The Fame Equation (8 page)

“Dillon, how many dots face the ceiling?” Emily, who was teaching the lesson, asked.

Dillon sat on his pony and smiled.

“How many dots?” Emily prompted again.

Slowly, Dillon took one hand from his reins, examined his fist intently, and then shot his arm up high above his head with four fingers showing. Then he laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off his horse. He might have, too, if a volunteer who was standing next to him hadn’t steadied him.

“Yes, Dillon. Four dots! You are a wonderful counter!” said Emily. “Now, you are going to ask Spanky to walk four steps, and then ask him to stop. Do you remember how to ask Spanky to walk on?”

Dillon considered this, as the volunteer who was leading Spanky started to ask the pony to walk. Emily shook her head and the volunteer stopped the pony.

“Dillon, how do you ask Spanky to walk on?”

This time Dillon bumped his ankles against the pony’s side and Spanky began to walk forward.

“One,” Emily counted as she held up one finger. “Two.” Another of her fingers popped up. “Three . . . four and . . .” Emily waited for Dillon to show her that he knew how to stop his pony. When he began to pull back on his reins, she said, “And whoa.” Then everyone on the team gave Dillon a high five.

“In addition to counting, Emily is working with Dillon on two step directions,” said Robert. “She asked him to one, walk four steps, and two, stop. Dillon makes sounds, but is otherwise non-verbal. He is one mighty happy kid, though.”

“The lady walking next to Dillon looks like she is, ah . . . mighty happy . . . too,” said Darcy.

“Sandy Sweet is a sidewalker. We have supportive sidewalkers, who help the rider stay on the horse, and interactive sidewalkers, who interact with the rider to help them interpret the instructor’s instructions. Dillon has good balance, but needs help in knowing what to do, so Sandy serves mostly an interactive role in this lesson.”

Darcy nodded. “So what does Melody Cross do when she is here?”

“Just about everything!” Robert said. “She helps in the office and cleans stalls and tack. Usually she is a sidewalker, though. She likes being in lessons.”

“Bubba,” I asked, “What do you think?” Like Darcy, Bubba had been taking it all in. There was a lot to absorb.

“How old do you have to be to come here?” he asked.

“Four to ride in a lesson, sixteen to be a sidewalker or lead a horse in a lesson, and . . . how old are you now, Bubba?”

“Just turned eleven.”

“And
eleven
, to help out in the barn,” said Robert.

Thank you
, I mouthed. Then I turned to Bubba. “Do you think you might want to help out sometimes?”

“If ’n my dad lets me,” he said, rubbing his toe into the arena footing.

I’d talk to Hill, I thought. Maybe Bubba could come out with Darcy––if Hill didn’t get all riled up about it. He could be stubborn enough to argue with a stop sign.

We left the gate area and walked back into the barn where we almost bumped into Allen and Ruthie, who were coming out of the viewing room. They must have been watching the lesson, too.

“Sirens,” said Ruthie, and we all stopped to listen. They were some distance away.

“I’ve been hearing them off and on all afternoon,” Allen said to her. To us, he expounded, because that’s what pompous people like Allen did. “The Harpeth River runs along the back of our property, and a lot of canoers and kayakers use the river. Once in a while one of them gets in trouble and the rescue squad has to fish them out. From the sirens, I think they are near Hwy. 70, which is about three miles away by road, but as the river flows it’s about a mile away. As the crow flies, much less than that.”

I looked at my watch. It was time to head back to feed. Before we left, Darcy committed to attending a volunteer orientation the following Tuesday night. I thought I might go with her, and maybe take Bubba, too. Who knows, maybe Melody and I could sidewalk in the same lessons. That might be fun.

Thinking of Melody, I checked my phone to see if I’d had calls or texts about or from her. Nothing. This was definitely not a case where no news was good news. Where was she?

Just as we were deciding who would ride in the truck and who would ride with Darcy, Martin Giles drove in and eased his way out of a discrete dark blue Chevy. Martin is Cheatham County’s newest young detective––and my boyfriend’s younger brother. If it hadn’t been for Martin’s belief in me when my movie star neighbor was murdered, I might be sitting in a jail cell right now, so he was one of my favorite people. Martin must have seen my truck and stopped by to say hi.

