I passed the recorder duties off to my aunt now and awarded myself responsibility for note-taking.
Chapter 8
Ever since Clint Russell moved to this area two months ago, there’s been nothing but bitterness and hostility brewing between him and those of us bordering his land. I’m surprised no one has knocked some sense into him yet. I’ve only held back because I didn’t want to be slapped with a darn lawsuit. That fella’s got the longest chip on his shoulder I’ve ever seen. Why, it’s as long as the Rio Grande.”
Whoa! My newly created secretarial duties came to a screeching halt. Clint’s double is a Clint? Obviously, something got lost in translation. I mean, the dude does speak with a different accent than true Minnesotans. His has more of an eastern twang to it. “Excuse me, Reed. I just want to clarify something.”
“Certainly, Miss. Go ahead.”
“That guy who was just here, did you say his first name is Clint?”
My, ahem, client cleared his throat and then spat on the ground. I suppose if there would’ve been a spittoon present he may have used that. “Yup. I was informed that’s the name he was christened with. Supposedly, a relative from way back when had the name, and Clint’s momma plucked it from her genealogy charts. Anyway, like I said, there’s been nothing but trouble since he showed up this spring. Before that it was as peaceful as a meandering brook winding its way through a meadow all a bloom.”
Wow. The man has a way with words as well as horses. How sweet. Okay, Mary, get back to reality. As a teacher you know people tend to remember only what they want to remember. I jotted myself a note. Do some digging. See if there were horse-related problems way before Clint came on the scene. My mind raced back to what my client had just shared. “What seems to be the main beef with Clint?”
Reed tugged on the front of his navy-blue Twins baseball cap. “He’s constantly filing complaints to the sheriff about those of us bordering his property.”
“And with you, it’s mostly been about your horses ending up over there, right?”
“You got it. How the heck they’re showing up there is beyond me though. My property’s totally fenced in. When I give you gals a ride in my pickup in a little bit, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
Pleased to hear we wouldn’t be riding horseback to check out Reed’s land like my aunt assumed, but would be chasing around via an old pickup instead, I could feel some of my fear about horses settling to the back burner, thank God, and offered Reed a genuine smile. “Great. We’re really looking forward to seeing how your property’s laid out, aren’t we, Zoe?”
“Yes, indeed,” she replied, and then she batted her thick-glossed eyelashes as she drew her short body closer to Reed Griffin and his ringless hand. “But first, I’m dying to see what goes on in this building here. Is this where you keep your cows?”
Aunt Zoe may be a widow but she certainly hasn’t forgotten how to string a man along. Flirtation. Flirtation. It’s all about flirtation. A must in my book. Women have used sexual overtures for thousands of years to get what they wanted from the opposite sex, starting with Adam and Eve.
“Nope. No cows on this property. Just horses,” the man with the southeastern accent replied as he quickly stepped in front of us and opened the barn door. “Step inside, ladies, and I’ll show you around.”
The horse barn was nothing like I expected. “Holy Smoke! I didn’t realize horses had such fancy digs nowadays. Makes me a tad jealous.” Especially if the quarters were actually horseless.
“How many horses are stabled here, Reed?” Aunt Zoe swiftly inquired before I commented further.
“Twenty.”
“Are they all yours?” I questioned. We had just passed a stall where a reddish-brown horse had been watching our every move. “Or do you board as well?”
Reed smiled widely, exposing smoke-stained teeth. “Ten are boarded, and the rest are mine. The owners come out to ride as frequently as they can. If they can’t get out here at least once a week, one of my workers takes them out on the trail.”
“Do the horses you board just use the trails,” my companion asked, “or are they trained for shows too?”
The man, who appeared to be a few years older than my aunt and was at least ten inches taller, seemed pleased we wanted to know as much about his business as possible. “Both. There’s an area specifically set aside on the property where jumps are set up. I can show it to you later if you like.”
“Sure,” Aunt Zoe and I replied in perfect harmony.
