Trouble with Horses

by Maggie Toussaint

  TROUBLE WITH HORSES

  A Trouble Short Story

  and

  A Prequel to the Seafood Caper Mysteries

  Maggie Toussaint

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, and locales is entirely coincidental.

  Trouble With Horses

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Maggie Toussaint

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author or Muddle House Publishing, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact information: maggietoussaint@darientel.net

  Cover art by Maggie Toussaint

  Muddle House Publishing

  1146 Tolomato Drive SE

  Darien, GA 31305

  Visit us at www.muddlehousepublishing.com

  Publishing History

  First Print Edition, KaliOka Press, February 2018

  Authors Ebook Edition, Muddle House Publishing, April 2020

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More Books by Maggie Toussaint

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to animal lovers everywhere.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to author Beth Terrell for inviting me to participate in the Trouble with Cupid romantic mystery anthology, featuring author Carolyn Haines’ famous crime-solving black cat, Trouble. It is a pleasure to join the Mad Catters collective who have written in this story world. The “Forward” on the next page is from that anthology, and I added it to help set the stage for a cat that fancies himself a first-order sleuth. Not just any sleuth though, he patterns himself after the Benedict Cumberbatch version of Sherlock Holmes. (You will also note, the cat’s point of view sections are illustrated in italics.)

  Instead of continuing with the Catters, however, I used the main characters in my short story “Trouble with Horses” to spin-off my own mystery series, the Seafood Caper Mysteries. Critique partner Polly Iyer, along with Beth Terrell and several Mad Catters, were instrumental in helping the short story to shine. Any mistakes or errors in this short story are mine and mine alone.

  Forward

  One of the most fascinating, horrifying, and mystifying things about humans is their ability to lie. Cats never lie (though we are occasionally known to obfuscate). A purr, a hiss, a lashing tail—they mean exactly what they say. But humans have quite literally raised the act of deception to an art form. Fortunately, my feline intuition and my finely honed powers of observation can cut through a haze of deceit like the blaze of a lighthouse lamp. My method is simple. Like Sherlock’s, it is founded on “the observation of trifles.” But there is nothing trifling about the danger one can find oneself and one’s charges in when a web of lies begins to unravel.—Trouble

  From the instant my paws land on the horse rescue farm, a pungent aroma fills my nose. My hero, Sherlock Holmes, probably has his fill of horses and manure back in the day. Horses get a bad rap for the stink of their “road apples” but it’s not their fault. Poop happens. Trouble’s my name, detecting is my game. I’m a black cat, son of Familiar, the famous feline detective. Like my sire, I’m attuned to threats in my surroundings, unlike most humans who ignore input from their intuition.

  Before leaving for her week-long cruise, Tammy Lynn dropped me off in coastal Georgia with the admonition to protect her friend, River Holloway. River’s a cat person, but apparently she’s also a horse person. As soon as we arrive at the farm, River bolts from the catering van to pet a large horse with hooves the size of dinner plates. I follow slowly, getting the lay of the well-groomed property. From the paddocks ringed with board fences, the hulking barn, and the mansion-sized house, this estate and its owner could keep a cat in style.

  A sharp-dressed man trots down the sweeping stairs. His quick pace and the glowing interest on his face suggest River means something to him. He pauses when she throws her arms around the horse’s neck and whispers to it. My gaze darts from the woman beside me to the man watching her. Oh, yes, something is afoot besides one of River’s delicious meals. A matter of the heart.

  I compute the possibilities and nod. If I deem the man worthy of River, I’ll help him. If he hurts her, I’ll even the score. After all, my mission is to protect River, and I won’t let her down.

  My hands shook during the drive down the fence-lined lane to the big house and barn. The wonderful scent of horse coming through my van’s windows helped my frayed nerves. True confession time. I’m River Holloway and I’d contracted this catering job against my better judgment.

  Pete Merrick broke my heart a year ago when he merged his security company with another and moved across the country. He knew my ailing mother depended on my care, knew I couldn’t leave her behind. At first, he called when he could, but his job took over his life. Three months ago, he became CEO of North Merrick Security Systems. Not that I’d kept tabs on him after he dumped me.

  Was I ready to see my ex again? Enough time had passed that I should’ve moved on, but I’d been trapped in that tween place of anger and brokenness.

  I turned down this Valentine’s Day catering job, three times to be precise, until Pete offered an exorbitant rate. I hated that money trumped my pride, but my brother stole a car after our mom’s funeral last month. Now he needed a lawyer and bail money. I was his only hope.

  “River.”

  At the sound of Pete’s voice, my arms tightened instinctively around the marvelous paint. It’d been forever since I’d been near horses, but I longed to have one, and this gentle giant won my heart at first glance. The affection seemed mutual, which is more than I could say for the man standing behind me. His corporate dinner for six was prepped in my van, but my wafer-thin composure suddenly needed a pep talk.

  Pete chose work.

  He didn’t choose you.

  My eyes misted at the heartache these decisions still wrought, until I shoved the emotional chaos out of my mind and revisited my priorities. This isn’t about him or me. This is about earning the money to help my brother. Mom always said to try your wings and fly. This is me flapping my wings. This is me helping my brother.

