Claps of thunder shook the motel and lights flickered. The TV spewed news of the foul weather, viewer photos of thick gray skies, rain against buildings, and trees bent over onto a road. If Gulliver were with her, he’d be shivering in fear. She’d bundle him in his Thundershirt and cuddle him until he slept. Her chest constricted with longing for places she knew, for Richard.
“Another summer storm has dropped an inch and a half of moisture onto our already soaked countryside,” the announcer said. “High winds downed tree limbs and power lines in Marshall County, and parts of the city of Lewisburg are without electricity. But that has not put a damper on Shelbyville’s preparations for the horse show. Let’s go over to station meteorologist Sue Ellen Rosemont at the main arena. Sue Ellen?”
The screen cut to a shot of a young woman with streaming wet bangs, cradling her mike inside the flaps of a yellow slicker.
Billie turned off the TV and set the unfinished pizza slice on the bed. She got up and checked the door to be sure it was really locked, the chain securely in place. She brushed aside the curtain and checked the window, which was locked but leaking. She took one of the thin towels from the bathroom, rolled it, and stuffed it against the sill. When she closed the curtain, she made certain it covered the window. She wanted a shower, the comfort of hot water, but didn’t want to be naked, didn’t want to be behind the closed bathroom door with the water running.
This wasn’t the first threat she’d ever received. They’d been a pretty regular fact of her earlier life when she worked for Frankly, digging into the filth of child prostitution and urban sex clubs with powerful members. Threats were just part of the landscape. She routinely turned them over to legal to take care of. But this sodden note, slipped under the flimsy door to her room for her to find, terrified her.
Her cell phone buzzed. By the time she’d searched the bed and found it under a snarl of sheets and T-shirts, it had gone to voice mail. Richard’s name appeared in caller ID. “Billie, I can’t make it tonight. I’m sorry. I’ll try to reach you later.” She called him back. When he didn’t answer and she got his voice mail, she hung up.
Staring at her phone, she saw that she had missed a call from Frank.
“We need to talk,” Frank’s voice said. “And soon. I don’t think much of this stuff you sent me yesterday. You know the kind of material I use and this isn’t it. Call me.”
She sat back on the bed, her spine hard against the headboard, pulling pillows into her lap. The air conditioner was so loud it would cover the sound of anyone approaching her room. But when she turned it off, the room became a sauna within minutes. So she turned it back on. If only Gulliver were here with her to greet her, curl onto her pillow wagging his tail and wiggling. He made her feel welcome, at home. She missed him, her horses, her ranch, her desert where the storms were intense and powerful then over. Minutes after a storm passed, the sun had baked cactus and humans, steam rose from the dirt, and flooded washes subsided.
She reached for her cell and called Josie.
“Wilde Adventures,” Billie’s neighbor answered.
“Hey, Josie.”
“Hay is for horses, Billie. How’s it going back there?”
Billie heard Josie’s sucking inhale on a cigarette, the pop of her lips when she held the smoke inside. “Thought I’d call and see how everything is out where you are. How’re the horses? How’s Gulliver?”
“That little hooligan’s doing alright,” Josie said. “He’s sitting on my lap right now. We’ve got a big old storm coming, but he don’t seem one bit bothered.”
“And the horses?”
“Mostly okay.”
Billie waited a beat for the bad news she heard brewing.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s all okay now, I guess. Your gray horse, Starship, colicked. I got Doc out for him. Figured that’s what you’d want.”
“How bad was it?”
“He was on the ground, thrashing. I couldn’t tell if it was just a bad gas colic or if he’d got a twist or an impaction. Old Doc gave him a couple shots and tubed him with mineral oil, and he got back up in about a half an hour. Doc gave him some fluids too.”
“Is he okay now?
“Seems just perfect. But Doc noticed he had a couple of summer sores from the flies laying eggs on his belly and nose, so he treated them and left some ointment for me to put on every day. Turned out two other horses had ’em too. Hashtag had one on her lip. ”
“Should be easy to clear that up,” Billie said.
“You won’t need to. I told the owner about it, and she decided to take her home. Picked her up this morning.”
Billie could have yowled. The vet bill for Starship alone could wipe her out, probably reaching over a thousand dollars. And she’d lost her only boarder. “Did she pay what she owed before she took him?”
“I didn’t know what she owed, Billie, so I couldn’t ask. Guess you’ll have to settle up with her later.” Billie heard Josie’s husband Sam in the background. “Hold on, Billie. Sam’s got something he wants to say.”
“Hey there, Billie. I hate to add to things, but I checked on your house, and you’ve got a big old leak in the roof right over that couch thing you sleep on. I’m afraid it’s ruined, and you’re going to have to get the roof repaired.”
She could scream, but what good would that do? This time of year, everything went wrong in the
