Shadow Horse Page 12

  “He says you’re tall and handsome,” Jas said when Chase gave her a puzzled look. “Ready to go outside?” she asked as she pushed the wheelchair out of the room and down the hall.

  “I’m ready to get out,” Grandfather grumbled. The stronger he felt, the more he chafed at being at the nursing home.

  “I know,” Jas said. “It won’t be long.”

  As they walked down the hall, Chase strode beside Jas, casting uneasy looks at the old people shuffling into the rec room for Bingo. Grandpa grunted as they passed by. “I ate ingo.”

  “Then it’s good we came when we did.” Turning the chair around, Jas went backward through the double doors that led outside. Then she pushed Grandfather onto the brick patio and over to a bench under a tree.

  “Ahhhh.” Closing his eyes, he laid his head against the back of the wheelchair and breathed deeply. Jas took the album from Chase and set it on Grandfather’s lap. Then she flipped through until she found Aladdin’s picture. From his pocket, Chase pulled the Polaroid of Shadow that he’d taken the day before and set it next to the photo of Aladdin. Then they waited, sitting side by side on the bench, their knees touching, while Grandfather studied the pictures.

  “So wasn’t I right?” Jas said. Yesterday, she had told Grandfather everything on the phone.

  He nodded as he turned the page to the newspaper article about Aladdin’s death. Last night, Jas had pored over the article, trying to find some clue. Just like Phil had said, Aladdin had died of colic five years ago—right in the middle of an outstanding jumping career.

  “Twins,” Grandfather finally said.

  “That’s what Chase and I thought. They’re even the right ages,” Jas explained. “Aladdin was seven when he supposedly died five years ago. Danvers said Shadow’s about twelve.”

  Chase tapped the photo of Aladdin. “But we can’t figure out how they could be the same horse.”

  “A inger,” Grandfather declared.

  “What?” Jas leaned forward to hear him better.

  “A r-inger,” he repeated.

  “A ringer?” Jas knew what a ringer was from stories about double-dealing on the racetrack. It was a horse that looked identical to another horse. “You mean Shadow is a ringer for Aladdin?”

  “Es.” Grandfather pressed his mouth in a line. Turning the pages, he hunted through the album. When he found two photos, he tapped them wildly. “Here! This explains it! Afer Uhaddin ied Hugh ought ese oo orses or over a illion ollars!” He spat the words so fast that Jas didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

  She looked closer at the photos. They showed Hugh holding his stallion Whirligig, who had sired Whirlwind. After standing him for two years, he’d sold him to a syndicate.

  The other picture was of a Thoroughbred yearling Hugh had bought at the auction in Kentucky. He’d cost over half a million dollars, but went bust as a racehorse.

  “Don’t oo see?” Grandfather declared, clutching at Jas’s arm.

  “No. You’ve got to slow down.”

  He took a deep breath, then started again, enunciating each word. “After Uhaddin died, Hugh spent over a million on two horses. But he only got twenty-five ousand from Uhaddin’s insurance money.”

  “But Hugh’s rich.”

  Grandfather swung his head. “Not that rich. And ee spends everything he makes.”

  Puzzled, Jas tried to understand what Grandfather was saying. Grandfather grasped her wrist with bony fingers and pulled her even closer.

  “What if Hugh didn’t kill Uhaddin?” he whispered. “What if ee killed a ringer?”

  Jas’s eyes widened as she slowly understood what Grandfather was saying. Beside her, Chase sucked in his breath as if he got it, too.

  “You mean Hugh killed a horse that looked like Aladdin, but wasn’t Aladdin,” Jas said, repeating what she thought he was trying to say. “But since everyone thought he was Aladdin, Hugh collected the insurance money. At the same time, he sold the real Aladdin, who by then was worth a lot of money!”

  “The creep would have collected twice!” Chase exclaimed.

  “But Aladdin was pretty well known by then,” Jas pointed out. “So how’d Hugh get away with it? I mean, first, he had to find a horse that looked like Aladdin. Then he had to sell the real Aladdin. Only he couldn’t just sell the horse to anybody, because someone would have recognized him.”

  Grandfather winked. “South America.”

