Gambling With the Enemy: Horses - Mystery - Suspense

by Toni Leland

  Zada pointed to an area beyond the arena, where several youngsters perched on their horses, waiting for the event to begin.

  “See the lady over there? The one with the dark hair? That is Faith Angelo. She is very nice. Dania likes her.”

  Samir nodded, but said nothing. He still thought the notion of horseback riding was a foolish one, but Zada had been determined.

  She spoke again. “There is another lady, Miss Rayder, the manager. I do not care for her. She is hard.”

  Samir thought about his discovery earlier that week. Hard, yes, but also very sharp, very intelligent, very driven. The loudspeaker echoed, sparing him from the necessity of small talk with his wife.

  Faith stood in the center of the arena, holding a microphone.

  “Good morning, and welcome to Easton Ridge Equestrian Center. Our show today is the first public event for some of our young riders. They will have a chance to demonstrate what they’ve learned. A schooling show is organized like a real horse show, except the riders do not compete against each other, only against their own skills–a little bit like a recital. All riders will receive ribbons for their accomplishments. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you enjoy the show.”

  Zada’s voice rose with excitement. “Look, there’s Dania! Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

  Samir turned his attention from the arena, and his heart swelled with love for the dark little girl sitting proudly on her pony. She looked calm and confident in her riding outfit, a purchase that had displeased Samir. He objected to the idea of his daughter wearing trousers. He did not want her to be anything like the brazen American girls in their immodest clothing. However, Zada had finally convinced him that the costume was a requirement for riding horses. As a compromise, Dania had been made to promise she would not parade around in any public place in the skin-tight riding breeches.

  Zada rose and headed toward the refreshment table, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He let his gaze wander over the crowd again, then turned his attention to the huge barn. The well-maintained white building had dark brown trim around the doors and windows. On the roof, a cupola formed a sharp outline against the sky, topped by a running-horse weathervane, frozen in mid-stride and motionless in the quiet air. Sorth of the barn, a small house sat at an angle, facing a large pasture fenced by weathered split-rail oak. A large pond sparkled in the sunlight, the water moving in swirls behind the ducks and geese scattered over the surface.

  Samir focused on the activity around the barn entrance for a moment, watching the instructor help a rider into the saddle. He briefly scanned the area for Zada, then turned his attention back to the property. Behind the main barn, a new-looking single-story building with several wide doors and many windows looked as though it might house an indoor arena. A huge blue tarp covered one corner of the roof. Just beyond the structure sat an old-fashioned four-door carriage house, with what appeared to be living quarters over the vehicle storage area. A wooden staircase rose on both sides of the building to a wide veranda that undoubtedly provided an expansive view of the property.

  Applause interrupted Samir’s concentration, and he looked back to the arena as a horse and rider left the ring.

  Zada settled down beside him. “Dania is next.”

  He accepted a plastic cup of steaming coffee and glanced at his wife. Her lovely face was flushed with excitement, and he smiled fondly.

  “Habibi, maybe you should take riding lessons, too.”

  She giggled. “I cannot help it, Samir. She is so happy.”

  Nostalgia softened her features, and Samir patted her hand. He felt sad that she’d had such a difficult time adjusting to life in the United States, even though she’d been with him many years. Though he’d been successful in continuing the traditional oriental carpet business started by his father, their lifestyle was simple and restrictive, compared to that of Zada’s youth. Here, she confined herself to the small Muslim community, resisting the luxuries and opportunities available to her, always living with the onus of being a foreigner on American soil, and wearing it almost like a badge. Occasionally, her strong nature rebelled, and she would ask him to take her home to her family in Yemen.

  Anger rose in his chest. He desperately wanted to make things right for her, and for Dania. He slipped a hand into his pocket and grasped the subha hidden there, his fingers moving methodically over the prayer beads as he silently asked for patience.

  Chapter 8

  Jess grinned at Dania perched on her pony.

