Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries) (16 page)

As we watched, Glen's jaw got a little squarer and he rode Smoke up to the fence. Lisa said, almost to herself, "What's
she
doing here?" Obviously Joyce was not a regular at practice ropings.

Glen sat on Smoke a while, talking to Joyce, then dismounted and walked off toward the barn, leading the horse. Joyce went with him. I watched Lisa follow them with her eyes until they disappeared behind the barn.

The cattle were standing in the chute, ready to go, and the ropers were looking impatient, but Al was nowhere to be seen. Lonny and Lisa and I all turned our horses in a unanimous motion and began loping them around. Time to get warmed up.

Galloping Gunner, feeling the warm evening wind in my face, I forgot the tensions of the moment and began to relax. Maybe we would just have a good time here. It was only a roping, after all.

Five minutes later there was a light sweat on Gunner's neck and all his muscles were loose. We were ready. On the thought, I saw Glen riding toward the box on Smoke; Al stood by the chutes. "Clear the arena!" he hollered.

We all rode out the gate. Out of the comer of my eye I saw Joyce's Cadillac inching out of the field. I looked around for a glimpse of Sonny Santos, but he was nowhere in sight. My roaming gaze caught Charles Domini, leaning on the fence. He gave me his slow, unpleasant smile, the smile of a conspirator.

I looked back at Glen, riding Smoke toward the box. Even from a distance it was apparent something had upset the horse. He was tossing his head, skittering, and spooking, and his neck was wet with sweat. Glen's face was set hard and looked angry; if I hadn't known better I would have guessed that Glen had been beating on the horse. But Glen wouldn't have done that. He knew how stallions were-whipping them only caused trouble.

Still, something had happened. Smoke, usually calm and reliable, looked frantic. Glen rode him into the header's box and got him turned around by main force. Smoke wouldn't stand still; he reared up again and again. Gradually the arena got quiet as everybody focused on the man and the horse struggling in the header's box.

Smoke seemed to be getting wilder and wilder; the look in his eyes was close to panic. I didn't understand it. Smoke was a broke head horse. This much agitation was bizarre.

I could hear Lisa's voice, thin and scared. "Dad, just walk him out of there. He's freaking out."

Glen's jaw was hard. He snapped a look at the whole arena. "This son of a bitch is going to stand in this box if I have to go 'round with him all night," he said flatly.

He backed the horse up and took a firm hold of the reins.

Smoke froze for a split second, unnaturally still. Suddenly he rose up again in a rear. Only this time it was different; this time the horse went up and back all in one motion, with no hesitation, the whole weight and momentum of his body thrown backward in a last-ditch effort to escape the situation.

It happened so quickly there was hardly time for thought. First the horse hanging in the air, then dropping over backward, a flash of Glen's body moving as he threw himself sideways, then the ominous crash of Smoke falling into the fence behind the header's box.

The horse was down. I couldn't see Glen. Then the horse was scrambling to his feet and galloping off at a dead run; he looked OK. Glen slowly raised himself to a sitting position as several people converged on him. I could hear his words: "I'm all right."

Climbing off Gunner, I handed the reins to Lonny and went after Smoke. The stallion was charging up and down the back fence of the arena frantically, looking as if he might try to jump out. I walked in his direction, talking quietly in an attempt to soothe him while I assessed his expression. He looked scared to death.

Eventually he ran into a comer and stopped for a minute. His eyes were wide, his nostrils huge and puffing, and his forelegs were trembling. His coat was so wet it was dripping. He stared at me apprehensively, as though I'd come to eat him, rather than catch him. I thought his behavior totally uncharacteristic.

I advanced toward him quietly, murmuring meaningless words. He was shaking where he stood. Gently I reached up and pulled the reins over his head and started to lead him off. He scrambled backward against the pressure, looking like he might flip over backward again.

I dropped the reins and let him go. He ran a few steps and stopped, still trembling. I just stood there and watched him. A voice from the sidelines broke into my attention: "What's wrong with him?"

Shifting my attention back to Smoke, I spoke in my most reassuring tone. "You'll be OK," I told him. "Just relax. That's a good boy."

Smoke was still trembling. White foam dripped from his mouth. Another voice cut into my concentration: "So, why don't you catch him?"

Janey's voice. She stood by Susan, and both their eyes were fixed on me and the horse.

"He needs to think it over," I said. "He's still pretty upset."

I watched Smoke for another couple of minutes. He finally seemed to let down a little. Once again, I reached for the reins and asked him for a step forward. He tensed up a little, but he took one. Then another. Then he was following me, shaky and still nervous, but controllable.

Glen was standing in the header's box, surrounded by Lisa, Tim, and Al. I could hear Lisa's voice, sharply raised: "Dad, enough is enough."

More talk and then Al bellowed out, "Everybody go home! We're not gonna practice after all. Glen's going down to the hospital." Al looked grimly satisfied, I thought, like an Old Testament prophet of doom after disaster had struck.

I did a quick reconnaissance. Charles Domini's silver Mercedes was gone. The rig with the camper on it was just bumping out of the parking lot. I couldn't see who was driving it. Couldn't see any faces peering out of the camper windows, either.

People started loading their horses, getting ready to go home. Lonny still sat on Burt, holding Gunner. Pat Domini was next to him, on Dragon. Both of them watched Glen hobble slowly across the arena, leaning on Tim's shoulder.

