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Even with Rick’s reassuring arm around her shoulders as they walked up to the house, Bailey’s head was spinning. Had she finally met someone she could trust, someone who could actually help her? When Miss Piggy disappeared the police had held out little hope, but she had silently sworn she wouldn’t stop searching until she found her.
When they reached the back door to the impressive home, Rick tapped lightly, then opened it and stepped into a large chef’s kitchen with a flagstone floor. But as he guided her to a large, round wooden table and they sat down, Bailey barely noticed her surroundings.
“Here, drink this,” Ben said softly, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. “I added cream. It’s fresh and hand whipped, not that crap you get in those cans,” he continued as he settled opposite her.
“Thank you,” she muttered, surprised she could speak.
“Let’s get right to it,” he began solemnly. “How long ago was your mare taken, and where was she? Inside a barn? A paddock? What were the circumstances?”
“I went on tour for a week, and I hate myself for it,” she replied, her voice cracking. “I hate myself for leaving her. It’s all my fault.”
“Bailey, the only person to blame is the bastard who took her,” Rick said firmly. “Please, just tell us what happened.”
“The weather was nice so they were out in a paddock for the night, and in the morning they were gone.”
“They?” Ben repeated. “There were other horses taken at the same time?”
“Two, a gelding called Cocoa and a bay mare, Lizzie.”
“When did this happen?”
“About five weeks ago.”
“That’s good, there’s a chance.”
“The police don’t seem to think so,” she mumbled with a heavy sigh, then took a sip of her coffee hoping it would help her stay in control.
“They have limited resources and very little experience when it comes to animal abductions,” Ben remarked. “Do you like the coffee? Do you need more sugar or cream?”
“No, thanks, it’s really good. But about the police, they didn’t even want to follow up when I told them she’d been spotted.”
“What? She was spotted? How? Where? Are you sure it was her?” Rick asked urgently.
“She was seen in this area. That’s why I was here a couple of weeks ago, and the only reason I agreed to perform at this event. I had to come back and search again, but it hasn’t been easy. All I can think about is leaving the show grounds and hunting for her.”
“Where was she spotted?” Ben asked. “Was this person sure it was her?”
“Yes, she was sure, and she was shocked. That’s why she called. She wanted to know why I’d sold her. I swear my heart literally stopped. She was on a road trip with her boyfriend and they were exploring back roads. They were way off the beaten track when she spotted Miss Piggy, Lizzy, and Cocoa in a big field, but there was no cell service. When we finally talked it was a day later, and she couldn’t remember exactly where it was or how they got there. But it was definitely here in Birchwood, about twenty or thirty minutes east of the show grounds.”
“I take it you’re out huntin’ by yourself because you don’t trust anyone,” Ben remarked. “That’s natural. You’ve become paranoid.”
“I have, totally, but how did you know?”
“It happened to me,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I had that same feelin’—and it’s bad. I was a cop at the time, and thank the Lord I found my big boy, but those were tough days.”
Staring at him, an odd sensation rippled through her stomach, then a wave of goosebumps pricked her skin.
“Take another drink,” he continued. “Do you have a photograph of all three horses? I’ll contact the sheriff right away. His deputies will be on the lookout when they’re on patrol, and I’ll get in touch with some other ranchers in the area, good guys who will do the right thing. If your mare is still in these parts we’ll find her.”
“What if she’s gone?”
“Let me put it like this. If your friend saw those horses in a field, they weren’t stolen to be taken to a killer’s yard. They’d be long gone by now, so on that point you can rest easy. I bet that’s been drivin’ you crazy.”
“It has, and thank you, thank you so much for telling me. I haven’t been able to sleep,” she groaned as fresh tears spilled down her face.
“Or eat either, I bet.’
“If I do I get an upset stomach. Milkshakes have been a Godsend. Here are the pictures,” she continued, lifting her bag and retrieving them from a zippered compartment. “And I also have this,” she added, holding up the silver cylinder around her neck. “The paddocks back where I live are big, so I trained her. When she hears it she comes galloping over to me. It’s a silent dog whistle, or in this case, a silent horse whistle.”
