HORSES AND HEROIN (Romantic Mystery) (7 page)

No wonder the jocks strutted as though superior. They were.

She stopped outside room thirteen and knocked softly, praying no one would poke their head out from an adjoining room. Silence. The room was probably empty. Holding her breath, she tried the knob.

Unlocked. Her breath escaped in a relieved woosh. She pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Joey’s room.

She stood unmoving, trying to feel his presence. But no matter how hard she tried, it looked and felt deserted. The bed had been stripped. The tiled floor gleamed. It was hard to imagine he’d ever slept here.

She crossed the room and pulled open the desk drawers. Empty but not wiped. The wood was stained, and several cracker crumbs were visible along with two paper clips. Good. The cleaning staff had rushed this job. Maybe she’d find something.

Dropping to her knees, she peered under the bed. The ridged end of a magazine, dusty and dog-eared, was shoved between the corner bed leg and the wall. She pulled it out, staring in triumph.
Racing in California
, last month’s edition. Strung-out druggies didn’t buy horse magazines. The last time Joey was using, he’d lost interest in everything.

She flipped through the pages, scanning the articles, eager to find any type of connection. He had read this, and now she would too. Every page.

She shoved the magazine in her back pocket and renewed her search. The police had been here but it was doubtful they’d looked very hard. After interviewing Ramon and Garrett, the official conclusion was that Joey had chosen to remain in Mexico, the nirvana of drugs.

A groan escaped from deep in her throat, a helpless sound that surprised her. She wasn’t usually a pessimist, but Joey’s phone and bank accounts hadn’t been touched. He’d simply vanished. Even scarier was her terrible sense of loss, a feeling she couldn’t shake.

She hoped he had stayed in Mexico, wished he were using drugs. It would be much better than this wrenching fear that she’d never see him again.

She stepped into the tiny bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Empty. Not spotless but certainly there was no sign of drugs, prescription or otherwise. And now there wasn’t anywhere else to look. On impulse, she raised the cracked top off the back of the toilet tank but found nothing, only murky water and green mineral stains.

She wandered back to his bed and stared out the window. He hadn’t had a great view. No track, merely a small hayfield, recently cut. If she really craned, she could see the back of Rambo’s paddock. The rooms on the other side of the hall would look over the training track.

Booted feet thudded up the steps. She tiptoed across the room and pushed the center on the knob. It was only a cheap lock, but now someone would need a key to open the door.

She stared at the thin door, her mouth dry. It wasn’t such a big deal that she was here. No reason to be scared. If discovered, she could claim she needed a single room and heard this one was empty, or that Tami snored—which she did—or that Megan was meeting a jock here.

Heck, any number of excuses should work. But her heart hammered and swallowing didn’t help her dry throat. The steps drummed closer. Someone spoke, a man, talking much too fast for her rudimentary Spanish. Sounded like he was by the kitchen, likely just wanted a drink.

Her heart steadied. Ridiculous to be so jumpy. Probably no one had entered room thirteen since they’d packed up Joey’s things. She merely had to leave before the new class ended. Jocks would hurry to their rooms, drop off their notes, maybe change their clothes before going downstairs to saddle. Whatever. She needed to get out.

Her ride time was ten-thirty, and her horse wasn’t even groomed. She wished there was a peek hole in the door so she could see this jockey with the loud boots. He obviously was cutting class too. Rather surprising since all the jockeys seemed so keen.

She pressed her ear against the flimsy door, straining to understand the odd word of rapid-fire Spanish. The guy walked down the hall, still talking. She caught the word
caballo
, not surprising since they were surrounded by horses.

She tiptoed back to the window, craning for a glimpse of the barn entrance, but all she could see was the hayfield. Couldn’t tell where this guy was going—back to class or had he remained below with the horses? If so, there was no way she could walk out unseen. If he asked what she was doing, she’d need a plausible excuse.

One thing for sure, she wasn’t leaving Joey’s magazine. She pulled it from her back pocket and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, glad she’d worn her baggiest shirt. The stiff cover scratched her skin, but didn’t stick out too much. If she folded an arm over her stomach, no one should notice.

