Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  Trish held the leg as the vet clipped the hair and swabbed a pink patch. While her body did what he requested, her mind bombarded the gates of heaven for her dog.

  An hour later Caesar opened his eyes and whimpered deep in his throat. Trish heard him only because she stood crouched over the table by his head. The tip of his tail whisked an inch on the metal surface.

  “Easy, old man,” she whispered around the knot in her throat. “You’re gonna make it; you gotta.” She smoothed the short hairs back in front of his ears.

  “We’ll put him back in a kennel now,” the vet said while applying the stethoscope again. “He sounds stronger. The next twenty-four hours will tell the tale.”

  “Can’t we take him home? I’ll watch him real careful.” Trish kept her eyes on the collie. She knew if she looked up at the vet, she’d cry.

  “Trish, you know he’s better off here in case he needs emergency procedures.” Dr. Bradshaw laid a hand on her shoulder. “I promise to take good care of him.”

  “I—I know.” She stroked the top of Caesar’s head, doing her best to tell her dog how much she loved him in the language he knew best. “You don’t think someone poisoned him deliberately”—she raised her gaze to meet the doctor’s and swallowed—“do you?”

  Chapter

  06

  Dr. Bradshaw nodded his head. “I’m afraid I do.”

  “Maybe he got into some rat poisoning…or…or coyote bait, or…” Trish couldn’t think of anything else.

  “But you say he never leaves the farm. Have you put out any such substances?”

  Trish shook her head.

  “Then I imagine it was doctored meat left where he would find it. He didn’t eat very much or he’d have been dead for sure.”

  “But—but why? Why a dog? He never hurt anybody!” Trish tore her gaze from the vet’s and swung around to find Amy studying her, compassion evident in her blue eyes.

  “Parks will come by in the morning for a statement. I think—I’m afraid this was a warning.” Amy shook her head. “And maybe this was accidental. As soon as the lab analyzes the bloodwork we’ll know what we’re up against. At this point we have to cover all the possibilities. My job is to keep you safe, Trish.” She turned back to the vet. “Will there be someone here all night?”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Good then, let’s move him and we’ll head home.”

  Together they hoisted the tarp and, with Marge carrying the intravenous bag, transported Caesar back to the kennels. Dr. Bradshaw transferred the dog to the wire cage, laying him on some shredded newspaper. He hung the IV pouch on the door and stepped back so Trish could tell Caesar good-night.

  Trish bit her lip to keep the tears from taking over. “You do what he says now, you hear, old boy?” Caesar sighed but didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She dropped a kiss on his muzzle and stepped back so the vet could close the cage.

  “You’ll call us if…” She couldn’t say the words. He had to get better.

  “Of course. But I think we’re on the right track.”

  Trish dashed the backs of her fingers across her eyes. “Thanks.”

  By the time she fell into bed hours later, they’d discussed the situation until her mind felt like a tangled skein of yarn. She thumped her pillow and flipped over on her other side. If only she could flip a switch and turn off her mind like she did the lamp.

  The old rabbit race persisted around the tracks in her head. If God loved them, why didn’t He protect them better? But if God wasn’t protecting them, maybe someone in the family would have been hurt! Could God keep the animals safe? If He hadn’t been, Caesar would probably be dead by now. She ended up by ordering her rabbits back to their burrows and focused on her three things to be thankful for. Number one: Caesar was still alive and improving. She thought about the word improving. Was he? And wasn’t this one of those times like her father said, when you thanked God for the outcome in advance, going on faith that He was making it so? She sucked in a deep breath and let it all out, clear to the bottom of her lungs. The warmth seeping into her body felt like a warm bath but without the wet.

  Number two was easy. Thanks for Amy. And for winning at the track, for a safe flight for David, for his coming home for the weekend.…Trish drifted off on her litany of praise.

  First thing in the morning she called the vet. When he said Caesar was much stronger, she jigged in place to let some of the joy escape before she bounced on the ceiling like a runaway balloon. After sharing her news with Marge and Amy, she danced down the hall to take her shower. Caesar was mending. Now all was right with her world.

