“Give me the key!” Dale’s breathless voice sounded annoyed. “Hurry.”
She heard the gear bags that hung on the inside of the trailer’s tack room door bump and their contents rattle. She heard the key turn the lock, and they were gone.
She had shifted position. Her hands lay atop a soft cloth lump. She wiggled her fingers into the material, searching for something, anything. Tears choked her, tears she halted as fast as she could. She didn’t want to drown on her own damned snot.
The rags felt greasy, and she tried to imagine what they’d been used for. Then the burn started—slowly at first, then spreading and intensifying over her palms, between her fingers, onto the backs of her hands and up her wrists.
Pain made her want to scream but she couldn’t. She had to think. Maybe there was something else nearby, something useful. She forced her hands deeper into the saturated fabric, intensifying the burn. Nothing. She dug deeper, feeling like she was sticking her arms into flames. She felt something hard and thin, didn’t know what it was but pressed her wrists against it, harder and harder, trying to saw across it. With two short, stabbing jolts, her wrists separated. She wrenched at the blindfold then pulled the gag out of her mouth. In the dark of the tack box, she couldn’t see anything. She patted around, her hand finally touching something hard and curved. She hoped for a hoof pick but quickly realized it was just a useless horseshoe. But maybe not useless.
She wedged it between the lid and body of the box and wiggled it to the lock. There she slammed it as hard as she could with her hand. The lock held, but the top edge of the box gave. She saw light and struck again, then again and again. Finally, she was able to wedge an arm into the space and force it open.
She crawled out and looked around. The door was locked, so she couldn’t exit that way. But the divider between the tack room and the first stall didn’t reach the floor. She dropped down and slid beneath it then crawled underneath the next one. She pushed on the main door to the trailer, the one the horses entered through. She heard the latch rattle. The door didn’t budge. She looked around. Light poured into the space from narrow slats near the top of the trailer’s sidewalls, spaced too closely together for her to get her hand through. But the slats at the top of the back door had a little more room. She crammed her hand between the bottom slat and the solid part of the door, squeezing her knuckles and scraping her skin. She pushed her forearm into the space as far as it would go and felt around. With the tips of her fingers, she felt the door handle but couldn’t make her arm go in further, couldn’t get the inches she needed to grab it. Knowing she might get stuck, she crammed her arm further, then further still. Her fingers wrapped around the metal handle and she tried to pull to lift it. Stuck! Her arm had swollen, and she couldn’t get it out.
She spat onto her skin where it met the trailer slats, spat until she had no more spit. She pulled again. Her arm slipped, she pulled the lever, and the door swung open.
CHAPTER 28
DISORIENTED, BILLIE GLANCED around the alley behind Dale’s barn. People in the distance led horses, rode, and strolled from barn to barn. An elderly couple in an electric golf cart rolled past her. She fought an impulse to duck and hide, an even stronger impulse to go find water—a drinking fountain would do—to try to rinse the burning chemicals off her arms. Instead, she smiled and raised her hand in what she prayed was a casual greeting. They waved back. She didn’t see anyone else nearby and no one seemed to have noticed her. From the arena, she heard the announcer calling horses and riders into the ring. Dale and Eudora and Sylvie were probably there. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the tack box, then in the trailer. If one of Sylvie’s classes was going on now, that would give Billie time to get away while everyone was at the arena.
This is going to be one hell of a good article, she thought through the pain in her arms, through her fear. She forced her hand into her front pocket, feeling for her phone. Gone. Of course, they’d taken it from her. There were phone booths on the arena grounds, holdovers from a pre-cell phone age, but she wasn’t about to stop to use one to call Frank. That time would be better spent searching for her own phone.
She found it in the barn tack room, discarded on the floor and partially covered with hay. It had been smashed beyond any hope of repair, but she returned it to her pocket anyway.
