Shadow Horse

  ALSO BY ALISON HART

  Whirlwind

  Horse Diarie #2: Bell’s Star

  Acknowledgments

  To the dedicated professionals who shared their time and knowledge: Susan Weisgerber, juvenile case manager at Staunton-Augusta Court Service Unit; Rod Jones, probation supervisor at 25th District Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court Service Unit; Corporal Tom Byerly of the Staunton Police Department; Dana Wandless, social worker at Staunton-Augusta Department of Social Services.

  Special thanks to Patricia Rogers, Manager of the Equine Rescue League in Leesburg, Virginia. Your energy and enthusiasm were inspirational.

  Contents

  Other Books by this Author

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About the Author

  Copyright

  One

  SHE WAS A FLASH OF GOLD AS SHE CANTERED around the ring. Ears pricked, neck arched, she moved like a movie star in the spotlight as she sailed over the last fence. Landing smoothly, she slowed to a trot in front of the crowd, tossing her mane as if to say, “Wasn’t I great?”

  Because she was great. She was the most beautiful horse in the world.

  But now she was dead.

  Whirlwind.

  Jas whispered the mare’s name as she stared at the photo clutched in her fingers. Whirlwind was posed for the camera with her head high, a tricolored ribbon fluttering from her bridle. The picture had been taken a month ago at Devon, the horse show where they’d won the Junior Hunter Championship.

  Now this picture was all Jas had left of the mare she loved.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t cried since the chestnut horse died three weeks ago. She wasn’t about to now.

  Clapping her hand over her mouth, Jas tried to hold back a sob. The paper grocery bag on her lap slid sideways. She grabbed for it, but the handcuffs bit into her wrists, and the bag fell, spilling her underwear onto the floor of the Municipal Court holding room.

  Someone in the room snickered. Flushing hotly, Jas bent over and scooped her underwear back into the bag.

  The kid sitting next to her leaned closer. “Hey, can I have those?” he whispered.

  “No,” Jas retorted, shrinking from his leering face. “They’re all the clothes I’ve got.” Sitting up, she crumpled the bag to her chest.

  A silent cry filled her.

  Grandfather!

  If only he was here. Jas knew if he was, none of this would be happening. She’d be schooling a horse at High Meadows Farm and not waiting for the court bailiff to call her name.

  “Move to another seat, Vince,” a deputy barked at the kid sitting next to Jas.

  From the corner of her eye, Jas watched Vince swagger across the floor, his defiant gaze directed at the two deputies standing guard. The deputies wore tan suit coats with the sheriff’s department emblem over the pocket. One stood in an army stance. The other sat on a folding chair with his long legs stretched in front of him. The rest of the holding room was filled with teenagers.

  Jas was the only girl.

  Turning away, Jas stared out the barred window that overlooked Stanford’s Main Street. A man wearing a dark suit walked briskly down the sidewalk, a soft breeze ruffling his hair.

  “Jasmine?”

  She snapped her head around. Charles Petrie, the public defender, looked down at her with his half-glasses perched on his nose.

  “We’ll be called sometime in the next hour,” Petrie said. “Unfortunately, there’s no set schedule.” Impatiently, he ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Is there anything you want to tell me before we see the judge?” He sat down next to her, balancing his briefcase on his knees.

  Jas shook her head.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. It was the same sigh Jas had heard the last time he’d asked that question.

  “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what happened.” He waited. Jas didn’t say anything. He exhaled loudly, expressing his annoyance. “Okay. I’m going to defend you, but I don’t know how well we’re going to do.”

  He stood up. “I’ll see you in court. If you change your mind, tell one of the deputies to come get me.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” Jas replied. She couldn’t change her mind.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Vince said as he sat down in Petrie’s vacant chair. He was about her age, thirteen, or maybe older.

  “Beautiful?” Jas said as she wrinkled her nose. She’d barely slept or eaten for three weeks. Her tan had faded. Her once well-muscled arms and legs were soft from inactivity. Her brown hair had been washed only once since she’d been put in the detention center by the judge at the first hearing.

  The first hearing—she could still remember everything the judge had said: Jasmine Schuler, you have been charged with a felony. Since there is no one to release you to at this time, you will be held in the Juvenile Detention Center until your trial on June fifteenth.

  That had been fourteen days ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

  “You’re definitely the most beautiful babe in here,” Vince said.

  Jas rolled her eyes. “I’m the only girl in here.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” He tossed his hair off his brow with a shrug of his head. “What’re you here for?”

  “Same reason you’re here. The cops caught me,” which was the same line Jas gave any kid who asked. Not that many at the center had asked anyway. They were too busy with their own problems.

  “Yeah? Were you busted for drugs, too?”

  “No, just a runaway,” Jas lied.

  “Been there, too. This time, the cops caught me with marijuana.” He jabbed his thumb at his skinny chest as if he was proud of it.

  Jas gave him her best get-lost look. Maybe if she told him why she was really here he would shut up.

