3 A Basket of Trouble

by Beth Groundwater

  inside the corral. They stirred up small dust clouds with their boots while they moved around the horse.

  “Uh, oh. What now?” Jessica asked as she and Claire got out of the car.

  “Help me with this bear, then we’ll find out.”

  Claire wrestled a three-foot-tall carved wooden bear carrying a Welcome sign out of the car trunk. Jessica had fallen in love with it, saying it would be a perfect greeter at the bottom of the trailer’s porch steps. When she balked at the price, Claire had insisted on buying it as a gift for the new business.

  While Jessica hefted her end of the bear, she said, “I still say the gift basket was enough, Claire.”

  “Oh, poo.” Claire huffed while they lugged the bear over to the trailer. “Or Pooh Bear, as the case may be. The basket wasn’t a lasting gift. This is. I’ll enjoy seeing it every time I come over.”

  They set the bear down with a thump, then Jessica hustled toward the corral.

  Claire followed a few steps behind. She wiped sweat off her brow, though it would have evaporated soon. The dry June heat had started sucking moisture out of her skin as soon as she stepped out of the car’s air conditioning.

  When she reached the corral, Jessica was asking Wilson, “What’s going on? Why are you here?” in a loud, excited voice.

  He waved a hand toward Gunpowder. “Right now, I’m watching these two work some magic on a horse.”

  Charley stood at Gunpowder’s head, holding onto the horse’s bridle. He turned at the sound of their voices. “Hi, gals. You were gone a long time. I hope you didn’t break the bank.”

  Jessica looked at Claire, and Claire shook her head, mouthing, ‘Not yet.’ “Just our backs,” she said to Charley and pointed at the bear.

  When he saw it, he laughed. “Good idea.”

  A warm glow suffused Claire as she realized that was the first time she had heard Charley laugh since Kyle’s death. And he looked relaxed. Doing what he loved—working with horses—had wrought this change.

  Charley turned to Wilson. “So what we’re doing here is getting Gunpowder used to having human hands on him again. Our farrier is coming tomorrow, and Gunpowder is due to be reshod. Jorge’s gotten him to the point where we can touch his head and the front of his body, but he still shies away when we go for his hooves.”

  Jorge gently ran his hands up and down Gunpowder’s chest while murmuring softly to the horse. He gradually extended his reach down the horse’s front legs in slow circles until he was touching Gunpowder’s knees. As he reached lower, Gunpowder’s ears started twitching back and forth.

  Claire leaned over the corral’s top rail next to Wilson. “I can see Gunpowder’s skin quivering under Jorge’s touch.”

  “Sí, yes,” Jorge answered in a calm monotone while he continued his ministrations. “That shows he is getting nervous, but he is better, much better than a couple of days ago. Aren’t you, chico?”

  Gunpowder looked at Jessica and Claire. He sniffed the air and stepped back and forth a few times before he settled down again, with Charley and Jorge both murmuring to him. Charley rubbed Gunpowder’s nose, and gradually the horse’s ears stopped twitching.

  “He reacted a lot less to the women than to me when I came up to the corral,” Wilson said.

  “He didn’t know you,” Charley said. “That’s why we had him come over and smell you and why I had you rub his head. He knows Jessica’s scent really well, and he’s met Claire once before. But you’re right. Men seem to disturb him a lot more than women since Kyle died.”

  “Maybe it’s because a man was the one who dragged Kyle Mendoza into his stall,” Wilson offered.

  Charley nodded. “Could be. Or maybe he now associates the smell of a human male, like Kyle’s smell, with death. Except for those of us who’ve been working with him, that is. He knows our unique scents.”

  “It’s a good thing our farrier is a woman and Gunpowder knows her well.” Jorge said while he ran his hands down the full length of Gunpowder’s front legs.

  The horse’s ears twitched a few times, but otherwise he stood still.

