Toni Petti - Horse Girl Homicide

Chapter Two

Ainsley and I both put-on face masks as we approach the equestrian center. From this angle, the building looks too sophisticated to be a barn. Sliding glass doors open on a sensor, just like at the supermarket. There are sun bleached COVID-19 warnings and a faded Help Wanted sign taped to the window.

The entrance is a crude trophy room. Sticky fly strips dangle from the ceiling over a wooden table crowded with glass chalices which are prize bowls etched with the names of race winners. Unpainted particle board walls are decorated with 8x11 photos that are portraits of horses and jockeys and Canadian Thoroughbred magazine covers. Another wall ripples with red, blue, and yellow ribbons.

It's airconditioned in here and I can smell the horses. The smell reminds me of the French perfumer who bottles Peau de Bête, the 'skin of the beast', a fragrance that mimics horse sweat. While that may sound gross, the aroma excites me and most other girls.

The Premier Barn is sectioned into public and private areas, and Staff Only signs on the divider walls mark the boundaries. Rows of stalls with black iron gates line a center aisle, but only a few of the cubicles contain horses which I inspect as we pass.

These animals look happy. They're eating hay and drinking water from automatic dispensers. Ainsley said the livestock was confined in cramped spaces, but that isn't true. Their pens are bigger than I'd expected and they're clean and filled with golden straw. Most stalls have open windows with fresh air and a pretty good view of the world from up here on the hilltop.

"All these lovelies are owned by other people?" I ask my friend. I remember what she said about city folks taking lessons and boarding horses here, "they're lodged in here? Like in a hotel?"

"More like a prison."

Voices reach my ears from the horse girls moving about the indoor arena at the heart of the structure. The wide-open space has a sand bottom but yet it reminds me of a hockey rink the way the sound echoes and how pigeons flutter about in the ceiling trusses. The hippodrome is fifty feet wide and a hundred feet long with a frosted Plexiglass roof which makes a nice soft light. The photographer in me appreciates the diffuse setting and how the open door at the far end produces a nice key light which will perfectly illuminate any subjects facing that direction. That's where I'll stand to shoot this group with the secret camera in my hat.

Two young women are already mounted, while a third girl leads her horse toward an older lady with stringy blond hair. None of them wear coronavirus masks and so Ainsley and I remove ours simultaneously and without giving it another thought.

A pretty girl with curly brown hair coaxes her horse close to the sidewall and finger-waves at us. My friend gives her a thumbs-up sign and smiles back with what I know is false happiness. The rider mouths the word 'welcome' which affects me and makes me feel important because her navy-blue blazer make her seem wealthy and aloof. I imagine donning such an outfit with the knee-high leather boots and white gloves must imbue a sense of power, especially when mounted on horseback. Her warm welcome relaxes me and makes me feel special.

"Who is that?" I whisper as the impressive girl trots her horse away.

"Tanya Brummel. Top of the social order." Ainsley says. "Her mom is the Ice Queen. We could do a whole show on their combined reign of terror."

I study Tanya and the others as we continue our circular walk around the indoor arena. They all laugh at something and seem happy and well-adjusted, and once again I wonder if maybe Ainsley isn't just imagining all the bad behaviour she alleges. Maybe she feels their haughtiness more acutely because she's the only visible minority?

"Tanya rides a nine-year-old Arabian stallion." My friend eyes the exotic horse.

"Yeah, he's beautiful." I admit. Her stallion's tail is braided, and tiny blue ribbons decorate its black mane. Her horse's face is curiously conclave and not straight from crown to muzzle, and I swear its eyes are bigger than the others. These must be features unique to Arabian horses.