snake-like presence slithered somewhere on the Laurel backstretch. I could sense its evil influence, just couldn’t see it. Probably coiled in somebody’s basket.
I finished my work, hung the pitchfork on its nail in the tackroom, and studied Clements’ barn for a moment. I sensed no movement, heard no voices. The place had a deserted feel. I slipped over there, ducked inside the narrow opening of a partially closed sliding door. Stood waiting for my eyes to adjust to the barn’s low light. Odd that Clements had fastened the shutters above the low cinderblock wall so early in the year. Most trainers waited until later to close up against the winter’s chill
To my left, Farino’s small section was raked and tidy. His horses munched hay and examined me with alert eyes. As I moved into Clements’ area looking for those three bays, I frowned in distaste at the heavy smell of dirty bedding. Horses skulked in the back of stalls, sour and uninterested in human contact.
After 10 minutes of creeping around Clements’ shedrow, I found only one of the horses. A horse I recognized instantly with that weird cowlick running down his neck. The whorl had been on the far side when they’d led him into the barn earlier, and I hadn’t seen it.
The bay wore a halter with a brand-new name plate that read “Noble Treasure.” Yeah, right. Horse probably couldn’t win a $2,500 claimer at Shepherds Town. Had I stumbled into the basket?
The metal frame shrieked as someone shoved the sliding door and moved into the barn. Overhead lights flicked on. I froze. Clements and Dennis O’Brien stared at me from the entrance.
“What the fuck?” Clements, loud, heading right for me. “What’re you doing in here?”
His pale eyes were moist and cold, like melting ice. An involuntary half-step away from him put the stall wall against my back. I’d never been this close to the man. Those eyes.
I swallowed some air. “Our barn cat’s been sick — he’s missing. Thought he might’ve crawled in here.”
“You’re full of shit.” Clements’ face so near I could smell his breath. Cough medicine.
Screw this guy. “I told you, I’m looking for our cat. He’s not here, so I’ll leave.”
“She was up at Dark Mountain,” Dennis said.
“Shut up,” Clements’ hissed at Dennis.
I eased sideways and stepped around Clements. Probably stupid, but I couldn’t resist pointing at the whorly bay. “Isn’t this one of the horses you bought at Dark Mountain, Dennis?”
Dennis adopted his sneering punk face. “You stupid bitch. You think you’re so smart.”
Clements’ low voice stopped Dennis like a wall of ice. “You don’t listen, O’Brien. I told you to shut the fuck up. You’re stupid as they come.” Then he turned on me. “I got no horse from Dark Mountain. This horse came down from New York. Mind your own damn business and stay the hell out of my barn!”
Seemed like a good time to leave.
Chapter 15
Had there been a noise, or only a sharp echo from a fading dream? My eyes cracked open, slid to the clock. Three-forty A.M. Too early to rise, but I could tell my brain was in full gear and on some level, disturbed. Memories of my last visit to Gilded Cage poured into my head. Finding an athlete with so much ability and heart, dead at the hands of a human. Though not my horse, her death had instilled me with a sense of guilt. Maybe I’d just go early and check on Hellish.
An odd connection to Hellish had driven me to rescue her from slaughter. Now her welfare lay in my hands. Though way too early to head for the track, some unknown fear for Hellish pushed me from my bed and into my riding clothes.
Outside the chill of a changing season tightened the air, bringing on a shiver. I buttoned my jean jacket, realizing Labor Day had come and gone, taking the August heat with it. The parking lot pavement glistened with dew. Drops of condensation clouded the Toyota windshield. l hit the wiper button, water sluicing left and
I finished my work, hung the pitchfork on its nail in the tackroom, and studied Clements’ barn for a moment. I sensed no movement, heard no voices. The place had a deserted feel. I slipped over there, ducked inside the narrow opening of a partially closed sliding door. Stood waiting for my eyes to adjust to the barn’s low light. Odd that Clements had fastened the shutters above the low cinderblock wall so early in the year. Most trainers waited until later to close up against the winter’s chill
To my left, Farino’s small section was raked and tidy. His horses munched hay and examined me with alert eyes. As I moved into Clements’ area looking for those three bays, I frowned in distaste at the heavy smell of dirty bedding. Horses skulked in the back of stalls, sour and uninterested in human contact.
After 10 minutes of creeping around Clements’ shedrow, I found only one of the horses. A horse I recognized instantly with that weird cowlick running down his neck. The whorl had been on the far side when they’d led him into the barn earlier, and I hadn’t seen it.
The bay wore a halter with a brand-new name plate that read “Noble Treasure.” Yeah, right. Horse probably couldn’t win a $2,500 claimer at Shepherds Town. Had I stumbled into the basket?
The metal frame shrieked as someone shoved the sliding door and moved into the barn. Overhead lights flicked on. I froze. Clements and Dennis O’Brien stared at me from the entrance.
“What the fuck?” Clements, loud, heading right for me. “What’re you doing in here?”
His pale eyes were moist and cold, like melting ice. An involuntary half-step away from him put the stall wall against my back. I’d never been this close to the man. Those eyes.
I swallowed some air. “Our barn cat’s been sick — he’s missing. Thought he might’ve crawled in here.”
“You’re full of shit.” Clements’ face so near I could smell his breath. Cough medicine.
Screw this guy. “I told you, I’m looking for our cat. He’s not here, so I’ll leave.”
“She was up at Dark Mountain,” Dennis said.
“Shut up,” Clements’ hissed at Dennis.
I eased sideways and stepped around Clements. Probably stupid, but I couldn’t resist pointing at the whorly bay. “Isn’t this one of the horses you bought at Dark Mountain, Dennis?”
Dennis adopted his sneering punk face. “You stupid bitch. You think you’re so smart.”
Clements’ low voice stopped Dennis like a wall of ice. “You don’t listen, O’Brien. I told you to shut the fuck up. You’re stupid as they come.” Then he turned on me. “I got no horse from Dark Mountain. This horse came down from New York. Mind your own damn business and stay the hell out of my barn!”
Seemed like a good time to leave.
Chapter 15
Had there been a noise, or only a sharp echo from a fading dream? My eyes cracked open, slid to the clock. Three-forty A.M. Too early to rise, but I could tell my brain was in full gear and on some level, disturbed. Memories of my last visit to Gilded Cage poured into my head. Finding an athlete with so much ability and heart, dead at the hands of a human. Though not my horse, her death had instilled me with a sense of guilt. Maybe I’d just go early and check on Hellish.
An odd connection to Hellish had driven me to rescue her from slaughter. Now her welfare lay in my hands. Though way too early to head for the track, some unknown fear for Hellish pushed me from my bed and into my riding clothes.
Outside the chill of a changing season tightened the air, bringing on a shiver. I buttoned my jean jacket, realizing Labor Day had come and gone, taking the August heat with it. The parking lot pavement glistened with dew. Drops of condensation clouded the Toyota windshield. l hit the wiper button, water sluicing left and
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