Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [45]
“Some of them dress better than I do,” I’d said, watching her peel a pink paisley blanket and hood off a glossy Morgan owned by a society woman in town who rode dressage. “Daddy’d bust a gut laughing if he saw the outfits some of these horses wear.”
“And they eat better than all of us,” she’d replied.
I parked in front of the closest arena. Because school was still in session, only one person was riding this early in the afternoon. By three-thirty, the place would be packed with schoolgirls in skintight breeches and expensive riding boots braiding their horses’ manes, discussing the next competition, and giggling over Grace’s new seventeen-year-old stable hand, Kyle.
I rested my arms on the metal railing and watched Jillian Sinclair take her huge bay, Flirtatious Fred, through his paces. From inside the barn, I heard Michelle Wright telling all the guys within hearing range that if they wanted her heart they’d have to “take it like a man. . . .”
Grace’s high, reedy soprano echoed out of the building as she sang along. Above me, eucalyptus leaves whispered in the warm breeze.
“What do you think?” Jillian asked, riding up to me. She pulled off her helmet and shook out her pale hair. I reached up and ran my hand down the bay’s soft cheek.
“Lookin’ good,” I said. “You have a competition coming up?”
“This Sunday in Santa Barbara. I’m going to have to miss the last few hours of the festival on Saturday night because I want to get him down there early to settle in.” She patted the horse’s neck. “He’s going to do me proud this time, no doubt about it.” She swung down, locked the irons in place, and walked Fred over to the gate. I followed and unlatched it from my side.
“Thanks.” She led the horse over to a tie bar, pulled off the expensive English saddle, and tossed it over the fence. “Hot walker for you today, sweetie,” she said, kissing the horse’s forehead. “I don’t have time to work all that energy out of you.” She pulled off the bridle and handed it to me, haltered Fred, and tied him to the bar. She hefted the saddle and walked toward the tack room in the front of the barn.
“How was it this morning at the library?” I asked inside the large tack room. She threw the saddle over a wooden saddle rack and pulled off her expensive leather gloves.
“People are edgy, of course. I tried to reassure everyone as best I could, but there wasn’t much I could say. According to Gabe, there aren’t many leads. But I assume you know that.” She tossed the gloves on top of a small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of mineral water. “Want one?” Her thin white shirt was glued to her body with perspiration.
I shook my head no and hung the bridle on a free hook.
“If there were any leads, he probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, right?” She took a quick sip from the mineral water and held the dripping bottle to her forehead.
“Probably not,” I agreed. “Even I have trouble prying information out of him about cases.”
“Well, I soothed everyone and told them they didn’t have anything to worry about, but that they should use the buddy system when walking to their cars, especially the ones who work late on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Good idea anytime, actually.”
“Yes, it probably is.” She looked at me curiously. “Did you go to see Nick?”
“This morning. I don’t think he’s doing very well.”
She nodded in agreement and set her water down on a table crowded with equine medicines and grooming products. “I thought the same thing when I went by yesterday. I told him to take as much time off as he needs. He and Nora were so close, and now he’s all alone.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I know how he feels.”
“Yes, he and Nora—”
“Benni! I thought I heard your voice,” Grace interrupted, stepping into the tack room. “Hey, Jillian. What are you two yapping about?”
Jillian and I glanced at each other guiltily. She picked up her water and took another quick sip. I picked at a hangnail on my thumb.
Grace’s freckled face scanned both our faces, then scowled. “As if I didn