  She turned her back to him and glanced around the room. It was full of guys just like the punk sitting next to her. They were talking and laughing as if they were waiting for homeroom to begin, instead of court. Only one skinny kid looked scared. He was slumped in a corner, his eyes downcast. His mother was huddled just as miserably next to him.

  At least he has someone, Jas thought. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Phil Sparks, the manager of High Meadows, would come to the trial. Phil was her only chance. He could make the judge understand.

  “Schuler case!” The words rang down the hall, and Jas jumped. The deputy leaning against the wall came over. “Ready?” he asked as he bent down to take off her handcuffs.

  Jas’s stomach rolled. No, I’m not!

  “Let’s go.” He took the bag from her, then grasped her arm almost politely. Jas stood on shaky legs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

  “Bye, beautiful!” Vince called, making kissing noises as the deputy led her out the door. “Clear the hall!” yelled the bailiff.

  The deputy steered Jas through a group of people and into the courtroom. In the front of the room, a robed judge sat at his desk. Charles Petrie stood behind the defense table to the right of the des
k, facing the judge. Mr. Eyler, the probation officer, sat against the wall. Hugh Robicheaux sat at the prosecutor’s table on the left.

  Jas froze when she saw Hugh. Anger rose in her chest. When she began to walk down the aisle again, her eyes bored into the back of Hugh’s head. He was talking to his lawyer, a man in a dark suit, Mr. Sydow. As she looked at Hugh, she realized that she’d never hated anyone so much in her life.

  “Jas?” someone called in a low voice.

  Startled, Jas glanced back. Phil Sparks sat in an aisle seat behind Hugh, nervously twisting his John Deere cap in his work-roughened hands.

  Phil! Jas smiled hopefully. But the farm manager ducked his head as if embarrassed. When he wouldn’t meet Jas’s eyes, her smile died. Please, Phil, don’t let Hugh scare you into not helping me! With a firm grip, the deputy propelled her up the aisle to the seat next to Mr. Petrie. Jas’s knees buckled, and she sat down with a thump on the wooden chair.

  “Jasmine Schuler, please stand,” the judge’s voice rang through the courtroom.

  Slowly, Jas stood, her hands clenched in fists.

  “Miss Schuler, you have been charged with assault against Hugh Robicheaux.”

  As she heard the judge’s words, Jas trembled. Again she had to fight back tears. If Phil was testifying for Hugh, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Hugh Robicheaux would win again.

  Two

  “MR. PETRIE.” THE JUDGE DIRECTED HIS GAZE at Jas. “How does your client plead?”

  Jas caught her breath.

  “Your Honor, Miss Schuler pleads not guilty,” Petrie said.

  “You may be seated. Mr. Sydow, call your first witness.”

  Mr. Sydow, the man in the dark suit, stood up. “I’d like to call Officer Tom Diamond.” Jas slumped into her seat as a Stanford police officer walked to the front and sat in the witness box.

  “Officer Diamond,” Mr. Sydow began, “were you called to High Meadows Farm on the night of June first?”

  “I was.”

  “Will you please summarize the facts and circumstances at the farm on this date?”

  Jas looked down at the ground as she remembered that horrible day.

  Grandfather! Come quick! It’s Whirlwind! I think she’s dead!

  “I arrived at the farm at five in the afternoon to find the defendant, Miss Schuler, kneeling by her grandfather outside the barn,” the officer said. “The rescue squad arrived minutes before, and the EMTs were treating him. They pointed to the barn, where I found the victim, Mr. Robicheaux, being attended to for a slash on his cheek.”

  “And what did the victim tell you?”

  “He said the defendant had attacked him with a hoof pick.”

  “A hoof pick,” Mr. Sydow repeated. The judge furrowed his brow. The attorney approached the bench carrying a manila envelope. “Your Honor, a hoof pick is a sharp tool used for cleaning out a horse’s foot.”

  Hoof, you blockhead, Jas thought to herself.

  “And is this the hoof pick you recovered, Officer Diamond?” The attorney pulled the hooked instrument out of the envelope and held it up.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. You may cross-examine the witness, Mr. Petrie.”

  Petrie stood up, his chair scraping on the tile floor. “Officer Diamond, did you see my client attack the victim?”

  “No.”

  “Was she at all combative when you arrived?”

  “No.”

  “Did she give you a hard time when you arrested her?”

  The officer paused. Jas held her breath. “At first, she was reluctant to leave her grandfather. The medical technicians were still working on him, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. But when I told her I would call the hospital as soon as we reached the police station, she came willingly.”

  “No further questions.” Petrie sat down.

  “Call the next witness,” the judge stated.

  “Mr. Hugh Robicheaux,” Mr. Sydow said.

  Goose bumps raced up Jas’s arms as Hugh strode to the witness box and settled his long frame in the chair. He was dressed in creased khaki pants and a tweed sport coat. A thin purplish scar ran down his left cheek, marring his handsome country-gentleman demeanor.

  “Mr. Robicheaux, you are the owner of High Meadows Farm?” Mr. Sydow asked.

  “I am.”

  “And the defendant, Jasmine Schuler, and her grandfather, Karl Schuler, lived on your farm?”

