“Good mind?”
“Wonderful. This fellow has the best disposition and he’s smart. Really smart. Sixteen one hands. Gorgeous head. Typical Thoroughbred bay, a little chrome on his legs”—by this she meant one white sock or more—“and a blaze.”
A hand was four inches, the standard measurement for height of a horse.
“How much does the owner or owners want?”
“That’s just it. The economy has tanked, and you know what happens to racehorses that don’t win or are laid up. They want out from under the board bill.”
Harry grimaced. “God only knows how many will wind up at the killers’ like Ferdinand.” She named a winner of the Kentucky Derby, shipped to Japan; he didn’t pan out as a stud so the owners sold him for meat.
Because Ferdinand had won the Kentucky Derby, this murder sent shock waves throughout the horse world, but in truth, many good, useful horses were destroyed daily.
“This is a good horse. Swing by tomorrow? I’ll be at the farm all day.”
“We’ll come by, won’t we, Fair?”
Although he hadn’t heard Paula’s end of the conversation, he replied, “Yes.”
“I do have a request. Even though the owners want out from under, I work with the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation, and I would like a donation of two thousand dollars. He sold as a yearling at auction for three hundred fifty-seven thousand.”
“If we take him it will be done.”
“What if Alicia doesn’t like him?”
“If she doesn’t, I will.” Harry meant it, for she could usually get along with most any kind of horse, as long as it wasn’t mean.
After saying good-bye, she gave Fair Paula’s side of the conversation.
“Worth a look.”
“I was thinking, the first class goes off at seven tonight. If we dress, grab a sandwich on the run, we could swing by Charly Trackwell’s barn, because he’ll be at the show. He knows something. I just feel it.”
“No.”
“Why?” She didn’t expect such a firm no.
“Because there will be a watchman, for starters, my darling. Why would we be there when Charly’s at Shelbyville? To snoop.” She started to protest. He held up his hand. “Let’s go tomorrow, after we leave Paula’s. She’s in Lexington, he’s here, so we’d get to his place, what, maybe twelve? We should ask him if we can drop by.”
“But, Fair, he’ll have time to hide whatever he, well, whatever he has to hide.”
“I don’t think so. He knows we’re best friends with Joan and Larry. His first thought might be that we’re coming to see Frederick the Great, spy on the horse. Is he in good condition? Is he lame? Are there drug bottles in his stall? Which I doubt. Charly is too smart to leave Banamine or whatever around. But I can say, truthfully enough, that I’d like to see his setup, and if there’s a vet on the premises, I’d like to meet him or her.”
“He’ll still know we’re coming with the searching eye.” She used the old Southern expression.
“He will, but it won’t be as sneaky as coming when he’s showing horses. If you think about it, how mad would it make you if someone trolled through our barn and you were out hunting or at a show?”
“Yeah.”
“And furthermore, you beautiful girl, if we were to go now, we’d make an enemy. If we’re aboveboard, we probably haven’t made a friend, but we haven’t burned our bridges. And you never know when you might need someone’s cooperation.”
“I never thought of that.” She sighed. “Between you and Miranda, I get set straight.”
“That’s why we need people. All of us are smarter than one of us.” He leaned back on her, she put her arms around his chest. “Let’s get dressed, eat at the grandstand.”
She concurred. “The food is fabulous.”
“It is. If we get there early, we’ll have a nice place to sit, enjoy the meal, and then we can go down to the barns or the box. But I need a little R and R.”
“Me, too. We’ll have to put the critters in the hospitality suite, because they won’t be allowed in the grandstand.”
When Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker walked into the hospitality room, the sight of Cookie softened the blow of not going to the grandstand. Pewter in particular believed she needed to sample the food and provide her expert opinion to the humans. Being an obligate carnivore, Pewter knew she could taste meats and fishes better than any human.
“I could save them from mercury poisoning,” Pewter declared as she was plopped in the burgundy, white, and black room.
Harry suffered a twinge of passing guilt.
She and Fair enjoyed a lovely meal while watching the first three classes: hackney pony pleasure driving, five-gaited pony, and junior three-gaited stake.
When they finished, Fair escorted Harry to the box. Paul and Frances sat up front on the rail. Conversation started immediately.
“Joan will be here in a minute. She’s been down at the practice arena. Trying to get Looky Lous out of Barn Five,” Paul informed them.
“Folks, I’ll be back in one minute.” Fair smiled. “You take care of my girl, now.” He nodded at Paul.
“With pleasure.”
To some women, this might have sounded like an insult. After all, women had been taking care of themselves and others for thousands of years without getting much credit for it—politically, anyway. But among these people, the sentiment was one of both form and affection. It would have been a careless husband who didn’t, in some fashion, draw attention to how much he loved his wife.
Fair zipped around the back of the western grandstand, the one open to the skies, now rich with twilight’s many-hued soft pinks and blues. He waited patiently as customers preceded him at the jewelry booth across from the grandstand’s back.
Finally he smiled at the lady behind the counter and pointed to the desired ring. “Size seven.”
“You’re a decisive man.” She unlocked the glass, her gray hair blueing with the light. “Would you like this wrapped?”
“I would.”
“Do you need a card?”
“Yes, please.”
This transaction lightened his wallet by three thousand dollars, but he wanted to do it. The parting with money caused no pain, because he knew how happy it would make Harry. He’d give it to her Monday, August 7. They’d be back home in Crozet.
Harry, pretty tight with the buck, spent money reluctantly even on needed items. She wouldn’t buy herself jewelry. She might buy him something quite special for Christmas, his birthday, or their anniversary, but she wasn’t a consumer in the typical American sense.
Fair, while not profligate, enjoyed treating himself and Harry. His philosophy was “You can’t take it with you.”
He slipped the dark green box, the thin white ribbon tied in a bow, into the inside pocket of his blue-and-white seersucker jacket.
Just as he rejoined his wife, Joan walked into the box. Harried, tired, she’d been dealing with more reporters, plus Charly, who was on the warpath, accusing her of stealing the horse for Kalarama’s publicity. That was an unanticipated twist.
She sat down, smiled weakly, leaned forward to kiss her father then mother on the cheek.
Frances beamed. She liked attention from anyone but especially from her children. She checked the program. “Amateur roadster pony, one of your favorites.” Frances swiveled around. “Where’s Mother’s pin? You always wear it for this class.”
Harry and Fair swallowed, having the presence of mind not to look at each other, but the swallowing told the tale.
Joan, utterly miserable, confessed, “Mother, it was stolen the first night of the show.”
Frances burst into tears, rose, and left the box.
Paul stood and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything but walked in a hurry after his wife.
Tears welled up in Joan’s eyes. “What next?”