by Ann Self
Dylan yelled in the phone: “Left enough rubber in the front lot to make another tire!”
Sam waved Dylan away as he answered her: “Tall. Big impressive looking guy about thirty I guess—looks like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. Dressed in expensive business clothes like Elliot. And, oh ya—he walked with a slight limp. Who was he? Anyone you know?” Then it dawned on him. “Hey, that must be the Canaday guy you all were discussing...”
“Probably.”
“What’s he looking for you for?”
“Have no idea. I guess I’ll find out when I get back. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Will you cancel tonight’s lessons for me?”
“Sure thing.”
“They’re in a notebook on the corner of your desk.”
“Roger. That all you’re going to tell me?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. This isn’t like you.”
“What’s she up to??” Dylan demanded.
“Will you pipe down, Dylan!” Sam yelled as he twisted away.
“I know, it isn’t like me, is it,” Jane answered Sam.
“Done!” Jane boasted to Madeline, feeling like an escaped zoo animal.
“Good. Go strip off that god-awful outfit, put it in the trash, and then unwind in the guest room Jacuzzi. There’s a ton of big fluffy towels in there and a terry robe. I’ll order the pizza when you’re done.”
“The trash?”
“That particular outfit was born for the trash. And throw the shoes in after it. I have plenty of jeans and shoes.”
“I better get my underwear out of the car before you throw it in a bonfire in the backyard.”
“No need to mess up the grounds—we can just wing them into the fireplace.”
On Sunday afternoon, Jane slunk back onto the estate, hoping to make it to the barn without seeing anyone. She was counting on the inhabitants of Springhill being too busy with the whirlwind of party plans to notice her absence or give her any thought. As she approached the mansion entrance, only the stone dogs gazed down at her critically from their shadowed perches, looking more eager than ever to pounce as she drifted slowly by, checking out the activity.
Brian, she guessed, would be comfortably ensconced in a luxurious air-conditioned guest room by this time—probably with Allison—preparing for the party. Catering vans were visible in the courtyard, as well as a huge motorhome for a rock band. Jane knew there would also be big-band music setting up on the terrace overlooking the pool.
She spotted a white FOX NEWS VAN, and a NEW ENGLAND CABLE NEWS truck that bristled with radar, cameras and periscopes like porcupine quills. A giant satellite dish leaned from the roof, making the vehicle look like a pried-open can of dog food. A network affiliate news truck had a Rube Goldberg apparatus that shot its smaller satellite dish high into the air on a device that resembled the accordion arm on a shaving mirror.
She glanced around furtively, and checked her rearview mirror, not planning to be surprised again—no more ambushes for her. But the road was deserted, totally empty of vehicles. She opened the gate and rolled along through the haze towards the barn. Sunday did turn out to be a record-breaking heat wave for May and the humidity was settling in a blue gauze over far-flung meadows. The deciduous trees had been caught napping and were now racing to finish spreading out leaves to offer more shade. The rhododendrons that cushioned the front of the massive barn were still exploding with giant heads of candy pink and lavender blossoms. Jane’s car radio frequently commented on the ninety-six degree weather, and how unusual for a New England spring. The prediction was that the heat would hold for the next two days.
There wasn’t a horse or rider in sight as she coasted into the stable area. Since it seemed everyone was busy primping for the party, Jane relaxed a little and recalled her visit to Madeline. She hadn’t been able to drag herself out of the comfortable pillow-top bed in Madeline’s guest room until 11:30 in the morning; probably due to the bed itself, and the fact that they stayed up so late laughing themselves senseless. Especially after Madeline began describing some of her date disasters.
“There just doesn’t seem to be any decent men left,” she had expounded, gesturing artfully with graceful fingers. “If you didn’t rope and land one in high school or college, then you have to shop discount. The ugly, the mismatched, the cheap...unless you want someone divorced, and that can be a minefield. Then there’s the younger crop—but you have to play a lot of video games and drive around with a skateboard in your trunk.”