  The phone rang just before Trish opened the door to leave for school. She reached for it but stopped when Amy grabbed it first and frowned at her. “Oops,” she grimaced and flinched. She always answered the phone. How would she remember not to?

  “Runnin’ On Farm.” Amy waited, poised with pencil in hand. “Of course. I’ll get her for you.” She covered the receiver with her hand. “Wait to answer until I pick up the other line, okay?”

  Trish nodded and reached for the phone. The wink Amy gave her pushed her curiosity button to full alert. When she heard the click on the line, she said, “Hi, this is Trish.”

  “Trish, this is Sandra Cameron from the Public Relations Department of Chrysler Corporation in Detroit. How are you today?”

  “Fine.” Trish’s curiosity button turned neon.

  “I’m sure you’re curious as to why I’m calling.”

  “Ah, yes.” What an understatement.

  “Mainly I’d like to set up an interview with you. We could bounce some ideas around. Would that be possible?”

  “Sure.” The neon button turned into a flashing strobe light.

  “How about tomorrow? I can hop a plane and be there about eleven.”

  “I have school.” Trish felt her tongue stumbling over her teeth. What was going on?

  “I think this is important enough you’ll want to miss a couple of hours. Please make sure your mother can be there also. Will this be all right?”

  Trish mumbled an assent and then gave directions from the airport before gaining the courage to ask, “What’s this all about?”

  “I’d really rather wait until we can talk face-to-face. I’ll see you tomorrow about eleven. Oh, and here’s my number in case there’s a problem.”

  When Trish hung up the phone she understood what being run over by a steamroller felt like. What in the world was going on? She stared out the window down toward the barns. A thought teased the back of her mind but refused to be identified.

  “You really don’t know what that’s about?” Amy asked from the front door.

  “Not a bit.” Trish headed down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door, where she could hear the shower running, before sticking her head inside the steamy room. “I’m outta here. Oh, and, Mom, you gonna be home tomorrow about eleven?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “A Sandra Cameron called from the Chrysler Corporation—wants to meet with us.”

  The shower stopped. Marge peeked out the shower door. “What?”

  “Gotta go. Love you.” Trish shut the door on her mother’s “Tricia Marie Evanston!”

  “You know anything about that?” Amy asked when they drove down the lane.

  “Not really.” Trish shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” What was it she couldn’t remember?

  When they picked up Rhonda they brought her up to speed on all the excitement.

  “I’m so glad Caesar’s better. I prayed for him all night.”

  “All night?” Trish glanced in the rearview mirror to check out her friend’s face.

  “Well, every time I woke up. Seemed like all night. So you see this Detroit lady tomorrow?”

  “Yeah…wish I knew what it was about. The suspense is killing me.”

  “It’s about the advertising campaign, you know, the one that reporter down in San Mateo told you about. They want
you to—”

  “That’s it! The thing I’ve been trying to remember.” Trish thumped her hand on the steering wheel. “How do you think he knew about this? That was weeks ago.” None of them came up with any answers, just more questions, by the time they arrived at Prairie High School.

  Trish dropped her things off at her locker and stopped at the front desk just as the second bell rang. “I need to talk to Mrs. Olson,” she told the student working the counter. “She’s my advisor,” she whispered to Amy.

  “You better ask for the principal too,” Amy replied. “I need to talk with both of them.”

  By the time the meeting was over, Trish remembered how little kids felt when grown-ups talked about them as if they weren’t there. They could at least have asked her opinion rather than planning her life for her.

  “Sorry about that,” Amy said as they headed for first period. “It just seemed to work faster if I handled it.” Trish muttered her agreement. “But from now on, I’m just your favorite cousin from Spokane, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I forgot to tell them about the gift money from TBA.” Trish smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Now I’ll have to stay after school to catch them.”

  “Would now be better?”

