The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3

by Michele Scott

"Yes. Thank you. I owe you."

  "Yes you do."

  Michaela walked outside, breathing in the faint smells of orange blossom and honeysuckle that hung on into the Indian summer, even in early November. This was the desert, and thankfully today it was tolerable—beautiful actually, reaching only eighty degrees. Rolling hills and peaks surrounded the valley, hued in golds and a rustic claylike color she found stunning against the manicured kelly green of the polo fields.

  Having been cooped up inside the tack shop for most of the morning, she hadn't witnessed the festivities' setup progression. A large white tent was in place in the parking lot for the fashion show. She peeked inside and took a step back. Everything was gorgeous. Camden would be pleased. There were about a hundred tables topped with cream-colored tablecloths, with vases of pink bud roses placed on them for the centerpieces, and a catwalk and stage lined with clusters of more roses, spread out in front of where the guests would be seated. A crew worked with the sound system. No doubt that this would be some event.

  She saw Dwayne plugging in the stereo system. He glanced up and immediately smiled and waved at her. He wore his breeches and polo T-shirt. The number on the back of his shirt was 2. She sported 1. He was the other amateur rider on her team. Each team consisted of four members, two who had been at it for some time. She couldn't believe that Camden had been able to talk both her and Dwayne into playing the charity match. Like her, Dwayne trained reiners and working cow horses. It wasn't that either one of them had to learn much in the way of riding per se—both sports required agility and a good seat in the saddle. And both of them were fast. The difference all came down to that ball flying through the air, and the mallet with a bamboo shaft and hardwood head. If that sucker connected with any body part, it hurt like hell.

  Michaela still found it pretty unbelievable that her assistant trainer and Camden were planning their wedding. They definitely fit the old adage that opposites attract.

  Dwayne came over to her. "Got my girl calmed down a bit."

  "I appreciate that." Michaela enjoyed hearing the melodic sound of his voice, accentuated by his native Hawaiian tongue.

  "Sorvino sounds like he be difficult to deal with."

  "Yes." She didn't add that although Pepe was difficult, his son kind of frightened her.

  "You heading to the field?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Me, too, in a minute. I got to help one of the guys move a speaker first. I be right over."

  "See you in a few." Even though the field was just across the street from the tack shop, it entailed a bit of a walk because the grounds were so large. She decided to drive her truck over. As soon as the match was finished, she'd have to get back in a hurry to help with the last-minute touches before everyone made their way over for the fashion show and lunch.

  She pulled up, and parked under a row of trees that shadowed the unmarked dirt parking lot. She knew that she'd already find the ponies she was to ride saddled up and ready to go. Technically, the horses weren't really ponies; they were horses that averaged fifteen hands. A "hand" is a four-inch measurement used to determine the horse's height. Michaela had learned from her coach that when the British discovered polo in Persia, the average polo pony stood only about twelve hands high, which is the customary size for an actual pony today. Contrary to the thinking many nonequestrians share, ponies are not baby horses. The first height limit for polo ponies was set in 1876 at fourteen hands. In 1896 the limit was raised to fourteen hands two inches. Limits were abolished in 1919. Polo ponies were not actually a breed but a crossbreed. Players looked for agility, speed, and intelligence. Many times the cross they'd found to fit their criteria was between a Thoroughbred and quarter horse. The Thoroughbred had the stamina and speed to last, and the quarter horse maintained the agility and intelligence.

  But real-world players didn't own just one polo pony; they owned several because of the wear and tear on the animals. Michaela would ride three different ponies today, but she knew that Sterling would ride six and she was pretty sure that one of the pros on her team, Zach Holden, would also use six horses. They would be exchanged between chukkers, which lasted seven minutes. There were always six chukkers to a game, with three-minute breaks between chukkers and a halftime where spectators would rush out to stomp down the divots. The rules stated that no horse could be played for more than two chukkers, thus Michaela's three school horses.

