Dark Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 2)

by Michele Scott

  We walk over to Christian, who is standing next to the oxer in the middle of the jump arena. We had been doing a triple bounce exercise, and then a small course. None of it had worked out so far.

  When Harmony comes to a halt near Christian, he places a hand on her neck and looks up at me, his blue eyes squinting in the sunlight. “I’m sorry about Martina,” he says.

  As he says it, I feel this surge of emotion go through me, and tears spring to my eyes. I haven’t cried yet over this, and I am not sure why I want to right now. I believe that she is coming back. I really do, but it’s been a full day now, and there is this part of me that is completely freaking out.

  “I know what it feels like to lose someone I love. You know that,” he says.

  I think of how his fiancée, Dr. Miller, was murdered last fall, and I nod my head.

  “But, I want you to remember that Martina is not lost yet. The police believe they will find her and that she will be fine. You have to believe that, too. There are a few reasons why you need to believe it. The first is that she is your friend and you care about her. You have to have faith in a situation like this. The second reason is purely about you.”

  “What? I don’t think I understand.” I weave my fingers through Harmony’s short silver mane.

  “You have been given a major opportunity, Vivienne. Huge. It is something you have worked for, and it is something that you deserve. Going to the horse park in Lexington to compete in the championships is a stepping stone to your ultimate goal.” I must look at him in surprise because he says, “Yep, I know about your Olympic dreams. Kayla and I have spoken about it.”

  The mention of him and Kayla discussing my dreams is in one sense flattering, and in another it’s kind of distressing, because it reminds me of my suspicions about the two of them. The idea of their affair—which could potentially lead to an implosion of the Fairmonts’ marriage and, who knows, possibly the demise of the school they started together—bothers me. A lot. “Oh.” That is all I can muster. Lame. But that’s it.

  “And, you are on your way. I believe it. Kayla believes it. Holden believes it. But if you allow the world to get in your way, and it will, it will constantly try, then you won’t be able to make it, kiddo.”

  I must give him a funny look, because I really don’t entirely understand. Don’t we live in the world? I mean, how do you not allow it to be a part of who you are?

  “What I mean by all of this is that you are one of the most talented young equestrians that I have ever come across. You have a major and bright future ahead of you, and if you let the negative things in life disrupt your focus, your goal will become harder to achieve, possibly even unattainable. Today is a perfect example. Let’s face it. Your riding today was way below par. You can’t be perfect every day, but you don’t want to make a habit of riding poorly. Sure, there are some rotten things going on. I can completely understand how Martina’s disappearance is messing with you. But, you have to always keep your eye on the ball. Keep your focus on your dreams, kiddo, and you will go far. I promise you that.”

  All I do is smile and nod. I agree with what he’s saying and understand wholeheartedly. But, my friend is missing, and if all I do is focus on my dreams and goals, well then . . . what kind of human being does that make me?

  In this very moment, I simply do not have the answers.

  Yep. For once I don’t have any answer, right or wrong.

  CHAPTER twenty-six

  Tristan has left two messages on my phone and both of them start with, “Hey, baby, where are you?”

  I have not been answering because I have been thinking, and God knows that boy can distract me pretty much like nothing else.

  The third time he calls, I pick up. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I had a lesson with Christian and it didn’t go so well. Then, I came back and took a shower.”

  “You and a bad lesson with Christian is not good. At all. You in a shower . . . that sounds very good.”

  “Tristan!” I feel myself heat up and I am sure I’m blushing.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m just being honest.”

  “And, honesty is a good thing.” God, I am so bad at this flirting thing, and I am so bad at knowing where the two of us are headed. I am not stupid. I’m seventeen. Girls my age have sex all the time. Girls a lot younger than me have sex all the time. And, trust me, there is this part of me—a big part of me—that is super curious and kind of into it. Then, there is this other part of me that is so scared to take that big of a step and commit to one person in that way. I think Tristan is the right kind of guy, but that doesn’t make such a major decision seem any easier.

  My thoughts about having sex are interrupted as Christian’s words from the jump lesson run through my head. Is this situation with Tristan the kind of thing Christian’s talking about? The kind of distraction that can take me out of the game?

  “Earth to Vivienne,” says Tristan.

  “Oh yeah, I’m here,” I say.

  “You want to meet me in the cafeteria and have some dinner? We could go and see the movie after. It might help take your mind off Martina and everything else.”

  Tonight is movie night, and we always go to movie night. Tonight is actually Silver Linings Playbook, and it’s junior and senior night only because of the R rating on the movie. Normally, I would say 100 percent—absolutely. But tonight, I really want to try and sort out what may have happened to Martina, and I am going to need some peace and quiet to do it. However, one must always eat.

  “Tell you what, I am game for dinner. But I might have to skip the movie. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’m hoping to get some sleep tonight. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh. Okay. So, how about dinner in fifteen minutes?”

