Current Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mysteries) (8 page)

“Of course.
Don’t you see? We’ll no longer be ill equipped, or at least not so ill equipped. We should have them in ten days to two weeks. I feel just terrible about getting us those disposable cameras, and this is how I want to make up for it.”

All of a sudden I was smiling, and I could feel them smiling, too. “Goodnight, Ladies.”

Six

C
ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed.
On Sunday morning I woke up early, and Abby and I were out the door. The day was perfect for my little black Jeep, top off. I belted Abby into her canine seat belt,
then
backed out. The CD from my last drive was Spanish neo-flamenco. I listened to “
Ley
de
Gravedad
,” or law of gravity, by one of my favorite groups, Ojos De
Brujo
. The stable was a forty-minute drive north of home. I wore breeches, shirt, and a jacket, and I had thrown my open front shin boots in the back seat. I would wear those for jumping. In my bag I had my hunt cap and the rest of my paraphernalia.
 
I called ahead, and Georgia Clay, my chestnut thoroughbred, was ready when I turned down the gravel drive. Sure, chestnut is one of the most common coat colors, but there are many shades. My guy is copper red. The first week I owned him I came to the stable every day and watched him walk, trot and canter. I memorized his gait.
 
Then I rode him, and later I moved up to leading him.

I turned away the barn manager when he approached with a mounting block. Being a talented man, but of few words, he put it away with a smile. After petting Abby, who was outside the arena watching, he walked off. I slowly lowered my weight onto the saddle, thinking
ahhhh
. That’s how right it felt.

We walked around for a few minutes just getting on the same wavelength. He talked to me all the
time,
and he was absorbing information from me, too. I had to be aware of what my movements were saying to him. I know the power of positive thinking in horseback riding. I didn’t want to be inadvertently telling him what to do wrong. I sat in the deepest part of the saddle and imagined myself part of his movement. For flat work we practiced transitions, because if you can’t do flat work, or don’t want to, you can’t jump. First, halt to walk to halt. Then walk to trot to walk. Next, walk to canter and then canter to trot. Canter to halt. Canter to walk with half-halts. Last walk to canter with half-halts. Then it was time for jumping.

I dismounted and placed a single pole on the ground. Then I raised my stirrups up a hole and mounted. I picked out a focal point in line with the center stripe on the rail.
 
Always, I was looking where I wanted to go, keeping my technique simple.
 
We crossed the pole with movements simple and efficient.

I dismounted again and put another pole two feet high between a
couple
of posts. Since horses look at jumps from the ground up, I left the first post for a ground line. Back on Georgia Clay, I had my heels under my butt and down. I pushed down on my knees. With noninterference we moved forward, sharing one center of gravity.
 
We cantered to the railing, and suddenly I was flying. We landed, and I brought him back to a trot and repeated the jump. Later I added a second fence, and later still we rode the course as a figure eight. Finally it was time to cool down—or rather to come off our high.

Back in the car with my water bottle I sat and checked in with my emotions. The morning out here had cleared my head. I knew I was avoiding thinking about something, and I knew what it was. My work had added meaning to my life, but what was it doing to my relationship with my husband? Where was my center of gravity now? You have to know that in horseback riding, hell, in life. Was mine with Tiara Investigations or with my husband?
 
And then the strangest thing happened. I felt at peace. Like it was okay. I could fly with the agency, but my marriage would be my focal point. Sure, it was still an open question, but for now it was all good.

From there I went shopping for a digital camera.
 
I accelerated onto Highway 20 in the direction of the Mall of Georgia. The road is lined with shops, and I swear, you can’t throw a stick without hitting a restaurant.

After a while I noticed the same car had been behind me mile after slow mall-traffic mile. I told Abby, “He’s following
us.” It was a rented white Ford Taurus. The driver was male, but with the glare from the sun that’s all I could tell.

I found a parking space near the main entrance. I pulled the canvas top minus the window flaps onto the Jeep and locked Abby in. Since she was a Standard Schnauzer and not a mini, I felt okay leaving her by herself. Still, I didn’t dally around in the mall.

When I came out with my new purchase, the white car was still there. Amateurs! What can I say? Do people no longer take pride in their work?

I walked to the Jeep and was careful to unlock the driver’s side door only, just like they say in articles on self-defense for women. I pulled the top off and stowed it to give me an excuse to walk around for a better view of the license plate. I still couldn’t make it out, nor did I have a better view of the driver, so I climbed in and drove off.
 
The car followed me out of the parking lot.

“Shit,” I said to Abby, “We really are being followed.” I speed dialed Victoria and told her what was happening.

“Don’t go home. Pick me up at the Cracker Barrel.”

 
I drove slowly to give her time to get there and also because you have no choice on Highway 20 in front of the mall. I drove east to the entrance to I-85 and exited at Lawrenceville-
Suwanee
Road. When I got close my nerves got the upper hand, and I turned into the Cracker Barrel parking lot on two wheels. Victoria, Tara, Mr. Benz and
Stephie
were waiting out front. They ran toward me, and I unlocked the doors to let them in. We didn’t have crates for the dogs, and they seemed to understand how important it was for them to behave. Abby was still in the front seat and feeling superior. Victoria and Tara held their dogs in the back seat.
  

“I have a plan.” I picked up my cell phone and hit the speed dial for the marina. “This is Leigh Reed. Could you have my boat out in about ten minutes? Thank you.”

We drove north on Lawrenceville-
Suwanee
Road and cut over to Buford Highway. The Taurus stayed right with us.

