Puss 'N Cahoots

the stable manager.
    Harry couldn’t pick up all of it, but what she did hear was a slender young man from Barn Four repeat that he saw nothing. Then Jorge reminded Manuel that the watches were over by nine in the morning. No one was on watch duty when the horse was stolen.
    Manuel again challenged the others by demanding to know who walked Queen Esther out of the stall. The horse didn’t open the door and walk herself.
    The men’s voices grew higher in pitch; they spoke faster. All she could figure was accusations had been made, but she did hear loud and clear an older, gray-haired man say to Manuel that whoever walked out Queen Esther worked for Kalarama. No other explanation.
    Manuel threw up his hands, stalking off toward the practice arena.
    Harry took a deep breath. She checked her watch. One-thirty, and the night show was five and a half hours away. If people watched the five o’clock news before driving to Shelbyville, they’d see Renata, the empty stall, Joan, Larry, Charly Trackwell, Booty Pollard, Ward Findley, other trainers, owners, and riders, and this place would be pandemonium.
    “Pandemonium,” she whispered, her animals looking up when she spoke. “You all know about Pan.”
    “I don’t.”
Pewter wanted to get in the shade.
    “The satyr—half god, half goat. He plays the double pipes.”
Mrs. Murphy usually read whatever Harry was reading by draping over her neck or on the pillow behind her.
    As if understanding them, Harry knelt down to pet her friends. “When Pan plays his pipes, all creatures forget their tasks; they play and frolic the way goats play and frolic. Cut a caper. ‘Caper’ means ‘goat.’ Well, anyway, so far so good, but sometimes Pan plays a different tune and all creatures become frightened, rumors fly, they run around and bump into one another, and no good comes of it. That’s pandemonium.”
    Harry was prescient, but even Harry couldn’t have imagined the events of that Thursday night.

B y six that evening, large cumulus clouds began piling up in the western sky. White though those clouds were, the oppressive heat and the odd stillness of the air hinted at a later thunderstorm.
    The flurry of reporters and camera crews had left for long languid lunches. A few decided to stay for the evening show, since the footage might be exciting and they could string out the story for two days. Fans were filling up the grassy parking lots; junior riders preparing for their first class betrayed a mixture of nervousness, arrogance, and bad makeup.
    Although Springfield was only forty-five minutes away from Shelbyville thanks to improved roads, Joan and Larry kept a room at the Best Western in case they couldn’t get back to the farm in time to change for the evening.
    People dressed up at night, Saturday evening culminating in their finest outfits. Given the heat, women wore linen dresses or even shorts, but color coordination mattered, as did hair, nails, and jewelry. As for the men, some wore jackets and ties, others fought the heat with Ralph Lauren Polo shirts, light pants, loafers without socks. If a man wore jeans in the evening it usually signified he was a groom. The trainers dressed up; it was an indication of success.
    Renata understood this, just like she understood that less is more. Her makeup, so perfect as to be nearly undetectable, especially to the male eye, accentuated her cheekbones, her high coloring. Attention was heaped on her with expressions of sympathy and concern. Despite her hardship, this was not entirely unwelcome.
    A stream of well-wishers, like ants at a picnic, trudged to Barn Five. A few tacky ones asked for autographs, but most were horse people, so asking for an autograph from another horse person would cast doubt on one’s seriousness as a horse person. However, horsemen did bring on their coattails family, friends, and almost friends, all of whom were dying to meet the beautiful movie star. In having to choose whether to try Renata’s patience or land on the bad side of relatives and people one sees every day, most people elected to please their friends.
    Renata exuded graciousness.
    Joan marveled at it as she checked the horses and conferred with Larry, Manuel, and Jorge. There were bits to be discussed. What if a horse had a lackluster workout? Tack was inspected for spotless sheen. Kalarama horses had to be perfect. Any horse could have a fabulous night or an off night, but a Kalarama horse looked incredible regardless of the