  “You mean Hugh sold the horse overseas?”

  “Ight. They buy lots of orses. No questions asked.”

  “Wow.” Jas slumped back on the bench. It all made sense—almost. “Then if Shadow is the real Aladdin, how did he get back to Virginia?”

  Grandfather shrugged. “The new owners didn’t want him anyor when he got sick,” he guessed, his voice growing fainter and less clear.

  Jas could tell he was getting tired. “Rest a minute,” she said, patting his knee.

  Leaning his head back, Grandfather closed his eyes. Jas took the album and set it on Chase’s legs.

  “If Hugh’s the conniving sleaze you say he is,” Chase said in a low voice, “then your grandfather’s explanation makes perfect sense.”

  “It does make sense. The article says Aladdin died in the middle of an impressive first season on the jumping circuit. His value was skyrocketing, but he was just starting to attract attention in the horse world. It would have been the perfect time to arrange his death.”

  “Any later and Aladdin would have been too famous,” Chase agreed. But then he frowned. “Only, why did a well-known guy like Hugh take the chance? Killing your horse isn’t a crime. But insurance fraud is. Hugh had to know he’d get in serious trouble if he was caught.”

  Jas arched one brow. “If he was caught. And he wasn’t. Obviously, no one discovered that the dead horse wasn’t Aladdin.”

  A sudden memory made Jas shudder. “And I can understand why. I remember how different Whirlwind looked when she was lying there—” Jas’s voice cracked. “And now that I know Hugh better,” Jas went on, feeling more anger now than sadness, “I realize he enjoys the risks almost as much as the money. Otherwise, why would he have called me up and used Aladdin’s name in the first place?”

  Without opening his eyes, Grandfather chuckled. “Yup. Oo nailed it, Jas. Hugh is a crafty devil.” Opening one eye, he tapped himself on the temple. “But not as mart and crafty as you and me! We’ll get Hugh. Don’t oo worry.”

  But Jas wasn’t as confident as Grandfather. If Aladdin was Shadow, then Hugh had gotten away with a really devious scheme.

  “Hey, don’t look so glum,” Chase said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “I’m glad you and Grandfather are optimistic,” Jas said, sighing gloomily. “Because even though we think we’ve figured it all out, the reality is—we don’t have a shred of proof.”

  Twenty

  “YOU’RE RIGHT ABOUT NEEDING MORE PROOF, Jas,” Chase said after breakfast the next morning. “We’re only guessing that Hugh scammed his insurance company.”

  They were carrying a bale of hay out to the shed in the back pasture. The weather had been so dry that the grass had quit growing.

  “I know,” Jas said, feeling discouraged. She dropped the bale when they reached the shed. Chase pulled a Swiss Army knife from his back pocket and cut the twine. Then they threw the hay into the rack. Already, the four horses who shared the field had ambled into the shed and were grabbing mouthfuls of hay that had fallen to the ground.

  “Hey, Spots.” Jas scratched the pinto on his fat neck. “I heard you’re being adopted this weekend.”

  “A family with twin daughters. He’ll definitely get lots of TLC.”

  Jas smiled sadly. “That’s nice. Only …”

  “You’ll miss the ugly plug?” Chase guessed. Picking up the twine, he wound it into a ball, then stuck it in his pocket.

  She nodded.

  “That seems hard to believe considering you’re such a horse snob,” he teased.

 
“Oh, shut up.” Jas threw the last section of hay at him. He ducked and it hit Spots, who snorted and bolted from the shed.

  “Stampede!” Chase joked as he ran from the shed with the horse. Jas raced him to the barn, and they collapsed on the bales in the aisle, completely out of breath. Sam came up, his tongue hanging, and flopped down on top of Jas’s feet.

  “So where are we going to get proof?” Jas asked. Leaning back on his elbows, Chase stretched his long legs in front of him. “How about Phil or Danvers? They’re probably the only ones besides Hugh who really knew Aladdin.”

  “There’s also Reaves. He knows where Shadow came from.”

  “Reaves? Hah. He’d never tell the truth.”

  “Well, Phil’s out, that’s for sure.”