  “Ready to show off?”

  The girl’s pretty features crinkled into a charming smile that turned up the corners of her exotic eyes, giving her the look of a pixie. Jess still couldn’t get used to the appearance of the black riding helmet over the white headscarf. The child stood out like a sore thumb amongst the other kids, and Jess’s initial concern for her welfare had been correct–the students basically shunned the young foreigner.

  Faith finished adjusting Dania’s stirrup, then patted the horse’s shoulder. “Okay, now you go out and show everyone what a talented rider you are.”

  Jess followed them out into the sunshine, and took a spot on the rail next to Faith. Dania entered the arena, and trotted her horse around in a tight circle.

  Faith shook her head. “Boy, no one would ever believe that girl’s only had three lessons.”

  The horse straightened out and headed toward the first obstacle–cavaletti poles spaced fifty inches apart. Dania gathered the reins to guide her pony over the pattern. Jess watched, marveling at the girl’s grace as she executed the obstacle with studied concentration.

  Faith stepped back from the rail as Dania finished the beginner course. “I think she could really go places. I’m going to start preparing her parents for that prospect.”

  Jess glanced at the Mahfoods, leaning forward in their seats, pride brightening their faces as they watched every movement their daughter made.

  “I doubt you’ll have any trouble convincing them.”

  Listening to the animated chatter of the older girls while they cleaned up their horses, Jess had to suppress a grin. Easton Ridge’s star students were critiquing the jumps.

  “Lex, I think that oxer was a little higher than usual. I mean, like, Tipper almost didn’t clear it. Did you have any trouble?”

  “Yeah, but I thought it was just ’cause I’m, like, riding a different horse. Let’s ask Faith.”

  Jess stepped out of the tack room and chortled. “Early in the season, girls. . .it’s not the jump or the horse.”

  Beth was defensive. “But, Jess, I’ve never had any trouble before!”

  Jess smiled indulgently at the girl’s petulant expression, remembering her own youthful excuses for messing up. She understood these two youngsters perfectly.

  “Don’t worry–you’re both headed for Brandford and you know it.”

  Beth’s face relaxed and she grinned. As the two girls walked away, eagerly discussing the biggest show of the season, Jess’s smile faded. A lot could happen before Brandford.

  The remaining spectators were gathered around the food table, enjoying the bright sunshine and listening to the students recount every jump, or quiver of a horse’s back.

  Jess headed toward Zada and her daughter. “Dania, you did a great job!”

  The girl responded with a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Miss Rayder. I cannot wait until I have my own horse. I know I will be able to ride much better!”

  Zada’s laugh rang with delight, then a wistful look crossed her face. “A girl and her horse are a team, much better at everything they do. It was the same when I was a young girl.”

  Jess couldn’t hide her surprise. “You ride?”

  “I learned when I was younger than Dania. I attended a private school where they had a fine stable of excellent horses.”

  “How exciting! Do you still ride?”

  A veil dropped over Zada’s eyes, and her tone cooled.

  “No. I am a married woman now.”

 
“But you’re in America! You can do any damned thing you want to!”

  Zada’s expression sent a chill across Jess’s shoulders.

  “Miss Rayder, America is your country–not mine.” She turned to Dania, whose demeanor had become subdued. “Go change your clothes. Here comes Papa.”

  “Miss Rayder? I am Samir Mahfood, Dania’s father.”

  Jess offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mahfood.”

  He gazed at her with hooded dark eyes, his expression pleasant, but somehow intrusive. “Please, call me Samir.”

  He turned to Zada and spoke quickly in Arabic, gesturing toward the car. She bowed slightly, then hurried after her daughter.

  “Miss Rayder, I would like to discuss my Dania’s riding lessons. Do you have some time?”

  “My Dania is doing well, yes?”

  Samir settled into the chair, taking care not to rumple the back of his suit coat. He smiled at the plain-faced woman sitting behind the desk.

