Shadow Horse Page 5

  I’m really doing a number on this place, Jas thought as she turned off the trimmer and dropped the goggles around her neck. She’d mowed the lawn, shaped the boxwoods, and weeded the beds. She’d even asked Miss Hahn to order a load of mulch, which was being delivered in the afternoon.

  Not that this will ever look like High Meadows Farm, Jas reminded herself.

  She was walking to the shed, the trimmer hanging off one shoulder, when Mr. Eyler, her probation officer, drove up. Jas didn’t stop to greet him, but instead, kept walking toward the house. He’ll catch up, she said to herself.

  They met in the kitchen. Jas sipped a glass of water, her cheeks streaked with sweat, while Mr. Eyler drank a cup of coffee.

  “At your trial on Monday, the judge heard only negative things about you.” Mr. Eyler set his briefcase on the table and opened it. “Today, we need to come up with at least three goals so that when you go before him in forty-five days he’ll see how much progress you’ve made.”

  “Forty-one days,” Jas corrected.

  “Pardon?” Mr. Eyler looked up at her, and Jas met his eyes with a steady gaze.

  “I go before the judge in forty-one days,” she clarified.

  “Right.” Mr. Eyler pulled out a file and a pad of paper. “Let’s think about three goals you would like to work on during these forty-one days. Miss Hahn tells me you’ve been working in the yard.”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “And that you went to the library Tuesday and checked out some books to read.”

  “Twenty. I’ve read six so far.”

  Jas had checked out lots of books on true crime, detective work, and police procedures. She figured the more she knew about being a detective, the better the chance she had to catch Hugh. But she wasn’t about to tell Eyler that.

  He raised one pale brow. “You’re a fast reader.”

  “I have a lot of time.”

  He cleared his throat. “So what do you think you’d like to work on? For example, some kids make remaining drug-free a goal.”

  “That sounds good for them. But I’ve always been drug-free,” Jas said.

  “Oh, right. Well, here’s another example that might be more appropriate. Your goal would be to continue following the rules of probation so that you can visit your grandfather a couple times a week. Sound good?”

  Jas shot upright in her chair. “You’ve talked to him? You’ve seen him? Is he all right? Ms. Tomlinson said she was going to find out where he was, but I haven’t heard a word from her.”

  Mr. Eyler nodded. “Your grandfather’s out of the hospital and in The Stanford House, which is an excellent nursing home in town. And he’s ready to have visitors.” Mr. Eyler smiled. Jas could tell he was genuinely happy to give her the news.

  “Thank you.” She could feel herself choking up. Quickly, she stood to get another glass of water. “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you. So, we can make following probation rules a goal?”

  Jas nodded. “Definitely.”

  “Since you like horses, perhaps one of the goals can be working several hours a day with the animals on the farm. And since you’ve been doing such a great job in the yard, we could also add more yard and farm work as a goal,” said Mr. Eyler.

  “Umm, okay,” Jas said, frowning.

  Great, I bet Miss Hahn put Eyler up to that just so she would get more free labor, she thought. What a dirty trick.

  “When can I see my grandfather?”

  “Hopefully, this Sunday. Is that soon enough?”

  “Yes!” She was so excited that she punched the air with her fist.

  “I’d like you to think about one more goal.” Mr. Eyler thoughtfully tapped his pen on the table. “The judge is going to ask you about what happened the day you assaulted Mr., uh …” He consulted a paper in the file.

  “Robicheaux,” Jas said.

  “That’s right. He’s going to ask if you understand that you did something wrong so he can judge whether you’ll ever do anything like that again.”

  Jas’s gaze dropped to the table.

  “You need to put it behind you, Jas.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” Raising her eyes, she faced him with an expression of such sincere remorse, it was spooky. “I understand why I attacked Mr. Robicheaux. The death of the horse and my grandfather’s collapse were overwhelming, and I took it out on Hugh. It was wrong of me.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come to grips with it,” Mr. Eyler said.

