped off her shoulders. A wide-brimmed black hat, adorned with a large red rose, covered her bleached blonde hair.
“We're waiting for you at the cemetery.” She turned and walked away, her voluptuous curves visible through the transparent garment. The hinge on the old door creaked as she left the room.
He looked down again, and screamed. His father lay amongst the toys, a dark pool of blood oozing across the floor, creeping slowly toward his bare feet.
Travis bolted straight up in the bed, gulping for air, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Beside him, the girl's plump ass shifted against his thigh, and he jerked away from the sweaty contact. Swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, he took a deep breath, his pulse slowly receding to a dull thump. He pulled on his jeans, glanced at the sleeping mound in the bed, then padded down the hall and flopped onto a low-slung fifties-era couch. The match shook as he lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, waiting for the nicotine to work its magic while he focused on sending the nightmares back into the dark recesses of his mind.
A green neon sign across the street throbbed through the window of the girl's tiny apartment, flooding the cheap furnishings with a ghoulish glow. He stared without seeing, his thoughts far away, his head filled with memories of slinking through dark fields, a long bus ride, a shattered life.
“You okay, hon?”
He jumped up, adrenaline screaming through his body as he fought the urge to tell the stupid bitch to get the hell out of his face. “Yeah, can't sleep. You go on back to bed. I'm headed out.”
“See you after work today?”
“Dunno, got some business to take care of.” He stubbed out the cigarette. “I'll call ya.”
Tina Brown's round face puddled into a pout, and he wanted to smack her. Fuckin' pushy broad.
As he drove north, he flicked on the radio, paying little attention until an early morning call-in talk show came on. A report of a vicious attack on innocent animals was the hot topic, and he listened intently to the indignation and anger voiced by the many callers and the moderator. At one point, someone mentioned security cameras, and Travis boosted the volume again.
“My neighbor's husband works for Acme Security and they're gonna install cameras at all the barn doors at the Sutton place. That should stop anyone from doing any more damage.”
Travis snapped off the radio.
~ ~
Ed pulled into a parking spot halfway down the block from the Sooner Café, then glanced up the street. The town hadn't changed much while he'd been away, but he could see the restoration efforts for many of the original buildings. In keeping with tradition of the annual 89er Celebration, red-white-and-blue flags adorned the elaborate minarets and spires on the beautiful red stone Gaffney Building, and banners hung from the streetlights, proclaiming the start of the event. In a few days, Guthrie would swell with thousands of tourists, and he'd have his hands full. Timing certainly wasn't on his side these days.
A shiny black Hummer pulled into a spot in front of the café, and Frank climbed out. Ed snorted. How a military vehicle could have so charmed the civilian population was a real mystery. These yahoos had no clue what they were driving. His thoughts briefly reverted to a vision of dust and heat and noise, but he pushed it away. Frank entered the café, and Ed strode down the sidewalk after him. Through the big window, Ed saw Frank slide into a booth with the newspaper editor and the local grease monkey.
Ed pushed through the café door and headed for the counter, where he settled onto a stool and reached for a menu.
The local editor's voice carried in the small room. “Frank, what in the world is goin' on out at your place?”
Frank's voice rumbled with anger. “Chaos, no thanks to you. Why the hell didn't you talk to me before you printed that story?”
“News is news. I figured I'd do a more in-depth piece after I interviewed you.”
“Where did you hear about it?”
Ed turned to watch the exchange.
“My cousin's sister-in-law works over at the vet's office. The information came straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.”
Frank's exasperation exploded. “Jesus, isn't there some rule about client privilege?”
The mechanic laughed, his bushy white eyebrows stood out against his flushed face and his bright blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not in Podunk Guthrie, there ain't!”
The news editor pushed a Meerschaum pipe to the corner of his mouth and narrowed his eyes. “Frank, let me remind you that the Daily Leader has been keeping Guthrie up to date since before the big land rush. No holds barred. As editor, I have the right-and the responsibility-to keep the town informed of everything that goes on.” He pulled a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket, then licked the end of his pencil. “Do you have any new information yet?”
“Nope, and I'm not convinced this was deliberate. Kellie's too theatrical sometimes. And I don't appreciate your timing, either-we're trying to get the ranch ready for tours this weekend, and she's got her panties in a twist.”
“Sheriff have any ideas?”
“Not that he's shared.”
Ed slid off the stool and stepped over to the booth. “Actually, Frank,
I was hoping you'd share your ideas with me.”
Frank's jaw rippled with anger as he rose from the bench. “Don't you have robbers or killers to catch? This whole thing is ridiculous!” He dropped a dollar bill on the table and glared at the newsman. “How about a heads up before you put any more of your surprises in the paper?”
The mechanic gestured toward the window. “I see you're drivin' that tank today. Why the hell would you buy something like that?”
“Because I can.”
Frank stalked out of the café, and Ed turned to the men. “Might be a good idea to soft-peddle this story for a while...give us a chance to investigate.”
The editor glowered. “Perhaps you weren't eaves-dropping close enough. This is news and not even you can keep me from letting the public know what's going on.”
Back out on the sidewalk, irritation crawled over Ed's shoulders. He had yet to meet anyone who didn't resent his return to Guthrie. He scanned the street and caught a glimpse of the Hummer's taillights turning the corner. Animosity rippled through his chest. Frank Frazier isn't good enough to clean Kellie's boots, yet he acts like she's a nobody. The emotional thought startled the hell out of him, that he could become so instantly distracted at a time when he needed all his wits about him.
He climbed into the cruiser and headed after Frank. Three blocks away, he spotted the Hummer parked in front of a row of businesses. He pulled into a parking spot and waited, making a list of every visible license plate on the street. A few minutes later, Frank emerged from a building and headed down the sidewalk toward the old Santa Fé depot. A dark skinned man appeared from an alley and approached Frank on the corner. Ed whipped out his camera and, as the two men came into focus, he began to smile. He zoomed to full power to confirm who he was seeing, then pressed the burst button. Maybe timing wasn't working against him, after all.
