was Patty Brown, calling to speak with her daughter. Bird handed Liz the phone. After a quick conversation, Liz hung up with a stunned expression on her face. “Phil’s been t ... taken to the police station for questioning, and Mom’s coming r ... right away to pick me up.”
“Oh, Liz,” cried Julia. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
“I can’t believe this is h ... happening,” whispered Liz, her eyes filling with tears.
Hannah crossed the kitchen and put her arm around Liz’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, honey, you’ll see. This’ll all be over before you know it. Once the man is caught.”
“If they can figure out who really did it,” Bird added.
Hannah shot her a look, but Bird wasn’t paying any attention.
Bird summarized, counting on her fingers. “There are four suspects that we know of: Cliff, the wild man, Phil Butler and Pierre Hall. I know for sure it wasn’t Cliff.”
“Or Phil,” added Liz quickly.
Bird nodded. “Of course. So that leaves Pierre and the wild man.”
“Pierre is creepy,” Julia stated, “but the wild man really scares me.”
Bird knew exactly what she meant.
After helping to clean up the lunch dishes, Bird put on her chaps and went outside, desperate to get in a practice with Sundancer. No matter how horrible the news of Sandra Hall’s death, the show was only four days away.
The Palston Horse Show was a big one. Bird felt totally unprepared and more than a little nervous. She would be competing against some serious riders. Normally, she would’ve had several schooling shows under her belt by this point in the season, but this was her first time out in a year.
To duplicate the level of difficulty they’d be facing, she set up a course of jumps in the front field. Striding out the distances, hauling poles, measuring heights, Bird was concentrating so hard that she was startled by a nose on her arm.
Sunny! You scared me!
Cool.
I think it’s ready. Let’s get your saddle on and give it a whirl.
The triple is weird. Pace it out again.
It’s perfect.
You want to risk it?
Bird thought for a second. She didn’t want to ride through and crash. She took Sunny’s advice and walked it again. Sure enough, she’d made a mistake. The first and second jumps were fine, but to get to the third was not an easy three strides, it was a messy two-and-a-half.
Bird looked at Sunny. He was gloating.
Okay, okay, so you were right.
Again. And you were wrong. Say it.
I said you were right.
Say you’re wrong or you can’t ride me today.
What?
I’ll get all crazy. I still remember how to do that, you know.
Are you threatening me?
Maybe.
Bird certainly did remember how crazy Sundancer had been. When he’d first arrived at Saddle Creek, Hannah had forbidden Bird from riding him, and for excellent reasons. The horse was particularly sensitive and naturally suspicious. His first trainers had not factored that into his early education, and, as a consequence, Sunny had become confused, bitter and unresponsive. The situation quickly became a vicious circle — the more he questioned, the harsher the training methods became until finally Sunny was a danger to himself and to every rider who dared get on his back. Saddle Creek had been his last chance, and Bird had been his saviour. Her unique ability to communicate with animals had literally kept him alive.
I can’t believe you’d do that again. She patted his neck gently, enjoying the feel of his healthy, silky coat. They’d been through a lot together. Those were not good days.
You’re right. He rubbed his forehead on her shoulder. I wouldn’t really do it on purpose.
I was wrong about the triple.
Then let’s do this.
Bird and Sunny warmed up for ten minutes with a collected walk and trot that stretched out his back muscles and the tendons and ligaments in his legs. Soon his stride was long and low and loose, and it was time to begin the course. Just as they cantered around the corner toward the first jump, Sundancer spooked and leapt sideways.
Sunny! What’s up?
A human is there.
Where? Bird scanned the edges of the field. She could see nothing.
Behind the trees along the fenceline. It’s the same human from the trail.
The wild man?
He smells the same. Let’s pay him a visit.
What? Last night you almost kill me running away from him and today you want to confront him?
Yes.
The pair trotted along the fence to the spot where Sunny had sensed the presence. Nothing was there.
Are you sure, Sunny?
Of course, I’m sure! My nose still smells him. Sunny flipped up his upper lip and snorted loudly. Horrible.
He’s gone now.
I know. But he was here.
Puzzled and disquieted, Bird rode Sunny back to the grassy area where she’d set up the jumps. Can we do this now? she asked, unsure whether the man’s presence had spooked Sunny out of his good mood.
I can. The question is, can you? You’re trembling.
I’m fine. It was just a little weird.
They began the course again, cantering in the same as before, and this time there were no interruptions. They got their rhythm around the corner and took the first jump nice and easy, cantering four strides to the hedge, then six strides to the oxer. The triple combination rode perfectly, thanks to Sunny, with a two stride then a three stride and on to the water jump, which was really a kid’s discarded wading pool rescued from the dump. Sunny took the skinny, then doubled back to an illusion jump constructed of jumbled poles. They finished by jumping the hedge from the other direction.
