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Kylie gestured with her fork. “He said his stepmom was always complaining that his dad paid more attention to Mark than to her.”
“So Mark’s feeling guilty?”
“He doesn’t like his stepmom, but he feels bad about his dad being so unhappy.”
“Well, I don’t think you have to worry. There aren’t any women knocking down my door.”
The phone rang. Kylie answered it and then wrinkled her nose as she held out the receiver. “It’s Madison… I think she’d like to knock down your door.”
Will took the phone with a mock scowl.
“Will? Madison here.” Madison always spoke as if she were slightly out of breath. “Did you get the contract for the clinic?”
“It came this morning.”
“Thanks for stepping in.”
It had been the third time in a year and a half he’d “stepped in.” He was beginning to suspect she wasn’t getting cancellations, “Are you sure you’re really booking a second trainer for these clinics?”
Madison laughed. “Honest, I am. Del cancelled the first time and Mike the second. I’m just lucky you’re close.”
“And agreeable.”
“That, too.” She still had a smile in her voice. “Think of all the good you’re doing for those horses whose owners don’t have a clue.”
“Hey, you already have me. You don’t need to sell me.”
“Actually, I’d like to get you to present on a regular basis. Two, three times a year—it wouldn’t be that bad.”
“I’ll get this contract signed and back to you tomorrow.”
Madison was enough of a trainer herself to know when to stop pushing. “Just think about it, Will.”
“Goodbye, Madison.”
Will turned down the burner under the pan and poured the last of the batter. He hated crowds and he hated talking, but Madison had a point about the horses. Most people who came to a training clinic were genuinely concerned about their animals, although there were always a few who thought bigger bits and spurs would solve most of their problems. Which was why Will often had more work than he could handle rehabilitating damaged horses.
REGAN HAD SUSPECTED her sister’s four days of phone silence were a sign of impending disaster and she’d been correct. Claire called early Saturday morning with a classic case of stress overload. She’d had an argument with one of her professors, followed by a fight with her boyfriend, then her roommate had spilled wine on her new cashmere sweater. But, Claire assured Regan, the biggest problem was their mother, who was having a hard time butting out of Claire’s life. Arlene had already lost one daughter to public service, and now the other one was damn well going to live up to her potential.
Regan listened patiently for almost fifteen minutes, letting Claire talk herself out. Finally, her sister wound down and asked Regan how she was doing.
Regan responded with a simple, “Fine.” It seemed easiest. “Do you want me to call Mom and see what I can do?”
“Would you?”
Regan always did, but she had been hoping when she put some miles between herself and her family that Claire and Arlene would somehow learn to deal with each other without getting a mediator involved.
Regan called her mother a few minutes later, negotiated a truce and then parried a few thrusts aimed in her direction.
Yes, she did like the smaller community she’d moved to. No, there wasn’t much opportunity for advancement in this school district. No, she wasn’t going to keep in touch with the Education Development Authority (EDA), a private curriculum-development company that she’d hoped to work for only months before. There was no way she would work for them now that Daniel had taken a job there. Besides, she had a job she liked.
Unfortunately, Arlene was not convinced. By the time Regan hung up, she was exhausted. And she was thinking about Daniel again. She made herself stop. It was bad for her blood pressure.
THE MUSTANG MARE circled the round pen at a floating trot, her nose high in the air, her attention outside the rails, on anything but Will, who stood near the center. Her objective was fundamental. Escape.
Will kept her moving, using his body language to propel her forward, to control her direction. Finally, she shifted an eye toward him as she trotted by, flicked an ear back. Will’s gaze immediately dropped from her head to her hindquarters and he took a backward step. She slowed, uncertain, then decided she would rather ignore him and escape. Will upped his energy, moving the mare forward again.
A few circles later, another glance, another ear flick. Will stepped back. The mare slowed, both eyes on him now. He took another step back, rewarding her attention by reducing the pressure on her. She slowed still more, eventually coming to a stop, her eyes on Will. They stood and studied one another. Will took a single slow step forward and the mare made her decision—no one was going to control her. Will set her moving again.