  I can hear the disappointment in his voice. But I have to do this. I just have to. “I’ll be there.” I hang up the phone and go into overdrive on trying to make myself as presentable as possible as I am still in breeches and my polo. I finally decide to just say, Screw it. It is not getting better than this. I will wear what I have on. I wet my hair and slick it straight back in a ponytail and then spray some hairspray on it, hoping that I don’t smell like helmet head. Helmet head is awful—it smells like a mixture of sour sweat and horse. Sorry. Just is what it is.

  I wash my hands, freshen up with a face wipe, and then reapply some blush, mascara, and lip gloss. Yep. Good as it is going to get. I take another look in the mirror and realize that the hair looks totally hideous. It really does. I find my Fairmont Academy cap and place it on my head. Oh yes—so attractive. Unfortunately, I am out of time.

  Walking up to the cafeteria, it hits me: I told Tristan that I showered after my lesson. There’s no way he’ll believe that when he gets a look at me, not to mention a whiff. It’s embarrassing, but I have no choice but to be honest about my little white lie.

  I make it to the cafeteria and spot Tristan. I smile, not in the I am so happy to see you way, but in the, Oh my God, I am completely mortified way.

  “Hi,” he says as he kisses my cheek. “Nice attire.”

  “I know. I’ve got some explaining to do,” I reply.

  He shrugs and looks at me as if to say, Okay.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I did have a rotten lesson with Christian. It wasn’t him, or my horse . . . it was me. I have been distracted over Martina’s disappearance, and everything else. After the lesson, I sort of checked out. My brain was on how and why . . . and what happened to our friend. You do care about what happened to our friend . . . don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” he says. “But don’t you think you’re obsessing a little?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t pretend to ignore the situation like everyone else. Martina is gone, and she may be in serious danger.”

  “She may be. But I doubt it. I think she is with someone she knows. Why would anyone get i
nto the car of someone that they don’t know?”

  “She could have been threatened. We don’t know. We don’t know what happened to her.” I realize that I am sounding nearly hysterical right now.

  Tristan reaches out and touches my shoulder. “I know that she is one of your best friends, but, baby, you can be naïve. I think that Martina is with some guy right now. Hanging out. Dealing with her stuff. I really do.”

  I take a deep breath. I look at Tristan. He looks amused as he smiles. I sigh.

  “I don’t think that is the case,” I say, my voice trembling with the effort of remaining calm, “but I will take a step back and consider your point of view.”

  He pauses. “That is very mature of you, Vivienne Taylor.”

  Really?! Really! Is he trying to get to me? “Thank you.” I try and say it as sweetly as I possibly can, but I sort of want to smack him upside the head.

  “Let’s get something to eat and try and move on. Okay? I get why you told me you showered. You felt pressured and you wanted an easy excuse. And, you know what—it’s fine. Plus, I liked the visual. But, you can always tell me the truth. I wouldn’t have cared.”

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  “Nope. Let’s eat.”

  We both get the lasagna for dinner. As we put the food on our trays, I try hard to take his advice about Martina and stop worrying so much. We sit down and he asks me what I’d like to drink. I tell him an iced tea would be good.

  As I watch him go up to get our drinks, I see Lydia making a beeline for my boyfriend. I’d been so absorbed in our conversation I hadn’t even noticed her. What the hell does she want from him at this point? The sight of her just makes me sick.

  I get up and go over to them. “Hi, Lydia,” I say. Of course her makeup is perfect. Her long blonde hair is curled, and she is wearing a nearly see-through white blouse. Why does this girl always look like she just stepped out of the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog? It makes me that much more self-conscious of the way I am looking right now.

  “Hello, Vivienne.” She gives me a disapproving once-over.

  “Where’s Harrison?” I ask.

  “Oh, he’s putting his horse up. He had a lesson. I’m hoping he makes it to the movie. You guys are going, aren’t you?” She directs this at Tristan.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “I might,” I reply.

  Lydia’s expression is amused. I am sure that I look disgusted.

  “You can always sit with me, T, if Vivienne can’t make it.”

  “Thanks,” he mutters.

  “I decided I want lemonade instead of iced tea,” I say.

  “Oh, okay.” Tristan fills up my glass with lemonade.

  “Hope you can make it, Vivienne,” Lydia says as we walk away with our drinks.

  When we sit down, I look at him and say, “What is it with her?”

  He sighs and looks down at his dinner. He finally says, “Vivienne, there is something that you should know about Lydia.”

  My stomach sinks. I don’t like the sound of this at all. “Okay,” I reply.

  “I can’t tell you everything because I don’t ever want you to get hurt.”

  I definitely do not like the sound of this. “I don’t understand.”

  “When Lydia and I went out, I told her things about my family that I wish I hadn’t. What she knows could cause us a lot of problems, and if she talks to the wrong—or should I say the right person—about these things, it would be very bad.”

  I swallow hard, and my mind is racing. “I really do not understand, Tristan. I mean, what could you have told her that could cause us problems?”

  I think I know, of course, given the communication I got from Sebastian, but I’m not sure what to say.

  He takes both of my hands now and doesn’t look at me. “My father is not a great man, and he has been involved with some illegal things. Lydia knows this. I was stupid enough to tell her the details.”