  “River,” Pete said again.

  I could do this. With a final pat, I released the horse and turned around, my gaze hungry for the sight of him. From his dark hair tamed into submission, to the tailored suit that flattered his broad shoulders and narrow waist, I was captivated. His gem green eyes radiated strong emotion that stirred up a swarm of butterflies in my belly. Would he try to mend fences? Would I let him?

  “Hello, Pete.” I cringed inwardly at how wooden my voice sounded.

  He stopped a few steps short of me. “It’s great to see you again, River. You look amazing.”

  My hands automatically flew to my hair, which had been perfectly confined in a clip before I had been drawn to this powerful gelding. Now, loose tendrils dangled in my line of sight. Not exactly the polished image I planned to present to my ex-boyfriend. I smoothed them in place and dashed the horse hair from my jacket. I recited the lines I’d rehearsed on the three-hour drive west. “Thank you for the opportunity to cater your executive retreat. I hope you’re pleased with Holloway Catering.”

  His eyes narrowed, and I picked up the black cat for moral support. “This is Trouble.”

  He gave a lopsided smile. “It sure is.”

  I frowned. “Ha
ve you met before?”

  “I’m not talking about the cat. I’ve missed you, River.”

  He stopped calling two months after he left. Just stopped. I left three unreturned messages before I gave up on him. How was I to believe a word coming out of his mouth? Time to remind him of the ground rules. “I agreed to take this job if we kept things on a professional basis.”

  His easy smile faltered as a cab stopped in the circular driveway. He gestured toward the mansion. “As you wish. Dinner is to be served at five. Follow the drive around to the kitchen. I’ll have my security team unload the van for you. I hope you still like mysteries because after the meal, I need your help with one.”

  He was gone before I could object.

  The gourmet kitchen took my breath away. Stainless steel appliances lined the walls, granite covered the counters, and the oversized sink was to die for. Valence-topped windows framed the expansive pastures. I drifted over to the table for two in the bay window to get a better view. I could easily spend weeks puttering in this kitchen and watching the horses.

  Trouble leapt onto the window ledge, his dark tail swishing. His topaz eyes bored into mine as if to tell me to get to work. Caterers didn’t putter, and on this job I was doing the work of two people. I corralled my wishful dreams and began assembling the menu Pete requested for his executive team. Normally I expected referrals from my satisfied customers, but this horse ranch was three hours from my Georgia coast base of operations and Pete’s team had flown here from California. This job was a one-off, but the cushy pay was worth the inconvenience, and who knew what might come of the exposure.

  Pete came to the kitchen door when his dinner guests were assembled. “We’re ready.”

  “I’ll be right out.” I double checked the salad I’d plated. The greens really popped on the red-rimmed china. Carefully, I hefted the serving tray and followed Pete to the dining room. The place settings of dishes, sterling tableware, crystal stemware, crimson table runner, and a trio of floating candles had been artfully arranged on the oval table before I arrived. The mood in the dining room looked romantic, given the Valentine-themed table settings and the bouquets of red roses on tables flanking the antique mantelpiece, but the vibe felt strange. Was this Pete’s mystery?

  Trouble darted through the kitchen door before I could set down the serving tray on the sideboard. Pete waved me forward. “That’s okay. The cat is friendly.”

  I approached the table, my face heating. “Are you sure? Because Trouble can stay in the kitchen.”

  “The cat’s fine. Everyone, this is my friend River Holloway, owner of Holloway Catering.”

  After a chorus of hellos, Trouble and I made our way around the table. I handed out the lightly dressed field greens while the cat greeted each of Pete’s guests.

  Opal, a smiling woman with a white chignon and a boxy charcoal suit, sat to Pete’s right. She thanked me by name for her salad. I couldn’t help noticing how ragged her fingernails looked. She told Trouble he was a good kitty, but she didn’t pet him.

  Next to Opal sat Kurt, an Asian man about my age wearing a pinstriped suit. He had a frequent habit of clearing his throat. His light gray eyes put me in mind of a wolf. I hoped I didn’t have to deal much with him because his peepers were downright creepy. He glared at the cat’s approach and Trouble gave him a wide berth.

  I placed a salad by the empty chair at the foot of the table and Pete said, “No need for that. My other guest will join us for dessert.”

  After the empty spot came Ann Marie. Her scarlet figure-flattering dress and bold lipstick set off her pale coloration, midnight dark hair, and blue-green eyes. With her lush curves, she could’ve been a model, but judging by the flash of annoyance she sent my way, she didn’t care much for the help. She used her foot to shoo Trouble away from her chair.

  Was she dating Pete? Just because I hadn’t moved on was no reason to think he hadn’t been dating. But somehow I didn’t see him with Ann Marie. Based on her appearance, she had more flash than substance and he’d always valued substance.

  To Pete’s right sat a young twenty-something with an asymmetrical sun-kissed haircut in a slouchy navy jacket with pushed up sleeves and skinny jeans. According to Pete, Frank had an MBA and would finalize his PhD by year’s end. Frank kept mopping his forehead – guess he dreaded eating Southern cuisine.