  Jorge cradled one of Gunpowder’s front hooves and slowly lifted it a few inches. “I think he will let her do his front hooves okay.” He set the hoof down again. “But we will probably have to hobble him when she does his back hooves. He still won’t let me touch his rear flanks or back legs.”

  “He’ll hate being hobbled,” Charley said. “Can we wait until her next visit?”

  Jorge lifted Gunpowder’s other front hoof and looked at the bottom. He shook his head. “He needs new shoes now. These are really worn.”

  “Why would he be more sensitive in the back?” Wilson asked.

  “For one thing, he can’t see what’s going on there as well,” Charley answered. “All horses are more nervous when people approach them from the rear. But Jorge and I also think Gunpowder probably kicked Kyle with his back hooves. Horses’ back kicks are more powerful. Gunpowder may even have pulled some muscles there and have residual pain.”

  Wilson made a note on his small notepad. “Well, this is all interesting, but I’m not sure if any of it is helpful to the case. Can you take a break from this, Charley, so I can pick your brain some more?”

  Charley looked at Jorge. “What do you think?”

  “I can continue by myself if we tie him off.” Jorge took the bridle and reins from Charley. He walked Gunpowder to the corral fence and looped the reins over the rail.

  Charley came out through the gate and wiped his sleeve across his damp forehead. “Whew, I’m thirsty. How about if we have some iced tea on the porch while you ask your questions?”

  “I’ll fix it,” Jessica said. She went inside the trailer.

  Wilson followed and took a seat on the porch.

  Claire headed for her car and said to Charley over her shoulder, “Could you help me bring in Jessica’s bags?”

  While she sorted through the shopping bags in the trunk and handed Jessica’s to Charley, he lifted an eyebrow. “How much did these things cost?”

  Claire crossed her fingers behind her back. “Don’t worry. Not that much. We got most of them on sale. Working with the horses is your therapy, Charley. Shopping is Jessica’s.”

  Charley nodded. “Point taken.”

  They settled onto benches on the porch, and Jessica brought out glasses of iced tea.

  Once they were all served and Charley had downed half his glass, he looked at Detective Wilson. “So, what were those phone numbers that you wanted to check with me?”

  Wilson pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his notepad, opened it up and handed it to Charley. Claire could see that the paper contained a list of phone numbers. Lots of handwritten notes were scribbled on it as well.

  “We got the phone numbers off of Kyle Mendoza’s cell phone and had the phone company trace them,” Wilson explained to Jessica and Claire while Charley looked at the sheet. “The obvious calls are to here, his home phone, and Brittany Schwartz’s cell phone. And we’ve identified the ones to business land lines. But we have some other cell phone numbers we’re still trying to identify. Some are registered in Mexico.”

  Charley handed the list back to Wilson. “None of those other numbers are familiar to me.”

  Wilson glanced at Charley then Jessica. “Do either of you know why he’d be calling Mexico?”

  Charley shook his head while Jessica looked thoughtful.

  “Do you do any business in Mexico?” Wilson asked.

  “No,” Charley replied. “All of our suppliers are here in the U.S., and I’ve never bought a horse from Mexico.”

  Jessica leaned forward. “Does the Mendoza family have any relatives in Mexico?”

  “I already asked his mother that,” Wilson said. “And she said no, no close ones. No one that they still keep in touch with. She and her husband didn’t recognize a
ny of the numbers either.”

  He paused and looked at Charley. “Some of Kyle Mendoza’s calls were to Pedro Trujillo’s cell phone. Do you know why he’d be calling Pedro?”

  “Kyle recommended Pedro to me,” Charley said. “When I asked him what he knew about Pedro’s work experience, Kyle said he hadn’t worked with Pedro personally, but that a stable manager he had worked with before had vouched for him. Maybe after Kyle and Pedro started working together, they developed a friendship.”

  “Was the stable in Mexico?”

