At Risk by Kit Ehrman

me, boy. Makes a girl feel
old." She wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed it on the table,
and stood up. "I'm late. Thanks for lunch."
    I stood also and thought that I'd gotten the
prim part wrong. "Thanks for the education." I hesitated. "Any
chance I could get a look at my friend's paperwork?"
    She tilted her head. "I'll think about
it."
    We shook hands, and I watched her walk out of
the cafe.
     
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    Five-thirty Saturday morning, and already
bands of color had spread across the eastern horizon. The horses
watched as I walked down the barn aisle, flipping through my farm
keys, looking for the right one. I had too many damn keys. Even
with color-coded tape, I was still sorting through them when I
stopped outside the tack room door.
    Sensing something wrong, out of place, I
looked up. I wouldn't be needing my keys. Not that morning,
anyway.
    The door was half open, and the jamb was
cracked and splintered and dented with pry marks.
    With nerves on high alert, I pushed the door
inward with the toe of my boot and flipped the light switch with my
key.
    Locker doors hung askew or lay on the floor.
Most of the saddles were gone. I walked into the center of the room
and surveyed the damage. Some of the more expensive bridles were
missing, too. I checked the other boarders' tack room. Everything
of value that could easily be sold was gone. On my way out, I
stopped outside the school horses' tack room. It was still locked.
I frowned at the undisturbed door and considered the
implications.
    I walked over to barn A, knowing I'd find the
same thing.
    I pushed the door in with my boot, hit the
light switch, and froze. A thin trail of blood snaked across the
floor and disappeared around the corner of the central island of
lockers.
    I looked at my hand. Blood darkened my
fingertips. The light switch had been smeared with blood, and it
was still tacky.
    The lockers were eight feet tall. I couldn't
see around them. I inched toward the first row of lockers.
    Before I made it around the corner, a hollow
thump resounded in the barn. The muscles in my gut tightened. I
looked back at the doorway. No one was there. The sound had come
from one of the stalls. It was simply one of the horses across the
aisle, knocking a hoof against the wall.
    I looked down at the floor, realized I was
holding my breath, forced myself to breathe. I stepped around the
corner and followed the trail with a gaze so intent, I could see
nothing else.
    Something touched my hair.
    I jumped back. The heel of my boot caught on
the edge of a broken locker door, and I crashed backward into the
row of lockers. Hanging from the rafters, and now gently swaying,
was Boris the barn cat. Baling twine was tied around the tip of his
tail, and his throat had been cut. His head dangled from a thin
ribbon of flesh and matted fur. My stomach lurched, and saliva
flooded my mouth. I swallowed and stumbled out of the room.
    My muscles felt rubbery from the flood of
adrenaline. I rubbed my face, then remembered the blood on my
fingers. I wiped my hand on my jeans and looked up and down the
aisle. Everything looked peaceful. Normal. The horses were
watching, wondering what I was up to.
    "Just having heart failure, guys," I said and
didn't recognize my own voice.
    After a minute or two, I went back in. Most
of the saddles in that barn were ridiculously expensive. They were
all gone. I crossed the room and examined the door that opened into
aisle two. It was still locked. Blood had been smeared on that
light switch, too. Whichever door I chose, I would have put my hand
on a bloody light switch.
    I walked back into the center of the room.
The flies hadn't taken long to find the cat. They buzzed and
flitted around the gaping wound in his neck and crawled over the
matted fur. He'd been the only cat on the farm--a mascot of
sorts--and wasn't aloof like most of them. Many of the boarders
brought him treats. I doubted he'd ever caught a mouse. He wasn't
going to now.
    I thought about