Chapter 1

Brad Strong yawned as he opened his front door to the August morning. The big gray dog beside him bounded out, his floppy sheep dog ear as alert as his Malamute upright ear. Brad chuckled, watching him chase his tail around twice, then heading for his favorite tree across the driveway. “Bolero, you’re such a creature of habit!”

He glanced around for the paper. From the cement stoop, headlines of The Rocky Mountain News glared at him.

PROMINENT GRAND JUNCTION WOMAN SHOT TO DEATH.

He picked up the paper, skimming the page two article. Natalie West. The name triggered a memory that wouldn’t quite surface. Where had he heard it? And when? In the last six months, he thought–the same time frame he had been digging into horse insurance fraud for his brother-in-law.

Retreating to the kitchen, he read further. Driving to her upscale home from her office, at an underpass of I-70, someone shot Ms. West twice. No witnesses, no apparent reason. She served on committees of several charitable organizations and ran a prosperous business with three other agents who spoke highly of her.

Insurance was insurance in his mind. Probably as small a world as any other in business. There might be a connection. Then again, maybe not. He weighed the possibilities. Fraud usually meant money–often big money. His six years as a cop had taught him thieves knew no honor–among themselves or anyone else. Eliminating one cut of the bread could equal murder. So could someone getting too close to the truth.

Mentally he shook his head. Not his problem. Yet, the siren song of a puzzle to be solved called him as unerringly as the scent of a mare in heat called a stud. The coffee pot hissed and sputtered completion of its task. With a cup of the steaming brew in his hand, he considered calling his ex-partner, now a detective with the Elbert County Sheriff’s Department. Mike didn’t miss much.

Waiting for the second ring, Grad grinned. Mike always checked caller I.D. “Hey, buddy, heard you’re back in the investigation business. About time.”

Brad knew about Mike’s extensive grapevine, too. He laughed. “You’ve been talking to Chuck.”

“Actually, I ran into your sister the other day. She mentioned you were working on puzzles again, so I called Chuck. I suppose you read about the murder in Grand Junction. Putting two and two together used to be your specialty. Any luck?”

“No. Just wondered if I could dig any info out of you.”

“Not much to dig for. Bulletin came through last night. Not as much as the News had this morning. You know the victim?”

“The name registered, but can’t connect where or why. How old a woman was she?”

“Mid thirties. Looker. We got a picture this morning. No family, though someone mentioned an ex-husband. Assume his name was West, but these days you never know. That’s about it. If you remember where you knew her, let me know.”

As soon as Brad hung up, the phone rang. He picked up a pencil and pulled a pad toward him, always ready for anyone needing his livestock hauling services–especially since business was slow.

Chuck Roberts sounded more than irritated. “An insurance agent was murdered last night. Think there’s any connection to our investigation?”

Brad drummed the pencil against the pad. “What investigation might that be?” He grinned, knowing the facetious question could set his brother-in-law into either an angry tirade or resignation.

Chuck’s sigh was audible. “Don’t give me that crap. The insurance company is breathing down my neck for answers and they want them yesterday!”

Brad always enjoyed pushing his luck–one of his weaknesses. “Hey, lawyers are supposed to do lawyering, not sleuthing.”

The voice in his ear turned irritated again. “Yeah, and a washed-up ex-cop who never could keep his hands off an intriguing puzzle isn’t supposed to sit around on his ass doing nothing.”

The pencil stilled. Brad didn’t like the reminder. Then he laughed. “Touché. I just talked with Mike about the murder. No connection that I’m aware of.” The pencil restarted its rhythm.

“I can’t understand why hauling horses around the country hasn’t given you any clues to the how or who in the horse world is involved.”

“Not a squeak. I can’t afford to make a lot of inquiries when I’m on the road, but I thought I’d get wind of something.”

To Brad, silence on the line suggested serious thinking on the other end. He waited.

“What if I put you on the payroll? At, say, $1000 a day.”

