A Whisper of Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

“I don’t know what that tranquilizer will do,” she cautioned.

  “I’ll give Cervelli a call when we’re out of here. He can deal with the mess if he gets here before someone else does.”

  Will delayed long enough to turn the key in the lock behind them. “If anyone beats Cervelli here, they can have fun figuring out how their man was felled behind locked doors.”

  * * *

  They departed Florence with as little fanfare as they’d arrived. Stars glittered through a light mist as they left the uncertain lighting of city streets behind them. Trouble, oddly enough, elected to ride in front of him when there was little to be seen. The cat lifted his chin to the wind and his green eyes gleamed. He appeared to be enjoying himself but, then, he usually did. Especially when tackling bad guys, it would seem.

  Will had called Cervelli and advised the official that his source on a possible sighting may have been accurate. The hay and oats were evidence a horse had been ensconced in the government-owned villa but was no longer there. Will didn’t mention the downed man. If he were there and found—dead or alive—Cervelli would be calling him back with questions. He’d have answers. He just hadn’t decided what answers he’d give.

  For now, he eased the motorcycle through the night, using his phone’s GPS to find his way to the tiny, rural villa he’d rented online the day before. For the first time in their travels, he felt Liz allow herself to lean against him. It had been a long day. He hoped he was blocking her from most of the mist, else she’d be chilled through by the time they reached their destination.

  “What if I killed him?” Liz spoke quietly through the wireless.

  Everything inside him stilled at the sound of her voice. When feeling surged back, it carried a need to protect and to heal. And he didn’t know how. All he had to offer was the truth.

  “There’s no fault in what you did. Some of the choices we make are like that, split second and defining. A syringe in his back or a bullet through my gut.”

  “I’ve never had to make a choice like that. And, it wasn’t really, I didn’t stop to think if I should or I shouldn’t. I just acted.”

  “That’s true for most decent humans in that kind of situation. They do what needs to be done, then question themselves after.”

  He sensed more than heard her sigh, then felt her turn her head and lay her cheek against him. The need to protect strengthened.

  * * *

  I find this a cozy little place. Villa seems a grand name for the neat two stories but there is doubtless an entertaining history here in the beamed ceilings and stone walls covered with plaster. The kitchen is clean as a pin and seems to be as up-to-date as any human could ask. All I hope is that it’s well-stocked and I’m gratified when we find it is indeed. Will sends Liz up to shower while he pours two glasses of wine and uncovers a tray of fruits and cheeses and cold sliced meats, compliments of the house. I’m sure rent for this place was sufficient nicker to have paid for every morsel in spades.

  Will and I take a peek at the patio out back, although I don’t think that’s the correct terminology. Hmmm…how did that hotelier refer to it? A terrazzo? Ah, yes, that was it. The equivalent of terrace in America, although we tend to think of a terrace as something rather grand while here it appears to refer to any outside space used for humans to relax.

  When Liz emerges, Will sees her settled with her wine in a comfortable chair outside and places the artfully arranged platter on a small table. There’s no lighting in the overhead arbor but fairy lights twinkle in dozens of small trees that provide a natural barrier to the hills beyond. I can’t be certain but do believe I detect the distant yip of a fox or two on the prowl. I hope the hens I hear murmuring in alarm are behind safe barriers.

  When Will takes himself off for a quick wash, I settle on Liz’s lap. She seems in need of comfort and, while that isn’t my greatest talent, I’ve been known to soothe a female human or two.

  * * *

  Will came back too soon, smelling of soap and of man. She wasn’t ready. She still felt rattled. She knew a person could be dead because of her, knew she should be filled with regrets. She wasn’t. Nor was she proud or happy. She felt empty and raw and needy. Of all the things she felt, needy was the least welcome.

  To her relief, Will said nothing. He sat and picked up his glass of wine and drank. The silence between them soothed instead of stressed. That was something she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t a person who needed others…hadn’t been for a long time.

