A Basket of Trouble (13 page)

tell me!”

“And because of your promise to Kyle, and to protect Pedro,

you haven’t said anything to the police.”

Brittany nodded, her eyes wide. “If I do, then I’ll be the rat, and Vargas might come after me.” She gave a little shudder and rubbed her arms.

Claire came around Daisy and put an arm around Brittany’s

shoulders. “Have you ever met this guy?”

“No.”

“Does he know who you are? That you were seeing Kyle?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about this for a plan? I’ll tell Detective Wilson what you

told me about Kyle arranging for the two people to get jobs in

Monument, but I won’t say anything about Pedro. If he asks me

where I got the information, I’ll say I can’t tell him. I’ll also ask him not to let anyone know where he heard it. Then no one will

make a connection to you and you’ll be safe.”

“I guess that would be okay.”

“Good. Now, Daisy here has been awfully patient with us. Let’s

finish up.”

The two of them finished grooming Daisy, who had stood

chewing on oats while they talked, enjoying the lengthy brushing.

Then they stepped out of her stall, carrying their gear.

While they were putting things away, Jorge came out of Gun-

powder’s stall. He led the horse back to where the farrier was wait-100

ing after finishing her work on the other horse. He looked at Daisy, then at Gunpowder as if he had an idea.

“Brittany, could you bring Daisy to the treatment area?” he

asked. “Gunpowder likes her, and she might help calm him down

while
Señora
Miller works on him. I don’t want him to kick her.”

“Sure,” Brittany said.

“Could you use another set of hands?” Claire asked.

“S
í,
probably.” He waved for the two of them to follow him.

They went back and got Daisy. Once they reached the treat-

ment area, Jorge introduced them to Gaby Miller, the farrier. She was a tall woman, almost six feet, Claire guessed. She looked to

be in her thirties with short-cropped brown hair and well-defined biceps. She wore a T-shirt, jeans, work boots, and a pair of well-worn, stained leather chaps. She smelled of leather, too, and steel and horseflesh. But her aroma wasn’t unpleasant, just earthy, as

the woman herself seemed to be.

Gaby held up her filthy hands. “I’d offer to shake, but you don’t want to touch these, even if you’ve been working around horses.”

She had no compulsion about reaching up to rub Gunpowder’s

nose while Jorge tied him off, though. “So, big fella, I hear you’ve had a traumatic week.”

“That’s why I brought these two and Daisy to help,” Jorge said.

“Daisy’s company should help keep him calm, and I have some

carrots in my pocket, too.”

Brittany positioned Daisy so she was nose-to-nose with Gun-

powder and tied her up. The two horses nuzzled each other.

“Gunpowder should let you work on his front hooves just

fine,” Jorge said to Gaby, “but he’s still twitchy around the back 101

end. Once you are ready to do those shoes, I’ll have Brittany and Claire help hold him still. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“And I don’t want to hurt him, either.” Gaby moved her knee-

high tool cart on wheels near Gunpowder. “If he moves too much

while I’m nailing the shoe on, I could quick him.”

“What’s that mean?” Claire asked.

“Driving the nail into the sensitive part of the hoof,” Gaby said.

“Same as if you cut your toenail in the pink part instead of the

white, then tried walking on your tippy toes.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s what the horses say—in their own way.” Gaby rubbed

her hands together. “Let’s get started. Hopefully, Gunpowder will be soothed by the familiar rhythm of his pedicure, and we won’t

have any problems.”

Gaby ran her hands down Gunpowder’s chest and front left leg,

checking for any sensitivity or twitching. Seemingly satisfied with his response, she moved her tools within reach. She stood with her back to Gunpowder’s head and gently lifted his hoof. She snugged

his lower leg between her thighs and above her bent knees so she

had access to the bottom of the hoof.

“I’ve never seen a horse shoed before,” Claire said. “Do you

mind explaining the process?”

“Not at all.” Gaby picked up a tool. “These are pincers, to re-

move the old shoe.” After some tugging to loosen the nails, she

removed the worn-down horseshoe, then picked up another tool.