The pencil stopped drumming. “You know how to get a guy’s attention.” His mind quickly added up his business costs per day. With that kind of money, his tractor and all the trailers could sit around doing nothing without him worrying about payments.

Chuck laughed. “I’ll twist your arm a bit. Plus actual expenses incurred for the investigation. You might start tomorrow with the big show right here. Pru’s judging.”

Brad would enjoy watching Pru Fleming judge. He grinned. He had always enjoyed watching Pru Fleming do anything. “If you’re sure the insurance company will foot that kind of bill, you got yourself a deal.”

“They’re looking at a minimum million-dollar-a-month drain at the moment. They won’t quibble.”

A horse nickered from the corral behind the house. Brad checked the time. “Okay, buddy, don’t get so impatient. I’ll be out in a moment.”

When he went out the backdoor, Bolero whuffed then bounded toward the corral. Feeding the two geldings took no thought. Brad’s mind turned to the regional charity show and from there to Pru. He remembered the long-legged bean-pole with tawny braids and eyes that dominated her face. The first time he saw her she was scrapping with four brothers–and winning. He was eleven and she eight. They showed horses together, stood at each other’s backs as they grew up. She dominated his first wet dream–and a lot of them since, both wet and dry. He chuckled with annoyance at his body’s current reaction, almost twenty-five years later and never fulfilled. When she married Mark Pigeon, he married her best friend on the rebound. Mark died less than a month later, but he was stuck with Betty for two years.

Regrets. He wondered how one fool could have so many.

Throughout the day, he tried to put Pru from his mind without much luck. Darkness falling reminded him that horse shows meant early hours. “Come on, Bolero. Bed time.”

Bolero raised his head, then scrambled to his feet, wagging his tail, both upright and flop-ear at attention, as he went to the door.

###

Brad wondered if the phone ringing before dawn meant trouble or someone needing livestock hauled that day. He groped in the dark for the portable, recognizing Doc Starnes voice. Horse hauling, he thought.

“I’m in a heck of a mess, Brad. I promised the girls I’d haul all their horses to the show this morning and my truck won’t start. Are you tied up?”

“How many head?” Brad thought of the dually pickup and two horse trailer Doc owned. Didn’t mean only two horses. Doc often hauled them in relays. And this wasn’t the first time he had taken advantage of Brad’s services.

“Seven total. Haul them however you want.”

“How soon do I need to be there?”

Doc sighed. “As soon as possible. The girls are already arriving. First class at seven.”

Glancing at the time, Brad made some calculations. “I can do it..”

“Thanks. That’s a load off my mind, I’ll tell you!”

With a grin, Brad pulled on clothes. He had just enough time to hitch the eight horse trailer to the tractor, pick up the horses just down the road and get to Elizabeth in time for the first class of the day. Then he could watch Pru. Hell of a deal. “Come on, Bolero. We get paid for this trip!”

Halter classes usually bored Brad, but Pru’s judging intrigued him. From scowls around, he suspected a few didn’t agree with her. He thought a Quarter Horse was meant for riding, and she placed performance qualities high. Couldn’t fault her there. Couldn’t fault her anywhere. The years hadn’t changed his thinking of her as a real thoroughbred. He knew she saw him, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Nothing different there either.

During the noon hour lull, he leaned, half asleep, against a post in the shade of the announcer’s stand. Muted voices blended with an occasional stamp of a hoof or a horse blowing. The sound of a shot startled him. Rousing, he heard it again. Not a shot. The crack of a whip.

Eyes narrowed, Brad swung on his heel. He scanned the area around the arena. Horses moved nervously.

Settling his wide brimmed hat forward to shade his eyes, he turned in the direction the horses’ ears pointed. He and every animal in sight cringed at another whip strike, accompanied by frantic scrabbling. A pup whimpered, creeping under a trailer. The sound came from the trail-class area behind the grandstand. Show rules barred it to contestants. He moved toward it. At the gate he gritted his teeth, finally able to see the fracas through the clouds of dust it raised.

