by Gale Borger
“Mag, what is with you and catastrophes lately? That’s more Fred’s M.O., not yours. What’s up with you? One minute we were talking about interviewing the Graffs and the next you’re spazzing out and scraping whipped cream off your butt. What the hell is the matter with you?”
She flicked a strawberry off her shoe, folded her arms across her chest and kicked the tire on my car. “That rat-bastard Glenn Graff is what the matter is. Like I said, he needs a good swift kick in the caboodles.”
“Whoa, wait a minute Mag, we’re not kicking anyone’s caboodles, and why is Glenn a rat-bastard? I thought he was a Boy Scout.”
It was easy to see Mag was extremely upset, but I found it particularly difficult to show empathy for someone waggling pancake encrusted eyebrows at me. While I tried not to laugh, she continued her tirade. “That’s what he wants everyone to think, but he’s a serial ass-pincher! A masher! A lecherous turd! He cornered me in the potting shed at the garden center, and I didn’t think I’d escape with my virtue intact. What the hell is with jackasses like him? If someone would cheat on a nice lady like Carole, he’d probably kill her too, right?”
After getting over my initial shock, I looked behind us to make sure we were alone. Pancake and strawberries plopped off Mag’s butt onto the sidewalk behind us. Trying for the lighter side, since I could no longer keep a straight face, I said, “Since when are you so concerned about your virtue?”
She grabbed my shirt. “Look Buzz, this is serious. You know I enjoy sex just as much as the next girl, uh, or…uh, maybe you don’t know. But that doesn’t matter because I don’t do married men, and I like to say who and I like to say when, and where sure as hell is not among his wife, Carole’s, grafted cactus plants!”
“He was going to nail you in the cactus plants? Ouch!”
“Yeah, Carole was off in Texas or New Mexico or somewhere, and that slimy toad thought it was a good time to express his unrequited love for me. If he’d have touched me one more time, I would have given him a new definition of ‘Love Lies Bleeding’, and I don’t mean the common name of an Amaranth!”
“Wow, Mag, I had no idea. Speaking of ideas, how long ago was this trip Carole took to Texas? The Geriatric Mod Squad said something at Mom’s about Carole being in Mexico last week. What is she doing in the southwest? Visiting family all the time?”
Could her trips to the southwest, the mysterious seeds, and her untimely demise be connected? “Mag, you just might be on to something here.”
Warming to the idea of intrigue, Mag momentarily forgot Glenn’s perfidy and her sticky buns. “I thought she was from the east coast, but I do know she did a lot of work with rare and endangered plants. In fact, she was working with some research group on propagating rare species from the southwest. Glenn told me that much when he was chasing me around the potting shed.”
“You really might have our first clue, Maggie girl. That was Mee-Me calling a minute ago, and he has already contacted the state crime lab.
“One of their plant gurus happens to be in Milwaukee at a conference. He or she will be stopping by today to look at some seeds I found in Carole’s pocket, before they go back to Madison. If the good doctor isn’t too much of a stuffed shirt, maybe he or she will go out to Graff’s with us and do a little diggin’ in the dirt; you know, looking for some real dirt.”
“You do have an excellent turn of phrase, Buzz, but do you think I should still go with you because of Glenn and all? Maybe I should clean up and lay low. Besides, I don’t feel like playing the nice-nice to some jerk and having to keep company with some boring algae man, or worse, some woman.”
“Margaret Anne Genevieve Miller, since when has a man or woman ever intimidated you? Tell you what; if Glenn makes any kind of move toward you, I’ll hold him down while you kick his caboodles, okay?
“We’ll also have that bullet-brained plant geek with us and he can slap him with some seaweed or just bore Glenn to death with plankton and petunias. How’s about that?”
She chuckled, and I knew that meant she felt better. Sticky, but better. “It’s a deal, Buzz.” We chatted for a couple more minutes, before Burt’s breakfast began to dry on her skin and she started to itch. She decided to walk home and clean up. We agreed I’d pick her up when the hot-shot from Madison arrived at the morgue. We parted ways. I couldn’t help laughing while I watched Mag waddle home, pieces of Burt’s breakfast falling off her in chunks and making her look like the killer pancake from Hell. Good thing she lived close by. Half the dogs and all the bees in the neighborhood would soon be following her around.
