Rescue Me: a horse mystery

by Toni Leland

  Julia turned away from the sight. Dillon’s face was flushed and his jaw was set.

  His words came out on a growl. “How the fuck could anyone do that? How do you find the bastards?”

  Casey shook her head. “The sheriff is tracking down the owner of the property, but I suspect it was someone else, someone who couldn’t take care of her anymore and just found a place to put her.”

  Julia’s own anger replaced her sorrow. “Why wouldn’t they bring her to a place like this?”

  “Most people don’t have a clue that rescue operations exist and, besides that, pride plays a big part in it. They don’t want to admit they’re down on their luck, and the horses sure won’t tell.”

  Dillon cleared his throat, his voice more calm. “You could advertise your services.”

  Casey snorted. “Costs money, and I don’t have none to spare.”

  He didn’t reply, but Julia saw a thoughtful look appear in his eyes.

  Casey heaved a tired sigh. “Well, do you want see the rest of it?”

  “Lead the way.”

  They made the rounds of the big barn, then went outside into the crisp air. The sky was dull gray, promising more snow. Casey leaned on a fence rail and gestured toward a dozen thin horses grazing on what was left of the dry grass.

  “These are the only survivors of one of the worst abuse cases in history. We got ’em up here all the way from Texas. A trucking company donated their services to haul them, or I’d never have been able to take them.”

  Julia waited, sure they’d hear the story. A few minutes later, she wished she hadn’t.

  “Some woman vet down in the Panhandle had what she called a rescue ranch on about eighty acres. She’d lost her license for several counts of malpractice and neglect, but few states monitor rescue operations. I know I bitch about people reporting me, but if it hadn’t been for someone reporting her, we wouldn’t have even these twelve.”

  She was silent for a moment, then continued. “Authorities found thirty dead horses in various stages of decay, and about twenty starving dogs.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “In a way, I’m glad I didn’t go down there. Not sure I could have taken it.”

  Julia’s horror made her voice squeak. “What happened to the woman?”

  “She was arrested on multiple counts of abuse and neglect, and I think her trial starts right after Christmas. I might go down as a witness.”

  They stood silently, watching the horses move slowly from one meager grass patch to another.

  Dillon broke the silence. “Casey, I’d like to help. Tell me what you need and I’ll see if I can get it.”

  Casey’s eyes glistened with tears and her chin trembled. “It’d be nice if you could arrange for this horror to stop.”

  While Casey measured grain into feed buckets, Julia squatted down and began separating a bale of hay into flakes, the Texas horror story churning through her head. How many other atrocities were happening around the country? What was the matter with these people? Surely it couldn’t be just economics. There had to be a corrupted gene in their makeup.

  She rose and piled the flakes into a cart. “Do you have any idea how many rescue programs there are in the country?”

  “I’m no expert, but I’d guess there are at least two big ones in each state, you know, the ones that advertise and have lots of funding and support.” She scooped up another measure of grain. “Places like this, who knows? One thing’s for sure, we’re all overflowing and the victims just keep showing up.”

  “Is there a national organization you can hook up with to get some exposure?”

  “I don’t know. I suspect so, but I’ve never had time to find out.”

  Julia glanced down the aisle to where Dillon stood in front of the new mare’s stall, talking on a cell phone. His outburst had surprised Julia, but on later consideration, she thought it was probably just a natural reaction to the horrifying situation. But his anger had almost been more than believable. She shook her head and looked down at the hay cart. What did she know about him, or what might be believable?

  Casey’s tone was sly. “Nice fella ya got there.”

  “He’s just a friend. I only met him a week or so ago.”

  Casey grinned wickedly. “Well, I’d do him!”

  Heat rushed across Julia’s face and she laughed. “Be my guest.” She turned away, thinking about the idea of a physical relationship with Dillon. She gulped. That would be the logical progression if she continued to see him. Could she handle that? She took a deep breath. Right now? No.

  Casey’s voice rang out. “Dillon, is she finished eating? I need to check her feet.”

  He waved, then before anyone could react, he stepped inside the stall.

  “Shit.” Casey started down the aisle at a brisk trot, Julia right behind her.

  Dillon emerged from the stall leading the mare by her halter, talking softly and staying close by her head. Casey slowed a bit, then stopped. Dillon stroked the mare’s neck and patted her shoulder, then he looked up.

  “Where do you want her?”

  “I’ll be damned. Weak as she is, I had a helluva time catching her last night. What are you, some sort of horse whisperer?”

  Dillon grinned, clearly embarrassed. “Nah, she just likes me.”

  Casey moved off to the side and grabbed a lead rope off a hook. Suddenly the mare jerked her head and tried to rear, but Dillon held firm.

  “Whoa, whoa.” He backed the mare two steps and she calmed down. “Put the rope away. She’s not ready to be tied up again.”

  Astonishment flooded Casey’s features. “Lord, I never thought of that.” She carefully and quietly returned the lead rope to its hook, then shook her head. “Been around horses all my life and I still learn something new every day.”

  Julia had been watching the exchange, but more interesting was Dillon’s confidence around the animals. He knew more than “just enough to be dangerous.” She caught his eye and smiled. Well, well, we all have our secrets, don’t we?

