Colbert Mason, the Sanburnes, Fair Haristeen, Arthur Tetrick, Mickey Townsend, Rick Shaw, and Cynthia Cooper, plus hundreds of others, observed the horses. Within a few minutes they'd be called toward the starting cord.
Miranda's mouth fell open. "It can't be," she half-whispered.
"What?" Harry leaned toward her.
"Look at Adelia's neck."
Harry peered, the light bouncing off the royal blue enamel. "Some kind of medal. I don't remember it. Must be an early birthday present."
"No early present. I'd know that medal anywhere. It was Marylou's. She never took it off her neck after Charley died. Not even for fancy balls. She'd drape her rubies and diamonds over it."
Harry focused on the medal. "Uh—yes, now that you mention it. I recall Marylou wearing that."
Mim, across the paddock, also stared at the medal. She grabbed Jim's arm.
Mim, Miranda, and Jim converged on Rick Shaw, pulling him away from the rail and possible eavesdroppers.
Once he persuaded them to talk in sequence, he listened intently as did Deputy Cooper.
"You don't know if it's the exact medal. Someone could have given her a replica," Rick said.
"Flip it over." Mim's lips were white from emotion.
"Even if it carries the same message, it could be a replica." Rick pursued his line of thought.
"It was made by Cartier expressly for Marylou." Mim wrung her hands.
"I appreciate this. I really do. After the races we can ask Adelia to remove the medal so you all can have a closer look, and she can tell us where she got it." Rick hoped the medal was meaningful, but he needed to keep Marylou's old friends calm. He wanted to approach this evidence quietly and sensibly.
"The minute the Colonial Cup is run." Mim was pleading, unusual for her.
"I promise," Rick said firmly.
The trumpet called contestants from the paddocks to the track.
Harry, Mrs. Hogendobber, the Sanburnes, and Tucker raced to the stands. The horses lined up, the cord sprang loose, and they shot off. Addie hung in the pack, easily clearing the fences, but on the second lap the horse was bumped over a fence and lost a stride or two. She couldn't make it up by the finish line, and they were out of the money.
As the humans hollered and exchanged money among themselves, Tucker, happy to see another dog come up into the stands, a jaunty Jack Russell, called out, "Hello."
"Hi," the Jack Russell answered. "I hope we sit near one another. I've had about all the humans I can stand. My name is The Terminator."
"Mine is Tucker."
Fortunately, the owner, a nervous-looking, thin, middle-aged woman, took a seat in front of Tucker. "This is good luck. Are you with anyone in the races?"
"Mim Sanburne," Tucker replied.
"She might win the cup this year," the Russell said sagely. "My human, ZeeZee Thompson—she's a trainer, you know—thinks Mim has a good chance. In fact, my human has been in the top five trainers in winnings for the last ten years."
"Oh." Tucker sounded impressed.
"ZeeZee used to ride in England, but she took a bad fall, ruptured her spleen and damaged her liver plus she broke some ribs. So as soon as she recovered, she learned how to train."
"She must have known Nigel Danforth in England."
The Terminator paused, lowering her voice. "Nigel Danforth is no more a Brit than you or I, my friend. My mother's afraid to talk about him 'cause of the murders, you see. She doesn't want to be next."
"Is she in danger?" Tucker surged forward on her leash. Harry paid no attention, so Tucker moved next to the smooth-coated Jack Russell.
"I hope not, but you see, she is the only person who knows where Nigel came from, and if the killer figures that out, she might be in trouble."
"The killer's only taking out jockeys." Tucker comforted the other dog.
"I don't know, but whoever is doing this knows 'chasing inside and out."
"How did your mother know Nigel Danforth?"
"Montana. One summer—I guess it must have been six years ago, when I was a puppy—we went out to Bozeman. He was a ranch hand, but he was good with a horse. Mom told him the money back East was better than punching cows. He had a full mustache and beard then. Men look real different to humans when they shave them off. They smell the same, of course."
"What was his real name? Do you remember that?"
"Sargent Wilcox." Tucker's eyes widened as the little dog continued. "I sure hope my mother is safe. Wilcox only worked for Mom for a little bit. He was too wild for her."
Tucker hoped so, too, because she was beginning to get the picture, not the whole picture but the very beginning, and it was terrifying.
The Colonial Cup, for which they had waited, was about to be run.
Mim joined her husband, Harry, Mrs. Hogendobber, and Fair in the box in the grandstand. She'd run up from the paddock where she'd smiled at Addie and wished her well, all the while keeping her eyes on the St. Christopher's medal. When Chark gave his sister a leg up, Mim returned to the grandstand for fear her own nerves would make the Valiants agitated. Her beige suede outfit topped with her ubiquitous Hermes scarf showed not a wrinkle, crease, or stain despite her dashing about. She sat down, jaw tight. Little Marilyn would have gladly tightened the scarf around her mother's neck. She hated it when Mim tensed up like this, so she sat with ZeeZee Thompson down the aisle.
No one spoke. Not even Tucker, who sat motionless in Harry's lap.
Addie, shimmering in purple silks, circled on Bazooka, then came into the starting area. The yellow rope stretched across the track. The horses lined up, prancing sideways and snorting. Then twang—the rope snapped back—and off they shot.
Bazooka gunned out front. Chark, down near the starting area, ran back toward the grandstand for a better view and in the process ran into Mickey Townsend again. He said he was sorry and kept going, leaving Mickey to dust himself off. The horse Mickey trained, a client's from West Virginia, was in the middle of the pack.
"She's on too fast a pace," Mim murmured through the tension-narrowed slit that was her mouth.
"Don't fret, honey. Addie knows what she's doing."
Arthur Tetrick, up in the race director's box for this one, stood, mouth hanging open. He peeked over Colbert Mason's shoulder at the big digital timer. "She'll never make it."
"A scorcher," Colbert laconically replied.
Bazooka's stride lengthened with every reach of his black hooves. Addie appeared motionless on top of him, moving only as they landed after each successful jump.
Try as it might, no horse could get near her. The race, so perfect, seemed like a dream to Addie's cheering section. The crowd screamed as much in disbelief as in excitement.
At the next to last fence, Bazooka vaulted over, another perfect landing, and four strides after the fence Addie and the saddle slipped off and under Bazooka. She hit the ground with a thud.
If she'd fallen off at a jump she would have been thrown clear. But the saddle dropped to the left side and slightly underneath Bazooka. His left hind hoof grazed her head. She rolled into a ball.
One fractious horse, seeing Addie on the ground, exploded. The rider fought hard but the animal plunged right over the fallen jockey.
Bazooka crossed the finish line first just as the ambulance reached an unconscious Addie on the track.
Chark, with Mickey Townsend not far behind, tore down the grass track. Arthur Tetrick blasted out of the booth and ran down the concrete grandstand steps faster then anyone thought possible.
Huge Jim Sanburne was immediately behind them. Fair was already on the track on the other side of the finish line. An outrider led Bazooka over to him.