Midnight Mystery: 4 (Winnie the Horse Gentler) (5 page)

I stepped inside and let the warmth of the pet shop soak in.

“You must be proud as a peacock of your daddy!” Pat tapped the birdcage. “No offense!” She never fails to apologize to animals for her animal expressions.

The weird thing was that I
was
proud of Dad. I just didn’t want him to go. “Did you know he has to fly to Chicago, Pat?”

“Lizzy told me. Isn’t that something!”

“It’s not safe! And what if he likes Chicago so much he wants to stay?” I swallowed the lump that popped into my throat whenever I thought about Dad leaving. “I just wish he’d stay home.”

“If wishes were fishes . . . ,” Pat started. She glanced at the aquarium. “No offense.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Let him go, sugar. He’ll be back.”

But Pat didn’t know that. Nobody did.

Pat walked upstairs to her little apartment while I booted up the computer and logged onto the Pet Help Line. Barker had created the homepage. He handles all dog questions, Catman the cat questions. And if anyone asks about birds, we ask Hawk. Her real name is Victoria Hawkins. She’s good with her horse, Towaco, but her real love is birds. I’m in charge of horse mail. I only had one new e-mail since Saturday:

Dear Winnie the Horse Gentler,

My horse, Peanut, is so stubborn! I bought her from a farm down the road, where she was foaled. Now, whenever she can, Peanut runs back 2 her old barn! What’s wrong with her?

—Newgraymare

As I answered the e-mail, I felt like crying for Peanut.

Dear Newgraymare,

Nothing is wrong with your horse! Try to understand her. She wants her old home, her mother’s barn. Why wouldn’t she?! Since Peanut can’t live there anymore, you should try to make her new home as much like her old barn as possible. Maybe that will help.

—Winnie the Horse Gentler

Pat bustled by. “I’m off! Got to get these puppies to the Loudonville Nursing Home. Those folks
love
newborns!”

“Loudonville?” I asked, logging off the help line. “Pat, could you give me a lift to the circus?” I knew if I got there, Barkers would bring me home. “I promised Ramon I’d try to help Midnight Mystery.” And unlike some,
I
wouldn’t break my promise. True, Lizzy and Dad may not have promised in so many words how we’d always celebrate Mom’s birthday. But an unspoken promise can be every bit as strong as a spoken one.

The puppies yapped all the way to Loudonville. After Pat dropped me off, I roamed the circus grounds. Performers in regular clothes bounced on a trampoline. Men carried ropes and poles into the Big Top. An elephant lumbered by, his trainer struggling to keep at his hip.

“Winnie!” Ramon ran up. “You came!”

Ramon walked me to the menagerie tent. I felt as awkward as a wild Mustang. But as soon as I saw Midnight, I relaxed. Horses I could handle. Inside the tent, an elephant lifted a trunkload of hay to his mouth. The chain around one back leg didn’t look like it could hold him if he’d wanted to leave. A group of white horses took up the other end of the tent, with llamas, a camel, and a few empty stalls between.

“It’s great you’re going to be an Ashland greeter,” Ramon said as he untied his stallion.

We led the Morgan to a field behind the tent, and for 20 minutes I just played with him. I could already feel myself getting attached. Mom used to call it an occupational hazard. Midnight nuzzled my neck, followed me, and let me ride him without a saddle.

I slid off his broad back and nodded to Ramon. “Your turn.”

“Bareback?”

“Bareback,” I answered. “The last thing you need is that big saddle between you and your horse. I want you to
feel
him.”

Ramon swung onto Midnight’s back with ease. “So how do I stop him from bolting?”

I patted Midnight’s shoulder. “First, don’t ever punish Midnight for bolting.”

“How’s he going to know it’s wrong?” Ramon protested.

“It’s not
wrong!
” I insisted. “Flight is how horses survive. When he’s ready to bolt, speak to him in his own language.”

I showed Ramon where Midnight liked to be scratched, and he leaned forward to reach under Midnight’s mane. “I can feel him relax all right.” Ramon sat back up. “Still, that’s not going to stop him from bolting like he did last night.”

“You can’t stop a true bolt,” I admitted. “Horses are too powerful. But if you can sense trouble
before
it happens, you can redirect the power. Feel for his heart, for stiffness through his back. Sense tension in the reins.”

“And if I miss it and he bolts?”

“Get him to do this.” I led Midnight in a tiny circle. “Use short, give-and-take tugs to get him to flex his neck and lower his nose. If you can control his nose, the rest of him will follow.”

We practiced for an hour, and Ramon and Midnight got better at reading each other.

“You got it!” I called. “Get him to drop his head. That will slow his heart rate. Then reward him with a scratch.”

Ramon slid off Midnight’s rump.
“I’m
the one who needs a reward! This is hard work! Maybe I should switch to a car.”

“It’s the same! You still have to tap the brakes in a skid. Cars are impossible to stop. . . .” A photo of my mom’s accident flashed in my brain—the car losing control on the ice, the snowbank rushing up at us.

“Winnie, are you okay?” Ramon asked.