  She sipped her wine, content, until the cat stood in her lap and stretched and abruptly leapt toward the edge of the terrace.

  “You haven’t eaten anything,” Will noted.

  “No,” she admitted. “I haven’t.” And the wine was going to her head.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.” And she would. She knew she would.

  And then Will was somehow standing in front of her, holding out a hand to her. She rose, more gracefully than she would have thought possible with wine on an empty stomach. For a moment, she hoped he wouldn’t kiss her, but he did, and she found herself glad for it. But, even so…

  When she stepped back, he let her go without a word.

  She felt his gaze on her as she went inside. Knew his thoughts followed her up the stairs to the room where she’d placed her bag. For the first time in a long, long time, she really didn’t know whether she wanted to sleep alone.

  Chapter Nine

  A lake edged the stud farm on one side and low peaks surrounded on the other three. Sunlight, which had been scarce in the early morning hours, glinted on the still waters of the lake. Will stopped the bike at the crest of one of the peaks and Liz gazed down in wonderment. Instead of the sprawl of sheds and stables so prevalent in the States, even in large facilities, there was one massive stable, painted a faded denim blue although there was probably a fancier name on the paint cans. The roof looked like slate but she couldn’t be sure. White wood fencing enclosed large pastures and smaller paddocks, each filled with elegant looking horses, still sleek from summer, and not yet in their winter coats. The panoramic view took Liz’s breath away. Even Trouble looked impressed.

  “It’s incredibly beautiful. The whole thing.”

  Will smiled at her. “It is, even though it’s one of the smaller of the Ventasso farms.”

  “Do all the farms in this area breed Ventassos?” She hadn’t taken the time to look up the characteristics of the breed the way she had Milo’s after his DNA was verified.

  “Most of them, yes.”

  “What do they look like? I can’t tell from here.”

  “Unlike the Catria which tend to be small, sturdy horses, the Ventasso range from fourteen to sixteen hands, depending upon the strength of Maremmano versus Lipizzan blood they carry.”

  “Lipizzan,” she breathed in wonder.

  Will looked less than thrilled. “Which means the Ventasso could either be calm and sturdy like his Maremmano ancestors or bold and headstrong from his Lipizzaner side. When we find him, you may have your hands more full than you signed on for.”

  Liz felt her heart lighten. “I’ll manage. And I like that you said when, rather than if, we find him.”

  “We’ll find him.” Will’s tone was assertive but his expression turned grim.

  Liz wondered if he was thinking how close he came to being shot. Or if he wondered whether they’d left a dead man behind them. She wouldn’t ask.

  “Let’s go talk with the owners. Hopefully they have something helpful to share.” He didn’t look hopeful. “I’d like to know we didn’t waste our time coming here.”

  “Wouldn’t they have been questioned already?”

  Will finally smiled. “I like to ask my own questions, my own way.”

  * * *

  Signor Basilio carried himself like a young man but the deep grooves in his cheeks gave his age away. His hat covered his hair but his moustache was completely white. At first meeting, Liz judged him at least seventy although he could
as easily have been eighty or more. His wife, Signora Miriam, appeared a decade or two younger which made Liz wonder if perhaps a life spent in the wind and the sun had simply weathered the man past his years.

  Regardless, she was charmed by both from the first moment. They seemed so in tune with one another. They were even dressed similarly in loose trousers of some sturdy brown cloth and white, long sleeve shirts buttoned neatly to their necks.

  Will had introduced himself, providing documentation from Cervelli who, perhaps, was higher up in the government than Liz had realized. Signor Basilio looked impressed as he refolded the papers carefully before handing them back to Will and led the way into the barn, to the stall that had been the stallion’s.

  “Tell me what you would see. What you would hear from me.” Even with a stumbled word or two, Signor Basilio spoke English markedly well.

  “The stable in general and your observations from the moment you realized the stallion was gone.”

