The Fame Equation (14 page)

With the manner of a Marine Corps drill sergeant, Buffy had Keith’s group leave the church first, followed a minute later by our group of Brandyne, Claudine, Annie, and me. Buffy and the rest of Melody’s team were last, and walked somberly out the door with Ruthie.

When we hit the sidewalk, Claudine raised a trembling hand and waved at no one in particular. Was she, too, looking for camera time? Brandyne perked up then, and looked around. She must have seen the glint of a lens in a tree across the way, as she put on her best bereavement face as she looked in that direction.

“Don’t think this is over,” she hissed as we walked. “I am definitely not done with you.”

I had no idea what it was about me that set her off. But, if I hadn’t loved Melody so much, I would have taken my own purse and decked Brandyne right then, smack dab in front of all the hidden cameras and tele-photo lenses. And just so you know, I don’t travel all that light.

T
HE CEMETERY FOR THE
H
OLY
Church of the Mighty Happy was a mile or so away, on the other side of town on top of Pinnacle Hill. The land where the church and riding center were located, next to the Harpeth River, was low, so the church could not get approval for a cemetery there.

It was a pretty place, I thought. While I did not know if Melody had ever visited the cemetery, it was a place she would have liked. It was a small acreage, and there were less than a dozen graves. Allen saw me looking at the dates on the gravestones.

“You must remember that we are a very young church,” he said. “And as congregations go, ours is not large.”

I nodded, suddenly overcome by the fact that this would be Melody’s final resting place.

Annie held out a hand and together we walked the few feet to the gravesite. I might have drawn comfort from Ruthie’s words, had I been able to hear them over the wailing of Claudine and Brandyne. It seemed as if they were trying to out-do each other. One would stop to catch a breath and the other would jump right in. The noise was deafening and, I thought, a tad contrived.

In due time, Melody’s casket was lowered into the ground along with a big piece of my heart. Annie and I took a final look, and then walked back to her truck. Along the way we were joined by Robert Griggs. When he took riding lessons from me he had a way of walking up silently, and startling me unintentionally in the process. He still had that ability.

“She was too young, Robert,” I said. “Too young to die.”

“Maybe so,” Robert said, “but––”

I looked at him and whatever he was going to say he swallowed back up. I thought he might say something to the effect of “the Lord knows best,” or “she’s in a better place.” Both of those statements might be true, but I did not want to hear anything along those lines right now.

Instead, Robert said, “Just a reminder about our new volunteer orientation Tuesday night, that’s tomorrow. Bubba can come, too. I know we can keep him busy in the barn. There is always something to do. The orientation is from six to eight-thirty and you’d all, well, you’d all be welcome additions.”

I wanted to come to support Darcy, but would have to talk to Hill. I still wasn’t sure he would okay Bubba volunteering. It would be good for Bubba, I thought, but there was school to think of, and transportation.

On the ride home I was glad to be a passenger in Annie’s truck, as I wasn’t up to driving.

“Sad day,” said Annie.

I nodded but had no words. Annie tried again. “I’m sure the police will find the culprit soon enough.”

“They have to,” the words exploded out of me, startling us both. I do admit that my Irish temper sometimes gets the best of me.

“They will,” Annie said with certainty. “Melody ran with an eclectic group of people, from the church, to the riding center, to her career. My money, though, is on the career side. Music is a big business and you never know what she saw someone do, or who saw her as a threat. Interesting looks, though.”

“Looks? I don’t follow.”

“Between Buffy and your neighbor.”

“Keith? Between Buffy and Keith?”

“Big time. Didn’t you see?”

To be honest, I hadn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to me to look for something like that.

“It was like they were warning each other with their eyes to not say or not do something. It was very odd. That’s why I noticed it.”

Keith and Buffy? I let Annie’s thoughts digest for a few minutes. I had no idea what a mysterious look between the two could mean, but if Annie said she saw it, I had no doubt that it occurred.

We ended up behind Bubba’s school bus the last mile or so. Annie stopped at the top of my drive so we could see Bubba get off the bus at the end of his driveway. He spotted us, waved, then ran down the long dirt drive to the single-wide trailer he and Hill lived in. A few minutes later, Bubba banged on my kitchen door.

“My dad, he ain’t home yet,” said Bubba when I let him in.

Annie and I exchanged a look. She was well aware of the situation, as I had vented to her about Hill many times over the phone. I picked up my cell and dialed Hill’s number, only to get his voice mail.

“Why don’t you and I go over to your house, and look for clues that will tell us when he might be back,” I said after I left yet another message for Hill. Bubba was eleven, and I knew I was at the tail end of enticing him through spy games, but today it worked.

“I like figurin’ stuff out like I did when we caught that scum-bag that kilt Glenda.”

Bubba hadn’t exactly caught the killer. I hadn’t either. But Bubba had helped both of us get out of a life or death situation, and for that I was grateful.

“Ya wanna come, Miz Annie?” Bubba asked.

I gave my head an almost imperceptible shake. “No, you two go on,” she said. “I’ll head to the barn to see what Jon and Tony are up to. I think Darcy might be out there as well.”

Bubba and I slipped between the boards of the fence that divided my property from Fairbanks. We crossed the wide Fairbanks strip of lawn, then crawled between the boards on the other side.

Hill had chosen to decorate his trailer in early Confederate flag. They were everywhere, even on the ceiling. The result was dark rooms, highlighted by the pungent smell of stale fast food, cigarettes, and mold. I’d only been in the house once before, and I hadn’t been invited. Bubba had been missing so I had taken it upon myself to see if he was home.

