‘Now she’ll never get it.’ Maggie’s eyes turned red, and Josh put an arm around her.
Sam got his keys out, looked over his shoulder at the school, the hordes streaming from the red-brick buildings into the square, windowless gymnasium.
‘Poor suckers,’ he said.
‘The students, or the teachers?’
‘Either. I’ve seen prisons that were better equipped and more cheerful.’
‘At least they get to go home at the end of the day.’
He unlocked the passenger door for her, headed around to drive. ‘What do you think, Sonora?’
‘I think it’s weirder than shit, Sam.’
‘What’s weirder than shit?’
‘That Joelle hung out at the Kidgwick place where the Randolph boy was murdered, that she was fascinated by the case, and wound up buried there herself. You think it’s fate or karma or something?’
‘No, hon, I think it sounds like the killer knew her very well.’
She looked at him. ‘Coming around to my way of thinking, are you?’
‘I’m getting there. Let’s head up to that barn where you think the horse was sold. Follow that up once and for all. Here.’ He handed her the journal. ‘Read to me on the way.’
‘I get car-sick, Sam, I’ll throw up.’
‘Read fast and hang your head out the window.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sonora opened the window halfway. Good air circulation would give her more time to read before she got sick. She shivered. Definitely sweatshirt weather.
They passed an exit, and the BP Oils, Shell stations, McDonald’s and Burger Kings gave way to pasture. She pictured herself riding Poppin, over the hill.
Sam glanced at her.
‘I’m reading already,’ Sonora said. She opened the spiral-bound notebook, the front cover a picture of a cartoonish Cinderella wearing a blue ballgown that floated around her feet like a cloud.
… I’ve been thinking about families a lot, what makes a family, and all that. Is it the blood and gene thing, is it living all together because you don’t have a choice, is it all of the above? If this was a multiple choice test, I’d mark C, all of the above.
If I stir things up, Poppie could go to jail. I don’t even like to think about that. Poppie in jail???? He couldn’t take care of himself in a million years. Say it. He’d get raped. He’d have to be a wife or something to another prisoner, some big muscle guy, like a Nazi or something. I dreamed the other night that Poppie was sitting across from me at a table in one of those prison visiting rooms, and he was crying and saying he forgave me. If I tell I’ll see that face for the rest of my life. And who am I going to tell?
A white Mazda 926 passed them. Sam, unconsciously, increased his speed. ‘Why’d you stop?’
Sonora swallowed. ‘I’m getting sick, Sam. What could she have find out that would put Chauncey in jail?’
‘Don’t throw up yet. Keep reading, and then we can find out.’
She flipped pages. ‘There’s not much more in here. This is a new notebook.’
‘Read.’
‘I’m skimming. There’s a lot in here about Bryan.’
‘Don’t read that part. Is this our exit?’
Sonora craned her neck. ‘I think so.’
‘No, it’s not. Why am I asking you? You get lost in the bullpen.’
‘Only once, and I wasn’t lost, I just got turned around.’
‘Read.’
Sonora pushed the button and closed the window.
‘Keep the window open in case you need to throw up. If you’re cold you can have my jacket.’
She had a jacket of her own and he knew it, but she took his anyway, because she just might throw up, so it was safer to wear his. It was an older one, scratchy but familiar, and she pulled it over her, inhaling the fragrance that was Sam. She knew his wardrobe almost as well as she knew her own. This was not his best-looking blazer, but it was the most familiar, and her favorite.
She laid her head against the glass, closed her eyes.
‘Read, Sonora.’
She flipped through more pages. Her stomach wasn’t going to last much longer.
I talked to Poppie. I was worried about Mary Claire and Kippie, they have mothers somewhere, even if mine is dead, like he told me. I can’t believe she’s really dead. I’ll never find her now. He says some time he’ll take me to see her grave.
‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Sam said. ‘Why does she think they have different mothers? Didn’t he tell us the mother died when Kippie was a baby, that she had breast cancer?’
‘I suppose you could explain it.’
‘Like how?’
‘That she was little when her mom died so he told her she went on a trip or something.’
‘Why lie about how she died?’
