"Myfanwy Davies, get your lazy arse out of bed!"
Bloody hell. I think I may be late for purgatory again. American schools are not my strong point. But as long as I'm in this festering dump, I may as well have a little fun, so I do drag my lazy arse out of bed.
"Fan, I'm bloody serious." Mum looks worried. "It's not school this time. Here, Laura's on the phone and she's in a right state about something. I can't get an intelligent word out of her."
I grab the phone.
"You all right?"
"Fan, it's Boomer!" Laura yelps through racking sobs. Boomer is Laura's new horse. I just hope he isn't colicky; horses can't throw up, so an upset stomach can mean the end.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He's GONE!"
"What?!"
"Rustlers, Fan! There's some blood on the bottom of the stall. He must be bleeding to death somewhere! Can you come?"
"I'll be right there. We'll look for him and we'll talk to the manager and Billy and ask them if they saw anything. Is Mouse okay?" Mouse is my horse, and he lives right next to Boomer.
"It's not good, Fan. He looks like he's seen a ghost!"
"Shit. Alright, see you in a few minutes."
I pulled on a pair of breeches and gave Mum a significant look.
"I'll start up the car. And for Christ's sake, Fan, don't forget to lock the door this time."
I doubt I'll ever forgive her for moving us to this shithole they attempt to call Virginia, but she does understand about the horses, I give her that. And I suppose remembering to lock the door is a life skill and all that.
My name is Myfanwy Davies. I am fourteen years old and an unwilling resident of Roanoke, Virginia, when I should be back in the lovely old land of Wales. Aberaeron, to be more precise. My da' has a business placement here which will last for three years, so I still have about a year and a half to go. He decided that it would be best to uproot his darling daughter from her school, her friends and her barn to go to some nignog country where the complete fools in your class say things like, "Wales? Is that in England?" "Are there lots of whales there?" "Is it true that nobody has sex till they're thirty in England?" And from the teachers, "How d'you pronounce your name? Mie-fan-why Day-veez?" No, it's bloody Miff-an-wee Day-viss, and I'm proud of it!
But bless my father's programming company, they at least chose Virginia. Some of the countryside here bears a slight resemblance to the landscapes I'm used to, and they do like horses. I got into horses at the ripe old age of five, when my aunt tossed me onto a fat old Welsh pony called Biscuit and slapped her rump. Darling Biscuit ran right into the little apple tree in the front field of dear old Llwynon Stables, the boarding barn my aunt runs, and scraped me right off. Damn near put out my eye, but I fumed, stuck out my lower lip, marched straight over to Biscuit, who was indulging in the sweet grass of the field, gave her a good whack and hopped back on. Thus started a lovely career. So when da' insisted on bringing us out to this dump, I put my foot down and said I absolutely wouldn't go unless Mouse was allowed to come too. Mum came to my defence, and we settled Mouse in at Oak Hill, the local barn and me at the local school, Hidden Valley. I therefore became a very unwilling Titan. (That is the school mascot. I mean, what is the point of such a thing? God, in Wales we just used our bloody dragon.)
But Oak Hill, strange though it is, has become my sanctuary, and when I send news back to the Aberaeron folks, they get pictures of my barn friends. Like Laura. She and I could have been rivals; she had to share the glory of being the best student rider there with me, but she thought better of it, and we became fast friends. So when she calls me in the right panic she's in, I'm up and out of bed. It's not too long a drive to Oak Hill, and I nearly vault out of the car. I don't even stop to say hi to the little kids' ponies, Chief and Candy, as I make my way down to the barn where they keep the boarded horses. One cannot run around horses, as it frightens them, so I use my power walk, perfected after all my years as a groom, needing to go as fast as possible to fetch the older girls' hunt coats or boot polish, even with my short legs.
Laura pelts out of the boarding barn, causing quite a flurry and stamping of hooves, and throws her arms around my neck.
"Fan, what am I going to do?"
"Have you called the police yet?"
"Yes, but you know the police in this area. Those bastards think I'm just some snobby little rich girl with a pony who just cares that he's gone because I won't win any blue ribbons without him! Assholes! Shit, I just had an animal that is like my BROTHER attacked, and they're pulling this crap! They're not even coming till noon!"
"Seriously?"
"Yes!"
"Bloody morons." Then I notice Mouse. He isn't whickering his usual morning greeting to me; he's prancing up and down in his stall and kicking the walls.
"I tried to go in, but he just snapped at me!" Laura looks still more tearful at this.
This isn't like my gentle, mature showhorse. I trained him from a foal, and I've
never known him to do such a thing. I slide back the door of his stall and walk in, exercising more caution than I would normally. He doesn't nip, but he is quite cautious about the treat I held out to him.