  “I don’t know, but I assumed it was in the U.S. I never asked Kyle for the contact information for the other stable manager. I needed wranglers right away, so I hired Pedro on a trial basis. When I saw what a hard worker he was and how good he was with horses, I didn’t need to follow-up on the reference.”

  “Is Pedro here?”

  “This is his day off,” Charley said. “My wranglers all work six days a week. Each one gets a different weekday off, except Brittany, who’s part-time.”

  Wilson pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number from the sheet of paper. He waited for a few moments, then broke the connection and pocketed his phone. “Pedro’s not answering.”

  “If you want, I’ll ask him tomorrow about that other stable, see if it was in Mexico and get the number from him if it was.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll stop by his place later.” Wilson tapped the end of his pen on his open notepad. “Is Pedro documented?”

  Charley straightened, his back ramrod stiff. “Of course. I know the law. I don’t hire illegal immigrants. Just like all my employees, Pedro showed me his social security card and driver’s license when he filled out his paperwork.”

  “His English doesn’t seem that good,” Wilson responded, doubt lacing his voice.

  “It’s not what you think,” Charley said. “I ran into that a lot with my wranglers when my stable was in Durango, and I do here, too. A lot of them come from the San Luis Valley. It’s a rural farming area. They grow up around horses and learn how to handle them while they’re still kids. Many of the families who live there speak Spanish in the home, even though they’re U.S. citizens. That’s their heritage.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jessica said to Wilson. “Why don’t you just call the Mexico numbers and see who answers?”

  “If Kyle Mendoza was into anything illegal that got him killed,” he replied, “and these contacts are drug dealers or smugglers, they aren’t about to identify themselves to us on the phone. And, by calling, we’ll let them know we have the numbers. They’d throw away their cell phone SIM cards and get new ones. I’d rather see if any of Kyle’s associates know what the phone numbers are for.”

  Jessica settled back against the porch railing. “I guess that makes sense.”

  Wilson refolded the phone number list and tucked it in his notepad. “And I guess my work is done here today. Thanks for clearing up those other two numbers, Charley.” He nodded to them all and walked away to his car.

  “What other two numbers?” Claire asked Charley.

  “A feed supplier and hardware store,” Charley answered. “Detective Wilson had started asking me about phone numbers when Jorge came out of the barn with Gunpowder and asked for my help. Wilson had the business names, but he wanted to know why Kyle called them. Remember when we were first setting up and kept sending Kyle out to fetch things for us?” he asked Jessica. “I guess he called a couple of times to get directions.”

  “Speaking of getting directions,” Jessica said. “Did you call Claire’s lawyer friend before you blew your top at the park director?”

  Ouch. Claire winced internally. She wouldn’t have worded the question that bluntly.

  Charley frowned. “Yes, I called Dave Redding. He told me to send him a copy of the e-mail and the contract. He said he’d look at them over the weekend. We’ll talk about what to do on Monday, but I’m not sure how much I want him to do for us. He sure ain’t cheap.”

  He finished off his glass of iced tea and put it on the tray. “And speaking of spending money, how much money did you spend today?”

  Ouch again. Claire glanced from Charley to Jessica and wondered if their marriage was really on the rocks or if they were just taking out their stress over Kyle’s murder on each other.

  “Don’t worry,” Jessica said. “I know money’s tight right now. Claire found us some great bargains.” She placed the empty glasses back on the tray and stood with it. “I’m going to look over tomorrow’s trail ride bookings and make sure we’re all set before we head home. Claire, can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks. I need to get home and fix dinner for Roger. Today was fun, though.”

  Jessica grinned. “It sure was. Thanks again for making me take the break. I really needed it.” As she went inside the trailer, she started humming to herself.

  Charley watched her go in then turned to Claire. “Jessica really does seem a lot more relaxed. I guess I should thank you even if our bank account took a hit.”

  “Now we just need to get you to take a break,” Claire said with some relief. It seemed like Charley and Jessica were just stressed out, not having serious marital problems.