Jane laughed out loud all over again as she made it uneventfully to the south wing, and parked in a slot against the barn. Dylan suddenly appeared from under the south wing, popping out of the “cave” and driving a large tractor up the sunken drive. The tractor sported long, pointed baling-spears of cold-drawn steel attached to the front of the vehicle, sharp enough to easily pierce and lift bales of hay to transport to other wings of the barn.
Dylan waved enthusiastically, welcoming her back from her mysterious visit as he putted up from the cellar in a cloud of diesel fuel, the sharp baling-spears winking in the sun. Elliot had inherited most of the tractors and machinery stored in the cavernous cellar but he was constantly adding to the fleet, picking up a tractor here and there, or a thresher, or whatever piece of equipment turned up for sale even if he wasn’t sure what it did. Elliot was no farmer, but he loved owning the equipment and putting his guys to work with it.
Jane waved back as Dylan headed past her to the end of the south wing where the hayloft door was situated. She was happy to see that this time the rooster wasn’t tailing him, and hoped Mean Chicken had been safely captured by now so they could all breathe a sigh of relief. She stepped out of her parked car and smoothed the torso-hugging shirt into the fancy belt and low waistband of designer jeans. Madeline actually did sprint out and throw her old shorts and sandals into the townhouse dumpster, forcing her to take the new outfit home on her back.
Pretty sneaky tactics, she thought to herself. She was even wearing Madeline’s chunky slides on her feet, and her toenails were blazing red, since they’d given each other pedicures just like in the old school days.
As Jane plucked her grocery sacks and bridle out of the rattletrap Buick, she was grateful for the fingers of shade that reached her from the giant oak tree on the far end of the south wing. The sun was swinging around to the west now, and hot enough to bubble the paint off the clapboards and cook her car into a soup of metal, plastic and fabric if the tree hadn’t provided some merciful protection. Birds were tweeting boisterously in the trees, flitting from branch to branch, and cicadas and other insects were buzzing and chirping about the heat.
Jane dashed into the side door of the west wing, leaving blaring sunlight for the dark and cool of the interior corridor, and tried to make it to the stairs and the sanctuary of her apartment. The slides clapped loudly on the cement and smacked her bare heels with every step. Sam, as always, missed nothing.
“Ah, ha young lady, don’t try to sneak by me!” He was standing in his doorway again, leaning one arm on the frame, and drinking from a liter bottle of spring water. He frowned at the inappropriate shoes that had made such a hideous racket. Bare toes and barns were a big mistake in his estimation.
“Good God, Sam, if there are any flies on you, they’re paying rent.”
“And well they should,” he answered. “So what is all this secrecy about?”
“What secrecy?”
He sighed, reached back to set the water on a ledge and approached her; taking note of her snappy new outfit. He blinked sharply at her glittering red toenails. “Well...I suppose you’ll tell me when you want to. I’ll try hard not to pry. What are you doing with a bridle? Taking it for a ride?”
“It’s a long story. In fact, it’s the cause of the long story. Serves me right for parking in the front.”
“Okay. Parking in the front...when is the flogging?” he joked. “Here, let me help you with those.” Sam grabbed the bags and was lu
rching up the heart-pounding circular staircase before she could protest. She staggered up after him, the slides hampering progress and sounding even more hideous on metal steps. Sam deposited the bags in her tiny kitchenette and then stalled, trying to squelch raging curiosity as he caught his breath. Jane began to stash things into the cupboard and refrigerator, ignoring him.
“Jeez,” he puffed, “seems only you or Dylan can climb those stairs without a coronary...” He dragged over a chair and fell into it, letting his breathing and pulse return to normal, watching her and waiting for an explanation. “You better ditch those silly things on your feet before you break an ankle.” he tried to instigate a conversation.
“I plan to,” she answered, taking a peek at his face exuding curiosity. Jane sighed in exasperation. “I can’t talk about it now Sam, it’s just too embarrassing.” She crammed a carton of juice into her ancient refrigerator as she spoke. “It’s bad enough that Lucinda knows way too much.”
“Oh good-God no, not Lucinda!”