  Much to my surprise, Frank reached down and scratched the kitty’s head and throat. Trouble purred loudly. Pete also gave Trouble the star treatment as the cat came by his chair.

  I returned to the kitchen to slice the jalapeno cornbread and sauté the Wild Caught Georgia Shrimp. The oven timer chimed. I removed the bubbling sweet potato casserole from the upper oven and saw the peach cobbler needed ten more minutes.

  Trouble begged a few shrimp and I made sure they were cool to the touch before I offered them on a saucer. “You wish all the shrimp were yours, don’t you?” I asked as he rubbed against my leg, purring loudly.

  Like a watchdog, Trouble the cat tracked my every move, dogging my heels as I plated and served the main course. As I served Kurt, Trouble darted under the table and batted at Ann Marie’s sleek purse. Fortunately, the woman didn’t notice.

  Back in the kitchen, I turned to my shadow who pawed at the floor. “Don’t antagonize the guests, Trouble. It’s bad for business. Besides, we’ll be leaving within the hour. Have patience.”

  With each pass I made into the dining room, Pete’s face lit up at my approach. Were the Valentine’s Day decorations messing with his head? My skin prickled at the masculine attention and I found myself sneaking glances at him. His color was good but he’d lost weight. California must not agree with him. Perversely, that last thought made me happy.

  While Pete’s team dined, I washed my pots and policed the kitchen, careful to keep the noise down since the door between kitchen and dining room remained open.

  At times the dinner conversation livened with sports talk, at others it faltered. My mom used to call that lull a “Sword of Damocles” moment. Knowing Pete, these people were top notch, but something jangled under the guise of their small talk. They seemed to be waiting for the sword to drop.

  Not my problem. I removed the dinner plates and scooped homemade peach ice cream atop servings of peach cobbler.

  I didn’t envy Pete working with this crew. If the hostile body language and nasty looks they exchanged were any indication, they didn’t respect each other. Personality conflicts or something more, I wondered, intrigued by this display. Could this be Pete’s mystery? Somehow I doubted one weekend of team-building would have this group singing “Kum Ba Yah.”

  Pete gestured to the empty place after everyone had cobbler. “Bring another dessert and black coffee for my final guest.” So I did, wondering who the mysterious guest was while I enjoyed the compliments on the meal.

  “Certainly.” I filled his request and topped off the coffee cups. The tardy guest better hurry or the ice cream would be soup.

  Pete followed me to the coffee station at the sideboard. “Please join us, River.”

  A spark of desire flashed between us, and I acknowledged the undercurrents of his employees weren’t the only ones in this room. Longing filled his eyes, and my heart jolted. Damn. I wasn’t prepared for this. How could he ignore me for months and expect me to open my arms to him?

  I had to be strong for both of us. After this meal, he’d leave again. He wanted me because I was the one that got away. Pete never backed away from a challenge.

  “I should pack the van,” I said. “I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  “It can wait.” He tugged me closer. “I need your help solving a mystery.”

  His heady scent, a blend of sea breeze, citrus, and Pete, made it impossible to think straight. “Okay, I’ll stay, but I don’t see how I can help.”

  He reached behind me and shut the kitchen door. “I trust you.”

  How odd and yet his admission melted the starch in my spine. Pete escorted me to the empty seat
, pulling out my chair, his hand lingering on my shoulder as I sat. If not for him ignoring me for months, I’d think he cared for me. The notion skittered in my head, tantalizing me with fairy tale possibilities. The roses and candlelight were infecting me too.

  Pete tapped his dessert fork against a crystal water glass. “I’m glad everyone could join me at the farm on short notice. Holloway Catering provided an excellent kick-off to our corporate retreat. Thank you, River.”

  Polite applause ensued. I nodded, sipped coffee, and wondered where this was going.

  “I asked River for an outsider’s perspective of our discussion. I’ll get right to the point. Once the cartel takeover threat to North Merrick was neutralized, a new problem came to light.”

  Cartel takeover? My blood iced. Pete had said nothing of a takeover or drug lords, just that he needed to address the company’s problems. Drug cartels played for keeps. He was lucky he survived. Why didn’t he tell me what he was up against?

  “Someone in the company wants North Merrick to fail,” Pete continued. “Further, someone at this table leaked proprietary information to our competition, embezzled money from the company, and sabotaged several clients’ customized security software. Until I know different, every employee at this table is guilty.”

  The outcry deafened me. It took everything I had not to cover my ears. Trouble leapt from his post by my chair to the nearby window, crouched low, and stared outside. What did he see in the dusky twilight?

  Ann Marie’s shrill voice rose above the others. “How dare you accuse me of criminal activity? I’m a shareholder. Why would I sabotage our bottom line?”

  Frank smacked his palm on the table, causing forks to clatter on the empty china plates. The uproar ceased, and all eyes rested on the gangly young man as he stood. “My record speaks for itself. I refuse to sit here and be accused of criminal activity.”

  “Leave this room and you’re fired,” Pete said. “Sit down, Frank. Nobody leaves until I know who is sabotaging North Merrick.”