Dead Ringer

Over a half hour later, she’d arrived at a large white sign that stood where her father’s mailbox used to be. HUNT COUNTRY ESTATES, it read in Olde English letters, and a curved brass horn flanked the words. Be

She blinked, trying to remember the place two years ago. There had been a gravel road right on this spot, with a fork on the left that led to her father’s cottage and garden, and an almost paved road on the right, tree-lined, that had led to the main house. The main house of the estate had stood on the hill-a huge white mansion with colonial shutters and separate wings, like an embrace. A maid who had answered the door had helped Be

But Be

Be

“Tallyho!” the young man called out when he spotted Be

“Tallyho?”

“They make me say that. Doesn’t it blow?” He twisted a toothpick in his teeth, and an eyebrow pierce peeked subversively from under his velveteen brim. “This is the dumbest job I ever had.”

“I used to waitress in a green dirndl. I had to say ‘Welcome to Little Tyrol.’” Be

The young man smiled. “You lost or something? I-95 is up there three blocks, then take a right.”

“I’m not lost, but didn’t there used to be a big estate here? A huge white main house, a white cottage, and at least fifty acres of land. In fact, this whole area used to be horse farms.”

“I du

“Damn! When did you start?”

“Six months ago. It’s still not sold, all the way. They’re asking a million bucks for these cribs.” The young guard’s attention was diverted by an onyx Porsche Carrera rumbling through the gates, and he gave his little wave and called out, “Tallyho!” Then he turned back to Be

“So you don’t know the name of the people who owned the farm, do you? Or where they moved to?”

“A farm that used to be here? No way, sorry. I didn’t even know a farm used to be here.”

Be

“Simmons Brothers.” The toothpick twisted. “They’re outta Jersey.”

“Where in Jersey, do you know?”

“Someplace fancy.”

Be

“Princeton! That’s it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Just then a yellow Hummer squeezed through into the gate. “Tallyho!” Be

She scooted back to the Saab, grabbed her cell phone, and called Princeton information. They found the number and co

Be

She threw the Saab into gear and took off, cruising to make sure there were no neighbors left. Night had fallen, but Be

MACK’S TACK SHOP CLOSEOUT-EVERYTHING MUST GO, it read, with a hand-drawn picture of a horse. Be

Giddyap!

12

Be

“Be with you in a minute!” called out a young girl in a green polo shirt that read MACK’S TACK. Her dark ponytail swinging, she hit the keys on the cash register with a rhythmic beat, hunka-hunka-hunka, and was concentrating too hard to look up. “I’m just cashing out. Can you hang in there for two minutes?”

“Sure,” Be

The cashier behind the counter glanced up. She had intelligent blue eyes behind her glasses and her nametag read Michelle. “Thanks for being so patient.”

“No problem. You’re the first person perceptive enough to call me patient.” Be

“Yeah,” the girl said with a sigh. “The county got a new board of supervisors and everybody sold. The land goes for two hundred thousand dollars an acre now. No horses, no tack.”