5
Dallas/Fort Worth the same day
The World Championship Appaloosa Horse Show is the elite competition of the finest halter and performance horses in the Appaloosa industry. Big names and big money abound. In this arena at least, Alejandro Montoya was truly an equal, rubbing elbows with Hollywood stars and world class trainers, as well as owners’ families and their grooms.
The three men arrived at Fort Worth’s Will Rogers Equestrian Center early in the evening on Thursday. Unloading the horses went without incident. Each mare was allowed time to stretch her legs before being placed in her respective stall. Princesa was feeling her oats as Alejandro trotted her down the blacktop drive and back. She tossed her head and kicked up her heels like she knew she was a champion. Many heads turned to watch Alejandro trot her toward the barn.
Alejandro looked up and down the aisles for Dr. Huerta. One of the broodmares had a slightly swollen tendon along her cannon bone, and it felt a little warm around the fetlock area of her left front leg. Alejandro thought he saw Huerta hurrying around a corner by the entrance to the coliseum. He carried the briefcase that had ridden up in the backseat of the pickup. Alejandro thought that was rather odd. He thought the registration papers and health certifications were in there, and the show office was in the opposite direction from where Dr. Huerta was headed. He called to him, but Huerta either did not hear, or ignored him.
Turning his attention back to the mare, Alejandro broke open a cold pack and bandaged it in place over the swollen tendon. He helped Jose bed the mares down. They fed and watered them lightly to avoid colic after the long ride. Jose scuttled off to find them both something to eat, and Alejandro began setting up house in a double stall, which had been left empty in the middle of the line-up. It was totally enclosed for security and privacy by curtains, which hung on all four sides.
Señor Martinez had hired someone to have the stall decorations bought and set up in advance. Alejandro was happy to escape that tiresome task. He stood back and observed the results.
The red, black, and gold curtains, swags, and tassels covering the stalls were eye-catching and elegant. The white banner announcing ‘Ranchero del Sol’ and ‘Princesa Dianna’ draped across the aisle near the temporary tack room. Each stall had a name plaque and a listing of winnings and points. The tack room itself was large enough to accommodate living quarters for Alejandro and Jose, as well as tack, grooming, and medical supplies. Alejandro could have stayed in a motel, but he did not like leaving the horses at night. A curtain was pulled across one end to provide extra privacy for a dressing room.
Jose returned with supper, and he and Alejandro dined on burgers and fries. Speaking Spanish, Alejandro and Jose discussed the schedule for the next day. After supper, they fed the mares a little more and prepared to lock up for the night. After checking on the injured mare and replacing the cold pack with another, Alejandro turned to find Jose looking over his shoulder. “Jose, have you seen Dr Huerta since we arrived this afternoon?”
“No, Alejandro. The doctor, he is not in! Hah-hah, I made a little joke! I have not seen him since we arrived. Do we look for him now?”
“No, Jose, we get some sleep now. I’ll check on the mare throughout the night. I iced her down earlier and I have her wrapped for the night. Right now the leg looks pretty good. If she is not considerably better by morning, I’ll have an American vet check her out if Huerta doesn’t sho
w up.”
Jose nodded and looked thoughtfully at the injured mare. “I will get a snack now. I will check on her before I go to sleep. You will be up with the birds anyway, and she will be good until then, no?”
“Yes, she will be good until then. Thank you, Jose, good night. Wake me if the leg looks worse, okay?”
Jose turned and walked back toward the cook tent in the parking lot. He waved over the back of his head and yelled, “Okay, boss!”
