Puss 'N Cahoots (18 page)

“You'll make the right decision.”

“Thank you, Harry. What I don't look forward to is telling Joan and Larry that I'm moving Queen Esther back to Charly's. They've been very good to me, and they're the ones who have had to put up with the press as well as my behavior.”

“You've been fine.”

“I think I got a little emotional there, particularly when I found Jorge.”

“You're human, Renata. Joan and Larry will understand. They're wise in many ways.”

“Yes, I think they are, and when you look at Joan's parents it all falls into place, doesn't it?”

“You can't pick your parents, so if you get a good pair, you're very lucky.” Harry smiled.

“You?”

“Oh, good. Mother could be tough, very intellectual and strict. Maybe ‘intellectual' is the wrong word. Her mind was very practical. She read all the time. When I majored in art history at Smith, she was one step ahead of a running fit. She wanted me to apply myself to a field where I could make a good living. Dad took life as it came. He told me to be happy.”

“Lucky you. Mine left a lot to be desired.” A flicker of pain crossed her face. “I did learn to forgive. They did what they could. They shouldn't have married and they shouldn't have had children. Both could suck a river dry, if you know what I mean. I think that's why I've sidestepped marriage. I'm afraid. Why I don't drink, too.”

“Like I said, you'll do the right thing.”

“Harry, you don't know how good you've made me feel.” She stood up, motioning Charly to the rail. “I'll buy him. I'll buy the filly and colt, too. How's that?”

Charly tipped his hat again, his face radiant. “Madam, I'll hop to it.” He then nodded to Harry and walked toward Carlos at the gate. He called back, “Remember my offer to get the filly and colt free.”

She nodded. “Right. I'll tell you tonight.”

“Are you still going to show Shortro?” Harry adored the young game gelding. He was all heart.

“You know, Shelbyville was a fine hour for him. He's a good three-gaited horse; he'll probably get even better. I thought about selling him after the show. I've had inquiries, but he's so kind, takes care of his rider…” She reached for Harry's hand. “But I don't need the money. I love the horse. I want him to be happy. I'm giving him to you.”

Stunned, Harry could only say, “Renata.”

“You're not showing Saddlebreds, I know, but I think Shortro would like to be in the country. I bet he'd be a good foxhunter. He's the most willing horse I have ever owned, and I want him to be where he'll be loved and where he can just be a horse. I'm impulsive, I know, but you've made me feel so good and, well, I do love Shortro. He'll be happy with you.”

Harry hugged Renata. “I promise I'll send you monthly reports.”

“And I will come foxhunt.”

As the two women walked toward the steps, the cats rumbled down from the top, each row reverberating as they thumped down.

“Life's funny, isn't it?” Harry beamed.

“If it's not, we are.” Renata laughed, feeling so light and carefree, despite it all.

I
'll call Horsin' Around.” Fair named an equine-shipping company that he recommended to “patients” and their owners. “They can pick up Shortro and Indian Summer.” He was amazed that Renata had given Harry the wonderful gelding.

Indian Summer was the Thoroughbred at Paula Cline's Rose Haven. Alicia had agreed to make a donation to the Thoroughbred Retirement Fund after discussing the horse with Harry. Her donation would exceed Paula's request.

Booty, stripped to a T-shirt and jeans and sweating, overheard the conversation as they were outside his barn. He stepped into the sunlight, Miss Nasty on his shoulder. He filled that T-shirt right well.

Wearing a lime-green short skirt, a matching halter top, and her floppy straw hat to ward off the sun's rays, Miss Nasty peered down at Pewter and curled back her lips. She then turned around on Booty's shoulder to flip up the back of her skirt.

“If my rear end were that ugly I wouldn't show it to anyone,”
Pewter sassed.

“You're so ugly you should put a paper sack over your head. Don't cats like paper sacks?”
Miss Nasty whirled around.

“Nasty, keep still.” Booty patted her head.

“That revolting gray cat insulted me.”

“Monkey hamburger. Yum.”
Pewter's deep-pink tongue licked her gray lips, her whiskers forward.

“My bite is bad. Don't delude yourself. You can't hurt me.”

“She can try.”
Mrs. Murphy sounded conciliatory.
“Miss Nasty, have you thought about the pin? I'll make it worth your while.”
She gave Pewter a dirty look to stop the insult about to pop out of the cat's mouth.
“That pin has sentimental value. It belonged to Joan's grandmother.”

“So?”
The monkey held up her palms.

“Bananas—we could get you a cart full of them.”
Tucker had no idea how to buy bananas, but it sounded good.

“What do you take me for? A monkey?”
Miss Nasty laughed.
“Anyway, I can eat bananas whenever I want.”

“What if we found you another pin even prettier?”
The tiger figured the longer she kept Miss Nasty talking, the closer she would get to discovering what the monkey would take in trade.

“How pretty?”

“Lots of diamonds to show off your color.”
Mrs. Murphy smiled.

“Yes, that beautiful shade of poop brown,”
Pewter venomously said.

Miss Nasty flew off Booty's shoulder, running into the barn.

“Dammit, Pewter, you've upset her. She's run away.”
Tucker wanted to find the pin as much as Mrs. Murphy did.

“If she's that sensitive, she should stay in her cage. Besides, she started it.”

“Pewter, you started it,”
Tucker corrected her.

“When we first met her on the rail, first night of the show, she started it.”
Pewter was adamant.