Will had made some major headway with the mare by the end of the session. Sometimes with mustangs, especially older ones, it took almost twice as long to teach a concept, but once they got it, the knowledge was deeply engrained. He had yet to saddle her, but he had been able to rub her all over, desensitize her body, pick up her feet. He’d start again tomorrow and see what she remembered.
It had been a good day, made better by a phone call from the head brand inspector late that evening. Trev’s laid-back voice actually held a note of excitement. “We located Martinez’s horses.”
“You’re kidding. Where?” Kylie, who was settled at the kitchen table with her homework, glanced up, a hopeful expression in her dark eyes.
“Idaho. A total fluke, but, hey, we have them.”
“How about the thieves?” Will gave Kylie a thumbs-up and she grinned.
“We don’t have them.”
“Does Martinez know?”
“He’s already on his way north. I thought you’d want to know that we’re no longer batting zero.” No, but they were close to it. Six incidents of horse stealing in the past six months and this was the first recovery. Trev filled in the details and then said, “Heard about Kylie today. Pretty funny.”
“Yeah.” Funny if it wasn’t your kid who’d popped the school bully in the eye. Fortunately, she’d lived to tell the tale. Kylie’d always been a pretty good sprinter. “Hey, I need a favor. I’m looking for a pleasure mount. Would you let me know if you hear of anything?” Will scuffed his boot along the floor as he spoke. Kylie’d forgotten to sweep again.
“For Kylie?”
“No. I have a friend who’s looking.” Or, more accurately, he wanted to make peace with his daughter’s teacher and this seemed like a good way to do it.
“I’ll let you know. I think McKirk might have some horses for sale. He was talking about reducing his herd, now that his kids are in college. What price range?”
“Not a clue. Just let me know if you find anything.” Will hung up a few seconds later and turned to face an incredulous daughter.
“Is it Miss Flynn? Is she the friend who’s looking for a horse?”
“It’s an expression.”
“Good. I don’t want you to be friends with my teachers.” Kylie gave a shudder.
“I’ll try and be careful about that.”
ALL OF THE SQUID WERE MISSING.
Instead of creating a hot-weather biohazard in the school Dumpster, Regan had stored them in the staff freezer on Tuesday, planning to throw them out on trash day. And now they were gone.
Regan shut the freezer and tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her midsection. Perhaps the custodian had seen the gross creatures and disposed of them. Or Pete had found them and tossed them before another one hit him in the face. There could be no other explanation.
Regan caught sight of Tanya’s distinctive blond hair through a crowd of students moving down the hall to their class. With some careful maneuvering, she managed to catch up with her friend.
“Do you think eight missing squid are a problem?”
Tanya stopped dead, forcing the current of students to flow around them. “Here at school?” Her blue eyes widened. “No, Regan. No problem at all.”
But the morning passed without any strange incidents and Regan was able to convince herself that the custodian had indeed cleaned out the freezer. Kylie had initially aroused her suspicions by being uncharacteristically subdued, but as the class wore on, Regan decided that the girl was merely distracted.
“Are you all right?” Regan asked after the bell.
“I’m fine.” Kylie’s expression was not friendly. “Did you know that my dad is trying to find you a horse?”
“He is?” If Kylie had thrown out the statement to sidetrack Regan from thinking about squid, the strategy had worked beautifully.
“Yeah. But I don’t think you should read anything into it.”
Regan cocked her head at the kid. “What could I possibly read into it?”
“Maybe that he was doing it because he likes you. That isn’t why he’s doing it.”
Regan managed not to laugh and say, I’lltry not to get my hopes up.
“I expect he’s doing it because he knows the horses around here,” she suggested instead.
“Yeah. And he doesn’t like it when people get horses they can’t handle. That’s how horses get hurt and ruined, you know.”
Regan gritted her teeth. Thank you for thevote of confidence, Mr. Bishop.
She drew in a sharp breath. “You can tell your father that I’m buying a horse from Madison White and that I’ll do my very best not to ruin him.”
Kylie nodded gravely, missing Regan’s irony. She picked up her books and left the room.