“Now I’m going to trim the bottom of his hoof with this pick.

When horses wear shoes, their hooves don’t wear down like they

do in the wild, so we need to trim them.”

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As she worked, she said, “Nice and clean and healthy, Jorge, as

usual.” She looked at Claire. “Jorge here takes good care of Charley’s horses.”

Jorge smiled at the compliment, but he continued watching

Gunpowder and rhythmically stroking him.

After cleaning the hoof, Gaby picked up another tool. “After I

trim the hoof wall with these nippers, I’ll file it down so it will be ready for a new shoe.” She made quick work of that, then pulled a steel horseshoe out of a sack and held it up to Gunpowder’s hoof.

“Almost perfect.”

Gaby went over to an anvil and banged on the horseshoe. She

sized it up against Gunpowder’s hoof and banged on it again. She

stuck a half dozen nails in her mouth and nestled Gunpowder’s

hoof between her thighs. After hammering in the nails, she turned around so she had access to the top of the hoof.

Then she picked up her file. “I’ll just file these nails off so

they’re smooth, and we’re done.”

She went through the same motions on Gunpowder’s other

front hoof with no problems. But when she ran her hands down

his back flank and approached his left knee, his ears went back,

and he stepped away.

She stopped and looked at Jorge. “Yep, still kinda twitchy

there.”

Jorge nodded. “Brittany and Claire, could you stand on either

side of Gunpowder’s head? You need to keep him still up there

while I hold him back here.” He handed Brittany his baggie of

mini carrots.

While they were getting into position, Gaby pulled out a short

metal stand with a hoof-shaped sling on the top. “This is a hoof

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jack,” she explained to Claire. “I find some horses like resting their hoof on it better than just having it between my thighs, especially the rear hooves where they can’t see what’s going on. It doesn’t

move like I do.”

Jorge pushed Gunpowder’s right rear up against the wooden

wall of the treatment area. He positioned himself to lean against the horse with one hand on Gunpowder’s back and the other

against his left flank. Gunpowder’s ears went flat, and he turned his head to eye Jorge.

“Brittany,” Jorge said, “give him one of those carrots.”

Brittany clicked her tongue to get Gunpowder’s attention. She

held a mini carrot on her palm under his mouth. He gobbled it up

greedily. His ears went forward as he sniffed around for more.

“Try now,” Jorge said to Gaby.

She ran her hands down Gunpowder’s left leg again. The horse

twitched and shuffled. But when he tried to move and couldn’t, he seemed confused.

“Another carrot,” Jorge said. He murmured soothing words to

Gunpowder and steadied the horse with his hands.

The second carrot, Daisy’s presence, and the soothing hands

and words of the familiar people around him finally settled Gun-

powder. Gaby was able to slowly lift his left leg and lay it on the hoof jack. She still had his leg between her thighs and her shoulders up against his thigh to help hold him in place.

“This one’s not as clean.” She flicked some mud clods off the

bottom of his hoof with her pick.

“He hasn’t let us get to it,” Jorge replied. “I’ve been working on getting him calmed down first.”

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Gaby started pulling on the old horseshoe with her pincers.

“Hmm, something’s stuck on this nail.” She grabbed her pick and

scratched at the top of the nail until something came free.

“What is it?” Claire asked.

Gaby peered at it. “Looks like a little piece of cloth. Must have gotten snagged on the nail.”

Claire made sure Brittany had a good hold on Gunpowder’s

head, then she let go and came closer. “What color is it?”

“It’s covered with mud, so it’s hard to tell.” Gaby raised an eyebrow at her. “Why the heck does the color matter?”

“Just humor me.” Claire took a pair of pliers off of Gaby’s tool

cart. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Claire gently pulled the scrap of cloth off the hoof pick.

She took the pick from Gaby. Using the pick and pliers, Claire

smoothed the cloth out on a flat surface on the tool cart and

scraped some mud off.

She and Gaby peered at it.

“I see yellow and red,” Gaby said.

“And maybe black,” Claire said, “if this isn’t just a mud-stain.