Miss Nasty returned, running then hopping on her hind legs. In each paw she carefully held a large dollop of horse manure. Taking aim, she pelted Pewter, the droppings crumbling on contact.

“Who's the color of poop?”
She hopped up and down, clapping her hands as Pewter puffed up in total rage.

“What's gotten into these guys?” Harry grabbed Pewter, brushing off the manure, which was dry, thank goodness.

Miss Nasty returned to the barn for more ammunition. Out she came. This time she nailed Harry.

“Nasty!” Booty took a stride toward the monkey, who hastened out of reach by retreating back into the barn.

Fair brushed off his wife and Pewter, because one of the droppings had hit Pewter again.

“Kill! I will kill!”
Pewter howled.

Miss Nasty climbed up the tall post closest to the opening, vaulted upward to catch the slight lip of the door jamb, and swung herself up on the protruding light. The sun had heated the metal; it was hotter than the last time she was up there. She burned her paws a touch and dropped straight down to the ground. Pewter launched herself out of Harry's arms, narrowly missing smashing onto the monkey by inches.

Miss Nasty, her paws smarting, tore back into the barn, Pewter hard on her heels. Fortunately, the humans hadn't a clue.

“Maybe we should separate them.” Booty turned toward the aisle.

Fair replied, “We can follow, but I bet you Miss Nasty can stay out of Pewter's reach.”

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker had the good sense not to participate in the chase. The monkey perched on a rafter as Pewter, on top of a stall beam below, hurled insult after insult.

Booty repeated an offer he'd made to Harry when the animals were carrying on. “Because Shortro is Renata's horse, I can get more money for him if you want to sell. He's a good horse, personality plus. Fifty thousand for you.” And ten for him, which he kept to himself. His fee should have been five thousand.

Harry and Fair knew how that worked, which was one of the reasons they put every sale or purchase in writing.

“Thank you, Booty. I know a person should take the money and run, but Renata expressly stated she wanted to retire Shortro from showing, young though he is. She wants me to have him. I look forward to working with him, really.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Booty smiled, oblivious to the fact that Harry had given her word to Renata. He turned to Fair. “Miss Nasty isn't being very nice, especially after you helped me with the cast mare. She suffers from temper tantrums.”

“Pewter can provoke them in anyone,”
Tucker said.

“Some friend you are.”
Pewter looked up again at the monkey licking its paws.
“I hope you get hemorrhoids. I hope they crack open. I hope you sit in turpentine!”

“Next time I throw a cow pie.”

Booty called Miss Nasty, to no avail. He shook his head. “Well, she'll come down when she's ready. I've got to get back to work. Thanks to the INS, we're going around the clock. What do they expect us to do?”

“I don't know, but we'd better figure it out.” Fair felt great sympathy for people who needed physical labor performed by reliable individuals. And he understood the illegal worker's desire to improve his or her life by working in America. “We've got about eleven and a half million illegal immigrants. Send them away and the economy will go down like a B-52 with its tail shot off.”

Exasperated, Booty raised his voice. “Help them become citizens. They work, they buy stuff like milk and shoes. I know they use our social services and schools, so help them become citizens and they'll pay taxes for those services.”

“Good reason not to become a citizen,” Harry ruefully commented.

“Ever think about how much money we throw away? What will those INS stooges do? Write reports. What does any public official do? Write reports.” Booty snarled, a real flash of anger.

Fair, more balanced in his outlook: “Booty, depends on the public official. The closer someone is to their people, the better job they do most times. Sheriff Howlett knows everyone, the fire chief knows everyone, plus they know how important this show in particular and the fairgrounds in general are to Shelby County. To someone from the INS, Shelbyville is a place to raid, not a place to live. That's the problem with large state agencies. Put it on the federal level and the disregard for local sentiment reaches gargantuan proportions.”

Booty nodded. “What's the expression, ‘You rise to your level of incompetence'?” He brightened a moment. “I've risen to mine.”

They laughed.

As Harry and Fair left the barn, Booty returned to checking harnesses. Tucker and Mrs. Murphy pondered a moment.

“Don't go,”
Pewter begged.

“Why?”
Mrs. Murphy asked.

“If I wait long enough, hunger and thirst will bring this little bitch down.”

“Bring you down first, Tub.”
Miss Nasty felt bored up there, and she wanted Bag Balm on her paws. She knew right where Booty kept it. She liked a little pinch of the other substance, too, since Booty used his Bag Balm tin to store a bit of cocaine. Miss Nasty also enjoyed a sip of spirits occasionally.

“Come on, Pewter. This solves nothing,”
Tucker reasonably said.

A flash of indignation illuminated Mrs. Murphy's countenance.
“Miss Nasty, you brag. You don't have the pin. You can't even describe it.”

“Oh, yes, I can. It's a sparkly diamond horseshoe with a ruby and sapphire riding crop through it.”

Tucker, often in tune with her friend, called up,
“You probably noticed it when you were on the rail of the Kalarama box. You sat right in front of Joan.”

“I have it!”

Mrs. Murphy shrugged, turned to leave.
“You almost had us there, Miss Nasty.”

“You'll see,”
the monkey, stung, promised.

Pewter, realizing she'd better join her pals, backed down the stall pole. The three reached the end of the aisle.

Following them overhead on the high rafter, Miss Nasty shouted,
“You'll see!”