‘Breast cancer is scary.’
‘I don’t buy it.’
‘Me either. What do you think is going on?’
‘Hell if I know. Anything else?’
‘Bryan, Bryan, Bryan. Let’s see.’ She flipped a page. ‘Bryan, Bryan … oh, here.’
If what Poppie says is true about Mary Claire and Kippie’s mom, maybe I should leave it alone. It’s kind of unbelievable, that he would rescue us like that. Like a litter of lost kittens. I told him—
‘Told him what? This mother thing is bugging the hell out of me.’ Sam looked at her. ‘You’re chalk-white, Sonora. Want me to pull over?’
‘Fast.’
‘You awake, Sonora?’
Sonora slumped sideways, head against the door, feeling the cold air on her face. ‘I am now. Sorry about the jacket.’
‘It’ll dry-clean. Want me to stop and get you something?’
‘Not unless it’s a bullet to the brain.’
‘We’re almost there.’
She chanced a quick look out the window. Lebanon, Ohio.
‘Watch for it, Sonora, Four Wishes Farm – it should be on our right.’
‘I’m not watching for anything.’
They passed a sign for Camp Swaneky and Fort Ancient. Camp Swaneky? Saw the Turtle Creek cemetery, and then they were past Lebanon and out into the countryside.
They passed a large new high school, a subdivision under construction, then a small sign painted red, shaped like an apple. Four Wishes Farm – owner/trainer/instructor, Barbara Adair.
‘Why an apple?’ Sonora said.
‘You want an apple? Think it’ll settle your stomach?’
‘No, Sam, just never mind.’
He gave her a questioning look, slowed the Taurus and bumped down the gravel road that led to a small, one-story white house, circa early sixties, and a big black barn with red doors – freshly painted.
‘Don’t be cranky.’
‘I can be cranky if I want. I’m sick.’
An oval riding ring circled by a white fence, paint peeling, was in heavy use – six little girls, ranging in age from eight to thirteen, trotting their horses.
They wore black velvet helmets. Some had black, knee-high riding boots, and some wore boots that zipped along the side and covered the ankle. One wore tennis shoes and jeans, an aberration among the rest who wore Lycra riding pants and sweatshirts. The girls were posting, and they looked new at it, rising and falling in an awkward, exaggerated motion that had to be hard on a horse’s back.
Sam pulled the car to the side of the road. Sonora got out, moving slowly. Her legs felt like jelly, but it was good to get out of the car.
‘Hello,’ she said, trying to get the attention of the woman in the center of the ring. She had red hair, shoulder length, clasped back in a ponytail. She wore beige britches and knee-high black rubber boots, and a blue flannel shirt that hung down across the back of her pants.
She gave them a look, then went back to her barrage of instructions. ‘Shelby, you’re balancing on the reins … Jan, get your heels down, think toes up … Kim go, go around – no, you pass to the inside, always. Girls. Always, always pass to t
he inside.’
Despite the constant corrections there was no observable change in the actions of the riders, who seemed to have their hands full, going round and round in a cloud of fine beige dust.
One of the horses coughed and dipped his head forward violently, pulling his small rider out of the saddle and up on his neck. She grabbed the horse’s mane for dear life.
Sonora looked at the horses with a new eye. They were scrawnier than her own Poppin, ribs showing like washboards along their sides. Their heads were down, movements slow, with the exception of one gray who looked like he was going to take off and jump the fence at any moment. The little girl on his back had a wide-eyed look that begged for someone to let her get down.
Sonora contemplated saying something, then changed her mind.
Sam rested a hand on the fence. Lightly. It did not look like it could support much weight.
‘Excuse me, miss? We’re looking for a Barbara Adair.’
The woman gave Sam a look that mingled disgust with surprise. She did not answer. ‘Kim, hold him tighter and lean back.’
Sonora nudged Sam. ‘Let’s try the barn. Maybe there’s an office.’
Sam nodded, headed for the barn just as a woman in bluejeans and roper boots led a solid black mare out of the building. The horse was dancing, head up, black saddle glistening with polish and oil.
