Saddled With Trouble

by A. K. Alexander

  She got out of the truck and was greeted by her uncle’s golden retriever, Barn Dog. “Hey, boy. Where is everyone?” She patted the dog, which licked her hand. “Some help you are.” She laughed. “What’s this? Paint?” She probed Barn Dog’s fur near his collar. Maybe creosote. Lou used it to keep some of the horses from chewing on the wood pasture fence.

  She headed toward the barn expecting to find her uncle there. Maybe one of the horses was sick. “Uncle Lou?” Her voice echoed through the breezeway. No Lou, but she did get a few whinnies as horses popped their heads out. None of them were eating. She looked at her watch. After eight. They hadn’t been fed? Lou always fed them. Even though he had hired help, it was something he’d done for years. “Lou? It’s me, Mickey.”

  She heard Loco pawing the ground in the last stall. Uncle Lou kept his multichampion cutting stallion a few stalls away from the other animals. Although a good stallion, he was still a stud, and he did have a mind of his own. A gorgeous blue roan in color, Loco came from great bloodlines and had earned almost almost three hundred thousand dollars in winnings. The horse was truly her uncle’s joy in life.

  “Hi, big guy,” she said as she approached the stall. He lifted his head and snorted, his eyes wild. “Hey. What’s wrong?” He was acting really off. His coat gleamed with sweat. And . . . what was that smell? Not horse sweat, but rather coppery. What the hell was that? She wrinkled up her nose. Was one of the mares in season? She doubted it. Lou knew better than to keep a mare in season in the same corridor as the stud. “Loco, what is . . .” Her voice faded as she peered into his stall. She stumbled back and grabbed hold of the stall’s bars to keep from falling. Bile burned her throat. She swallowed hard and blinked several times. “No, no, no!”

  The latch on Loco’s door was undone; she whipped it open. The stallion bolted past her and out of the breezeway. She ran over to her uncle, who lay facedown in the straw— impaled on a broken pitchfork sticking through his back. She lifted his hand— cold. Her own hands shook uncontrollably as she dropped his to the ground. A scream caught in the back of her throat. She gasped and fell into the straw, pushing herself away from Lou. She brought her hands to her face, her voice catching up with her anguish as her horrified scream echoed through the breezeway.

  FOUR

  UNCLE LOU WAS DEAD. MICHAELA’S HANDS hadn’t stopped shaking over the last hour since finding him, and the trembling had spread through her body. Even though the morning sun hit her face, she’d never felt so cold in her life. Would she ever be warm again? Would her stomach, all knotted, ever stop feeling like she wanted to throw up? Doubtful, after what she’d seen. She figured that her eyes were red and swollen from crying so hard.

  This could not be happening. It could not be true. Why would someone do this?

  She wiped the tears from her face and watched from the porch as more police pulled into the ranch. After she’d made the 911 call, a cruiser showed up, and within minutes was followed by detectives. A CSI team was now there, and the coroner was on the way. All sorts of people swarmed the property, taking photos, collecting evidence.

  She’d been instructed by one of the officers to wait on the porch; someone would be over to speak with her. The poor horses in the barn were going nuts with all the commotion. Their whinnies resounded across the ranch, and they had to be starving. Michaela cringed listening to their distress, rested her face in her palms and sobbed. Again, the thoughts of who could’ve done something like this—and, furthermore, why?— raced through her mind.

  “Miss Bancroft, would you like some coffee?”

  Michaela looked up and squinted, blinded by the sunlight, to see one of the officers standing over her. He held out a foam cup. She took it from him, nearly spilling it, wrapping both hands around it to try and stop them from shaking.

  The cop sat down next to her. “I’m Detective Jude Davis. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled out a small notepad and pen from inside his tweed sports jacket. “Your call came in around quarter after eight this morning. What time would you say you got here?”

  “About five minutes before that.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual?”

  “I noticed it was quiet.” She set the coffee next to her on the step and took a tissue from her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she said and sniffled, trying hard to keep from crying again.

  “I understand. You say it was quiet.” The sunlight caught his blue eyes, causing him to squint. He took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. “Can you tell me what you mean by that?”

  “Yes . . .” She paused. “Okay.” She was having a difficult time finding words. This wasn’t a conversation she could accept, much less even believe she was part of. “Usually in the morning there’s a lot of activity with animals being fed. Sometimes my uncle might be on the tractor cutting grass or in the arena working with a horse.”

  “That’s not what you found this morning?”

  “No.”

  “What brought you here in the first place?” He raked his hand through his wavy blond hair.

  She explained what led up to her finding Uncle Lou.

  “Do you know anything yet? What happened?” she asked, as he continued writing in his notepad.

  “We don’t.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know why . . .” She raised her soggy tissue. He pulled a clean one from his khaki slacks. She tried to force a smile, but instead broke down again. She realized Cynthia was not there and through her sobs she asked, “Do you know where his wife is?”

  “Yes. We were able to locate her at the gym. She’s on her way back here now.”

  “God, poor Cyn.”

  “You were close with your aunt and uncle?”