  “Very well. She has a natural talent for riding, and Faith is quite excited about her progress.”

  Samir’s chest swelled with pride. “My wife is very happy with this. She does not have many social activities, except with the other wives from the mosque.”

  The familiar shadow of wariness on Jessica Rayder’s face reminded him that his ethnicity and religion were hot topics in world news. He quelled the rush of irritation that threatened to upset his purpose in the conversation.

  “During the lunch break, I walked around your beautiful property.”

  Her features tensed a little. “Yes, we were fortunate to find it.”

  “And you are prospering with the riding lessons?”

  “We’ve worked hard for our success.”

  Samir nodded, considering how best to proceed.

  “My wife has always loved horses. I am thinking about buying a farm for her, to give her something to occupy the time.”

  “It’s very expensive to operate a horse farm.”

  “It could be no more than any other business, could it?”

  “I think you’d be surprised. We’ve grown quickly in the past two years, but all it takes is one expensive disaster to–” She looked startled and abruptly stopped talking.

  “What do you mean, disaster?”

  Her eyes reflected the blunder, and she stammered. “Oh, nothing serious. . .you know, just a series of small things, cash flow. . .”

  He smiled, seeing her discomfort. “Ah, yes, of course.”

  Jess stood up. “If you do decide to buy a place, I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have about operations.”

  “Insha’Allaah. Thank you.”

  A feeling of purpose came over him, and his hand slipped into a pocket, seeking the prayer beads. There is a chink in the wall. An opportunity.

  The last jump had been broken down, the bright orange cones stacked neatly by the fence, and the food and debris cleared away. Faith flopped onto one of the folding chairs in the spectator section.

  “I am so tired! These kids keep getting younger and younger.”

  Jess chuckled. “Only last week, you told me you weren’t too old to compete anymore.”

  Faith rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now.”

  In the companionable silence, Jess thought about her near-blunder with Samir Mahfood. How could she have been so careless? Clients had a nasty habit of abandoning stables in financial trouble. She shook her head. And the damned fool seemed to think running a farm was no big deal.

  Faith broke the silence. “What did you think of Dania’s father?”

  “I only talked to him for a few minutes. He’s okay, I guess.”

  “Well, he makes my neck-hairs prickle.” Faith stared at the ground for a moment. “He obviously rules the family with an iron hand. Dania is a different child when he’s around. . .And Zada! I thought she was gonna grovel in the dirt, right there at the food table.” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine being so oppressed.”

  Jess nodded, thinking of the unfortunate conversation with Zada about riding. Some things in the world would never change, but both she and Faith needed to have some compassion and understanding.

  “You know, I didn’t think about it, but after 9/11, they must feel a little nervous about looking like the enemy.”

  Faith stood up and stretched. “Whatever. Dania’s father gives me the creeps. Thank God, I only have to deal with Zada on this shopping trip.”

  Jess took a deep breath. “What really happened with you and Bill?”

  Faith stared at her for a minute, obviously trying to come up with something plausible. Then, her shoulders drooped.

  “We’ve been going round and round for a while. He wants me to get a real job. This isn’t the first time he’s moved out.” She sounded unsure. “He’ll probably come back. He usually does.”

  Faith’s movements seemed wooden as she tried to act nonchalant. Jess had no solid proof that Faith had slipped back into her former self-destructive behavior, but the suspicion was growing by the day. How best to bring it up?

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Jess heaved a load of horse apples into the wheelbarrow outside the stall door. Picking stalls was therapeutic–no concentration required, just the mechanical, assembly line movements needed to sift through the sawdust. Uninterrupted time to think.

  She was still kicking herself for her indiscretion with Samir. Add Doris Troy’s chilly attitude at the show, and Jess might be faced with a sudden cash drain. Lexie seemed fine with riding Danny, but Doris had commented that he was an awfully large mount for such a small rider, and didn’t present a very flattering impression. Jess jammed the fork into the sawdust. Cripes, we hand over a sixty-thousand-dollar horse to a kid, and Doris is worried about aesthetics. Another load of manure landed in the cart, and she set the fork aside. At least during the hectic week before the mishap, she hadn’t gotten around to canceling the insurance on Danny. Thank God for small favors.

