Whirlwind

by Alison Hart

  “Mrs. Quincey.”

  “Oh, her.” Jas knew her as “the old lady who volunteered in the office Monday mornings.” Bending, she poked through the silverware, dishes, glasses, hot mitts, and cooking utensils. “That was really nice.”

  “She’s moving into assisted living and needs to get rid of her kitchen stuff.”

  “That’s really nice.” Jas held up a blue-rimmed plate. “At High Meadows Farm, no one was nice.”

  Pulling out a hand beater, Chase whirled it next to her ear. “No one?”

  “Grandfather, of course, and Grandmother when she was alive.” Carefully, Jas unwrapped two flower-painted glasses and set them on a cupboard shelf. “And Phil Sparks, I guess. When my grandmother died, Hugh got meaner. Maybe when she was alive, she’d forced him to be human.”

  “So even you were meaner then?” Chase handed her a plate.

  She ignored his teasing. “Not mean. Just not nice. Now that I look back, I see that living there was changing me.”

  “You were turning into a mini Hugh!” Chase gasped with horror.

  “Are you ever serious?” Jas poked him with a spatula, then placed it in a drawer. “I’m trying to say something profound here.”

  “Mini Hugh wasn’t profound?”

  “Actually it was. Maybe Whirlwind ‘dying’ was the best thing that ever happened to me. It got me away from there.”

  “Plus it got you sent to Second Chance Farm. Where I met you,” Chase said. His back was to her as he reached up to put a plate on the shelf, so she couldn’t see his face. But she could tell by his voice that for once he wasn’t joking.

  “That too,” she said, realizing how fast her heart was suddenly beating. Quickly, she banged shut the drawer. “I’ll put the rest away later. I’ve had enough for one day.”

  Turning away, she washed her hands under the kitchen faucet, which spat rust-colored water, and dried them on a paper towel. “Is Rand finished working? I don’t hear any hammering.”

  “He and Lucy went to feed. It’s almost four.”

  “So you’re free to do some detective work?”

  Facing her, he gave her his usual teasing grin. “There really was a body under the floorboards?”

  “No, doofy.” Jas tossed the wadded up towel at him. “I’m tired of waiting for Investigator Baylor to show up. Grandfather and Rand gave me some names of people who haul horses in the area.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her back pocket. “I say we find the Yellow Pages and start phoning.”

  Chase pointed a wooden spoon at her. “I knew it was a good idea.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they sat side by side on the porch swing. Jas sipped lemonade while Chase drank a soda. His left leg was next to her right one. Sawdust clung to the golden hairs on his knees. Her jeans were sprinkled with dirt. Both of them were thirsty, hot, and smelled like sweat.

  Jas smiled, liking the closeness. “Horse haulers. Horse transport,” she guessed as she flicked through the Yellow Pages. “I’m not even sure what to look under.”

  “Horse killers?” Chase suggested. “Oh, wait, that would be under R, for Robicheaux.”

  “Wait. Here it is. Equine Transport Services. Only two companies listed.” She punched a set of numbers into the portable phone. Taking it from her, Chase pressed the OFF button. “Why’d you do that?” she asked.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say? We don’t want to make them suspicious.”

  “Oh, right.” She gnawed her bottom lip, thinking.

  “Does Hugh have a secretary or accountant? You could pretend to be one of them, checking on a bill or something.”

  “Good idea.” She flipped the pages until she came to Accountants. She randomly selected the name of an accountant to use, then dialed one of the horse transporters.

  “Hello. My name is Esther uh … Smith … of EZ Bookkeeping and Accounting in Harrisonburg. I work for Mr. Hugh Robicheaux at High Meadows Farm in Stanford.” As Jas spun her story, Chase gave her a thumbs-up. “You sent an invoice dated June first for hauling a horse from his farm. I need to verify that information. Thank you. I’ll hold.” She covered the mouthpiece. “They’re checking.”

  Minutes later, the woman on the other end said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Smith. There is no record of our company hauling a horse for Mr. Robicheaux.”

  Jas thanked her. “Let’s try the second number.” Chase took the phone from her. “This time, I want to talk.”

  “Okay, but do not tell them your real name.”

  Chase gave her an “I’m not that stupid” look and then said, “Hello, is this Highsmith Transport? My name is Jim Bond from EZ Bookkeeping….”

