Читать книгу The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle - Shelley Peterson - Страница 21

11

PLANS AND SCHEMES

ABBY JUMPED OUT OF BED the next morning, humming. Life was good. It was Saturday, the sun was shining, and Sam was her boyfriend again. He said he would call when he awoke to make plans. He worked Saturdays and Wednesday nights at a video store.

“Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam!” she sang as she jumped into a sweat-suit. She made his name sound like bells ringing. “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”

“Someone sounds happy this morning,” Joy called up the stairs. “Come on down! Breakfast is ready.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam,” she sang as she half-hopped, half-slid down the banister.

“Mousie called earlier. She and Sandy have some errands to run in town, but she wants to know if you can go over to Hogscroft after lunch.”

“Perfect. Nothing could be better.” Abby plunked into her chair and drank the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Ahh! This is so good, Mrs. Featherstone. You’re spoiling me with all your yummy food.”

“That’s the idea. You’re worth spoiling, Abby. Besides, it gives me pleasure. I love to cook, and it’s no fun cooking just for myself.” She placed a plateful of steaming waffles covered in butter and maple syrup alongside aromatic sausages in front of the hungry girl.

“Thank you!” Abby bit into a sausage. “What are Sandy and Hilary doing in town?”

“Choosing an engagement ring, among other things.” The older woman’s eye sparkled mischievously.

“An engagement ring! They’re getting married?”

“I don’t know of any other reason to get an engagement ring, do you?”

“When are they getting married?” Abby dug into the waffles with her fork.

“They haven’t set a date, but I think they’d like to be married before they go off to Belize this fall. Orange juice?”

“No, thanks. Well, okay, sure. Please. That means this summer. Holy.” Abby cut a piece of sausage and dipped it in mustard. “Holy,” she said again, then popped it into her mouth.

“What are you doing today, Mrs. Featherstone?”

“Theatre work, mainly. Robert and I are making our final casting selections. The list goes up this afternoon, tomorrow the cast meets for a get-together, and Monday evening rehearsals start.”

“What play are you doing? Can you tell me? I know it’s been a secret.”

“Actually, it wasn’t a secret at all. We wanted to see what kind of talent we had before we decided on a play.”

“Smart move,” nodded Abby. “You don’t want to pick a musical if you don’t have singers.”

“Exactly. Turns out we have plenty of talent, and plenty of people interested in acting. It’s wonderful, really.”

“You and Mr. Wick are spending a lot of time together.” Abby watched to see Joy’s reaction. Her back was turned as she poured Abby’s juice, but Abby saw her cheeks tighten into a smile. “What’s the scoop?”

“We’re friends. We have a good time,” said Joy cryptically.

“That’s it? A good time?”

“That’s all I’m prepared to say at the moment.”

“Are you going into politics, or what?” Abby asked, laughing.

Diva scrambled from under the table and started her high-pitched barking.

“Diva! It’s all right!” commanded Joy. The little dog continued, “Yarf! Yarf! Yarf! Yarf!”

“Diva!” Joy hurried to the door.

Abby slid her chair back to see Robert Wick at the door, his freshly shaved face split by a smile. He held out a bouquet of colourful spring flowers with one hand, and placed the other behind Joy’s back. They kissed. Abby quickly put her chair back into position and resumed eating.

Joy bustled to the sink and gaily arranged the flowers into a vase while Robert Wick whistled as he hung up his coat in the hall.

“Friends, eh?” whispered Abby. She gave Joy a stage wink.

“None of your business,” Joy whispered back, smiling as she swatted Abby’s head with a dishcloth.

Robert Wick entered the kitchen.

“Coffee, Robert?” asked Joy sweetly.

“Love some, Joy,” he answered.

“You’re looking more dapper every time I see you, Mr. Wick,” said Abby. “I’d almost guess that you’re in love or something.”

“Abby!” Joy turned to Abby, shocked.

Robert smiled at Abby fondly. “I am. I’m in love with Joy Drake Featherstone. There.” He looked at Joy. “I’ve said it. What do you think of that?” For a moment his eyes were vulnerable. Abby’s heart went out to him.

