Tony home last night?" I asked Gina, idly, I hoped.
"No. Like I told you, we got in a big fight, never made it to the movie, and I took a cab home. I haven't seen him since."
"He didn't come home at all, then?"
"No." Gina looked completely miserable now, her bright makeup garish on her anxious face. "Gail, I don't know what to do. I know Tony didn't kill the Whitneys, but I ought to go down and talk to the sheriffs, and I'm afraid he'll leave me if I do. Maybe he already has."
"Do you want me to tell the sheriffs for you?"
Gina looked half-panic-stricken, half-relieved. "I don't know. Can it wait one day? Let me see if he comes home; let me talk to him."
"All right," I agreed. "One day. And then one of us has to tell them."
She nodded affirmatively, seeming a little more relaxed at having made a decision.
"I better go get those X rays," I told her.
The X rays, when I got them out, proved inconclusive. I showed them to Gina and explained. "His navicular bones have a lot of changes; see these little shadows on them. Those are signs of bone deterioration. A horse with changes in his bones like this could easily be lame. Every horse is different, though. Since this one is sound now, it's a hard call to make. Some horses have X rays that look a lot worse than this and yet they stay sound. Others look a lot better and go lame."
Gina sighed. "It figures. Now I don't know what to do about this, either. What do you think?"
I shook my head. "There's no way I can make a guess on whether he'll stay sound unless you can show me some X rays from a year or so ago. Then we could see if the disease was progressing."
"Under the circumstances, I don't really like to ask. His owners are friends of Tony's; they told me he was sound. They don't even know I'm vetting him."
"Okay. Well, maybe I'll talk to Jim. He's had a lot more experience than I have. I'll show him these X rays and tell him about the horse when he gets in."
"Thanks, Gail. We'll talk about that other deal tomorrow, I promise."
Gina led the horse back to the trailer and tied him up, then came walking back over to me, carrying her checkbook. I started to tell her the cost of the exam when motion in the comer of my eye caught at me. I looked back. The gray horse was trotting away from the trailer, ears forward, moving like he meant to go somewhere. There was no lead rope on his halter.
I didn't stop to wonder how he'd gotten loose. I just ran for the gate, knowing before I started that I wouldn't beat him. He was out in the paved front parking lot when I made the gate, and he broke into a lope and headed for the road. I yelled, "Whoa" desperately. He didn't even cock an ear. The heavy midday traffic whizzed up and down Soquel Avenue and the gray horse charged out into it.
Miraculously no one was coming. There was no screech, no crash. The horse galloped down the middle of the street, headed for the freeway, his hooves clattering on the pavement. I chased after him, running as fast· as I could, not quite believing it was all happening. This five-thousand dollar horse couldn't be out here among all these deadly solid cars. He couldn't.
He was. I had to catch him. He was way ahead of me now, up by the stoplight. No one had hit him yet, but it was just a matter of time. I ran, legs pumping, heart pounding.
People stared from their cars, faces full of shock and apprehension. No one in Santa Cruz was used to horses on a main street. Up at the intersection the cars had come to a stop. The horse skittered to a stop, too, his head up, his eyes big. Nothing looked familiar to him-no grass, no other horses. Only these shiny, noisy machines all around him. He didn't like it.
I was closer to him now. I slowed down, said, "Whoa" as firmly as I knew how. He looked at me; the whoa was familiar. A human on two legs, walking toward him with authority, that was familiar. He put his head down and walked to meet me, and I could have sworn there was relief in his eyes; I know there was
"No. Like I told you, we got in a big fight, never made it to the movie, and I took a cab home. I haven't seen him since."
"He didn't come home at all, then?"
"No." Gina looked completely miserable now, her bright makeup garish on her anxious face. "Gail, I don't know what to do. I know Tony didn't kill the Whitneys, but I ought to go down and talk to the sheriffs, and I'm afraid he'll leave me if I do. Maybe he already has."
"Do you want me to tell the sheriffs for you?"
Gina looked half-panic-stricken, half-relieved. "I don't know. Can it wait one day? Let me see if he comes home; let me talk to him."
"All right," I agreed. "One day. And then one of us has to tell them."
She nodded affirmatively, seeming a little more relaxed at having made a decision.
"I better go get those X rays," I told her.
The X rays, when I got them out, proved inconclusive. I showed them to Gina and explained. "His navicular bones have a lot of changes; see these little shadows on them. Those are signs of bone deterioration. A horse with changes in his bones like this could easily be lame. Every horse is different, though. Since this one is sound now, it's a hard call to make. Some horses have X rays that look a lot worse than this and yet they stay sound. Others look a lot better and go lame."
Gina sighed. "It figures. Now I don't know what to do about this, either. What do you think?"
I shook my head. "There's no way I can make a guess on whether he'll stay sound unless you can show me some X rays from a year or so ago. Then we could see if the disease was progressing."
"Under the circumstances, I don't really like to ask. His owners are friends of Tony's; they told me he was sound. They don't even know I'm vetting him."
"Okay. Well, maybe I'll talk to Jim. He's had a lot more experience than I have. I'll show him these X rays and tell him about the horse when he gets in."
"Thanks, Gail. We'll talk about that other deal tomorrow, I promise."
Gina led the horse back to the trailer and tied him up, then came walking back over to me, carrying her checkbook. I started to tell her the cost of the exam when motion in the comer of my eye caught at me. I looked back. The gray horse was trotting away from the trailer, ears forward, moving like he meant to go somewhere. There was no lead rope on his halter.
I didn't stop to wonder how he'd gotten loose. I just ran for the gate, knowing before I started that I wouldn't beat him. He was out in the paved front parking lot when I made the gate, and he broke into a lope and headed for the road. I yelled, "Whoa" desperately. He didn't even cock an ear. The heavy midday traffic whizzed up and down Soquel Avenue and the gray horse charged out into it.
Miraculously no one was coming. There was no screech, no crash. The horse galloped down the middle of the street, headed for the freeway, his hooves clattering on the pavement. I chased after him, running as fast· as I could, not quite believing it was all happening. This five-thousand dollar horse couldn't be out here among all these deadly solid cars. He couldn't.
He was. I had to catch him. He was way ahead of me now, up by the stoplight. No one had hit him yet, but it was just a matter of time. I ran, legs pumping, heart pounding.
People stared from their cars, faces full of shock and apprehension. No one in Santa Cruz was used to horses on a main street. Up at the intersection the cars had come to a stop. The horse skittered to a stop, too, his head up, his eyes big. Nothing looked familiar to him-no grass, no other horses. Only these shiny, noisy machines all around him. He didn't like it.
I was closer to him now. I slowed down, said, "Whoa" as firmly as I knew how. He looked at me; the whoa was familiar. A human on two legs, walking toward him with authority, that was familiar. He put his head down and walked to meet me, and I could have sworn there was relief in his eyes; I know there was
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