Regan gathered her materials for the next class. She wasn’t going to think about Will right now. No sense taking her frustrations out on an innocent social studies class.
At the end of that class Regan discovered her overhead projector was no longer working. A quick investigation revealed that the bulb was missing.
A strange day was getting stranger. Someone had stolen it, and quite recently, too, since she’d used the machine just before lunch.
Who would want to steal an overhead projectionbulb?
Regan rushed to the office between classes to get the key to the supply room. The student aid looked at her with surprise. “Mr. Domingo doesn’t give out the key. He opens the supply room himself.”
Regan let out an exasperated breath and set off to find Mr. Domingo, the supply Nazi. He was in the gym, counting uniforms.
“There’s only one more period,” he said when she explained that she needed a projector bulb. “Can’t you make it?”
“No. I need my overhead to teach the lesson.” She stared at the uniforms. “Are you putting those in numerical order?”
“It’s easier to keep track of them that way,” he muttered. “Come on.” Pete marched out of the gym and down the long, dark hall that led to the supply closet. He turned the final corner ahead of her and then let out a sharp cry and swatted wildly at something that appeared to be attacking his head.
Regan gasped as Pete reeled backward, cursing and thrashing, until he finally tripped over his own feet and ended up flat on his butt in front of her.
Several of the…things…seemed to fly off him as he landed, and then a familiar smell hit Regan’s nostrils. Squid. Quite possibly freshly thawed.
Domingo glared up at her. A limp tentacle was stuck to his shoulder. Another was attached to his back. Several other squid parts were suspended from the doorframe above him.
He flicked the tentacle off his shoulder, radiating fury. Regan tried to think of serious things—SATs, mortgage payments, the nightly news. It wasn’t working.
“Who had access to these squid?” he demanded, wiping a smear of slime from his face.
“I don’t know. I was keeping them in the staff freezer and planned to throw them out on trash day, but…they were missing this morning.”
“Why didn’t you report this?” His face was dangerously red.
“You want me to report missing squid?”
“This wouldn’t have happened if you had. You are responsible for this.”
The bell rang. Regan pulled in a deep breath. “No, Pete. I’d say you’re responsible. Maybe if you weren’t so over-the-top with your discipline policy, you wouldn’t be covered with squid parts right now.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
Regan flicked a piece of slippery cephalopod off the wall. “I need to get to class. Are you all right?”
She was rewarded with a furious look, which she took as a yes.
“There will be no more seafood in this school!” Domingo shouted as she rounded the corner without her lightbulb. She decided then and there she’d bring shrimp salad for lunch every day for the rest of the month.
The next day, the Wesley staff and students discovered that hell had no fury like a principal who’d been punked.
Pete Domingo had no evidence, no suspects. All he had was a head full of possibilities, a school packed with smirking students and staff who’d heard about what had happened and had thought it funny, too.
Student after student was called down to the office to be grilled. All had returned to class looking shaken, but also vaguely satisfied. Kylie and Sadie were subjected to a longer inquisition than the other kids called from Regan’s class, but they came back unscathed. No one confessed and, at the end of the day, Pete was no closer to solving his crime than he’d been when he was sitting on the floor in front of the supply-closet door, flicking tentacles off his clothing.
The staff avoided being seen gossiping in groups. No one wanted to be accused of conspiracy and no one wanted to relight Pete’s very short fuse.
“You’ve been a good sport about this,” the librarian whispered, late in the afternoon, as she scanned Regan’s reference book. “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”
“I’m fine,” Regan whispered back. “But I wish I knew who did it. I’d kind of like to shake their hands.”
The woman winked and then nodded toward a table of three geeky eighth-graders who had been thoroughly reamed out by Domingo a few days before for some petty infraction.
“You’re kidding,” Regan mouthed.
The librarian gave her an arch look and disappeared into the stacks.
A few long hours later Regan was in her kitchen making tea, peppermint tea, to help combat the stress headache she’d acquired.
A windstorm had started brewing late that afternoon and was now in full force, bending the trees and rattling the windows, and at first Regan thought the noise at the front door was a blast of wind. When she heard it again, during a lull, she realized someone was knocking.