  “Yes, for the past five years Karl Schuler was the farm’s caretaker. And when his granddaughter, Jas, wasn’t in school, she would work for me as well. Jas’s grandmother also lived on the farm, until she died a year ago. She acted as my housekeeper.”

  “And what type of work did Jasmine Schuler do at the farm?”

  “Mostly she schooled and showed my horses. She was an excellent equestrienne.”

  Tilting his head, Hugh smiled at Jas. She glared back, knowing how false his smile was and how easily he could pour on the charm.

  “Mr. Robicheaux, please tell us what happened the afternoon of June first.”

  “The incident started when Jas found one of my horses dead in the paddock. The mare had eaten a branch of yew, which is highly poisonous.”

  Jas squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying not to remember the pain of that day. But it was too hard to forget. How did the yew get in here? Karl? Do you have an explanation for this?

  No, Mr. Robicheaux. I know how poisonous yew is. You know I would never be so careless.

  But you were the only one trimming the hedges!

  Sir, you can’t accuse me of killing Whirlwind. You know that I’m not capable of such a thing!

  Who else could have done it?

  Sir, it wasn’t—arrgh!

  Grandfather, wh-what’s wrong? Grandfather!

  Jas shuddered. Clenching her fists, she dug her fingernails into her palms. She hadn’t seen her grandfather since the day he collapsed. Now he was in a nursing home, his muscles partially paralyzed by a stroke. And she couldn’t help but blame Hugh Robicheaux for this whole mess.

  “Thank you, Mr. Robicheaux. Mr. Petrie, you may cross-examine the witness.”

  Jas’s lawyer stood up. “Mr. Robicheaux, why do you think Miss Schuler attacked you?”

  Jas straightened in her chair, staring intently at Hugh.

  With a pensive frown, Hugh ran his fingers through his thick, carefully styled hair, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose she was distraught because her grandfather caused the death of her favorite horse—accidentally, of course,” he added quickly.

  Liar, Jas hissed to herself.

  “Then her grandfather collapsed right in front of her,” Hugh continued. Pausing, as if in thought, he made a steeple of his fingers. “I realize now that she was probably in shock. I should have been more understanding.”

  “So you said or did nothing to provoke her?”

  “No.”

  Dirty, fat liar. Crossing her arms, Jas threw herself against the back of the chair.

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Petrie said as he sat down.

  Mr. Sydow stood up. “We call Phil Sparks to the stand.”

  Hat in hand, the farm manager trudged to the witness box and sat on the edge of the chair. Eyes straight ahead, he rigidly faced the attorney, as if afraid to look at Jas.

  “Mr. Sparks, you are the manager of High Meadows Farm?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what are your duties on the farm?”

  “I make sure it runs smoothly. Mr. Robicheaux owns over twenty horses and a hundred head of cattle, so I’m kept pretty busy.”

  “Will you please tell the court what happened the evening of June first.”

  Phil swallowed hard. He glanced once at Jas, with a pleading look in his eyes. Jas bit her lip, wishing she could tell him it was okay to tell the truth.

  “I was in the driveway on the other side of the barn when I heard Jas scream,” Phil said.

  “You knew it was her?”


  “Yes, sir. I ran around the corner and saw her attack Mr. Robicheaux.”

  “With the hoof pick?”

  “Yes. She slashed his cheek. I ran up and pulled her off him.”

  “So you saw her attack him.” The attorney turned and gave Jas an appraising look. “And what was she like when you pulled her off?”

  “She—” Phil hesitated. Jas could see his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “She was kicking and screaming.”

  “When did she calm down?”

  “After Mr. Robicheaux told me he was going to the tack room to get something for his face. His cheek was bleeding pretty good. When he left, she pulled free and went to her grandfather, who was lying on the ground. I ran in the house to call 911.”

  Jas pressed her lips together, remembering what had happened when Phil left to call 911. Hugh had stormed back in and, grabbing her arm, yanked her to her feet.

  You better keep quiet, Jas.

  Let go of me!

  One mention of your crazy suspicion that I killed Whirlwind, and I’ll make sure your grandfather ends up in some rat-infested nursing home. Forever. Then I’ll make sure you never see him again. But keep your mouth shut, and he’ll get the best of care. Is it a deal?

  You’re hurting me!

  Say it’s a deal or I’ll rip your arm off! Okay, it’s a deal!

  “Thank you, Mr. Sparks,” said Mr. Sydow. “There are no further questions.”

  Petrie immediately jumped to his feet. “Mr. Sparks, have you ever known the defendant to do anything like this before?”

  Phil swung his head emphatically. “Never.”

  “And how long have you known her?”

  “Since she’s lived on the farm. Five years.” He turned to face the judge. “And in all that time, Your Honor, I’ve never even seen Jas swat a fly. There must have been something said or done to make her so mad.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sparks. That will be all for now,” said Petrie.

  Hat in hand, Phil slunk from the witness box. Jas let out her breath. It was over.

  “We have no more witnesses, Your Honor,” Mr. Sydow said. “The Commonwealth rests.”

  “Mr. Petrie?” The judge nodded at the public defender.