She cracked open the door. Nobody to the right and no sound from the steps. Flattening her palm over the magazine, she stepped into the aisle. It was impossible to walk silently on the wooden floor, not with boots, but she definitely was quieter than the thumping student.

She ducked into the kitchen and filled a Styrofoam cup with black coffee, wryly noting the washer and dryer squatted in an alcove. Exercise riders and grooms were restricted to the single coin-operated unit by the cafeteria. These jock students were clearly pampered.

She stepped from the kitchen, cradling the warm cup as she descended the stairs. The aisle was empty. The entire barn was deserted. Relieved, she stepped through the doorway into the bright sunlight. She didn’t even need coffee as an excuse.

“
Hola
.”

She whirled toward the greeting, so quickly that hot coffee splashed her wrist.

Miguel, the new student, leaned against the outside wall, phone in his hand. “I thought everyone was in that new class?” He arched a questioning eyebrow.

“I slept in.” She made a rueful face and took a quick sip of coffee. It was black and much too strong. Probably had been sitting for hours. If she’d known she’d have to drink it, she would have added milk. “I heard you guys had a coffee machine,” she added. “Hope you don’t mind me popping in, but your barn was closer than the cafeteria.”

“You’re not a jockey.” His dark eyes swept over her in blatant assessment. “Isn’t there a coffee machine in your dorm?”

“No. We don’t have washers or dryers either.” She folded her free arm over her stomach, hoping the magazine wasn’t showing.

“Guess that’s why they posted the ‘Jocks Only’ sign.” He jerked his thumb at the large sign on the door. “To keep out riffraff. But pretty girls can come and visit me anytime,” he added, his gaze stuck to her chest.

Riffraff.
It was quite clear he wouldn’t notice the magazine beneath her shirt. For that matter, she doubted he’d even recognize her face. In fact, he was rather bold for a new student, even a jockey. “We riffraff aren’t the only ones cutting classes,” she said stiffly. “Guess at least one jockey is playing hooky.”

He had flashing white teeth, but his wolfish smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I don’t need the addictions class. I’m almost finished the program.”

“How did you do that?” she asked. “I only noticed you last night.”

His smile deepened. He edged closer, bringing the sharp smell of liberally applied cologne. “It’s good you noticed me,
querida
,” he said. “I noticed you too. But I’m not new. I’m from the Baja Tinda. Are you a groom?”

“No. Exercise rider.” She grimaced. It was clear she’d never be mistaken for a jockey, but his question brought back the grim reality that she was still riding with the grooms.

“Good,” he said. “Then I’ll see you later on the track. Perhaps I will pick you as my riding partner.”

He obviously had a high opinion of himself but at least he was friendlier than the other jockeys. It was unfortunate he hadn’t known Joey…or had he? Joey had mentioned that only he and a Mexican student were able to ride the tough horses. And no horse was tougher than Rambo.

Her gaze drifted over Miguel’s sinewy forearms. Extensive tats wrapped around them, the green and black ink edging below his neck. “You look like you can handle a horse,” she said.

“Definitely,
querida
.” He flexed his muscles, his voice lowering suggestively. “Believe me, I can ride anything.”

She edged a step back. “Can you ride Rambo? He’s one of the horses I groom.”

Miguel’s leer changed to a frown, and he stopped posturing. “That horse is loco. I tried him once. We don’t get along.”

“Doesn’t anyone ride him?” she asked, breathing a little easier now that she had more space.

“No,” Miguel snapped. “He isn’t suitable for students. Don’t put your saddle on him.”

“I won’t. But there must have been some people who liked him. A lot of riders pass through here.”

“One guy did okay,” Miguel said grudgingly. “But he’s gone now.”

Clearly, he was talking about Joey. “Must have been a good rider,” she managed. “Is he working at a track now?”

Miguel’s mouth tightened and he looked away, his gaze darting to the left. “I don’t know where he is,” he muttered.

Her hand shook, sloshing coffee against the side of the thin cup. Miguel was lying. She knew it. She wanted to shake him, demand answers, but he kept talking, oblivious to her turmoil.

“All the good horses are in this barn,” he was saying. “Come back sometime and I’ll give you a private tour. Maybe I’ll even make you a special coffee.”

His words cut through her anger. She gave a jerky nod, her throat too tight to speak.