  Chapter 18

  The owner of A to Z Trucking muttered under his breath as he shuffled through some files on his cluttered desk. “Damn it, I just saw the thing.”

  Dillon patiently watched his boss. He came across as a good ol’ boy, but Dillon had learned there was more to the man than one could see. Dillon glanced around the small office, his gaze stopping on a photograph of his boss receiving some sort of award from two executives in thousand-dollar suits. After a life-long career in sensitive electronics, Al Zerwer had found his niche and organized a transportation company dedicated one hundred percent to the safe shipment of delicate instruments. A company that fit Dillon’s needs to the letter.

  “Okay, here it is.” Zerwer looked up. “Now, what do you need?”

  “Don’t you have some family in the feed business?”

  “Yeah, my cousin Joe. Why?”

  “I’m trying to help out on a horse rescue farm over in Illinois. The owner’s in dire straits.”

  Zerwer scribbled a name and address on the back of a business card and tossed it across the desk. “Don’t know as he’ll spring for anything. He’s a real grinch.”

  Dillon tucked the card in his shirt pocket. “Thanks. Is the load for Vermont on schedule?”

  “Friday at six a.m.”

  Dillon rose and headed for the door. “Thanks, Al. See you then.”

  Outside, he climbed into the rental car and checked the address of the feed company, then headed for the ramp to the interstate. As he whizzed along, he thought about Ginger and the fragile personality hidden beneath her rough exterior. She’d been moved almost to tears by the mare’s plight, and with good reason. But a woman who’d seen hard times seldom let emotions take over. He’d also noticed her hands. They weren’t the hands of a woman who’d done menial labor. The skin was soft and smooth, and her fingers were long and elegant. He could visualize those fingers with expensive jewelry and elegant salon manicures. And of course, there was also the issu
e of her eyes. Right after he’d noticed that one of her eyes was green, he’d made a point of looking directly into them the next time they’d met. Both eyes were again brown. She was wearing colored contacts, but why? Green eyes fit her complexion better than brown.

  Deep in thought, he flew past his exit and swore under his breath. Thinking about Ginger seemed to affect his driving, but turning off the thoughts was not so easy. Something about her beckoned to him, appealed to his instincts to protect her. From what? Why did he feel that way? He shook his head and took the next exit, turning his attention to finding his destination.

  Franklin Feed Company’s huge grain silos rose behind the processing plant, and a strange odor drifted into the car through the heater. Dillon wrinkled his nose. Whatever they used to process the grain, it sure stank.

  A wiry man looked up from behind the service counter. “Help you?”

  “Need to see the manager, or owner—probably the owner would be better.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “He’s at lunch. Be back in an hour.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “What’s it about? You sure someone else won’t do?”

  Dillon glanced at the name embroidered on the man’s shirt, then grinned. “Well, Joe, I got a piece of paper here that says Joe is the owner. Must be confusing to have more than one.”

  “Okay, okay. What do you want?”

  Dillon pulled out his cell phone, pressed a button, then handed it across the counter. “Take a look at this.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, what happened?”

  “A month without food, that’s what.”

  A low whistle escaped the man’s lips. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Nobody knows, but apparently this shit goes on all the time. That’s why I’m here.” He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the counter.

  Joe looked at the image one more time, then handed the money back. “How can I help?”

  “A few bags of feed a month would be a good start. I’m volunteering at the Sunny Hills Equine Rescue over in Lakeville. I can pick up anything you can spare.”

  “Hell no, I’ll deliver it myself. I got a kid who rides, she loves her horses. Can’t imagine anything like this happening to them.”

  Dillon held out his hand. “I sure appreciate this. The farm is on Old Stagecoach Road off the main road through Lakeville, north of the interstate. The owner’s name is Casey Turner.”

  He turned toward the door, his thoughts already turning to his upcoming trip.

  Joe’s voice followed him. “Merry Christmas—and thanks.”

  In his motel room, Dillon kicked off his boots and flopped back onto the bed to stare at the dark television screen. How long had it been? He’d been chasing rumors and false leads for over a year, always coming up empty-handed. The answer was out there, but he was getting tired of the string of disappointments. Hauling himself into a sitting position, he opened his laptop and signed on to the Internet. It had been several days since he’d followed his searches. Maybe something new would show up.

  As usual, he began with searching his own name. Several new items appeared and he began scanning the articles for details. As news of the tragedy had aged, the recent stories were mostly repeats of the worst day of his life. He returned to the search fields and entered some other names and key words, but after forty-five minutes, he had no new information.

  He closed the computer lid and set it aside. Feeling unsettled, he rose and paced the room, hungry but not hungry enough to go out, tired but not tired enough to sleep. Lonely…just lonely. He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the picture of the emaciated mare again, shuddering at the memories it evoked.

  A minute later, Ginger’s voice came through and Dillon smiled, picturing her in the tiny apartment, maybe decorating the little tree.

  “Hey, it’s me, Dillon. Listen, I was wondering…since you have the week off, would you...ah, like to ride with me on this trip to Vermont?”