  Charley exhaled. “Maybe after the cops figure out who killed Kyle. In the meantime, I’ve got my hands full, with constant searches and questioning interrupting our work.”

  He rose to follow Jessica into the trailer, but Claire put a hand on his arm. “Speaking of which … you gave Detective Wilson a good story about your workers, but do you hire illegals?”

  “Of course not! Not deliberately. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “No, just concerned about saving money. You could pay illegals a lot less.”

  “You must not think much of me as a businessman, Claire, if you think I’d stoop to that.” Charley jammed his hands on his hips and frowned.

  Claire could tell he was hurt by the implication. “I’m sorry. I do think a lot of you, Charley, I really do. Wilson’s questions just concerned me. How careful can you be, really, about checking that all your workers are legal?”

  Charley threw up a hand. “That’s the problem. With the mess of immigration laws we have now, employers are stuck between a rock and a hard place. We can be fined if ICE finds out we hired illegal immigrants, even unknowingly, and—”

  “Ice?”

  “Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” Charley explained. “But employers can’t legally ask to see a green card from someone like Pedro who doesn’t speak English well, if he shows what seems to be a valid social security card and driver’s license. That’s all you need on the I-9 form.”

  “Can you require all your employees to be U.S. citizens?”

  Charley shook his head. “No, that’s discrimination, because the people who are permanent residents and have green cards can’t be denied work just because they weren’t born here.”

  “And they don’t have to show you those green cards to work for you.”

  “Right, because legally, to get a social security card, they either have to prove citizenship or show their green card.”

  “So you’re covered!”

  “It’s not that simple. Social security cards are easy to forge and to buy, and the government’s E-verify system for checking I-9’s is notoriously bad at finding identity fraud. If your employee turns out to have a fake card, you’re still liable. And ICE can fine you up to two thousand dollars per illegal employee.”

  Claire rubbed her forehead. The complexity of the issue was giving her a headache. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not.” Charley raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “Because a lot of illegals work in stables in the U.S., I consulted an immigration lawyer about this in Durango.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me to make copie
s of my employees’ social security cards and driver’s licenses when I hire them to prove that I checked them. And he told me that if ICE ever wants to check my records, I have the right to ask for three days to get them in order. But I can’t ask new hires any questions about citizenship status, where they or their parents were born, or to see a birth certificate, passport, or green card.”

  “Do you know if Pedro and Jorge are legal?”

  “No, I really don’t,” Charley said. “And I don’t know if Brittany and Gil are either, or if Kyle was. All I know is that they all showed me social security cards and driver’s licenses. And I have copies. That’s why Wilson’s questions were making me nervous.”

  “And if one of your wranglers isn’t legal,” Claire added, “questions about citizenship and green cards would make him nervous, too.”

  “Damn right.” Charley slapped his hat against his thigh.

  “Nervous enough to kill whoever was asking?”

  Charley peered up at the barn. “I don’t know. But why would Kyle be asking?”

  seven:

  digging for clues

  Claire was walking beside Daisy in the corral the next morning, with Brittany on the other side of the horse and a small, sprightly boy with autism who was about nine years old in the saddle. A strong wind sluiced down Pike’s Peak in the west, flinging the dust stirred up by Daisy’s hooves into Claire’s hair, eyes, and ears. She pulled the bandana tied around her neck up higher over her nose and mouth and glanced at Brittany, who had done the same thing. They both wore sunglasses, as did Jessica, walking in front of Daisy, but they weren’t much protection from the swirling wind. Claire wondered if she was squinting as much as Brittany was.

  “This wind bites, doesn’t it?” Brittany said over Daisy’s shoulder, her voice muffled by the bandana.

  Claire nodded then glanced at Donny, the boy in the saddle.

  A huge grin split his face as he bounced in the saddle and said, “Go, go, go,” to Daisy. The wind and dust didn’t seem to bother him at all.