Horse Sense (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 2)

by Valerie Tate

  HORSE SENSE

  by

  Valerie Tate

  Copyright

  HORSE SENSE © 2014 Valerie Tate

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  'HORSE SENSE' is published by Red Cottage Books

  'HORSE SENSE' is the copyright of the author, Valerie Tate, 2014. All rights are reserved.

  All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental.

  In memory of Dr. Ralph Watt, a wonderful vet and a true gentleman.

  And for the equine loves of my life, Equatra, Gem, Copper Penny and Devon.

  Acknowledgements

  Horses have been my passion and my privilege for over 30 years. I have them to thank for many happy hours and a few bumps and bruises.

  I wish to thank the many people who have looked after them as well as my coaches, farriers and vets and the other horse lovers who became my friends.

  I would also like to thank Judy Hodgkinson who advised me on the cover art, Bradley Wind who did the final design, Dr. Debbie Davies for her veterinary advice and Ursula Hosking for her dressage expertise.

  I will not change my horse with any that treads...

  When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk:

  He trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it...

  William Shakespeare

  King Henry V, Act 3

  —

  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  16th century English Proverb

  Prologue

  The voice on the phone said, “Twenty thousand.”

  “I’ve told you before, I can’t do it. He’s too high profile.”

  “You’ve done it before and no one has suspected. Twenty-two thousand.”

  “This is different.”

  “No, it isn’t. Twenty-four thousand.”

  “I’d get caught. I can’t risk it!”

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  There was a pause followed by resigned sigh, “All right. Twenty-five thousand.”

  Chapter 1

  One year later.

  He took the front steps of the old stone house two at a time, unlocked the door and walked in. Throwing the mail and his keys on the table and hanging his jacket on the hook by the door, he went into the living room. It had been a long day and he wanted to relax with a drink.

  A soft, sibilant sound, like the warning hiss of a snake, alerted him and he turned just in time to block the blow that was aimed at him. He leaped sideways but not quickly enough. A flying sideways kick caught him squarely in the solar plexus and he went down hard. As he lay gasping for breath on the floor, his assailant loomed over him.

  “You missed class,” his wife said, bending down and grinning. “That was the new move we learned.” She offered him a hand to pull him up.

  “Sorry. The meeting went late. I’ll call and arrange a make-up. You know, Ali, keep that up and one day you’re going to give me a heart attack.” Chris collapsed on the couch, breathing heavily. She laughed and sat down beside him. After narrowly avoiding death at the hands of an axe-wielding murderer the year before, Alicia had signed them up for Tae Kwon Do classes and had discovered an unsuspected talent.

  “I picked up the mail. There’s a parcel for you from Alex.”

  Her face lit up. “I’ll bet it’s the DVD of her ride at the Olympics!” She ran to open it. “Yes, that’s what it is. We can watch it right after dinner. I’ll check on the macaroni and make the salad. You set the table.” The vision of a tall, cold beer vanished as he peeled himself off the sofa to find plates and cutlery.

  Alex was Alicia’s best friend. They had met in college and had been inseparable until graduation had taken Alicia home to Dunbarton and Alex to Germany for training in the equestrian sport of dressage.

  For the non-horsey, dressage is a combination of gymnastics and ballet on horse-back. The horse is trained to listen to the softest of aids which guide him through patterns of movement that resemble a dance routine. It takes years of training for both the horse and the rider to reach the pinnacle of that sport which is the Grand Prix and only the very best riders and most dynamic, extravagantly moving horses achieve the ultimate glory and honour of riding at the Olympics.

  Alex had done just that a few months previous and had sent Alicia a DVD of her rides. She had done very well, scoring in the mid 70 % range in the Grand Prix and low 80’s in her Freestyle to music, also known as the Kur, which, while not a personal best, was quite remarkable at that level of competition and had seen her finish in the top ten individually which helped put the Canadian team in fourth place over-all, just out of the medals.

  Following a quick meal, Chris and Alicia put on the DVD and curled up on the sofa to watch. Alicia opted to go straight to the Freestyle.

  The dressage ring was surrounded by banks of flowers in the centre of the enormous Olympic stadium. It was night-time but the lighting made it seem like day, clearly illuminating the thousands of people that filled the stands. A gigantic screen made viewing the rides as intimate for the back rows as the front. A similar screen was positioned outside the stadium for over-flow crowds who had not been able to purchase tickets to the sold-out event.

  Alex rode into the stadium just as the previous rider was leaving amidst ecstatic cheering for a clearly exceptional performance. After a brief minute’s ride around the outside of the rectangular ring, the judges gave the signal that she had one minute to begin. Riding down the long side, she halted and signalled for her music to begin. She then entered the ring, halted once more, lowered her right hand to her side and bowed her head to salute the main judge in the booth at the far end. Years of dedicated preparation had led her to this moment. The music started again and the ride of her life began.

