Trailing her horse behind her, Stevie hurried toward Deborah’s car. The reporter waved as she climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Hi, Stevie!” she called. Her eyes looked tired and her auburn hair was gathered into a sloppy ponytail. Stevie guessed she had been working almost nonstop since the day before—she looked that way herself when she’d been up most of the night writing a paper or studying for a test. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“So what happened?” Stevie demanded anxiously. “Did you shut her down?”
Deborah laughed ruefully as she pushed her car door shut. “It’s only been twenty-four hours, Stevie,” she said. “It’s going to take a little more time than that, I’m afraid. But the authorities are on the job, so it shouldn’t be long now.”
“Good.” Stevie nodded. “Are you still going to write an article about this?”
Deborah looked surprised that she was even asking. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “This is a great story. It could really do some good—let people know they need to be careful about who they get to care for their animals.” She grimaced. “Besides, I’ve been doing some digging on our dear old friend Mrs. Monroe, and she’s had quite a nice little scam going up there at her farm for a while now.”
Belle shoved her nose at Stevie’s arm, and Stevie patted the mare absently. She was focused on what Deborah was telling her. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What was she doing?”
“Well, from what I’ve been able to find out so far, she was doing more than just skimping on her residents’ medical care.” Deborah shook her head. “She was basically doing everything she could to squeeze the maximum amount of money out of her business. First of all, she made a point of seeking out her boarders from places that were too far away or from people who were too busy to check up on their horses very much. The kind of people who weren’t likely to drop by unannounced. Then she’d give the horses the bare minimum of care—minus most meds and special treatments.”
“Including routine dental care,” Stevie murmured, thinking again of Leo. “That’s totally … um …” She searched her mind for a word that would be strong enough to describe what she thought of Mrs. Monroe’s actions.
“Despicable?” Deborah offered. “Unconscionable? Abhorrent?”
“Something like that,” Stevie agreed, “but worse. So is there more?”
Deborah sighed and smoothed back a stray strand of hair that the chilly breeze had blown into her face. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “More of the same, really. Some of the owners signed up for various expensive extras—special grain mixes, extra exercise, supplements and vitamins, eyewashes and other special health treatments, and so forth. Did the horses ever see any of that? All evidence so far indicates that they didn’t. Oh, and by the way—remember those nice clean stalls?”
Stevie nodded. “Don’t tell me. She made the horses sweep them out themselves?” she joked weakly.
“Hardly,” Deborah replied. “The horses weren’t allowed near those stalls. Only the really old and infirm ever came inside, like old Edison, for instance. Almost all the owners paid for stall boarding, but most of the horses got little more than bare-bones field boarding.”
Stevie was shocked. She knew there was nothing wrong with field boarding a horse, even an older horse. But she also knew that keeping a horse in a stall cost a stable much more in time and work, which meant a much higher monthly boarding fee. Also, Mrs. Monroe’s clients were most likely paying her the extra money to keep a close eye on their horses—many of whom probably had health problems because of their advanced age, such as Leo’s dental troubles. There was no way the woman could have been doing that if she didn’t handle the horses every day by bringing them inside. And it sounded as though she really didn’t care about any of that.
Stevie’s mind was reeling with everything Deborah had just told her. “It’s so horrible,” she said. “And just think, we almost walked in and out of there without even noticing anything was wrong.”
“I know.” Deborah took a step closer and put a hand on Stevie’s shoulder, looking very serious. “I really want to thank you for that, actually. I was so busy hating the assignment I was given that I almost missed out on the real story. I might have walked away and written a polite little human-interest piece that would’ve made even more people send their horses to her.” She smiled. “But luckily, you were there to guilt me into staying—and alert enough to spot Leo’s problems, which was the hint we needed to uncover the rest.”
Stevie felt good about Deborah’s praise. Now that she thought about it, she realized she really was at least partly responsible for bringing Mrs. Monroe’s deception to light. “Thanks,” she said modestly. “But you were the one who did all the rest of the uncovering. How’d you find out so much info in such a short time, anyway?”