  Signor Basilio’s tone held a deep sadness as he relayed what he’d undoubtedly told authorities more than once. Despite the repetition, he didn’t shortcut his words but created a complete picture for them.

  “We have one team which feeds the mares and colts in the fields, ensuring water tubs have not become soiled or stale and walking fences to look for hazards. Another which cares for the barn, feeding, grooming, and keeping stalls cleaned. Dante manages the team for the barn. He was told of the empty stall and came to me at once. We searched everywhere thinking someone had not properly secured the latch. Our Sognatore was nowhere to be found. It was my Miriam who thought to check the security cameras and saw the film of strangers. I then called the polizia.”

  As Will asked a few more questions, Liz slowed her steps and prompted Signora Miriam to talk as Will had asked her to do. She wasn’t sure what benefit it was to have the couple talk separately but she hadn’t any objection to it.

  “Tell me about the stallion,” she said. “I’ve only heard of the breed, but what I’ve heard is impressive.”

  Signora Miriam’s face lit. “Sognatore is magnificent. Already a giant but young and not through growing tall and strong. So proud with his head tossing and his prancing.”

  “And fiery perhaps.” Liz thought of the conversation she’d had with Will on the mountainside about the bloodlines that flowed through the Ventasso.

  The older woman chuckled softly. “A bit. But gentle as well. No one holding the lead would realize he did not stand placid and still unless they should look at him. Sognatore could dance in place and never once pull on his handler.” Her eyes darkened. “I worry for him. That someone will hurt him or break his spirit. He knew he was special here with us.”

  “He sounds special,” Liz agreed softly,

  “To all of us. I am so glad Augustin returned home to visit his family before this tragedy. His heart would be broken.”

  “Augustin?”

  “Sognatore’s groom. Every day he takes the young stallion to his paddock to exercise, then brushes him until his beautiful ebony coat gleams in the sunlight.”

  Beside Liz, Trouble hissed. Liz glanced around but saw nothing disturbing and returned her attention to Signora Miriam. “Was the stallion ridden?”

  The black cat snagged a claw in the leg of Liz’s jeans. Startled, she stared down at him, barely hearing Signora Miriam’s answer. Her mind raced back over the exchange and then she stilled. “Wait,” she said softly, not wanting to alarm Signora Miriam. “the groom. He’s not here?”

  “Ah, no, and a good thing. He adores Sognatore. But, perhaps, had he not left for a visit home, this terrible thing would not have occurred. He hovers over his charges, does Augustin. I do not blame him but he would blame himself.”

  “That would be sad,” Liz agreed, her mind no longer on the conversation. “For him to feel at fault for the crimes of another.”

  “Exactly so,” Signora Miriam agreed.

  “But I’m sure his temporary replacement was also very careful,” Liz probed carefully.

  “Oh, yes, they’re all careful. Dante split his care over the others. It was to be for a few days only and would not add too heavily to any one of their responsibilities.”

  “When will Augustin come back to the farm? It will be sad for him if the stallion has not yet been returned by then.”

  Signora Miriam paused in thought, then said, “I am not sure. I had thought it was yesterday he was to come back but I must have mistaken the date. I should ask Dante. It would be cruel to let Augustin learn by some careless word what has come about.”

  Will and Signor Basilio stood at the end of the hall in the wide doorway. The farm owner talked while Will jotted in the small leather-bound notebook Liz had noticed him studying from time to time. She glanced from them down at Trouble who sat on his haunches at her feet. He looked pleased with her.

  * * *

  This one just might be trainable. She seems willing to listen and thinks with a fair amount of swiftness for a human. While she may not be as quick on the uptake as my Tammy Lynn, she’s got potential. The male of the two is very sharp but less inclined to listen. I would suppose that’s because he’s been on his own cracking cases far too long for change to be easy. Still, he’s showing progress.

