To my delight, I discovered that I could hold my own out on the basketball court even with the grade ten girls. (I mentally thanked Roy for all those times this past summer he forced me to play one-on-one in the driveway — not that I’d ever tell him that.) I even had fun; it felt good to be running up and down the court, doing the drills, shooting baskets. And the other girls talked to me. For the first time since I arrived, I started to think that it just might be possible to fit in at this school after all.
But don’t get me wrong here, Dad, I was still mad at you for moving us away from home!
Mindi caught up to me in the hall when I was consulting my school map, trying to remember how to get to my next class. My second week of school and I still didn’t know how to get around. It’s a very confusing building.
“Great playing, Sarah,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, do you feel like meeting me at Colin’s after school today? I’ll introduce you to his horses,” she said.
I’m sure my jaw dropped in surprise.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to have anyone over?” I asked.
Mindi grinned and raised her eyebrows wickedly. “Today doesn’t count because Colin’s not going to be at home. My mom’s going to be there to do some painting and she said you’re welcome to help me in the stable. So what do you think? Do you want to?”
Okay, honestly, Dad, I did have to think here — for about two seconds. I knew that you didn’t want me to go there. So I really was in a bit of a dilemma; however, I figured since it was only going to be Mindi and her mother there, you wouldn’t have an objection. It seemed to be Mr. Braemarie that worried you. So ... the excitement of spending time with a new friend and seeing horses won out over obeying you.
Sorry.
“I’d love to!” I answered, brightly.
Mom easily bought my story about going for a long bike ride because I was in training for basketball, but I felt a sharp twinge of guilt at lying to her — honestly.
Mindi waved to me from her seat on the shady front porch of the old brick house. I dropped my bike, bounded up the steps, and plopped down in one of the empty chairs. A plate of cookies and a pitcher of lemonade sat on a small table between us. Very country-ish, I thought.
“Hey, that was fast,” greeted Mindi. She gestured to the cookies. I helped myself enthusiastically. From inside the house, I could hear a woman humming.
“That’s my mom,” Mindi explained. “She always hums when she’s in a good mood. She’s been here all day, painting, so I’m surprised she stopped long enough to bake these cookies. She’s been working pretty hard lately trying to get ready for her next exhibit.”
“That’s neat, having a mom who’s an artist,” I commented around a mouthful of cookie.
Mindi shrugged. “I guess, but she gets so focused sometimes, like now, that I hardly get a chance to talk to her. But I suppose it’s better than before. After she and my dad split up she didn’t paint at all. She said her ‘muse’ had vanished. Then she met Colin and she started to paint again — when she’s here. She says the farm setting is idyllic and inspires her. So that’s why I get to bus here so many days after school. It’s actually a pretty cool set-up.”
We finished off the cookies and lemonade, then Mindi led me around the back of the house toward the stable, chatting about the horses the whole time. She seemed genuinely excited to have me there. The stable doors seemed wider and the manure smells stronger from this side of the raspberry bushes. As we entered, a soft whinny greeted us, and I soon forgot about the offending odours in anticipation of meeting real, live horses.
Inside the stable was more spacious than I expected. The horse stalls were along the wall facing us as we entered. Bare light bulbs jutted out high on the walls between them. Two horses were peeking out over their stall doors, eyeing us. A small room — I later learned it was called the tack room — was to the right of the stable doors. An old freezer and bundles of hay were stored along the wall on the other side of the tack room. To the left of us, bags of wood shavings were stacked, flanked by pitchforks, rakes, and the old wheelbarrow that I’d watched Mr. Braemarie using.
Mindi hurried over to the nearest horse and crooned, “Look at you poor things, stuck inside all day.” To me, she explained, “Usually Colin turns them out into the fenced field on nice days, but he hasn’t been home today so he kept them in.”
As Mindi put halters on the horses so she could lead them outside, she introduced me to them. First, there was Ginger. She was a gentle chestnut-coloured horse with a white diamond on her forehead. At Mindi’s urging, I nervously reached out to stroke between Ginger’s eyes. To my amazement, Ginger nuzzled into my hand.