“Oh, a reporter has her ways,” Deborah said mischievously. She winked. “For instance, remember that neighbor boy Mrs. Monroe mentioned?”
“You mean the one she claimed helped out around the barn after school?”
Deborah nodded grimly. “Well, I tracked him down, and boy, did he have some stories to tell,” she said. “She actually did hire him occasionally, I think mostly because he’s only fourteen and would work hard for less than minimum wage. Mrs. Monroe would bring him over to clean up the place occasionally—muck out the pastures, clean the watering troughs, mow down the weeds, things like that. Also, when a new potential boarder came to inspect the place, or on the rare occasion when an owner wanted to stop by and visit his or her horse, she would have the boy fix things up to look a little more legit.” She shrugged. “I’m sure she would’ve done the same before our visit, except that she seemed to think we’d be satisfied with a nice chat over tea and a quick glance at the pasture.”
Stevie grinned. “Little did she know.”
But her grin faded quickly. The things Deborah was telling her really weren’t anything to smile about. As Belle nudged her again, leaving a bit of drool dripping down her neck, Stevie flashed back to poor Leo, dribbling his food because he couldn’t chew it properly. No wonder he had looked a little underweight—how long ago had his problem begun to develop? And how much longer would it have gone on if Stevie and Deborah hadn’t happened by? Probably until the old gelding died of colic or other complications.…
“It’s so weird, you know?” Stevie said, burying her hands in Belle’s thick, dark mane as a wave of intense anger passed through her. “Mrs. Monroe looked like someone’s old granny, and yet she turns out to be, like, evil.”
“Evil?” Deborah repeated. “No, I don’t think so.”
Stevie couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean? She totally neglects helpless old horses just to make a little more money. What could be more evil than that?”
Deborah sighed. “I know what you’re saying. But evil is a pretty strong word. Look at it this way: If you or I or Max or anyone else here at Pine Hollow did the things Mrs. Monroe did, then yes, I would say that was evil, because we all know better.” She reached over and gently stroked Belle’s soft nose. “But I’m not sure Mrs. Monroe really understood what was so wrong about her actions. Yes, she was definitely ignorant and greedy. She knew she was cutting corners, and that makes her dishonest. But it doesn’t necessarily make her evil. Not really.”
Stevie didn’t see the difference, but she shrugged. “I don’t care what you want to call it, as long as someone takes those horses away and punishes her for what she did.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Deborah said. “She’s going to pay. But better than that—she’s going to be an example. When this article runs in the paper, a lot of people will read it. And maybe some of them are making ignorant or greedy decisions about animals themselves. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll learn a little something from Mrs. Monroe’s example. That may help another horse somewhere.” She smiled. “That’s the great thing about what I do. You never know when your words are going to touch someone in a really important way.”
&nbs
p; “Wow. I never thought of it like that.” Stevie was a little awed at the thought. Somewhere out there, a horse—maybe lots of horses—could have a better life, just because she’d noticed some green slime falling out of Leo’s mouth. It was pretty amazing, really. “No wonder you love your job.”
“I do love it.” Deborah glanced at her watch and sighed. “But I don’t love the deadlines. And I’ve got a major one now. My editor wants this story on his desk by nine P.M., and I’ve barely started writing.” She reached into her pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. “Actually, I just started making a few notes for the opening paragraph at stoplights on my way over here from the county commissioner’s office. Would you mind if I ran the first few sentences by you?”
“No problem!” Stevie said quickly.
Deborah flattened out the paper on the hood of her car. Then she cleared her throat. “All right,” she said. “Remember that this is rough. ‘On a quiet country lane, it has been business as usual for—’ No, wait,” Deborah interrupted herself with a frown. “That doesn’t sound right. Maybe it should be more like, ‘On a quiet country lane, a certain businesswoman has been going quietly about her business for many years. However …’ Hmmm. No, that’s not quite right, either.” She frowned at the scrap of paper in her hand.