  “No, we’re late enough for class as it is.” Trish didn’t need her nagger to call her names. She was doing a good enough job of that all on her lonesome. She retrieved her things from her locker and headed for class.

  The boys at their lunch table reacted to Amy with the same drop-the-jaw expression David and Brad had adopted. Trish and Rhonda swapped their oh brother looks and kept from giggling by sheer willpower.

  “Should I tell them the bad news—that she’s engaged?” Trish whispered behind her hand.

  Rhonda shook her head. “Naw, let them suffer later. Serves ’em right.” She glared at Jason Wollensvaldt, a foreign exchange student from Germany and her somewhat boyfriend, who looked as star struck as the rest.

  Mrs. Olson and Mr. Patterson, the principal, kept Trish waiting for an extra fifteen minutes after school before they could see her. Counting the seconds as the clock ticked them off did nothing to calm her twitching fingers. If only she had the vet’s number with her. But by the time she decided to head for the pay phone with a phone book, they beckoned her into the office.

  Trish laid the check on the desk in front of the man whose shoulders were as broad as his forehead was bare. He tipped his head to peer through horn-rimmed bifocals. “What in the world?” He looked at Trish, question marks all over his face, while handing the paper to Mrs. Olson.

  Mrs. Olson read it and grinned. “Okay, Trish, come clean. What’s going on here?”

  Trish sat forward on the edge of her seat. “Like it?”

  “Of course.” Patterson leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. “But what did we do to deserve a thousand dollars?”

  “It’s in thanks for the work Prairie kids did to collect signatures. I was going to give it to you this morning but I forgot.”

  “Well.” Mrs. Olson picked up the check and studied it again. “Did they make any recommendations for how we use it?” Trish shook her head. Mrs. Olson shifted her gaze to the principal. “Then I think the government class that started all this should vote on how it’s put to use. Agreed?”

  Mr. Patterson massaged the shiny front part of his scalp with beefy hands. “Don’t see why not. That should be another good lesson in government by the people. What do you think, Trish?”

  “You mean it?” She could feel a grin cracking her cheekbones.

  “Yes, and I think you should be the one to tell them.”

  “Really?” She caught herself just before sliding off the chair. “Even Ms. Wainwright?” At their nods, she slapped the arms of the chair. “All right!” Trish jumped to her feet. “I’ll tell them in class tomorrow. What a blast that’ll be!” She headed for the door, only pausing to beckon, “Come on, Amy, we’ve got stuff to do.”

  Trish opened the glass-windowed door. “Oh no! I won’t be here tomorrow.” She spun back around. “That woman from Chrysler is coming.”

  “Then you’ll have to tell them Wednesday.” Mrs. Olson rose to her feet. “You can handle the secret for one more day, can’t you?”

  “I guess.” Trish rolled her eyes and shrugged. “But it won’t be easy.”

  “Good things never are.” Mrs. Olson patted Trish’s shoulder. “We’ll get a thank-you letter off immediately. Pick up the check to show the class after lunch on Wednesday, all right?”

  Trish nodded again. “Thanks.” And out the door they went.

  As soon as Trish walked in the front door back at Runnin’ On Farm, she called the vet. “Caesar’s been drinking water on his own,” she announced. “Vet says he maybe can come home tomorrow if he continues like this.” She executed a jig step to the refrigerator. “Amy, you want something to drink?”

  The warm glow stayed in her middle while she changed clothes and headed for the barns. Patrick would be at the track feeding the racing string, and someone had to take care of the home stock. Amy carried her can of soda with her.

  Trish breathed both a sigh and a prayer of relief that night when she snuggled down under the covers. They hadn’t heard a peep from the stalker. That was the good news. The bad news? She couldn’t get him out of her mind. Where—and how would he strike next?

  She woke in the morning feeling like her nagger had been going at her all night—with his foot to the floorboards. Here she was beginning to think he’d moved on to pester someone else. The vacation had been grand.

  She rubbed her eyes with both hands, then dragged the same through her tangled hair. Even the sheet and blankets were wrapped around her legs as if they’d been the opposing side in a free-for-all. She lay still a moment trying to remember what she’d been dreaming about. Nothing. Just this heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach and a pounding headache.

