want clues? Grimy streaks down your face. Dust and dirt all over your clothes.” Yolanda shot her another sideways glance. “I won’t tell anybody. You know I won’t. The truth, Evie. The Caledon Horse Race.”
The old black sedan came up fast, passing on their left and spraying gravel. Evie ducked in time. He would’ve caught up to them for sure if Yolanda hadn’t picked them up. Evie pulled some McDonald’s napkins from the glove compartment and worked at removing the dirt from her freckled face.
“You think a spit bath will help?”
Evie pursed her lips and said nothing. It would be much better for Yolanda if she didn’t know. That way she wouldn’t be an accomplice if Evie was caught.
“I was listening to the Erin station while I was waiting at the garage. Heard the Caledon Race. The whole thing.”
“Oh?” Evie pretended innocence. “Who won?”
“A sixteen-year-old girl named Molly Peebles. Riding a small black horse. It’s all over the news.” Yolanda glanced at Evie for a reaction. “They say she’s deaf.”
Deaf? Evie found a brush in the console and started the job of disentangling her matted hair. “Really.”
“Go ahead and admit it.” Yolanda’s voice was serious. “Everybody and his brother is wondering about Molly Peebles. It’s a big mystery. A curiosity. Hard to keep it secret for long.”
“I can trust you, Yoyo. I know I can. But I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Like it would be the first time?” Yolanda snorted.
Evie was sorely tempted to tell her all about it. In fact, she was bursting to share the thrills and all the details, from sneaking Kazzam out of the field early that morning to eluding the reporters. The shaky start. Losing her stirrups. Catching up. Crossing the finish line first.
But this was bigger than just racing her father’s horse without permission. Evie was about to run away from home. If Yolanda knew anything about it, she’d lose her job.
Up ahead, the old black sedan sat idling on the side of the road. Evie pretended to be busy looking through some imaginary papers on her lap and snuck a peek as they drove past. The driver, a man, was on his cellphone, and he was definitely one of the reporters. The one with the scruffy chin. She watched through the side mirror as he pulled out and followed them.
“Okay,” said Yolanda. “Why do you care who that is?”
“I don’t.”
Yolanda sighed. “You’re such a bad liar.”
They drove in silence as they turned onto the side road and travelled along the white, four-board horse-fences that enclosed the pristine pastures of Maple Mills Stables. At the entrance, they waited while the big white gates, activated by the remote on the dash, slowly opened.
Evie saw in the side mirror that the black sedan was right behind them.
“Do you want to talk to this guy?” asked Yolanda.
“Not really.”
“Okay, then. I’ll deal with him.” Yolanda stopped the rig halfway through the entrance and approached the reporter’s car window.
“May I help you?” she asked. Her voice was pleasant.
Evie couldn’t hear what the man said.
“I have no idea if he’s available, Mr. Reynolds.”
Again Evie could hear only a mumbled response, but then the man got out of his car and Evie heard him clearly. “I’m working on a story. A soft story, a good news story about a girl and her horse.” He edged closer to the window of the horse trailer. Evie got worried. If he caught a glimpse of the dirt-caked black racehorse, she’d be busted for sure.
She decided to take a risk. She checked the mirror to be sure her face was acceptably clean, then jumped out and strode around to face Yoyo and the reporter. “What is the delay, Yolanda?” She tossed her head and tried to mimic her stepmother’s impatient, spoiled tone. She thought she got the faux society accent just right.
Yoyo’s eyes widened.
Close up, Evie assessed the reporter as decent-looking and youngish, with grey eyes and floppy dark hair. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Chet Reynolds. I’m —”
Evie ignored his hand, and spoke to Yolanda. “We’re already late.” Then, as if it was an afterthought, she asked the reporter, “Do you have an appointment with anyone?”
“No, but I have a few ques—”
“Then I suggest you call before you come back.” She handed him one of the Maple Mills Racing Stables cards that were kept in the console of the truck. Evie aped the fake smile her stepmother used when dismissing staff. “Come, Yolanda.” Evie tossed her head again for good measure and got back in the truck.
Her heart rate was elevated, but her mission was accomplished. The reporter backed his car out onto the road and departed.
Yolanda climbed in and drove through. The gates swung shut behind them. “Scary imitation.”
Evie laughed in a burst of release. “Don’t worry. I’m still me.”
They slowly drove up the long lane edged with maple trees and white horse-fences. Elegant Thoroughbred horses grazed and relaxed in the trimmed paddocks.
“That guy won’t disappear so easily,” warned Yolanda. “I can feel trouble coming.”
“Like it would be the first time,” joked Evie.
Yolanda didn’t smile. “You better be careful. Paulina would love you to screw up, and your father is having no luck with his horses. He’s in a bad mood. You know it.”
Nothing could take the joy out of Evie more quickly than the thought of Grayson Gibb. She slumped as she gazed out the truck window. “Was he always so horrible?”
Yolanda answered thoughtfully. “He was okay when I first came to work here. Charming, actually. People always think that when they meet him. I always hear how handsome and charming my boss is.”
“So what happened?”
“Hard to know. He’s a control freak. And a tough boss.” She sniffed. “Cross him and you’re fired. But the staff thought he got even worse after your mother got sick.”
“Do you remember her?” Evie asked.
Yolanda shot her a sideways glance. “Angela? Of course. We all loved her. She was smart and friendly, and pretty, too. She was good to us. Grayson Gibb couldn’t help what happened to her. I think he tried. It drove him nuts.”
“What did happen to her?”
“I don’t know. She got sick and then she was gone.”
That was all anybody ever said about her mother, Evie thought. “Standard line.