  Julia listened to the words and her stomach took a roller coaster plunge. She pressed the phone close against her ear, trying to gather her thoughts. A trip to Vermont meant overnight—several overnights. Was he…she barely knew him…what if…

  “Ginger? You there? Hey, listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  “No, really, you just caught me by surprise. I was—”

  “Call me tomorrow. I’m heading out on Friday at five a.m. to pick up the semi. If you decide to go, I can swing by your place around six-thirty.”

  Julia was at a loss for words. So far, her life had been one of pretense and, in the constraints of everyday life, the charade had been fairly easy. But hours of one-on-one with someone she liked as much as Dillon could prove to be her unraveling.

  “I’ll call you. I need to check with Casey. She might be really short-handed during the holidays.”

  “Right, well, talk to you tomorrow. Good night.”

  Julia set the phone aside and stared out the window into the dark. She bit her lip. How long had she known him? Only a couple of weeks and a dinner date. Long enough to take a chance on this? She wasn’t so sure. If she refused his invitation, would that send a message which would jeopardize any possible relationship with him? If she did go with him, what would that jeopardize? She did want to spend the time with him and get to know him, but was it fair not to give him the same opportunity? How would he feel if he knew she was a fugitive, a fake, a liar? She turned away from the window, a chill crawling over her skin. On the other hand, disappearing with a strange truck driver could turn her fake story into a true one.

  One way or the other, she had to change her life. First thing in the morning, she’d take the bus to Granite City. Before she made any decisions, she needed to find out more about Hector Dillon.

  She picked up the phone again and dialed.

  “Bud, it’s Ginger. Something’s come up and I need to go to my cousin’s place in Michigan. I’d like to leave tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. Have a good time with your family, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.”

  “Thanks, and tell your wife I really appreciate the dinner invitation.”

  Julia arrived at the library as the doors were being unlocked. She settled into a computer booth and began her search. Her jaw dropped as dozens of items appeared on the screen, all of them with “Hector Dillon” highlighted. The first hit sent shock careening through the pit of her stomach.

  “Secret Service Agent Killed in Botched Meeting”

  A U.S. Secret Service agent was killed yesterday in what can only be described as an operation gone bad. According to Federal sources, Agent Sal Marino and his partner, Agent Hector Dillon, were to meet with informers who allegedly had details about a counterfeit operation. When the two agents arrived at a small farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania, they walked into a barrage of bullets. Agent Marino was shot in the chest and Dillon suffered a bullet through the shoulder. Dillon was able to get his partner to the car and drive away, but Marino died in a hospital two hours later. Authorities are not elaborating, but an anonymous source believes the two agents were set up.

  The date on the article was two years ago.

  Julia sank back into the chair, unable to wrap her mind around what she’d just read. Dillon is a federal agent? Oh. My. God. She closed her eyes, trying to control her breathing. Of all the people she could have hooked up with, she’d managed to connect with the law. She straightened up, disgust curling through her head. She had no one to blame but herself. She knew the rules for disappearing and starting a new life. Keep it simple, trust no one, stay to yourself. So right off the bat, she befriends a cop.

  She glanced at the screen again, logical thoughts returning. Two years ago. So why was he driving a truck now? Was he working under cover?

  She sorted the hits by date and read the latest one, dated six months earlier.

  “Secret Service Admits Dead End on Shooting”

  Malcolm Rusher, the head o
f the Secret Service Counterfeit Division, today conceded that they’d been unable to uncover any further information about the shooting of Agent Sal Marino. Key individuals in a South American counterfeit ring have apparently moved out of the Pennsylvania area following the shoot-out eighteen months ago. The other agent involved, Hector Dillon, recovered from his wounds and retired from the Department.

  Julia’s anger faded. These stories partially explained Dillon’s comfort with a solitary life on the road. It sure beat getting shot.

  She closed the browser and stood up. She didn’t really need to know any more—he was a real person. But she wasn’t, and that could be a problem.

  Outside the library, she inhaled the cold air sparked with a promise of snow. Ginger Green was just going to have to be very careful. But if she was taking a road trip, she definitely needed some new clothes.

  She closed her eyes, picturing Vermont under a mantle of white. Anticipation curled through her chest and she opened her cell phone.

  Chapter 19

  Dillon’s truck hissed to a stop in front of Julia’s apartment, and she peeked out into the dark. Yellow lights outlined the rig against the early morning darkness. She grabbed her duffel bag and locked the door behind her. As she walked toward the truck, she experienced a mild panic attack. What the hell am I doing? A moment later, Dillon’s wide smile calmed her nerves. He jumped down and walked with her to the other side of the cab, then took her bag while she climbed up into the passenger seat.

  She laughed. “Whew, it’s a long way up here.”

  He stowed the bag in the back of the cab. “Yeah, it’s kinda like flying.”

  He looked happy and relaxed as he walked around the front of the truck. She tried to picture him with a gun and a badge, tracking down bad guys. It was hard to imagine, but she’d seen proof that it was true. She pursed her lips. Unless he ever brought it up, she’d better not let on that she’d checked up on him. Probably not even then.