“When you hit it, you hit it big.” Cooper whistled.
“And Ziggy’s sons are doing well at stud. Marshall has Ziggy Bright Star, Ziggy Silent Star. The guy is raking in more money than we can count. No wonder he has horses running and we see his silks on the televised races. This is just amazing,” Fair said.
Rick drew a deep drag. “Okay, the money is big, but who knew that this stallion would have such a great career?”
“By his third year at St. James, his first crop were on the track. They were doing pretty good. An experienced horseman would start looking at this guy. Obviously, no one could have foreseen what an incredible sire he would become, but even assuming he would be, say, a B– sire as opposed to an A+, the owner could ask about ten or fifteen thousand per mare. Enough to pay off the farm over time.” Fair rested his case. “And we all know that Marshall Kressenberg worked as an exercise rider and groom for Mary Pat. He, even then, was enough of a horseman to see that Ziggy was special, very special.”
“He took a hell of a chance killing her for a horse.” Rick stubbed out his cigarette.
“People have killed for less,” Cooper wisely said.
Rick stood up to stretch. His back ached. “All right, Fair, I’m interested. I can’t arrest Mr. Kressenberg, but I can pay him a call. The first thing I want to know is, who have you told?”
“Harry.”
“God.” Rick sat back down.
“She won’t tell.” Rick defended his ex-wife.
“She may not tell, but I bet she’s halfway to Carroll County, Maryland, by now.”
“No, she’s not. I made her swear to stay here.”
“Her nosiness will lead her somewhere. That woman has an unerring instinct for trouble.” Rick fumed. “Well, Fair, she’s your problem. The first thing I want to do is to talk to the sheriff up there in Carroll County. The second thing I want to do is batten down the hatches for tomorrow. The feeding frenzy will be worse than it has been.”
Cooper noticed Fair’s quizzical expression, so she told him, “The news about Carmen’s disappearance will be in the papers and on TV, too. There will be all manner of speculation and bull. And we all know rabies will come up. Is Carmen dead in a ditch of rabies? Jeez.” She rolled her eyes.
“If you two go up to Westminster”—Fair named the town in Carroll County where Marshall Kressenberg had his farm—“I’d like to go. I think I can be helpful.”
“Of course. And you’ve already been helpful. I need more, Fair, more to convict this guy if he’s our man, but this is the first real break we’ve had.”
“Did you find more bones up on those high meadows?” Fair inquired.
“Uh—yes, but not many. We did find part of a jaw. That will be a big help. I should have a positive I.D. soon.”
“I guess we all believe it’s Mary Pat.” Fair rose. “What a mess this is. What a sad, tangled mess. Oh, before I forget, in the box are the names, addresses, phone numbers, and e-mails of those folks in our own county who breed for the track—in case you want to check who has sent mares up to Carroll County.”
“Thank you.” Cooper was overwhelmed by the amount of research Fair had done.
Rick walked Fair to the door, clapped him on the back. “Harry’s rubbed off on you, old buddy. Now I’ve got two amateurs to deal with. Thanks, though.”
Fair blushed. “Keep it to yourself.”
47
While Rick called the Carroll County sheriff, Coop drove over to Dalmally Farm. Rick had given her permission to visit Big Mim, a pipeline to high rollers like Marshall Kressenberg. She found the always immaculately attired older woman standing in a paddock, watching Paul de Silva jog a promising two-year-old filly, Violet Hill.
“Tracks okay.” Big Mim observed the fluid-moving youngster as she came straight toward her then straight away. “All right, let me see her from the side.”
Paul jogged her up and back so Big Mim could watch both the animal’s left and right sides. Violet Hill was by an Argentinean stallion, Wolf, out of one of Mim’s good mares, Fanny Hill, and was not intended for the thoroughbred sales. This one Mim wanted to keep for herself to foxhunt and maybe go to a few hunter shows.
The slender, petite woman liked a horse that was forward, that would step out and was, above all, brave. This blood-bay filly, her mane and tail glossy black, just might be the ticket.
“Again, Mrs. Sanburne?” A sweating Paul held the cotton lead rope in his right hand.
“No, you’ll melt.” She laughed, then turned as she heard Cooper walking toward her. Violet Hill pricked her ears and nickered, as well. “Hello, Coop, what do you think of my girl?”
“What a beautiful color. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse that color.”
“Blood bay. You don’t see many of them, really.” Big Mim trod through the grass to meet the deputy at the fence.
Violet Hill enjoyed human company. She wanted to join the two women. Paul led her over so Cooper could admire her and pet her.
“She’s a ham.” Paul tickled her muzzle.
“I have presence. I’m not a ham,” Violet Hill replied.
The humans laughed, although they had no idea what Violet had just said.
“She likes her treats. Would you like to see anyone else today, madam?” Paul, obeying equine etiquette, deferred to the animal’s owner and his boss.
“No, thank you. Violet shines like patent leather. You’re doing a good job, Paul.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanburne. Oh, is it convenient for Tazio to come by at four to walk the stable site?”
“You know what, tell her to come at five-thirty if she doesn’t mind. Then she can just stay for the meeting about Herb’s party. Otherwise she’d have to go back and forth.”
“Very good.” His Spanish accent sounded melodic.
“Going to heat up even more today.” Big Mim, like all country people, paid attention to the weather. “It’s actually pleasant now if you’re not jogging horses. Would you like to sit?” She indicated a wrought-iron bench, two seats, and a wrought-iron table under the old walnut tree near the barn.
As they sat down Cooper quietly said, “I wanted you to know that half an hour ago Doctors Sandra and Nelson Yarborough identified the bit of jawbone we found with the molars still intact as belonging to Mary Pat Reines.”
Big Mim closed her eyes for a moment. “God rest her soul. I don’t suppose you know how she died.”
“No.”
“Poor Mary Pat.” She folded her hands together. “Harry finding the ring was the beginning of what I hope will be resolution.”
“Is that a nice way of saying we should find the killer and convict him?” Cooper ruefully smiled.
“Yes. Forgive me, would you like a refreshment?”
“No. I’m also here to ask your help.”
These magic words enlivened Big Mim. “Of course.”
“How well do you know Marshall Kressenberg?”
“I’ve known him since he was an exercise rider for Mary Pat. I know him through the horse business.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He left after Mary Pat disappeared. I don’t remember exactly when. Perhaps a few weeks after she disappeared. It was all too depressing. He got a job in Maryland—a better job, as he moved up to apprentice trainer. He found Ziggy’s full brother, who due to injury had not raced. Marshall, who paid attention to Mary Pat’s program, tracked down the horse. He borrowed to the hilt and bought the stallion from Old Wampum Farm in Kentucky. That’s how he started his own business. The rest, they say, is history. Tavener never forgave himself for not locating and buying Ziggy Dark Star himself. But he had sense enough to purchase a small share. He knew Mary Pat had bred back her mare the year after Ziggy Flame was born. She took the mare back to Tom Fool, so Tavener knew Ziggy had a full brother. Lost opportunities. We all have our share of those.”