The woman was tall. She put her left foot in the stirrup, bounced on her right toe three times and swung her leg over and into the saddle.
The horse trotted forward. The woman took the left rein and turned the horse’s head, circling until the mare stood still.
‘You wouldn’t be Barbara Adair, would you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m just a boarder. Barbara’s in the back in the foaling stalls with the vet, looking at Songbird.’
Sam smiled. ‘Could you point us in the right direction?’
The woman smiled back, and Sonora chalked up another conquest for Sam.
‘Just go on in the barn, and through the feed room back out the other side.’
The mare danced sideways, the woman raised a hand at Sam and picked up the reins. Sam said thanks and Sonora followed him into the barn. Behind them, the mare was still circling.
This barn had dirt floors, churned and spotted with droppings, and rows of tiny stalls, thinly bedded with straw. Sonora looked into the stalls as she went by. It was dark inside, dust thick in the air along with the pungency of ammonia. Some of the horses were tacked up – saddled and chained to the wall, waiting with a hind leg cocked for afternoon duties.
‘Anyone here?’ Sam called.
A horse nickered.
Two stalls in the center had their doors open wide. In one, Sonora saw saddles and bridles mounted on the wall, and fiberglass and Tupperware trunks tucked back along the sides. The next room held feed bags and trash cans, a small refrigerator and a microwave oven that looked like one of the first Amanas off the assembly line.
‘She said through the feed room,’ Sonora said.
‘Let’s check the stalls first. See if we see the mare.’ Sam took the right side, Sonora the left.
‘Sam, I’m not sure I’d recognize her if I saw her.’
‘Look for a brown horse with a big belly and a mane that lies to the left. Man.’ She heard him rustling. ‘From the looks of these horses that feed room is a myth. My God, you poor thing, look at you. Don’t they serve dinner around here?’ He reached a hand through a stall window, petted a soft nose.
Sonora moved up the hallway, slower than Sam, thinking that for some horses there might be fates worse than slaughter. She would not want Poppin to wind up in a place like this. She would have to be careful, if she sold him.
‘Anything?’ Sam said.
‘Come look at this one.’ She pointed and he doubled back, studied the horse a long moment. Gave her the smile where his eyes crinkled up.
‘That’s a gelding, Sonora.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sonora—’
‘Not another word, Sam.’ She headed for the feed room, tripped over the cracked wooden arm of a wheelbarrow that was resting, for no obvious reason, beside the microwave oven. The wheelbarrow went sideways, tipping into a can full of feed.
Which set the horses off. She heard a whinny, some snorts and a hopeful nicker.
‘Can’t take you anywhere.’ Sam pushed on a door that led to the outside. It stuck, and Sam kicked it, leaving a black smudge along the bottom, one of many other smudges. The hinges creaked and they were back outside, blinking in the sunlight.
They exited into a small grassy area. Along the right-hand side was a neat row of horse trailers – a white one, rusty, a blue stock trailer, and a white Sundowner goose-neck with maroon trim.
Sonora headed straight for it, looked at the license plate on the back. ‘Bought out at Richard’s, Sam – that’s a Cincinnati dealer.’ She climbed on the wheel well, looked inside.
Dried horse droppings, spilled swatches of hay, kernels of feed. Along the top ledge, a dirty white lead rope. ‘This looks like the one, Sam.’
‘I help you folks?’
Sonora jumped down off the wheel well, heard Sam ask the voice if she was Barbara Adair, heard the voice agree that she was.
‘I’m Detective Delarosa, this is my partner, Detective Blair. We’re from Cincinnati PD.’
The woman took a quick backwards look at the trailer, studied Sam’s ID.
‘I knew it was too good to be true. My trailer was stolen, wasn’t it?’ She was a petite woman, small-boned, wavy blond hair and wire-rim glasses. She wore black breeches and a sweatshirt that said Four Wishes Farm, with the pink logo of a cartoon horse blowing out the candles on a birthday cake.
‘Where’d you pick the trailer up?’ Sonora asked. ‘Do you have the bill of sale?’
