Puss 'N Cahoots

people lived back there. The married men usually lived in rentals Joan found for them, since she thought it unwise to have little children running all about the horses. They might be in the trailers for months, but eventually she’d find them other quarters. No mother can be on duty twenty-four hours a day, and a child’s piercing voice could set off a yearling.
    Currently no one else was living back there. Manuel rented a tidy house in Springfield.
    Joan opened the door; a blast of air-conditioning hit her. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, and Cookie followed. “I didn’t even think to turn the air-conditioning off.”
    “Joan, in a way it hasn’t sunk in yet.”
    “I know. Well, where do we start?”
    The two women glanced around the Spartan surroundings. Harry spoke up. “I’ll check the refrigerator, you open the cabinets.”
    This took five minutes. The refrigerator had half a carton of milk, three Cokes, one beer, and one pizza slice. The cabinets reflected Jorge’s bachelor status, coupled with a genuine lack of culinary concern. Harry poured out the milk.
    “Trudy sure isn’t going to have much to do in the kitchen.” Harry shrugged.
    The living room contained nice furniture that Joan had bought years ago but it remained in decent condition, all sturdy stuff, and one TV. No books or magazines dotted the coffee table.
    His bedroom yielded girlie magazines, though. His closet contained a few shirts, one nice coat for church, a few ties. Socks, boxer shorts, and T’s filled one drawer, jeans another, and the bottom drawer carried but two sweaters, one sweatshirt.
    The bathroom—surprisingly clean, as the women thought the shower and sink would be filthy—also offered nothing by way of explanation for Jorge’s demise.
    “Nothing.” Joan slapped her hands on her hips. “Nothing. One bottle of Motrin.” She paused. “Is there a rider who doesn’t use Motrin or Advil? You know, he made a good wage. We pay better than most farms.”
    “Didn’t spend it.”
    “He didn’t spend it on himself,” Joan shrewdly observed.

F riday, August 4, began to feel like the longest Friday of Harry’s life. Back at the Best Western by four-thirty, she took a shower to rouse herself.
    Fair, already showered, handed her a steaming cup of tea when she stepped out of the shower. They’d brought a traveling teapot, since one could never get a truly hot cup of tea in even the best hotels in America. An even greater sin was a coffeepot in the room, teabags in a bowl. Who could possibly drink tea from a pot that made coffee? Terrible.
    “Honey, I love you.” She gratefully took a sip while he toweled off her back.
    Harry had told him about Jorge’s trailer while they drove back from Kalarama to the hotel. He was as mystified as Harry and Joan about Jorge’s whistle-clean trailer and, by extension, life. No one could be found to utter a disparaging word about the hardworking man.
    Once dry, her hair tousled, Harry leaned against the headboard of the bed and stretched her legs out.
    Fair joined her. The day had proved full for him, too. After the Queen Esther drama he’d delivered a foal, a long and difficult birth, at a small quarter-horse establishment. In a panic, the owners, new to Springfield, called Larry, not knowing it was Shelbyville week. Their vet was out of town and they thought Kalarama might know of a reputable equine vet.
    Fair drove over, saving them much time. Like most veterinarians or medical people in general, he did not shy away from a crisis regardless of when it appeared. The middle-aged couple tried to overpay him, they were so grateful. He refused it, but when he climbed into his truck he found an envelope with four hundred dollars cash, which really was over the top. No point giving it back, they wouldn’t take it, so he decided to put it toward the lovely diamond and ruby horseshoe ring Harry had admired at the jewelry booth at the show.
    As a vet, Fair paid special attention to horseshoes. Each type of equine activity called for a specialized shoe. Racing shoes made of aluminum with no grabs or caulks cost a bloody fortune and lasted all of three weeks. Titanium shoes, of any stripe, cost even more, but they could be reset, sometimes twice, which actually offset the cost. Fair carefully examined hooves, shoes, proper shoe size, because a good farrier—and there were but so many—could save an owner thousands of dollars in vet bills. Most lameness problems in horses involved the