  “I see them all the time. I’m usually over once a week for dinner. I help Cynthia prepare it and my folks join us, too. Uncle Lou stops by my place quite a bit.” Michaela took a hasty sip from the coffee.

  “And his wife . . . Cynthia? I take it since you don’t refer to her as your aunt that she is a second wife?”

  “Yes. They’ve been married for several years now. My aunt Rose died over ten years ago from breast cancer and my uncle met Cynthia a year or so later.”

  “Uh-huh. Were they having any problems that you knew about?”

  “Oh, no. Cyn loved my uncle, and he worshiped her.”

  “Is this Mrs. Bancroft? Your aunt, or I mean, Cynthia?” He pulled a small photo inside a small plastic bag, marked EVIDENCE.

  “Yes, it is. Where did you get that picture?”

  “It was in your uncle’s wallet, which we found in the corner of the stall near him.”

  “Oh.” Michaela didn’t know what else to say. “Do you know if there is anything missing? Maybe someone was trying to rob him and it went bad?”

  “I can’t determine that as of yet. I’m not certain what all he carried in his wallet. I can say it does look fairly intact, though. There was some cash and credit cards. We won’t rule out anything, though.”

  She nodded. It would be difficult to believe that someone would try and rob Uncle Lou while working on his ranch. A random robbery didn’t fit well for her either, and she could sense that Detective Davis reflected that thought.

  “She’s much younger than your uncle, isn’t she? Your aunt? Cynthia Bancroft.”

  Michaela hesitated before answering. She could see where Detective Davis might be headed with this line of questioning, but he had it all wrong. Cyn really did love Uncle Lou. Sure, her own family had wondered when Lou had introduced all of them to her and learned that she was twenty-five years younger, but over time it was easy to see that she loved him dearly, that she was good-hearted and down to earth. “Yes, that’s true. She’s only a few years older than me. Why? What does that have to do with anything?” She set her cup down and crossed her arms.

  “Ms. Bancroft, I have a job to do. I have to ask these questions. I know the timing isn’t great, but
it’s necessary.”

  Michaela shrugged. “They didn’t have any problems that I knew of.” She thought briefly about the conversation she’d had the night before with Uncle Lou— the way he’d sounded

  She’d meant to get to the bottom of it today. Were he and Cyn having some type of problem, or did he know that someone wanted him dead?

  “Are there others who work here?”

  She nodded. “Dwayne Yamaguchi is the head trainer and is assisted by his cousin Sam, but the truck and trailer are gone. I assume they took horses over to Las Vegas, probably yesterday.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “The National Finals Rodeo begins this weekend and Dwayne will be competing. I think the guys planned on heading out yesterday, and Bean would be the one sort of running things here with my uncle.”

  “Bean?”

  “I don’t know his real name. He’s a tall skinny guy.”

  “What does he do here?”

  “He’s kind of a caretaker and ranch hand, helps out where he’s needed.”

  “You haven’t seen him around this morning?”

  “No. I’m not surprised though. He’s, um, well, he has some mental problems.”

  “What do you mean mental problems, exactly?”

  “Well, it’s not like he’s crazed or dangerous. He’s a bit slow. He had a head injury as a kid. In fact, he really acts like a child in a lot of ways.”

  “Why did your uncle keep him around then?”

  “Bean is good with the animals. He’s very conscientious about them and he looked up to my uncle, kind of like an older brother. I think he’s probably not too much younger than my uncle.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “No. I don’t. Cynthia might know.”

  “All right. Thanks. Anyone else work here that you can give me some information on?”

  Michaela sighed. “Well, Summer MacTavish does the books for my uncle. She’s the ranch accountant, but she’s not here daily. I believe she comes in once a week to do payroll and accounts receivable. I’m really not certain of her schedule.”

  Another cruiser pulled up. Michaela saw Cynthia in the back.

  When it stopped she got out and came running to Michaela. “What happened? They said . . . they said that it’s Lou. That he’s . . . Is he, Michaela? Is Lou . . . ? Did someone . . .” she cried. Her taut face lacked its usual olive glow, now appearing almost alabaster against her brunette hair.

  Michaela’s stomach twisted and she closed her eyes, hoping the words would come. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Cynthia. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Wracking sobs overtook Cynthia and Michaela couldn’t contain her sadness any longer. They held each other for long moments and cried. Michaela didn’t want to let go. Maybe if they stayed like this, she’d wake up and it would all turn out to be a nightmare. It had to be that— some horrible dream— or a joke. She felt Cyn waver and start to lose ground. The detective took her elbow.

  “Mrs. Bancroft, why don’t you come sit down inside the house and we can talk.”

  A shrill whinny sailed through the wind. “Oh, God. Loco,” Michaela said.

  “Loco?” Davis asked.

  “My husband’s stallion. He’s out? Oh no! You have to get him!” Cyn wailed.

  “He ran out when I opened the stall, when I saw . . .”

  “You found him? You found Lou?” Cyn stared at Michaela in disbelief.

  “Ms. Bancroft, why don’t you see if you can find the horse? I’m going to take Mrs. Bancroft inside. There are a few more questions I need to ask.”

