Into the Fire

From my one and only mystery Race:

Part of Chapter 35

. . . "Would you mind telling me how much you know about these two people?" I dug out the picture and handed it to him.

     ""Bobby Rosen and Susie Kine." He handed it back to me. "Bobby's a great guy. He used to ride but got in a serious spill a few years back. Crippled him up pretty good. He took up horseshoeing and he's got a knack for it. Susie's a gallop girl, used to get around if you know what I mean but pretty much sticks with Bobby now."

     "Did she 'get around' with you?" I asked gently.

     He looked down his shedrow. "Yeah, she did. And just about all the other single guys at the time plus a few married ones." He looked at his boots next before lifting his eyes to look at me directly. "You must think I'm a real jerk."

     "I was your age once too, Dan. Not so long ago that I don't remember what it's like. What I need you to tell me is how you relate to either of these people in the present tense."

     Just then a horse with no rider came screaming up the asphalt toward us. Instinctively Dan pushed me back toward his shedrow and headed out further into the road with his hands waving over his head yelling "Whoa! Whoa!" The horse spotted him and tried to slow, sparks glinting from his aluminum shoes skidding on the asphalt. He slid to a stop, puffing and scared, to within arm's length of Dan. Dan snagged him by the reins, which had flopped over his head and somehow managed not to get tangled up in the horse's legs as he ran. Dan walked him in a circle, patting the horse's neck while looking for the missing rider or someone to retrieve the animal. A man on a pony came jogging up the road and thanked Dan as he took the horse in the direction the horse was running. I noticed one stirrup was missing.

     Dan returned to answer my question. "I've got no problem with Bobby. I used him 'til my regular horseshoer got up here, and he did a fine job for me. Now with Susie," he stopped talking. "Susie's a different story."

     "How so exactly?

     "You want a cup of coffee, Det–David? I could sure use one, and I've got a fresh pot in the tack room."

     "Sure."

     I followed him to his office tack room, his chaps creaking like only pliable well-used leather can, where he'd set up a coffeemaker on his desk with a quart carton of half and half and a box of sugar cubes. He poured us each a Styrofoam cup full, and it tasted good with a little milk. It told me something about him when he drank his black. Although not fancy by any stretch, he kept cream and sugar for those who preferred it. 

     "About Susie Kine?" 

Father, thank you is simply never enough for all that you've done for me, given to me, and allowed me to do. May I always honor you with my writing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.