We had reached the end of the stalls now, and silence sliced the stable. Perfect opportunity to drill the man more. “Didn’t you say you had twenty horses stabled here? I only counted ten.”
“Yup, you heard right. The other ten are out stretching their legs. Maybe you gals saw them when you drove in.” I shook my head. I would’ve remembered seeing loose horses and would’ve given them wide berth for sure. “Horses can’t be pent up all the time,” he continued, “It’s bad for their legs. Besides, being cooped up all day makes for a neurotic horse, and no one around here or anywhere else wants to work with a horse like that, too dangerous.”
“So, if you were a riding newbie,” I said as I fanned my hand in an arch fashion, “which horse would you recommend?” Don’t worry. I hadn’t gone off the deep end yet. It was just a hypothetical question. There was no way I was working out my fear of horses now or ever.
Reed rested his hands on his hips. “Well, I’d suggest either the American Quarter Horse or the Tennessee Walker. I have both on the property.” He left one hand on a hip and cupped his chin with the other. “Of course, a Polish Arabian’s a good fit too.”
We strolled back towards the middle of the barn and remained there just long enough for Reed to finish up the details concerning his horses and the six people he offered boarding services to. Then we were whisked off to what I considered a black Ford pickup. Don’t hold me to the color though. The pickup looked like it had tangled with a mud pit within the last day or two.
The minute the pickup began snaking its way to the back of Reed’s property, Aunt Zoe started in with new questions, forgetting that I was the one hired to do the investigating. I let it slide. Nothing to be gained by getting upset. Besides, the two of them were hitting it off so well. “So, how much acreage do you have here, Reed?”
The man driving the truck opened his mouth just wide enough to reply, “Roughly eighty acres,” and then he swiftly turned the direction of questioning. “By the way, Zoe, has anyone ever told you what sharp looking boots those are?”
Aunt Zoe’s whitish face immediately turned the color of her spiked hairdo. “Why, these old things?” She lifted her boots a bit now to inspect them. “No. Not that I recall.”
“Well, they are. So is that hat of yours.”
“Why, thank you, Reed. Right before we climbed in the car this morning, I tried to convince Mary she needs a comfortable pair of boots like mine. Didn’t I Mary?”
My eyes had been glued to the scenery while Aunt Zoe and Reed entertained each other, and they didn’t falter, even though common courtesy required them to do so. There’s no way I could’ve locked eyeballs with my aunt. I’d laugh so hard my snugly fit jeans would’ve parted like the Red Sea. “Ah, huh.” Two minutes later, our driver stopped his truck abruptly. We had reached the area he wanted to show us, a piece of land that butted up against Clint Russell’s property. Leaving the keys in the ignition now, Reed quickly slipped out of the truck and came around to the passenger side to help us out. As soon as he saw that Aunt Zoe’s and my feet were securely on the ground, he pointed to a specific section of traditional, white wood fence we were to head towards.
I put myself in sleuthing mode and swiftly moved to the area noted. Once there, I requested my companions to stay behind me while I examined the wood structure. Neither party gave me any grief. They probably
appreciated the fact they were being given more time for idle chitchat.
For me, the most significant thing to establish first was the height of the fence since the ground is always shifting. Standing as close to the wood structure as was humanly possible, I soon realized both my neck and head jetted above the top rail. Definitely up to code. According to horse Internet sites I had visited the other day, the recommended fence height for average-size horses should be between fifty-four and sixty inches. I peered over my shoulder now. “A horse would break its leg if it jumped this high a fence, wouldn’t it, Reed?”
“Not necessarily. There are exceptions to the rule. Scared horses are known to be extremely athletic and stallions, which we don’t want on our property, could clear it just fine.”
I made a mental note to myself to Google horse jumping records when I got home. Like the man said, a spooked one can surprise you. “Did you replace any loose fence boards after the incidents?”
Reed slid his calloused hands up and down his Rustler jeans. “Nope.”
“Hmm? Interesting?” Twice horses from here had ended up on Clint’s property, and no one had the foggiest notion how they got there. Come on. Someone knows something.
