by C S McDonald
“How are you going to meet up with this girl? Maybe Fiona should have come to the clubhouse with us. Maybe she could have finagled a way into the lady jockeys’ locker room.”
“Maybe.” He paid for two programs then handed one off to Nancy. Opening his program, he scanned the races. “Okay, looks like Jillian has a mount in the first race.” His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “Hey, look at this, Rick Fontaine has Charlatan in the first race.” With that, he hurried toward the paddock area.
“Oh, okay…I’ll, I’ll catch up with you later, Nate,” Nancy called after him, but the detective was off to catch up with…Rick somebody. Tucking the program under her right arm, she pushed through the glass doors that led to the inside paddock. To her far left, patrons were lined up at the long windows looking down over the outside paddock. She caught sight of Nate rushing through a pair of doors that led to that particular area. Glancing to her right, she spotted a dingy staircase, it appeared the stairs may lead into the inside paddock and possibly the paddock manager’s office, a vet’s office, and…the jockeys’ locker rooms. Hm.
After fluffing her hair with her fingers, Fiona stepped into the cafeteria. One did not have to enter the restaurant via the stable area, it could be accessed via the parking lot. Luckily, she did not have to go through security to enter the canteen. Only a few tables were occupied, and the weathered customers stared at her as she made her way to the unattended counter. Feeling most self-conscious, she shifted from one foot to the other. What if Fats Tennison wasn’t working in the cafeteria this evening? Well, she supposed she’d order a coffee and return to the clubhouse for plan B, whatever that was.
“Hey!” one of the rough-cut customers sitting at the table yelled making Fiona jump almost two-feet in the air. “Fats! You got a customer out here. She’s a pretty little thing!”
Fiona turned to stiffly smile at the man, who returned the favor through wrinkled cigarette-stained lips.
The kitchen door swung open and Fats waddled out. Taking her in from hooded eyes, he thumbed a quick text, then dropped his cell phone into the pocket of his apron. He grabbed a crumpled towel lying on the end of the counter and used it to wipe it down with wide circular strokes as he made his way toward the strawberry blond. Flipping the wet soiled towel over his shoulder, he asked, “Can I help you? Wait…” Faux recollection filling his eyes, he shook his finger at her. “You’re that police lady who was in here with Joyce and Marty last night, when their daughter was killed.”
Not wanting to misrepresent her occupation, Fiona sidestepped his description. “Yes, I was here with the Youngwood’s. Have you seen them since? How are they holding up?”
He waved a flippant hand. “Nah, I don’t see much of anybody, less they come in here.”
“I suppose this place keeps you very busy,” Fiona said.
Fats nodded. “What can I git ya?”
“Coffee, small, please.” While Fats turned to fetch the coffee, she glimpsed over her shoulder to see the rough-cut clientele scrutinizing her. “I’ll bet everyone comes in here for coffee or a sandwich. Your stepdaughter, Jillian, probably recommends the food to all the riders.”
Fats stilled mid-pour. “They all come in, that’s for sure.” He turned to set the steaming Styrofoam cup on the counter in front of her. “I heard they arrested Romeo. I heard they found the knife he used to kill Devyn with right there in his kitchen sink.”
Taking a seat on a stool, Fiona ripped the top off a packet of sweetener. “I heard the same. Seems all too convenient, if you ask me. Then again, not our case. We’re still investigating the Derrek Sperling murder.”
“Ha! Yinz must not be investigatin’ too hard. That ex-wife of his had it out for him. Jillian said she’s already emptied his account here at the track, and she’s sellin’ off his stable and equipment next week.”
Peering at him over her coffee cup, Fiona grinned. “Wow. You sure do seem like a man in the know.”
Crossing his arms over his wide chest, Fats took a step away from the counter to lean back. “People talk. You know how it is.”
“I do. Are Gwena Sperling and your stepdaughter friends?”
Suddenly, Fats’ gaze rotated to something behind her.
