Puss 'N Cahoots

fang had been knocked out.
    Mrs. Murphy hastily backed down a stall corner to drop in front of the cat and dog.
“Come on.”
    “We aren’t going through every barn, are we?”
Pewter, alarmed, raised her voice.
“It’s already nasty hot.”
    “Yes.”
Mrs. Murphy ignored her, and they marched over to Ward’s barn. His green and white hospitality suite was more modest.
    They repeated the process of checking each grooming tray, each wastebasket or open trunk.
    Again nothing.
    They walked up to Barn One, where Booty Pollard rented one half of the barn. His colors, orange and white, were uncommon in the horse world, but he’d graduated from the University of Texas and proudly used the Longhorn colors. Miss Nasty’s empty cage, filled with toys, sported a limp orange pennant with a white “T.” The cage sat outside the entrance to the suite, as it needed a good airing out. Miss Nasty was not a good housekeeper, nor was her namesake.
    Mrs. Murphy prowled above the horses while Pewter and Tucker worked below.
    Although hot, Pewter kept at her task. She was interested since this involved another animal. Usually she and her friends accompanied Harry as she tried to help another human. Pewter loved horses, so she continued to brave the heat. She sauntered into the hospitality tent, where blue ribbons hung from massive longhorns at the top of the canopy. The whole top of the hospitality room was filled with blue ribbons. On the second row, below photos of horses and clients, red ribbons were neatly displayed on clear fish wire strung below the photos. Immediately below that were the yellow ribbons for third place.
    Some trainers grouped the ribbons by horse, but Booty grouped by position, another manifestation of his eye for design and color.
    Pewter flipped up a tack-trunk hook, but she couldn’t lift the lid. She moved to a small bridle box next to the massive trunk, and that was easy to open.
    “Bingo.”
She dashed outside.
“Found it.”
    Mrs. Murphy climbed down as Tucker ran into the room. Inside the bridle box were four bottles of hair dye, neatly stacked.
    “It’s the color of Booty’s hair.”
Mrs. Murphy wondered why people thought other people couldn’t tell.
    “Four bottles.”
Pewter was excited.
“Two empty.”
    “You’ve got a point there.”
Mrs. Murphy was intrigued.
“We’ve got Booty and Charly supposedly hating each other but best friends at two in the morning. Ward loads Renata’s horse. Booty’s got the dye.”
    “We don’t know that was Renata’s horse.”
Tucker watched as Pewter closed the bridle box.
    “No, we don’t, but the horse that Ward loaded could have been a double for Queen Esther except for color,”
Mrs. Murphy replied.
“That horse moved like Queen Esther.”
    “Charly trained Queen Esther. Don’t you think he’d know the horse we saw was her by the way she moved? He wasn’t that far behind Ward.”
Mrs. Murphy pricked her ears forward.
    “I’m glad it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Not our horses.”
Tucker could imagine Harry’s distress if someone stole one of her beloved horses.
    “It will.”
The tiger heard footsteps approaching.
“Mother won’t sit still while Joan and Larry are in trouble.”
    “Fair will keep her straight.”
Tucker recalled the many times before they remarried that Fair tried to rein in Harry’s curiosity.
    “She’s rubbing off on him more than he’s rubbing off on her. Mark my words,”
Pewter observed.
    Tucker sighed, eyes riveted on the doorway to the room, but the person walked by.
“Two humans to protect. They can’t run fast, they can’t smell worth a damn, they can’t see very well in the dark, and they always think they know more than they do.”
    “Ignorance is bliss.”
Pewter saucily tossed this off as they walked back to Barn Five.
    “Or death.”
Mrs. Murphy injected that somber note.

I mpeccably though casually attired in her working riding clothes, Renata DeCarlo answered questions from reporters as she groomed her gray gelding, Shortro. Voodoo stood in the next stall, observing everything. Not that she groomed her horses regularly, but it made good copy. Renata understood good copy. Dreadful as this theft was, she would get something out of it. Shortro initially shied from the minicam, but then he adjusted. He had a good mind.
    Joan organized flight control, since media people jammed Barn Five. She answered questions, too. When the media became too great she walked some down to the