Rice Garret held the reins of a terrorized animal, striking her wherever the whip fell. His eyes bulged in a red, enraged face. His lips pursed into a thin line. The veins in his neck distended. “I’ll teach you some manners!”

The filly’s flanks heaved, her chest covered with welts. As she tried to escape the vicious whip, her hoofs clattered on the tin wall behind her. The whip descended again. This time the filly screamed as it sliced across an eye.

Gall rising in his throat, Brad vaulted the gate. Garret raised his arm to strike again; Brad snatched the whip from his hand. “You stupid bastard. Out of control again.”

Garret turned, swinging a wild punch. Brad side-stepped, his movement so quick that the crazed man didn’t see the battering-ram fist until his face ran into it.

The mare jerked her reins free, racing to the gate. She flipped around, quivering, to stare at them.

Garret glared after he hit the ground. “You son-of-a-bitch it’s none of your business,!”

Brad stood very still, his eyes reflecting the revulsion he felt. “Just be glad I’m not Pru. She’d boot your ass out of every horse show on the face of the earth.”

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Garret’s eyes flickered. “I gotta show.”

Only steel control kept Brad from beating the man as the man had beat the horse. His clenched fists contradicted the softness of his voice. “Get that mare over to the show vet. You probably blinded her.”

Garret scrambled up, speaking only when his feet took him out of reach. “I’ll get even with you!”

Watching Garret retrieve the filly that had stood so proudly at halter that morning, Brad felt sick. She followed Garret, head down, ears drooping, keeping as much distance from him as her reins allowed.

Slapping the whip against his jeans clad leg, Brad took several shaky breaths. He didn’t trust himself to follow until man and horse disappeared into the parking area.

Returning to his shaded spot by the announcer’s stand, he twitched his nose at the pungent odor of fresh horse piles, replete with buzzing flies. Puffs of dust arose as one animal or another stomped a hoof to rid himself of an insect. A mare tied to a nearby fence bellowed and bucked at the end of her halter rope. She sidled her rear toward him, violently twitching the muscles across her loins. The biggest horse fly Brad had ever seen bored into a hollow in her back. With a chuckle, he walked over and swatted it away. The mare heaved a sigh as he patted her on the rump.

Except for charity events such as this, AQHA rules forbade judges working shows close to home. Brad doubted Pru had accepted the judging job with grace. His admiration for her had grown all day. A wide brimmed gray hat covered short-cropped, chestnut hair. Her tall, elegant figure in western shirt and belled pants looked good to him. Damned good, he reminded himself.

Nearby in the arena she and Nate Howard, the ring steward, bent heads over a clip board. Her eyes met his over Nate’s head. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, Brad? Hauling show horses? Since when?”

Humor flicked across his face, starting at the right corner of a generous mouth, adding gold to the brown flecks in his eyes. “Since the chance came along and the money was right. I’m glad to see you, too.”

A dust devil whipped their clothes. Nate shook the debris from the clipboard. “You adjust Garret’s face, Brad? That mare didn’t look good when they went by.”

Pru’s eyes shot fury. “Garret’s abusing his horses again? You should have turned him in.”

Brad didn’t exactly question why he hadn’t done just that, he simply ignored the possibility.

She balled her hand into a fist. “Was it the big bay mare he’s shown all summer?”

Nate shook his head. “The two-year old filly you placed first this morning. Judging from her eye, probably the last time we’ll see her.” He glanced around the parking area. “At least he took her to the vet.”

Brad raised a questioning brow. “You expecting something with a bay mare?”

The clip board drew Pru’s attention. “I disqualified him at Houston three weeks ago for inhumane treatment. He split her tongue yanking on her. Let’s get on with this, Nate.”

“Sure thing.” Trotting toward the gate Nate took out his two-way, speaking into it. A few minutes later, the brassy PA system blared against the quiet of the day, “Junior western pleasure please enter the arena.”

A Channel 8 van pulled into the parking area. The TV crew emerged to set up. The show photographer looked up, stepping away from his assistant as he finished loading his camera.