Jane sighed again loudly, slammed the old white GE and stared down at the chrome handle. “That guy running around with Elliot and Lucinda...Brian Canaday...well, I went to the same school as he did, and I had a horrible crush on him. He doesn’t have a clue about it, but Lucinda’s starting to put things together.” She turned to face Sam. “It turns out he’s a business partner of Elliot’s. Lucinda’s making it her entertainment of the week.”
“The guy with enough money to buy a small country.”
Jane nodded somberly. “That’s him.”
“So you already knew him. Did you date..?”
“No! No! You don’t know what I looked like back then. Geek-o-rama. Hair chopped up to here,” she leveled her hand with her ears, “and clothes a homeless person would throw out. He didn’t know I existed, I was IN-VIS-A-BLE! Please...don’t make me explain anymore, I have no dignity left as it is.”
Sam looked sorry he’d asked, and cast about for something to say. “Isn’t he coming to the party with that actress?” Oh smart, he told himself.
“Yes...so you can see I’m better off staying away from him and forgetting the whole thing.”
“I understand, I’ll stop torturing you. I just thought I could handle Elliot better if I knew what was going on.” Sam got up and walked over to look out her dormer window, observing the stableyard far below. A welcome breeze from the two open windows flowed across the one-room apartment and out the open door into the corridor, cooling the small room and keeping it from being unbearably hot. Fans and vents on the gable ends of the attic space were working overtime to reduce the heat load from the massive roof. Jane often dreamed of having a room air conditioner, but Elliot wouldn’t allow them in any area except his office. He groused about not paying for electricity to cool the whole barn.
“There goes another news van drifting around,” Sam spoke, hastily latching onto a new subject. “Snoopy bunch.”
“Gotta air all those commercials with something between them,” Jane commented, as she squeezed a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese in her little cupboard.
“I just hope they stay in their truck and don’t prowl around the barn. People with no horse-sense make me nervous,” Sam stated as he watched the van until it drifted out of sight.
“They’ll have more trouble if they stumble upon Chicken, let alone horses. Did you catch him yet?”
He looked back at her. “Not yet. Been trying off and on all weekend.”
“You’re kidding!?”
“Nope. He’s having another bad hair day and we can’t seem to drop a net on him. He’s getting crazier and sneakier by the minute.”
“Cecily is going to have a cow.”
“You’re right about that.”
“You know Sam, before I left yesterday, I found Chicken in the front tack room. He somehow got shut up in there.”
“Well that probably explains why we couldn’t find him all Saturday morning,” Sam said as he walked to her doorway. “I think I’ll just check that room again. Wish me luck!”
“Luck!” she yelled. “You’ll need it!” She listened to his cowboy boots clambering down the metal staircase.
Later that afternoon, Jane led Charmante out of his box and hitched him on cross-ties in the aisle to help Dylan as he prepared to clean out the stall. The barn was abnormally quiet, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air as the estate readied itself for a major party. Jane had stayed in Madeline’s borrowed clothes as Madeline had warned her she should—what with the way her luck was running. Her hair was anchored on top with a silver barrette, and freshly brushed and flowing around her shoulders just in case she actually did run into any fancy party guests. The clapping, heel-smacking slides, though, were eschewed in favor of real barn boots. The danger of a horse’s hoof crushing her enameled toes was real; and worse, the teasing and ribbing she’d have to endure would be almost as bad as a thousand pounds of horse grinding over bare skin.
A John Deere lawn-tractor with a connecting wagon was pulled up next to Charmante’s open stall door, ready to be loaded with old bedding. Dylan launched himself into his work, stabbing the shavings and heaving pitchfork-fulls out the door and into the cart, as his straight hair swung around his face. He was wearing a black tee shirt, with some sort of grinning skull and other spooky graphics.
Jane noticed that other than snapping sly glances at her expensive outfit, he was mum about her mysterious absence. She figured Sam must have warned him not to pester her about it. Dylan, in fact, spent most of his time griping about Cecily.
“Boy, she’s off the hook today, just because of this stupid party,” he complained, slapping a pile of old shavings onto the mound in the small wagon.