The woman shifted her weight to her left foot, absently patted the gray mare she held at the end of a lead rope. The mare stomped her foot, shook her head.
‘It’s been going like this all day, you know. Mare didn’t take, one of the kids falls off her horse and breaks a collar bone. My dad always said things come in threes, and by golly, there you be.’
A man walked out of a stall. He wore jeans, rubber boots, a blue work shirt. ‘Sorry, Barbara.’
‘She had me fooled.’
Sonora moved next to Sam, kept her voice low. ‘What does she mean, the mare didn’t take?’
He bent close, his voice soft. ‘It means she got knocked, she just didn’t get knocked up.’
‘Catch her on the next one.’ The man looked at Sam and Sonora, but Barbara did not introduce them.
‘You got time for one more?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got a gelding I think is developing navicular.’
The man hesitated. ‘Let me look at him next week. I was supposed to be on Ten Acre Farm an hour ago.’
Adair nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll send you a check toward the balance.’
The man thanked her, lips tight, and headed around the side of the barn.
Did anybody in the horse business pay their bills? Sonora wondered.
‘Ms Adair—’ Sam was pulling out the tape recorder.
‘Let me put this mare away.’ Adair turned the horse expertly, unclipped the lead rope and let the mare trot into a dark outdoor stall, locking her in behind a red metal-mesh sliding door.
She leaned up against the side of the barn, bent her knee, and propped herself up with a foot. ‘I’d invite you into my office, but if I do, we’ll be interrupted every three seconds.’
‘Here is fine,’ Sonora said.
Adair looked at her. A speculative look. ‘So, what’s the deal with the horse trailer?’
Sonora handed Sam a fresh tape out of her purse. ‘That’s what we’re asking you. Where’d you get it?’
‘Aquitane stockyards. Outside Cincinnati.’
‘When?’
‘Oh, let’s see, two, three days ago. Tuesday.’
‘You remember what time?’
Ada
ir smiled and shrugged. ‘Late afternoon some time.’
‘You get a bill of sale?’ This from Sam.
Adair shrugged. ‘Nope.’
Sam nodded. ‘Can you get more specific about the time?’
‘Lessee.’ The woman touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘Before five and after two.’
‘What were you doing there?’ Sonora asked.
‘Selling girl scout cookies, what do you think?’
‘I think you were receiving stolen merchandise. I’m wondering if you make it a habit.’
‘I wasn’t receiving, I paid for it.’
‘How much?’
Adair could no more have foregone the smirk than she could stop breathing. ‘Fifty dollars.’
‘Fifty dollars. For a goose-neck four-horse trailer in prime condition.’ Sonora looked at the trailer over her shoulder to make sure it was actually in such good shape. It was. ‘Ma’am? This didn’t seem unusual to you?’
‘It was a package deal. I had to buy the horse.’
‘What horse?’
‘Guy who sold me the trailer had a horse that went with it. Saddlebred mare in foal. Chestnut.’
‘How much did you pay for the horse?’
The smirk again. ‘Fifty dollars.’
‘Where is the horse?’
Adair waved a hand. ‘Sold her.’
‘Already?’
‘I don’t want her here eating her head off. I’ve got fifteen acres and twenty-seven horses. Last thing I need is another paddock pet, taking up space.’
Sam got in ahead of Sonora, asking Adair to describe the mare.
‘Chestnut, about fifteen three hands, probably fourteen, fifteen years old. She had a frieze brand. On the left.’
‘Did her mane lie to the left?’
Adair frowned. ‘Could have. Can’t say I noticed.’
Sonora was frowning. Adair had paid one hundred dollars to her six hundred twenty-five and gotten a horse and a van.
Sam leaned up against a black fence. ‘A package deal? The guy insisted?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘He say why?’
‘Didn’t want the mare sold to slaughter. I think the van was thrown in to sweeten the deal. He said he’d lost his job, and was selling the mare and the trailer because he couldn’t afford the horse any more. You know, a hard-luck thing. He said that the horse was a family pet, and he didn’t want to sell her to the killers. I mean, the guy was pathetic. I can’t believe he stole them. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the nerve. A shy type. You know.’
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