With hat pushed back, Brad moved a blade of brome grass from one corner of his mouth to the other. Taking a swipe at the sweat on his forehead, he wished to hell it wasn’t so damned hot. He thought longingly of his twice-weekly rifle practice in an air conditioned indoor range or a workout with his karate trainer in another air conditioned room. He grinned to himself, glad not to be among the contestants.

Two young women sighed in passing. He ignored them and the dozen teenagers who edged closer in hopes he’d notice them. From atop her horse, Barbara Starnes called him. He walked over to see what she wanted. Two of her friends rode horses he had transported. His hand automatically smoothed the gelding’s mane. “What’s up?”

All three girls giggled. Several others nearby watched enviously. Brad raised an eyebrow, waiting, not unaware of the byplay.

Taking a deep breath, Barbara introduced her friends. Brad acknowledged with a still-raised eyebrow.

“We wondered when you’d want to take the horses home?”

Mentally he shook his head, wondering why females in general plagued him with attention–not unappreciated, but still a deep mystery to him. “After your last class.” He turned away. “Good luck, all of you.”

Behind him he heard more than three sighs.

Thoroughly bored with pleasure classes, he wandered over to the roach coach and ordered a burger.

He couldn’t ignore the petite woman in designer jeans, high heeled leather half boots and a red silk shirt. She wouldn’t let him. Idet Garret smiled at him as she pranced by, her perfume strong enough to tickle a sneeze deep in his nose. After ordering a spritzer, she batted large dark eyes. He tried to keep his shudder from showing.

Hell, I must be getting senile, he told himself. Idet stood between him and his view of Pru. He thought she would win any contest, beauty or otherwise, with this sleaze ball. As her eyes met his, Pru frowned then turned her back.

From the corner of his eye, Brad saw Garret take the filly from the vet’s truck to his trailer and tie her to the ring on one side. He walked around, returning a moment later leading a bay mare. He shouted, “Come take care of your horse, woman!”

Brad watched in disgust as Idet tripped away at the command of her ex-husband. Jesus, even Idet doesn’t need to kow-tow to the likes of Garret.

Turning toward the barn, Garret yelled, “Hey, Rube! Come get this filly.”

Several contestants winced at the tone. Brad winced at the nick name, knowing how much the sixteen-year-old hated it. Ruben Garret, three inches taller than his father, still couldn’t be considered tall. Brad remembered when Idet’s bleached blonde hair had been the soft golden-brown of her son’s. The boy moved with none of the exaggerated swagger his father affected, but horse people recognized a rider’s gait.

Brad saw Ruben’s quickly concealed irritation, but he couldn’t make out his words as he untied the filly. Rice raised a clenched fist, his words clear. “I don’t give a goddamn. If you took lessons from me instead of that bitch, you’d be showing, not whining.”

Slapping a saddle blanket on the mare’s back, Idet spun around with hands balled on both hips. “He takes lessons from Pru because she’s better than you!”

Everyone within hearing saw a fight brewing. Several eased away–anyplace except around the Garrets. Taking Idet’s arm, Ruben surprised them all. “Come on, Mom. Trading insults with him doesn’t get us anywhere.” They turned toward the barns.

Garret’s face purpled, veins on his neck distending. “Saddle that horse!”

Idet looked back only a moment. “I’m paying you to show her. You do it.” She disappeared around the barn with her son.

Brad grinned to himself as he returned to his place under the announcer’s stand. He sensed Ruben before he heard him, turning to watch the youth approach. “You handled that well.”

Ruben bloomed with pleasure a moment before his shoulders drooped. “Why does he always rub it in?”

“Well, let’s see... Because he’s insecure? Or maybe he had a fight with his partner and you got the brunt of it.”

A half-hearted grin spread over Ruben’s face. “Aw, Brad. You always pull that on me!”

It always makes you grin, too, thought Brad as the corners of his own mouth turned up. “Hear you’re bucking for high point youth this year. Pru have anything to do with that?”

