to no good last night.'
Dave looked affronted. Probably couldn't believe that someone had dared touch his artistic handiwork. He glared at me. 'You seem to be takin' it lightly.'
'Err…' I straightened. 'Sorry. It was a magnificent piece of work, but at least it wasn't the barn they burned down.'
'Well, shoot. Hadn't thought about that.' He rubbed his hands down the front of his grubby overalls and strode out of the barn. Five minutes later he was back, and if anything, he was more agitated.
'What's wrong, now?'
'Somebody's been messin' about in my workshop,' Dave said.
'What?'
'My tools are all right.' He kept them locked up tighter than Fort Knox. 'But paint's been spilled all over the place and somebody's painted obscenities on the walls.'
'Damn it.' I hadn't thought to check there. 'Let's go see.'
I hopped into Dave's rusted-out Ford, and he wrenched on the steering wheel and bounced the pickup into the side lane that led to the implement building. He had the wipers on high, even though the downpour had slackened to a drizzle, and there must not have been a shock absorber on the damn thing. I braced my hand on the dash and was still in danger of being bounced off the seat.
'Messing about' was an understatement. Every surface in the workshop was covered with paint, including both tractors. And what was printed on the walls was unbelievable. Filled with rage. Whoever had done it must be literally sick with hate. Dave leaned over to pick up an empty paint can.
'Don't touch that,' I said.
He straightened and looked at me, his face blank.
'Don't touch anything, at least not yet.'
'What about cleanin' up? The paint's still damp,' Dave said. 'It'll be easier to get off.'
'The police are coming out because of the jump. They'll want to look at this, too.' I looked at the walls. 'Maybe take pictures. What were you going to work on, anyway?'
'I was gonna work in here 'cause of the rain.' He looked out at the gray sky and, after a moment, said he might as well go back home.
'Dave, hold up. Could you buy some supplies, instead?'
He squinted at me and pursed his lips. 'What kind of supplies?'
'Anything you need to make the place more secure, go out and buy it. Like better locks for all the tack rooms and the feed room. Maybe you should reinforce the locks on the lounge and office doors, too.' I started for his truck. 'And is there some type of lock we can put on the feed bin, the big one outside?'
Dave caught up with me by the front bumper. 'Don't know.'
'Well, if you can't rig something up, call the manufacturer. See if they have any suggestions.' I walked around to the passenger's side and opened the door. 'Get more fire extinguishers for all the buildings, too. And I think we'll install a gate across the lane to the road. What do you think… two 12-foot gates latched in the middle?'
'That'll work.' Dave frowned. 'What about where the side lane empties into that old road down by the manure pile?'
'There, too.'
'Then we'll need to put up a line of fence.'
'Oh, yeah. You're right. Let's just get the other things done first. We'll do that later, when we have time.' I slid onto the seat and waited for him to climb behind the wheel. 'If you think of anything else we can do to improve security, do it.'
He simply nodded, and I wondered how much effort he would put into improving security against an unseen enemy.
'Oh,' I said. 'And get whatever you need to clean up that mess. When you come in tomorrow, find me. You can show me what to do, and I'll clean up while you install the locks, okay?'
Dave stared at me as if he couldn't quite remember who I was. 'Sure,' he mumbled before dropping the truck into reverse. He backed down the rutted lane without bothering to look over his shoulder. When he jounced the truck onto the asphalt lane between the barns and pointed the nose toward the road, I wished I'd walked.
'Shit, Dave. You can't drive like that around here.'
He grunted and drove off at a more sedate pace but put his foot heavily on the brake pedal when we pulled up alongside the office door. The Ford jerked to a stop, and I just about slid off the smooth vinyl seat. I jumped out and slammed the door, thankful to be on firm, unmoving ground.
Dave sped off as abruptly as he'd stopped. The truck's bald tires sluiced through a large puddle, and I wondered how he'd lived to be so old.
After I called Ralston and was told he was out, I dialed Mrs. Hill's number with dread. Her answering machine picked up. I left a message and, for good measure, dropped another note on her desk.
Notwithstanding the rain pounding on the metal roof above our heads, we easily heard Mrs. Hill's voice crackle over the PA system. She did not sound happy.
Her message for me to report to the office ASAP elicited a variety of remarks from the crew, mostly obscene, and, as far as I was concerned, said with far too much pleasure. All morning long, they'd been debating whether or not Mrs. Hill would have heard about the fight and had been taking bets on her reaction. Ignoring them, I propped my pitchfork and rake in the corner of the stall I'd been mucking out and headed for the office.
By the time I got to the office door, I was sopping wet, which, when I thought about it, was kind of appropriate for the upcoming discussion. As I put my hand on the rain-splattered doorknob, I had a knot in my stomach reminiscent of visits to the principal's office. When I stepped inside, Mrs. Hill looked up from her paperwork and compressed her lips.
I took off my hat. Rainwater dripped off the ends of my hair and slid down the back of my neck. 'Mrs. Hill?'
'Stephen…' She tapped a finger on my notes. 'What's all this about?'
I looked out the door. It was raining so hard, I couldn't distinguish the pile of rubble from the line of the arena fence. 'Last night, someone torched the Foxdale Jump. They stacked it into a heap and set it on fire. There's nothing left but charred wood.'
'But why?'
I slowly turned to face her. 'I don't know.'
I told her about the vandalism, and her face grew stiff with disbelief. She stared at me and absentmindedly clicked the top of her ball point pen against the desk blotter. The sound acted as a metronome, measuring each passing second, intruding on the lengthening silence, and I found standing still under her gaze difficult.
'You called the police?'
I nodded.
'Another thing… 'She did not look pleased. No pleasure anywhere. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. 'Mr. Sanders told me that you got into a fight with someone at the party.' Her face was flushed with anger.
Damn Sanders. He hadn't walked away like I'd thought but had hung around to watch. And when I'd had that damned piece of glass shoved up my nose, he hadn't done a thing to help. But he had the balls to imply that I'd started the whole thing. I hoped his horse would dump him on his ass. Into a puddle would be even better.
'Well?' she said.
'I don't know what he told you,' I tried to keep my voice even, 'but the guy I fought with hit me first. He was bothering Mr. Sanders, and I walked over to see if I could do anything to help. The guy was yelling obscenities, so I asked him to leave, and that's when he hit me. So I… defended myself.'
She picked up a piece of hard candy and fingered the wrapper. 'Who was this person?'
'He delivers hay for Mr. Harrison.'
'What?'
'He drives the hay truck for Mr. Harrison sometimes,' I said.
She swiveled around in her chair, pressed a couple of keys on her computer keyboard, and scrolled down the
