Puss 'N Cahoots (20 page)

“You do.”

“Well, then I don't want anyone else to know I know except you, of course.”

“One other thing.” Harry scrupulously did not spill the beans about Renata leaving, but she did say, “Renata gave me Shortro.”

“She did!”

“She's grateful I found Queen Esther. She promised to help me with my wine if it turns out potable. 'Course, that's three years down the road. Guess she wanted to do something now.”

“How good of her. He's a great guy. The Shortros of the world should be gold-plated. That wonderful mind.”

“You'll lose a boarder. Sorry.”

Joan laughed. “He wouldn't stay long. She'll wind up back with Charly. Too much emotion there. Takes a woman to know a woman.”

“Yes.” Harry bit her lip.

“I expect her to pull Queen Esther after the show. She did call and say she wasn't showing the mare tonight. I wanted to make sure—after all, this is her last prep before Louisville. She'll be up against even more horses at Louisville. Said she didn't trust whatever was happening, so she wasn't going to show her. I thought she'd do it for the publicity.”

“Can't blame her.”

“No. Well, does this mean you're going to show a Saddlebred?” A merry tone lifted Joan's voice.

“Actually, Joan, I'll just walk him under tack, then see if he's willing to do more.”

“I knew it. I knew you'd turn him into a foxhunter.”

Harry laughed. “He'll tell me what he wants to do.”

“That's why you're a good horseman.”

“I'll do anything,”
Shortro promised.

         

As Harry and Joan finished up their conversation, Fair stood in the aisle of Charly's barn. The smoke finally was dissipating and wafting eastward. The smell of it, the burned oil and metal, still hung over the place.

“Seeing more of it.” Charly walked the aisle with Fair as they looked in on each horse. “More shows. More pressure. And if you have a client who has a four-hundred-thousand-dollar horse and they tell you not to turn him out in the pasture because they're afraid of an injury, what do you do?”

“I know it takes patience, but you need to show them what gastric ulcers are and how they affect an animal. Keep a horse in a stall with limited turnout, cram them full of high-energy food, subject them to high stress, you're going to get ulcers. Performance drops. Once the ulcers are diagnosed, it takes twenty-eight days of a full tube of Ulcergard every day. And after that it's a quarter tube a day. Don't change the regimen and the ulcers return. People have to learn these are living, breathing, emotional creatures. They aren't cars.”

“I know. I know. Had five horses in my barn suffer from them.”

“How many horses at the farm?”

“Sixty. Give or take.”

“How many in work?”

“Well, horses come in and out. Some are there for specific training, a course, and they're gone in a month, say, but on average, twenty-five.”

“If you only have five with ulcers, you have a good program. Some people don't use Ulcergard, by the way. They use papaya juice. I prefer Ulcergard. Ulcers are a bitch.”

“Now if I could calm mine.” Charly smiled ruefully. “It's feast or famine in this business.”

“This last week can't have helped.”

“Never been through anything like it.” Charly folded his arms across his chest. “Well, the first Gulf War was bad, but we knew what we were about. This,” he held out one hand, keeping the other arm across his chest, “I don't know. I feel like there's someone behind every bush. That damned raid, along with Jorge's murder, has everyone looking over their shoulders. Now this.” He shook his head, then stood straighter. “I'll worry about it after the show. I will beat Booty if it kills me.”

“Or him.”

“Given all that's happened, I probably shouldn't say that, but I really do want to wipe his face in the dirt. Frederick the Great is going to win Shelbyville, and Louisville, too. He's a world champion.”

“For my part, I hope there's good competition tonight.” Fair smiled at him and said, “No glory in a walkover.”

Charly smiled, too. “They'll make it hard for me. You'll see a pretty damned exciting class.”

A
s if the portents since August 2 hadn't filled people with wonder and anxiety, the yellow stakeout around the debris of the van completed the aura of incipient danger.

The show officials wanted the bits hauled off, but the sheriff declared they had to stay. Plus, they still were warm. Bomb experts called in from Louisville needed time to consider the pattern of debris.

The result of this wise decision on the part of young Sheriff Howlett caused the officials consternation. Half of the main parking lot would be cordoned off, so they petitioned the sheriff and the mayor to allow them to mark the westbound shoulder of Route 60 for parking, as well as side streets closest to the fairgrounds. Residents didn't complain about Route 60, but having their streets clogged up proved a major irritant. The smarter ones parked their cars at the foot of their driveway so no one could block them. Windows had been smashed for less.

As for Route 60, traffic to the show from both east and west would need to be rerouted to park along the curb of town streets.

