Simpatico's Gift

by Frank Martorana

  A few minutes later Figurante was called away from dinner for a telephone call, and Kent and Renee were left alone at the table. Kent made sure her wine glass was never empty.

  “How is it around here?” he asked, as he poured. “Up in New York it’s hard as hell to find good farm workers. You know — no one wants the long hours, low pay.”

  “It’s the same here. Everyone wants an eight-hour day, weekends off, big pay – doesn’t work that way on a horse farm.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” He took a sip of wine, she drank half a glass. “In fact, just last week a guy who’s been at VinChaRo for a long time gave his notice. Said he’d been looking for work down this way, around the Cynthiana area, and got a couple of good offers. His name is Burton Bush.”

  Renee showed no reaction.

  “Burton Bush,” Kent repeated. “Did he make it over here to Criadero del Jugador? He’s a heavy-set guy with wild red hair you wouldn’t forget.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “It doesn’t much matter. From what you say, he’s in for a surprise when he finds out the work situation’s the same here as back home.”

  She emptied her wine glass and refilled it herself. “Worse if you get a boss like Hector.”

  “He does have a short fuse.”

  “Understatement of the year.”

  “Hair triggered.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Like today, when the birds scared Snow Din. You know, when I first came here he treated me super. He was teaching me, introducing me to the right people, paying me great. I really thought this job was the break I’d been looking for.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Hell if I know. Him, I guess. He insisted that I moved in up here at the main house, and it’s gone downhill ever since. He wants one hundred percent of my time. I’ve got no life. He doesn’t want me to see my friends, I can’t dress like I used to, anything. Lately, he has a fit every time I’m around the horses. I mean, Christ, that’s what he hired me for, I thought.”

  She finished the rest of her wine, but made no move to refill it. Kent let it remain empty this time. Her voice was starting to slur.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He’s got an ego that won’t quit. He wants to own everything he sees. He can’t stand to think someone has something better than him. It makes him furious. Once he . . .”

  Renee’s voice tapered off as Figurante re-entered the room.

  “Sorry,” He said in a tone that usurped the role of host back from Renee. “I think we’ve got the boat on an even keel again. Any food left?”

  Renee and Kent sipped coffee and watched Figurante eat his dinner, held warm by the kitchen staff. When he’d finished, he lit a cigar, large and brown, still girdled with its gold label. He made the briefest of eye contact with Renee, who then said something about barn check, and excused herself.

  When the two men were alone, Figurante exhaled a blue cloud toward the ceiling, and said, “There really has been a run of bad luck at VinChaRo, hasn’t there?”

  “Been a tough last few months.”

  “First Simpatico, then Elizabeth’s son. That’s more than a lot of farms could take.”

  “They’ll keep going. Remember what I told you about Hubris.”

  “You mentioned him. What about Charles St. Pierre’s death?”

  Kent turned slowly to look Figurante in the eye. “It was an accident. He drowned.”

  Figurante sat perfectly still. Kent watched the man’s Adam’s apple rise slowly then drop back.

  Kent would be leaving tomorrow and so far the trip had turned up nothing. He decided to lay his cards on the table.

  “Even so, there’s a few of us that aren’t buying it.” He spoke at a measured pace, studying Figurante’s reaction. “We have reason to believe he may have been killed — by a farm hand.”

  “Really?” Figurante said, his voice rock-steady. “Someone who worked at VinChaRo?

  “Yep. Still does. For now, anyway.” Kent hedged. “Allows the police to keep a better eye on him. The Burning Bush.”

  “Say again?”

  “That’s what they call him around the farm. He’s got blaze-orange hair and his last name is Bush. Burton Bush.”

  “Burning Bush. I get it.” Figurante didn’t manage to conceal the wave of anger that crossed his face.

  It was midnight when Kent dismissed himself to bed. Sleep was out of the question. He was in the house of a man mired in deceit and cruelty. Now he had to connect him to the events in New York.

