Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

"I envy someone like you who's an expert on horseflesh," Qwilleran said, indulging in gross flattery. He himself was an expert in uttering complimentary untruths.

"Spent my whole life with the buggers," said Steve. "Ought to know something by this time."

"Come on in and have a drink... How long does it take you to drive up here?" Qwilleran asked as they entered the barn.

"Fifty minutes. Sometimes less. I like to drive fast."

"One thing you don't have to worry about is red lights."

"Yeah. Only problem is the old geezers driving trucks and tractors down the middle of the road like they owned it." Steve was eyeing the pale tweed sofas with uncertainty.

"Let's sit over there," Qwilleran suggested, motioning toward the library area. "It's closer to the bar."

"Man, I'm all for that! It's been a hard day. I could use a drink." He dropped his jacket on the floor and sank into a big leather chair with a sigh that was almost a groan. "Shot and a beer, if you've got it."

Koko had taken up a position on the fireplace cube where he could keep the visitor under surveillance, his haunches coiled, his tail lying flat in a horseshoe curve.

Without ceremony Qwilleran put a shot glass and a can of beer on a table at Steve's elbow. His own drink of Squunk water was in a martini glass, straight up, with a twist. "I hear you had an accident at the farm today," he said casually.

The trainer tossed off the whiskey. "Where'd you hear that?"

"On the radio." Not true, of course.

"Yeah. Too bad. He was a good horse - great promise - but we hadda put him down."

"What about the rider? Did he get up and walk away?"

"Damn that Robbie! It was his own fault - pushing too hard, taking chances! You know how kids are today - no discipline! Serves him right if he has to quit riding. There'll be other riders and other horses, I always say. You can't let yourself get upset about things like that."

"You're remarkably philosophical."

"You hafta be in this business. But we got some good news. Wanna hear some good news?"

"By all means."

"Mrs. Amberton is staying on at the farm after it's sold. She's a helluva good instructor, and it'd be a crime to lose her. Plus, she has an idea for a tack shop - setting it up right on the farmgrounds. Only top-grade gear - everything from boots and saddles to hats and stock-ties. It'll be a big investment, but it'll payoff. The kids around here have a lotta dough to spend, and Lisa - Mrs. Amberton, that is - insists they've gotta have the best turnout if they ride under her colors. A good tack shop will be a money-maker!"

"Who are these kids you talk about?"

"Local kids, crazy about riding - some talented, some not - but they're all hell-bent on winning ribbons and working their way up to Madison Square Garden! Lisa - Mrs. Amberton - has as many as fifty in some of her classes. If you like young chicks, we've got 'em in all shapes and sizes."

"How often do they compete?"

"Coupla times a month. Lessons three times a week. Costs them plenty, but they've got it to spend. There's all kinds of money in Lockmaster."

Qwilleran stood up and headed for the bar. "Do it again?"

"Sounds good," said Steve.

"Same way?"

The trainer made an okay sign with his fingers. Koko was still staring at the visitor. Qwilleran kept the man talking and drinking, and eventually he began to fidget in his chair. "Well, whaddaya think about the farm? How does it sound, price and all?"

"Sounds tempting," Qwilleran said, "but first I wanted to ask you a question."

"Shoot."

"Why did you land in Lockmaster?"

"Tried everywhere else. Nice country up here. Good working conditions. Healthy climate. Everybody'll tell ya that."

"Is it true you got into trouble Down Below?" Qwilleran asked the question in an easy conversational tone.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I heard some scuttlebutt about... illegal drugs at the racetrack."

Steve shrugged. "Everybody was doin' it. I just got caught."

"I have a bone to pick with you," Qwilleran said in a casual way.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"When you were here yesterday, you shot a bird on the way out."

"So? Something wrong with that?"

"We don't shoot birds around here."

"Hell! You got millions more. One'll never be missed. I can't say no to a redbird."

"You seem pretty handy with a gun."

"Yeah, I'm a good shot, drunk or sober." He looked up at Koko on the fireplace cube. "Sittin' right here I could get that cat between the eyes." He cocked a finger at Koko, who jumped to the floor with a grunt and went up the vertical 10ft ladder in a blur of fur- straight up to the top catwalk, ending on the railing forty feet above Steve's head. "What's with him?" the trainer asked.

Qwilleran could envision an aerial attack, and he launched an attack of his own. He said calmly, "Were you drunk or sober when you killed VanBrook?"

"What! Are you nuts?"

"Just kidding," Qwilleran said. "The police can't come up with a suspect, and I thought you were here that night."

"Hell, no! I was at a wedding in Lockmaster."