Puss 'N Cahoots

line.
    “Harry, I really am thrilled.” Renata ran after her, gave her a big embrace, and then hugged Fair, too. “I’ll see you all back at Kalarama.”
    Neither Harry nor Fair spoke as they climbed over one fence, walked across the main farm drive, and climbed over the other fence.
    Brown Bess walked after the humans, then Amanda and Lucy Lu thought that was a good idea, too. It would have made a lovely photograph, two humans, three retired mares, two cats, and one smiling corgi treading over summer’s green pastures.
    “What’s going on?”
Bess flicked a fly off her hindquarters with her luxurious tail.
    “Yeah,”
Amanda and Lucy Lu sang in chorus.
“The sheriff was here.”
    “The flashy chestnut who came in—well, she was stolen.”
Pewter liked giving out important information.
    “She didn’t look stolen. ’Course, we didn’t get a good look until this morning.”
Lucy Lu thought Queen Esther’s coloring a bit off, since her face, neck, and legs were darker than her flaming chestnut coat.
    Of course, “the girls” couldn’t have known how many shampooings Queen Esther received until the worst of the dye washed off.
    “Well, it’s all worked out.”
Tucker didn’t quite believe this.
    As they ducked under the fence while Fair and Harry climbed over, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker bid good-bye to the nice mares.
    “Why does Renata believe Ward? I wouldn’t.”
Tucker waited for Fair to lift her into the cab of the truck.
    “Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she just wanted her horse back.”
Pewter let Harry lift her up.
“There’s been enough fuss.”
    Mrs. Murphy jumped up into the foot well, then onto the seat.
“Glad he left the windows open.”
    “Yeah.”
Tucker wedged between Harry and Fair.
    “We know he’s lying. Queen Esther knows he’s lying. I think Renata knows he’s lying.”
Pewter sounded definitive.
    Mrs. Murphy, whiskers forward then back, asked,
“How do you know Renata’s not lying?”

W hat’s going on?” Harry blinked, then added, “Locusts.”
    The main barn, white, greeted a person as soon as he or she turned into Kalarama, passing the grave of the great Kalarama Rex as they did so. In line behind the old main barn was another barn housing horses in competition.
    The white vans, TV call letters on their sides, were parked on the drive to the right next to the outdoor practice track.
    The small mobile TV crews shot footage of the barn, of the whole layout, of Paul and Frances’s brick home, trimmed shrubs, weeded flower beds, Rose of Sharon and crepe myrtle in full regalia.
    Fair parked by the round pen.
    Once out of the truck, the little band stayed still.
    “I don’t want to get in the middle of all this.” Fair folded his muscled arms over his forty-two-inch chest. Fair had about nine percent body fat, which meant his muscles were well defined.
    “Honey, Joan and Larry might need us.”
    He exhaled from his nostrils. “You’re right.”
    They trudged up the hill, heat waves shimmering. They entered the barn from the open north end. Fortunately a light breeze swept across the long main aisle, and both doors were fully open at each end.
    The office and gathering room, both well appointed, were crammed with clients, newspeople.
    Krista, blond and efficient, had her hands full answering questions and giving directions. Being the office manager at Kalarama, busy consistently, was overwhelming at this moment. Krista possessed a sunny personality, so she handled the pressure better than most.
    Joan organized tours of the other barns, but she kept everyone out of the enclosed concrete arena.
    Reporters or not, Larry and Manuel had to work horses. At that moment Larry was riding Point Guard.
    A five-gaited horse learned two artificial gaits, a slow rack and a fast rack. The high-stepping gaits—with the horse in a frame not quite like dressage but a frame nonetheless—required concentration and conditioning from both horse and rider.
    Larry, fabulous hands, lightly jigged the bit so Point Guard would begin his slow rack. Today would be a light workout. No point running a young horse through the bridle, risking his future.
    The horse’s mind was probably more important than his conformation. Point Guard had a good mind.
    Fair knew Larry’s schedule, as they had discussed it that morning. As he pushed open the glass door from the main aisle into the crowded room, out of the corner of his eye he saw Manuel walk toward the arena.
    “Good,” Fair thought