She took a deep breath and stepped out from the barn onto the walkway. A team of carriage horses decked out in the Big Lick boots trotted past her. She didn’t see until they passed that Sylvie stood behind them, her back to Billie, surrounded by a bunch of teenagers. Spurs jangled off their heels, and the legs of their pants were turned up to keep them from dragging in the dirt. Sylvie was handing out an armload of sodas and cigarettes. The blue roan stallion stood beside her, its reins held by a stocky redheaded boy about her age. She leaned toward him for a lingering kiss, took the reins from his hand and turned to put her foot in the stirrup. And saw Billie. For the briefest moment, they stared at each other.
Billie bolted into a tight alley between buildings and pressed herself against the wall. She struggled against a panicky need to escape, run anywhere, hide. Her mind racing with images of the showgrounds, she took a deep breath and held it. She couldn’t just flee. She had to get the story. For Frank. For herself. For the horses. Her legs felt weird and tingly from being cramped up in the tack box, but she had to keep moving or they’d catch her. Should she take time to try contacting the police? Dale had dodged an indictment, no problem. It would just be her word against his. Not much chance of success. A federal marshal? How long would that take? She’d have to find one then get a search going for evidence in the box she’d been locked in. If she could even find someone to believe her.
She decided to slip into the crowd, let the flow of people carry her to the in-gate and disappear into the turmoil there. She expelled the breath she’d been holding, drew in another, and stepped out of the alley.
A dense crowd surrounded her, people pushing in opposite directions. Some tried to reach the metal stairway that led up to the bleachers, while others shoved and dodged toward the inspection area and the vendors beyond. She remembered Addie saying that she had seats somewhere near food in the grandstand. Billie decided to head there. First, she had to cross a pathway, a sort of chute—designated for horses leaving the warm-up and inspection area to enter the arena. A class was announced as Billie approached. Shouts drew her attention down that pathway into a covered area where horses and riders milled about. Fluorescent lights shone down from the high ceiling, casting a greenish light.
“Look out!” A woman in riding clothes shoved her out of the way.
A cluster of people surrounded a Big Lick horse as it staggered into the chute. They shouted at each other and at the horse, goading it to frenetic excitement. Its ears pinned back, eyes ringed in white, saliva dripping from its mouth. The horse reeked of terror. Billie recognized Simeon, the man she had met in his derelict barn, the man whose horse she’d ridden. She realized that the black horse in front of her was that same one, Jazz, now led by his owner. Simeon saw her, recognition flickering briefly in his face before Royal shouted something that took his father’s attention away from her.
Behind them, Sylvie sat astride Dale’s blue roan. Eudora hung onto its shanked bit while Charley snapped a rag over the girl’s boots. He rolled down her pants leg so the cuff settled across her instep and dipped below her heel, then reached up and tugged at her jacket until it lay smoothly. Dale wrestled the horse’s broken tail into a waterfall of hair then lashed it into a metal tail set, slapping the horse each time it tried to kick him away. When it tried to sit down to escape the torment, Dale punched it in the belly.
Billie noticed that as he did this, he was also watching the inspectors at work behind him. At a moment when they became especially busy looking at other horses, she saw him mouth to Eudora, “Okay, now.”
Eudora bent to adjust the chains around the horse’s legs. Billie saw her slip a screwdriver from her pock
et and use it to tighten the metal bands holding the stacked shoes onto the hooves. Almost instantly, the horse shifted its weight from foot to foot. Eudora looked up at Sylvie and nodded. Sylvie gathered the reins, sat tall, and set her spurs into the horse’s flanks. It leaped forward, scattering handlers and inspectors.
Sylvie spotted Billie and pointed. Eudora darted at her like a snake striking. Billie ducked, tried to run, but the crowds blocked her.
“Coming through!” She slipped into the stream of spectators and allowed it to carry her deeper into the viewing areas around the arena then up a flight of metal stairs into the grandstand.