This time Ruben grinned with enthusiasm. “Yeah. I’ve been riding with her almost a year now. It’s sure made a difference. She’s great, isn’t she?”

Turning back to the arena, Brad placed a foot on the lowest rail and both hands on top of the fence. “She is that.” His chest tightened almost to the point of pain as he watched her. To him, great barely touched on the woman. Other words popped into his head: beautiful, kind, funny, independent, sexy, talented. They all applied.

He straightened as two men walked into his shade.

Beads of sweat lay on Doc Starnes jovial face. Brad grinned at him. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

Starnes wiped his face with a large handkerchief from his pocket. “Sure glad you could haul the horses.” He looked sideways at Ruben. “You suppose one of the girls could win more if you stayed away from the shows?”

Ruben’s face flushed, but he grinned. “Pru says you gotta be as good as you can.” He turned to the second man. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Mr. Pigeon.”

Starnes stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Ran into Axel at the coffee shop and asked him along. Expect he’ll try to sweet talk your mother out of that mare again.”

Brad extended his hand. “Axel. Don’t see much of you–but there’s no better reason to be at a horse show than a good looking horse that might be for sale–unless it’s a good looking woman riding one.”

Axel took the hand. “Any woman is good looking on a beautiful horse. How do you always manage to find the coolest spot around?”

Knowing Axel expected no answer, Brad turned back to see a class ending. As Pru and Nate stopped beside the arena fence, Nate said, “Break after reining. That okay?”

Pru nodded, signing the tally for the class. “If you’ll get me a big glass of water.”

“Coming up.”

A minute later, Nate thrust his two-way, clip board and the bottle of water into Brad’s hand. “Take over for me a few minutes. I gotta get to the sand box!” He loped off as Brad glanced in surprise at the three items. The others grinned at each other. Before entering the arena, he handed the whip to Ruben. “Take care of that. I think it’s your dad’s.”

As Brad stopped beside Pru, a sardonic smile accompanied her words. “Now I have you where I want you–I can order you around.” She took the bottle and gulped the tepid water. The thought crossed Brad’s mind that she could order him around anytime she wanted. Up to a point anyhow. And in the right direction.

Brad’s idea of a good time did not include battling dust and heat as ring steward, but after years of showing he understood the duties. Besides, he had a ringside view of reining. He could also stand close enough to Pru to enjoy her scent. After boring classes, the TV crew set up for this important class. To Brad’s surprise, Jim Carlisle, Channel 8 news manager, joined them.

Four riders out, Garret stepped his bay mare into the arena and walked her into position. Pru frowned but nodded for him to begin.

When Garret stopped the mare for her inspection, the sneer in his voice matched the sneer on his face. “Laid Flaming won’t disqualify me this time.”

Brad’s fist clenched at the old epithet from Pru’s middle and last names–Adelaide Fleming. He clamped control over his temper. Glancing sideways at Pru, he saw her mouth thin, though she ignored the remark.

“Please remove the bridle.”

Dismounting, Garret slipped the bridle from the mare’s head.

After checking the mouth, she nodded. “You’re excused,”

Brad watched Pru study the mare, look off into the distance, then return to the mare. He felt the questions in her mind as clearly as if they had been his own. “Problem?”

“What’s he done to her? Have show management check her against her papers, will you? She’s different today.”

Handing Nate the board and pager at the gate, Brad leaned against a post as Garret came out. He kept his voice low. “You ever call Pru that again, Garret, I’ll personally see you in hell.”

Rice jutted his chin. A leer crossed his face as he pinched his nose with his free hand. “Somethin’ don’t smell good around here, bull hauler.”

Nate closed the gate behind a new contestant. “Ignore him. Bastard isn’t worth your time.”

Brad’s glance, hard and cold, followed Garret. “Somebody’s going to take him down one of these days,”

Nate shrugged, laughing. “You’ll have to stand in line.”

###

After three more junior horses and ten senior reiners, Nate took Pru’s clip board. “The committee wants you to inspect the trail course, Pru. I’ll try to get the arena watered down.”