  She got out of her truck and looked around the parking area—Sterling's Porsche was there as well as a few other cars. It didn't look like she was either the first or last one to arrive. She grabbed her gloves and mallet from the backseat. She'd pick up one of the school's helmets from the office. The helmet she used at her place was different than what they used in polo. It reminded her of one of those safari hats that elephant tamers sometimes wear. She turned around to head over to the stable and heard a car door slam, then another. An engine roared and the next thing she knew a car raced past her and down the gravel road. What in the world? She squinted to get a better look. She could've sworn the BMW that sped down the road belonged to the polo coach's wife, Paige Nightingale. Then she saw Sterling climbing out of his Porsche. Had Paige been in the car with him? She didn't see anyone else around. It struck her as odd. What reason would Paige have to be in Sterling's car? And what were the slamming doors and screeching tires all about? She wondered where Robert was.

  She certainly didn't want Sterling to spot her. He was the last person she wanted to talk to, so she picked up her pace and headed to where the horses awaited. Who really cared what that had been about? She'd met her stress quota for the day.

  The three horses were lined up at a long hitching post. Her favorite was a bay mare named Rebel. The mare had the kind of eyes that Michaela liked on a horse: intelligent.

  "Hey, Rebel," she said, patting her on her rump. "You look good." The horse glanced at her with a baleful eye, and then turned back around. "Uh-huh. That's what I like about you. Not one for small talk." Michaela laughed. She knew the horse had no clue what she was saying—for the mare it was probably like a Charlie Brown cartoon where the kids listen to the teacher and all they hear is "Waa, waa, waa, waa, waa, waa." But she did know that horses liked to be talked to. They were social animals, and the sound of their rider's voice could put them at ease, or wind them tight—depending on the person and the tone.

  She gave the other two horses a pat and a few words of encouragement—again knowing they could care less what she had to say. She headed over to the office on the grounds—a decent-sized trailer—needing to get her helmet.

  Robert sat inside the trailer on a tattered, blue velour couch, pulling on his boots. "Oh hey, Michaela. You ready for this?" He pulled up his other boot and sat back, running his hand through his light brown hair, which appeared to be thinning on top. Michaela guessed him to be somewhere in his mid to late fifties. He was known for his intensity on and off the polo field but he'd been nothing but nice to her, and she found the rumors of his brusqueness to be just that so far. She'd had a soft spot for Robert and Paige ever since she'd learned that their only son had been killed in a car accident a few years earlier. She couldn't imagine ever enduring that type of pain. Although she tried not to let it bother her, she still wondered why Paige had left the grounds in such a hurry, either trying to get away or leaving Sterling Taber behind. Again, Michaela reminded herself that it was none of her business.

  "Uh, no. I doubt I'll ever be ready." She laughed.

  "You're a good rider. You'll be fine up there. Don't let any of my guys intimidate you. Plus, you got a couple of your buddies out there, too."

  "Yeah, but I'm the only woman."

  He waved a hand at her. "You'll be fine. Got your helmet?"

  She picked through the bin where the school helmets were kept, and held one up after making sure it was the right size. "I do now."

  They walked out of the trailer together and back over to the horses. Dwayne had shown up and she saw Ethan pulling into the parkin
g area.

  She wondered if his wife, Summer, was with him and breathed an audible sigh when she didn't see anyone else get out of his truck. Michaela loved Ethan. They'd known each other since they were little kids. Camden insisted Michaela was in love with him, but that wasn't true. It couldn't be true, because Ethan was a married man. Married against Michaela's wishes, but that was only because she knew Summer was not right for him. The woman had strung him along, left him at the altar where Michaela picked up the pieces left behind, and then had the audacity to strut back into his life, get pregnant, and manipulate him into marriage. Now Ethan was the proud daddy of little Joshua, who was also her godson, most certainly against Summer's wishes.

  "Hey, Mick, Robert," he said.

  Robert shook his hand. "Good to see you, Ethan. I'm going to make sure everything is a go. Looks like all the riders are here. I don't see one of the umpires, though."

  "Sure. Do your thing. This is gonna be fun," Ethan said, "even for an old guy."