  Was Figurante capable of killing a horse? Yes. Would he? Maybe. Why? Who knows? At least Emily and Maria thought so. Whatever that crazy phone call was about. And, how were Figurante and Burton Bush connected?

  CHAPTER 31

  Emily and Maria met Kent at the airport right on schedule. They showered him with kisses and hugs.

  “Wow,” he said, finally. “I was only gone one night.”

  “You feel like you’re getting too much love?” Emily asked.

  “Nope. Just the right amount. You going to carry my bag, too?”

  “Nope. Welcome home.”

  Several times as they drove to Pine Holt, he started to tell them about his trip, but each time the girls redirected the conversation to superficial topics. Eventually, a little perplexed but too tired to question it, he turned to gaze at the familiar terrain streaming past the window. His thoughts drifted as the girls continued to chatter.

  It was when they pulled up in front of Pine Holt that he started to suspect something was up. Aubrey’s car was there. That in itself was a good thing — he had not talked to her while he was away, and the prospect of seeing her buoyed his spirits. He also noticed Margaret’s car was not in its usual place. That too, was odd, being that it was near dinnertime. He looked from the cars to the girls. Their expressions registered mock innocent.

  “Where’s Margaret?

  “We gave her the night off.”

  “Oh, really?” He wondered what Margaret would do with a night off.

  “There’s a covered dish supper in Jefferson tonight she kind of wanted to go to, so we decided we’d fix dinner.”

  Kent gave them a dubious look. “You two are fixing dinner? Okay. That’s Aubrey’s car?”

  “We invited her and Barry.”

  “Uh-huh. So, what are we having?”

  “We’re firing up the grill. Steaks for those who want them, portobellos for those who don’t.”

  “Nice.”

  Just then Barry and Lucinda emerged from the house, Barry with his slow teenage amble, Lucinda at a dead run. Kent got a high-five from Barry, and a faceful of licks from Lucy.

  “You go on in, Doc. I’ll get your stuff,” Barry said.

  Kent found Aubrey chopping greens into a large wooden salad bowl. When she saw him, a sultry smile broke onto her face. She wiped her hands on the apron that protected her shorts and blouse.

  “You look domestic,” he said.

  She curled her arms around his neck, and gave him a full chest-to-chest hug. The peck on his cheek meant welcome home, the hug meant much more. He let his tired body relax into her warmth.

  Instinctively, they stepped apart when the kitchen door rattled.

  “Don’t mind me,” Barry said. “Did you start the fire, Mom?”

  Aubrey smoothed her apron. “Not yet. I thought we’d have a drink while it gets going.”

  “Okay. I got it covered.” Barry disappeared back through the door.

  “You already lit the fire, whether you know it or not,” Kent said.

  “Different fire. I’m hoping to stoke that one later.”

  “Well then, if that’s a promise, I’ll see if Barry needs any help.” He left Aubrey to her salad.

  Kent took a seat on the patio glider, and stroked Lucinda’s hea
d, which was instantly in his lap. The two of them watched Barry tow the Webber out of the corner, pour in a pile of briquettes, douse them with lighter fluid, and touch it off with a match — just the way Kent had taught him.

  Aubrey was groaning that she should not have eaten that second mushroom, and the others were gnawing the last bites of steak off the bone, when the conversation finally shifted to Kentucky.

  Kent sipped coffee and said, “Figurante is, without a doubt, dangerous. He’s bitter about the success of the New York program and, the odd thing is, he despises the other Kentucky breeders just as much. And, for sure, the guy is schizo.”

  “Does he know who Burton Bush is?” Emily asked.

  “Not that he admitted. And there’s no direct tie that I could find. At least Burton didn’t apply for a job. Renee Reilly, his farm manager, didn’t seem to know anything about him. I think she would remember if she’d met him.”

  “Farm manager. She’d be doing the hiring,” Aubrey said.

