Something Most Deadly Page 11
“You never know. But my God, the coincidences in play to bring this all together just boggles the mind. And Brian Canaday, of all people!”
“I know,” Jane agreed, “we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in what—over a decade?”
“At least! So he was in Special Operations—that’s where the man was hiding himself. Delta Force, of course! What else would you expect from a guy with his brains and athletic talent. What branch of the military is Delta Force?”
“Dylan says they pick the Delta Force guys from the elite special forces of all the branches of the Army.”
“Naturally,” Madeline cracked dryly. “And you were tailing him! Lucky he didn’t end up chasing you. At least I think that’s lucky.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t,” Jane mumbled. “He recognized the car the minute he drove to the barn.”
“You still driving that rattletrap Buick?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Madeline snorted. “That’s hard to miss. Don’t need to be in Delta Force to see that—you could be in the ladies’ knitting club and spot it.”
“Very funny. Sam is nagging me to buy a new car.”
“Madeline raised her cup. “Here’s to Sam! Are you going to do it?”
“Probably. Just have to get used to the idea.”
“Good!” she nodded, you’ll be much safer with a decent car, and a cell phone—are you ever going to get a cell phone?”
“Terrifying spending money. Being dirt poor leaves quite a scar.”
“Yes, I know—I had to break myself of that baggage. Years ago I was afraid to buy a shirt even though I was making a good salary.”
Madeline sipped more coffee and then she said: “I can’t believe you picked the one day of all days that Brian would be shopping in Boston—on almost the same square of earth that you were occupying.”
“The whole thing has made me dizzy,” Jane confessed. “I just had to get away. Boy, these muffins are mouthwatering—your own recipe?”
Madeline munched thoughtfully on a piece of muffin, looking closely at Jane. “Yes, I’ve been perfecting muffin recipes for years. This is the latest EPMOT—experimental prototype muffin of tomorrow, it did turn out well.”
Jane laughed and said, “good work!”
“So, you think this Lucinda character is now ratting on you?” Madeline returned to the subject.
“As we speak, she is busy describing me in great detail to Brian and Elliot—and anyone who will listen—about how I was sneaking around in the bushes like some idiot spy. And I’m sure they were watching my tire-screaming departure from the office windows. I did everything but pop a wheelie.”
“Ouch!” Madeline winced in sympathy. Then she asked: “Do you think Brian would recognize you if he saw you?”
“No...maybe...I don’t know. If he does, I’m done for.” She looked up at Madeline. “Does anyone ever recognize you from our nerdy high school days?”
“Hardly ever. But then I’ve changed a lot more than you. You were always pretty, it was just those horrible oversized bag-lady clothes and the lawnmower haircut, courtesy of Edith Scissorhands. A worse haircut than I got at the foster homes.”
Jane laughed, “Oh, I was far from pretty.”
“You had—have a very pretty face! A beautiful face! You self-image has just been shot to hell by circumstances—something I can definitely empathize with.”
“Okay,” Jane answered wryly, thinking how it was wonderful the way good friends tried to build you up.
“Believe it. I’m not just trying to be flattering. Speaking of Edith, I heard she died a few months back.”
“Yes...Thanksgiving day.”
“Well, that’s kind of apropos,” Madeline joked. Then she apologized. “Sorry, I just always hated the way she treated you. And I really hated what she did to your hair!’
“That makes two of us.”
“I think your gorgeous hair triggered some deep-seated jealousy in that crazy woman and she was determined to keep hacking away at it...I’m surprised she didn’t shave your head.”
Jane smiled. “Her big shears finally went out in the garbage in an empty cereal box. She kept trying to remember where she’d hid them.”
Madeline laughed and high-fived her, then leaned to look around her back. “Wow, it’s really gotten long—almost to your waist now.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing Edith can’t see it—she had a purple fit when it grew past my shoulders. Never stopped looking for the shears.”