Alejandro checked on his charges one more time. He spoke in quiet tones and stroked each soft nose. They pressed against the stall doors, trying to get closer to him. He loved them all. They were such individual personalities; it was like having a room full of his own spoiled children. One despised what another loved. One could not be transported next to this one, but stood placidly beside another. One was at her best in the morning, and another kicked the stall apart if she was not coddled like an old lap dog before bedding down. Saying goodnight to each was a ritual he performed whether at home or on the road. It was comforting to both him and the horses.
Later, lying on his cot, Alejandro listened to the evening noises of the show barn: the rustling of hay, the occasional snort, the splash of water in a bucket, and the dulcet tones of horses nickering softly to each other in the night. Closing his eyes, Alejandro fell asleep to those restful sounds, thinking again about how good life was.
His peaceful world exploded around him about three in the morning. He was blown out of his bed by splintering wood flying past his head. The pounding of thrashing hooves against the slats of the connecting stall sounded like some crazy offbeat cadence of a bad drum line. Someone was screaming, and it took a second to realize it was animal and not human. Alejandro leaped to his feet and tore out the door. A sense of foreboding spread through his limbs. With the whispered word “Princesa” on his lips he bolted into the aisle.
One look confirmed his worst fears. “Veterinario! Huerta! Doctor! Doctor,” he yelled as he ran to the stall door next to the tack room. Blood streaked the walls as the wild-eyed mare rolled on her side, thrashing and screaming. Alejandro looked on in horror as his beautiful little filly bled from her nose, ears, and eyes. She suddenly stiffened. Her legs slammed straight out, her tendons popping. Just as Alejandro saw recognition of him in her eyes, her head reared back and she moaned long and hard in excruciating agony. Gasping, Alejandro stood by in helpless torment. Her muscles began to relax and she groaned again. She slowly quieted. Alejandro wrenched open the stall door.
Tears ran down his face as he stood over her and watched the light go out of her eyes.
“Princesa,” he whispered again, and fell to his knees by her head. He collapsed next to her still form and gently placed her head in his lap. He tenderly stroked her cheek, whispering softly in Spanish. Tears flowed freely as his hand absently kept up its loving caress, for minutes or hours, he did not know or care.
“Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the Hell happened in here?” demanded the owner of a loud Texas drawl. The question snapped Alejandro out of his trance. He looked up. And up. Before he could ask, the big man stuck out his hand. “Donny Ray Little, Dee-Vee-Em. What the hell went on in here? It looks like a slaughter house around here!”
Donny Ray placed his hands on his hips, surveying the carnage inside the stall. He bent over the filly, lifted an eyelid, then felt for a pulse. He lifted her top lip and looked at her gums. Alejandro stayed where he was, holding the dead filly’s head while the veterinarian tried to piece together what had transpired. Many people were gathered in the aisle gawking. He looked past the crowd and saw a veterinary medicine truck outside the barn entrance.
Alejandro gently placed Princesa’s head back on the bed of shavings. He stepped out to look at the crowd. Wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve, he sniffed. “Thank you for coming, Doctor, for all it’s worth. Maybe you can help me make sense out of this. She was perfectly fine when we arrived; there were a number of people who witnessed how playful she was. She ate and she drank. All our mares eat the same feed, and none of the other mares were affected, so it can’t be something foreign in the feed. Nothing abnormal in her bedtime manner, and she exhibited no deviate behaviors before…before….”
“I understand Mr.-Mr…?”
“Oh, I am sorry, and a little rattled. I am Montoya. Alejandro Montoya, head trainer for Eduardo Martinez, the filly’s owner.” Alejandro checked his watch. “Mr. Martinez is flying in this morning. In fact, he should have arrived already. Excuse me. I will call his cell phone.” He dialed and got the voice mail. He left a message and hung up.
Donny Ray took off his cowboy hat and ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at Alejandro and gestured to the dead filly. “I hate to bring this up right now, but she really ought to be autopsied as soon as possible. The show committee will want to rule out communicable diseases as soon as possible, especially since she came from out-of-country. I’ll need her health certificate, along with her Coggins test and any other health paperwork you have. The owner would have already signed a waiver so we don’t have to wait for his arrival to get going on this. By the outward look of things there is something odd going on here. I understand you travel with your own veterinarian. If y’all will point me in the right direction, I’ll see what he wants to do.” He gestured to the gathering crowd.
