The Fame Equation (25 page)

That left me with the choice of having dinner alone, or with Jon. I often ate by myself, but the day’s events had made me jumpy.

“Dinner?” I asked when I called him. “Six thirty?”

Jon and I ate a jumbo lasagna that I had picked up at Walmart, along with a salad. We were just finishing up some double fudge chocolate ice cream for dessert when a knock sounded at the back door. Jon and I exchanged glances, then I called, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Bubba.”

“You stay here. I’ll go to the door to be sure no one else is with him,” Jon said. He pulled back the blind on the window and peered out, then cracked the door open with the security chain still latched. All must have seemed secure, because Jon took the chain off the hook. Bubba trudged in with his backpack and a plastic grocery sack. Clothes spilled over the top of the sack.

“My dad, he had to go away again. Said I could stay with you,” Bubba said.

I looked at Jon, my eyes full of worry for Bubba, anger at Hill, and concern that I might inadvertently put Bubba in danger. There was, after all, a killer gunning for me. Bubba, however, misinterpreted the look and dropped the plastic sack as he ran back out the door. I saw the look on his face and realized that Bubba thought he was not welcome.

Before I knew it I had jumped up to go after him, but Jon caught my arm. “You stay here,” he said. “Lock the door after me. I’ll find him. I promise.”

I
SPENT THE NEXT HOUR
pacing the lower level of my house. Kitchen to living room to office and back again. So many thoughts swirled through my brain that I couldn’t catch a single one of them. Never in a million years did I want Bubba to think he wasn’t welcome. Twenty years ago I had been that kid who didn’t have a place to go. I didn’t want Bubba to ever go through what I’d had to.

When it came to Hill Henley, I understood that everyone was entitled to be stupid sometimes, but Hill abused the privilege. Why did Hill think it was okay to send Bubba over here without asking me in advance? Hill had been working for several months now with a social worker. He’d been taking parenting classes. He should have learned something. What if I had been out of town?

When I was making what seemed like the four hundredth circuit of my downstairs, my new phone finally rang. I hadn’t taken time to add any phone numbers into it so it took a moment for me to look at the number and figure out who was calling. Jon.

“Found him,” he said. “He was in the hay stall. He’s going to bunk with me tonight.”

I was surprised by the amount of relief I felt. Tomorrow I’d talk to Bubba, tell him he was always welcome here. Then Hill would come back in a day or so and I’d talk to him, too. Martin was working hard and would catch Melody’s killer, and then life could get back to usual, or as usual as it would ever be without Melody.

Those were my thoughts in that moment. I’d quickly find, though, that if I imagined life was going to improve soon, I was dead wrong.

Right after I got up the next morning I checked my email. There were only two of any importance. The first was from Jenn at
Horses in the Morning
, who asked if I would talk to their listeners about Melody and her love of horses. I wanted to, I really did, but I wasn’t ready.

LOTS GOING ON. AFTER THANKSGIVING OKAY?

That would buy me a few weeks time. The other important email was one from Buffy, who asked if I was interested in being on a committee to help plan Melody’s public memorial service.

WE’RE MEETING AT THE HOLY CHURCH OF THE MIGHTY HAPPY AT 3 THIS AFTERNOON. SORRY FOR THE SHORT NOTICE. THIS IS ALL COMING TOGETHER QUICKLY. WOULD REALLY LIKE YOUR INPUT.

EMILY, RUTHIE, DAVIS, CHAS CHADWICK, AND I ARE ON THE COMMITTEE––AND
YOU
WE HOPE. WE’VE ASKED KEITH, TOO, BUT HAVEN’T HEARD BACK. KNOW HE IS OUT ON TOUR UNTIL THE THANKSGIVING BREAK BUT THOUGHT HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO SKYPE IN IF HE IS NOT BUSY WITH A SOUND CHECK. WE NORMALLY WOULDN’T MEET ON A WEEKEND, BUT WE’RE ALL PULLING IN EXTRA HOURS ON THIS.