I squatted by the fence post nearest me and stared at it intently. It appeared to be in good shape. No rotting or splitting. No visible signs of chipped cement surrounding the bottom of the post. Do a tug test, Mary. I wrapped my arms securely around the midsection of the post and tugged as hard as I could. Nothing happened. The post was solid. Since there was nothing more I could think of doing as far as testing the stability of the post, I stood, walked over to the other post connected to this section of fence and repeated the process. It didn’t budge either.
Finished with the inspection, I turned towards the two onlookers. “If someone had loosened these posts to allow horses to get through, there should be pieces of concrete left behind as evidence, especially since the horses’ activity took place during the night, but there’s nothing.”
“I hear yeah,” Reed replied in a disgusted tone. “It’s like the horses flew over the fence.”
Aunt Zoe laughed at that notion.
“Or, they were lifted over the fence with some kind of fancy gizmo attached to a crane,” I offered. “But then, more people would be required to achieve the feat, and we all know the more people involved in a crime the greater the likelihood someone would spill the beans.” There was only one other conclusion I could possibly come to, and I had a feeling Reed knew that too, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. Someone he knew was taking his horses over to Clint’s property, but who and why?
We returned to my client’s truck and continued touring the outskirts of his property, asking questions, as I saw fit, regarding the other two people bordering his land. When we had finally come full circle, Reed said he’d drop us gals off at my car. I jumped at his offer. There’s no way Mary Malone was walking back. Not with ten loose horses still afoot.
As it turned out, it was a good thing Reed was present when we returned to Fiona. Otherwise, I would’ve had an out-and-out hissy fit, one which my aunt couldn’t have handled alone.
Picture this, a ginger-colored horse, one of the ten getting fresh air, stood lazily alongside the driver side of my car with his head protruding through the open window. He must’ve liked what he saw because he wasn’t about to move anytime soon. You could say he had taken a real shine to Fiona. Oops. I bet he has a sweet tooth. M&M’s had gotten spilled in the car, and I had never gotten around to retrieving them all. “Oh, crumb. Can horses get sick from eating chocolate, Reed?” I only asked because I knew dogs could.
My client didn’t answer. He seemed to be off in his own world. That didn’t deter me. I kept my eyes riveted on him, knowing he’d have to open up sooner or later about what’s causing him to be so unsettled.
A few seconds later, one of Reed’s calloused hands flew to his head causing his cap to go flying. The other hand swiftly raked it in. Then the words, “Crap,” flapped out of my client’s mouth faster than a chef could flip flapjacks over a frying pan. What’s with him?
“I’m so sorry, Miss Malone. I should’ve told you to keep your windows up.” Now he barreled out of his pickup, headed straight for the horse and swatted him on his back side. “Go on. Get out of here.” The animal jolted and took off like his hind legs had been nipped by a German shepherd or a house full of flies.
Reed siddled up to Fiona and quickly tucked his head and shoulders through the open car window. Geez, he must have a thing for chocolate too, I thought. I turned to my aunt. “I sure hope he doesn’t get stuck.”
“Me, too.”
“There was no need for him to use the window. All he had to do was ask me to unlock Fiona for him.”
“Do you know what’s got him so riled up, Mary?”
“I think he’s a chocoholic.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I spilled M&M’s in the car a couple days ago.”
“Oh.”
When Reed’s upper body didn’t exit the car after five minutes, Aunt Zoe became alarmed. “Mary, I think he might be jammed in there.”
I shook my head. “I hope not. I don’t want to be the one to call 911.”
“Well, if you’re not going to check on your client, I am,” Aunt Zoe announced rather firmly. She rushed to Reed now and began tugging on his long-sleeved checkered shirt. “Are you okay?”
My client finally managed to yank his head and shoulder out of Fiona’s window. I stared at his face as he spun towards us. Hmm. That’s funny. His mouth wasn’t chomping on anything. “I know you don’t want to hear this, ladies,” Reed said as he rolled his eyes, “but I’m afraid the damage is done. Ah, too bad. The horse didn’t leave any candy for him.