“I have liquor,” he added. “For you, I’d share.”

She nodded again, swallowing convulsively. “That would be nice, Miguel,” she said. “Let’s do that sometime.” And surprisingly, her voice barely quavered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Get your ass up, Megan,” Lydia snapped. “Why is that so difficult?”

Megan stuck her rear another inch in the air, but the position felt wrong. All her life she’d been told to keep her seat in the saddle, and she instinctively wanted to sit up. Maybe she was too old to learn such a different style.

She circled the field again, following a line of nine riders and horses. Her mount, Barney, was lazy and lacked impulsion. He stumbled over each tuft of grass, and every time he tried to stop, she had to sit back in the saddle and push him forward.

Peter, on the energetic gray, was lapping her now. He chuckled as he passed. “I had to ride Barney my first day here. It’s impossible to lean forward on that plug. Tell Lydia you want a different horse or else ask permission to carry a stick.”

She grimaced. Lydia would bite her head off. Fine for Peter to make special requests, but he was one of Lydia’s favorites. Actually all the guys were favored. And despite her waspishness toward the girls, Megan had to admit Lydia did look rather striking today with pretty red and silver hoop earrings that matched her shirt.

Barney stepped out a few strides, briefly energized by Peter’s gray, a narrow-chested gelding with a perpetually arched neck and white-rimmed eyes. For a glorious moment, they trotted in tandem.

“Is Lydia dressed up for you?” Megan teased, careful to keep her voice low. It was okay for Peter to talk, but Lydia always snapped at the girls if they ‘disrupted’ the class.

“Not for me,” Peter said. “It’s because of the new prof. All the girls were drooling this morning. Not a bad dude actually. Didn’t you see him?”

“Missed that class. I’ll catch the next one.”

“Better not miss any more or you’ll lose your spot. It’s a full credit so there’s a wait list.”

She nodded absently, tired of hearing about full credits and half credits and no credits. She didn’t want the course anyway. Besides, she knew enough about addictions to last a lifetime. However, a good-looking instructor explained why Tami had lingered after class. Her roommate had hurried through her grooming, too rushed to answer any of Megan’s questions about Miguel.

Peter’s horse drew away, and she glanced wistfully at the dirt oval where more than twenty riders cantered in pairs. They all looked so capable from this distance, leaning forward and standing in their stirrups like real jockeys.

Tami was among them, and no doubt Peter would join their ranks soon. He actually looked good on his gray. Once he left, she’d be the only exercise rider still stuck with the grooms—grooms who weren’t expected to ride and merely needed to understand the basic concepts.

At this rate, she’d never be able to buddy up with anyone from Joey’s class. They’d all have graduated by the time she joined them. Ramon might be her only hope, and he was like a stone wall. Of course there was Miguel. Her mouth curved with distaste. For a moment Barney responded to her body language, stepping out for three jerky strides.

“Congratulations, Peter!” Lydia called, her mouth vivid beneath a fire engine red lipstick. “Tomorrow you can ride out with the jockeys. I like how you’re two-pointing, and only making contact with your legs.

“This class is over for the day,” she added. “I’ll see the rest of you tomorrow.”

She hurried away, in such a rush she neglected to deliver her usual sermon about walking to the barn in single file.

Students and horses milled in confusion. However, Lydia was already a hundred feet away, beelining toward the building that housed the classroom, cafeteria and fitness center.

A stout lady with a pug nose snickered. “I know where she’s going. Catch her trashy makeup. Garrett has totally lost her affections.”

“Garrett doesn’t care,” Peter said. “And do you guys realize we only had a twenty-minute lesson? Waste of time to even tack up.”

“At least you’ll be riding with the big boys tomorrow. Well done, Peter,” a gray-haired woman said. “Now I’m going back to the barn to practice my bandaging.”

The rest of the riders lingered, confused by Lydia’s sudden departure. No doubt about it, she was gone. Riders turned and straggled away, but Barney stretched his neck and rested a hind leg, pleased with this chance to nap.

“At least I won’t have to put up with Lydia anymore, other than in the classroom. Don’t know why she has it in for you girls.” Peter circled his restless gray around Megan’s dozing horse. “It’s impossible for anyone to look good on Barney.”