  And I’m glad you bought that act, Jas thought. “Perhaps a fourth goal would be learning to control my temper,” she continued, the lies rolling smoothly off her tongue. “I know now that I attacked Mr. Robicheaux because I was distraught and lashed out blindly.”

  “That’s an excellent goal. Accepting responsibility for your actions is one of the most important things you can do.” He wrote something on his pad. Jas craned her neck, trying to read it. “And how are you and Miss Hahn getting along?” he asked as he closed the file and dropped it in his briefcase.

  “Fine.”

  “That’s good.”

  Really good. Eyler had believed her whole act. Jas sat back with a pleased expression on her face.

  Tessa admired Sam from the corner of her eye. From all angles, Sam Winston was the perfect hunk. Sighing longingly, Tessa shoved her books in her locker. Too bad he didn’t even know she was alive.

  Jas rolled her eyes as she flopped the book facedown on the quilt. Another story about a girl pining after some guy. How come authors never wrote about missing their grandfathers?

  Fluffy the cat started kneading the covers. Jas leaned down and scratched the calico’s ears. He was balled in a circle, between her legs. It was nine o’clock Friday night, and they were both in bed. Jas was reading, her riding helmet snug on her head.

  Ms. Tomlinson had arrived earlier that night with clothes from the farm. Jas hadn’t dared ask her about Old Sam or Phil. But as soon as she’d taken everything to her room, she’d hugged her helmet and riding boots and cried longingly.

  A light rap on the door made Jas look up.

  “May I come in?”

  “Sure.” Jas wondered what Miss Hahn wanted. She still couldn’t figure the woman out. If she was a spy, she wasn’t trying too hard. She never pried or poked around. As far as Jas could tell, the farm and all its dopey animals were the only things she cared about.

  When Miss Hahn opened the door, she stared at Jas for a second, a faint smile on her face.

  Oops. Jas suddenly realized she was still wearing her riding helmet. Whipping it off, she dropped it on the bed.

  “Ms. Tomlinson called. Your Sunday visitation with your grandfather has been approved,” Miss Hahn said.

  Jas grinned excitedly. “That’s great! I can’t wait.” I’ve waited too long as it is.

  “It’s set for one o’clock. I’m not sure for how long. That will be up to the nursing home.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to see him.” Picking up the book, Jas opened it back to where she had left off, hoping that Miss Hahn would get the hint and leave. Being alone with the woman made her uneasy. Jas was afraid she’d let her guard down or say something she shouldn’t.

  “One more thing. I’m going to need your help tomorrow.”

  Jas frowned. “Doing what?”

  “Saturday’s the auction at Front Royal. I’m one man short. It takes two people to load and haul, and Chase won’t be here. You’re going to have to come because—”

  Because I have to be supervised every second, Jas thought gloomily.

  “Because I’m going to need someone who knows horses. I never know what I’m going to find at the auction.”

  Jas wondered what she was talking about. In the spring, she’d gone to a horse auction in Kentucky with her grandfather and Phil. The Thoroughbreds had been gorgeous, fetching prices over a million dollars. Obviously, this wasn’t that kind of auction.

  “Why don’t you ask Lucy or one of the other volunteers?” Jas
asked.

  “They don’t have the experience.”

  “All right, then,” Jas reluctantly agreed. She really didn’t have a choice. If she refused, Miss Hahn would just mention Jas’s obligation to work on the goals Mr. Eyler had written down.

  “Good.” Miss Hahn gave her a hesitant smile. “Are you enjoying the books you checked out?”

  “They’re okay. I really like the ones you suggested by James Herriot, the veterinarian in England.”

  “Chase turned me on to those.”

  Chase. That was twice she’d heard his name. “We don’t have to leave until after lunch,” Miss Hahn added.

  “Great, that will give me time to spread the mulch.” Jas began reading again, hoping that this time Miss Hahn would take the hint.

  “Well, good night, and I really appreciate you getting the yard in shape. Everybody’s commented on how good it looks.”

  Jas nodded, her eyes still on the page. When Miss Hahn shut the door, she let out a sigh of relief. Being on constant guard was hard work.