“She’s so friendly!” I exclaimed.
Mindi nodded. “I knew you’d like her. This is my mom’s favourite. She’s so gentle and easygoing. She’ll be the perfect horse for you to learn on — if you want to.”
“Sure!” I was beaming. This was so cool! I was actually going to ride a horse. Eagerly, I followed Mindi to the next stall, where I was introduced to Candy, another mare.
“Candy’s my favourite,” Mindi whispered, as though trying not to hurt the other horses’ feelings. Candy’s dark brown coat gleamed and she stamped her finely muscled front legs. She wasn’t quite as friendly with me as Ginger. She tossed her head teasingly each time I reached out to pet her.
“Try buttering her up with an apple or a carrot stick,” laughed Mindi, pulling a chunk of carrot out of her jacket pocket. “Hold your hand flat, so she won’t nibble your fingers.” I did as I was told, and to my delight, Candy leaned down and snuffled up the chunk of carrot on my hand. I laughed and stroked her between the eyes as she crunched.
The next stall was Thunder’s. He was noisily slurping water from a bucket. His long, black tail swished back and forth at our approach, as if in irritation.
“Thunder,” called Mindi, “come and meet a friend of mine.”
Snorting, Thunder pulled his head out of the water bucket. Water slopped from his mouth as he eyed us. His black coat gleamed, and his black mane was so perfect it looked recently combed.
“I have to be a bit more careful around Thunder,” said Mindi. “He tries to nip at my arms and legs when I groom him. Colin says that’s his way of testing me, and I’m not supposed to let him.”
“Oh,” I said, backing away from the stall door. I didn’t like the sound of a biting horse.
Mindi laughed. “He’s not that bad. He’s just full of spirit. Colin says he likes riding him because he’s a challenge.”
“Did I just hear my name?” said a deep voice from behind us.
Mindi and I jumped. Mindi’s eyes doubled in sized and her mouth gaped open. My own heart leaped in my chest; I wasn’t supposed to be there. We were busted. The manure-shovelling man stood in the wide doorway of the stable, hands on his hips.
“Hi, Colin. You’re home early,” stammered Mindi, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Yes, I am. Surprise, surprise, eh? I see you have a friend over.” He wasn’t smiling.
“Uh, Colin, this is Sarah Martin, the girl I told you about. Her family just moved into the Browns’ old house. Sarah, this is Colin Braemarie.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Braemarie,” I said. “I love your horses.” That was my lame attempt to be charming.
“Sarah’s going to help with the horses, Colin,” said Mindi. “It’s great having someone here with me, so I don’t have to do this all alone.”
“Yes, I guess it is,” he said.
Mindi and Mr. Braemarie exchanged a look, you know, one of those looks that’s loaded with meaning. I figured that his said, I told you not to bring anyone over here! While hers said, What’s the big deal? We’re not going to get in your way. Apparently, Mindi won him over because Mr. Braemarie turned to me and gave me a grimace which I think was meant to be a smile.
“I see you’ve met Thunder,” he said, stepping up to the stall door and scratch
ing the black horse behind the ears. “He’s a good old boy, aren’t you, Thunder?”
“I was going to tack up Ginger and Candy after we clean out the stalls,” said Mindi. “Is that okay, Colin?” She gave him a hopeful smile.
He sighed. “Just make sure you wear helmets. I have extra ones in the tack room that Sarah can use.”
Mindi brightened and mouthed, “Yes!” to me as she followed him into the tack room.
Mr. Braemarie pulled out a dusty trunk from the back of the room. It was full of helmets and tall boots. “These were all left here when I moved in,” he explained. He fished around and pulled out a dusty black helmet. “This should do the trick. Try this on, Sarah, it’s not pretty but it’ll keep your head safe.”
It fit. I gushed my thanks to Mr. Braemarie.
“So, you’ll just stay in the fenced field?” he asked Mindi, his forehead creased with worry.
“Yes, we will,” she answered, nodding vigorously. “I’m going to teach Sarah some basics.”
“You won’t go near the barn?”