“Lots of important people coming,” Jane reminded him, patting Charmante’s silvery nose.
“Got her wound up tighter than a cheap clock. She jumps me in the corridor a little while ago, raving about how I shoulda had the stalls done before now, just because it’s party night.” He stood up and leaned on the pitchfork while raking his hair back behind his ears. “Like it makes a difference to her party if I do the stalls in the morning or afternoon. I’m sure those fancy dudes are going to be out here checking stall floors.”
“I guess she’s got to vent on someone. You’re a lot safer than Elliot or Lucinda.”
“Don’t know about that. Probably a good rule of thumb not to yell at someone carrying a pitchfork.” He hefted the thing up for emphasis before digging in the stall again.
Jane chuckled as she raked Charmante’s white forelock smooth with her fingers. “This is true.”
“Then she was mad because I didn’t know where you were!” He piled the wagon higher as he groused. “Like I’m your personal secretary or something.”
“Sorry. Guess I got everyone in trouble.”
He ignored that. “She’s also ranting because we haven’t managed to bag the stupid rooster.”
“Are you serious? No one has caught him yet?”
“Nope. That bird knows something’s up—knows everyone’s trying to catch him. He’s sneaking around hiding in weird places so he can attack the unwary and then vanish. Sniper Chicken. Sam and Reggie have been trying all day to catch him. I think they really will barbecue him.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t tied you in the cellar as bait,” Jane joked as she checked over her shoulder and into dark corners. Dylan smiled as he anchored the pitchfork on the mound of old bedding. “I thought of that—but they wouldn’t let me. Said it was too dark and full of sharp tines and harrows and hay rakes and baling spears to be chasing him down there.”
“I think they’re right!”
At that moment, they heard some muffled screams and then cursing and yelling from another wing of the barn. Dylan punched a fist in the air. “He strikes—he scores!!”
Jane looked off in the direction of the commotion, as Dylan looked in the opposite direction and saw Lucinda approaching.
“Uh oh, here comes Stinkerbe
ll.”
Jane snapped her head back and peered around Charmante, seeing Lucinda marching towards them from the direction of the indoor ring, where she’d undoubtedly parked her car. Lucinda never walked more than she had to.
“Damnit,” Jane grumbled, “why are they all down here? You’d think the party was in the barn. Now all we need is Elliot.”
“Pooh-Bah was down here earlier too, looking for you,” Dylan informed her. “Just before you got here.”
“Uh oh—was he mad?”
“He was pretty agitated. I mean more that usual. He was running all over the place—as if you might be hiding in a bale of hay or something.”
“Great.” Then she whispered: “Here she comes. Brace yourself. I thought she’d be busy primping for her party!”
“Her hairdresser and makeup people probably haven’t arrived yet. God forbid she should dress herself.”
“Shhh!” Jane warned, as she grabbed a dandy brush out of the tack trunk and flailed away at Charmante’s satin coat. The hullabaloo from the other wing had faded and was barely audible, and the hollow tapping of Lucinda’s striding boots shifted Jane’s mind into defensive mode.
The horse leaned into the brisk brushing. Lucinda came to a stop beside Charmante, folding her arms as if she were starting the Macarena, shifting her weight to one hip. She gave Charmante a proprietary look-over and then slanted a sharp gaze to Jane, her eyes crawling over Jane’s hair and expensive clothes. Jane stopped to glare back, prepared for battle. Dylan got very busy opening a bale of fresh shavings in the stall as Lucinda began her interrogation.
“Where did you rush off to yesterday—flying out of here in such a rush and driving like a maniac?” Her voice was irritatingly affected and shrill.
“I went to visit a friend. I was late.” She resumed brushing.
“You just took off, without telling anyone?”
“I called Sam,” Jane answered calmly.
“Sam didn’t know diddly-squat when we talked to him, and I know you had lessons scheduled. My father came down here awhile ago to look for you, and you still weren’t back. He’s pretty ripped about you parking that junk car where ever you feel like it, and skipping out on lessons.”