  And what really puzzled her was how nice Miss Hahn acted. Then Jas remembered Hugh and his false smile. He’d been able to charm a snake. Miss Hahn was probably just like him.

  All week, she’d avoided her foster parent by working in the yard and reading. But tomorrow would have to be different.

  Tomorrow, she’d have to spend a whole afternoon with her. With a groan, Jas let the book fall on her face. She wasn’t looking forward to it in the least.

  Nine

  “WE HAVE EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS to spend,” Miss Hahn shouted above the roar and grind of the oldest pickup truck Jas had ever ridden in.

  Eight hundred and fifty dollars? Jas had no idea what kind of horse Miss Hahn expected to buy. Not a Thoroughbred, that was for sure.

  Jas was sitting in the front seat, squashed between Miss Hahn and Chase, the person who wasn’t supposed to have been coming along. He showed up at the last minute saying he’d decided not to go to the lake with his family after all.

  “Since we adopted out Tansey and Gunther, we’ve got two vacancies,” Chase hollered. Behind the truck, the horse trailer creaked and rattled with every twist and bump in the road.

  Arms hugging her sides, Jas scrunched herself into a ball so she wouldn’t touch any of Chase’s body parts. Oh, why did I wear shorts today? she thought as she stared at her legs, which looked as white and skinny as noodles.

  “And Happy’s ready to adopt out, too.” Chase leaned forward so he could talk to Miss Hahn. His jeans-clad leg pressed into Jas’s thigh. Jas flinched, but continued to stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him—even though he was so close she could smell him.

  “We’ll have to see what’s there,” Miss Hahn said. “I just hope it’s not another Goldie.”

  “Goldie?” Jas repeated, grateful to turn her attention to something other than Chase’s leg.

  “She was a little pony we rescued last month,” Miss Hahn explained. “So cute and sweet that you knew at one time she was a little kid’s treasured pet. But after we bought her, we soon realized that she was so old and sick that she needed to be put down right on the spot.”

  Jas wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You mean you rescued a horse just to put it to sleep?”

  “We do it all the time,” Chase said.

  “Our mission is to buy horses who are suffering,” Miss Hahn explained. “That means we often have to put them out of their misery.”

  Jas grimaced. What kind of horses were at this auction? She hoped none like Ruffles.

  The truck hit a pothole, and Jas clutched her stomach. The swaying and bouncing, the smell of sweat, and the talk about killing horses were beginning to make her carsick.

  “Are you all right?” Chase asked. He was tilted forward, his head turned toward her. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  Jas realized he was being nice. Still, she couldn’t forget what a creep he’d been on Monday. “Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I promise I won’t barf again.”

  “That’s not why I was worrying,” he muttered right back. “But now that you mention it, please don’t.”

  Reaching forward, he flipped on the radio and searched for a good song.

  Crossing her arms, Jas glared out the windshield as a country singer crooned, “My baby left me flat, takin’ my heart and my cat.”

  Miss Hahn made a noise of disgust, turned down the volume, then switched the station to classical music. Chase protested.

  “When you’re old enough to drive, you can pick the station,” she told him.

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the county fairgrounds, where the auction was being held. The parking lot was filled with horse trailers, vans, and a half-dozen two-tiered tractor-trailers. “The killer buyers are in full force today,” Miss Hahn said grimly as they passed a tractor-trailer half filled with horses.

  “Killer buyers?” Jas repeated.

  “That’s right,” said Miss Hahn.

  They parked under a lone tree. Jas slid across the seat while Chase held the door. Her stomach was a bit upset from the ride. She didn’t want to be here, and for once it didn’t have anything to do with Miss Hahn or Chase.

  After cracking the windows, Miss Hahn locked the truck. “Let’s tour the pens first,” she said to Chase. “And see what we’ve got.”

  “Right.” Chase glanced at Jas, who stood woodenly by the truck door. For a second, she met his gaze. His eyes were so blue, they matched the cloudless sky.

