The Trouble with Horses

by Susan Y. Tanner

  He didn’t rush and her arms twined around his neck. She could feel the length of his body against hers, could feel his reaction to her, to the kiss. With a reluctance that bemused her, she pulled back enough to tell him, “I’m not sure I’m ready for much more than this.”

  He leaned his forehead to hers. “Do you want to be?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “I’ll take that. For now.” And he kissed her again.

  Chapter Nine

  My, oh, my! This place does seem to be in chaos this morning. Jake and Kylah sit outside the horse trailer with their mugs of coffee staring a bit glumly at the comings and goings. The arena is filled with what Kylah called day trippers, people who bring their trail riding and even their event horses, animals unused to the unorganized milling of crowds and the sounds of artillery and, therefore, a potential hazard to those around them as the day progresses. She has no intention of bringing her animals out of their stalls until the crowds are gone, which means she’ll be in the arena late tonight giving them their daily exercise.

  I sense her tension over the day ahead. It’s because of that and my watchfulness that I see her straighten as a figure in costume passes by. I get up when she does, prepared to follow, if only to alleviate the boredom of watching humans who haven’t a clue what they’re supposed to be doing as they try to find someone who can enlighten them.

  * * *

  “Ella? Ella Necaise?”

  The person hesitated and turned and Kylah saw she was right. It was Maisy McGuire’s partner. Kylah wasn’t sure what she was going to say but it didn’t seem right to ignore the grieving woman.

  Ella, dressed as Kylah in era-appropriate men’s attire, stopped and waited for Kylah to reach her. Her expression was controlled but her eyes were bleak and Kylah’s heart hurt for her.

  She touched the sleeve of Ella’s butternut brown uniform. “I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I appreciate that.” Her glance moved to Kylah’s cheek. “You still have a bruise.”

  “It doesn’t hurt.” And it didn’t. And no need for Ella to know her panicked arrival had sent that rock flying into her face. “Is there … is there anything I can do for you? To help you?”

  Ella looked lost and her words said as much. “I don’t know what to do.” She hesitated. “But, yeah, maybe. The investigators won’t let me have – they haven’t released Maisy’s body to me.” Tears brightened her eyes but she blinked to keep them from falling. “But our campsite – the barricade can come down now. They’re finished there. I’m going there now. You could go with me?”

  “Of course.” What a hard, hard thing to have to do alone, Kylah thought. “What about family or friends? Is anyone coming to help with arrangements?”

  “We don’t have family. At least none that will speak to us.” She stopped and took a deep breath. Kylah suspected she was realizing all over again there was no more us. “I’ve talked with a funeral service here. Maisy wanted to be cremated. We both wanted that for ourselves. I never imagined I’d have to deal with it so soon.”

  Ella turned away and started walking and Kylah glanced back at Jake to be sure he saw she was leaving the area and going with Ella. He gave her a nod, his gaze tracking to the cat at her heels.

  She caught up to Ella with a few long strides and they walked together in silence. The women’s campsite looked forlorn in the morning mist. The investigators could at least have returned to remove the barricade which lay as much on the ground as not. Ella compressed her lips at the scene and began rolling up the yellow tape in stoic silence.

  Kylah took it from her. “I’ll do that. You’ll want to check your belongings.”

  The other woman yielded the roll she’d started, her eyes not meeting Kylah’s. Kylah watched her duck into the tent and sighed. In a few moments, she had the tape rolled with a loop-back tie to keep it secure. Not a sound came from within the tent. Uncertain what to do next, she watched as the cat walked a blurred line of what looked like spray paint on the ground behind a small, crudely built table. Realization hit her with a chill as Trouble stirred a section of the line with a front paw.

  Kylah broke a branch from a low-growing bush and joined him in brushing back and forth across the outline of the young woman’s body who had died here so violently. Her partner had likely seen it already, but, even if she had, there was no reason for the woman to have to deal with it. Sheriff Mitchell, or someone, was going to hear from Kylah about this.