The bleachers were packed. She climbed over the benches below the walkway and sat down, looking toward the inspection area, then the food kiosks. Her heart banged in her throat, and she gasped for breath.
“You okay?” the elderly man seated in front of her had turned and was staring. Billie realized she was breathing quick, audible gasps.
She nodded. “It’s hot!”
“Need a doctor?”
She shook her head no. “I’ll be okay in a minute. Thanks.”
She thought she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and pulled it out to answer, but its screen was still blank, the glass a spiderweb of cracks.
“I think it’s broken,” the man in front of her said.
She nodded then turned back to look at the crowd. She didn’t see anyone following her, but they’d come soon. They couldn’t let her escape to charge them with kidnapping. And if they caught her, she was dead.
She tapped the old man’s shoulder. “Can I borrow your phone? Just for a moment?”
He handed her an ancient flip phone and she thanked him.
She got Frank’s voice mail. “I’m at the Big Show—the big horse show championship. I was kidnapped and locked up. I got free. I’m hurt but I’m going back. Dale Thornton did it to me. He’s in the news for soring horses. Just telling you in case I don’t get out. Start by looking at him.”
She slapped the phone shut and handed it back to the old man, who was staring at her. “You need help?”
She tried to smile. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound it.”
Quickly, she stood and thanked him again. She headed back down to the warm-up area.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer rejoiced. “Put your hands together and welcome the best of the best of the walking horse breed. Vying for this year’s world grand champion title!”
A groom pushed past Billie as she made her way toward the in-gate. A brown and white spotted horse, rider up, surrounded by crew, loomed ahead of her. Behind them, a dozen or more horses milled around or stood tied or held by grooms in the final moments of preparation before going into the ring. She recognized Sylvie’s golden ponytail at the back of the group in the warm-up area and ducked behind a pillar in case she turned.
“…from Rocky Top, Tennessee riding, well, Rocky Top!”
Billie realized she’d only been half listening to the blaring announcer. At the name Rocky Top, the rider in front charged his brown and white stallion through the chute toward the arena. His crew ran alongside, whooping and whipping the horse’s belly and flanks. Despite the pain in his feet and legs, the stallion moved faster and faster, spurred forward into a solid wall of hoots, cheers, stomping, and clapping from the audience.
A hand fell heavily onto Billie’s shoulder. Would anyone hear her scream in the din? She spun, ready to fight for her life.
“Hey you!” Simeon still held the reins of the horse he’d tried to sell her. “If you’d bought him, you’d be on your way to glory tonight!”
She had to fight for his meaning, that he was talking not about her danger but about the shrieking audience, the brilliant lights, and the trembling horse he held.
“Get your fat ass over here, Royal,” he shouted to his son. In full dress riding clothes, his shiny black pants legs folded up to stay clean, bowler hat crammed onto his head and sweat pouring from beneath its brim, Royal shuffled over. He nodded to Billie and, grunting, heaved himself into the saddle. Jazz sagged then recovered.
Stressed though she was, Billie noticed how well Royal sat the horse, as if he’d left a hundred pounds behind him.
“When do you go in?” she asked.
“He’s next to last,” his father answered for him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like barfing.” Royal answered for himself.
“You’ll be fine,” she told him. She glanced over toward Sylvie, who still seemed unaware of her.
“I know! But you asked how I feel and that’s how I feel. Doesn’t mean I will barf, just that I could.”
She stepped back against the wall and wished she could call Frank again. If only she had a working phone. He might answer. He might even be calling her now…
She heard her name and turned. Richard embraced her.
“How great to see you!” His arms tightened around her, rigid as metal strapping. “I’ve got people I want you to meet after the show.”
She tried to wrench away but he held her. “Come with me,” he said loudly. “How’s things in Arizona? I sure do miss it there.”
His arm around her, he guided her toward the chute, held her in waiting behind the next horse to enter, then shoved her along behind. “Come sit with me while we watch Sylvie,” he roared. “Won’t be long now.” He pushed her forward, up the stairs to the lowest tier of benches then to a stretch of empty seats. He shoved her into one and sat beside her, never letting go.