“I think that’s wonderful,” said Joy softly. “Because I’ve been in love with Robert Wick for years.”

“Okay,” blurted Abby as she jumped up from the table, “I’m out of here! Time to go. Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Featherstone.”

Abby didn’t look back. Humming her Sam song she ran out the door to say good morning to the world.

Samuel Owens drove up his lane cursing under his breath. It galled him that he’d had to pay full market value for the ratty one-acre property next door. He couldn’t see it from his house, but since he had to pass it each time he drove up or down his lane, it had become an irritant. Now he owned it, but he wasn’t happy.

“I hope Gladys Forsyth chokes on the caviar she’s going to buy now that she thinks she’s rich. That little cat-loving hermit! Thinks she outsmarted me! Me! All because she called that goody-goody broad for a second opinion. Christine James should keep her nose out of other people’s business. That whole family better stay away from me. If they know what’s good for them.”

He held a burning anger within his chest against all of them. Against Mousie because of Dancer, and Joy Featherstone and Christine James because of the Wick farm. How he longed to get his hands on that property! His jaw tightened and his molars ground against each other as he tried to come up with a way to get that farm. It was central to his plan.

Helena Casey was making him miserable, too. She hated Christine James with a passion for marrying Rory, which was good. She couldn’t care less what happened to Dancer, also good. She thought that Owens should buy all the surrounding property, again good. But, and this is where the good stopped and the bad began, she didn’t like him lumping her precious son Sandy with the James family in his diatribes. He was engaged to one of them, wasn’t he? That put him firmly in the enemy camp, no doubt about it.

And, if that wasn’t enough, Helena was having qualms about selling her property. Now she was telling him that it had been in the Casey family for three generations, that maybe Sandy or Rosalyn might want it someday. It was her blanking house, wasn’t it? Rory left her in it when he moved into his little love nest with Christine, didn’t he? Well, get with it, Helena, he’d told her, or get off the bus.

Owens stopped his new steel-grey Mercedes coupe in front of his house. He’d have a Bloody Caesar with a cigar on the terrace before lunch. The thought cheered him up so much that he actually smiled. The smile disappeared as he began to get out of the car. His ribs hurt badly. All his muscles were stiff. Damned animal! he cursed.

“Walter! Walter! Get out here!”

The front door opened to reveal an extremely agitated manservant.

“A tall Bloody Caesar, on the double!”

“Mr. Owens, sir,” he began.

“Did you hear? A Bloody Caesar! Now! On the terrace.”

Walter went pale. “Yes sir! But Mr. Owens, sir . . .”

“Mr. Owens, sir,” he mimicked. “Just do as you’re told.” With that, Owens hobbled past him into the house.

He bumped right into Mack Jones, the Caledon chief of police. “What the?” he bellowed. “Walter!” He struggled to get himself under control. He smiled, showing all his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me Mack Jones was here, Walter?”

Walter bowed his head. He tried to disappear into the woodwork.

“Good morning, Mr. Owens,” said Mack courteously.

“What can Walter get you, Mack? I was about to have a drink before lunch. Join me?”

“No, thank you. I have a few questions. Where can we talk in private?”

“Anywhere we like. Don’t worry about Walter. He’s bought and sold! Ha ha ha.” Owens laughed heartily at his joke, but Mack noticed Walter flinch as he scurried away.

Since his promotion to chief, Mack had rarely gotten involved in specific cases, but he’d known Christine James for years, and her husband, Rory Casey, was an old friend. Mack had been the officer in charge at Samuel Owens’ trial five years before. There was no love lost between these two men.

“In that case, let’s begin.” Standing on the polished marble in the spacious front hall, Police Chief Jones started his line of questioning. “Inspector Murski and Detective Bains arrested two men on your property this week. Tell me what these men were doing on your property.”

Owens smiled, eyes half-shut. “Can a person not hire labourers anymore?”

“A woman was almost killed. A girl was threatened with a shotgun. A horse was badly injured. Let me remind you, it might interest the court that the injured horse was Dancer. The horse you stabbed.”

