“That’s all I need,” she said, standing up and brushing off the seat of her pants. She draped the halter around her neck to leave her hands free. She stepped to the front of the stalls and addressed the whole group.
“Now,” she explained to them, “as soon as I’m sure the captain’s finished with Liz and she and Bart are gone, I’m slipping out of here. I don’t think Bart will get in trouble. The captain ordered him to go with Liz. And I really do know what I’m doing.”
None of the horses disagreed with her.
Chapter Twenty-six
Larking About
Thursday Night - Late
The side streets were dark, empty, and creepy. The rain had stopped but the air was still misty. Fog horns made their mournful call from the river and from time to time, if a car drove by, it seemed to come out of nowhere, and then disappear again into the gray mist, leaving only the swish-swish of its tires on the wet pavement. An occasional light gleamed from an apartment window, but the buildings on these streets were old tenements, many unoccupied and run down; sad, seedy places, so little sign of life. Perfect for plotters and their nefarious schemes. Somewhere here, she was sure, the men who took Lindy were sitting together working out their next move.
There were some cars parked along the street. A couple of commercial vans, several rusty, battered vehicles. No white box truck. But at the corner, a small, covered pickup. This was her chance to try out her plan.
When she got close to the pickup, she whistled the tune she’d taught Lindy. Loud enough for a horse to hear but not loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Ragtime Cowboy Joe” seemed a funny tune to be whistling on this sad, slummy street in this sad, slummy part of the big city, but she was betting if Lindy heard it, he’d know what to do.
There was no sound from inside the truck—and she hadn’t expected any. It was a good try, but this truck didn’t match the one she was looking for.
She kept going. Another creepy street. And another. A couple of possible vehicles, but none with a smart horse inside.
And then, of course, she saw it. Parked near a hydrant in the shadows under a non-working street light, on a street of rickety buildings, in front of a house with a stoop of seven steps leading up to a rotting door, there it was. It couldn’t be any other than the one Liz had described. Annie agreed—it did resemble Walt Jeppsen’s old box truck. Dirty white, patches of rust, no markings, and a sagging license plate. Yes, a horse could fit in there. Tight, but possible.
She thought she’d be cool when she found it. But now her heart jumped and it was like fireworks inside her head.
I knew it! I knew I was right!
She crept up to the truck. A light went on upstairs. She kept her head down.
Quietly, she whistled, just loudly enough. And her heart pounded even harder when she heard the hoofbeats on the wood floor inside the truck.
“Oh, you wonderful horse!” she whispered. “I knew it. I knew you’d be here. I knew they didn’t take you to Yonkers or Great Neck or any of those places.”
She was at the back of the truck figuring out how to unlatch the back—
Omigod!
There were people coming around the corner, turning into the street. She could hear their voices.
She scooted fast as she could into the shadows of a basement doorway, away from the approaching men. She peeked around the corner and saw them—five men—approaching the house with the seven steps. They climbed up to the door, knocked, and the door was immediately opened, as though someone inside was expecting them. There was some conversation among the men in a language Annie couldn’t understand, and then two of the men—one fat and one skinny—came back downstairs and went to the truck.
Oh, please! No! No! No! Don’t drive away!
But they didn’t. They leaned against the lamppost, lit cigarettes, and apparently prepared to stay there.
With Liz safely returned to the hotel, with assurances there would be no future efforts to abduct her, Bart U-turned the squad car around and zipped back to headquarters. He was afraid Annie had turned into a loose cannon.
That girl looks like an angel but she is sure a handful. Some “innocent” little librarian she turned out to be! “Headstrong. Stubborn.” He whispered his complaints into the wind as he drove. “Never heard anyone talk to the captain like that. Like she knows better than everyone.”
At headquarters, he went directly into the stable and found no Annie.
“Uh oh!” he said to the horses. “Now where is she?” But there was no response and there was also no trace that she’d been there, though he looked around quickly.
“Maybe the captain has her back in his off ice.” He crossed the big lobby, knocked on the captain’s door, and went in.
“Sir. Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Annie. Miss Cornell.”
“In the stable.”
“No she’s not.”
“Oh, damn!” from both of them.
The captain tossed his pen onto the papers, thinking, That girl is a nuisance. Cute, but a nuisance. He shook his head, fully irritated now. “Call her!” he ordered.
She answered the instant it vibrated. Her voice was tiny.
“Bart! Thank God it’s you. You’ve got to get here fast!”
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m hiding in a doorway. I found him, Bart! I found Lindy. But I see those men. They’re outside the truck. They’re talking—I can’t let them see me. Oh, Bart, now I’m scared.”
“Where are you?” He didn’t waste breath or time scolding her. Now she was really in trouble. He felt his own adrenaline rush.
“Not far away. On 37th Street. There’s a white box truck, just like Liz described.”
“Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
“Wait, Bart. Listen. Lindy is in that truck. Don’t come where I am. I don’t want them to see me. There are two guys standing under a lamppost next to the truck. I think they’re guarding it. If you can lure them away somehow, I can get Lindy out the back.”