Tim helped his father into the passenger side of his green Sixball truck, and they drove out. On the way to the hospital, I presumed. I led Smoke over to Lisa. The horse was still nervous, but he no longer seemed irrational.

I let Lonny know what my plans were; he agreed to take Burt and Gunner home and wait to hear from me. Then I helped Lisa unsaddle Smoke, Rosie, Roany, and Chester. I watched Smoke for another few minutes after I turned him out in his pen; he seemed a little restless but basically all right. He was willing to put his head down and eat his hay, anyway.

Eventually we were done. I got in the pickup with Lisa, and she drove it up the hill, past the big house, dark and quiet. I could see no sign of Joyce's Cadillac. Lisa made no motion to stop.

We made the trip to Lisa's house in silence. We didn't arrive there in silence, though. I could hear the sharp barks of the two Queenslands over the noise of the engine as Lisa pulled into the yard. Brisk, happy barks, barks of greeting.

Lisa called to them to hush as we got out of the truck and I followed her into the yard. Joey sniffed my leg; Rita aimed a soft, fake nip at my heels.

Lisa walked into the house, disappeared into the kitchen, and reappeared with tumblers of ice and amber liquid. "Brandy and soda," she said briefly.

I nodded, accepted a glass, and sat down on the couch, breathing in the warm, familiar smell of dog. Some people would have said the room stank. To me, it smelled pleasant and comforting.

Lisa sat down in one of her fat chairs, her movements jerky and abrupt. She stared into space for several seconds, holding her drink but not drinking it. I took a long swallow of mine.

Joey sat down next to Lisa's knee, and she stroked him with an absent hand, not looking at me or the dog or anything else that I could see. Rita walked up to me humbly, head down, ears folded back, as though apologizing for her suspicious nature. I held my hand out. She rubbed her head against it, petting herself. After a minute I stroked her forehead and scratched her behind the soft, pointed ears.

"Pretty sure. There was a small mark on his neck that could have been an injection site, and I don't think there's any other reasonable explanation for his behavior."

"What could cause that?"

"Anyone of a number of things. Epinephrine, amphetamines, prostaglandins. They could all cause agitation and excitement."

"How could somebody manage to give it to him?"

"Glen led Smoke away right before the roping. He went off to talk to Joyce, it looked like. Smoke was out of sight of the arena, behind the barn, for several minutes. When Glen came back, he looked mad and the horse looked crazy. Something happened. "

"Could somebody really give him a shot that quickly?"

"Sure they could. I could. You sort of palm the shot in your hand so the horse, or other people, can't see it. You reach up to the horse's neck like you're going to pet him and just slip the injection in the jugular vein. It doesn't take three seconds. I do it all the time on difficult horses." It was the method I used on Thunder, for instance.

"Okay. But we have to tell Dad first," Lisa said. "He'd never forgive me if we went to the cops without telling him."

"All right. Where is he? Down at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I made him go down there to be checked out. His ankle was swelling up. It got caught between Smoke and the fence."

"I guess I can call him in the morning," I said doubtfully. "I wouldn't talk to the sheriff's department before then. In which case, I ought to get going, Lisa. I've got to be at work tomorrow."

It was black dark as we left Lisa's house; stars were white pinpricks in the steady sky. No man-made glow diminished the emptiness, and I had the vivid sense that I could see those other galaxies spinning through space.

We drove out of Lisa's little valley without incident, but Lisa braked as we approached Glen's house. Lights were on. Tim's truck was parked in the drive. "They're back," she said. "Should we go in?"

"Might as well."

I felt hesitant, though, as I followed Lisa through Glen's back door. I was an outsider, an intruder in this strange family conference. I didn't belong.

Glen's huge living room was dim, lit only by the cold light of the TV. The flickering blue-white glow showed Glen and Tim sitting in two armchairs in front of the set. They appeared to be watching some sort of sitcom; I could hear the sound of canned laughter.

Lisa said, "Hi, Dad," and turned on a lamp. I could see the men had beers in their hands. Glen had some sort of wrap around his ankle, and there were crutches leaning against the back of his chair.

"You've got to be kidding." Tim's slow drawl. "That stud horse just got excited. Studs do that. They're like pit bulls. You push the wrong button, they go nuts."

"Bullshit," Lisa snapped at him. "That was no accident and you know it."

"I don't know," Glen intervened. "A stallion will do that, occasionally. "

Lisa looked straight at Tim, ignoring her father. "Damn it, what's wrong with you? Dad almost got killed in another accident, and you want to act like nothing's going on."

"Give it a rest, Lisa." Tim's voice was flat and hard; the careless quality had disappeared.

"I will
not
give it a rest. This is serious." Lisa virtually stamped her foot.

There was a tense quiet. Tim stretched his legs out slowly, a purposefully relaxed gesture. "You're crazy, Lisa. You're just plain crazy. You and Gail both. Who's going to drug Dad's horse for God's sake? All this stuff is just stupid. Dad got in a wreck and it's no big deal." Tim got to his feet abruptly. "I've had enough of this bullshit." We all heard the door slam as he left the room.

I turned back to Glen. "I'm sorry to be causing trouble," I said, "but I do think someone drugged your horse. And I think it's time we went to the sheriff's department with this."

I hesitated. "Maybe. I could run a few blood tests. But epinephrine would be undetectable. Amphetamines we might catch."