Puss 'N Cahoots

result in the ring. The horses were full-blown personalities, often more vivid than the humans on their backs. They knew it was an important show. They wanted to look their best.
    The cats and dogs—for Cookie had returned for a night of socializing—kept out of everyone’s way. Tucker informed Cookie of what they’d learned in the other barns as well as what they’d smelled in Queen Esther’s stall.
    “If only Joan knew.”
Cookie cocked her head, watching Joan deal with yet another gawker.
“Can’t smell a thing, poor woman.”
Cookie sighed.
“Well, she could smell a skunk, but not the hair dye. And to think you found the hair dye!”
    “I found it.”
Pewter puffed out her chest.
    “We don’t know for certain that Booty Pollard is in on this.”
Mrs. Murphy avoided jumping to conclusions. After all, someone could have used his hair-dye stash. Someone who knew him very well. Or he could have used it on his own hair. The horse thief could have bought a bottle of hair dye as easily as someone else.
    “Piffle.”
Pewter, irritated, half-closed her lustrous chartreuse eyes.
    The crush of people drove the animals outside between barns. Horses walked to the practice ring, riders raced into changing rooms, but still, it was better than the masses trooping through Barn Five. There was nothing Joan and Larry could do about it. Renata was a client—if only for twenty-four hours. Her horse had been stolen, big news at any show.
    As the half hour before the first class at seven P.M . approached, people filtered out to find good seats. The class, ladies five-gaited, was usually hotly contested. No one wished to miss it, especially since mastering the rack and slow rack demanded even more skill than walk, trot, canter. The horses sighed gratefully in the relative quiet. They’d be fired up enough when they walked into the ring, for the winners, like all performers, came to life in front of a crowd.
    “God.” Joan rolled her eyes as the last of the visitors waddled out.
    “I hope He’s watching over Shelbyville,” Harry laconically noted as they stepped outside.
    Fair looked west, the direction in which Harry was looking. “Dark.”
    Joan, too, glanced westward. “Sure is. I expect when it hits it will rattle the fillings in your teeth.”
    As they talked at the end of the barn, Manuel led out Zip, the horse whose stage name was Flight Instructor. The gelding was a little girthy; Manuel couldn’t tighten the girth all at once. He would walk a few paces, then stop and hike it up a notch. He handed Zip over to Larry, who held the gelding as Darla Finestein, a client, mounted up.
    A red grooming rag flapped from Jorge’s jeans’ hip pocket as he slipped between the barns, heading toward the practice arena while the others trooped to the show ring.
    “Let’s go.”
Tucker followed Jorge.
    “Too many people. I’m repairing to the hospitality room,”
Pewter announced.
    Cookie stuck to Tucker. Mrs. Murphy watched as Pewter disappeared into the barn entrance, then the tiger hurried after the dogs.
    Jorge heard the organ play and the announcer begin his patter for this evening’s events. He ducked behind Barn Three. Moving faster, Jorge entered the parking lot, then hopped into the green and white horse van parked in the lot closest to the practice arena.
    The animals dashed under the van.
    Ward Findley’s voice could be heard. “Good work.”
    “Gracias,”
Jorge replied, then lightly leapt out of the open side door of the van, ignoring the ramp. As he quickly walked away, Mrs. Murphy, first out from under the van, saw Jorge jam a white envelope into his hip pocket after pulling out the grooming rag. He slung that over his shoulder.
    The two dogs came out as Ward casually walked down the ramp.
    “Like walking a gangplank,”
Cookie said, her Jack Russell voice a trifle loud.
    Ward, halfway down the ramp, heard Cookie. “What are you doing here? And you, forgot your name.” He noted Tucker, then laughed. “You two spying on me?”
    Mrs. Murphy kept after Jorge. She turned to see Ward bending over, petting both the dogs. Since they knew their way around, she didn’t return but continued to stalk Jorge, who was kind to animals. She liked him. Whatever was in his hip pocket bulged a little. He walked to the south side of Barn Five, then sauntered up the aisle. He opened a stall door, walked inside, and began preparing a dark bay for the second class, show pleasure driving open, whistling as he