The cops slam the tailgate on their pickup truck which draws my eyes and causes me to study the accident scene one more time. Now I'll never forget the dead stallion's body strapped to the truck, the firemen, and the bloodstained sand. It's all etched in my brain like the names and dates on the crystal bowls in the trophy room.
The cool air and equine smell of the stables envelopes me and I shiver. The sinister barn cat who abandoned her offspring glares at me from a salt lick between two empty stalls. There are voices ahead and I increase speed to help squash the notion that I'm trespassing.
Near the center of the complex, adjacent to the indoor arena, I find Monica Locksley with her eyes on her phone. Delia Masterson brushes her horse beside Monica's white mare. Both girls' eyes are puffy and their faces are red from crying.
"Oh, God no. They ruined it." Moni drags her fingers up screen which tells me she's scrolling through comments on Instagram.
"Delete it." Delia says.
"No..."
"Oh my Gawd. Yes! Delete it dumdum." The redhead reaches for Monica's phone, but the blond pulls away and they grapple. Moni's horse chortles when the girls bump her.
"Take it outside." Bernard appears with a shovel full of horse dung. "Go on. I'll finish up in here."
Monica seems happy to oblige. She clutches her phone to her chest protectively and raises her eyes toward the exit but freezes when she sees me alone in the aisle. Both girls gasp at my unescorted presence in their sanctum.
"Why are you creeping around?"
"I'm just here to get Ainsley's riding saddle."
"Well get it then." Delia points in the direction of Kaiser's stall on the other side of the arena.
"Stay away from our horses," Monica says as they pick up their personal belongings.
Bernard empties his shovel and recovers the wood handled brush that Delia dropped. He scans her horse's flank and finishes her job. The ladies resume their bickering at the end of the corridor. They disappear left and their argument dislodges the barn cat who yowls in protest.
"You're wearing our uniform," Mr. Delany startles me. He points at his own matching coveralls, and then to my head, "but where is your lovely hat?"
"Huh? Oh, it stopped working." I glance back at the girls, eager to change the subject. "What're they fighting about?" I ask him and he just smiles. I don't expect him to answer, but he does.
"Comments appeared on Miss Locksley's phone which caused them both considerable consternation," Bernard reports smartly and his diction lightens my mood. I recall how he referred to my headpiece as millinery which is another old word. He must have a heightened sense of equestrian culture and I can appreciate that; I like his style, even if he is a curmudgeon.
Thanks to Mr. Delany, I believe I know what triggered Monica. The last picture I saw her post online was the group shot I snapped of them on horseback. I took that photo and watched her compose a description before she published. Now I imagine the news of Tanya's accident is spreading online, and that picture must carry new significance. I'd like to see the upsetting comments. Bernard surprises me again.
"Miss Chan probably didn't mean to kill Cortes, or harm Tanya," the barn manager waits to see how I'll react. He's testing me. He hopes I'll confess something or act guilty, but I stamp it out.
"Ainsley didn't do anything wrong," I reply. "She fed Tanya's horse some stale peanuts. Which I gather... Was kind of dumb. But not deadly."
"We all saw her feed Cortes. That's what I'll report. I saw her do it with my own eyes."
What he'll report? Mr. Delany expects to be questioned and his eye-witness testimony will be another damning indictment.
I nod politely and walk away. On the other side of the barn complex, Kaiser sees me coming and makes himself available for petting. The big horse must wonder what's happening. They say horses can sense emotions and so he must sense my rising apprehension.
My friend's English riding saddle is right where we left it, hours ago, and I'm just picking it up when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text from Ainsley.
′They're taking me in for questioning. Newmarket police station. My dad is meeting me there.′ She ends with an unhappy face emoji.
Oh no. That's bad. This is really bad.
"You got this." I reply quickly. "Will bring saddle home with me." That has to be the end of it; the police will read her messages.
