"No," Rick said.
"If you're telling the truth, you'll be all right," Cynthia added.
"Do you know about the coke?" Rick listened as the call to the first race was announced.
"Uh—" Mickey stalled.
"Were they users?" Rick asked.
"Yes."
"Are you?"
"I wouldn't have lasted this long in the business if I were hooked on that stuff."
"Do you know who sells it?"
"Sheriff, it's not hard to get."
"That's not what I'm asking."
"Linda Forloines."
"Thank you, Mickey. After the races you'd best go back to Albemarle County and not leave without checking in with me. Go on, the first race is about to start."
Mickey rose, his knees cracking. He walked to the course, his hands deep in his pockets, his fingers wrapped around Marylou's medallion. He was tempted to tell Cynthia and Rick, sorely tempted, but he'd keep the St. Christopher's medal a secret
for a little bit longer.
Cynthia flipped her notebook shut. "You believe him?" "You know better than to ask me something like that." "Yeah, but I always do, don't I?"
The light breeze made Arthur Tetrick's sky-blue official's ribbon flap. His brisk walk assisted the flapping.
Chark and Addie sat behind the weigh-in station. As they had no horse in the first race they watched everyone else.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, noticing Chark's swollen lip.
"I'm embarrassed." Chark ignored the dribble from his bleeding lip.
"What happened?"
"Mickey Townsend acted like Mickey Townsend." Chark spoke ruefully. "I walked out of the official's tent and bumped into him. By mistake. I wasn't looking where I was going. I've got Ransom Mine on my mind, you know. He made some crack about how I excel at the bump and run. He's still pissed off about the Maryland Hunt Cup last year. 'Course, I'm a little tense . . ."
"That's the understatement of the year." Addie spoke out of the side of her mouth.
He held up his hands in supplication. "I saw red. No excuses. I was wrong. I made a spectacle of myself."
"No harm done. I'll head off Mim if I can." Arthur checked his watch. "Hmm. I take that back. I'll try to find Harry and Miranda. Maybe they can keep Mim occupied so you don't have to go over the whole story again. Or get chewed out."
Chark winced as Addie dabbed at his lip with a handkerchief. She couldn't stand the dripping blood anymore. "I'm so ashamed."
"If I had half a chance I'd like to thrash him myself."
Addie peered up at Arthur. "I still like Mickey. You two will never cut him a break."
Arthur snapped, "Mickey Townsend cares for nobody but Mickey Townsend. For reasons I will never fathom he casts a spell over the female of the species."
"Yeah, sure." Addie threw down the hankie. "Arthur, I know you went to see Judge Parker."
Arthur's face clouded. "Just a formality."
"No, it wasn't. You were filing papers to extend your trusteeship."
"I did no such thing." He glared at her. "You inherit your fortune at midnight on your birthday . . . tomorrow night. The paperwork will be done on Monday. That's why I went to see Judge Parker."
"You think I'm not competent. Because of the drugs."
Arthur lowered his voice. "This is neither the time nor the place! But Adelia, I have come to the mournful conclusion that I can do nothing to help you. You may not believe me, but I will be relieved to no longer be your trustee or the executor of your mother's will. I wash my hands of you." He drew in a gulp of sweet air. "I only hope your mother will forgive me if she's looking down upon us."
"What rot." Addie left them. She needed to push everything and everybody out of her mind to concentrate on the horses and the course. Each time she saw Arthur or talked to her brother, she felt she was being pulled back into a white-hot rage. This was the first race without Nigel, and that hit her harder than she thought it would.
Arthur followed her with his eyes, then sadly said, "Well, I've upset her. I didn't mean to but ..."
"She started it."
"So she did, Charles, but I'm old enough to know better."
"You're right about Mickey though. He twisted Mom around his little finger and Addie thought he could do no wrong. Know what else I don't get?" Chark stood up, found he was a trifle shaky, and started to sit back down.
"Here, Chark, you're hurt." Arthur put his hand under Chark's arm to steady him.
"I'm shook up, not hurt. I can't believe I lost control like that."
"You're too hard on yourself." Arthur discreetly glanced at his wristwatch, then sat next to Chark for a moment. "Now, what is it that you don't understand? You lost your train of thought."
"If Mom was so in love with Mickey, why did she refuse to marry him?"
"Ah—" Arthur tipped back his head. "I'd like to think because she knew it wouldn't work in the long run."
"Addie says it was because I didn't like Mickey. Makes me feel guilty as hell."
"Oh, now—"
"You know how she was. She'd do anything for Addie. I used to beg her to marry you. Funny, isn't it?"
"Not to me," Arthur said sadly.
"I used to scream at her that Mickey was a gold digger. When I think of the stuff I said to my mother," he hung his head, covering his eyes, "I feel so terrible."
Arthur put his arm around Chark. "There, there. You're overwrought. You were young. She forgave you. Mothers always do, you know."
Chark shook his head. "I know, but—"
"Let's talk about something pleasant. I picked up Adelia's birthday cake. It's three tiers high since I figured everyone will wind up back at Mim's place anyway. It's got a jockey's cap on it, Mim's colors, with two crossed whips. Chocolate inside, vanilla icing on the outside. Her favorite."
"That's great, Arthur—just great."
"Big birthday, twenty-one." His own twenty-first had receded into memory, a kind of warm blur. "I've got to go. I'll do my best to find Harry or Mim before I take up my post."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Arthur walked away, the sandy soil crunching underfoot.
Addie found Mickey under a huge sweet gum tree on the back side of the course. His stopwatch in his hand, he furtively checked between it and the announcer's stand.
"You mad at me, too?" he said.
"Nah." She drew alongside him.
" 'Bout five more minutes," he said.
"You might win this race."
"Oh, I might win every race." He smiled weakly. "Just depends who the gods smile on that day, right?"
"I think it depends upon the brilliance of the jockey and the heart of the horse."
"That helps." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you know why Nigel and Linda beat each other up at the Montpelier Races? He never would tell me, and I think it might be why he's dead."
"Nigel bought a kilo of cocaine from Linda. Or at least I thought he bought it. He was going to sell it to pay off debts, yours being one, and then buy a little place and start training horses himself. He said he knew he couldn't be a jockey forever."
"Yeah, well, you don't just go from being a jockey to being a trainer." Mickey folded his arms across his chest. "Think he was hooked?"
"No."
"Did you tell the sheriff?"
"Finally I did. I mean, I'm in a lot of trouble because I stashed the kilo in my safe deposit box."
"Addie—"
"Yeah, well, I told them that, too. They've impounded it."
Mickey chewed the inside of his lip. "What else did you tell them?"
"Not any more than I had to. Look, just because you're a riverboat gambler doesn't mean you killed anybody. It wasn't enough money to kill someone over."
"What do you think?"
"No way." She grinned.
"Tell you one thing, pretty girl." He felt protective toward Addie, who reminded him a lot of Marylou. "We need a soothsayer to help us."
"Soothsayer won the Eclipse Award. Hell, if we had a soothsayer life would be perfect."
He laughed. "You're too young to remember that horse."