Just then, the sound of chairs scrapping over the floor made Fiona twist in her seat. The men who were seated at the tables got up to scurry toward the door. Sheriff Paxton was holding the door open for them. When the last man had gone, the sheriff let the door drop closed, then with his eyes trained on Fiona, he sauntered toward her, that’s when Vic Deveaux slipped through the door. He stood, unnoticed, against the wall. Surprisingly, he said not a word.
“What are you doing, Ms. Quinn? Are you butting your nose into an investigation your boyfriend has no jurisdiction over?” the sheriff demanded.
A frigid shiver skittered up her spine. “Of course not.”
His face hardened as he drew closer. “No? Cuz, I’m thinkin’ he knew he couldn’t ask questions, so he sent his pretty little girlfriend in to do his investigating for him. Is that right, Fats?”
“She was askin’ inappropriate questions, about Romeo and Jillian. But I didn’t give her no information, Sheriff. I can pick out a phony.”
“I most certainly was not. I was asking about the Sperling case.”
“She told me she was a police officer,” Fats supplied.
Gasping, Fiona’s mouth dropped open.
Sheriff Paxton’s lips lifted into a poisonous grin. “Is that a fact? So, you were impersonating a police officer and interfering with a murder investigation? Those are very serious charges, Ms. Quinn. I’m afraid you’re under arrest.”
“What?”
The sheriff grabbed her by the arm. Yanking her arm away, Fiona spilled the hot coffee down the front of the sheriff’s trousers. Flinching and yelling at the burn and sting, he swiped the cup from her hand to haul her roughly off the stool. “Assaulting a police officer! The list keeps growing, Ms. Quinn!” He moved gingerly as he shoved her onto the counter to force her arms behind her back and slap handcuffs onto her wrists, then he jerked her upright to push her toward the door. “
Coming face to face with Vic, the feisty old man’s eyes narrowed when he asked, “What are you tryin’ to pull, Sheriff?”
“This isn’t any of your concern, Vic, and if you know what’s good for you and your parole, you’ll walk away!” the sheriff said.
The door opened and Kate West stepped inside. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sheriff shoving the woman past her. The woman had been with Detective Landry. “Tom…what are you doing?”
“I’m in the middle of somethin’ here, Kate.” He called out, “Fats, call my deputy, tell him to have Landry’s SUV towed away, immediately.” With that, he pushed Fiona out of the door.
Kate turned to see Fats pull his cell phone from his apron. Tossing her a look, Vic limped toward the lunch counter. Kate pinched her lower lip between her teeth as she dug her phone from her hip pocket.
Detective Landry trotted down the cement stairs that led to the observation area for the outside paddock. Eric West was making his way along the short corridor that led from the inside paddock to the outside. “Mr. West!”
Eric turned. Stepping up to the fence that divided the patrons from the horses and horsemen, he offered his hand. “Detective Landry, you’re a bit out of breath, what’s going on?”
“I see Charlatan is entered in this race. Can you point out Rick Fontaine to me? I would like to talk with him.”
Eric scanned the paddock where the horses were being led in the circle for the race enthusiasts to make their selections, when a man’s voice behind him said, “I’m Rick Fontaine, what do you need? I ain’t got much time.”
Eric and Detective Landry turned to find a tall lanky man wearing a surly expression walking toward them. “I’m Detective Landry.”
“Ah, you’re the guy who’s left all those messages on my phone. Sorry about that. I left my phone on a table in a restaurant on my way
back to Kentucky. I turned back to get it and got a call from the office about this race for Charlatan here at the Mountain. Well, I was halfway here, so I figured what the heck. So, here I am, only I ain’t got no jock. I named Romeo Navarro on the horse, he had agreed to ride, and now, they just told me he’s in jail for murder. How do ya like that? I guess they’re in the locker rooms lookin’ for a rider for Charlatan now. With my luck, they’ll assign me some newbie, who can’t ride a lick, then someone will put a claim in on him.”
“What’s that mean...put a claim in?” Detective Landry asked.
“Charlatan has been entered in what’s called a claiming race. That means you can buy any horse in the race for the claiming price, which for this race is ten-thousand dollars. At the end of the race, the horse is yours. Even if said horse falls down and breaks a leg, he’s yours,” Eric explained, then his cell phone rang. He retrieved the phone from his jacket. “Hey, Kate…wait, slow down…” He wiggled his finger at the detective. “I think you’ve got trouble.”