Alejandro sadly looked at the filly. He turned back to Donny Ray. He also noticed security had been notified and the crowd was being pushed back. It was only a matter of time before the news media arrived. He understood about privacy and discretion, but he also had to trust someone. He made his decision.
“Dr. Little, I will be frank with you. I have not seen Dr. Huerta since yesterday morning. I also cannot reach my boss. If you would be so kind, could you have the mare removed to your facility, and would you perform the autopsy? Even though Mr. Martinez cannot be reached at this time, I am sure he would not like his prize filly lying here like this.”
“I agree, Montoya.” Donny Ray pulled out his cell phone and made some calls. When he was finished, he assured Alejandro that all was taken care of. Alejandro headed for the tack room and changed out of his bloody clothes. Donny Ray’s phone rang again. When he hung up, he caught up with Alejandro.
“Good thing you’re still here, Montoya. The show office called and informed me that because of the unknown nature of the filly’s death, the law mandates me to perform the autopsy. You and I both have to go to the show office and fill out the necessary paperwork. Good thing we made the right decision. Come on, amigo, we can go together.”
Leaving the other horses in the care of Jose and the show committee, Alejandro and Donny Ray made their way to the show office. Alejandro took care of the paperwork and gave a deposition of the events to the authorities. Hours later, Alejandro finally made it back to the stall area. Jose stood in front of the now empty stall, staring blankly at the ground.
“Jose, did Señor Martinez arrive here yet?”
“No, Alejandro, I no hear from him or from Dr. Huerta. It is very strange.” He slumped against the door frame “I don’t get it. She was okay when we arrived. The show people, they remove the broken stall after the police take photos. I helped clean up the…you know.”
“Yes, Jose, I know. Well, we will not be allowed to show the other mares until they confirm cause of death, so we are finished here. We have to move these mares tomorrow morning. Let’s find something to eat and call it a night.” They ate supper and bedded down the other mares for the night.
Wondering what to do next, Alejandro patted his groom on the shoulder and went into the tack stall. He sat on the tack box, pulled out his cell phone. He again tried Martinez’s number. He paced while the phone rang, but he reached the voice mail again.
In a rare display of anger and frustration, Alejandro spun around and kicked the tack box. Swearing in both English and Spanish, he picked up a currycomb and hurled it against the wall. He dropped back down on the tack box, put his head in his hands, and tried to t
hink.
6
Back in White Bass Lake
The picture of Mag with the pancake sloughing off her butt stayed in my mind until I got back to my house. Still smiling, I absently gathered my notes from the glove box and took them to the house. Glancing at my shriveling plants in the window box, I sighed, thinking once again about Carole. Because I was so preoccupied, I did not prepare myself for when I opened the door, and promptly flew off my feet backward as I was hit full force in the chest by 160 pounds of doggie love.
“Wesley, for Heaven’s sake, let me up!” I once again thanked my lucky stars I had talked the ex-husband into not putting a rail around the front porch. Had he done so, I would have crashed through it multiple times by now, and would have lain impaled and bleeding on the front lawn. As it was, I went ass over teakettle into the half dead impatiens at the base of the stairs. Good thing I left an old beanbag chair on the porch for the dogs–it cushioned the blow. While I dodged Wesley and his foot-long slimy tongue, I thought, where the heck is Hillary?
“Wes? Where’s Hillary?” He sat up, looked west, east, and then up, grinning and waving his long black tail.
I laughed, rolled the three-year-old Newfoundland off me, and called for Hillary while I picked up my scattered notes. Wes decided it was playtime and helped me by proceeding to chew on my notebook. By the time I finished wrestling my book out of his gaping maw and wiping the doggie slobber off the cover onto my jeans, Hillary made her appearance.
She looked shyly around the doorjamb. I was struck as always by her quiet beauty and giving nature. She was a humane society acquisition, and at the time I got her, she rescued me more than I had rescued her.