  “So what’s your gut feeling?” Emily asked. “Is Figurante in on it? Yes or no?”

  “I’ve been trying not to let my gut reaction influence me. But honestly? I’ve got to believe the S.O.B. is behind it — somehow. For sure, he could do it.”

  Maria, who had been quiet through the whole discussion, suddenly balled her fists and shook them in the air. “Yes, yes. He could do it! And he would do it, without a second thought. He did it to me.”

  She hid her face in her hands, and began to cry.

  “I can’t stand this anymore,” she said, through her hands. “I came back to Jefferson to get away from Hector Figurante. I never wanted to hear his name again. Just when I think I am free, there he is again, right in the middle of my life!” A deep growl rolled in the back of her throat.

  Emily and Aubrey enveloped her, as Kent and Barry watched helplessly. Eventually her sobbing was replaced by sniffling, and then by a long, cleansing sigh.

  Maria took a tissue from the box Emily offered and blotted her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you about Hector Figurante,” she said, her words still seething, even as she forced herself to stay in control. “When I graduated last year, that’s where I went. You know that. It was going to be my opportunity to work with one of the top breeders in the country. I was going to get some super experience, make contacts, work with some awesome horses. Well, at first Figurante seemed interested in teaching me. He talked about us both being from Ecuador and how he wanted to see me succeed. He introduced me to the right people and gave me some real responsibility. I thought I had the perfect job. In no time, he made me farm manager. What a fool I was.”

  She brushed aside the water Emily offered. Her face darkened as she thought back.

  “But then it got to where if I even suggested something, he’d jump down my throat. He’d get crazy. He started giving me less and less work at the barn and more at the house. One day he suggested — more like ordered — that I move out of my apartment and into his house.”

  Maria looked directly at Kent, then dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “I should have left then, but I wanted that job so bad. So I moved into his house. After that, it was like I was his personal property or something. He didn’t want me to see my friends or do anything on my own. He told me just how he wanted me to do everything. He even bought clothes he wanted me to wear, if you can believe that. Then one night…”

  Maria paused, glanced nervously at Emily and Barry.

  “Then one night he came up to my room. It was late and I was asleep. Before I knew what was happening, I thought I was dreaming, he was on top of me. I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth. He said that there was no one to hear, and did I think he gave me the job and stuff for nothing? He was too strong, I couldn’t get away. The more I struggled, the more angry he got until finally he hit me, hard, in my face. After that, he got what he wanted.”

  Long rivulets ran down Maria’s cheeks. “I hate Figurante for what he did to me. I hate myself for letting you go to his house, for letting you walk into such danger.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was Maria’s crying. Emily, Aubrey, and Barry simultaneously turned desperate looks to Kent.

  He was sure his head would explode as hatred for Figurante rose within him. He stepped to where Emily, Aubrey, and Maria were coiled, and bent so that his forehead just touched the top of Maria’s head. He could feel her quaking.

  “He’ll pay, Maria. You have my word. He will pay.”

  He stood up and stared back at the others. Finally, he said, “We’re taking this to the police. We have no choice. I don’t care what Elizabeth said about not wanting them involved. We’ve got leads we can give them now. Getting the police on him is the surest way to see that he pays.”

  “No,” Maria said, her face still buried in her hands.

  “What do you mean, no?” Kent said, and instantly wished it hadn’t sounded so harsh. He figured Maria would be the last one to object.

  She raised her head. Her face was blanketed with defeat. “It would be my word against his. I’m not going to go through all that police stuff, to face him again, then watch him walk away laughing.”

  “Maria, we are amateurs. We don’t have the means to get him.”

  “Then just let him go.”

  “That ain’t happening.”

  A silence came and it lingered.

  Then, out of nowhere, Maria’s demeanor changed from utter defeat to an icy, frightening calm. She pushed Emily and Aubrey aside, and rose to her feet, shoulders back, no longer trembling. Her eyes impaled Kent. “I want him dead,” she said. She spit the words, and they sent an army of wet-footed spiders racing up Kent’s back. “Nothing less.”