Madeline shook her head. “Boy, was she batty. I couldn’t even force myself to write a sympathy note for that woman—I wanted to send you congratulations instead. Oh God, I’m speaking ill of the dead.”
“Shame on you,” Jane needled, making Madeline snort with laughter. Another hour and they’d be positively giddy.
Madeline grinned over her coffee mug. “You know, speaking of our tattered, geeky past, I ran into a bunch of the truly snobby girls from our old high school, the ones who were so rotten to us.” She plopped down her coffee mug for emphasis. “If I can speak honestly here—they’ve gotten ugly enough to scare a hungry dog off a meat wagon.”
Jane nearly spit out her coffee, gasping with laughter. “You mean,” she laughed, “their insides are now showing?”
“Exactly!”
“I feel better already, is this your standard therapy?”
“Nothing like laughter.”
Then Madeline sighed and turned serious. “I’m worried about this Lucinda person. Those tough little rich brats can be a real threat if they set their sights on you, and it sounds like Lucinda-dearest has you in the cross hairs.”
Jane nodded. “She’s quite a piece of work. She somehow found out about my old nickname of Plain Jane—and she never misses a chance to call me that behind my back.”
“How nice for you,” Madeline responded dryly. “Glad I don’t have to deal with her—or she’d be calling me Fatty Maddy.”
Jane chuckled at that. “She’d try, I’m sure...but it would be hard to make it stick—the way you look now.” Jane plucked obsessively at remnants of her pumpkin muffin. “I also have no doubt that Lucinda is going to try and embarrass me as much as possible with Brian just to amuse herself.”
“OPM...other peoples misery—or schadenfreude if you want to be fancy. It’s life-sustaining oxygen to females of her type. Does our little Lucinda have any reason to be especially jealous of you? Other than just you being another breathing female?”
Jane sighed. “She loses, or has lost, a lot of ribbons and trophies to me. The parents hired me specifically to improve her riding and help her win more classes, but I’m afraid it’s a lost cause. I’d be surprised if she ever made it out of second level competition. Teaching ballet to a gorilla would be easier than teaching the finer points of Dressage to Lucinda.”
“So that’s why they bought the gazillion-dollar horsy for her? To make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear, so to speak.”
“Something like that.”
Madeline groaned, sighed and shook her head.
“Does that inspire confidence in your patients?” Jane asked with a grin, but Madeline wasn’t laughing.
“I bet you miss a lot of your own classes at the shows, right?”
“Some...”
“Fairly important ones?”
“Occasionally,” Jane admitted.
“Clever, the way they did that. They use you and keep you in the background as much as possible. Buy off the threat and keep it hidden away in their own pocket...stall you along.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that calculated...Lucinda’s just so high maintenance.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s calculated. You need to change that.”
“Sure...go back to trying to keep a roof over my head, mucking out stalls, riding sometimes vicious nags—trying to follow my dream and not end up a real bag lady. It’s a trade-off; they get my talent and I get a roof over my head and exposure to Lars and classy horses.”
“There has to be other stables in the area.”
“Not with the prestige and valuable horses this one has...and not with Lars Wallenberg. For the last two years Lars has worked with me every spare moment we can carve out of a week—that alone is priceless. I hate to think what private tutoring from a coach of his caliber would cost me.”
Madeline got up and poured them each more coffee, then sat down and looked into her mug, inhaling the steam as if it would provide wisdom. “Okay, so you learn a lot from this great European coach, but when do you get to show it off? Don’t you have to qualify, build up scores and points or something to be able to compete in the whadaya callem—Regional Championships? And that big show in Florida or the World Games...isn’t that what you were always shooting for, trying to find a horse with four good legs and at least half a brain that you could show yourself?”
“Yes...but I have General now and it’s early in the qualifying season, I don’t think they’d deliberately hold me back. Although I may be getting close to the limit of General’s ability.”