“I never threatened anyone. And let me get this straight. It worries you more that a horse was injured than that a woman was allegedly almost killed?” He spoke through a chilly smile.

“I repeat, it might interest the court. Need I spell it out?” Owens glared at Mack and shook his head.

“I thought not. What was your intention in digging the pit?”

“It’s my property. I have a gun licence and a hunting licence. I can do what I like. But perhaps I was looking for gravel. My land would be worth a fortune as a quarry. Should I call my lawyers?”

“It would be a good idea.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Mack, but just to set the story straight, I was out with my shotgun, hunting for the rabid coyote that killed my cat.” Owens spoke slowly, thinking out his story. “I heard strange noises. When I investigated, I was savagely attacked by Dancer, bitten in the leg by the Malone girl’s coyote, and injured badly.” He pulled his shirttails out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt. “Bruises. Note the horseshoe shape.” He lifted up the right leg of his pants. “Teeth marks. Deep. Potential for infection or worse, a horrible disease. I’ve been to the hospital.”

He looked triumphant as he dropped the pant leg and buttoned up and tucked his shirt back into his pants. “I have pictures, of course. Since this happened on my property, and the girl was trespassing, and the offending animals were under her supervision, my lawyers and I are considering pressing charges.”

“And you and your lawyers don’t have a problem with a gaping hole with sharp rocks in the bottom, dug on a path where it might become a grave hazard?”

“A grave hazard. You’re ironic, but you don’t have a case. It’s private property and well-marked with ‘No Trespassing’ signs.”

“And the bullet in Dancer’s saddle?”

Owens’ eyebrows lifted. So I did hit him, he thought. “A bullet? In a saddle, you say?” I haven’t quite lost my touch.

“You don’t know anything about it?”

He pursed his lips, to keep from showing his pleasure. “No. Should I?”

“I’d like to take your rifle to the police lab. If you know nothing about that bullet, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“The problem is that I might need it if that rabid coyote comes around looking for my other cat.” His eyes glinted. “But if you had a warrant, I’d happily oblige.”

Walter appeared, anxiously offering Owens a Bloody Caesar with lime on a silver tray.

“Ah, just what I was dreaming of.” Owens lifted the frosted glass off the tray and took a big drink. “Excuse me, Chief, I must go rest. Walter, don’t go away. I might just want another. More pepper next time.”

Mack stalked from Owens’ mansion to his unmarked car. He was upset. Where had this interview gotten him? Nowhere. Except now Owens knew that he was being watched. Maybe it would curb him. More likely it would make him more careful.

At the trial five years before, Mack had argued strongly that Owens be locked up in jail. It didn’t happen. Fat lot of good the mental hospital did him, Mack mused. Mack had been worried when Owens was released, but could not have guessed how quickly he’d make trouble. Starting with the bullet in Dancer’s saddle, and leading to who knows where.

It’ll only get worse, you can bet on that, he thought. Owens is a slippery one. There’s going to be trouble. Mack vowed to watch him like a hawk. He’d take no shortcuts, make no assumptions. He knew how dangerous Owens could be. He wanted him in jail.

There was an excited crowd at the library bulletin board that afternoon. People of all ages were craning their necks to see what part they’d got in The Stonewick Playhouse’s first show. It was going to be Pinocchio. The village and circus scenes could have countless participants, allowing everyone to have a part.

Volunteers for lighting crew, set building, props, wardrobe, and sound effects were asked to sign up on a large white piece of paper beside the cast list. Already there were dozens of entries. Petr Baloun had offered his considerable talents as an inventor and iron sculptor to create a movable giant dogfish for the ocean scene.

The joyful noises escaped the hall, causing Miss Smithers, now the librarian after resigning from her job as a supply teacher, to rush out shushing everyone.

“Remember where you are, please,” Miss Smithers haughtily whispered. “This is a library, not a theatre.” There was no mistaking her disdain for the latter, but even Miss Smithers at her most sour could not diminish the holiday mood in the hall.