  Chase pulled a stalk of hay from the bale and stuck it between his lips. “Then it’s Danvers. And you’re in luck,” he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

  “A big date, huh?”

  Chase nodded, and they both giggled.

  “Well, that’s good. Before dinner, I’ll show Danvers the album. You can keep Miss Hahn occupied in the kitchen.”

  “Hmm.” He wrinkled his forehead as if absorbed in deep thought. “I could drop the salad on the floor.”

  Jas laughed. “I knew you’d be a good partner in crime.”

  Pulling the hay from between his lips, Chase held it between two fingers like a cigarette. “Just call me Bond,” he said in a British accent. “James Bond.”

  That night, Jas wore the only dress she owned. It was made of a soft, clingy fabric. The skirt was short, showing off her now tan and muscular legs. When she came down the steps barefoot, Chase’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Um … what happened to your jeans?” he asked.

  “Never mind.” Linking her arm with his, she steered him away from the kitchen door. “Is Danvers here?”

  “In the kitchen, standing very close to Miss Hahn, tasting spaghetti sauce.”

  “Okay. Here’s the plan.” She lowered her voice. “Call him into the living room for something. I’ll run up and get the album.”

  Chase nodded with utmost seriousness. “And I’ll drop the salad.”

  “Right.” He was bent slightly to hear her, and without warning, he suddenly angled his head and kissed her. When he pulled back, he was grinning like a little kid. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It’s all this intrigue.”

  “Right, it’s the intrigue,” Jas repeated, too surprised to say anything else. Her heart was beating like a drum, and when he went into the kitchen, she thumped up the steps, touching her lips. Did he really just kiss me?

  As she came down, Jas heard a loud crash from the kitchen, then, “Oh, gee, sorry, Miss Hahn. I’m as clumsy as a horse wearing high heels.”

  “You wanted to see me?” Danvers asked. Jas could barely recognize him. He was sitting on the sofa sipping iced tea, wearing khakis and a short-sleeved shirt instead of his baggy coveralls.

  “Yes. Now, I know you and Phil vowed to drop the whole Whirlwind thing, and this isn’t about her. Well, it sort of is, but I don’t want you to cut me off until I show you everything.”

  “Phil said he wasn’t going to pursue the matter anymore,” Danvers corrected her. “I just ran out of time and energy.”

  Hope fluttered in Jas’s chest as she sat down next to him. Maybe he would help. “It’s about Aladdin,” she told him. Opening the album, she showed him the picture and the article.

  “Yeah, I remember him,” Danvers said. “Hugh was crushed when the horse died.”

  “So crushed that he immediately ran out and bought two horses worth a million dollars,” Jas said sarcastically.

  Danvers was about to take another drink, but he lowered his glass. “What?”

  “Grandfather and I have this theory.” Leaning closer, she told him their idea.

  Danvers frowned. “So what you’re saying is Hugh killed some horse that looked like Aladdin and collected the insurance money? Then sold the real Aladdin somewhere overseas for big bucks?”

  Jas nodded excitedly.

  Danvers hunched forward, his frown deepening. “I hope you haven’t told anyone else this wild idea of yours, Jas.”

  Her excitement faded. “Why?”

  “Because you’re making a serious and unfounded accusation. Hugh could really make trouble for you.”

  Jas pressed her lips together. “You’re on his side, too! I should have known not to trust you.” She stood up, catching the album before it fell off her lap.

  Grasping her wrist to stop her, Danvers spoke in a tense voice. “This has nothing to do with trust, young lady. This has to do with the facts. Hugh bought Aladdin from Holland and had him imported. Most European horses have a computer microchip implanted in their necks for identification. When Aladdin died, I used a scanner to check his microchip number. The horse that died of colic five years ago was Aladdin.”

  Stunned by what he was saying, Jas sank down onto the sofa. “That can’t be! Because Aladdin is here, in Miss Hahn’s barn.”

  Danvers’s woolly eyebrows shot up.

  “What?”

  “Shadow is Aladdin.”

  “Jas. Get a grip. Aladdin died. There’s no way Hugh could have faked that microchip.”

  “No way?” Jas croaked. “Couldn’t he have taken the chip out—”

  “No!” Danvers said firmly. “Once they’re implanted in the neck, they’re almost impossible to remove. And it would be just as impossible to reinsert it in another horse’s neck.”

