Star Dancer: Finale

I had already picked out a good place.

It was empty and for sale, and the nearest neighbors were more than a shout — or scream — away. I had checked with the realtor to find out if I could see the place, but there was no way anyone would be showing anybody a house on a SUNDAY, they informed me rather indignantly. Obviously speaking to an infidel. I had tucked the “for sale” signs out of sight, behind the barn.

I met Red at the appointed hour.

We drove out in my pickup truck — a “borrowed” truck. Told some jokes on the way. Some dirty ones. Some racial ones. Sipped some Jack Daniels from a pint bottle. I explained that the owner wouldn’t be home — he and the family would be in church -- but he’d said I was welcome to come out anytime.

I pulled way in so nobody happening by would spot the truck. We got out and headed for the barn. I let him go in first.

I think there was a moment when, on some deep level, he might have become aware of how quiet it was in there and suspected that something wasn't quite right.

He didn’t see any horse tack, or gear.

Didn’t see a horse trailer.

Didn’t see any horses, for that matter.

And he didn’t see the shovel I had left just inside the door.


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