She took the water he handed her. “Thanks, Nate. Behind the grandstand as usual?”

He nodded, loping off.

She noted Brad’s absence. He had been there minutes before. Garret’s rig stood beside the stall barn, one door on the trailer half open. Good way to get a horse’s hip knocked down, she thought. Flies buzzed around piles of manure in the trailer. Lazy slob crossed her mind. From the corner of her eye she saw Idet’s red Cherokee spray gravel starting away. She raised her hand in farewell to her friend and her student, then scowled as Axle Pigeon nodded from the passenger seat. She hadn’t been able to free herself of the man in twenty years and wondered if she ever would. Ignoring him served her well, though she knew she was a minority of one.

Shade from the grandstand relieved the sun’s searing rays as Pru took stock of the enclosed trail class area. No weed or blade of grass stirred. A semi tractor hitched to a forty-foot horse van, windows and doors on both units open, sat in the corner of the area. At this distance, she couldn’t read the name on the door or see anything of the man in the cab except booted feet propped against the windshield but she recognized Brad. A flood of memories washed over her. Shutting them out with a vengeance, she set her mind to examining the course.

Three gates offered entrance. The swinging gate complained as she passed through. As the first obstacle, mounted riders would open and close it. The long metal one in front of Brad’s tractor remained closed and latched. She tested the door into the pig barn, always kept locked except at fair time. It didn’t budge. She wanted no gates or doors swinging around for a spooked horse to run into. She measured the height of the jump to be sure it met the rules. Her footsteps sounded pleasantly hollow on the sturdy, yard wide, railed bridge. She shook the gunny-sack of tin cans by its rope then hung it back on the fence. It rattled enough to startle a horse. A set of old tires spaced so that a horse could pick his way through them and a large water obstacle, surrounded and partially filled by high weeds, completed the course.

As she approached the water, a ragged yellow cat jumped from the fence near the truck. Barking preceded a large gray body barreling from the cab. Trying to keep from falling after the dog, Brad cursed. “Bolero, get back here.” He drowned the yowl from the cat as it jumped, using Pru as a springboard into the weeds. She tried to catch her balance but landed on her rear, hearing a sharp snap and the sickening sound of metal crunching bone.

The cat screamed, thrown in the air by the force of the steel trap jaws. Then it lay still.

Brad cursed again, his hand on the dog’s collar. “You all right, Pru?”

On her feet, she dusted herself off, her face blanching. “A horse could have sprung that trap! What’s it doing here?” She took a step toward the weeds.

He pulled her back. “Or you could have stepped in it. There’s something in the pond.”

Nate Howard ran around the end of the stands. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes blazing, Pru pointed to the trap. “I’ll have this show’s credentials, Nate.”

Genuine shock crossed his face. “Nobody with the show did that, Pru. I think you know all of us well enough to believe me. I’ll get the vet.”

Pru stepped toward the still cat, but Brad grabbed her arm. “Stay back. Something’s rotten about this.” Releasing the dog’s collar, he pointed at the truck. “Get the hell in the cab, Bolero.”

With his brush of a tail between his legs, one ear lopped down, the other at half mast against his head, the big dog slunk away. Voices preceded the group of people rushing around the end of the grandstand. The vet and Nate led, closely followed by a man with a Channel 8 camcorder over his shoulder.

Picking up the cat and trap in his still-gloved hands, the vet frowned. “A trap doesn’t kill an animal this quickly.” A cursory examination made him shake his head. “Shows signs of poison. Must have ingested it just before the trap got him.”

Pru shook her head. “He ran like any cat chased by a dog. Yowled like a healthy cat, too.”

Brad picked up a nearby stick. Stepping to the edge of the pond, he prodded the water.

A boot emerged.

A leg followed it.

He threw down the stick. “We got more than a dead cat.”

No one moved as a back wavered just below the surface, the ornately carved leather belt blaring Rice Garret.

Return to Johanna's Page