  Jas rolled her eyes.

  “Nope,” Chase said minutes later. “Highsmith has never heard of the notorious Hugh. Let’s try the list your grandfather came up with.”

  “I’ve already found the phone number for the first name: Tommy Looney.”

  “Looney? As in crazy? That sounds sketchy.”

  Jas took the phone from him. “My turn.” This time when she dialed, instead of a crisp-talking receptionist, a guy answered with a sleepy “yup.”

  “Is this Mr. Looney?” Jas asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “This is Esther Smith of EZ Bookkeeping and Accounting in Harrisonburg. I work for Mr. Hugh Robicheaux at High Meadows Farm in Stanford.” She launched into her spiel.

  When she finished, there was a long pause punctuated by several coughs. “June first you say?” Looney finally asked.

  The way he emphasized the date made Jas catch her breath. “Yes. I have the invoice right in front of me.”

  “Invoice? Lady, you’ve definitely got the wrong guy.”

  “Are you sure Mr. Looney? Your name—”

  “I’m sure.” His tone was gruff. “I ain’t never hauled no chestnut horse from the Robicheaux place.” The phone clicked off.

  The hairs rose on the back of Jas’s neck. Wide-eyed, she turned toward Chase. “We found him,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Hugh hired Tommy Looney to haul Whirlwind.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He said he doesn’t remember hauling a chestnut horse from the Robicheaux place.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s enough, Chase,” Jas exclaimed. “Don’t you see? I never told him the horse was chestnut!”

  Eleven

  CHASE’S JAW DROPPED. “THAT’S DARN FINE detective work, Ms. Smith.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bond.” Jas chewed a ragged nail. “Only, now what? He denied it and hung up on me. So it’s not like he’s going to tell me where he took Whirlwind. And it’s not like the police can bust in and arrest him.”

  “M. Baylor can,” Chase said. “Not arrest him but find out where Looney took Whirlwind.”

  Jas gave him a doubtful look.

  “PIs can do anything,” he insisted. “Haven’t you watched detective shows on television?”

  She shook her head. “I need to talk to Grandfather. He knows Tommy Looney. I bet he could find out where he took Whirlwind. I’ll call him.”

  “Isn’t he moving here tomorrow?”

  “I can’t wait until then.” Bolting off the swing, Jas began to pace along the porch, the phone clutched in her hand. Hastily, she punched in the numbers for her grandfather, but he was in physical therapy. “I’ll call Mr. Jenkins.” But the insurance agency was closed. “It must be after five.” Frustrated, she tossed the phone at Chase, who caught it with one hand.

  “Where’s Miss Hahn?” Chase asked. “We can tell her.”

  “Off with Mr. Muggins, picking up hay. We’re supposed to help them unload it.”

  Chase finished his soda. “When she gets here, we’ll tell her what we found out.”

  “Not in front of Mr. Muggins,” Jas said quickly.

  Chase arched one brow. “Right … that spy thing.” He crushed the empty soda can. “Let’s call your grandfather later. Then tomorrow we’ll call Mr. Jenkins and find out where this Baylor pers
on is.” When Jas strode in front of Chase, he caught her wrist. “Does that sound like a plan?”

  She nodded impatiently. “It’s just that this is the first real break, and I’m tired of waiting. I want to find Whirlwind. Now.”

  “We will.” Chase pulled her down beside him on the swing, and his skin was warm against hers. “I promise.”

  The next day, Jas stood in the middle of the mobile home’s living room. That morning, she’d finished tearing up the carpet. She’d scrubbed the walls, ceiling, and floor. After everything had dried, she’d vacuumed with Miss Hahn’s Shop-Vac. The place was clean but depressing. There were no curtains, no frills, and—except for two beds—no furniture.

  They’d lived in a mobile home at High Meadows Farm, so it wasn’t as if Jas expected luxury. But it had been bright and homey with Grandmother’s plump pillows, framed photos, and hooked rugs. Jas had no doubt that by now Hugh had destroyed her family’s every possession and keepsake. They were starting over.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. It was tangled with soap scum and dust. They’d never been able to contact Grandfather yesterday, and now he was due any minute. She couldn’t bear to think of him coming into this.