“Oh, it will never be a clearly defined attempt...I suspect you just won’t quite make it to the right qualifying classes by the end of the season. They’ll politely bury you.”
Jane was taken aback, and Madeline immediately apologized, ducking her head and waving a hand. “See, this is why they tell you not to council friends and relatives. You get so over concerned it makes you downright obnoxious.”
“It’s okay...”
“No, no—I’m losing perspective because I’m so mad that these people are mistreating my good friend. But if I take a step back and look at it from your view; look at the obstacles you face and the fears. You’re living in a strange insulated world, one where there’s no clear cut path to the top—no real scholarships to speak of, only the ones where you have to already be pretty privileged to qualify. Unless you just got lucky and hooked a rich sponsor…” Madeline waved her hands again and continued: “You’re just doing what you have to to keep body and soul together, trying to make it in the elite sports world where it takes an incredibly expensive animal and wheelbarrows of money to keep it going.”
“Okay, now I am depressed. Could you go back to picking on me?”
Madeline sat back and laughed and shook her head again.
Jane smiled and said: “I did warn you, this was a lulu.”
“You sure did, and you weren’t kidding. Some psychologist I am. I don’t think I’d even know which path to take if I were you.”
“I don’t think anyone would. And you’re right about those so-called scholarships—if you don’t have access to top-flight horse flesh and you’re too busy working like a dog to survive, you don’t have the time or money to live up to the requirements. Not that the money they offer would likely make a difference, unless you’re really well-off and connected and then they send you to Europe.”
“How nice. The class system still lives. Any chance of you snagging a rich sponsor?”
“Not in the circles I travel. All the wealthy people I know are busy promoting themselves or their offspring—they have absolutely no interest in helping along a potential rival. They just want me to make them better.”
“Hmmm. How about a corporate sponsor like Canaday International..?”
“Oh sure; the Whitbecks would stomp all over me if I tried to snag their golden goose.”
“Earmarked for them, eh?”
“Practically stamped on their foreheads. And I’m sure Canaday International is going to be Title Sponsor for their annual horseshow.”
Madeline shook her head. “Well, if I make it big with my own successful private practice, if you’re still sponserless by then I will consider myself privileged to invest in your career. I’ll buy you a horse that lives up to your talent and snag a little glory for myself.” She raised a fist in the air. “JANE HUSTED WINS AGAIN! RIDING FANCYBUTT OWNED BY DOCTOR MADELINE FANNING!”
Jane laughed, “Thank you Madeline, but I’ll bet by then you’ll also have a couple of kids whose colleges you’ll need to invest in.”
“I’ve already got that handled—I made a few investments in the past and jumped ship just in time to keep a fat bank account.”
Jane was impressed. “Talk about thinking ahead!”
“Always. And I’m serious about sponsoring you—unless some handsome rich guy beats me to it.”
“I’m not counting on handsome rich guy.”
Madeline studied her with interest. “I can’t believe someone as intelligent, talented and attractive as you hasn’t been snapped up by a person or persons with bucks to spare and a fancy horse or two they needed a rider for.”
“It’s a cut-throat world. Raging jealousy is the norm—vicious back-stabbing, sabotage, malicious gossip. You name it. There are a lot of decent, hardworking people in the show world, but they aren’t even close to outnumbering the other types. I don’t have a protective network; I’m sort of hanging out there on my own. My theme song should be Staying Alive.”
“Or buried alive. I still think you need to get away from that monstrous estate you’re hidden away in like some sort of equestrian Cinderella. The Whitbecks control too much of your life, and I don’t think they mean to let you shine. But,” she held her hands up in surrender, “I’ll say no more, maybe I’m wrong, and you will get a chance in the limelight.”
They were silent for a moment, sipping the last of their coffee as the clock tick-tocked away and the air-conditioning vent ruffled blue-flowered draperies. Madeline ran her hand through long strands of straw-blonde hair and brushed it back over the crown of her head. Her luminous hazel eyes and fair hair were stunning, even dressed as she was in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. A smudge of King Arthur still dusted her peaches and cream complexion.