“What the fuck is going on?” she demanded.
“Hang on a minute!” he shouted into her ear as the audience around them exploded into applause and cheers when another horse entered the arena. “You’re a dead woman if Dale gets you.”
“What am I if he doesn’t get me?”
She lost his answer in the blare of the announcer’s call for yet another horse to enter.
“You’re hurting me! My arms are burning from stuff I got on them!”
“Sorry,” he said. “This’ll help it for a few minutes.” He pulled a small aerosol can from his back pocket and sprayed her arm. Instantly the pain stopped.
“What was that?”
“Lidocaine.”
“That’s the stuff the inspectors are looking for!”
“And aren’t you glad I have some? I’m glad you’re free, Billie. You saved me the risk of going back to get you.”
“You asshole! You’re part of this. I couldn’t see you, but I heard you with Eudora and Dale. I heard you agree to sore Sylvie’s horse. You told me you were through with all that. You goddamned lying—”
“Wait! You’ve got it wrong!”
Billie stood to leave. Richard pulled her back into her seat.
“Ow! My shoulder!”
He let go of her. “What happened?”
“You try being tied up and thrown into a tack box and see how you make out.”
“I’m truly sorry Billie, but still—you’ve got this all wrong. Please just think a minute and imagine what I walked into,” he said. “You tied up on the floor. Eudora with a gun. And my daughter there in the middle of it all, acting like this was some kind of lark! I had maybe two seconds to get her out of there before she became an accessory to kidnapping. She could have ended up in prison. You could have been shot. I’d sore a hundred horses if that’s what it took to get the two most…to get you and Sylvie to safety.”
The crowd exploded into cheers as Jazz entered the arena.
“What about the horse you sored, Richard?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to the horse!”
“You matter more, Billie. Surely by now you realize that everything you’re doing to expose the walking horse industry puts you in danger. Your barn was burned as a warning—”
“And to destroy evidence, Richard! That fire killed a filly your friends had nearly crippled.”
“They’re not my friends anymore Billie, and I told you be
fore I’m doing what I can.” He pointed toward Sylvie, just visible in the warm up area, poised and ready to perform. “That’s my little girl same as Alice Dean. Alice Dean’s getting help. Now it’s time for Sylvie to get help.”
Billie stood up. “Might be time for you and Mary Lou to get some too.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m getting to work.”
“Please sit. You’re safe here with me—”
“Dale and Eudora are busy watching Sylvie.” She hoped that was true. “Goodbye, Richard.”
The audience roared as Sylvie entered the arena. Grooms ran beside her horse, slapping its belly with a crop, shouting along with the crowd. Billie expected to see Charley running along too, but he didn’t appear. Billie glanced at Richard, who was focused on his daughter’s entrance. As best she could in the crowd, she ran, intent on circling the arena to find the fried chicken stand and Addie.
Before she reached the arena exit, Dale stepped out in front of her from behind a huge stack of hay bales. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was a knot of baling twine on the ground and the feel of his thumbs digging into her neck.
CHAPTER 29
BILLIE SMELLED HAY. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her knees and ankles were tied together. There was tape on her mouth. She tried to straighten her legs and bumped into what felt like a bale. When she pushed with her feet, her head contacted another bale. She tried to wriggle into a sitting position, but pain in her shoulder made her moan. On her second attempt she bumped into hay overhead and fell backward. She seemed to be sealed into the middle of a mow. How big it was, she couldn’t guess. It might be just one bale in each direction, or a dozen.
She could hear the PA system but couldn’t tell how far away it was. She didn’t know how much the hay would dampen sound. Above the crowd’s roar, the announcer bellowed Sylvie’s name. Youngest rider ever, he said. Then he announced the horse’s owner—Eudora Thornton—and trainer—Dale Thornton.
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