Stevie leaned against Belle, thinking hard about what Deborah had just read. “That stuff all sounds okay,” she said slowly. “But at the risk of sounding like Carole here, don’t you think it might be better to talk about the horses right from the beginning? You know, make the point about how horrible this scam really was, like maybe, ‘The average horse is more than a thousand pounds of muscle, sinew, and bone. And yet without the care of a responsible person, he is as helpless as a baby.’ Then blah, blah, blah, and on to Mrs. Monroe.”
Deborah’s eyes widened. “That’s great!” she exclaimed, digging into her pocket again. “Wait, don’t forget that. I want to get it down.” She finally located the stub of a pencil in her back pocket and scribbled down a few lines on the back of her original notes. Then she held it up, reading it over silently. “This is great,” she announced after a moment. “Stevie, you’re a genius!”
“I try,” Stevie said modestly. She could hardly believe Deborah might actually want to use her suggestion in her article. “Do you really like it?”
“I love it,” Deborah assured her. “I want to use it as the opener for the article—if you don’t mind, that is. In fact, now that I think about it, maybe you deserve a co-byline on this thing.” She smiled and winked. “I mean, not only did you start off the investigation, but now you’re starting off the writing, too! I could ask my editor to add a line at the beginning, maybe something like ‘By Deborah Hale, with special reporting by Stephanie Lake.’”
Stevie’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” she cried. “My name in the paper? That would be so totally, amazingly cool!”
“Yeah.” Deborah smiled at her as she tucked her notes back into her pocket. “Extremely cool.”
“Hanni!” Lisa said sharply. “Don’t touch that.”
The little girl drew back from a large pile of fresh manure, shooting Lisa a dirty look. Then she hurried over to her brother, who was staring at a sleeping corgi nearby, and whispered something in his ear, making them both laugh.
Lisa rolled her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know why she bothers to whisper,” she told Peter. “It’s not like I can understand most of what they say anyway, when they keep switching back and forth between their twenty-seven different languages.”
Peter smiled sympathetically. “I know how you feel,” he said as they strolled after the kids. “Did you know they speak a little Polish? Apparently their grandmother taught them. I didn’t understand a word of it when I first met Greta.” He laughed. “Luckily, though, I’ve picked up quite a bit in the past couple of months. So if they want to keep fooling me, they’ll have to start learning Swahili or Urdu.”
Lisa smiled. As annoying as Greta’s children were, she was actually feeling pretty good. It was hard to feel totally terrible while she was at a horse show, especially on such a gorgeous autumn day. Or rather, the Southern California version of autumn, which as far as Lisa could tell was just like the Southern California version of every other season—warm, sunny, and pleasant. Besides that, it was nice to finally have some time to just chat with her brother, catching up on each other’s lives, as they’d been doing ever since Greta had hurried off to her first meeting. Even the presence of Greta’s kids couldn’t totally ruin that.
“Hey, I’m sure you could catch on even if they started learning Outer Mongolian or something,” Lisa told her brother with a laugh. “You’ve always been so great at languages.”
“Thanks.” Peter smiled. “It’s easy to be good at what you love. Like you and Greta with your riding, you know?”
Lisa shrugged. “I guess you’re right about that,” she agreed, glancing around the showgrounds. The horse show was just a small local event, but it was as busy and exciting as every show she’d ever attended, from the regular schooling shows at Pine Hollow to the American Horse Show. All around her, riders were bustling back and forth, leading horses, carrying tack or grooming tools, attaching armbands, chattering anxiously with each other about judges, courses, and strategies. Just then the PA system crackled to life, announcing that the first class would be starting in ten minutes. It made Lisa’s heart beat a little faster just hearing the announcement, even though she was only there as a spectator. “Come on,” she told Peter. “Let’s go find seats so we can watch.”
He nodded and called to Dieter and Hanni. The kids looked irritated at the interruption, but they trailed along as Lisa and Peter headed for the bleachers that overlooked the main ring. Soon all four of them were seated in an empty row.
