A Whisper of Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

  “But that feels like riding on someone else’s coattails.” Jana sounded pensive.

  “Not at all. If we’re lucky, we all have mentors and, from what I’ve heard of Ms. Hanna, you have access to one of the best. I’d take advantage of that if I were you. It’s the kind of opportunity very few ever get.”

  “Who was your mentor?”

  “My grandfather. He was a Connemara trail guide and breeder. It was Grand-da who taught me to listen to the horses and how to talk to them in Gaelic.” For Liz there always seemed a bit of magic in the Gaelic language where horses were concerned, a bit of magic in her grandfather as well. Her mother hadn’t cared for the bond the two shared. Liz was never sure if it was because her mother was so homesick or because her grand-da had her on a horse and learning when she could barely walk. It was that homesickness that brought them to America when Liz was fourteen and her brother twelve. That and a promotion in the transcontinental company her father worked for. Liz had longed to return but by the time she could afford it on her own, her grandparents had died. The thought of Ireland without them still hurt. But someday she’d go. Someday.

  She realized they’d walked a distance and both had fallen silent as they wove through the barns and the attached riding paddocks. Riding lessons were in progress in three of the five. Their steps had slowed as they passed and Liz was impressed by the glimpses she caught of the heart of the ranch. One instructor worked with a small group of young children. Another watched as several older men and women walked their horses in quiet circles around the perimeter of the paddock. Those, Jana whispered, were patients with early onset dementia. Each one of their families had seen clear positive changes in their loved ones thanks to the program. The third group wore military uniforms. Several had visible evidence of devastating injury. She sensed the others carried their wounds on the inside.

  Trouble hung with them as they moved away from the barn area but Liz thought him quieter than usual. He stayed on their heels when there were so many opportunities to leap ahead and scatter birds or play chase with a tiny rabbit or two. Out here, the ranch teemed with wildlife unfazed by the presences of grazing horses.

  Jana stopped at one of the pastures and propped her forearms on the top rail.

  “I love these rail fences,” Liz admitted. “So many places are going to hot wire.”

  “Hot wire has its uses. I don’t mind it and it works well in small pastures. With what Avery has out here though—these wide-open spaces filled with happy horses—it could be a hazard. When they all start running together, and they do, they lose their sense of boundaries. I’ve watched them veer time and again as they got near the visual of these boards. Hot wire can be hard to see.”

  After a moment, Jana pushed away and they walked on past another pasture with a scattering of what looked like younger horses. “These are the young’uns…yearlings to two-year-olds. Avery breeds no more than one or two each year from her stallion, Jack. Even so, we manage to pick up a couple more in rescues.”

  Liz would have been happy to linger but Jana walked on past two empty fields to a much smaller one. “And these guys are the twins. I’ve kept them quarantined out here. Tucker likes to be sure each new arrival is healthy enough to mingle with the others.”

  “Have these been? Healthy, I mean.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Negative on equine infectious anemia. No colds or signs of strangles but badly underweight with a dull coat. A guy who’d heard of Avery’s work with rescues called one evening. His neighbor died and the heir was letting them starve. Said his neighbor paid a pretty penny for them and swore they were well bred and smarter than most he’d owned.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he couldn’t stand to see them suffer so he paid the guy next to nothing but he didn’t have any use for horses and wanted to know if we’d come get them. I took the call and Tucker said sure so off I went.”

  “Twins are rare,” Liz murmured. “Since they were both tough enough to survive the hazards of birth and infancy, followed by near starvation after that, I’m sure they’ll thrive here.”

  Jana frowned. “They will.” There was determination in her voice. “And they’ve gained weight but not as much as I feel they should have. And they could be shinier.”

  Liz recalled Jana’s exchange with Tucker the evening before. “So maybe some lingering effects with parasites?” Liz thought the two looked pretty good but she always felt leaner was healthier and knew many horse owners didn’t agree with her.

  “Maybe, but nothing Tucker can’t fix.” Jana started to turn away, then stopped. “What’s Trouble doing?”

  As they watched, the cat picked his way through tall grass and approached the two horses who barely noticed his presence. One lifted his head in a moment of inquisitiveness but didn’t so much as snort before dropping it to graze again.

  After a moment, Trouble made his return to Jana and Liz and they started back the way they’d come. Liz glanced at him curiously and wished, not for the first time, that she could read his mind.

  * * *

  Without a doubt, both are the same light red color with no markings that I could see. Even from a distance, however, I could see they weren’t all that similar. Of course, twins can be very dissimilar. A closer visual strengthens my suspicion that these two aren’t twins. In fact, I rather doubt they’re from the same parents. I’ve done my homework on equine genetics and the bone structure of these two, from head to hoof to spine, are all very disparate. Twins might look different superficially but there would at least be commonalities of breed, if nothing else, in bone formation.

  I think it possible our Jana has been fooled but it seems a harmless enough trickery to convince someone to take on rescues. The trickster couldn’t have been sure how little this ranch cares about things such as bloodlines or breed registries because the intent is never to sell the horses they save.