“What’s going on?” the detective asked.
“Hold on a minute, Kate.” Eric pulled open a gate to invite Detective Landry into the inside paddock area. Finding a quiet corner, he turned his phone to speaker. “Okay, Kate, what’s happening over there?”
“Tom…I mean, Sheriff Paxton just arrested that girl Detective Landry was with last night, Farah or Fedora, I can’t remember her name—”
“Fiona!” the detective yelled.
“That’s it! He’s shoving her toward his cruiser right now,” Kate said.
Detective Landry’s chest tightened. “We’ve got to stop him from leaving with her. I need a ride. she’s got my SUV.”
Eric put up a halting hand. “My car’s right outside. Kate, you’ve got to stall him.”
“How?”
“You used to date him. He liked you a lot. Use your whiles on him until we get there.”
“That was a messy break-up, Dad. Don’t you remember how he camped out in our driveway in his cruiser? He’s nuts.”
“Just do it, Kate. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” They heard her let go of an Ugh before Eric disconnected the call. “C’mon, Detective, we’d better get there fast.”
Detective Landry followed Eric through the paddock toward the parking lot while he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
FOURTEEN
Nancy crept along the curved wall of the inside paddock area. The round building was a hustle of horses being guided toward a short corridor that led to an outside paddock. On the far side of the corral, horses were presented to a man who would struggle with the animal for a moment to lift their upper lip. The man would peer inside the lip, check something on the clipboard, then give the nod for the horse to join the other horses outside.
A woman dressed in chaps, a helmet, and a vest was fussing with a horse in one of the stalls close by. The woman didn’t look like a jockey, and the horse didn’t look like a racehorse, it was rather fat and was wearing a western saddle. Did she dare ask the woman where the locker room was? Nancy’s stomach twisted. Honestly, what was the worst thing that could happen? The woman would have her tossed out or the woman would give her the directions she required. She needed to find that locker room. She had to take the chance.
Trying to appear confident and rugged, Nancy approached the woman. “Excuse me, I’ve just arrived. Could you tell me where the locker room is? I mean, the ladies’ locker room, the lady jockeys’ locker room.”
The woman looked her up and down. “You must be the jock from Cleveland they asked to ride Charlatan. Kinda suprisin’, you’re gettin’ up there in years, ‘specially for a horse like that.”
Lifting her chin to a haughty level, Nancy puffed out her chest. “I’m sure I’ll have no trouble handling a charlatan. I’ve handled many in my day.”
The woman snorted. “I’ll bet, considerin’ how many days you’ve had. The locker room is right down there, second door.”
Nodding her understanding, Nancy followed the woman’s gesture down a dusty corridor to the second door. On a braced breath, she pressed through the grimy white wooden door. The locker room wasn’t particularly large. Old metal lockers lined the walls. Wooden benches were stationed in the middle of the room. Yes, the female jockey’s locker room was very similar to any she’d seen on TV or in any high school gymnasium.
Two women sat talking and joking on the farthest bench while slipping into colorful silks. Neither one had noticed her enter the room. Thank God. Nancy slid along the lockers, peeking inside each, looking for whatever a jockey wore during a race. Finally, she came upon a locker that held gear, a helmet, breeches, riding boots, and a riding vest. Relieved, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Are you the jock who’s gonna ride Charlatan?” one of the lady’s asked.
Almost falling into the open locker, Nancy spun around to find the women considering her. “Yes! Yes, that would be me. I’m the one who’s going to ride that old charlatan.”
A tiny auburn-haired jockey stepped forward. “I’m Ginger La Fond.”
“I’m Nancy Qu—”
“I don’t think I’ve seen a jock as old as you before. Not here at the Mountain anyway,” Ginger put in.
“Well, I—”
“This is Jillian Jewel. Jillian’s ridden him before, haven’t you, Jilly?”