“Oh, Annie. You are too much. Okay. Don’t move. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“And Bart. There are a bunch of these guys upstairs, too. I think they’re having a meeting. Please hurry. They could come down any minute.”
“Stop talking. Hang up.”
She did and he did.
“Sir,” he said to the captain, “she says she found Lindy. I may need backup. I’ll assess the situation first.” And shaking his head, he added, “That girl—”
The captain agreed.
That girl!
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chaos!
Thursday Night - Really Late
“That girl” was crouching in a doorway, trying to be as invisible Tas possible.
Oh, Bart. Hurry up. Please get here. Please, right away.
It was damp in the shadowy doorway, damp from the recent rain with an acrid smell of wet concrete. She tried not to think of rats. She tried not to think of spiders, and of the more urban vermin, of which she’d read but not yet encountered. She tried to concentrate on the two men lounging at the truck, the gathering of men upstairs, and the wish that Bart would get there soon! She also concentrated on the back of the truck, only about fifteen feet away, to work out at this distance its opening mechanism so that when the time came she’d be able to get Lindy out of there quickly. She checked the rope halter, still draped around her neck, and made sure it would come to her hand as quickly as she’d need it. Between being scared and being ready to jump into action, her heart was pounding so hard it seemed to be in her ears.
And then she saw the squad car come around the far corner. Very slowly, it cruised up the street, passing her, passing the two men—who turned away from it and tried to make themselves unobtrusive—and continuing on almost to the next corner.
She watched as Bart got out of the car. He had some papers in his hand. She watched him walk slowly down the street, paus
ing at each vehicle, as though to examine it, looking at license plates, looking at taillights, and referring always to the papers in his hand, as though comparing numbers. Till he arrived at the white truck. The two men stopped talking and watched him. He looked the truck over. He shuffled the papers, removed one, placed it on top of the others as though he’d found what he wanted. Then he turned to the two men.
“Is this your vehicle?”
“Is problem, officer, sir?” The taller man definitely looked nervous. His companion, the shorter, fatter one, clearly wanted to disappear. He glanced up at the lighted windows above, as though hoping for help.
“No. No problem. I just need to verify some information. If you gentlemen could come with me up the street, where the light is better, I have some questions.” He indicated the paper in his hand, a very innocent-looking paper.
The men looked at each other. Again, there was a glance up at the window to see if the watchman who had been posted to keep an eye on them and on the truck was seeing what was happening on the street below.
“Of course, officer, sir. We come. Of course.” The taller one gave the other a look, and they both went with Bart up the street.
Annie waited till they were far enough away. She ran to the little drop step that trailed off below the tailgate. She was on it in a minute and was lifting the rusty old side latches, scraping her fingers and ruining the fancy Lady Fair manicure that was only three days old. She jumped down from the truck and pulled the gate after her. And there, big and bold and presenting his big rear end, was Lindy. She clucked at him a couple of time, a universal signal to a well-trained horse, especially a horse who was accustomed to being transported, that he was to back up out of the vehicle.
But in that moment, as Lindy was stepping down the lowered gate onto the street—oh, God!—the door to the house opened, light flooded the steps and sidewalk, and seven men scattered toward her. They were an uncoordinated mass, as though none of them was sure where he was to go, but she was close to panic herself.
“Bart!” she shouted up the street, but she needn’t have. Bart was already on his way, at top running speed, his hand to his holster. And God bless the horse, Lindy was shielding her with his big body, keeping everyone away from her.
In the chaos, short-and-fat and tall-and-skinny had jumped into the truck’s cab. She heard the aged engine trying to get started. The men were scattering in all directions. Police backup was arriving behind them, sirens blaring, lights flashing. The truck was in bumpy motion. Bart had the driver’s door open and was wrestling for the wheel as the truck weaved down the street caroming off cars, tailgate flapping.
Annie saw the tall bald man with the big mustache, the one Captain Simon thought was the leader. He was running fast, almost up to the corner by the time she spotted him. She slipped the halter from her neck and slid it up over Lindy’s muzzle and fitted it quickly onto his head.
In a moment, she was on his back and was yee-hawing down the street at a high-speed gallop. Her quarry got to the corner and turned up the avenue, going as fast as he could, pushing people aside, knocking over trash bins and little old ladies. But he wasn’t a young man and he wasn’t going to outrun Lindy. Only a couple of blocks away, Lindy had caught up with him and blocked him with a solid wall of horseflesh. The man wasn’t going anywhere.
Squad cars reached the truck. Police were racing in all directions, chasing the fleeing men into basements and stairways, dragging them out of their hiding places. Bart brought the truck to a stop and had the two men under control. He’d seen Lindy go by with Annie up top, and he signaled a couple of cars to follow her. When they reached her, Lindy still had the leader of the plotters pinned against the brick wall of a tall apartment building. A few locals, coming out of a bar, stopped to watch. Lindy was blocking the man’s efforts to run, with Annie using him like the good quarter horse she knew he was, effectively cutting the targeted one out of the herd.
