Free Stables S.O.S. by Janet Rising Page B

go into some home. She’ll miss her cats and Squish.”
    â€œI wouldn’t miss that Twiddles-scissor-paws,” Dee said, looking around in case he materialized out of thin air. “He’s a monster cat.”
    â€œNot with Mrs. C, he isn’t,” I reminded her.
    A car trundled down the drive. Nobody recognized it, and we all looked up, wondering who it could be.
    It was the enemy, Robert Collins.
    Stopping the car outside his mother’s house, he got out and unlocked the front door, closing it behind him as he disappeared inside.
    â€œWhat do you think he’s up to?” I asked.
    â€œDo you think he’s come to get her stuff?” Katy said. “Do you think Mrs. C is off to the home?”
    â€œShe might be dead,” suggested James.
    â€œOh, James!” exclaimed Bean. “That is so horrible! You don’t think she really is, do you?”
    â€œMy mom said she was looking much better when she went to see her last night, so I doubt it,” Dee told us, glaring at James.
    â€œWhat else did she say?” Cat asked Dee.
    â€œNothing much. Mrs. C doesn’t seem to have any notion of her son’s plans to stick her in a home. She kept telling Mom about her idea for her stair lift and asking after the cats.”
    â€œShe really has no idea?” I asked.
    â€œThat is so cruel,” Bean whispered.
    The door to the house flew open again, and Robert Collins came out clutching some papers. He seemed to notice us for the first time and waved halfheartedly with a weak smile.
    Nobody waved back.
    Robert Collins jumped in his car, did a three-point turn on the gravel, and sped off up the drive in a cloud of dust.
    â€œDo you reckon they’re the deeds to the place he’s got there?” Cat asked gravely.
    â€œWho knows?” said James.
    That is the worst of it , I thought. It was horrible, not knowing exactly what Robert Collins was up to.
    That evening, when I got home, I sat on my bed looking first at Epona sitting on my dressing table, and then at my beautiful Brookdale ribbons. I couldn’t help wondering whether I really would have to make another sacrifice. Was it coincidence that we’d come up with a plan for our Keep Bambi Campaign the day after I had thrown my beautiful sash in the fire? Standing on my bed I lifted my beautiful first and second place Brookdale ribbons down from the wall, together with the orange and lime Sublime Equine Challenge ribbon. OK, so they were a bit dusty, but they were still gorgeous.
    Something fluttered down to the floor. A small, rectangular white card. Jumping off the bed I bent down, flipping it up with my thumbnail, and was about to throw it in the trash when I noticed it had writing on the other side.
    Alex Willard, Equine Behaviorist , I read. His address and telephone number were underneath in smaller writing. Under that was http.alexwillard.com. He’d given it to me when we’d both been on an afternoon TV show, and I suddenly remembered why I had hidden it there. My mom, tipsy with wine and—there was no other word for it—desperate, had mistakenly believed that Alex Willard was interested in her and had threatened to call him. How embarrassing would that have been? Behind my Brookdale ribbon had seemed a good place to hide the card. I didn’t want my mom to find it and be tempted.
    We had seen him again at the Riding for the Disabled Equine Extravaganza at Christmas. That time, I remembered, Alex had been interested in my mom because she had been smiley and happy and very different—because she had been with Mike. She was still with Mike. She is still smiley and happy , I thought.
    Alex Willard…He was a name . He was a celebrity —even non-horsey people had heard of Alex Willard. He’d been on TV tons of times. I wondered…
    After switching on my computer, I waited impatiently for the screen to flicker to life. I was no stranger to Alex Willard’s