  Going outside, she placed two pots of geraniums on either side of the new stairs that Rand and Chase had built. At least he would be greeted with a sturdy railing and bright flowers. Weary, she plopped on the bottom step and glanced down the hill. The underfoot gang hung outside the office trailer, which meant Miss Hahn was inside. When Chase and Jas had told her about Tommy Looney, she’d gotten excited. She had promised to call Mr. Jenkins this morning to tell him and to ask when M. Baylor was coming.

  Now it was early afternoon. Jas jiggled her leg, anxious to find out what Miss Hahn had discovered. But she had one more task to finish before Grandfather’s arrival.

  She headed back into the mobile home, which had two tiny bedrooms. Social services had given them money for mattresses. She and Miss Hahn had found two single bed frames at Goodwill. Last night, they’d bought sheet sets, pillows, mattress covers, and blankets at Kmart. Early this morning, they’d washed away the newness from the sheets and blankets and hung them to dry.

  Jas went into the closet-sized room that would be hers. The bed was pushed into the corner, leaving a foot of space on two sides. The new bedcovers were neatly folded and stacked in the middle. Sitting down, she bounced on the mattress. It was springy, and when she held the blanket to her nose and breathed deeply, it smelled like fresh air. At least she and Grandfather would sleep comfortably.

  “Hello?” a cheery voice sang from outside. Jas leaped off the bed. Were Miss Tomlinson and Grandfather here already? Scurrying into the living room, she shoved the cleaning supplies and Shop-Vac out of sight in a closet.

  “Yooo-hooo. Anyone home?” Jas recognized Mrs. Quincey’s voice. The older woman had a heart of gold but was too wobbly around the rambunctious animals, so on some mornings she helped Miss Hahn with filing and phoning.

  “In here, Mrs. Quincey.” Jas opened the front door, which Rand had fixed this morning. Mrs. Quincey stood on the landing of the new steps. One hand clutched a flower-patterned throw pillow. The other clung tightly to the railing. Her gray hair was a halo of permed swirls. Her cheeks were powdered and rouged.

  “Am I your first visitor?” she chirped.

  “You are. Let me help you.” Holding her elbow, Jas steered her into the living room.

  “This is lovely!” Mrs. Quincey beamed at the bare space.

  “It will be.”

  “Yesterday, I moved into assisted living. One bedroom—can you imagine?” She tottered into the kitchen, opening and shutting the cupboard doors.

  “Thank you for everything you sent us,” Jas said. “See how nicely it all fits?” She gestured to the shelves stacked with the blue-rimmed china.

  “I’m so glad you and Karl can use it.”

  “Karl?”

  “Didn’t your grandfather tell you we were friends?”

  Jas’s brows rose. “No.”

  “I was in the nursing home for a week recovering from hip surgery while he was there. We hit it off. After I was discharged, I kept visiting him.” She lowered her voice as if confiding in Jas before adding, “Such a gentleman.”

  “Grandfather?” Jas pictured his callused fingers and manure-stained overalls.

  “He’s a peach.” Mrs. Quincey handed her the pillow. “This is for your sofa, dear.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged it to her chest, still wondering about Grandfather and Mrs. Quincey. Were they an item, as her grandmother used to say? “We don’t have a sofa yet. But when we do, this will look beautiful on it.”

  “Of course it will.” Mrs. Quincey looked at Jas as if she was daft. “It matches perfectly.”

  A truck motor roared outside. “Is someone waiting for you?” Jas asked, knowing the older woman never could have climbed the path. Then she heard voices and a rap on the door. When Jas opened it, Miss Hahn grinned at her from behind a lamp shade. Behind her, a line of people snaked down the steps and alongside the front of the mobile home. Mr. Muggins and another volunteer named George had a rolled rug draped over their shoulders. Lucy and her mother each carried a kitchen chair. Others carried a round wood table, a bedside table, and a stand lamp. At the end of the line, Chase and Rand held opposite ends of a flowered sofa that matched the pillow.

  Jas burst into tears. Covering her face, she retreated into the living room. As Miss Hahn passed by, she handed her a tissue and whispered, “The investigator will be here tomorrow morning.” Nodding, Jas blew her nose, overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness.

  Mrs. Quincey patted her shoulder. “Go ahead, dear. I cried, too, when I moved into my new apartment.”

  “Is this all from your old house?” Jas waved at the growing pile.