The police took over and had the man cuffed and into a squad car in a matter of moments. And Annie rode Lindy back to where they’d started. Lights were going on in windows up and down the street. The sound of hoofbeats on pavement was most unusual, and residents all along the way ran to windows to watch.
By the time Annie reached the truck, her excitement had settled down to pure pleasure. She’d been right all along and no one could discount her any longer. She’d found Lindy, she’d led the police to the bad guys, and she’d captured their leader. Bart would be proud of her. Liz would be proud of her. She was proud of herself.
There was a knot of uniforms gathered in the middle of the street, surrounded by an excited horde of arriving media people. News teams from the local TV stations, newspaper reporters, and neighbors with their cell cameras, including a scrum of curious kids. Squad cars in all directions, their headlights lighting up the street, with light bars making the whole scene brilliantly colorful. And there was Bart in the middle, talking on his radio, reporting to Captain Simon back at headquarters.
Annie clip-clopped up to him with people falling back to give her room. She dismounted, grasped her handmade halter by the fiador knot and, with a big Wyoming smile, led Lindy back to his owner.
“I’ve brought you your horse,” she said to Bart.
She waited for Bart’s big, grateful smile, maybe a handshake, and a hearty thank you. The warm kiss of gratitude could come later.
But they didn’t come. Bart’s expression was ice-cold. He signed off his report and turned to her. Silent for a moment. Then he pointed to the halter.
“Where’d you get that thing?”
“I made it.”
The air was going out of her elation. What could be wrong? Why is he being like this?
“You made it?”
“Yes. I made it. And I found your horse. And I brought him back to you. I thought you’d be glad.”
He nodded slightly. He looked at her thoughtfully and there was something painful in his expression, something Annie couldn’t understand.
“I am glad. Of course. Thank you.”
Lindy bent his head toward Bart and Bart took the halter from Annie.
“I am glad,” he whispered, to the horse, not to her. He rested his forehead on Lindy’s and had a moment of thankful reunion with the animal. Once more, he whispered, “I am glad.”
Then he turned and gave Annie one more inscrutable look.
“That was a terrific performance,” he said to Annie, ice-cold. “You look terrific riding bareback, so very wild west. But I don’t get to play cowboys and Indians and I don’t have his saddle with me, so I’m just going to call headquarters for a trailer to come and take him back to the stable.”
And he walked Lindy off to the side with a noisy trail of media people running after them.
Annie stared after him. The freeze in his remark was stuck like an icicle in her chest.
But reporters with mics and cameras were gathering around her and she had no chance to figure it out.
Someone from Extra put a mic in her face and as soon as she got Annie’s name, it clicked in her reporter’s brain and she connected it to the Lady Fair contest winner who, she remembered, was from a ranch somewhere out west. She’d seen Annie’s bareback ride up the street on Lindy, she put two and three together and came up with a whole new human interest and entertainment dimension to the story. Pray God, she thought, I hope our camera guy got a shot of that ride.
Other reporters were catching on, too, and they were trying to crowd each other out. Annie was feeling suffocated and almost blinded by the camera flashes. She made no effort to answer their questions and was looking frantically for someone to get her out of this crush of bodies. When Max Wozinski pushed his way through the crowd to reach her, it was as though the cavalry had arrived.
“Sergeant! Max! Can you get me out of here?”
“That’s what I’m here for.” He got a protective arm around her and used the other to clear away the reporters.
“Okay, folks,” he was s
aying. “A little air, if you don’t mind. Let’s get this lady out of here. We need her back at headquarters. You’ll all get your story. Press conference at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
The media mass followed her right up to the squad car and kept the mics in her face till she was in the rear seat and the door was closed. As Max turned the car around and headed back up the street, she looked back and saw the blue-and-white police trailer arrive, and Bart waiting with Lindy to go back to the stable.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Morning After
Friday Morning
She didn’t sleep well that night. Too much excitement, perhaps. Or, more likely, it was the cold shoulder from Bart that had nagged at her through the wee hours. There’d been no chance to talk to him at headquarters, what with the gaggle of reporters outside, yelling questions at her, and the activity inside—the booking of the kidnappers, the recording of her account of events, the department veterinarian checking Lindy’s condition. She’d had barely a glimpse of Bart in the stable, working with the vet and getting Lindy settled in, and it was Max who brought her back to her hotel. His comment, as he held the rear door open for her to get into the car, was the only clue she had.
“Imagine a sweet young girl like you doing what all of us couldn’t.”
He’d given her a big, admiring smile when he said it and she knew it was a compliment but somehow, she felt a chill run through her, like a warning.
For the rest of the ride, he talked only about the super evening they’d had at the theater, he and Chloe and Liz, and he said he felt like he knew a real celebrity, what with Annie’s contest and all the evening’s excitement, and as he left her off at the hotel, he asked to be remembered to Liz. Then he U-turned the squad car around and headed back to headquarters.
Her Winning Ways Page 21