  “No. I’m going with her. I have to go with you, Cyn. You can’t be alone right now.”

  Cynthia shook her head. “Go, please. Lou would be . . .” She sucked in a deep breath. “He’d be devastated if something happened to Loco. Please Mick, find the horse.”

  She could see the pleading in Cyn’s brown eyes and knew she was right about Lou. He’d loved that animal probably as much as he loved anything in the world. Still, it tore at her heart to leave Cyn in the hands of the police, with no one to comfort her. Loco whinnied again in the distance. She had to go and find him. He might hurt himself.

  The detective escorted Cyn into the house. Michaela turned and set out to find the horse, avoiding the many officers doing their job. She started for the tack room but thought twice. She didn’t want to disturb what the officers were doing, and more than that she couldn’t bear to see Uncle Lou again. She doubted that the police would allow her through anyway.

  She went to her truck, knowing she had a halter and lead rope in the back, one of those things she always carried. She then approached the house, realizing there was no way she’d be able to capture Loco without some type of handout. She opened the front door. How many days had she entered this house and found Uncle Lou in his den reading the paper or having a whiskey sour, his favorite drink? Today, even though she knew that Detective Davis and Cyn were inside, an eerie silence and a pressure pervaded the air. A heaviness that she’d never sensed before. This place had always felt like a second home to her. Today it just felt empty— a balloon filled with sadness, ready to burst.

  She found the cop seated at the kitchen table and saw Cynthia standing over the sink, vomiting. She placed a hand on Cyn’s back, rubbing it. After a minute, the woman splashed water on her face, then turned and faced her. “Did you find Loco?”

  “I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “You have to find him. You know that Lou would be beside himself.”

  “I know. I came in to get some carrots and see if I couldn’t lure him back.”

  “In the fridge.”

  Michaela went to the crisper and took out a bag of carrots. She turned again to find Cyn back over the sink.

  Davis motioned for her to follow him to the front door, where he said, “She’s very distraught, obviously. I’ll be here for a bit and I still have some more questions to ask you. We have a lot of work to do. I’ve got all of your information I think, so if it’s fine by you, I’ll come by your home so we can talk.”

  “Of course.” She left the house and went to track Loco.

  She spied him near the back pasture. He stood outside the fence with a mare butted up to him. Both horses were going crazy, stomping their feet, pawing at the ground and squealing at each other. Loco put all his weight into the fence, trying to break through. This was not going to be easy.

  She held out a carrot to him. He sniffed it, snorted, and tossed his head about. The mare arched her neck, reaching for the carrot. Michaela waved her arms at the mare and made a hissing sound to chase her off. If she could get her out of the picture it might be easier to get Loco. The mare pranced about five steps away, tail in the air, and then came back. She flung her arms again. This time the horse took off down the fence, Loco close behind. The scenario went on for several more minutes until Michaela got smart, caught the mare first and led her back to the breeding arena.

  She then put to practice the technique she’d learned from both her dad and uncle— called patience. For several minutes she stood ten or so feet away from the stud. He finally became curious about the handout she had offered and slowly came toward her until he got close enough for her to slide the halter over his face. Patience and persistence paid off— virtues both Dad and Uncle Lou repeated to her time and again.

  It was difficult to lead Loco because he knew the mare wasn’t too far away. She could’ve used a chain right about then, to have laced through the halter— it would’ve helped to control his unruliness. He pulled on Michaela, who felt as if all the strength had gone out of her: despair taking hold and not letting go.

  They made it down to a set of corrals, but a mare and foal were too close by and she knew they’d have to be moved. She released Loco into the corral, not having any other choice, then went about maneuvering the mare and foal out into the pasture. She hoped she’d be able to get a hold of Bean and tell him to get to the ranch ASAP, bec
ause Cyn couldn’t take care of the horses. If she couldn’t reach him, she’d have to come back over that evening, put all of the horses back where they belonged and feed them.

  After making sure the animals were okay, she walked to her truck. Bean stood there leaning against Uncle Lou’s old green Chevy work truck, which she knew he allowed Bean to drive just around the ranch. He didn’t look well at all.

  “Um, hello, Miss Michaela. A policeman told me I had to stay right here because something bad happened to Mr. Lou. What happened? Do you know what happened?” He wrung his hands. “Why are the policemans here? What happened to Mr. Lou? I got here and they were here. The police. They would not tell me where Mr. Lou is and they won’t tell me where Mrs. Lou is either. Do you hear that?” He pointed to the barn. “The horses keep crying and they sound hungry. I want to feed them. Where is Mr. Lou?”

  She reached out and touched his shoulder. He shrank away from the contact. “Bean, Lou had to go to Heaven today and he’s not coming back.” She nearly choked on her own words.

  “Why did he go there?”

  “Listen, I know this will be hard for you to understand, but Lou won’t be back. Heaven isn’t a place where we go on vacation. It’s a place where we go when . . .” She bit the side of her lip, then sighed and finished what she was saying, “We die. Heaven is a place where we go when we die, and Lou died this morning.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Tears sprung up in Bean’s eyes as Michaela recognized that he realized she was telling him the truth. “I want him to come back.”