by Trey Nosrac

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 ishere.

Part 3 ishere.

Julia Binghamton reached through the open window of her all-electric Mercedes into her mailbox, collected a bundle of envelopes, set them on the console, and rolled past the electronic gate to the garage. Before exiting the car, she turned toward her husband and recapped the morning.

“Lewis Tremeau, who lived in a junkyard, took two young racehorses as part of a deal for a discarded 1994 MG automobile. He became attached to the horses, decided not to resell them, and kept them in his backyard until his recent death.”

Walt nodded, “But that does not explain how they turned up near our driveway. I believe Tremeau’s neighbor was telling the truth when he said he did not know how they got to our house, plus I didn’t see a trailer to transport horses on either property.”

The screen on the Mercedes dashboard dinged and flashed a message — incoming text message from: — Final Strides (Read, Ignore).

Walt said, “That’s the horse organization the neighbor mentioned, the organization to whom the neighbor mailed Tremeau’s envelopes. It seems this Final Strides has a hand in this lunacy.”

Julia pushed the “Read” icon.

“Dear Mr. & Mrs. Binghamton, I will be out to pick up the horses on Wednesday morning. Sorry for the two-day delay, but our horse trailer is in the repair shop. If this is inconvenient, please call my cell at 462-331-5679. Otherwise, see you Wednesday morning. Renee Tuttle.”

“But Walt, why our house? I understand Mr. Tremeau wanted to see his horses cared for after his death, but why not have them shipped directly to Final Strides? Why are we involved in any manner? I’m going to send them a reply.” Julia snatched her phone from the Mercedes console and quickly typed a response.

“Renee, my husband and I are confused about the horses that appeared on our property unannounced and uninvited. Can you explain your role in this series of events?”

Julia pushed the send icon. Less than two minutes later, her phone dinged with a reply. The reply was a screenshot of a handwritten letter.

Dear Renee,

My time is short. The hospice folks said so. Your time to take Drive and Iggy is early Sunday morning, before daylight. Enclosed is a check for $10,000 for my horses. Any surplus is for horse rescue. After my estate is settled, your rescue operation will receive a second check to assist your horse care and relocation efforts. The address for pickup is 2021 Remington Road, Huntington Valley, Ohio.

Peace,

Lewis Tremeau

Walt blurted out, “Our address!”

Julia rolled her eyes, “I’m going to call her.” She pushed the icon on the dashboard and pushed speakerphone.”

After the dialing beeps, the answer was instantaneous, “Hello.”

“Renee, this is Julia Binghamton. There seems to be some confusion.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Did you ever visit Lewis Tremeau?”

“No, he just showed up at our farm one morning. He looked like Ichabod Crane with long stringy hair and a long black coat. Once you got past the appearance, he was nice. I only met Mr. Tremeau that one time, and we talked for about an hour. He is, well, he was, a fascinating character. He loved his horses very much.”

Walt asked, “How did he choose you and your organization?”

“Our horse rescue and repurposing farm started six months ago. Lewis said he found out about Final Strides in a newspaper article. He just showed up that morning to see our farm and meet the staff.”

“What else?” asked Julia.

“Mr. Tremeau told me he wanted to ensure his horses had a good home. As he was saying goodbye that day, he said he was having health problems and would mail me money and instructions. It was sad. That was over a month ago. It was an odd morning. The letter I just sent you came the following Friday.”

“So, you never went to his home?”

“No.”

Julia said, “Believe me, you would remember. He lived in a junkyard with a small barn and corral. “We never saw anything like it. He never mentioned my husband or me?”

“Nope, not a peep until Friday, when I got the letter, check, and instructions, I didn’t know if he was serious. Honestly, I thought it was a joke or something.”

“This is very strange.”

“For me, too. The check cleared, and the money is needed. The more we have, the more horses we can save, and the inheritance check, who knows how much that will be. It’s like winning the lottery. Do you still want me to come next Wednesday? If you want, we can borrow a truck and get the horses tonight.”

“No, no, Wednesday is fine. The horses are just minding their own business. I look forward to meeting you on Wednesday morning. Maybe the picture will become clearer.”