Everyone was talking at once. “George Farrow! You got Geppetto!”; “I get to play the ticket-taker on Runaway Island!”; “How could they cast Leslie Morris as Trooper? It’s written for a boy!”; “Do I have to sing?”; “My mother won’t believe what I’m doing!”; “Do we have to do our own makeup?”

Joy Featherstone and Robert Wick watched in amazement. “What have we done?” wondered Joy aloud. She had not expected such a huge reaction.

“We’ve filled a need, it would seem,” answered Robert proudly. “We’ve unleashed the child in each adult, and allowed the children to play.”

Joy laughed. “Isn’t it great? The whole township is here.”

“Except Abby,” noted Robert. “Wasn’t she interested?”

“I didn’t want to push, so we never talked about it. Maybe I should have encouraged her.”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to be seen as using your influence, so she stepped back.”

Joy nodded. “Maybe so.”

“We’ll find a way to get her involved,” Robert stated. “She has real stage presence. I saw it immediately, the day of the storm.”

“The day you told her about Ambrose Brown?” Joy smiled.

“That very day. What are you doing for dinner tonight, Joy of my life?”

Joy Featherstone blushed with pleasure.

Abby and Hilary had a very productive afternoon. They sat at the round table in the Hogscroft kitchen charting Dancer’s training schedule.

Abby was to start hand-walking Dancer daily, starting at thirty minutes and adding five minutes a day. After the walk, she would cold-hose his scraped legs and wrap them for the night. Christine would remove the bandages each morning. That was week one.

Week two, providing Alan Masters approved after an examination of his head wound, Abby was to start riding. She would walk only, with a loose rein, very relaxed. She would walk him longer each day until he was up to one hour.

Week three, she would hack him on a loose rein the first two days. Walk, trot, no cantering. Thirty minutes on day one, forty minutes on day two. Day three, she would hack out but start collecting his gaits slightly and ask him for a little canter. She would also do that days four and five. By day six of the third week, Abby would be in the ring, moving him along and asking for leads.

Week four was a gradually increasing course of jumps. On day six, Abby would hack him down the road. Week five was heavy jump work on days one and three. Days two, four, and five, Abby and Dancer would hack across country. The plan was that he would be rested and eager to jump on day six.

Day six of week five was June 26, the day of the Grand Invitational.

The plan was completely dependent on Dancer’s health. If he wasn’t happy working, Abby was to immediately call Alan Masters. Alan Masters would also check Dancer once a week. If at any time he thought Dancer wasn’t handling the work well, Abby would call Hilary and they’d discuss whether or not to proceed.

Hilary and Abby walked out to the jumping ring. Hilary showed Abby how to place the jumps. She’d drawn charts of jumping courses with heights, widths, and distances clearly marked. They set up the first course that Dancer would do in week four. Hilary walked her through it, explaining how to pace to get the distances right. To make Abby’s work easier, she gave her instructions on how to ride each jump, and tips peculiar to Dancer.

Abby’s head was full of details as she cycled home. Her knapsack contained multiple instructions and intricate course maps. It was much more demanding than she’d realized. This exacting, technical, and extremely difficult sport looked so easy when it was done well.

Abby remembered when she’d first seen Hilary on Dancer at a horse show seven years earlier. Everyone called her Mousie then. Abby was nine years old, and she’d never forgotten the impression they’d made on her. Dancer, effortlessly sailing over a course that others found treacherous. Mousie, guiding her mount with such light hands and quiet body that it looked like she was doing nothing at all.

After today’s intense lesson, Abby knew it was artistry in its highest form. No rhythm was taken for granted, no corner unplanned. Every possible combination and permutation was considered and practised so that when faced with the course, horse and rider were prepared.

In competition, riders walk the course before they ride it. The horses see it for the first time when they come into the ring to be judged. It’s part of the difficulty of the course, because by nature, horses don’t like surprises. They like to be familiar with their environment, and each strange obstacle represents possible danger to them. There might be a mountain lion or a snake lurking on the other side, or the jump itself might wake up and turn into a monster. Therefore, the more confident and well-schooled the horse, the less stressed it will be when faced with a new course.

