“Why?” he asked Malachi. “Why is your cousin convinced that Marcus Danby met with foul play?”
“Because, Special Agent Blake, Marcus Danby told her that he was murdered.”
* * *
“I don’t get this horse-assisted therapy,” Joey Walters told Olivia as they walked around inside the pasture. “Unless,” he said, flashing her a belligerent glance, “it’s because our—” He hesitated a minute. She knew the word folks had been on his tongue. But he didn’t have folks anymore. “—our guardians think we’re as stupid as horses and that they’ll somehow fix us? The dumb leading the dumber?”
Olivia lowered her head, smiling, before she looked back at Joey. “Whatever makes you think horses are stupid?” she asked. She was glad to be working. They’d all taken a few days off for Marcus’s funeral, but now they were back.
And she was especially glad to be working because her mind kept racing in denial regarding the autopsy reports.
“They’re not smart—they’ll eat themselves to death if you let them,” Joey muttered.
“Horses have no hidden agenda,” she said. “They have their boundaries, just as we have ours. And for your information, Mr. Walters, horse therapy works well for those who tend to intellectualize everything. You can’t bully a horse. A horse can learn to trust you, but he or she requires you to be trustworthy, as well.”
As if to emphasize her words, Trickster, the twenty-year-old mare she was using with Joey that afternoon, nudged him in the back.
“Hey!” Joey said. But he turned and looked at Trickster. The mare snorted and shook her head, looking back at Joey.
It was a simple exchange—very simple. But Olivia saw something in Joey’s expression and the smile that touched his face. He might be telling her it was all a bunch of bull, but he already cared about Trickster and it was only their second time out.
“You weren’t paying attention to her,” Olivia said. “You brought her out here and then paid no attention to her. She wants to be noticed. She wants you to remember that you came to her.”
“Technically, you brought her out here.”
“Yes, but you brushed her and talked to her and started walking with her. She wants your attention.”
“You taught me that we learn about our boundaries through horses, as well. Most of the time, a horse will want to be in control. Isn’t that what you said? Not to let the horse push you around. She just shoved me!”
“Something else to learn, Joey,” Olivia told him. “Trickster does care about you. She nudged you to get some affection back. You can maintain control—and give her affection. Life is like that, Joey. You can love people—but you can maintain your own thoughts and opinions, as well.”
Joey’s smile deepened. He stroked the horse’s cream-colored neck, and Trickster clearly enjoyed his touch.
But then Joey stepped away. “I’ll get attached to her—and then have to leave her, too,” he said. “I’ll be alone again, like after my parents died.”
“Your parents would never have left you on purpose, Joey. And Trickster won’t leave. You’ll move on, but you can always come back and see her.”
“Everybody leaves,” he said sharply.
Joey had been sent to the Horse Farm because his parents were both killed in an automobile accident. At first, he’d been quiet, grieving, uncommunicative, his uncle had told them. Then he’d begun acting out. An athlete, he’d never been into drinking or drugs.
That had changed.
After his uncle had picked him up at a police station in Sarasota, their hometown, he’d begun to look for help. Joey was enrolled at Parsonage House about ten miles from the Horse Farm. The facility offered horse therapy to their “students.”
“Joey, I’m sorry about your parents. It was tragic and unjust. But like I said, you have to realize that they didn’t desert you, they loved you.”
“It’s not fair!”
“No. Life isn’t fair,” she said quietly. “We learn to cope with it the best we can.” She paused and walked over to stroke Trickster’s forelock. “Look at Trickster, for example. She was a racehorse once upon a time, Joey. She was destined for greatness. Then a jockey whipped her into frenzy and she broke a leg—and she was worthless to the man who owned her. Instead of being grateful for the races she’d won and the money she’d made for him, his owner planned on having her euthanized. But—”
Her voice broke, which surprised her. She believed she’d accepted that Marcus was dead. She hadn’t “seen” him since his death, and she and the rest of the employees at the Horse Farm were moving forward with the work Marcus had deemed so important.
“But?” Joey asked, puzzled.
“But Marcus heard about Trickster, and he bought her—offering her owner more money than the glue factory. He brought her out here, cared for her, and now she’s beautiful, as you can see.”
“They were going to make glue out of her?” Joey demanded, horrified.
“What matters is that she’s here now. And she knows we love her. It took a while, because she was just thrown out in a pasture and allowed to starve, living in constant pain, before Marcus rescued her.”
“But Marcus didn’t stay with her,” Joey pointed out.
“Marcus died, Joey. But he left her in the care of people who would continue to love her.”
Joey took a deep breath and ripped out a strand of grass to chew on. He looked across the landscape and said, “I shouldn’t have made life so miserable for my uncle, huh?”
“He was only miserable because he loves you. And I don’t think he’s miserable anymore because he knows you really do want to live a productive life. You just need to come to terms with what happened.”
He shrugged. At sixteen, he was a tall boy, a good-looking kid in great physical condition. He turned to her with one of his rakish smiles. “You like me, huh?”
“Of course I like you,” she told him.
His grin broadened. “I like you, too. But how I know you like me is that you’ve forgotten the time.”
Olivia glanced quickly at her watch. His hour was up; it had been for the past ten minutes. He’d been a tough case to crack and she’d felt deeply for him. “Don’t get ideas, kid,” she said. “I’m your therapist.”
“But you’re cute, too.”
“Great. Now let’s head back.”
“I can come and see Trickster when I’m older. Old enough to be a lot cooler in your eyes.”
“Joey! Cut it out. You’re just saying that to get a reaction out of me and you’re not going to. I’m your therapist. And you’re never going to be older than I am and we’re never going to date.”
“Wow. That life-not-being-fair thing is harsh!” he said. But he was still grinning. Then his grin faded. “They’re talking about Marcus, you know. There’s a rumor that he went back on drugs. That they found heroin in his system when they did the autopsy.”
Olivia felt her back stiffen. “Marcus wasn’t doing drugs,” she said.
“So, it’s a lie?”
She winced. It wasn’t a lie. But it was something that, so far, wasn’t common knowledge, even though the medical examiner had informed the staff at the Horse Farm. She’d assumed that unless an investigative reporter actually looked into Marcus’s death, no one would know it was true. And yet, rumors were obviously running rampant.
“I heard