For Sale or Swap - Alyssa Brugman [29]
Her mother was still waiting for an answer.
'I think Brat might be stolen.'
Her mother frowned. 'What do you mean, honey?'
Shelby explained how she had washed Brat, and what Clint had said when he'd seen her.
Her mother was shocked. 'Shelby! Why didn't you tell us straightaway?'
'I was going to. I meant to ring the police this afternoon, as soon as I got home, but things got out of hand.'
Shelby's mother rubbed her eyes. She looked so tired. Shelby was ashamed. Her mother never yelled at her. She only ever looked disappointed, and that was worse.
'I really did mean to give her back,' she said.
'I believe you, honey.'
'What should I do?' Shelby asked.
Her mother sighed. 'What were you planning to do?'
'I was going to ring the police and tell them we have a stolen grey mare.' Shelby's words rang in her mind. Stolen grey mare. Where had she seen that before?
Shelby jumped off the lounge and ran into her bedroom. With each step she could feel every one of her strained muscles. She came back with Erin's magazine and flipped through the pages.
'Here,' she said, laying the magazine on her lap. She read the ad aloud. 'Stolen. Grey mare. Greatly missed by owner. Please send our girl home.'
She leaned forward to examine the picture. 'Do you think it's her?' she asked, holding the magazine up to her mother.
She shrugged. 'They all look the same to me.'
Shelby studied the photo more closely. The pony was dressed up in show finery, with her mane plaited. There was a girl in the saddle who was a couple of years older than Shelby, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. The horse was too small for her. The rider's boots hung down below the pony's belly. The photo had captured the pony mid-stride – three legs on the ground and one tucked up underneath her. It could have been Brat. It looked very much like her. Shelby flicked the page over to the section that listed ponies for sale. There were three or four photos of grey ponies in a similar pose. Any of them could be Brat too. It was so hard to tell when Shelby didn't know her true colour.
'Do you think I should phone them?'
Her mother leaned back, checking the clock in the kitchen. 'Yes. Why not?'
Shelby dialled, and then sat on the lounge holding her mother's hand. After a few rings, the line connected.
'Bob Mulligan speaking.'
'Mr Mulligan? I think I might have your horse.'
The man paused. 'We've had a few calls about that. Everyone wants a reward, but nobody has our mare. What makes you think it's her?'
'I just recently got a horse – actually, I swapped it for mine, and she was supposed to be brown, but it looks like she might be a grey,' Shelby began.
'We were going to swap a horse too!' Mr Mulligan butted in. 'Only it wasn't that one. We had another one the fellow was supposed to look at, but we didn't end up swapping at all because he was a bit pushy. He must have come back in the middle of the night because our little mare wasn't there the next day, and suddenly his phone was disconnected.'
'Did he have black hair and bushy eyebrows?' Shelby asked.
'Yes! He showed up in a truck, and wanted to take the horse right there and then. That's what made us suspicious. How is she? Where is she? Is she OK?'
Shelby paused. 'She's got a bit of a sore leg. The vet said it would be all right, though. What happened was –'
Mr Mulligan interrupted her. 'She was pawing at the fence, right? We had to put up special fencing to stop her doing that. I can't believe it! You little ripper! She's probably not as bad as you think. She can bung it on when she feels like it. This is amazing! You wait till I tell Sarah – that's my daughter. We thought we'd never see her again.' He laughed. 'I'm rapt.'
Shelby gave her address and phone number to the man and he said he would come and check that it was