"It's me, silly Mousie-man!" He sniffs my hand and seems to come back to his senses. He bows his handsome copper head so I can scratch behind his ears. I absentmindedly scratch. I walk out into Mouse's small yard and examine the one adjacent to it, that had been Boomer's. I climb the fence.
Nothing prepared me for the blood on the floor. It isn't much, but it's significant. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I start to carefully examine the stall. I feel rather like a detective. Feeling into the corner between the feeder and the wall, I come up with a bit of red cloth stuck on a nail. I decide not to tell Laura where I'd found it; she might have kittens at the thought of her precious Boomer having a nail in his stall that could potentially injure him. But I pocket the cloth to show her later and keep looking. Boomer is a bit of a chewer, so there are a couple of jagged wooden edges near the stall door. Wedged in one of them is about ten strands of hair. I pluck them from the wood and examine them. Definitely horse hair. Coarse, chestnut-coloured, like Boomer. Quite long; tail hairs. Judging by the condition of the ends, they were probably ripped rather violently out of his tail not too long ago. I smell them. The scent is clean and shampooey; Laura did his tail last night in preparation for the show we were planning on attending today, later in the afternoon. I suppose she won't go now. I examine the hoof marks on the floor of the stall. There are quite a few, and they look scrabbly and harried.
"Laura, come look at this."
"What?"
"I've found some stuff."
I show her the cloth and the tail hairs.
"See, there was probably some sort of struggle. Boomer wouldn't just mess around with his tail; that's a sensitive area. I found these on the sharp bits of wood there. And look at the hoof marks here. He was probably thrashing around and wrung his tail."
Laura has a shifty. She and I agree that the hair had to be recent. But it's the red cloth that seems to jolt her most of all.
"Erica was wearing a shirt just like this last night. It must have been her!"
"Don't be stupid; she's the bloody manager. If she needed a dressage horse, I don't think it'd be Boomer. She has plenty already. Laura, use your head. Who hates you?"
"I don't know!"
"Laura, lots of people have red shirts. Red is the Oak Hill colour."
"But she was wearing her Oak Hill polo, I remember it! I don't care what you say, Fan, I'm going up to the house right now." Laura is wearing that set look I know so well; the look she gets when she's trying to get Boomer over a jump or complete the most graceful shoulder-in that the dressage world has ever seen. I figure I'll follow her at a distance and see what Erica has to say for herself.
I can see why she's so upset. Boomer is the best horse she's had in every way. He's a flashy chestnut, about 16.2 hands high (for the dim among you, that is 4 inches to a hand), with a confident eye and beautiful conformation. He's still young, but he's won a few things and he loves the show atmosphere. Apart from that, he's a bit of a clown and a funny bloke, and very affectionate and flirty with everyone. So, what had the thief done to arouse his suspicions and give him cause to create such a scene and scare the hell out of Mouse? I'm not sure what I think of Laura's being convinced that it was Erica. Erica, our stable manager, is a wonderful horsewoman and a great teacher. She can be thoughtless at times, but I don't think she'd hurt a horse. She has five nice horses, and I'm hard put to understand what she'd do with another.
Laura reaches the house and gives three sharp raps on the door. It takes awhile for Erica to respond. I look at my watch. No wonder; it's only 8:30 and she will have gone to take a nap on the couch after first feed at six, unless Billy took over for her. It's the sort of thing our stable boy would do; he needs the money and he'll do anything to be around horses. When a sleepy Erica finally appears, I can hear every word Laura shouts.
"Where is he?!"
"What are you talking about? What's going on?"
"Boomer's gone! God, don't you even notice what happens at your own barn?"
"You are not trying to tell me you think I took him, Laura Donnelley!"
"Look what Myfanwy found in his stall. Let's think; who was wearing her Oak Hill polo yesterday?"
Erica meets my eyes over Laura's shoulder. I give her an apologetic look. Not my fault Laura's gone off like this.
"Laura, lots of people were. I wouldn't take your horse."
"Yes you fucking would!"
Erica looks rather defeated.
"I'm going down to look at the barn, Laura. You're welcome to come."
"I don't think I will, thanks!"
Laura storms off. Probably going to hang herself in the paddocks. I figure I'd better account for myself.
"I'm sorry, Erica. I didn't think she'd do that when I found the cloth."
"That's all right. You didn't know. So what is going on here? Boomer's missing?"
I brief her on the situation as we walk to the boarding barn together, and show her the cloth and tail hairs. She looks furious as I tell her of the theft's treatment by the police. She exclaims at the blood on the floor and looks the stall over from top to bottom. She walks out after a few minutes and sinks down onto an equipment trunk.