  There was little to do after that except wait for Ella to emerge. Trouble sniffed at the cold remains of a campfire and a kettle that appeared to hold some type of beans, cold and congealed.

  She hadn’t long to wait. Ella was composed as she stepped out of the tent. Her glance took in the campsite, touched upon the ground where Kylah and Trouble had done their best to obliterate the paint outline of her dead partner. But paint was paint and traces remained.

  “Thank you,” Ella said. Grief had etched its lines onto her face.

  “I noticed, of course, that you’re in uniform. Do you plan to go on with the reenactment?”

  Ella’s chin lifted. “Yes. I’m doing it for Maisy.” She hesitated, “And I don’t know what else to do. There’s nothing for me to go home to. It would be difficult to go back to work for now. I can’t concentrate. I thought I’d keep my vacation for the next week as planned, stay here until I can take Maisy’s ashes home.”

  A too-familiar bleakness swept through Kylah. “Would you like to move from here? We’ll help you.”

  Ella looked around. “No. Maisy liked this spot. I’ll stay.”

  “Tell me about her.” Kylah knew the need to talk about loss. “Tell me about Maisy.”

  For the first time, Ella’s expression lightened. The change was faint but it was there. She righted a toppled stool and brought Kylah another from inside the tent. They sat together and Ella talked, how they’d met, how they’d fallen in love. Kylah listened without judgement. She understood love. And she understood loss.

  “Maisy had never been in a reenactment. By the time we met, I’d become a little bit of a pro at it, at least the Indian-Settler ones. Those are most often pure massacres with one side or the other obliterated. And they’re a lot better organized than what I’ve seen here but I know this is the town’s first, so …” she took a long breath, no doubt, overwhelmed by the memories flooding her mind. “I was in one in her hometown and she came to watch. We ended up in the same bar after the last performance on the final day. I was still in uniform and a hot mess because it was the middle of summer, which sucks when you’re dressed in wool for these things but its prime time for visitors. Maisy’s a Civil War buff and she walked right up to me and started talking. Seems like we never quit talking.” Her smile held a deep sadness. “I’ll miss her forever.”

  Kylah thought about the way she mixed past and present tense when talking about her partner. It would be a while before the reality sank in and, yes, Ella would miss her forever. Kylah prayed she would also find the strength to move on and make a good life for herself. “Was this your first reenactment, together?”

  “No, we did a couple last year but Maisy wanted to get in on a Civil War one. This one popped up when she was online one day. She was so excited and talked me smooth into it. Not that it took much persuasion. I was game to try something different.”

  Ella seemed to run out of words. “People didn’t understand us. And they didn’t like us. But I don’t see why anyone would have hurt her. I just don’t.”

  “They didn’t like your lifestyle?”

  “That wasn’t even it. There are like two facets of reenactors. Maisy and I are purists. Some call us stitch counters.” She grimaced. “Those in the mainstream think we go overboard with our attention to authentic detail. Some purists try to push that preference onto others but Maisy and I,” she gave a little sigh, “we care about it for ourselves but what others do is their business.”

  “That’s why she was
already in uniform then?”

  “Yes, we’re always dressed out when we’re on camp site. We change to go into town and all, but here,” she looked around, “we’re in character always. For us, that’s part of the fun of it. Maisy did a lot of digging into old records, census reports and stuff like that, and found she’d lost ancestors from both sides of the war. We brought two sets of uniforms so we could alternate wearing Union blue and Confederate gray colors. I’m still going to do that. For her.”

  “I didn’t think you could do that,” Kylah questioned. “I was told pick one or the other and turn it in. The only reason I’m dressed as Confederate is because those were the uniforms the studio had that fit me best and didn’t need alteration. I could have cared less.”