“Well, look who’s here. It’s always good to see you Miz Cat,” Martin said with a casual two-fingered salute. “And Darcy. Jon. Bubba, you’re keepin’ good company with these people. Glad to see you outside of juvenile court.” These last words Martin said with ominous authority.

I nudged Bubba. “Nice to see you,” he mumbled to his shoes. Bubba was just learning to act like he had some raising.

Ruthie and Allen drifted up as Martin looked at the clipboard in his hand. “I wish this was a social call. But it’s not. Jon,” he said as he looked at Bubba, “how ’bout you an’ the boy get Miz Cat’s truck warmed up for her. It’s getting’ a might chilly in this late afternoon air.” Then Martin moved his gaze to me.

I knew right then that my best friend, Melody Cross, was dead.

J
ON
, B
UBBA
, D
ARCY
, M
ARTIN
, B
RENT
and I gathered around the big, scarred wooden table in my kitchen. It had been in my grandmother’s kitchen for many years and had seen a lot of dinners, but no dinner had been as sad as this one. I was shattered by Melody’s death and filled with questions, but Brent and Martin, whose shifts had both just ended, insisted that we eat first.

Somehow, I managed to make everyone some hot chocolate, and several large, gooey pizzas magically appeared. I leaned into Brent’s solid frame as I picked at a slice of vegetable supreme, his arm around my shoulder. Brent was a good man. He and Martin shared a tall, stocky build and thick, blond hair, but Martin’s protruding ears and jutting chin, typical characteristics of the Giles clan, were more prominent.

Brent wasn’t perfect, but then, neither was I. He didn’t like it when I was out of town at horse shows, which was frequently the case in spring, summer, and fall. I knew I could be moody, and I wasn’t the best cook. In fact, I didn’t cook at all, unless you counted hot chocolate as a food group, as I did. Unfortunately, Mama Giles saw my lack of prowess in the kitchen as a major flaw, and often mentioned it to her boys.

Why was I even thinking of Mama Giles when my best friend was dead? Horses sometimes distracted themselves from things they didn’t want to acknowledge. Maybe that’s what I was doing, but thinking about Melody would not bring her back. When it looked as if everyone else was finishing up with the pizza, I turned to Martin, then remembered Bubba.

“I know what y’all are thinking,” Bubba said. He was the only one still eating. Bubba was chubby, but a recent growth spurt kept him from being fat. His dark hair fell over his blue eyes as he looked around the room. “Y’all are gonna talk ’bout Melody gettin’ herself kilt and I’m a kid and shouldn’t be hearin’ bad stuff.” He popped a pepperoni into his mouth and swallowed it without chewing. “But remember that I’ve already seen and heard a bunch of bad stuff. I was kidnapped and I know all ’bout what happened to Glenda. Ever’body does.”

Glenda Dupree had been the movie star neighbor who lived in Fairbanks, next door to my farm. Bubba and Hill lived on the other side of her, and Bubba probably did know all of the grizzly details of her murder.

“B’sides, if you shuttle me off to another room, I’ll just listen anyways,” he said. “And if I can’t hear it now, then I’ll be learnin’ ’bout it soon e-nuff.”

I looked at Brent and Martin. Both shrugged in acceptance, but I hoped Martin would be tactful with his words.

“Here’s what I can say,” Martin finally said. “A call came in from a cell phone at one forty-six this afternoon. The caller, an unidentified male, said there was a body in the Harpeth River. The approximate location was three hundred yards before the river flows under the Hwy. 70 bridge, just before it makes a bend. We dispatched emergency services and near the location the caller mentioned, we found the body of a young, blond woman. From the series of red and blue stars tattooed across her right shoulder, we tentatively identified her as Melody Cross.”

My heart sank. Up to now I had been holding out hope that the body that had been found was someone other than Melody. But those stars had been photographed hundreds of times. Almost everyone on the planet would recognize them. I turned to Brent as the tears I had been holding back finally ran down my cheeks.