Looks like a checked pattern.”

“Probably from a shirt,” Gaby said.

Gunpowder shook his head and strained to look back. Brittany

struggled to hold his head in place without Claire. She frowned at Claire. “Why is that scrap more important than helping me with

Gunpowder?”

Claire stood and looked at Jorge. “Kyle was wearing a blue shirt

when he was killed, right?”

He nodded.

105

“So this isn’t from him.”

Brittany inhaled sharply.

“This could be evidence.” Claire looked at the mud clods Gaby

had flicked onto the stable floor. “And those could be, too. We need to call Detective Wilson.”

106

eight:

an envious rival

Claire got out of Jessica’s beat-up, but trusty, eight-year-old

blue Honda CR-V. She reached into the back seat and grabbed a

stack of rubber-banded trifold fliers about her sister-in-law’s hippotherapy nonprofit. She handed the stack to Jessica, who was

pulling large brochures out of her side of the back seat. Claire took out another stack of fliers for herself. She stood up too quickly and felt a flush of heat all over her body.

It was mid-morning on Monday and the bright June sun was

already baking the asphalt of the parking lot. But that wasn’t what caused her to flush. She flapped her golf-shirt to create a breeze on her damp chest.

“Whew, hot flash,” she said to Jessica.

“Don’t you just hate those?” Jessica asked with a laugh. “Want

some water?”

“No, it’ll be over soon.” Claire shouldered her purse. “We

ready?”

107

“I guess so.” Jessica pushed her key fob to lock the car then

started toward the door of the Colorado Springs Childhood Ser-

vices Center. “I really appreciate you helping me pass out these fliers. Don’t you have work to do for your own company?”

“Just two deliveries today, and I’ll take care of them after we’re done. Roger left on a week-long business trip yesterday, so I kept myself busy last night constructing three gift baskets. That was

much better than sitting around moping because I was lonely.”

Jessica turned toward Claire. “What’s Roger doing?”

“Another independent financial audit, this time for a manufac-

tured housing company in South Dakota.”

“Seems like he’s doing more and more of those. Could it turn

into full-time work?”

“He does about one or two a month. He really doesn’t want

to do more than that. It’s enough work to keep him stimulated,

as he calls it. After losing his high-stress CFO job in February, he decided he’d ease into retirement.”

“Well, since you’re on your own, do you want to have dinner

with Charley and me tonight?”

“No, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ve got the fixings for a

lovely strawberry spinach salad in the fridge. I’ll have that and a glass of white wine, then snuggle up with a good murder mystery.

But thanks for asking.”

Jessica put a hand on the center’s glass-fronted door. “Well,

okay, if you’re sure, but the invitation is open for any night he’s gone and you want some company.”

“I appreciate it.”

They entered a waiting room furnished with banks of plastic

chairs hooked together. In one corner stood a child-sized table

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with crayons and coloring books. A crate of brightly-colored plastic toys sat next to it. Two kids rolled cars on the floor next to the crate, making revving noises with wet lips, while a third colored.

Their moms chatted a couple of seats away, and a few other people were scattered around the room.

A young woman sitting behind the reception desk looked up

when Jessica and Claire approached.

“Hello,” Jessica said. “I’m Jessica Gardner. I’d like to speak to the director for a moment, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked. “She’s

very busy.”

“No, but Mrs. Franklin knows I planned to stop by this morn-

ing. We talked on the phone a few days ago.”

The receptionist nodded and looked at the wall clock. “She’ll

be done with a client in ten minutes. I’ll let her know you’re here.

Would you like to take a seat?”

“Sure.”

Claire sat next to a woman who was leaning over to dab some

drool off the chin of a girl in her early teens sitting in a wheelchair.

She had what looked to be cerebral palsy from her stiff, contracted limbs and the uncontrolled loll of her head.

Jessica sat next to Claire and leaned forward to smile at the

woman. “Hello, my name is Jessica and this is my sister-in-law,

Claire.”

“Hi, I’m Tina, and my daughter’s name is Lily.”

Claire nodded and smiled at them both, and Jessica said,