  Jas fell back against the sofa pillows, drained. If what Danvers said was true, then her whole idea about Shadow was just an obsession. Hugh must have thrown out the horse’s name to divert her from digging into Whirlwind’s death.

  But she wasn’t giving up yet. She had one more idea to run by Danvers. “So if Shadow by some wild chance is Aladdin … he would still have that microchip in his neck, right?”

  Setting down his glass, Danvers threw his hands in the air. “I give up. What is it going to take to get you to drop this nutty idea?”

  “Easy. Use your scanner tonight to see if there’s a microchip in Shadow’s neck.”

  Danvers blew out a breath of frustration. “Jas, that’s crazy. There’s one chance in a million, no, a billion, that what you’re saying is true.”

  “And what if by some chance I’m right?” she countered.

  Danvers scowled at her, then threw up his hands again. “Okay, I give up. I’ll scan Shadow’s neck tonight.”

  “Yes!” Jas punched the air with her fist.

  “But even if he has a microchip, that doesn’t mean he’s Aladdin. I’ll have to find my old file on Aladdin to see if the numbers match up. Once a horse dies, his number is deleted from the national registry.”

  “Thank you.” Jas beamed at him.

  “Promise me one thing, though,” he said sternly.

  “What?”

  “We get to eat dinner first.” He patted his stomach. “The spaghetti sauce tasted terrific.”

  Jas grinned. “And just wait until you taste the salad!”

  “Chase, you’re going to have to get Shadow and bring him into the yard,” Jas said as they stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

  “Why me?” he asked, then immediately answered his own question. “Oh, right—lockdown time.”

  “I can’t go into the barn this late with this stupid thing on my ankle.” Annoyed, she kicked at her leg.

  Chase dried his hands on a dish towel. “What are you going to tell Miss Hahn?”

  “How about if you ask her to take you home. That will get rid of her. I don’t want her snooping around.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Okay, only promise you’ll call me later and tell me what happened.”

  “It’s a deal.” She smiled shyly at him, knowing that once they got on the phone, they would talk forever. Jas couldn�
�t remember ever having a friend like Chase. Then she remembered the kiss, and a warm flush spread up her neck.

  “Miss Hahn!” Chase hollered into the living room. “I gotta get home.”

  “Now?” Miss Hahn asked.

  “I have to be home by, uh, seven-thirty,” he fibbed.

  Miss Hahn sighed. “Oh, all right.”

  “Now quick,” Jas hissed as she finished drying a plate. “Run and get Shadow. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  Chase threw her the dish towel, then bounded from the kitchen.

  Jas busied herself with the dishes. “He’ll meet you out by the van,” she told Miss Hahn ten minutes later when she came in with her purse and car keys. Danvers was right behind her.

  “Dr. Danvers, while they’re gone, could you check Shadow’s leg for me? I think it was puffy from jumping the other day. Chase is bringing him around.”

  “In the dark?” Miss Hahn said, but then Chase yelled “woo-hoo” from the backyard, and she hurried out the door.

  Jas dried her hands, slipped on her sneakers, and followed them out. Shadow stood in the light from the back porch, his head up and eyes glowing. Chase was hopping on one foot.

  “Hey, big boy, it’s all right,” Jas soothed as she crossed the lawn.

  “It’s not all right,” Chase grumbled. “The big clod stepped on my foot.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” Jas yanked the lead from his hand. “Would you get her out of here?” she said, pointing to Miss Hahn.

  Still grimacing, he hobbled after Miss Hahn, mumbling, “If I knew detective work was going to be this hard …”

  Jas let Shadow graze while she waited for Danvers to get the scanner from his pickup. The big horse’s ears flicked at the unfamiliar sight of an electronic scanner. When Danvers came up holding it, he snorted anxiously.

  “It transmits a radio signal to the microchip,” Danvers explained to Jas as he turned it on and began passing it over Shadow’s neck. Pinning his ears, the big horse danced sideways.

  Jas shortened her hold on the lead and reassured him with a massage on his withers. “You’re all right, you big baby.”