"Apparently, Tucker isn't too pleased with you either," Mrs. Hogendobber noted.
"She'll settle down. Let's go on up the road. The second oldest polo field in the United States is there."
They walked down a sandy path; the railroad track lay to their right. Within moments the expanse of manicured green greeted them, a small white stable to one side. On the other side of the field were lovely houses, discreetly tucked behind large boxwoods and other bushes.
A flotilla of corgis poured across the field, shooting out of the opened gate of one of the houses. Tee Tucker stopped, her ears straight up, her eyes alert, her non-tail steady. She had not seen so many of her own kind since she was a puppy.
"Who are you?" they shouted as they reached midfield.
"Tee Tucker from Crozet, Virginia. I'm here for the Colonial Cup."
Before the words were out of Tucker's lips the corgis swarmed around her, sniffing and commenting. Finally the head dog, a large red-colored fellow, declared, "This is a mighty fine representative of our breed. Welcome to the great state of South Carolina. Might I invite you to our home for a refreshing drink or to meet my mistress, a lovely lady who would enjoy showing you Camden hospitality?"
"Thank you, but I've got to stay close to Mom. On duty, you know."
"Why, yes, I understand completely. My name is Galahad, by the way, and these are my numerous offspring. Some were blessed with intelligence and others with looks." He laughed and they all talked at once, disagreeing with him.
"Have you ever seen so many corgis?" Mrs. Hogendobber watched all those tailless behinds wiggling in greeting.
"Can't say that I have," Harry said, laughing.
"Galahad," Tucker asked politely, "have there been any murders at the Colonial Cup?"
"Why, no, not in my recollection, although I think there were many who considered it, humans being what they are. Given their tendency to rely on copious libations for sociability—I'd say it was remarkable that they haven't dispatched one another into the afterlife."
"Oh, Daddy." One of the girls faced Tucker. "He does go on. Why do you ask a thing like that?"
"Well, there've been two steeplechase jockeys murdered since Montpelier. I was curious. You know, maybe it's not so unusual."
"Plenty unusual. Steeplechasing doesn't attract the riffraff that flat racing does," Galahad grumbled.
"These days, how can you tell riffraff from quality, Daddy?" the petite corgi asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"Bon sang ne sait mentir," came the growled reply.
"What's that?" Tucker's eyebrows quivered.
"Good blood doesn't lie."
"Ah, blood tells," Tucker said. She laughed to herself because that old saw drove Mrs. Murphy wild. Being an alley cat, she would spit whenever Tucker went off on a tangent about purebred dogs. "Well, I am charmed to have met you all. As you can see, the humans are moving off. By the way, I'm staying at Hampstead Farm. If anything should pop into your heads, some stray thought about the racing folks, the 'chasers, I'd appreciate your getting word to me."
"You some kind of detective?" the pretty little one asked.
"Yes. Exactly." Tucker dashed to catch up with Harry and Miranda, hearing the oohs and aahs behind her. She neglected to tell them she worked with a partner, a cat. They'd never meet Mrs. Murphy, so what the heck?
Dr. Stephen D'Angelo's farm truck had been discovered in an abandoned barn near Meechum's River in western Albemarle County.
Rick Shaw and his department thoroughly searched the area, turning up nothing, not even a scrap of clothing.
"Think they ditched the truck and stole another?"
"We'd know. I put out a call to the local dealers and to other county departments. Nada. For the first day they were in their truck, the Nissan. After they got rid of D'Angelo's truck."
"By now they know we're on their trail. They've swapped off the Nissan," Coop said.
"That's more like it. No telling, though."
"Sooner or later someone was bound to find this truck." She sighed. "Well, they've got two days' head start." Cynthia put on her gloves.
"They got it. They could have driven to any airport out of state by now or picked up the train. Or just kept driving. I expect those two have more fake IDs than a Libyan terrorist. They've got seventy-one dollars in cash." He squinted as a tiny sunburst of light reflected off the outside mirror. "Linda withdrew the money at one o'clock on the day they disappeared."
"Let's get this thing dusted for prints."
"Coop, you're methodical. I like that in a woman." He smiled. "Got your bags packed?"
"I always keep a bag packed, why?"
"We're going to Camden."
"No kidding."
"As spectators. If I notify the sheriff down there, it's one more department to fool with. They don't know what we do and I'm not inclined to tell them. It's enough that I have to handle Frank Yancey day in and day out."
"He's getting a lot of pressure from the newspaper." Her mind returned to Linda and Will. "The Forloines have a booming business. And there's someone higher up on the food chain."
"Right. You might want to wear your shoulder holster."
"Good idea."
Nerves tight before a race were stretched even tighter today. Fair Haristeen noticed the glum silence between the Valiants when he checked over Mim's horses early that morning.
Brother and sister worked side by side without speaking.
Arthur Tetrick stopped by on his way to the racecourse. He, too, noticed the frosty air between the siblings.
Addie, on sight of her guardian, practically spat at him. "Get out of my face, Arthur."
His eyebrows rose in a V; he inclined his head in a nod of greeting or acquiescence and left.
"Jesus, Addie, you're a bitch today." Charles whirled on her as Arthur shut the door to his car and drove out the sandy lane.
She looked into her brother's face, quite similar in bone structure to her own. "You, of course, are a prince among men!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That you and Arthur are ganging up on me again. That I know he called on Judge Parker the day I spilled the beans about Nigel's stash. God, I was stupid. You'll both use it against me in court."
"This isn't the day to worry about stuff like that."
"You knew he went to see Parker, didn't you?"
"Uh"—Chark glanced outside, the sun filtered through the tall pines—"he mentioned it."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You'd had enough stress for one day." Liar.
"I'm not lying."
"You're withholding. It amounts to the same thing."
"Look who's talking. You lied to me about drugs. You withheld the truth about Nigel. A kilo is a lot of coke, Addie!"
"It wasn't for me!" she shouted.
"Then what were you doing with Nigel?"
"Dating him. Just because he was really into it doesn't mean I was, too."
"Come on, I'm not stupid."
She pointed her finger at him. "So what if I took a line or two. I'm okay. I stopped. This isn't about coke. It's about my money. You want my share."
"No, I don't." He pushed her finger away. "But I don't want to see you ruin everything Dad worked for. You have no sense of—" He struggled.
She filled in the word for him. "Responsibility?"
"Right." His eyes blazed. "We have to nurture that money. It seems like a lot but it can go faster than you think. You can't be cautious and we both know it."
"No risk, no gain."
"Addie." He tried to remain patient. "The only thing you know how to do is spend money. You don't know how to make it."
"Horses."
"Never."
"Then what are you doing as a trainer?" She was so frustrated tears welled up in her eyes.