  Ella smiled faintly. “We were kinda sneaky about it. We registered with two commanders, one Rebel, one Yankee and used our first names for one and middle names for the other. We’re foot soldiers so, what the hell, they’ll never sort us out from the dozens of others.”

  Kylah could picture it. She sat thinking in silence and Ella watched her until she suggested, “Maybe it wasn’t who Maisy was or how she felt, North or South, purist or mainstream. Maybe it was somebody who’s mad about the reenactment and Maisy was just … here.”

  “There are always people who don’t like reenactments in their town but to hurt my Maisy over it? To take her from me?”

  “I guess it can feel a little like an invasion of their home to some. I don’t know. And some people are very passionate about war, whether for or against.”

  “But this is history and history is important. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, and said, if the human race doesn’t remember and learn from our mistakes, we’re destined to repeat them. War is ugly but it’s a valuable lesson in the failings of humans.”

  “And in their greed and their hatred.”

  “That, too,” Ella agreed. She got to her feet. “Thank you for talking to me. For listening.”

  Kylah stood and Trouble twined around her boots. She held out her hand to Ella. “I’ll be here through the end of the event. If you need anything, let me know. Or Jake. We’ll help with whatever.”

  Ella shook her hand and nodded then took a deep breath and walked back into the empty tent she’d shared with Maisy.

  Kylah looked down at Trouble. “This sucks.” And they headed back to Jake and her horses.

  * * *

  What a way with words these humans have. And what a lot I have to ponder. I agree with Ella. Nothing is adding up. There are far too many hypotheses for who murdered Maisy, and why they might have done so, but none of them very strong.

  I also agree with the essence of Kylah’s comment. There is nothing about this murder that seems fair or deserved. And, yes, I am of the opinion that some people need a good killing, as it were. I’m aware that sounds harsh, but I’ve seen more than my share of the ugliness that can sometimes be found in human nature. But nothing I’ve heard suggests that to have been the case with Maisy McGuire.

  * * *

  They were halfway back to the fairgrounds when Kylah decided she was not a fan of Civil War era clothing. At least not the military uniforms. She had no idea what the fabric was but it was hot and scratchy and bunchy in all sorts of uncomfortable places. She supposed it would be warm in the winter but, dear Lord, it would have to be suffocating in the heat of summer. With the weather mid-season, it was bearable but barely.

  And the knapsack she had on her back was a real miss. She should have thought to set it aside before coming with Ella. It wasn’t large and didn’t have much in it, but it was heavy in its own right. She couldn’t imagine carrying the weight of it filled with actual provisions for a wartime march.

  She heard Trouble yowl in the same instant she felt something spin her off balance. Staggering and disoriented for a moment, she thought the cat had leaped upon her back. But, no, when she regained her balance he was there at her feet. Still yowling, with his back to Kylah as he faced the woods they’d just left. Trouble’s yowl dropped to a low hiss and another kind of sound reached her, like the sound of a bullet dropping into a revolver chamber. But that was a sound she’d heard only in the movies or on set. The thought repeated itself in her head … only in the movies. Trouble yowled again, in warning or in anger. She dropped to the ground and accepted the sound she heard was that of a second shot being fired. At her. To her consternation, the cat bounded away into the woods.

  “Trouble! No!”

  * * *

  I stop in uncharacteristic hesitation. Uncharacteristic, for me, anyway. I do not hesitate. I act. I’m a very decisive sort of detective. However, in this instance, now that we are so near to the fairgrounds proper, there are too many people close at hand and their sounds come from too many directions. I can’t be sure of my target and I’m loath to leave Kylah alone without a clear direction lest the bold wanker should circle back. Most especially, if she’s going to continue to call after me in distress. Her unwarranted concern for me is a clear revelation to the guilty party that their attempt proved a damp squib. The sooner I get her to a secure place, the better.

  Now would be a good time to employ the saltiest of Americanisms but, the fact remains, they cannot provide the satisfaction I find in good British slang. Should I find myself face to face with the miscreant who pulled that trigger, I’ll send him arse over elbow.