  "Old guy? Please." Ethan was only a couple of years older than her. Michaela had noticed him aging a little in the last year, but he was far from old—a wrinkle here and there above the forehead, a few around his eyes. She liked it. It added character. Not that he needed any. Ethan had plenty of character with a slightly crooked nose from a pony kicking him in the face, but he was still a good-looking man.

  He looked at her with his dark green eyes. "I don't know about going against you, Bancroft. You might kick my ass."

  "Sure." She laughed. "Who else is on your team? I know Sterling Taber is, and Tommy Liggett is the other pro rider, right?"

  Ethan nodded. "Yeah, and I got a buddy of mine…do you know Lance Watkins?"

  "Sure. He trains show jumpers. Wow. He's going to ride today?"

  "He is."

  "Impressive."

  "What do you say we get on the field? Looks like the grooms have everyone ready," Ethan said.

  "Ah, the luxury of playing polo."

  "Yeah, really. Good luck."

  They both laughed, knowing that because of the wealth surrounding the sport, it was a rarity that any of the players ever actually groomed and tacked up their horses. Today, even the locals like herself and Ethan were being treated like kings—and supposedly polo had been dubbed the sport of kings.

  Michaela mounted Rebel and they headed onto the polo field, which was three hundred yards long and one hundred and fifty yards wide. She would be playing the most conservative position as the number four, or back, player. Her job was to play defense and guard the goal to keep the opposition from scoring. Dwayne was playing first position, which was offensive, along with the number two position, played by a longtime pro in the sport and owner of the polo field, Ed Mitchell. He would have to play aggressively, his goal to break up the defensive plays of the opposition. In third position was Zach Holden, a young guy and good friend of Sterling's, but totally opposite from the pompous ass. Michaela liked Zach. He was congenial and generous—always giving her tips and advice. Zach would be the pivot man, kind of like the quarterback on a football team. He would be making the long-ball shots and be the key playmaker for the team. Michaela admired his playing ability. He was also the player who would most likely be hitting any penalty shots.

  The two umpires and a referee, all on horseback, were ready to go, along with the scorekeeper and time recorder. Michaela's heart pounded as a wave of nervousness coursed through her. She looked out at the crowd, all in their designer outfits, champagne flutes in hand, and couldn't help but question her sanity.

  Then, one of the umpires tossed the ball into the center, and everything began to move. Michaela forgot the crowd, the morning, what was on tap next, and just played the game. Once the ball was in play it traveled at speeds upward of one hundred miles per hour. The ball came flying toward her as she guarded the goal. Sterling had hurled it toward her, and when she stopped the ball with a forehand by swinging her mallet forward on Rebel's near side, she almost whooped out loud. The pounding of hooves drummed in her ears as clumps of dirt kicked up around them. She had just sent the ball back into play when it came back down the line, and before she could blink Sterling was next to her, his mallet hooked with hers. She got it undone in time to save another goal from being scored, this time on a shot from Ethan.

  The ball had once again turned around and Dwayne had it down the line. Michaela squealed when Dwayne hit it past Ethan's pal Lance Watkins. She could have sworn she heard Sterling down at the other end scream an obscenity at Lance. How immature.

  Before Michaela knew it, they were into the last chukker and she had changed to her third horse, a white speckled gelding named Snowman. Her team was ahead by two points and Zach yelled to her, "Nice work out there!"

  "Thanks." She wiped the sweat off her brow and one of the grooms gave her a leg up onto Snowman. They were back in play, horses going at a full canter, well-toned athletes moving with grace and speed, carrying riders who depended on the sound mind of their animals to keep them in the game. The ball flew between thin, fine legs—riders bumping shoulder to shoulder, mallets hooking and clanking around one another, red nostrils of the horses flaring, and the smell of sweat and dirt and grass hanging in the air. Shouts from the crowd and curses from the riders who missed a goal contrasted the whoops of joy when one team scored. Michaela wasn't sure she even breathed the rest of the game, it was so intense. And in the end, her team won by one point after Lance Watkins fouled and Zach was allowed to take the penalty shot, zipping it past Dwayne.