It was a lot to absorb, Abby thought as she pedalled along. She wondered if she was crazy thinking that she could even get around. Especially in a show as prestigious as the Grand Invitational.

She thought it out. Tomorrow, she’d start Hilary’s program. After a week or so, she’d decide if she felt comfortable competing or not. She’d try her hardest, but it was a lot to ask of herself, and of Dancer.

Abby nodded to herself as she steered her bike up her lane. That was what she’d do. There was always the possibility that Dancer wouldn’t heal quickly enough, and the decision would be out of her hands.

Cody greeted her enthusiastically, wiggling all over. Together they checked on Moonie and Leggy, who were lazing in the shed. Abby freshened their water trough and gave them a quick brushing and foot picking.

Satisfied with the sheen of their coats, Abby rubbed both horses’ ears and patted them, then headed into the house. She found a message on the kitchen table.

Abby,

Your mom and dad called. Please call when you get in. Their number is 714-555-9137, extension 12. No emergency, just phoned to say hello.

Love, Joy

Abby immediately picked up the phone and dialled. Fiona answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Mom! It’s Abby!”

“You’re the only one who calls me ‘Mom,’ Abby! Of course it’s you.”

“How’s the spa, Mom? Are you doing okay? Is Dad there? Is he all right? What do you do all day?”

“Abby! One question at a time! The spa is really beneficial. The courses are terrific. They’re trying to help me understand the root of my problem, then teach me how to overcome it. I’m getting lots of fresh air and exercise, and facials and massages, too. It’s lovely. We’re up at six every morning for yoga in the garden.”

“Sounds good, Mom.”

“It is good, Abby. Dad is here and he’s doing fine. He wants to talk to you. It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you okay? I miss you so much. Tell me what’s happening at home.”

“I miss you, too, Mom, and lots is happening! I’ll fill you in. I’m going out with Sam Morris again, I’m training Dancer to compete at a horse show, and Mrs. Featherstone is the absolute best. She’s dating Mr. Wick! Hilary is going to marry Sandy this summer, and they’re doing Pinocchio at The Stonewick Playhouse.”

“Lots of news! It sounds like things are exciting in Caledon. Your father’ll want to hear all about everything, especially the horse show. How’s Cody? Is he all healed up?”

“He’s perfect. One hundred percent.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. Is he getting along with Joy and Diva?”

“They all ignore each other, so it works out great.” Abby’s tone became serious. “Mom, do you think you can beat this?”

“I’m trying, Abby. The spa has been successful with a lot of people. I want to be one of them.”

“I’m rooting for you, Mom.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

The next voice was Liam’s. “Abby, my love! I miss you!”

“I miss you too, Dad!”

“Your mother got choked up, so I took the phone. What’s this about a horse show?”

“It’s the Grand Invitational, Dad. On June 26. Dancer was invited to compete, and Hilary will be busy, so I’m riding him. Will you be home by then?”

“June 26? It’s on my calendar. That’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Wouldn’t miss it.”

“I don’t want you to come home early if Mom’s not ready.”

Liam spoke earnestly. “If Mom isn’t ready, honey, she’ll have to stay here until she is. But I’ll be there to watch you compete. Count on it. Nothing can stop me!”

“Dad, you’re great. I’m so happy you’re coming.”

“I’ve got to be back by then anyway. I can’t be away from work any longer. If all goes well, we should both be back home.”

“I hope so, Dad, I miss you both.”

“Is everything fine, Abby?”

“Oh, it’s great!” Abby grew serious. “Dad, do you see a change in Mom? Is the spa making a difference?”

“It’s hard to say, Abby, my girl. But your mother’s working hard at it.”

“Are you working, too? At your law firm, I mean?”

“It amazes me how productive I am with fax, email, and telephone. I almost think it’s better that people don’t meet me face to face, but my partners want me back regardless.”

Abby laughed. “Bye, Dad, see you soon.”