I gave Buffy’s email some thought before I answered. Of course I wanted to be there. Melody would want me to be involved. But would a meeting such as this seem to the killer that I was snooping? It was an excellent opportunity to get closer to the key players in Melody’s life, though.

My fingers clicked on reply before I was even aware that I had made up my mind.

LOVE TO BE INVOLVED. COUNT ME IN. CAT

While I typed, another email came in. It was from Brent saying that his schedule had changed and he was on call through the weekend. I sighed. Between Melody’s murder, and the schedule at Brent’s clinic, we hadn’t been able to spend much time together lately.

It was still early when I went out to feed, and the air was crisp with the smell of fall. This was one of the first really cool mornings of the season, although the temperature was supposed to reach sixty later in the day.

Hank met me by the feed room, and helped me give each horse a little hay. Then I measured and ladled grain and supplements for all of the horses. Each horse had a specific mixture of feed that optimized health and performance. The result was that I fed three different formulas, plus a variety of bone and joint, and skin and hair and hoof supplements. Wheeler also took allergy meds.

After the horses finished eating, I put Reddi and Wheeler into the big pasture in the front. Reddi pranced and snorted her way around the field, while Wheeler put his nose down and got to the business of eating the brown November grass.

Gigi got to go into the round pen and she, too, took the opportunity to snort in the cool air. Ringo went into a paddock with Sally. This was his first turnout at my place with another horse. Sally was sensible, and would also teach him the rules. As a former race and halter horse, it probably had been some time since Ringo had been allowed out in a pen with other horses. He needed to be re-socialized, and hanging with Sally Blue was a great way to start.

I stayed by the fence rail for a few minutes to be sure they got along, and after a few nose to nose squeals, and a strike or two with her front foot, Sally wheeled around and kicked at Ringo twice, then they settled down companionably to graze. I noted that Sally didn’t kick Ringo, but kicked at him. There was a difference. This round of kicking was a warning. If Ringo didn’t follow detailed equine societal rules, then the next kick could make contact.

By the time I got back to the barn, Jon and Bubba were coming down the wooden steps from the loft. Jon gave me a thumbs up, so whatever he said to Bubba must have eased his mind. Now it was my turn.

“Breakfast?”

Jon shook his head. “No thanks. I’m good.” Jon was not a breakfast person.

“Then I think Bubba and I should go to McDonalds.” Bubba’s face lit up. McDonalds was, hands down, his favorite restaurant.

“Can I have one a them Egg McMuffins with hash browns and a triple berry smoothie?” he asked already running toward the truck.

I told Jon we’d be back within the hour and that I’d be very aware of our surroundings. Bubba would be my safety buddy. Then I drove west on River Road, up and over the hill and across the Cumberland River. We went through the drive-in, then I swung into Sycamore Park where we found a picnic table near the river. Even though it was a chilly morning, I mixed an orange juice and sprite together, my usual summertime drink. McDonalds did offer hot chocolate, but this morning I decided to pass.

“So,” I said, “you and Jon have a good night last night?”

“Yep. Me an’ him, we has us a boys night.”

Oh boy, I thought. I envisioned a night of action movies and burping contests. Although, I had a hard time picturing Jon as a serial belcher.

“What, ah, what did you do during your boys night?”

“We played Go Fish, an’ we drank us some root beer.”

I also had a hard time seeing Jon as a Go Fish kind of guy, but life is full of surprises.

“An’ he told me that you an’ him, you guys wanted me to come over whenever I could.”

“That’s true, Bubba. I was just a little startled last night, that’s all. I’d had a rough day and I was worried, because your dad usually tells me when he is going out of town.”

“This was one a them last minute kind of trips,” Bubba said. His Egg McMuffin was long gone, as were the hash browns.