  The losing team congratulated Michaela and the others. Sterling rode up next to her on a beautiful black gelding. He had to have been from Argentina, where many of the best polo ponies came from. "Looks like lady luck was the key, huh? Or maybe the guys were just taking it easy on you. Granted, Watkins plays like a girl, but that's what I'd expect from some guy who trains jumpers."

  Sterling didn't realize that Lance Watkins and Ethan were directly behind him and within earshot. Michaela didn't reply; she simply turned her horse, walking him over to Ethan and Lance. "That guy is an asshole," Lance said. "I'd like to bump him off his high horse. I'm sorry, Michaela. I don't mean to be rude. Nice to see you. Great playing out there."

  "Thanks." She didn't know Lance well, but she couldn't blame him for being irritated with Sterling. "You guys played hard, too. I don't know about this polo thing."

  "It's not for me," Lance replied. "I need to take off. See you two later."

  "You going to the fashion show and lunch?" Michaela asked Ethan.

  "I wish I could, but Summer has something she needs to do and I need to get home and be with the baby."

  "Oh." She tried hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  They talked for a few more minutes, until Dwayne rode past and reminded her that they didn't have much time to get back over to the shop for the rest of the day's festivities. She said good-bye to Ethan and dismounted her horse, giving him a pat and handing him over to one of the grooms.

  Zach Holden was over by the stalls with one of his horses. "Good game out there," he said.

  "Thanks. You did a good job yourself." He couldn't have been over twenty-five and was from money, like most of the people on the pro team.

  "She did do well." Sterling Taber approached them. "Lucky for her we had that pain-in-the-ass show jumper on our team." He laughed. "That guy is clueless. He wasn't on his game at all."

  Michaela tried to maintain a smile, but Sterling was such a jerk. Lance Watkins had an excellent reputation in the show ring, and although she'd only met him a few times, he was always pleasant and, as Ethan had indicated, he was a good guy. She chose not to respond to Sterling's comment. Ignoring him was taking the higher road, by far.

  Funny thing: Sterling did seem to have enough of something—be it charisma, charm, she didn't know exactly what—and whatever it was, he always appeared to have plenty of friends, like Zach.

  Sterling swung his mallet back and forth. "Well, like I said, dumb luck or la
dy." He winked at her. "Just kidding. You did well out there. I gotta run." He pointed at her. "See you at the show. Hey, anyone seen Tommy? He was supposed to catch a ride with me over to the shop."

  "Yeah, but I think he already went on ahead."

  "Okay. Thanks."

  There was another friend that Sterling had in his entourage—Tommy Liggett, who again, by all accounts, was a decent guy. And he hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth like the rest of the crew.

  Sterling waved at Michaela and Zach, as if they wouldn't see each other in only a manner of minutes. They watched as he slipped into his Porsche Carerra and zipped it around the gravel road that led to the tack shop. She noticed Zach staring after Sterling, a scowl on his face, and if she wasn't mistaken, she could've sworn she recognized hatred in his eyes.

  THREE

  "AREN'T YOU IN THE SHOW, TOO?" MICHAELA asked Zach.

  His expression softened. "Uh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure the groom put this new liniment on my horse's right front suspensory. He's sore and favoring that side."

  "I think Ethan already left. Do you need to call him back?"

  "No. I don't think so, but I'll come back later and check. I should probably hurry, too. I'm sure Camden is beside herself. We shouldn't be standing around chitchatting."

  She nodded. "Yep, you better go. The makeup lady should be ready for you guys."

  "Makeup?" Zach said.

  "Camden's idea."

  "Okay, I'm gone. Sure you don't need a ride?"

  "No. I'm good. I've got my truck. I'm going to drop off the school helmet to Robert and I'll be right over."

  She headed to Robert's office. The door was propped open a crack, but she still went the customary route and announced herself before entering. When she didn't get a reply she figured that she'd go in and drop the helmet in the bin. The bin stood near Robert's desk, which was a mess. Piles of equine magazines and books filled one side of the desk, and papers were stacked high. She knew that Paige helped him with the business, but it looked as if they were getting behind. God, how she could relate.