“That’s all right,” I shouted from the truck as I hopped out and headed for him. “The next time I drive out this way I’ll bring a two-pound bag of M&M’s just for you, Reed. Which kind do you like? Peanut or plain?”
The man had a confused air about him. Maybe no one’s ever offered to buy him M&M’s before. “What are you talking about, Miss Malone?”
I turned to my aunt for assistance. All she did was flip her palms in the air. “Candy. Isn’t that what you’re . . . ?” My mouth suddenly went numb. No, I wasn’t having a stroke. I just finally noticed what Reed was referring to. “Oh, my God!” I screamed as panic set in. “My steering wheel! The horse ate my steering wheel!”
Aunt Zoe reached for my hands. “Now, now, Mary, calm down. It’ll be all right. Tell her, Reed.”
Before my client had a chance to reply, my loose tongue took over. “It won’t be all right. How can it be? I can’t drive the Volkswagen home without a steering wheel.”
When my information finally sunk in for my aunt, her mouth dropped opened like it was waiting for a golf ball to make a hole-in-one.
“Now ladies, don’t you worry any,” Reed interjected. “You can have a lift home in my pickup.”
“But . . . but what about my car? How am I going to get it back to Minneapolis?” I moaned.
“You don’t have to,” Reed said, “A tow truck will come get it, Miss Malone.”
Chapter 9
The overdue rain shower, forecast for the Twin Cities, began to hit the exterior of Reed’s truck and everything else pell-mell as we pulled up along the newly painted curbing outside the main entrance to the Foley. Over the hum of the engine, Aunt Zoe and I thanked our driver profusely for his kindness before adding our good-byes. Of course, if one analyzed how our appreciation to the man was noted, you’d discover my aunt’s was laid on thicker and lingered a lot longer than mine. Could it be because she’s already a tad smitten with Reed Griffin?
Not wanting to end up plastered across the front page of some crazy newspaper looking like a pair of drowned rats, I hastily prodded my aunt
on. “Rain’s starting to come down harder, Zoe. Time to go.”
“Hmm. Oh, yes, you’re right.” The two of us jumped out of the truck and made a mad dash for the Foley. Amazingly, even with the downpour, Aunt Zoe and I entered our building barely leaving a trail of rain in the lobby. I’m sure Mr. Edwards, the Foley’s caretaker, will be pleased.
Back at our humble abode, my roommate immediately claimed Matt’s La-Z-Boy for her respite while I took up residence in the kitchen where I could mull over the morning’s events concerning Fiona and also stuff my face with comfort food. When my nerves were jangled, only the most fattening foods soothe me: candy, ice cream, pop, chips, gobs of dip and macaroni and cheese.
I had just dug out a can of Pepsi from the fridge and was about to search further for something outlandish to eat when there was a knock at our door. Since I was in no mood to chat with anyone right then, I asked my roommate to see who was there.
The rapid reply, “Sure,” was sweetly volleyed back. Then I heard the bottom of the recliner get tucked in, and the door cracked open.
While my bidding was being handled, I remained hidden in the kitchen waiting for a two-way conversation to ensue.
“Hello, Zoe.”
“Margaret, what a nice surprise.”
“Is Mary around?”
“Yes, she just stepped into the kitchen.”
“Oh? Is Gracie with her?”
The heck with the Pepsi and comfort food, I thought. If anybody could understand my morning woes, it would be a grandmotherly soul like Mrs. Grimshaw. I raced to the entryway now and swiftly greeted her. “Margaret, you wouldn’t believe the kind of morning we’ve had.”
Mrs. Grimshaw’s thinning eyebrows had been standing at attention when I first caught sight of her, but now they arched severely as she began to look high and low for something. “What do you mean?” she asked as she continued to look this way and that. Why doesn’t she just tell me what she’s searching for? I could assist her. “I can’t believe that sweet dog’s been giving you a rough time,” she eventually said, “She never does for me.”
Death at the Bar X Ranch Page 7