Blackie was, but Paul came by and convinced him he should leave.' I suspected he had heard some version of the story already.
'Paul, he is a good man.' He gave an approving nod.
It was unnecessary and maybe even silly, but his opinion pleased me – and, I couldn't help notice, further diverted me from the mood that Delores's news had provoked.
'I'll see you later,' I said. 'Thought I'd do one last check of Blackie's stall to be sure I got everything.'
'Be careful,' he said, looking pointedly at my bruises, and went back to work.
I continued to the Big Barn resolved to deal with Juliet later and wondering what Valerie's family would do with her horse. More accurately, how much they'd sell him for and if his crabby disposition would make it difficult to find a buyer.
'Hi, Thea,' a woman's voice called from behind me.
I turned. Sarah Fuller, in the latest equestrian schooling couture, walked toward me as quickly as her boots allowed. Her waif-like appearance and lack of social skills always made me think of her as a child. But she was a professional financial planner and worked in Greg's office. Rumor had it the sole reason Sarah took riding lessons was to get Greg to notice her. Despite her big blue eyes, she should not have tried for such a direct comparison with Valerie.
She'd been doing some heavy-duty shopping since I'd seen her last. The tall black boots, so stiff and free of wear, had to be new. Likewise the quilted, impractical, white vest, shirt, and dark blue plaid breeches. By my calculations she'd plunked down close to a thousand dollars for an outfit she'd wear a couple of times a week in a dusty barn and arena. There was no chance she'd ridden already. She wouldn't be so spotless. Valerie was the only one I knew who could pull that trick off.
To say Sarah and I were acquaintances would be erring on the side of friendliness. Last time I saw her she wouldn't have anything to do with me. However, I had no solid reason to dislike her and always tried to be pleasant when I couldn't avoid her. This odd little reversal of behavior of her's had me curious.
'Hi, Sarah. Nice boot.'
'I heard Valerie's dead,' she said.
Oh, that's why we were having this little tete-a-tete. 'Yes, she is.'
'Somebody said you found her. Did you?'
Oh great. She was trying to pump me for information. Could I be rude and walk away from her? 'Yeah, I'm afraid so.' I turned to walk away.
'Was she, you know, awful to look at?'
The image of Valerie's dead face sprang into my mind and produced an involuntary shiver. For as peculiar as Sarah was, I'd never have pegged her for having a morbid curiosity. I guess I was wrong. I glared, chin lowered, and back rigid, before answering.
'Yes.'
'I heard you found her in the pasture at her house and your horse was in the field with her. People are saying she stole him.'
'Are they?' If she noticed my caustic tone, she gave no indication.
'But she was murdered, right? I mean it wasn't an accident or anything? Do they know who did it?' The corners of her lips twitched with a smile she couldn't quite suppress. I knew Sarah despised Valerie – everyone knew – but this barely concealed delight put her on a par with Bride of Chucky for creepiness.
'I wouldn't know.' I stepped away.
She followed. 'She sure was, like, brutal to a lot of people… I've heard.'
I halted my retreat. 'Anyone in particular?'
'Yeah. You.' She shifted on her feet under my angry stare. 'So, what happened to your face?'
'I fell.' I immediately regretted not coming up with a better story. The curl of her lip told me she recognized the lie.
'Yeah? Looks like it hurts.'
'Not really.' That at least was true. The ice had helped.
'A friend of mine got a bruise like that once.'
'Oh? She must have had a bad fall, too.'
'No, her boyfriend beat her up.' She held my gaze for a beat.
'Sorry to hear it. I hope she broke up with him.'
'He dumped her.'
Something about the flat tone of her voice flipped on a mental light bulb. Sarah was referring to herself.
'Poor girl,' I said, sincerely.
'Whatever. I need to get my horse for my lesson.' And she left.
I watched her hurry away, overwhelmed with pity for her. I didn't understand the dynamics behind such relationships and prayed I never would. Violence and abuse did not belong in any relationship. What made her stay until she was discarded? Maybe I ought to be a tad less judgmental of her in the future. She didn't deserve my scorn.
A light, cool breeze wafted the enticing smells of hay, clean bedding, and horses to me as I entered the Big Barn. The aisle was swept clean, and was free of tack trunks and other clutter that people sometimes left outside their horses' stalls, making the interior of the barn look like a teenager's messy bedroom.
Blackie's stall was the fifth on the left. When he was here his wooden door often remained open with a nylon stall guard up so he could hang his head out and socialize. Now, with all the doors closed, I found that the sameness of the stall fronts required me to count to be accurate. A vision of Nachtfeder scraping his teeth on the stall bars reared up in my mind. I stopped, spun on my heels, and dashed out of the barn.
Miguel was busy cleaning a different stall in the New Barn, and Delores stood in the aisle-way talking to him. I ran up, breathless, interrupting their conversation. From the concern painted on their faces, I'd alarmed them both.
'What if it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie?' I plunged right in to the middle of my epiphany.
'What do you mean?' Delores asked.
'I mean, Jorge didn't actually see the person who took Blackie, did he? What if it wasn't Valerie, but someone else? What if that person didn't know Valerie's horse by sight, but was told to come and get the dark bay horse in the fifth stall on the left?'
Delores cocked her head, eyes narrowed.
I held my hands out, stopping any possible comments from her. 'If you walk into the New Barn from the front, Nachtfeder's stall is the fifth on the left. If you go into the Big Barn through the back door, which is where most people pull up with their trailers, the fifth stall on the left is Blackie's. I don't know why Valerie would send someone instead of coming herself, since the only people she trusted to handle her horse were Miguel and Uncle Henry, but it makes more sense that Nachtfeder should have been picked up.' I sucked in a breath then continued. 'Furthermore, Valerie had to have been alive when she arranged to send the rig over. I can imagine she would have been furious seeing Blackie walk out of the trailer instead of her horse. Maybe she was killed accidentally in an argument with the driver.'
'Well,' Delores said at a pace far slower than mine, 'it would make more sense for Valerie to have her own horse picked up. But wouldn't that person, assuming it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie, have read the stall card to make sure they were getting the right animal?'
'They should have been able to do that,' Miguel said, stroking his moustache. 'The barns are not completely dark at night. We leave every third light on in the aisles so if there is an emergency we can see.'
'What bothers me about your idea,' Delores added, 'is Valerie always told me when she was taking Nachtfeder away from Copper Creek. I'd get phone calls and notes a week ahead of time. She'd usually have Miguel bathe him, and have the farrier out, as well. It was always a big production.'
The holes in my theory deflated my enthusiasm, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was on to something.
'I need to think about this some more,' I said. 'It makes more sense to me than Valerie stealing my horse.'
I gathered, from their serious expressions, that Delores and Miguel were not dismissing my ideas out of hand. I left for my uncle's with more unanswered questions than before. Delores suggested my theory was something Detective Thurman was considering.