“Do you think you’ll see Brian at all this weekend?” she questioned Jane.
“Not if I can help it. Besides, it doesn’t really matter anymore...Allison Paget is his girlfriend. I should’ve known that only a movie star would do.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Why would she be with him then?”
“Lots of reasons...she needed an escort, she’s between boyfriends, he’s involved in the entertainment industry.”
Madeline got up to freshen their coffee once again, but Jane waved it away, claiming her nerves couldn’t handle more than two cups.
“I never realized you were so crazy about Brian,” Madeline continued as she poured herself another cup. “I mean he was a real doll, and we were all drooling after him like lovesick geeks, but you seemed less interested than most.”
“Good acting. I was so attracted to him, it’s as if I parked some of my mind in his, and now it spooks me when I see someone who’s stolen a chunk of my psyche.”
Madeline nodded and made an “ah-ha” laugh as she returned the coffee pot to the counter. “Very astute observation. So much for my powers of observation.”
“You were too young back then to spot a loony. I’m so mortified at the asinine way I acted.”
Madeline objected. “We weren’t that bad!”
“You weren’t that bad. It was only entertainment for you, a big fun joke. I was obsessed. Embarrassingly so—I just want to forget it.”
“We were Brian groupies,” Madeline laughed and re-took her seat.
Jane agreed. “Stalking 101, and yesterday I was back in training.”
Madeline sipped her coffee and squinted through the steam. “You are not a loony, by the way. In my line of work, I have seen some bona-fide loonies. You are the most solid, level-headed person I know.”
“With a story like this? I mean I’m not a blushing school kid anymore.”
“It is a little outlandish for my normally hard-working, sensible friend.”
“Closet loony.”
“Ve haf cures for that,” Madeline joked.
“Yeah. Prozac, a suit with crisscrossed arms and a rubber room.”
“Hardly ever use those anymo
re.”
“Another week like this, and I’ll need them.”
“You’re just dealing with a lot of baggage, old and new. You need a little break—you need to get out of that rarefied show world for awhile, and let it stop spinning.”
“And go where??”
“Here. I’m kidnapping you.”
“What?”
“Stay overnight in my guestroom—we can order a pizza, get a bottle of wine or two, and talk girl-talk until we lose our voices. It works better than prefrontal lobotomies.”
“They’re still doing that crap?”
“Not really—that kind of psychosurgery is falling out of favor. Not a great idea to murder the mind to fix something.”
“Good point.”
“So...quit changing the subject, are you accepting my invitation? I have no prospects at all for a date tonight, so it would be fun to have some company other than the cat.” She nodded towards an orange tabby—almost the same shade as the muffins—peeking around a corner at Jane.
Jane smiled, but opened her mouth to unleash a hundred reasons why she couldn’t. Madeline cut her off.
“You have to. Your psychologist says so.”
“I...”
“To hell with them. Call someone and leave a brief—very brief—message so that they won’t call out the troops. I have plenty of clothes. It seems so funny that we are actually the same size now, since we used to be only the same height. You were so skinny, and I was so fat. Who knew we would end up almost the same size? Not me anyway.”
“You know, I do just happen to have my underwear in the car.”
“What a Girl Scout—food, underwear, ready for anything!”
Jane rung up Sam.
“Where are you?” he asked, pacing around his office with the portable phone glued to his ear. Jane could hear Dylan in the background: “Is that Jane? Where is she?”
“Shhh,” Sam quieted him, then continued: “Whitbeck was stomping around here with Lucinda and some guy demanding to know where you were. He wasn’t too happy to find out I didn’t have a clue, and Lucinda came back again later to nag the living daylights out of me.”
“I’m sorry Sam, I’m at a friend’s. Ah...what did the guy look like?” she queried.