  The chestnut horse appeared to float soundlessly and effortlessly across the ring to the lilting strains of Tschaikovsky’s ‘Sleeping Beauty Waltz’. (The only reason Chris knew it was the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ was because Walt Disney had used it as the love theme in his film of the same name that he had seen as a child.) The slender young woman on its back might have been just along for the ride, their bodies merging and only the slightest of movements of leg, hand and seat showing that she was more than just a passenger.

  “Aren’t they wonderful!” his wife breathed, a little enviously, he thought.

  The horse on the video seemed to be dancing, not an activity he had previously associated with the large, four-footed, half-ton animals. The stadium audience broke into frenzied applause and cheering as the pair finally halted and the rider saluted the judge once more. The TV screen went black.

  Outside, it had started to snow. Not a surprising thing in Bruce County, Ontario in February. It was now a little over a year since their regrettably notorious court battle concerning the estate of the widow of Robert Allen Dunbar (Alicia’s grandmother), the catnapping of its heir, Marmalade the cat, and the murder of the Director of the local Animal Protection society that stood to gain if the family had lost.

  That wealthy feline was currently residing with them since Alicia’s parents were having a winter holiday in Bermuda and their friend and housekeeper, Mrs. Katie Stuart, was visiting with her daughter and her family in Vancouver. The Victorian mansion in town had been shut up for a few weeks and its owner was snoozing peacefully in his new Kitty Kouch, a Christmas present from Alicia and Chris.

  A second large, orange feline was sleeping peacefully in his new Kitty
Kouch. Horace was a cat from the wrong side of the tracks, more used to sleeping under cars than beside the fire. He had been unintentionally instrumental in both the catnapping and then the recovery of Marmalade a year earlier but had ended up back on the street in the process. Chris and Alicia had mobilized the whole town and when he had finally turned up at the Animal Protection society Shelter, a little battered with the tip of one ear missing, they had decided to adopt him. He lived with them now, enjoying the good life.

  The wind had picked up outside and one of the windows began to rattle.

  “Put that on the list for Hank when he comes, Chris. Item number 136 on his list of Things to Do in the Old Stone Ruin.”

  A stranger might think that Alicia didn’t like their centuries’ old farmhouse but, in truth, she was as enraptured with it as Chris was and the restoration work being done by his friend, Tony Lawrence, was a joy even amidst the sawdust and plaster.

  They had found the farm with its old stone house the previous April, a couple of months before their wedding, and had immediately fallen in love with it. It had 50 acres with a stream, a hardwood bush and an old stone barn. They were planning on restoring the barn when the work on the house was completed. However, seeing the look on Alicia’s face as she watched the video and the hitherto unsuspected, at least by him, lust for horses written on it, Chris suspected that they’d better get the barn usable as soon as possible.

  The farm was only a short drive from Dunbarton, the town founded by and named for Alicia’s family, the Dunbars. It was Chris’ adopted home, as well. He had fled the stress and strife of Toronto to join a small law firm in that quaint Victorian era town on the shores of blustery, breathtakingly beautiful, and occasionally fearsome Lake Huron a few years earlier. It had turned out to be a monumental decision in his life for it was through that firm that he had met and accepted the commission from Amanda Dunbar to act as trustee for her cat Marmalade. He had then had the frightening responsibility of revealing the terms of the will to the formidable Dunbar family.

  There were many times to follow when Chris had questioned the wisdom of accepting that commission. However, looking at his wife, curled up on the couch, even if things had not turned out as they had, Marmalade’s return and their exoneration in both the catnapping and the murder, he could never regret the decision that had allowed him to meet and eventually marry her.

  The first seven months of marriage had seemed miraculous to Chris. Life with Alicia was never dull.

  When he first met Alicia, Chris had thought her cool and remote. Her honey-blond hair, rose petal complexion and haunting turquoise eyes backed up this impression. However, as he got to know her he found that behind the cool façade was a warm, intelligent woman with a host of talents, a bubbly sense of humour and a smashing right hook! In the few months of marriage, he had learned that the sense of humour could be devilishly wicked and that his seemingly laid-back lovely was a demon for work and had an almost frightening talent for Tae Kwon Do.

  Alicia, on the other hand, had very quickly discovered that the tall, slim lawyer with the curly, brown hair had an unexpected depth of character coupled with kindness and almost endless patience behind his warm brown eyes and boyish charm. In the first few months they had known each other when her family’s personal, professional and financial troubles had threatened to tear them apart following the bizarre will left by her grandmother, he had managed to help them solve those problems and had earned a place in all their hearts. The fact that he hadn’t held it against her when she had punched him in the jaw the first time he had kissed her had sealed that first impression. He was even willing to attend Tae Kwon Do class with her despite the fact that she was the superior combatant. ‘Greater love has no man than this, that a man’ let his wife practice knife hand and flying kicks on him! But what made her love him even more was that he never tried to rein her in. They tackled things head on, together. Whether it was confronting a murderer bent on revenge or planning their life together, they were equal partners. And right now they were equal partners in the chaos of renovation.