“Well, I just want you to know that no matter what, you are always welcome at my house,” I said, as I gathered up cups and wrappers. I meant the words, but I also hoped I wasn’t opening the door to something that would become problematic. I had enough difficulty in my life already. Then Bubba smiled, and I thought,
what’s so difficult
?

By the time we got back to the farm, Jon had Petey’s harness on and Bob tacked up in western gear.

“I thought Bubba could ride Bob while we worked with Petey,” Jon said.

“Can I?” Bubba asked me.

“Get a helmet first,” I said. “Look in the tack room, to the left of the door.”

Even though Bubba was the son of a horse trainer, Hill had neglected to teach his son how to ride. What riding experience Bubba had came from my letting him sit on a horse now and then, along with a few informal lessons. Hill had made it quite clear that he didn’t want me putting my “silly girl” notions about horses into Bubba’s head. He also didn’t like the way I fed or trained my horses, or how I managed my pastures. The way Hill found fault with me, he must think there was some kind of reward.

Bob was gentle, and he and Bubba had spent time together in the past. Helmet on, I gave Bubba a leg up and the two began to plod around the far end of the covered arena. Jon had set out some trail obstacles, and some cones and poles, so Bubba had plenty to do down there.

On the other end, Jon led Petey while I pulled the new black cart up behind him, almost as close as it would be if Petey was pulling it. Petey showed no concern, even when we did some figure eights and trotted some. Next session, Jon and I would try hooking Petey up.

Bubba and Bob did well together, but after their ride, I cautioned Bubba not to mention Petey and the cart to Darcy.

“It’s a secret, Bubba, a big secret and Jon and I want to surprise Darcy for Christmas, okay?”

Bubba nodded. “Pinky swear. I won’t tell.”

“Then you’ll have to be here with us when we show Darcy,” I said.

“If ’n my dad will let me,” he said.

It surprised me how much I hoped Hill would. After Bubba and I shared a lunch of milk and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I checked my email. Checking email twice in one day was probably a record. Twice a week was usually pushing it. Among a few junk emails was another email from Buffy.

MEETING MOVED TO MHTRC, SAME TIME. C U THEN. BUFFY

It took me a moment to figure out that MHTRC stood for Mighty Happy Therapeutic Riding Center. It was then that I realized I had a problem, well, three problems actually. The first was Hill Henley. I had no idea where he’d gone or when he’d be back, and I had no way to find out. If Hill had not left any clues to his whereabouts the last time, he certainly wouldn’t have this time, either. I also didn’t want to go inside their scummy trailer. Even if Hill and Bubba had picked up the trash, I was sure they had not cleaned. For now Bubba was safe and happy. We’d see what events the next few days brought.

Problem number two was Brent. I needed to catch him up on the happenings of the past few days, but wanted to do it in person. Now, with him on call all weekend, we’d have to talk over the phone. He’d probably work until four or so, unless there was an emergency, and then who knew how late he might be at the clinic. I’d call him this evening, after dinner.

My third problem was the meeting itself. I had agreed to go, but just realized I didn’t have a buddy to take with me. I didn’t think it was appropriate for Bubba to go. Besides, he wanted to help Jon with the evening feeding. I put my thinking cap on, and soon my dilemma was solved.

Jon and Bubba would follow me to the riding center, then Darcy would stop by after her meeting with the career counselor and follow me home. I felt silly taking these precautions, yet the people around me seemed to feel they were necessary. I guessed that I didn’t mind indulging them.

Bubba questioned the need for he and Jon to follow me, but Jon explained that my truck hadn’t been working all that well, and he wanted to be sure that I arrived at the meeting safely.

“Why don’t she just take your car?” he asked.

Jon, who was standing behind Bubba, grimaced and raised his hands palms up.

“Because Jon might need his car,” I said quickly.

Bubba seemed to accept that and soon I was headed south on Sam’s Creek Road, a man, a boy, and a hound dog with his head hanging out the window following behind. How did I ever get so lucky?