  Before anyone could respond, she turned, and headed to her bedroom.

  Long after the others called it a night, Kent and Aubrey cuddled on the patio, Lucinda at their feet. They pushed slowly back and forth in the glider, sipping wine, and studying the stars. But even in that perfect moment, Kent could not get what Maria had said out of his head.

  “It may have happened in the very room where I slept last night. And,” he shook his head in disbelief, “the sonofabitch is doing it again! To Renee Reilly, the farm manager he has now. The same things that happened to Maria are happening to her.”

  He pictured Maria as he had seen Renee, trapped in Figurante’s palace — frustrated, lonely — wondering how things had gone so terribly wrong.

  “Aubrey, I swear, I could kill him myself!”

  From his contact with Figurante at Criadero del Jugador he knew the man was evil, but now, after Maria’s revelation, he knew just how evil. Killing horses or people would be nothing for him.

  He just had to connect the dots — Figurante, Burton, and the horses.

  The night chill had settled in by the time Aubrey took his hand and led him toward the bedroom.

  “Come on,” she said, the wine her in voice, ”I’m going to help you get all this stuff off your mind, at least for the rest of the night.”

  “I’m good with that. You are my favorite sleeping pill.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Hector Figurante stared down the length of his conference table at the handful of people around it the same way a hawk stares down at meadow mice.

  The mice were pale and shaken because Figurante had just confirmed what they had all suspected anyway.

  “Yes, I admit,” he told them, “that I initiated activities in New York. But keep in mind, you are all accomplices.” He paused for effect. “The Bluegrass Conspiracy.” He laughed at his own cleverness. The mice were stone silent. “So don’t get cold feet.”

  Lettie Hook, Chairwoman of the derby committee at Churchill Downs and wife of the Lieutenant Governor, squared her shoulders and tried to sound defiant.

  “Wait a minute, Hector. We formed this group to discuss a business
matter — a problem. We did not authorize you to sabotage New York’s breeding program.”

  The others nodded in nervous agreement.

  “Oh, really,” Figurante baited her. “Just discuss?” He stood, and paced behind his guests. “Corbett, do you remember making me — us — a diagram — a map, if you will — of Keuka View Farm?”

  Hamilton Corbett, who had recently inherited one of Kentucky’s oldest and most prestigious horse farms, nodded and then mumbled a weak denial.

  “You drew it right here at this table,” Figurante reminded him. “It was very useful.”

  He turned to Dean Nolan. “Mr. Nolan, excuse me, eminent Doctor Nolan, PhD., University of Kentucky virologist extraordinaire, you were kind enough to enlighten us about the VanMark strain of EVA when we batted around the possibility of germ warfare. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Nolan said, “but we were just talking — thinking out loud.” He waved at the rest of the group. “None of us intended for you to carry out anything like that.”

  “Yet you made a vial or two available to me. You told me right where to look. Just which refrigerator to search in your lab.”

  Nolan gave Figurante a deflated look and said nothing.

  “So,” Figurante continued, still pacing, “throughout the course of our meetings here, I dare say all of you have made some rather damaging contributions.”

  He smiled, but did not look at them as he listened to their sputters of disagreement. For a long time he did not move. Then he slowly circled back to the head of the table. “I am a man of action, you all know that. But, what you may not know is that I am also a cautious man. I realize that you people are not used to having your integrity impugned. Nevertheless,” Figurante shrugged with palms up, “I thought from the beginning I had better ensure your loyalty in case the going got rough.” With dramatic flare he turned, reached up, and opened a hidden cabinet high on the wall.

  There was a collective gasp as everyone at the table recognized a camera.

  “That’s right, folks. I’ve got you all on tape, with all your incriminating comments and contributions.” He smiled broadly.