Hanni’s gaze was drawn to the competitors warming up just outside the ring. But Dieter started fidgeting almost immediately.
Peter frowned at him. “Dieter, it’s time to sit quietly now for a while, all right? We all want to watch the first event. Would you like a hot dog or something before it gets started?”
“Bleagh. I hate hot dogs,” Dieter declared, making a retching sound and pretending to throw up.
Peter frowned. “Dieter!” he said sharply. “That’s enough. I’m certainly not going to force you to eat a hot dog, or watch the show, for that matter. But I do think you need to be polite while the rest of us are enjoying ourselves.”
Dieter rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, sounding so much like any American kid that Lisa almost smiled.
Peter didn’t seem particularly amused. “Dieter!” he said warningly. “Don’t push it, kiddo. Do you hear me?”
By now, Hanni was paying more attention to their conversation than to the horses. “Of course he hears you,” she put in, making a face at Peter. “You’re talking loud enough for the whole world to hear.”
“Enough, Hanni!” Peter rounded on her. “You’re not helping.”
Hanni responded by sticking out her tongue at him. Dieter snorted with laughter and did the same.
“Hey,” Lisa said, trying to defuse the situation. Peter’s face was white, and she could see that he was about to explode. “Come on, kids. Let’s just watch the horses, okay? They’ll be coming into the ring any second now.”
Dieter ignored her. He was glaring at Peter. “Anyway, you can’t tell me what to do,” he said.
“Me either,” Hanni added, crossing her little arms over her chest.
“Oh yeah?” Peter said. “Well, we’ll just see about that. No dessert for either of you tonight. Got that? And if you keep acting this way, you won’t get any pumpkin pie tomorrow at Thanksgiving dinner, either.”
Hanni looked worried about that, but Dieter just scowled. “Maybe you can become Mama’s husband overnight,” he said sullenly. “But that doesn’t mean you can become our daddy overnight, too.”
“Yeah,” Hanni piped up. “We don’t want a new daddy.”
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p; Lisa gulped. That sort of comment sounded awfully familiar. She had a vague memory of shouting something at her own parents soon after her father had walked out. Something about how they couldn’t expect her to adjust all at once just because he suddenly decided it was time to leave.
Poor kids, she thought, for the first time feeling a twinge of pity for Dieter and Hanni. Life must be totally weird for them right now. Their father left just a year ago, and now Mom has a new husband. No wonder they’re taking some of that out on Peter. Lisa bit her lip, remembering the way her mother’s face had sort of crumpled every time Lisa had accused her of driving Mr. Atwood away by complaining too much; the sad look her father got whenever Lisa called him a quitter. Just the same way I took out my feelings on Mom and Dad when they split up.
Cringing at the memories, which were surprisingly fresh and raw even after all this time, Lisa leaned toward Greta’s children. “Okay, okay,” she said soothingly. “I’m sure Peter didn’t mean it that way.”
“He can’t tell us what to do,” Dieter repeated stubbornly, turning away from all of them.
Peter shot Lisa a helpless look, but all she could do was shrug. She had no idea how to handle this. At that moment, they heard Greta calling Peter’s name.
Glancing down, Lisa saw her sister-in-law climbing the bleachers toward them, a broad smile on her face. “There you are!” she sang out. “I have been looking high and low!”
“Mama!” Hanni shrieked, jumping up and racing down the bleachers, almost tripping a couple of times in her eagerness. She flung herself into her mother’s arms. “Mama!”
Dieter stood, too. “Mama, Peter was yelling at us,” he said. “Make him stop.”
“Never mind that now, darlings,” Greta said breathlessly, hurrying up to Peter with Hanni wrapped in her arms and Dieter clinging to her shirtsleeve. She bent to give Peter a quick kiss. “I have just met a dear old friend from the days when I lived in Oslo,” she explained quickly. “She has not seen the children since they were babies. I want to take them to her. You will be here for a moment?”
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