  To call their home a ruin was over-stating the case – slightly. It was very old and had been empty for some years following the death of the last member of the family that had owned it. They knew they were facing a Herculean task in restoring it but both of them felt that the end result would be worth it. Fortunately, a good friend of Chris’, Pete Harrison, who worked with Alicia’s father in their family furniture business, had another friend whose passion and livelihood was restoring old houses. Tony Lawrence was, like Chris, a refugee from the big city. An architect who deplored modern architecture, considered a heretic by his fellows, he had developed an interest in history and historic buildings into a career and was considered an authority on authentic, historic restoration. They were lucky that he was available to work on their house. His company had just finished a major job with one of the larger pioneer settlements and had a contract to work for a U.S. theme attraction in the following year. He and his crew foreman, Hank Reynolds had developed the plans for restoring the existing structure and adding a four-season conservatory on the south side and a verandah on the back. They had also reconstructed the original verandah on the front that had been removed some time in the past when such things had become unfashionable.

  They’d lived in Chris’ old apartment for much of the summer while wiring, plumbing, heating and cooling work was done. Once that was completed, the really interesting work of restoring, not renovating, the century old house began. Tony and his small crew were using, as much as possible, materials and techniques true for the age of the house. Alicia poured over decorating books and haunted paint and wallpaper stores looking for just the right paint, paper and draperies. Having grown up in a furniture museum, she had no desire to furnish with antiques, but a few select pieces from the family collection fitted beautifully with high-quality traditional furnishings from the family business. Tony and Hank had worked on the main living areas first so that they were able to spend their first Christmas as husband and wife in their own home with a liveable living room, dining room, kitchen, bath and bedroom. Tony was confident that the rest of the house would be completed by spring when he was due in the States and that Hank and a skeleton crew would be able to restore the barn from his plans without his actual presence.

  “Earth to Chris!”

  Startled, he realized that he’d been standing by the window for several minutes.

  “You’re a long way away, honey.”

  “I was just thinking about how much we’ve accomplished here in the last few months.”

  “Yes, well we can’t start resting on our laurels just yet.” She was channelling her mother there, he thought drily. “We’ve half a house still to do, not to mention the barn. And speaking of the barn, do you think it would be possible to start work on it before summer?”

  He knew it! “Why, has watching Alex’s video given you the horse bug?” he asked, cuddling up beside her on the couch.

  “Weren’t they just wonderful! It was so thoughtful of Alex to send it to us. I’m glad she’s finally home. I’ve missed her.”

  “It was amazing that she made time to come home last summer to be your bride’s maid.”

  “I know. That’s Alex. She’s always so willing to put herself out for someone else. When we were room-mates in college, her farm was like a second home to me.” She smiled, remembering wistfully the happy times. “I really missed her all those years when she was away, training and competing in Germany, but I understand why she felt she had to go. The best Dressage coaches in the world are there. She’s had fabulous training and the experience of showing at those big European competitions was very important in helping her to be chosen for the Canadian Olympic team. Dressage judges tend to be very cautious. They don’t tend to give high marks to horse and rider combinations they’ve never seen before. It can be very difficult for North American riders in international competitions if they are unknown to the European judges.”
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  “It sounds highly unfair to me. How do you know so much about it?” he asked, wondering why he knew nothing of this.

  “Alex’s e-mails.” She admitted. “Alex agrees with you as a matter of fact, but she’s a realist. She wants to get ahead and fortunately her family has the money to allow her to go for it.

  “And now, of course, she’s waiting for her foal to be born.” There was that little note of envy again.

  “Do I detect a note of... envy?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

  “No... Oh, maybe a little,” she admitted sheepishly. “There’s a little girl inside of me that still loves horses...still dreams of riding and winning.” She looked at him uncertainly, as if trying to make up her mind about something. He put his arm around her and she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Do you know what my favourite book and movie were when I was little? National Velvet. I knew just how she felt. At one point she says something about praying to God every night to give her horses – wonderful horses! I did that. Every night for years. And I read every book there was about horses - My Friend Flicka, The Black Stallion, Black Beauty, all of the Pony Pals and Saddle Club series – and I dragged my parents to every horse movie I could find. I was horse mad. All of my daydreams involved horses - ranches with horses, knights with horses, cowboys with horses, horses with horses!” Her eyes glowed with remembered passion.

  “And did you ever get to ride?”

  “Now and then. There used to be a riding stable just outside of town. Sometimes, for a special treat, my parents would take me for a ride. Then, when I was a little older, I would save up my allowance and my friends and I would ride our bikes to the farm. There was a palomino mare named Butterscotch that I adored. I would always pick her. Then, one time, Butterscotch wasn’t there. The man said she’d been sold. I was heartbroken. We never went back. That was the last time I rode until I met Alex at university. Going to her farm and learning to ride her horse was a dream come true.”