  “Yes, and I’m so pleased you can use it. My belongings will have a happy home here.”

  “Where do you want the sofa?” Rand hollered from the doorway.

  “Against this wall.” Mrs. Quincey directed with moving-man firmness. “But first we need to put down the carpet. Mr. Muggins, George!” She gestured for them to hurry over. Jas helped roll out the rug. It was cornflower blue with a plush pile. “Don’t tear the sofa cover, gentlemen,” Mrs. Quincey scolded as Chase and Rand staggered over under the weight.

  Half an hour later, the volunteers were gone. Jas couldn’t believe the transformation. And when Grandfather arrived with Miss Tomlinson, she greeted him with a hug and said, “We’re finally home.”

  As she showed him around, he silently inspected each room. Then, pale and shaky, he sank into a recliner. Patting the overstuffed arm, he whispered, “Mine.”

  Miss Tomlinson gave her instructions about Grandfather’s medications before leaving. Jas thanked her for all her help and then perched on the arm of the chair. Grandfather’s eyes were closed. His lower jaw sagged with approaching sleep.

  “Grandfather.” She rubbed his wrist. It was cool to the touch despite the summer heat. “Before you take a nap, I need to ask you about Tommy Looney.”

  “’ooney?” He forced his eyes open. “I know ’at name.”

  “He was the one who hauled Whirlwind the day she left High Meadows.”

  “He ’id?” His gray eyes shifted to meet hers.

  “Yes. Of course, he denied it. But I know.” She said it with such conviction that Grandfather bobbed his head. “What I don’t know is how we can get more information out of him. We need to find out where he took her.”

  Grandfather ran his hand down his face. His fingers made a scratching noise as they passed over his whiskers. For the first time, Jas wondered if she would be able to care for him. The nurse’s assistants had helped him bathe and shave. Would she have to take over those tasks? No one had told her.

  Taking Jas’s hand, Grandfather pressed it between his. “Don’t mess with Tommy ’ooney,” he told her. “You’ll scare ’im away if you start asking questions.”

  She
bit her lip. “I was afraid you’d say that. The investigator from the insurance agency is coming tomorrow morning.”

  “Let ’im ’andle it,” he said.

  Jas blew out an impatient breath, tired of waiting for others to get the job done. “Okay, but how about if—”

  Grandfather gripped her hand hard, cutting off her words. “Stay ’way from ’ooney. He’s cagey. Smart. Like Hugh.” A troubled look came over his face.

  Jas swallowed hard. Tommy Looney must be “cut from the same cloth,” as her grandmother used to say.

  “Promise me,” he said, his voice fading as he grew tired.

  “I promise.”

  Grandfather sighed deeply as if satisfied. Then his lids grew heavy, his grasp loosened, and his chin dropped to his chest as he fell asleep.

  Silence filled the mobile home. Jas shivered as she tried to picture Tommy Looney. She must have seen him at High Meadows. But she couldn’t conjure a face. All she knew was that he was the person who had driven Whirlwind from the farm and from her life.

  Now he would be the one who would help bring her back.

  Twelve

  JAS AIMED THE NOZZLE OF THE HOSE AT Shadow. She’d ridden him that morning, and his neck and back were streaked with sweat. As she sprayed, he danced and bit at the stream of water as if she hadn’t trotted him for two hours. She, on the other hand, was exhausted. By the end of the ride, her legs had felt like jelly.

  “Stand!” Jas commanded, to no avail. She wanted him bathed and cooled before the investigator showed up. M. Baylor hadn’t given Miss Hahn a definite time. Jas was expecting the investigator any minute.

  The phone conversation with Tommy Looney played again through her mind. She was sure he could lead her to Whirlwind. Before talking to him, she’d been impatient. Now she was bursting.

  From the corner of her eye, Jas spotted Miss Hahn coming from the backyard of the house. Walking with her was a young woman, petite next to Miss Hahn’s large frame. As Jas wiped Shadow’s face with a towel, she watched them approach. Miss Hahn wore khaki shorts, a baggy T-shirt, and Muck Boots. The visitor wore a tight black skirt, a fitted sleeveless blouse, and strappy sandals. Gold bracelets ringed her arms. Her hair had chunky blond highlights and was stylishly cut with sweeping bangs, as if she was a Hollywood celebrity.