"This is awful. Poor Boomer. But I don't get it. Fan, why is she blaming me?"
I know that that is, in a way, the least of her worries. Much as Laura dislikes her, Erica wants to see the girl do well, and she also feels as if she's failed to keep the horses safe, which is the basic premise of her job here.
"I guess she's just angry. I don't think she's thinking much about what she's saying."
Erica looks dead determined. "I'm going out. I'll get to the bottom of this. The horses like Boomer; they'll know where he is."
"I'm coming with you."
"No, stay with Laura. She needs you now."
"Her mum's here. Mouse is Boomer's best friend. If anyone knows where he is, it'll be Mouse."
Erica relents. We quickly put on saddles and bridles and mount. I notice Erica's hands are shaking as she buckles the girth straps on the side of the saddle. Mouse seems puzzled at my haste. I'm usually very meticulous in my grooming; my horse tends to shine from head to hoof. He nudges my hand as I tickle his tongue so he'll open his mouth for the bit. As soon as we're ready, we head onto the trails in the woods around Oak Hill. That blood looked very fresh, and I doubt the culprit has gone far. We ride for almost two hours, sometimes stopping to listen for any horse noises.
Then I see a flash of white on the ground. I dismount. Holding Mouse's reins, I bend down and pick it up. It's a worn old ratcatcher, the fancy detachable collar you find on showshirts. I wonder who would use a tatty old one like this. And I realise that it has been used for the traditional purpose: bandaging a wound. I hand it to Erica. She shivers at the blood on the cloth, and her big grey mare, Bryn Mawr, shies.
"Easy, girl." Erica lets up on the reins and strokes Bryn's neck until the tall horse stops shifting.
I get back on Mouse and, having taken the offending evidence from Erica, put the collar in my saddlebag. As I snap it shut, Mouse leans down on the bit and bolts. I yelp and grab his neck. He's galloping fast down a small, unused trail. I feel branches tearing at my clothes, scratching my cheeks. I have luckily managed to keep my stirrups. I shorten my reins and try in vain to stop Mouse. He completely ignores me and plunges on. I try a pulley rein to turn him sharply to the right, but to no avail. So I just hang on, giving an occasional yank on the reins, attempting to stop his mad run..
And he halts. We are both breathing hard, and my breeches are absolutely torn up. And there, looking utterly bedraggled, is Boomer. He has an open wound in his side, and his mane is tangled with twigs and burrs and God knows what else. His ears are standing straight up and forward, on edge at our sudden appearance. He realises that it's Mouse, and the two horses touch noses. I dismount as Erica trots into the clearing.
"Well!" She smiles at the sight of the two horses communing.
"Told you Mouse would know. That's an ugly gash he's got."
"We need to get him back to the barn. I'll lead Bryn and Boomer, you ride Mouse back and call the vet."
I obey. Going at a canter, it takes me half an hour to cover the trails this time; Erica and I had gone mostly at a walk so as not to miss any details, and I know a shortcut. I don't even pause to untack Mouse as I dash into the barn; he has to trot to keep up. I grab my cell phone and dial, taking the number from the list on the wall. Dr. Michaels answers after three rings.
"Dr. Michaels, it's Myfanwy from Oak Hill. We need you here pronto. Boomer went missing this morning, and we just found him with a nasty gash in his side."
"Thanks, Fan. I'll be right there." Dr. Michaels is most businesslike when he needs to be. I turn to Mouse, who is standing patiently beside me.
"Good lad, Mousie. Good lad."
I untack him and am just hosing down his legs and cleaning a cut on his ear when Erica appears. I realise neither of us has thought to tell Laura.
"Put Mouse and Boomer away and go find Laura."
I take Boomer's halter rope (as they call headcollars in this strange country) and lead him into an empty stall. I figure I should leave Boomer's old stall the way it is for the police. Mouse is confused to see Boomer there instead of in his usual stall, but he allows himself to be led into his home. I dash down to the pastures to find Laura and discover her leaning on Plato's broad back, looking sad. Plato, an enormous Shire draft horse, seems unperturbed at my sudden arrival.
"You'd better come up to the barn."
Laura doesn't say anything. She allows herself to be led up. She doesn't look as if she expects anything special. But she lights up when she sees Boomer. I have purposely left the door open with only a stall guard to keep him in. She flies under it and throws her arms around his neck.
"Boomer! How did you get here? Oh my sweet baby, what happened to you?"
"He was in the forest. Erica and I rode up and found him there. He's got a wound on his off side."
Laura went around to Boomer's right side and looked. A tear trickled down her face.