  She stepped out into the aisle and glanced at her watch. Where the hell is Faith? I’ve finished almost half the stalls. She wandered into the office, and had just poured a cup of coffee when she heard Faith’s voice in the barn. She set the cup down, and strode out into the aisle. Faith’s hair looked uncombed, still secured with the same headband she’d worn the day before. Large sunglasses obscured most of her face. Oh, hell.

  Jess cleared her throat loudly. “Well, nice of you to drop in.”

  “I overslept. You, on the other hand, obviously got out of bed on the wrong side.”

  Faith brushed past, shrugging out of her cardigan, and Jess smelled stale liquor in the wake. Okay, enough is enough.

  “Knock it off. You’re hung-over, aren’t you?”

  Faith whirled around, her jaw set, her lips forming a hard, thin line.

  “You just can’t let it go, can you? I have a cold, and I overslept. Period.”

  She turned and stormed into the feed room. Bin lids banged and cabinet doors slammed. Anger and sorrow curled through Jess’s chest. She couldn’t let even their long friendship jeopardize Easton Ridge.

  She moved quietly into the doorway. “We need to talk seriously.”

  “About what?” Faith kept her head down as she measured out grain.

  “Why are you drinking again? You’ve been dry for so long.”

  “I had two beers last night on the way home. What’s the big deal?” She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “You’re worse than Bill.”

  “I hate who you turn into when you drink–I don’t even know you. Is this why Bill left?”

  “Who knows? Who cares? Just let me get my chores done. I’m meeting Zada and Dania at noon.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re going home. I’ll finish up here.”

  Faith snatched off the sunglasses and glowered with bloodshot eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you’re in no condition to be around clients. We can’t afford to lose the Mahfoods b
ecause of your lack of self-discipline. I’m sure you know Muslims don’t drink. Do you think they’d appreciate having you around their daughter in your current state?”

  Faith stood stock still, her expression frozen into a mask of indignation and, for a moment, Jess thought the battle might continue.

  Faith slipped the sunglasses back on. “Fine.”

  She walked out the door, and Jess let out the breath she’d been holding. They’d have a real conversation about it later.

  “Faith sends her apologies. She’s sick today.” Jess grinned at Dania. “You’ll just have to settle for me.”

  Dania looked dubious, and a flicker of annoyance passed over Zada’s features, but she said nothing. After everyone settled into the farm van, Jess headed toward Waterbury. Her passengers were quiet, only murmuring to each other in their own language.

  This ought to be fun. She cleared her throat, determined to do the best she could.

  “Naomi Morton raises some of the finest sport horses in New England. I’m sure she’ll have something perfect for you, Dania.”

  In the rearview mirror, Dania’s dark eyes were unfathomable pools that gave no clue to what she might be thinking.

  Zada spoke. “We want the best for our daughter. Money is not a problem. I hope you will keep that in mind.”

  Hallelujah!

  Twenty minutes later, Jess pulled up in front of a white farmhouse flanked by two large red barns. Horses grazed in several pastures, separated by neat New England stone walls. A large pond shimmered beyond one of the barns. Jess imagined the scene blanketed in snow–a real life Currier & Ives.

  Naomi Morton had been in the horse business a long time, and her reputation for honesty and quality stock gave her an edge over dozens of other breeders in the region. If Zada couldn’t find the “very best” here, Jess was in trouble.

  Naomi came out to meet them, her solid body a testament to the hard work of caring for horses.

  Her sun-baked face crinkled into a smile. “Hi-ya, Jess. Nice to see you.” She turned to Dania and offered a hand. “I’m Naomi. You must be the famous rider, Dania.”