  The greater likelihood, is that the original owner was the person taken in as it was him who ‘paid a pretty penny’. As they say, a fool and his money are soon parted. Of course, they also say one should not speak ill of the dead. Sigh. I do sometimes wonder the identity of these fonts of wisdom. Is it the same ‘they’ each time? A different ‘they’ for every ‘say’? Points to ponder.

  * * *

  Liz awakened before dawn with a nightmare vividly unfolding in her subconscious. Her mind had recreated the scene at the airport but with a different outcome as the Catria plunged to his death. Liz was helpless to hold him when the lead slid from her grasp and burned across her palm.

  Her eyes opened to the thudding of her heart against the wall of her chest. The cabin felt instantly claustrophobic. She flung the bedclothes aside and made her way to the door, fighting nausea.

  Strong arms caught her as she stumbled out, gasping for breath. For a moment, she fought the firm grip, then Will’s voice calling her name reached through the fog. She swayed as he pulled her close but nearly lost her balance as he thrust her behind him.

  Moonlight glinted on the pistol he aimed toward the cabin door.

  “There’s no one,” she gasped.

  “Trouble came in my window and pounced on my chest and then you screamed.”

  She shook her head and took a deep breath, pushing the dream away. “No one’s there.”

  Something in her tone must have reassured him. He slid the gun away and tucked her against his chest. For one sweet moment, she accepted his comfort, then stepped back. Will let his arms drop and she took a deep breath. “I’m okay. And I’m sorry. I don’t have many nightmares but when I do…” her voice faded.

  Still trying to get her bearings, she looked around. Trouble sat in one of the wooden rocking chairs. She picked him up and took his place, holding him loosely in case he was frightened and wanted to escape. No doubt she’d roused him in the tossing and turning beginning stages of her nightmare. During their short-lived marriage, her ex-husband had awakened her once or twice, not to save her from a bad dream, but because she was disturbing his sleep and,
unlike hers, his work was important. Trouble leaned against her and rumbled deep in his throat.

  Will took the other chair and they watched in companionable silence until the earliest light of dawn edged out the dark.

  Chapter Fourteen

  That morning two of Will’s team arrived at the ranch. Will had asked for and received permission to spend the day at Dirks’ and Avery’s dining table. At his request, Liz joined them. He saw her eyes widen at the array of laptops, file folders, and a shared printer.

  “This looks like cop central,” she murmured.

  “Cops wish.” He grinned as she took the chair he indicated beside him. He saw her lips quirk as she noted Trouble sitting regally on his other side.

  When she sat, the other two men reseated themselves. He introduced Jonas first, gesturing toward the gray-haired man built like a sumo wrestler across from him, then Carson who wore his wire-rimmed glasses with a studious manner that belied his deadly ability with a weapon when the occasion called for it. “And Stella is on the speaker phone. Gentlemen, Stella, this is Liz O’Neal.”

  Realizing they all had coffee and she didn’t, he poured a cup for her, adding the touch of cream that she preferred. He realized his men watched with interest as he served her. He met their gazes and they shifted their attention to the screens in front of them.

  He sat and pulled up a diagram from the shared data base they were all logged into. He waited until the three of them had time to study and come to their own conclusions about the timeline and pertinent information.

  Will had listed the horses in order of the date of their theft. The first stolen was at the top. Beside that horse was the name of the first murder victim, Billy Easterland, a co-owner of the animal.

  “Anything new with the Pentro?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact,” Stella responded, “I found something interesting. Mr. Easterland had an unfortunate predilection for playing the market with funds that didn’t belong to him. Despite a run of bad luck, he managed to pay back some very angry partners but how the money found its way to his account is still muddy.”

  “Good job. Keep digging for the source.” But Will knew that looking from the outside in could be a lengthy, sometimes impossible task. “I think we can agree that’s at least motive for a man to be involved in the theft of his own horse for the right sum.” Motive but not proof. Nor was the unexplained money in his account proof he’d profited from the theft of his own horse.

  The Catria with Nadine Dane was next. With no new information offered from any of the team, Will moved on to the Monterufolino. “Carson, you were looking into this one. Any bodies lying around? Any employees, family or, close friends missing?”

  “This one’s tricky, boss. The oldest son has a history of disappearing for weeks even months at a time. He’s gone again but none of the family is concerned—at least no more concerned than anyone would be when they’ve got a kid messed up with drugs.”

  Will grunted. Drugs took money. A lot. “What’s his name?”

  “Yovanney Marinoni.”

  Will typed quickly, adding the name to the document before asking, “Anything new on the Tolfetano?”

  “Nothing,” Jonas said.

  Will moved on. “And last we have the Ventasso and his groom, Augustin. And our two photographs of the actual thieves who I doubt to be in any way the brains behind this.”

  “There is exactly seven days between one theft and the next,” Liz offered.

  Will turned to look at her then back at his screen. After a quick calculation in his head, he leaned back in his chair. She was right and he saw what Liz must have realized as well. If there was to be another theft, it would be tomorrow.

  “Seven is a number associated with several superstitions,” Stella suggested. “Could the thefts be part of some kind of ritual?”