“No, we’ll just stay in the fenced field. Sarah’s never ridden before.”
“Okay. You’re okay with all this, Sarah? Mindi’s trying to turn you into a horse-crazy girl, like her?” I nodded vigorously and watched the lines on his forehead disappear. “Remember your helmets, then, and keep Sarah on Ginger — she’s the best to learn on,” he said gruffly. “Call me if you need any help.”
“Don’t worry, Colin. We’ll be fine,” assured Mindi.
“C’mon, Sarah,” she called over her shoulder as she led Candy out of the stable towards the field. “Grab a pitchfork. Let’s get these stalls mucked out so we can ride.”
“Okay,” I said. I gingerly lifted a pitchfork off its peg on the wall and wondered what I was supposed to do with it.
“Sarah,” Mr. Braemarie said quietly once Mindi was out of earshot. The creases on his forehead were back. “I have some rules here,” he began. “In addition to wearing helmets while riding, the old barn out back is strictly off limits.” He cleared his throat. “I have some heavy, expensive equipment out there that can be dangerous so I don’t let anyone near it — okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. No problem.”
He stared at me for a moment, the forehead crease deepening. “You’re sure you’re not going to have a problem with that rule? I can’t let Mindi have friends over who might mess around in there. It’s just too dangerous.”
“I promise I won’t go near it,” I assured him. He was freaking me out a little by then. Why was he so hyper about that stupid barn?
He gave me a curt nod that I took as a dismissal. I hurried into Candy’s empty stall with my pitchfork and started plunging it into the shavings, eager to show him my willingness to help out. I wanted a return visit.
I felt Mr. Braemarie’s eyes watching me. He sighed and took the pitchfork from me. “Like this, Sarah.”
I watched as he showed me how to pick the waste out of the shavings and dump it into a wheelbarrow. Then he gave me back the pitchfork and watched as I took over. I put my back into my work and tried my best to impress him. By the time I finished the stall, he was gone. I hadn’t noticed him leaving.
“Are you going to be in trouble because of me?” I asked Mindi as I pushed my full wheelbarrow past Ginger and Thunder’s clean stalls on my way to the manure pile.
Mindi shrugged. “Nah. He’ll be okay — he’s a good guy, his bark’s worse than his bite.”
“While you were taking Candy out to the field, he told me that we had to stay away from the barn.”
Mindi groaned. “That stupid barn. Ever since he bought all that antique farm machinery he’s been frantic about my mom or me going near it and getting hurt. Why he’d even think I’d be interested is beyond me. It’s not like I’m some dorky little kid who’d want to climb all over machines and stuff.”
“Has he ever shown you the antiques?” I asked.
“No, he hasn’t,” she frowned. “Maybe I should ask for a tour. You’d think he’d want to show them off. He spends enough time out there ’cause he loves them so much.” She waved her hand in the air. “Oh well, who cares? It’s just old junk, anyway.”
She grabbed two lead lines off their pegs and handed one to me. “Let’s get Candy and Ginger back here. I’ll show you how to tack up a horse — to put on its saddle and bridle so you can ride it.”
While we were walking out to the field, Mindi said, “You know, I never really thought about it much before now, but he’s always telling me to stay away from that barn. All the time. Making me promise and everything. It’s like he’s obsessed or something.
“And lately he’s had a lot of antique dealers coming out here at night,” Mindi added as we led our horses back into the stable. “So he makes us go home. It’s kinda weird.”
“Huh, that is kind of weird,” I agreed with a nod.
Mindi shrugged. “I mean, who cares if you have to do a little business? My mom and I would stay out of his way. But my mom just goes along with it, she always makes sure we’re out of the way by the time any dealers arrive. She says that Colin would be too uptight if we were around and that he wants to keep his personal life out of his business.”
Let me tell you, my investigator’s senses were tingling like crazy. I wondered if I should tell Mindi about the Braemarie file I found in Dad’s briefcase. Would antique farm machinery warrant a police file? Were they stolen goods? I decided to bite my tongue. After all, what did I really know? Nothing. For all I knew it could have nothing to do with her mom’s boyfriend. There are other Braemaries in the world. No sense getting Mindi worried about nothing.