  Of one thing, I’m certain. This was no accident and was more than a near miss. The bullet struck the bag slung from her shoulders. I shudder to acknowledge the fact but Kylah was very nearly killed while in my care. Unforgiveable to say the least.

  Now to convey to Wolf that the weapon was a revolver of sorts. While I’m trained in that sort of detail, I’m not at all certain that Kylah would be able to identify the click of a revolver chamber. I missed it with the first shot, but recognized it beyond a doubt before the second was fired.

  I return to my charge and find her brushing dead leaves from her hair. “Is he gone? Or she?”

  Smart girl to understand I would have the answer to that. I sit on my haunches and gaze into her eyes to reassure her and she seems to understand that I would not be so calm did I feel it requisite for her to be on the run. No, at this point, it’s our scoundrel who is on the run but he can’t go far enough or fast enough. This case has now turned quite personal for me. All of my father’s training has come to the fore and shall be put into play with a diligence few can equal.

  And, yes, I too realize the villain could be male or female but I cannot be bogged down in the semantics of saying he or she at every point. Until proven otherwise, I shall continue with he.

  Our first order of business is to find the spent bullet. The knapsack on her back will have slowed it to some extent and, if - as I suspect – the weapon is another of the many antiquities abounding in this area, the projectile would not have traveled as far as a modern day make.

  I rise, still holding her gaze with mine, and begin scratching around in the dead leaves. Her understanding is faster than I’d hoped as she gets to her feet and begins a scrutiny of the area around her. “Good idea, Trouble. We need to find that bullet.”

  Kylah pauses in her search and calls someone. As she gives our general location and asks for a bit of help finding something, I’m amazed at her calm. Is it Jake or Wolf that she has called? My question is not answered when both arrive, not until I see the questioning look she shoots Jake and the shrug he gives in return.

  She addresses them as one as she explains what has happened and their reactions give me a few useful curses to add to my collection. I’m both amazed and delighted when my enterprising charge describes the sound as a revolver. Kylah West is more than a pretty face and accomplished equestrian. She knows her guns.

  * * *

  Wolf could not have begun to peg his emotions with any accuracy as he took the knapsack from Kylah’s back and examined where the bullet had entered and where it exited. He needed to focus, he warned himself, push the personal aside
and think like a lawman. But he wasn’t sure how successful that would prove, not when he could picture that projectile tearing through the smooth skin and the arteries and organs of the woman standing in front of him. His mind spun. Was this random? Was she a target?

  He realized Kylah was staring at him with a startled look in her eyes and knew he’d given himself away. This woman was way more than someone he wanted to kiss again, more than someone he longed to take to bed. Way more, way fast.

  “Which direction were you walking?”

  She turned toward the fairgrounds and Wolf turned with her. He could see the roof of the equestrian center, glimpse the silver metal of the walls through the thin line of trees ahead. “Straight ahead, this way.”

  “The bullet caught your knapsack at an angle.” His voice roughened in spite of his best effort. “You’re lucky you were wearing it.” He was lucky. “If it hadn’t spun you off balance, the second might have been a direct hit.”

  Kylah turned back to him and nodded. Her eyes were shadowed. “Believe me, that thought has already crossed my mind.”

  She watched as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Les Mitchell was in his favorites list for quick contact, although sure as hell not because he was a personal favorite. Wolf started talking as soon as Les answered. “I have shots fired, no injuries.” Thank God. “I’m going to need some officers on the scene to help locate a needle in a haystack. Put a canine with them.” He gave their location with the arena as point of reference. “We’ll watch for you.”

  As he disconnected, Jake called out to them. He and Trouble emerged from a low-growing thicket. He held out his hand with a small object in the palm. “I think this may be something we’re looking for. Not sure we’ll ever find the bullet that was shot at her.”

  Kylah stared at the object in his hand and shook her head. “I have no idea what that is.”