The thought didn’t reassure her much. Turning her back to the window, she straightened her shoulders. And prepared to soldier on.
After the training session, A.J. and Chester piled into the truck and rambled to the outskirts of town. First stop was the hardware store, where they found a shiny red wheelbarrow that fit Chester’s precise specifications. They loaded it into the back, tied it down with some rope and then headed downtown.
Although hardly a metropolitan standout, the city proper wasn’t without sophistication. There was a small but bustling financial district, two four-star hotels, a convention center and a tidy row of shops on the main street. All along the sidewalks, people were walking with gracious purpose, more friendly than those found in bigger cities but without the meandering gait of folks who lived in truly small towns.
Cruising down the street, A.J. pulled into a parking space in front of one of the antique shops. Chester shot her a quizzical look.
“I know I’m old and priceless but ya don’t have to get rid of me just yet,” he said.
A.J. smiled stiffly. “I’ll be right out.”
He watched her go inside with interest. Through the wide windows in the front of the store, he saw a well-dressed man come forward to greet her warmly and then observed the two disappearing into a back room. Sometime later, when they returned to view, A.J. shook hands with the man. It seemed like she was trying to reassure him of something. When she came back out of the store, a slip of paper in her hand, her face was grim.
“Everythin’ okay?”
She nodded but as she pulled out of the parking space, she almost sideswiped a car, and they were saved only by the horn of the other driver. As she recovered, Chester noticed her hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
“Sorry about that,” she murmured, shooting him an apologetic look.
Concerned, Chester found it difficult to respect her privacy as they pulled up to the local bank.
“This won’t take a moment,” she told him.
When she returned, she was tucking something into her back pocket. She didn’t offer explanations and he didn’t ask for any. This time, she was much more cautious as she pulled out into traffic. Silence reigned as they left town, unbroken until she turned into the parking lot of the auction house.
“We biddin’ on something?” Chester asked.
A.J. took a deep breath.
“No, we’re doing a little detective work,” she said, parking the truck.
“Concernin’ what?”
“Sabbath’s background.”
“I don’t know that y’re gonna like his rap sheet.”
A.J. tried to smile as she opened her door. Chester disembarked with her.
“You know, I can really see you as the Nancy Drew type,” he said. “Determined, fearless. Only no matching hat an’ handbag kinda thing. Can’t see you botherin’ with all that girlie stuff.”
This time she was able to offer a better grin as they crossed over the blacktop and headed toward the business office.
Chester kept up the conversation. “I’d even guess you’d be related to that Drew girl, what with the reddish hair an’ all. I could see the two a’ ya huntin’ around scary old houses, findin’ secret passages, diggin’ up things.”
“Actually, the one with the shovel’s my cousin, C.C.”
“Clamdigger?”
“Archaeologist.”
“Same thing.” Chester opened the door for her. “Say, do they give you girls anythin’ more than initials in your family?”
“Actually, she goes by Carter, now. I just keep forgetting that we’ve all grown up.”
As they approached the counter, Margaret Mead, A.J.’s old friend, came out from the back room. As soon as she saw A.J., she broke into a wide smile.
“Ah, now, there’s a sight for sore eyes!” The Irish lilt was a welcoming sound. “And who’d you be bringin’ with you this day?”
A.J. glanced over at Chester, who’d removed his tattered baseball cap and was the color of a beefsteak tomato. She raised her eyebrows, struck by a thought.
“This is a very dear friend, Chester Raymond,” she replied, nudging the man forward. He hung back, barely touching Margaret’s hand as the woman reached over the counter.
“Pleased to meet you,” Margaret said with a twinkle.
Chester mumbled something that could have been “Hello.” Maybe in some foreign language.
“And what brings the two of you here?” the woman asked.
“Do you have any records on that stallion I bought? His name is—”
“I remember the animal,” Margaret said. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up on him?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Ah, I knew you’d have the stuff.” She looked over to Chester. “A right talented lass, she is, don’t you think?”
Chester shuffled his feet but managed a “Yes, ma’am.”
“What kind of information are you lookin’ for?”
“Former owners. I know where he was bred and the last stable he was boarded at but it’s a blank slate between the two.”
“Hmmm. I do believe we sold him a couple of times but I’d have to go through the files. Let me see what I can come up with.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’m at the McCloud Stables. You can find me there.”
“Will do.” Margaret settled her eyes on Chester. “And how do you know such a lovely thing as the Miss Sutherland?”
“I groom over at McCloud’s.”
“He’s one of my coaches,” A.J. corrected.
Chester looked up, surprised. “I suddenly get a promotion?”
“Devlin helps me over the fences,” A.J. said to Margaret. “Chester helps me get over myself. He’s full of wisdom, insight—”
Chester cleared his throat.
A.J. fell silent.
Margaret’s eyes positively sparkled.
The two women looked at each other, a common purpose forged like iron.
“Thanks again, Margaret,” A.J. said.
“I’ll be in touch,” the woman replied.
They both looked at Chester, who appeared to be on the verge of another seizure.
“Ma’am,” he said, nodding to Margaret.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Raymond.”
A.J. turned to go and Chester followed but not before he glanced back one last time at the Irish woman.
Outside, as he and A.J. walked to the truck, he said, “I’m not a used car, you know. Ya don’t have to sell me like I’m some jalopy lookin’ for a garage to park in.”