Today I was just as angry as I had been during my visit (okay, break in) earlier this year. Bubba should not have to live in such deplorable conditions. I was torn between being furious with Hill for being one brick short of a pile, and worried that something terrible had happened to him.

I started by opening drawers in a desk in the living room. At two bedrooms, the house was too small to have a separate office. There was an office of sorts in the barn, but Hill had two Dobermans running loose in there and they didn’t seem to like me much.

“What are we lookin’ for?” Bubba asked, opening and closing drawers without checking the contents.

“Mail from anyone in Mississippi or Alabama. Notes your dad might have written in the past few days. Maybe an address book.”

“Won’t be no address book,” said Bubba. “My dad, he keeps ever’thing in his phone now. Keeps people from stealin’ his private information.”

People like me, I thought. I knew better than to ask about numbers for family members. What family Hill and Bubba had left hadn’t spoken to them in years. Even if I had a number to call I doubted the person on the other end would be of any help.

We searched next in the kitchen and finally in Hill’s bedroom. I stifled my urge to say “eeewww” every time I touched something in Hill’s room. Finally, I put my hands on my hips, tousled Bubba’s dark hair and said, “C’mon kiddo. We’ve got barn chores to do, then I bet Annie will have a nice dinner fixed for us.”

After that I’d try to help Bubba with his homework, if he had any. I might also put a discreet call in to Martin, just to give him a heads up about Hill. Before we left we walked up to Hill’s barn. I thought Hill’s “man” might be there to see to the horses. The dogs kept us out of the barn, but I wrote a note asking the man to contact me, and wedged it into the outer frame of the office door on the side of the barn.

Back in my barn, Annie, Tony, Jon, and Darcy stood outside Sally Blue’s stall.

“She’s been lying like that lately,” said Jon. “Our massage therapist said it was a good shoulder stretch. Maybe that’s what she’s doing.”

I peeked inside to find Sally lying with her front legs straight out, but crossed again just below the knee with the hoof of her top leg pointing toward her tail.

Annie, who had recently been convinced that Sally was psychic, said, “X marks the spot?”

“We already thought of that,” I said. “Maybe we need to concentrate on her pointed toes and look for a murderous ballerina.”

“Or a figure skater,” said Tony.

“A high diver!” said Bubba.

“No way. Don’t you see?” said Darcy. “She’s making a cross in honor of Melody. Melody Cross.”

I loved each of these people so much. Melody should be here, too. The thought burst from my brain. Then a lump formed in my throat and the pleasant moment was gone.

Tony and Jon had already fed the horses their evening grain, but we all made sure the horses had enough hay and water, and that the stalls were picked clean. Both dogs helped by running circles around the wheelbarrow when Jon used it to get shavings. Then we went to admire Ringo, who seemed to be adjusting well to his new home.

“When will you start working with him?” Tony asked.

I looked at Jon. “We’ll give him another day, then do a full evaluation on him on Wednesday,” I said.

A thorough horse evaluation could take an hour or two, and covered everything from a gait analysis to flexibility tests to figuring out what the horse already knew and where the gaps in his education were. I sure hoped this horse was everything his owner promised. Right now, the rest of my career was riding on him.

I
T WAS GETTING TO BE
my regular routine. Get up at the crack of early, get Darcy off to school, then get Bubba on his way. When had I turned into a soccer mom? I didn’t even have any kids. I couldn’t say that I disliked the schedule, but it was totally unexpected.

This morning I also had to say goodbye to Annie and Tony. I could never ask for better friends and I have to say I felt a teeny bit guilty about Ringo. Then the voice of reason stepped in and reminded me that Ringo’s owner could have chosen Tony and Annie to train his horse––but Gusher Black hadn’t. He had chosen me. I now just needed to deliver. No pressure there. None at all.

I hugged my friends, and Jon even came out to shake Tony’s hand. Was it possibly that this short visit had put their relationship on slightly less rocky ground? That would be nice. After pulling a reluctant Hank out of their back seat, hugging Mickey, and then sending the Zinners down the drive, Hank, Jon, and I headed for the barn. Jon and I had not had time the past few days to work with Petey, and needed to resume his driving lessons. Christmas was inching closer every day and I was determined that Petey would give Darcy the surprise of her life.

Today we were able to pull the cart alongside Petey and also behind him without him trying to turn his head or body around to confront the cart. It was more validation that horses do process information if you let them sit and think about things for a day or so.

After patting Petey, allowing him to lead himself back to the barn aisle, and giving him lots of love for a job well done, Jon turned him out into a paddock with Wheeler and Reddi. Only then did I get Sally Blue out of her stall. I groomed her while Jon refreshed Petey’s stall, and hers. Then we turned Sally out into the front pasture with Gigi and Bob, and let Ringo stretch his legs in the covered arena.

While Ringo explored the arena, Jon and I stood near the arena gate. After a few false starts, I asked Jon the question I had been mulling over all morning.

“How did your visit with Tony go?”

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Some awkward moments. Not as many as I expected. We’ll probably always have some of that.”

We watched Ringo paw, drop, and roll in the center of the arena, and I was glad to see that he rolled all the way over on his back from left to right, then reversed the process. A horse who could only roll from one side onto the center of his back and not flop over onto the other side, often had a sore back, hip, or pelvis.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Jon asked.

Gee, Jon was getting quite personal these days. Our previous years of existence as trainer and assistant had pretty much been limited to the job. I was so used to Jon as a private person that his reaching out felt odd.