  “It’s natural to tell people things when we feel close to them. You were going out then, so it’s understandable. Now, you can talk to me.”

  He shakes his head. “I want to. I really do. But I care too much about you. I don’t ever want you to be harmed. I am sorry. I can’t explain it.”

  I am confused that he opened up to Lydia about something horrible in his personal life, but won’t to me. Ironically, though, I believe him. His secret is obviously so dark that he wants to protect me from learning it. I waver between getting upset with him and throwing my arms around him.

  “I’m grateful that you want to protect me, and you’re worried about my well-being, but we are a couple. I’m here for you. I understand if you can’t talk to me about whatever it is now, but please be open to it. Please understand that I am here for you, and I would never betray you. Ever.”

  “I know.” He kisses my cheek and looks back at his dinner.

  We finish eating in silence. I am not upset or angry with him, but I am growing more furious with Lydia every second. Could it be that she’s blackmailing Tristan? Would that explain why she’s always sidling up to him and making strange comments about his family, to remind him of what she knows? If so, I have to wonder what she is getting in return.

  We leave the cafeteria and I turn to Tristan and blurt out, “Is Lydia blackmailing you?”

  “No,” he replies a little too quickly. “Vivvie, I want to tell you everything, but I have to keep you safe. I need to think about my next move. Okay?”

  I nod. But it isn’t okay. I’m worried about him. I’m irritated that Lydia knows something about him that I don’t. For sure, I am more suspicious than ever of Lydia.

  “I don’t think I’m going to the movie,” he says. “I’m tired, too, and have some stuff to sort out.”

  “If you need to talk, please call me.”

  He kisses me, but I notice that it lacks his usual passion. He seems to be in as much of a strange mental space as I am, and since he won’t talk to me about what he’s hiding about his family, I decide to go to my room and see if there is anything I can do to locate Martina.

  CHAPTER twenty-seven

  Where to start? The first place I can think of to begin looking for clues to Martina’s whereabouts is the tabloid articles. I know that Martina tossed most of them, but there’s the one I’d crumpled up and thrown against the wall. Now I pick it off the floor and smooth out the pages. I read it and reread it. The thing about her possibly being adopted stands out to me. But, so does the stuff about her parents cheating on each other. Heck, what doesn’t stand out as nastiness in this article? Maybe Tristan is right and Martina did find someone to hang out with until she could get herself together.

  I don’t have any other articles, but I do Google searches of the family name until I have all of the gossip from the past year in front of me—from the mystery stalker who started going after Martina’s mom last fall to Martina getting into the van at the bowling alley and disappearing.

  I go over the articles a few times, and before I know it, I am blurry eyed and realize that I still have not showered. It’s almost eleven o’ clock. I jump in the shower and am halfway through washing my hair when it hits me. Sometimes answers come from the most unlikely sources. At least—answers, where I am concerned. I need to go and see Martina’s horse. It’s possible that Jetson might be able to give me a piece of information. If Martina is like me, she may have actually talked to her horse. We do tell them secrets. Even people who don’t have my gift talk to their animals. I think they do, anyway.

  I know that I am not supposed to break curfew, but I also realize that late at night is the perfect time for me to try and communicate with Jetson. I throw on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and pull my wet hair back into a ponytail.

  I’m down at the barn in five minutes. The lighting is dim, but I know this place like the back of my h
and. I go into Jetson’s stall and say, “Hi, big guy.”

  The first feeling I get from him is sadness, which seems normal since his kid hasn’t come to see him in the past day.

  I run my hands all over Jetson’s face, neck, and back. I stand to the front and then move to the side of him and place a hand on his neck. “I know you are missing Martina,” I say. “I am trying to find her and bring her back here.” I picture her face in my mind. I picture her walking away and then going out of focus, and I am hoping that he can understand what this means. I am trying to convey to him that we can’t find her. That she walked into the dark, so to speak. I don’t know how well he can understand this, but I have to start somewhere.

  Then, without even making me wait, he does it. He tells me something. He shows me Martina reading something. It’s a note. I connect with the image. I can see that the note is on the same type of paper as the note that she found in her locker. Her face looks upset and irritated and I see her stuff the note into the tack tote on the ground next to her.

  I pet him and say, “You are a good boy!”

  I leave Jetson’s stall and turn the combination lock to get into the tack room. Once inside, I open up Martina’s trunk and find her tack tote. I rummage through brushes, a bottle of fly spray, a hoof pick—and then, at the bottom of the bag, I find the note.

  I read it in the dim lighting.

  I have information you want. I will be in touch soon.

  I feel a rush of adrenaline as I realize the note could very well lead to whoever took my friend. But the crazy thing is that the person who wrote it had to be someone on campus. To come onto Fairmont’s grounds you have to sign in. The gate doesn’t just open for anyone. Of course, one of the students or staff could have given someone the gate code, which would have allowed them access to the grounds. But, we notice strangers around here. An unfamiliar face at the barn would surely be reported by the grooms or the students.