Before too long, I was standing on a stool putting one foot into a stirrup and swinging a leg over the back of Ginger as per Mindi’s directions. Then I was sitting. Me, on a horse! It was weird, but cool — very cool.
I had such a good time walking around in the fenced field on Ginger that my curiosity about Mr. Braemarie and his mysterious barn was momentarily forgotten.
Momentarily.
I shared that last section of the report with Mindi on the bus today. She wasn’t too happy to find out that I knew about your police file on Mr. Braemarie and didn’t tell her about it. I explained to her that I didn’t want to alarm her over nothing. After all, I had no idea what was in that file, thanks to Roy (don’t get me started!). It could have been anything from tax fraud to a land dispute. I wasn’t going to assume the worst, say for instance that Mr. Braemarie was into stolen goods. Even though this was my main theory at the time.
The thing that was most obvious was that I needed to get a look at whatever was in that barn!
You sure acted like you were suspicious of me when I got back from the farmhouse that day. I felt like one of your perps. Once you stopped freaking out about me getting home late from my “bike ride,” I was able to give you my story about how I crashed my bike trying to ride on these stupid pot-holed country roads. I think you fell for it — even though I’m really sorry I had to give you a cover story. (You should have just let me go over there legally!)
Unfortunately, Roy didn’t fall for my story as easily as you, Dad. He cornered me later and made me tell him the truth. I ended up getting blabby — maybe Roy should give you tips on interrogation — and I even told him about what Mr. Braemarie said to me about the barn. Of course, he threatened to go right to you and rat me out but I stopped him by promising to make his bed every day for the next week.
Isn’t that extortion, Dad?
By the way, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that the day after my illegal horseback-riding lesson, I was very sore. My back ached, my thighs ached, even my fingers hurt. Worst of all, I had fallen off Ginger and landed in a pile of manure. The bruise on my butt made it very uncomfortable to sit in classes all day. You couldn’t have punished me better yourself.
The rest of the week was uneventful, but the following Monday, Mindi invited me back to the farmhouse to go horseback riding again. S
orry to say, Dad, but my life was so boring, and my first visit was so much fun, I couldn’t resist going. Besides, I was so desperate to have a friend wanting to spend time with me that there was really no way I could say no. I realize you won’t think that’s a good enough reason for disobeying you — but, at the time, I did.
Try not to get mad all over again when you read this, Dad. You wanted to know it all, remember? This report wasn’t my idea. Maybe the old saying “Ignorance is bliss” is true?
BACK AGAIN
DATE: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17
LOCATION: THE FORBIDDEN BARN
As soon as the school bus dropped me off, I threw my knapsack in the door, yelled to my mom that I was going for a bike ride, and took off without even giving her a chance to object. I was riding my bike out of the garage when Roy blocked my way.
“Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” he asked.
“What do you care?” I retorted.
I tried to wheel around him, but he grabbed firmly onto my handlebars.
“I don’t think you should be going to that farmhouse,” he said, then held up his hand at my protest. “I know that’s where you’re going. Mom and Dad may be dumb enough to buy your two-hour bike ride stories, but I’m not.”
Honestly, Dad, that’s what he said. His exact words.
“Just listen to me for once,” he continued. “Dad wouldn’t tell you not to go over there without a good reason. You should listen to him; it might not be safe.”
I gave him my best stage smile. “Roy! I never knew you cared. How touching.”
“Cut it out, Sarah! I’m serious. You shouldn’t be going over there.”
“C’mon, Roy. What exactly do you think could happen? Mindi’s there all the time, and she’s just fine. The boogeyman hasn’t got her. Besides, all we’re going to do is hang out in the stable and then ride the horses for a bit. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be back before dinner,” I said, sounding, for once, like the voice of reason.
“What about that old barn you told me about?” he persisted, still holding onto my handlebars. “The one Mr. Braemarie warned you to stay away from.”
The Whole, Entire, Complete Truth Page 4