Using a crop with a gold tag dangling from the handle to slap her right boot with each stride, Jillian drew closer to Nancy. “Sure have. He can be a handful, ol’ Charlatan can. He either wins big or he loses, bad. There never seems to be an in between for that horse. Depends on his mood, I guess.” She glanced over her shoulder to smile at Ginger, then turned back. “I think he’s in a losing mood tonight.”
Ginger snorted. “I’ll bet he doesn’t like his new owner, that’ll make a horse run like a bag of rocks.”
Another woman entered the locker room, but neither Jillian nor Ginger had noticed her. She quietly went about her business, setting her gear on the bench and undressing.
Jillian stuck her finger in Nancy’s face. “Listen, old jockey lady, I’ve got a claiming slip in on Charlatan. Well, you know what I mean, I’ve got someone who’s put in a claiming slip for me. I don’t like it when people betray me, and if you know what’s good for you, that horse will come in dead last. It’s bad enough that Rick Fontaine bought that horse, but he’s not gonna win with him too. Not on my watch. You got that?”
No, Nancy had no idea what Jillian meant by a claiming slip, but she did understand that the fix was in on the race. She did understand that this was the jockey Nathan was talking about in the car on the way to the racetrack.
Ginger held her crop over her head to stretch, bending side to side. “Things can get real ugly when you mess with Jillian Jewel. You’d better get ready. It’s almost post time.” With that, the two jockeys strutted out of the locker room toward the paddock.
Nancy leaned against the locker trying to gather her composure and her breath. She was out of her league. Jewel and La Fond were running roughshod over her, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.
“Are you okay?” the woman on the bench asked while pulling on her boots.
“Oh, yes, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“I’m Brooke Wetherbee. I don’t know what those two are talking about. I’ve been assigned to ride Charlatan. And that’s just too bad for Jewel. I have every intention on winning this race, because he can.”
Still a bit breathless, Nancy warned. “Well, she won’t be happy about that. You heard her, she’s got some kind of a claim on the horse.”
“Is that so? Well, she’s not supposed to. Jocks aren’t allowed to own racehorses. But I know for a fact Jewel has owned horses in the past. I just got here. Normally, I ride in Cleveland. I came in to ride one in a later race this evening for a friend, so the paddock manager asked if I’d ride Charlatan.” She pulled the other boot on and reached for the vest. “I’ve heard there’s been some dea
ths here in the last two days, a trainer and a stable girl, both from the same stable.”
“Yes, that’s true. I think it’s also the stable this Charlatan horse came from,” Nancy supplied.
“That’s right, Derrek Sperling’s stable.” Brooke chuckled. “Maybe Jewel owned Charlatan. Maybe that’s why she’s so cranky about it all. Derrek wasn’t exactly Mr. Honesty, maybe he sold the horse out from under her. It’s happened at the track I ride at in Cleveland. Let me tell ya, the results are never good. Although, I’ve never heard of a trainer being murdered over a deal like that. Always a first time, I guess.” Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she jumped up to hurry for the door. “I’d better get out there.”
“Wait! So, you’re saying this Charlatan is a good bet?”
With a wink and a smile, Brooke said, “With me on board, he’s a sure thing. Tell ya what, meet me in the winner’s circle for a picture with Charlatan.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure am. See you there, Nancy.”
FIFTEEN
Sheriff Paxton hustled Fiona roughly down the long ramp toward the parking lot. Upon seeing the sheriff’s cruiser parked next to Nathan’s SUV, she dragged her feet. She was most certain that if she got into Paxton’s cruiser, she was a goner. “Ya know, it’s absolutely amazing to me what a man is willing to do, or totally destroy, for the affections of a woman.”
Urging her forward all the more, the sheriff snarled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, sacrificing your career for Jillian Jewel. Far be it from me to speculate—”
“But you’re gonna anyway,” the sheriff groused while tightening his grip all the more.
“My guess is you called her stepfather, Fats, last night to let him know that Devyn Youngwood’s parents and I would be arriving at the cafeteria, and something tells me Jillian had been given a heads up that Romeo’s apartment was clear for her to plant the knife one of you used to kill that poor girl in said apartment. Am I right, Sheriff?”