I tried to smile, but the accident photos wouldn’t stay down. People think having a photographic memory is some kind of super gift. It might be . . . if I got to choose the photos. But I don’t.

Ramon bent down to peer into my face. “Can I help?”

Part of me wanted to tell him about Mom. He might have understood. He’d lost both of his parents. But I couldn’t do it.

“You’ve been great helping me,” Ramon insisted. “Sure there isn’t something I could do for you?”

I started to say no. Then I thought of something. “Ramon, I need to know how to teach a horse to bow.”

Ramon showed me exactly how he’d trained Midnight to bow. I watched, then tried it myself, picking up tips for Nickers. No matter where Lizzy and Dad might be on Mom’s birthday, I was still putting on the horse show for my mom.

Colonel Coolidge shouted from his trailer. “Ramon! Your history report!”

“I better go. He’s so edgy, getting ready for his war buddies. I think they’re down to four left now.”

“Are they all coming?” I asked.

Ramon shrugged. “They don’t write or talk to each other for five years, but they always show up wherever we are for the last performance.”

“How do they know where to find the Colonel?”

Ramon laughed. “They were an intelligence unit! Spies.”

“Ramon!” bellowed Colonel Coolidge.

“I’ll put Midnight away,” I offered.

“Thanks. The Colonel waits for no man! Later!” Ramon ran toward the Colonel’s trailer.

I walked Midnight back to the menagerie tent, which was becoming my favorite place at the circus, filled with overpowering smells of elephant, camel, and horse. At the end of the row Gabrielle LeBlond was making her horse bow, just like Midnight.

I strolled up to her. “Your horse is fantastic!”

She glanced at me, then turned back to her horse and made a quick hand motion. The Lipizzaner buckled down, leaned over, and rolled flat on his side.

“Wow! I’m Winnie. I know you’re Gabrielle. Probably not your real name, right?”

“I
am
Gabrielle LeBlond,” she said, so coldly I pictured frost around the words. She’d pulled her blonde hair up off her neck with a silver barrette. Her pale skin and barely blue eyes reminded me of Summer Spidell.

“Um . . . must be fun . . . riding your horse there and all.”
Could I sound any dumber?

“Do you mind? I’m trying to work here.” She gave me a sneer that made me feel like a horsefly.

Note to self: Ask Summer Spidell if she has a twin.

I walked the circus midway until I bumped into Mr. Barker and Mark, who told me where to find Catman. Circling back, I headed for the lion cages, where Catman was silently communing with the kings of beasts.

“I dig these cool cats,” he whispered, not taking his gaze off them.

“There you are!” A red-haired clown in a battered straw hat and a green-striped costume strode toward us with legs so long his flappy clown shoes didn’t look out of place. White paint covered his face, and his eyes were large, black triangles. But even the painted, red clown smile couldn’t disguise his frown. “I want you to juggle!”

“Not tonight.” Catman hadn’t stopped staring down the lions.

“Juggle?” I asked.

“Who’s she?” The clown spit out the question.

Without turning around, Catman introduced us. “Winnie Willis, Jimmy Green Dinglehopper.”

“You’re the clown Barker’s replacing, right?” I asked.

“Wrong!” he snapped. “Nobody replaces Jimmy Green!” He turned to Catman, who had crouched to the lions’ eye level. “There’s too much dog act now. You could break it up, share the slot, juggle like you did last year.”

Catman was a juggler?

Catman shook his head, unmoved.

Swearing, the angry clown stormed off. I had to dodge out of his way.

Catman wouldn’t leave the lions until their tamer came for them.

“Cool cats!” Catman commented, as three other men arrived to wheel the cages into the Big Top.

Leopold, the lion tamer, nodded, his face blank. His stubby beard looked like Dad’s when Dad forgets to shave. He reminded me of a Shetland pony—small but tough.

“Catman loves your lions!” I said, trying to make conversation, which I should never do because I’m lousy at it.

Leopold glanced at me, then helped roll one of the lion cages away.

“Nice meeting you too,” I muttered.

“He doesn’t talk,” Catman explained.

I felt awful. “Sorry! I didn’t know.”
Open mouth, insert foot!

Note to feet: Stop jumping to conclusions and ending up in my mouth.

We found Mrs. Barker, Matthew, and William in the stands. This time I studied the greeters—how Barker used Chico the Chihuahua to welcome families as they walked in, the way the LeBlond Lipizzaners did tricks for groups of spectators. Jimmy Green Dinglehopper made people laugh by balancing a bowling pin on his nose or walking on his hands.

I imagined Nickers and me in the ring, bowing to the crowds.

“I wanna light!” William cried, pointing to a guy selling laser flashlights and coloring books.

“I told you, William. If I get you the light, you can’t get candy later.” Mrs. Barker was as patient with her kids as Mom had been with her horses.

“Light!” William screamed. “I want light!”

How did Lizzy babysit all five little Barkers at once?

“Well, look who’s come to the circus!” Matthew Barker exclaimed.

Mrs. Barker waved as the whole Spidell family walked in. Summer and her older brother, Richard, stepped cautiously, as if they were afraid of sawdust. They took seats closest to the exit.