"We found a bloody ratcatcher in the woods; I guess whoever it was will be in the show."
Comprehension dawns on Laura's face.
"Dammit."
I know she doesn't want to face Erica now. The ratcatcher is conclusive evidence. At Erica's level of competition, you wear a stock tie, not a ratcatcher.
Dr Michaels' white van pulls up, and he hops out. He has an untidy mop of dark hair and he is clutching his medical bag. He's quite a tall man, about six foot two or three to my five foot two.
"Hi, Myfanywy. Hi, Laura. Where is the poor guy?"
We show him to Boomer's stall. Boomer looks suspiciously at this man who has given him too many inoculations to merit a warmer welcome. The good doctor strokes Boomer and asks Laura to hold him while he cleans the wound and applies disinfectant. I give Laura some space and sit on a tack trunk. I realise that the show will start at two, and people should start showing up soon to groom their horses and get into their show clothes. The police arrive while Boomer is being examined. Erica, who has since come back to the boarding barn from untacking Bryn, has a long, serious talk with them. The bloke who seems to be in charge is a big, beefy man called Robinson. He comes over to me.
"Young lady, we understand you found most of the evidence. Good detective work. Let's see it."
I show him the hairs, the cloth and the ratcatcher, which I had earlier removed from my saddlebag and pocketed. He has no idea what a ratcatcher is. I have to explain that it is a traditional detachable shirt collar that has been used in hunting for centuries and sometimes served as a bandage for a horse's leg if the poor animal was injured during the chase. He shakes my hand and puts the evidence in some plastic bags. Some of the show kids have arrived by now. They look puzzled at all the commotion, what with the police swarming around taking blood samples from Boomer's old stall and fingerprints and Laura trying not to cry as she held a nervous Boomer by the headcollar. I give a brief version of the story.
Billy walks in. He's our stable boy, a country kid who works in exchange for his lessons. His blue eyes widen. The look on his face is strangely fearful. There are twigs in his hair. And it all clicks beautifully into place. It was Billy, our nice, reliable but poor barn helper. He's been tired of shovelling shit, and for this show, he was essentially on scholarship. Erica has entered him in two classes for this show and put him on a kind but rather run-down school horse called Hugo. We knew he'd never win on that nag, but we'd been decent enough not to say so. I suppose he figured that if he couldn't win, none of us would. The loss of Boomer, one of the best quality horses in the stable, would throw the rest of us off our ride. He could probably get a great deal for him. I wonder why he didn't make off with Mouse; a pure Welsh cob with bloodlines like Mouse's would fetch even more.
"Hello, Billy."
He backs away from my accusing stare. Everyone in the barn falls silent and looks up. My eyes shoot to the tear in his red polo shirt. The policemen see it too. Everyone looks shocked. Whispers spring up around the barn. Robinson walks forward and puts his huge hand on Billy's shoulder.
"Did you take this horse, son?"
Billy nods, hanging his head.
"Why?" This time from Laura. She doesn't even look angry. Billy has never seemed to wish her harm.
"I guess a lot of reasons. Laura, I didn't do this to be against you. You've been real nice to me. There's just a bunch of weird stuff with my folks right now. My older sister got accepted at the University of Virginia, and we're just trying to foot the bill. I thought that if I got some money more than what I make here . . ." Here Billy broke off. His eyes were wet. He gulped and continued. "Mom and Dad might be real proud of me and let me go to school somewhere where I could do something with horses after I graduate. And. . . I know this is selfish, but I don't always want to borrow Erica's old showshirts and ride Hugo. I thought I might try to ride Boomer, just to know what a good horse feels like. You know, one without arthritis or ringbone."
Robinson looked sympathetic.
"Why did you injure him, Bill?"
At these words, Billy looked worse.
"I didn't mean to, honest! I was trying to get him to come out of the stall and he wheeled and cut himself. That's why my shirt tore."
He walked to Boomer's stall. When he saw the wound, he really did start crying.
"I'm so sorry, Laura! It didn't look like that when it happened. I don't know what happened."
Dr. Michaels came over to him, holding a bag with a bunch of icky-looking twigs in it.
"He must have thrashed around in the woods and made the wound bigger. Bill, why didn't you tell us what was going on with your sister? We could have helped. After all, what are friends for?" Everyone gathered around Billy. I heard snippets about scholarships and a pay raise. Then Robinson came over and tapped me on the shoulder.
"You and your horse would be fine additions to our police force in the future, Miss. . .?"
"Davies."
"You seem to have a knack for the work."
'That's nice of you, sir. But you see, I don't think crime suits either of us. And we have a home to be getting off to when my da' comes to his senses. I was born to ride."