  Caesar! She jerked her feet from the binding covers and sprinted down the hall. Good thing they had the veterinarian’s number on speed dial. She punched 4 and drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for an answer. When she looked at the clock, it registered only six-thirty.

  “Come on, be there.”

  The answering machine kicked in. Trish groaned and dropped the receiver in the hook, fishing for the phone book under the counter with her other hand. His home number was listed in their file at the front of the book. She dialed again.

  When he answered, she could hardly keep the quiver from her voice. “Dr. Bradshaw, this is Trish Evanston. Is Caesar all right?”

  “Far as I know. He was so much stronger last night I planned to release him today, just like I told you. What’s the matter?”

  Trish shook her head. “I don’t know. I—I just had this awful feeling.” She stumbled over her words, all the while calling herself names inside her head. “Sorry I bothered you.”

  As Trish hung up the phone, Marge stepped out of the bathroom, pink towel wrapped around her head. “Trish, are you all right?”

  Trish rubbed her aching temples. “I guess. I—I’m not sure.” She took the aspirin bottle from the cupboard and poured two tablets into her palm. After downing the pills with a glass of water, she leaned on her arms over the sink.

  Marge came up behind her and felt her daughter’s forehead. “No temp. Any other symptoms?”

  Trish shook her head, which only accelerated the beat of the bass drum echoing in her skull. “Patrick okay?”

  Marge nodded.

  “All the horses?”

  “Far as I know. Trish, what in the world…”

  Trish started to shake her head and caught herself just in time. “Where’s Amy?”

  “She had to meet with Officer Parks. She went early so she could be back in time for school. Tee, you’re scaring me. What is this?”

  “Wish I knew, Mom. Just bad dreams, I guess.” She rubbed her forehead. “Think I’ll lie down for a couple more minutes.” She shrug
ged, her half-attempted smile more a grimace. “Don’t worry. Everything’ll be okay, right?”

  All the way down the hall she placed each foot in front of the other with deliberate care, in order to keep the drum from deepening its beat. Lying down with the same degree of caution wasn’t easy with the twisted covers, but she managed.

  “Here.” Marge laid a cold washcloth across Trish’s forehead just after her head nestled into the pillow.

  “Thanks.”

  “Remember, you have that appointment with what’s-her-name from Chrysler.”

  Trish winced. She kept herself from shaking her head again. “I know.”

  Marge tucked the covers around her daughter’s shoulders. “You want to skip first period or even stay home?”

  “No, call me in fifteen minutes. I’ll be better.” And she was.

  After taking a quick shower, she felt almost human again. What had gotten into her?

  “I think you’re psychic,” Rhonda answered after Trish told her tale in the car on the way to school.

  “Rhonda!” Trish clenched her fingers around the steering wheel. “Whatever made you think of something like that? I had a bad dream and woke up so tense I got a headache. No big deal!”

  “I read about some guy who could, you know, pick up the vibes or something. They called it…” She paused. “Ummm…”

  “Precognition?” Amy questioned from the second seat. “I’ve heard that many people have it but some only sporadically.” She leaned forward. “But what I read said most people don’t believe in such a thing. I agree with Trish—she had a bad night. There’s enough stuff been going on around here to give anyone a bad night. Dreams sometimes just reflect what’s going on inside of us…helps our psyche work it all out.”

  “Huh?” Rhonda turned in her seat. “Care to run that by me again?”

  “It just means…”

  “Let’s drop it, okay? Talk about something upbeat.”

  “How’s Caesar?”

  “Better. We can pick him up this afternoon.”

  “And your meeting with the fancy car lady?”

  “Thanks for nothing. Now my butterflies are trying to race each other out my throat.” Trish swung the car into the parking lot at the high school. “Rhonda, sometimes I could…” She parked the car and set the brake. “If I don’t get back to school, you’ll need to get a ride home.”