Many of the officials feared that spectators would remain home after the week of wild events; after all, how many Saddlebred shows endured a murder, a van blowing up, and a horse being stolen, and then recovered? The reverse proved true. What is it about the human race that draws it to danger, drama? Let there be a car crash, a house fire, a bridge collapse, and folks will travel for miles to view the disaster. The final night of the horse show was no exception. People started pouring in two hours before the first class.

The grooms feverishly worked to prepare the horses and riders, bringing extra water for themselves as the heat remained unabated; the trainers all dodged the unbelievable press of flesh. By five, two hours before the first class, all prior attendance records had been shattered. Despite the expense for extra security and the anticipated cost of extra cleanup of the grounds, the coffers would overflow.

Ward, hearing the sounds of cars, people, feet, quipped to Benny, bridle over his shoulder, “This proves there is no such thing as bad publicity.”

Ward no sooner got the words out of his mouth than Booty appeared, in the company of Miss Nasty.

“Benny, take a hike,” Booty ordered.

“Hike, hike, hike,”
Miss Nasty echoed Booty, and for whatever reason this put her in an especially good mood.

Benny shifted the bridle to his other shoulder, looking to Ward.

“He stays right here, Booty. What the hell is this about? I've been through as much as I care to handle today.”

Booty half-smiled. “I won't be as tedious as your insurance agent.” He glanced at Benny, deciding to go forward. “Here's the deal. I know you serviced Renata, so to speak. You carried the mare to your farm.” Ward stayed expressionless as Booty kept on. “I don't mind. She got what she wanted out of it. I don't even want to know what she paid you. But I want to know two things. Did Jorge bring Queen Esther to you?”

“I told you he did.” Ward ignored Miss Nasty, who left Booty's shoulder and now pulled on the hem of his jeans.

“I don't remember you telling me that.”

“Alzheimer's,” Ward joked, but Booty didn't laugh. “What's the next question?”

“Did Charly pay you, too?”

“What's Charly got to do with it?”

“Oh, come on, Ward, don't play me for a fool. You're smarter than that and so am I. Renata doesn't breathe without Charly.”

“What are you talking about?” Ward raised his voice. “I don't know what Renata and Charly are doing, but I can tell you I didn't talk to him. The only person I talked to was Renata.”

“He's behind it.”

“Well, go talk to him. I don't know anything about it.”

Booty clucked to Miss Nasty.

“I don't want to leave yet.”
The monkey dropped Ward's hem to snoop in the hospitality room. Might be something scrumptious in there.

Checking his watch, Booty's eyebrows raised. “Damn, time gets away from me.” Two long strides and he entered the hospitality room, just as Miss Nasty unwrapped a cold Reese's peanut butter cup. She left the small refrigerator door open, which Booty closed. “Miss Nasty, no sugar.”

She popped it in her mouth, trying to swallow it whole. With tremendous effort and a few chews while eluding Booty, she managed.

Booty came out with Miss Nasty in tow.

Ward stepped closer to Booty. “I don't know what your worry is about Charly. Seems to me I have more to worry about than you do. Benny and I could have been blown to kingdom come, and, well, Charly knows all about explosives.”

Booty, holding the monkey's paw as she walked along with him, her eyes watering from swallowing such a big hunk of candy, said, “Don't do business behind my back.”

“I don't think doing business with Renata is doing business behind your back. I've kept up my end of the bargain concerning you.”

Booty's tone dripped sarcasm. “Everything concerns me. If Charly did set up the so-called theft of the horse with you, then how do I know you aren't siphoning off money elsewhere? Maybe you bring in a load of merchandise on the QT.”

“I wouldn't do that. I've been straight up.” Ward's jaw jutted out.

“Good.” Booty's tone improved. “If there's one thing I hate it's a double cross.”

Ward and Benny watched him as he strutted toward his barn, nodding and smiling to all and sundry, Miss Nasty waving, too.

“Peculiar mind,” Benny intoned.

“I'll say, but he's one hell of an organizer. I learned that going for the pickups.”

“Yep. Booty succeeds at what he does.” Benny said no more. He kept his personal feelings to himself, a habit learned the hard way.

“Whenever you get that flat sound in your voice, I know you're not telling me what you're thinking.”

“What I'm thinking is, what the hell is he worried about? No one has tried to kill him.”

“Maybe he thinks he's next.” Ward watched as Booty disappeared into the mass of people.

“Be a blessing.” Benny couldn't help it, it slipped out.

“Sometimes I think that myself.” Ward picked up a can of hoof dressing and entered a stall.

         

Booty walked into Charly's barn, finding Charly back in the small dressing room. Carlos was in one of the stalls.

Booty pulled aside the curtain as Spike hollered to the other cats,
“That damned monkey is in here.”