  Although she didn’t want to, Jas couldn’t help but wonder what Chase was thinking when he looked at her. An angry horse snob with pale thighs? Or maybe someone he thought was too scared to find out what this auction was all about? Or maybe an attractive young … Jas stopped to clear her head.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  “No, it’s all right. I think I’ll stay here,” she said. “I brought a book.” She held it up, blushing when she remembered that a girl and boy were kissing on the cover. Quickly, she flipped it around.

  “Suit yourself,” he muttered as he headed across the grass toward a low building.

  Miss Hahn came around the front of the truck. “Don’t mind him, Jas. He pretends he can handle it, but it’s hard for him, too. It’s hard for all of us.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  Miss Hahn shook her head. She’d worn a baseball cap with a logo that read: ALL GOD’S CREATURES HAVE A PLACE IN HEAVEN.

  “Because someone has to. But we aren’t making that much of a dent. About eighty percent of the horses at this auction will be bought by the killers. We obviously can’t save them all.”

  Jas had heard enough. Pressing the book against her chest, she hurried over to a tree. “I’ll just stay here and read,” she said, plopping down Indian-style with her back against the tree.

  Miss Hahn studied her.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back,” Jas assured her.

  “I know. We’ll try not to be too long,” Miss Hahn said, smiling. Then she left, striding after Chase with her swinging gait. Like a pirate with a peg leg, Jas decided, wondering if she’d injured it riding.

  Opening the book, Jas tried to read about lovesick Tessa and hunky Sam, but her mind drifted every time a horse whinnied or a truck started up. Whenever a horse was loaded on one of the huge tractor-trailers, the echo of hooves on the wooden ramp made Jas’s heart ache.

  She knew about the killer buyers. They bought loads of horses and hauled them to slaughterhouses. The meat was then shipped to Europe and Japan, where horse steaks are considered a delicacy.

  A man wearing a cowboy hat, his cheek bulging with chewing tobacco, walked by leading a horse. Jas watched the horse shuffle past, his head hanging so low that his bottom lip grazed the tips of the high grass.

  He was a big horse, over sixteen-three hands. Jas could tell that he had once been muscular, too. Jas thought he might be a Thoroughbred or a Warmblood, though it was hard to tell since his body was so
gaunt, his coat sprinkled with orange hair, his gait awkward because of stiffness in his hind end.

  As she continued to watch the horse pass, it dawned on Jas what was wrong with him. Last spring, Pocomo Pete, one of Hugh’s top field hunters, had started looking just like this one. At first, Hugh’s vet had been baffled. But after many tests, the vet figured out what was wrong. And Jas had spent so many hours with Pocomo and the vet that she’d recognize the same symptoms anywhere.

  Closing her book, she jumped to her feet. What’s going to happen to this horse? she thought. Her stomach began to tighten at the possibilities.

  Leaving her book by the tree, Jas hurried after the man and the horse. They disappeared through the entrance to the auction. “Eighty percent of the horses at this auction will be bought by the killers.” Miss Hahn’s statement echoed in Jas’s head. When she reached the building, she looked inside.

  People and horses were everywhere. She could hear the singsong voice of the auctioneer, and when she glanced to the left, she saw bleachers half hidden by a high wall. Beyond the wall was a small arena. She could just see the head of a horse as someone led it in front of the bidders.

  To her left and right were temporary stalls. At the end of the aisle, a ceiling-tall door opened to the outside, where she spotted corrals filled with horses, burros, and ponies.

  The cowboy and the horse were nowhere in sight. Jas walked down the aisle, peering into the stalls. Several held two or more horses packed together like sardines. They all had numbers stuck to their rumps.

  Crossing the aisle, she started up the other side. Since the place was spilling over with animals, she had no idea why she was so interested in this one horse. Maybe it was because she knew what was wrong with him. She knew he could be treated. She knew she could help. It had taken Pocomo Pete only two weeks to change from a depressed, sore-legged, orange-coated horse to his glossy, feisty old self. Pocomo was given a second chance. Unless she did something, this horse wouldn’t have one.

  As Jas passed the third stall, she saw him. He was standing in the darkest corner, facing away from her, his head in the shadows.