  It will be interesting when the three of us can compare notes and agree upon a direction. I’m confident that the next step should be a look back at the other facilities and their staff. This case has had its bits and bobs of excitement but now is when it becomes a stimulating pursuit of clues. Such is my forte, although I have more than proven my competence when fisticuffs ensue.

  Signora Miriam moves to stand at her husband’s side. It’s clear the bond between them is strong. And Liz and I wait with patience as Will gleans as much knowledge as possible from this visit. We won’t, after all, return here unless we have the missing stallion in tow.

  We’re offered and accept a light luncheon and then we are on our way once again. I’m surprised when we return to the villa where we passed the previous night. I believe Liz is as well. The villa has been restocked by some mysterious someone with a fresh tray of pastries on the counter. Liz pours me a generous bowl of cream, then creates coffee for herself and Will. And, yes, create is the most accurate term. There is no brewing system, no little pods.

  Liz unearthed a small, three-pieced pot of heavy silver but how she figured out the workings of it is beyond me. Cold water goes into the bottom piece, the ground coffee into the middle section and the finished coffee ends in the top third. The scent is enticing but I shall pass in favor of this nice, rich cream.

  Will retrieves his leather-bound pad from his duffle and suggests they compare notes as I’d hoped would happen.

  Liz agrees but adds, “I’m pretty certain Trouble has unearthed a game-changer.”

  Trainable, indeed.

  * * *

  Will lifted his small cup and closed his eyes at the aroma of the coffee. Stateside the taste would be likened to Espresso. For Europeans, it was simply coffee, regardless of the world class excellence.

  “You’ve used a Moka pot before,” he guessed.

  “I haven’t, as a matter of fact, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out. So, bring me up to date on what Signor Basilio had to say.”

  “I’d rather hear Trouble’s game-changer.” He could sense more than see Liz’s hesitation. “What?”

  “I think you should start. What we have to tell you could prove monumental. It could also take us down a wrong road if we’re not careful to review all the facts at hand.”

  Will was impressed. More than impressed. Most people, in any line of work, were eager to take the lead in a potentially grand reveal. “Okay.” He flipped open his notebook and skimmed through until he found the place where he’d noted Liz and Signora Miriam had dropped behind and begun their own conversation. “The Signore didn’t have much to tell the authorities beyond what he told us. He feels the police did a thorough job. They sifted through the stall shavings and fou
nd a cigarette butt which scared the hell out of Signore Basilio.”

  “Rightfully so.” Liz shuddered “Just the thought of all those beautiful horses caught in a barn blaze from sheer ignorance or lack of caring. Criminal in either case.”

  “They also found a syringe in the hallway which bore traces of a tranquilizer.”

  “Doesn’t that bring back fond memories,” she said with a weak grin.

  Will found himself glad she could at least joke about the trouble they’d had in Florence.

  “Could it not have belonged to the stud farm?” she questioned. “I mean, I know Signore Basilio wouldn’t like to think of one of his own employees being so careless but is it possible?”

  “He said the police asked the same thing. He was able to provide proof that neither the needle nor the syringe was among the brands that he purchases although the drug is. And he was adamant that the gauge of the needle was wrong, much larger than was necessary for the thin serum. He didn’t argue that an employee could drop something unknowingly but is totally convinced that no one in his employ would use that size needle. Their training is long and thorough before he gives them access to the animals. And their jobs depend on not making the kind of mistake that causes an animal any more discomfort than must be endured for the sake of their health.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing else was found. The horses are fed promptly at seven each evening and feed containers are checked at nine to ensure everyone has eaten. Food is not allowed to remain overnight. The pair on the security tapes stepped into view a minute before eleven. Morning feed is also promptly at seven so there was time for the stallion to be removed while everyone slept, confident that the barn was secure.”

  “But it wasn’t,” Liz murmured, staring into her own coffee cup, now empty. When she looked up, she said, “The men in the photographs. They didn’t lead a horse.”