If Tanya Brummel succumbs to her wounds, Ainsley Chan could be charged with murder. I really should get the heck out of here. Will they let me pass? Or will I be questioned too? What else can I do to save my own skin? What can I do to help my friend? She's innocent. I feel it in my gut now and I'm getting anxious because it seems like everyone here is against her.
Kaiser becomes a therapy horse to help me relax. We hug for another minute and I kiss his muzzle before I pick up my friend's property. But I set her saddle down again when I spot a good opportunity for intelligence gathering. At the end of the aisle is an opening which accesses the Staff-Only section. It's the same private area where I met Dr. Swansea and the two racehorses. My eyes explore the forbidden zone and I see the unguarded storeroom. On the wall by the window is the metal locker marked Veterinarian. I remember how that cabinet contained medicine bottles, but I'd only just caught a glimpse before Jon closed it.
Bernard is still occupied with the girls' horses on the other side of the barn. He's forgotten about me and nobody else is around. Twenty paces and I could sneak in there and open that cupboard. I could use my phone to record Jonathan's entire pantry. It's not that I don't trust the young vet, nor do I think he poisoned Cortes, but a short video could exhibit all his medicines and show how anything is possible. Ainsley would appreciate such footage as the police would have to release her.
It's time to go into stealth-mode. I tiptoe through the opening and toward the two racehorses, Scissor King and Prince Tut. They both come to the front of their stalls to sniff the air around me as I pass. I'd enjoy petting them again, but I can't linger too long because I don't want to be caught in here. I beeline straight for the vet's locker. I slip into the storeroom and activate the camera on my phone. My heart pounds loud in my chest as I move to open the cabinet.
The cupboard is locked. Of course.
I search for the key, but that could be anywhere. The room is well shelved and overstocked with farm implements, equine dental tools, shears, straps and other bits and bobs. There's a jar of buttons and bolts and a shoebox full of brass fittings to cinch leather harnesses. The key to the vet's cupboard could be hiding in plain sight, right in front of my eyes.
In the aisle, Scissor King snuffles and shakes his mane, and I hear voices. Oh no. I glance around and see both racehorses turn their heads to study some new visitors to the staff-only section. Now I look about for a crevice large enough to conceal myself, but there's nowhere to hide.
Two men appear in the doorway and stare at me. Jonathan Swansea the young vet leads Sergeant Laredo, the Ontario Provincial Police officer who conducted the examination of Cortes, and who just detained Ainsley. On no. This is worst possible development.
"What are you doing in here?" Jonathan searches me before his eyes dart to his locker.
"Just getting this," I reach for a broom. "To clean... the... horse pen." I point away down the aisle.
"Do you work here miss...?" Laredo drops his eyes to search my other hand for incriminating evidence. He spies my phone.
This is horrible. I'm caught. I went snooping in the supply room only to be immediately discovered by a police officer just a few hours after a fatal horse accident that he's investigating. I hold up the broom, my only defense.
"Did you take the job?" Jonathan asks. His brain has conceived the only possible explanation.
"Yes!" Thank you, Dr. Swansea. Relief floods as I recall the Help Wanted sign on the door. That's my way out, so to speak. Now all I have to do is act confident for a few minutes and then run like hell when their backs are turned. "Yes. Mr. Brummel asked me to stay and help." I lie to them both with an uneasy smile. I'm caught for sure if this cop decides to check my story.
The policeman looks puzzled by my presence, and my nervous behaviour, but my Brummel Equestrian coveralls must help him believe I work here. He nods and waves an open palm, the new handshake.
"I'm Sergeant Evan Laredo of the Ontario Provincial Police," the blue-eyed detective announces, "what's your name?′
"Antonia Petti."
"You help them with the boarding I suppose?" The sergeant pulls a three-inch Blueline notebook from his breast pocket and scribbles something as he waits for confirmation. I have a vague idea of what he's talking about, but I sure don't want to get specific.
"I help where I'm needed." I squeeze past them to retrieve the grass weave cowgirl hat that Terrence tried to foist on me earlier. I blow off the dust and plop it on head like it's my own. Jonathan's red eyes go wide but he doesn't say anything. The O.P.P. detective is entirely satisfied and scratches a final note in his book.