“Shut up,”
Miss Nasty called back, then ran out into the aisle to irritate the cats, an activity in which she richly succeeded.

“I've been thinking.” Booty sat on a navy and red tack trunk. “You sure let Ward off the hook easy.”

“Did we have any choice?”

“Yeah, we could have cut him out.”

Charly shook his head. “Too risky. Plus he does good work, and he is the one who will get arrested first.”

“Well, I'm not overfond of reducing my own profit.”

“Half a loaf is better than no loaf. Ward's tight-lipped, does what he's told, and he's bright enough. He can learn more of the business and hopefully create more profit, which will offset our slight loss in making him a full partner. Plus we don't have to pay Jorge anymore. There's a penny saved.”

“There is that.” Booty leaned in toward him. “I figure you and Renata contacted him to steal Queen Esther.”

“The hell I did.” Charly's face turned bright crimson. “That was her idea.”

“I don't believe you. She's an actress. Playing a public scene with you is her bread and butter. Why should I believe you? You both get something out of it.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“Renata.” Booty listened for a moment to one of Miss Nasty's shrieks and decided it wasn't life-threatening, since she was cussing cats.

“My relationship with Renata has been rocky, but relationships between trainers and clients can be that way. She's wound tight.”

“Then let me just say this: if you and Ward are running a little sideline behind my back, I'm going to get really angry.”

“I would, too.” Charly, irritated, rested his hand on the metal crossbar of the portable clothes rack. “Look, I've got to get ready. I have a boatload of clients going this last night, and there is the five-gaited stakes, which I'll be winning.”

Silky smooth, Booty said, “I've given that a lot of thought. I'll be winning that class, Charly, because if you don't bring Frederick the Great down just enough to come in second, I'm telling the press about Renata stealing her own horse. Might even tell them you were in on it.”

Charly, for a second, didn't move a muscle. “You son of a bitch.”

“I don't like a double cross. For all I know you killed that Mexican, too.”

“You're out of your mind. Out of it! I wouldn't kill Jorge.”

“Well, you damned well blew up Ward's van. You're the only one who could do it. Eliminate someone who knew too much, not just about our business but about Renata. Also increases your profit.”

“Come on, anyone can find information on the Internet about how to build and plant a car bomb.”

“Maybe so, but I know you have that skill, thanks to the United States Army. You've even got the medals to prove it, and,” he drew this out, “I know you're in love with Renata.”

“For Christ's sake, Booty, Ward's no threat to Renata.”

“No?” Booty's eyebrows rose. “He stuck us for a full third of a share. Blackmailing Renata could be very lucrative. She oozes money.”

“You're crazy.” Charly's lips turned white with rage.

“You made a mistake, buddy, a tiny mistake, but I picked up on it.”

“Oh, and what might that be?” Charly wanted to hit Booty so badly he was shaking.

“When you and Renata performed your screaming match at Kalarama's barn, you pointed a finger at her and said, ‘I know about you.'” Charly's face was blank. Booty continued, “A comment like that stays with people. Now, most folks when they heard about it assumed you meant she was sleeping with you. Me, I'm a little different. I investigated. I've got more friends than you think.”

“If you pay them enough,” Charly hissed through gritted teeth.

Booty leaned right toward him and lied through his teeth to shake up Charly. “She worked as a call girl before she hit it big. Worked in New York City and Los Angeles.”

Charly, with a vicious left hook, hit Booty like thunder.

Rocked back on his feet, Booty instantly crouched low, then sprang up in Charly's face. He hit him in the mouth, loosening a tooth.

As blood trickled from Charly's mouth, he blocked another blow from the slighter man, then smashed him hard with a punishing straight right to his gut, followed by a left uppercut.

Booty sprawled on the ground but made no more attempt to defend himself.

Charly straddled him, daring him to raise up. “Get up, you slimy bastard.”

“Before you hit me again, let me drop this tidbit into your overheated brain. If you don't take it down tonight just a notch, a tiny notch, Charly, then I go to the press about Renata's past and about stealing her own horse for publicity.”

“I'll kill you first.”

Booty, still down, looked at his expensive watch. “Got about two hours to do it. After that we'll be pushing those clients into the ring.”

Charly stepped back and Booty got up, sauntering off, although he did rub his jaw.

Miss Nasty trundled after him as Spike called down,
“Your days are numbered, Nasty. Every cat on this show grounds hates your guts.”

“Oh la.”
She lifted her shoulders insouciantly and kept right on truckin'.

Carlos, who'd heard the crunch of fist on jaw, waited until Booty left the barn, then walked into the changing room where Charly was massaging his hand.

Charly looked at him. “I will kill that walking piece of feces.”