Read Online Puss 'N Cahoots by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online

real reason my last two movies haven’t been box-office hits,” she paused for effect, “is I’m getting away from what’s really important.”
    The reporter was sucked right in, giving Renata her forum. “Would you tell us what that is?”
    â€œI want to make films about real people facing real problems. You’d be surprised at how difficult that is. No one wants to make those kind of films.” She paused again, then complimented the reporter. “That’s why your idea for a film about Saddlebreds is, forgive the expression, on the money.”
    Renata stepped back into the aisle, into the shadows, and Joan stepped into the light. “Thank you all.” She beckoned for the next group to come in, determining that this would be the last. Commotion takes its toll on horses, many of whom would show tonight.
    Joan was a horsewoman: horses first, people second.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Harry retreated to the last stall Kalarama rented. If Joan needed her, she’d tell her, so she stayed out of the way. Astonished at how Renata had manipulated the media, how polished and poised she’d been in the face of boring questions, Harry realized how shrewd Renata was. She also thanked the good Lord that she wasn’t a public figure.
    Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagged along.
    At the south side of Barn Five, Harry started to step outside, when she noticed all the hands of Kalarama in heated discussion with the Mexican grooms of Barn Four. They stood in a clot between the two barns.
    Her Spanish was the high-school variety, but she knew horseman’s Spanish. She listened intently.
    Manuel, arms folded across his chest, shook his head; Jorge, towel thrown over his shoulder, seconded the stable manager.
    Harry couldn’t pick up all of it, but what she did hear was a slender young man from Barn Four repeat that he saw nothing. Then Jorge reminded Manuel that the watches were over by nine in the morning. No one was on watch duty when the horse was stolen.
    Manuel again challenged the others by demanding to know who walked Queen Esther out of the stall. The horse didn’t open the door and walk herself.
    The men’s voices grew higher in pitch; they spoke faster. All she could figure was accusations had been made, but she did hear loud and clear an older, gray-haired man say to Manuel that whoever walked out Queen Esther worked for Kalarama. No other explanation.
    Manuel threw up his hands, stalking off toward the practice arena.
    Harry took a deep breath. She checked her watch. One-thirty, and the night show was five and a half hours away. If people watched the five o’clock news before driving to Shelbyville, they’d see Renata, the empty stall, Joan, Larry, Charly Trackwell, Booty Pollard, Ward Findley, other trainers, owners, and riders, and this place would be pandemonium.
    â€œPandemonium,” she whispered, her animals looking up when she spoke. “You all know about Pan.”
    â€œI don’t.”
Pewter wanted to get in the shade.
    â€œThe satyr—half god, half goat. He plays the double pipes.”
Mrs. Murphy usually read whatever Harry was reading by draping over her neck or on the pillow behind her.
    As if understanding them, Harry knelt down to pet her friends. “When Pan plays his pipes, all creatures forget their tasks; they play and frolic the way goats play and frolic. Cut a caper. ‘Caper’ means ‘goat.’ Well, anyway, so far so good, but sometimes Pan plays a different tune and all creatures become frightened, rumors fly, they run around and bump into one another, and no good comes of it. That’s pandemonium.”
    Harry was prescient, but even Harry couldn’t have imagined the events of that Thursday night.

B y six that evening, large cumulus clouds began piling up in the western sky. White though those clouds were, the oppressive heat and the odd stillness of the air hinted at a