"Okay, carry-on." Laredo turns to Jon. "You were gathering up the documents?"
"Right," The young vet snaps back to the role of medical official representing the equestrian centre. "In here." He guides Laredo into his cubby.
Relief floods through my veins... I got away with it. Now I'm going to run.
But Mr. Brummel blocks my escape. He's heard everything and he's not happy. He's not in his wheelchair either; he stands in the corridor with his bamboo cane in his hand.
"What are you up to?" He growls. Oh no. I take-off the grass hat and hold it in my hands like a pious schoolgirl. He snatches it away, "Why are you snooping around in here?"
"Because... " But I have no excuse.
"Well?"
"Because I don't want to see Ainsley get railroaded." I level with him, "she didn't poison Cortes."
"How do you know?"
"I have a gift. I can tell when people are lying." I tell Mr. Brummel truthfully and he raises an eyebrow. I continue to explain how, "...when I asked her if she did this, she said no, and she wasn't lying."
"Maybe she also has a gift." Terrence reasons, "maybe she can lie to you without you being able to tell she's lying?"
"She didn't poison Cortes."
"Somebody did."
"The nosebleed?"
"Horse was zoinked." Terrence studies me. "When I find out who it was..." He narrows his eyes at me as if I'm the prime suspect.
"I didn't do it."
"What are you doing? Are you in here planting phony evidence?" He checks my hands and pockets.
"No. Just... Looking... "
"For what?"
"I heard Dr. Jon tell you some medicine is missing." I shrug, "that seems like a pretty big clue."
"A clue? You're investigating?" He waits and when I nod yes, he asks, "how would you know what's missing?"
"I just wanted to see what he keeps in there..."
"Uhh. Well. Let's let the O.P.P.'s do the inventory, shall we?" Terrence replies sarcastically and then pauses to listen to Jon and Laredo in the storeroom. We hear them close the locker's steel door. Then two professionals appear in the Staff Only section again as they leave the room on their own tour of the facility. The old man could blow the whistle on me at any second, but he doesn't move. Sgt. Laredo looks over and nods. He gives Mr. Brummel the perfect opportunity to speak up and say something, but the moment passes. Just when I think I'm safe however, Terrence growls at me.
"I can't have him believing I hired you..." His eyes follow the two professionals. "I didn't."
Think quick Toni. I can see Mr. Brummel is undecided. It's not too late to change his mind.
"Or you could just go ahead and hire me." I pull at the sleeves of my coveralls to remind him that I'm already dressed for the part. "You're short-staffed."
"What?"
"Why not? I'm a good worker."
"Listen. I don't know what game you're playing... My daughter fights for her life." His anger cuts through all my nonsense.
I look down at my boots and raise up my own hands to show him. "I'm willing to try."
His glares softens.
"Have you ever worked on a farm before?"
"I'm a fast learner," I say in way which makes it clear I have no experience.
Terrence looks slightly amused, but only for a moment. Then he winces and has to hold the wall to steady himself. He glances at his rusty wheelchair parked in the entrance to the riding arena. The seat cushions are ripped and the rig is dotted with pigeon dung. "Over there. Help me now."
"You're... Not well?"
"I... Everything's coming apart."
He switches his weight from the wall to my shoulder and leans on me. I put my arm around his waist to help down the aisle and into the waiting wheelchair. He plops down and rests, completely out of breath.
"Just sit back. Let me be your hands."
"You're not like the others..." Terrence recovers. "Not like my daughter." He shifts to study my face, "you grew up poor?"
"Unimaginably poor." I'm not lying. My dad left when I was ten. I'm the daughter of a small-town hairdresser.
"Okay," he relents.
"Really?"
"We've forty horses to feed and stable." He motions me to push. "Antonia..." He tries my name for the first time. "I've got that detective's card in my pocket. I can call him at any time."
"I won't let you down. I'm very reliable."
"Well come on on then. Let's see if you know how to work. Push!"