I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Tara and Victoria with their arms wrapped around their dogs and holding their rather big and getting bigger hair down. “You two have been to church, haven’t you?”

“Yes. This is how the Minister of Music likes it.”

Victoria said, “I think your hair should always be as big as your head.”

“
Whaaat
?”
Tara had to raise her voice to be heard.

“That sounds like it should mean something, but what?” I yelled back to them.

“Oh, never mind. I just thought I would try a new look. Anyway, just forget it. We’re here.”

My thirty-foot sloop, Fourth Star, was in the first slip. I parked, and we jumped out and ran, Abby first and the other two dogs at our heels. She’s such a little leader. We threw our handbags aboard, and then we tossed the dogs, who thought it was a fun new game. The sailboat had been backed in and, according to my hair and the masthead fly, was facing into the wind. I made that all-important, long step onto the boat and started the engine, giving my gauges and indicator lights a quick look-see. In the meantime Victoria and Tara had gotten to their knees and climbed aboard, then held their dogs close. I appreciated the caution they showed. Better safe than sorry, right? I cast off the stern line, then the spring lines, and last the bow line. Force of habit made me look at the rubber fenders, but I would pull them in later.
 

We motored away from the dock, looking back to see the man was out of his car and walking toward the water. He wore baggy jeans and a plaid flannel shirt stretched over his beer gut. He looked to be about sixty, or maybe he was forty-five and had been rode hard and put up wet.
 
Then he started laughing, but we didn’t get the joke.

It was a beautiful day still, just the right amount of sun, just the right amount of wind. We were well away from the marina, but I kept motoring longer than I ordinarily would. I’m a sailor, not a motor-
er
, but I had to put our safety above my pride.
 

“Will one of you hold the tiller?” Tara put
Stephie
down and scooted in.

“Just pick a spot straight ahead and keep us pointed that way.”

“How about that mountain?”

“Perfect.”

I unlocked and slid the main hatch open. “Abby, come.” She jumped into my arms, and I lowered her down, then I did the same for
Stephie
and Mr. Benz, who had followed her. They’d have to stay below until I could tether them to lifelines. I got out my winch handles and headed back up top. The masthead fly told me the wind was coming from the north. I reached back to the tiller and turned the boat into the wind.

As I did, Tara patted me on the shoulder, letting me know she had confidence in me. “What’s the name of that mountain, anyway?”

That was when the spray of water erupted, and we heard what sounded like someone spitting. Once, twice, three times. We were being shot at from the dock.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

 
Call me a motor-
er
, call me a
stinkpotter
, call me anything but late for dinner, I left that damn engine on, and we got the hell out of there.
 
I felt something on my hand and looked down behind me. There were three hands on the tiller, and we were out of danger.
 

Victoria went below to use her cell phone to call 911.
 
The operator said she would send an officer out and for us to stay put. Stay put?
In a sailboat?
Ordinarily this would call for one of Victoria’s zingers, but she left it alone.

Tara was squatting down but had kept her eyes on the dock. “He’s leaving. Going back to whatever rock he crawled out from under, I guess.”
 
Then she took her strappy sandals off and went to the foredeck.

“Should I call them back and cancel? He could still be in the parking lot.”
 
We agreed that we would still like someone to come.

Vic and I freed the dogs one at a time, and Tara tethered each to bow railing. “Is there a snack boat?” she asked as she worked.

“A what?”
I turned us into the wind and climbed on the cabin top where I raised the mainsail and tied off the halyard. The wind was light so I didn’t need much tension. Next I raised the jib, the sail at the front of the ship, pulling in and
cleating
the lines, called sheets, which I’d use to control it. I returned to the tiller and steered us away from the wind enough for a relaxing sail.

Tara continued, “You know, at the golf course there’s a snack cart. On a lake is there a snack boat that will come around with refreshments? Like a cold beer.”

“No, but there may be a few in the fridge.
I’m not sure how cold they’ll be. And there might be chips and salsa somewhere down there.”

Victoria found the tiny fridge and brought out three imported beers and the snacks. “None for me,” I said and she put one back.

“Can I ask you something?” Tara shaded her eyes with a hand.

“If you’re wondering who that guy is
,
I have no idea.”

“Actually I was going to ask what kind of name ‘Shit-shit-shit’ is for a mountain, but yeah, who was that guy?”

I motioned for Vic to take the tiller and went below to change from my riding clothes into a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. When I popped back out of the cockpit I said, “I didn’t get a good look. When he was following us I saw that he had bushy gray hair. Did he look like any of the husbands we’ve followed recently?”

Victoria stretched out on a seat cushion. “I could tell he was on the heavy side. He didn’t look familiar to me.”

“He’s short.” Tara got up long enough to find her sunglasses and lay back down.

 
All of a sudden I realized how safe I felt with them around and how good that was.
 
“Either of you ever been shot at before?”

“Nope.”

“Nope.”

We cruised silently for a while, just looking up at the sky.

“Leigh, can I ask you something?”

 
“Sure, Vic.”

“Why did you come back to Georgia, uh, alone? I’m glad you did, but were you and your husband having problems?”

 
“We weren’t having problems, I was. I felt like I had been cast out of the land of love, as they say. I didn’t know if it was hormones, age, familiarity or being too busy to take care of myself. I just couldn’t live in a world that revolved around him. Now my world revolves around me. And guess what?”

“What?” they said together.

“I think I’m a better wife for it.”

Victoria nudged Tara with her foot. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh, why not.”

“Would you ever cheat on Paul?”