  Jonah lifted a brow. “Like the seven deadly sins?”

  “Or seven years of bad luck if you break a mirror?” Liz offered.

  Will’s lip quirked at her expression.

  “All I can think of is the Seven Valleys of the Bahá’i Faith.”

  They all turned to look at Carson.

  Will gave in and laughed out loud. “And all I can think of is Snow White’s seven dwarfs.”

  “Bashful, Doc, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, and Sneezy,” Stella said helpfully then chuckled. “Okay, so superstition and ritual were maybe far-fetched but anyone else have a theory on why the precise seven days?”

  “Maybe a timeline,” Liz suggested, “to get the stallions from point A to point B?”

  “Especially if you have a small operation or want to keep it small for control rather than money,” Carson said, his tone holding approval.

  “Taking that approach, day one for setup and execution of the actual theft and—assuming they can bypass typical methods—day two for an overseas flight to America.”

  “Flight? Similar to Stack’s operation?” Liz looked dubious. “I wouldn’t think that would be all that easy.”

  “It isn’t,” Will agreed, “but it can be done and is more often than you might think. There are several airports with equine only flights. Money talks.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Liz’s tone was droll. “Do you still think the Catria was shipped?”

  “I still think it’s feasible and perhaps easier on the animals but significantly slower. After taking that return trip with the Catria, I’m less inclined to view sea travel as the most efficient way to get a horse out of the country.”

  “Ok, so we assume air but that leaves five days unaccounted for.”

  “Hold up a sec,” Jonas suggested. “Yes, there’re enough airports with equine flights but don’t you think whoever we’re dealing with is likely to have his or her own plane?”

  “Hey,” Stella said, “I like how you think with the his or her. Women are as apt to have the smarts to do this as men.”

  “Just smarts?” Carson interjected. “How about stupidity?”

  “Nothing stupid if you don’t get caught.”

  “Ah, but they will,” Carson said silkily. “I can promise they will.”

  “Children,” Will called them to order, “back to Jonas’s thoughts with which I agree. I suspect they have their own plane and a private landing strip. Whoever’s behind this hasn’t invested all of this time and money to risk being caught for pinching pennies now.”

  “And still five days unaccounted for,” Liz reminded with a smile.

  She was, Will realized, enjoying the fray.

  “So, cross-country from the landing strip. Five days?”

  “No,” Liz looked thoughtful, “three days, max four. Leaving the fifth day for a return flight to Italy for the next theft.”

  She was, Will realized, good at thinking like a criminal. Or outthinking one.

  “Stella, this is your strong suit. Run projections on where you think they could be landing to where they might be going in three days. I don’t like the max. They won’t be that careless with timing.”

  “I’d hazard a guess that their entry point was in or near Florida as that’s where Milo popped up,” Liz suggested. “I wouldn’t think they’d deviate if they believe they’ve a well-laid plan.”

  “I agree. You have that, Stella?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

  “Carson? Jonas? Anything else?”

  “Just an observation,” Jonas offered. “We have three murders all with amateurish attempts to make them look like non-murders.”

  Will tapped the end of his pen lightly upon the table. “True. I could apply several points to that observation, the first being that amateurs can sometimes be more easily caught. The second is that they can also be more dangerous as they don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

  “And those scattered coins bother me. It appears that some kind of emotion got in the way.”

  “And emotion adds to their unpredictability.”

  “Point well made and something we all need to keep in mind,”
Will agreed. “Anyone else?”

  “Maybe one,” Carson spoke up. “If our timeline theory is correct, then we’re dealing with one team of two, maybe three men, rather than multiple sets. If so, that would make things a little less complicated.”

  “We’ll hope for that,” Will said with a nod.

  After a last glance around the room, Will signaled that the conference was over. Trouble stood and stretched as if his time had been, if not wasted, at least poorly used.

  * * *

  I recognize that this think tank style exchange is required by humans who are working a complex case in tandem. I also recognize that the humans are missing a link in this investigation and suspect it will be up to me to find it. As Will makes a move to close out the files he’s been perusing I place a paw upon his wrist. He gives me a questioning look but obediently withdraws his hand.

  That was easier than I expected and I give a purr of approval.

  Now to find the missing link amongst all five of these horses. Something Jana said niggles at the back of my mind. The Pentro is one of the few breeds completely indigenous to Italy. She didn’t say it of the others but is that because they aren’t or because she simply overlooked a detail or because the detail didn’t register with her at the time? She isn’t, after all, approaching her research in the same manner as I nor with the same information as I have at hand nor even for the same reason. Time for me to do some digging of my own—master sleuth style!

  * * *

  Liz raised her brows as Will stood without closing his laptop. She glanced at the black cat still perched in front of the screen. “Oh, you’re not really, are you?”

  “Trouble’s not done. I’ll come back for it later. Let’s go for a walk. I do my best thinking out of doors.”

  Liz didn’t try to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Nor did she try to deny the tiny burst of joy that came with stepping out into the sunlight at Will’s side. Theirs was an unexpected friendship unlikely to survive the solving of the thefts but she could enjoy it for now.