“Beyond that we don’t know much for certain,” Martin continued. “I can speculate that the cause of death was drowning, but can’t confirm that yet. How she got into the river, or where, we don’t know. The sheriff has assigned the case to me and I guarantee we’ll find the person who did this.”

I snuffled and turned to see the misery on everyone’s faces. Even Bubba looked sad. Darcy looked so miserable that I disentangled myself from Brent and went to hug her.

“There is one more detail.” We all stared at Martin as he said, “Melody didn’t have any clothes on.”

Half an hour later Darcy, Brent, and Bubba went to the living room to play Go Fish. I knew the game would be a distraction for Bubba, but it upset me that they would play something so shallow at a time like this. Jon had left a while ago to check on the horses. Even though I was upset, I was glad Bubba had left the room, as I had questions to ask Martin that I didn’t want Bubba to hear.

“Your best guess, Martin, and don’t pull any punches for me. Was Melody murdered?”

His gaze across my kitchen was wise beyond his years. He was twenty-seven, although his doughy cheeks made him look younger. “Don’t know, Miz Cat. Don’t know. The medical examiner in Nashville will look at her soon. Tonight maybe.”

“But why was she in the river without any clothes? Actually, why was she in the river at all? It’s November. It’s not like she was going for a swim.”

Martin reached over to clasp my hand. “I don’t know the answers right now, but I imagine we’ll find out in good time. I wish I could make this all go away, but I can’t. Now, I’ve got to git going. I promised Mama I’d stop by the store and bring her some milk.”

Despite my grief I almost snorted. Mama Giles did a good job of keeping her grown-up boys mashed down tight under her thumb. “Mama” was healthy, worked a full time job and was in her middle sixties. She jogged, played tennis, and a year ago hiked fifty miles of the Appalachian Trail. It would be different if she asked Martin to bring her the milk as a favor, or if Martin, as a good son, had offered. My guess was that Mama Giles had pulled the “poor widowed me” card and wheedled the grocery run out of Martin. She probably didn’t even need the milk.

Martin said his goodbyes and I went into the living room where a hearty game of poker was now going on.

Brent saw the look on my face and jumped in before I could get there. “Bubba was just teaching us a new game, weren’t you Bubba?”

Bubba was teaching Brent and Darcy to play poker? This entire day had made me feel as if I had fallen down the rabbit hole right along with Alice, and landed upside down. My mind couldn’t keep up with it all. I did, however, hone in on the fact that they were using marshmallows instead of poker chips. My marshmallows! My special gourmet,
handcrafted
marshmallows. These were shaped like gingerbread men and were one of the secret ingredients in my signature hot chocolate. Plus, they were expensive––as marshmallows go.

It was all too much. I grabbed my coat and headed to the barn. Jon was nowhere to be found, so I assumed he had gone up to his apartment. I walked down the aisle and smiled at Gigi, who bounded up to meet me. I patted Wheeler’s wide, yellow head and watched the geldings, Bob and Petey, nap in their stalls.

Sally’s stall was at the end of the barn and I could see a piece of paper tacked to it.

SHE WAS LIKE THIS WHEN I CAME OUT. VITAL SIGNS NORMAL. THINK SHE IS BEING PSYCHIC? WILL CHECK ON HER ABOUT MIDNIGHT. JON

I peered into Sally’s stall to see her looking as forlorn as a young mare could look. She was on the ground, feet tucked under her like a cat. Her head hung, her ears flopped, and her eyes looked as if she had taken on the pain of the entire world. I opened the stall door and slid inside.

“What’s up big girl?” I asked. Sally flicked an ear in my direction, the only indication that she was aware I was there. I sank to the floor and hugged her face, Sally’s warm breath softly blowing into the crook of my elbow.

We stayed like that for what seemed an hour or more, but was probably only about five minutes. Eventually I scooted away from her, and rested my back against the stall wall. It was never safe to be sitting on the ground when a horse was near, but tonight I didn’t care. It was just too much effort to stand up. My iPhone buzzed in my pocket. Nine PM. It was a reminder Darcy had programmed into my phone to get the next day’s TO DO list together, but I didn’t have the energy. My best friend was dead. Nothing else mattered.