Racing From Death: A Nikki Latrelle Mystery

by Sasscer Hill

  "I'm really scared about Lorna."

  "Y'all should be worried about yourselves, too. Goin' in there like that." He gestured toward the forest. "Real bad idea." He shook his head then muttered, "Of all the damn places to go."

  Places. My memory clicked on like a forgotten light switch. Those trees behind the razor-wire at the plant, so similar to the ones we stared at now. My words came out fast.

  "What's on the other side of these woods? Do they back onto the baron's bottling plant?"

  Cormack's head jerked, but he didn't say anything.

  "So they do?"

  Cormack walked a few steps farther away from Will and Bobby. He motioned me to follow. "Keep that piece of information to yourself." He kept his voice low. "There's a major investigation goin' on relating to that place, and you're so damn nosy you're gonna mess it up, or get yourself killed."

  "What?" Surely he exaggerated.

  "That man you met at the baron's party, the one that almost died?"

  "Atkins?"

  "Yeah, him. He was an undercover cop for Virginia's ABC Bureau. One of the best." Cormack paused a moment, cleared his throat. "Somebody found out he was nosing around and tried to kill him. That clear enough for ya?"

  "Oh my God! Did the baron –”

  "We don't know who's responsible for shooting Atkins. We know they're sellin' bootleg whiskey out of that place and . . . " His mouth clamped shut.

  "It's more than just bootleg whiskey, isn't it?"

  He gave me a sharp look, then shook his head. "We're not sure what all's goin' on over there."

  Especially since Atkins had passed out before he could tell me anything. The thought brought a short gasp.

  "What?" Cormack said.

  I swallowed, sucked in some air. "The person in the woods, with the flashlight. Do you think they saw Atkins trying to speak to me?"

  Cormack's lips twisted. "You'd be hard to make out in the dark. You shoulda thought of this before Lorna ran off. What upset her, anyway?"

  "Uh . . ." He didn't need to know about that, did he?

  His gaze dropped to my open shirt, then quickly back to my face. "Never mind." He paused a beat. "I'll call the county boys, see if they'll get up a search team."

  "Don't they have to wait twenty-four hours or something?"

  "Probably." His face held the same frustration I felt, but I could almost hear his mental gears grinding. After a moment he broke into a smile. "Remember those dogs?"

  "Won't they have the same restriction?"

  "They would, but a drinking buddy of mine has a search and rescue dog. Let me call Andy, see what he can do."

  About twenty minutes later, a man arrived in a pick-up truck. The interior light showed a long-haired black-and-white dog lounging on the seat next to him. Leaving his truck lights on, Andy got out with his dog. Tall and thin as a stick, the man's rugged jeans were belted with a tooled leather belt. High heeled cowboy boots adorned his feet. I wished him luck in the woods with those things.

  After examining the items of Lorna's clothing available in the tack-room, he chose her protective vest. I showed him where I thought Lorna had broken into the woods.

  The worried eyes of the fluffy dog reflected my mood as he snuffled Lorna's vest. Andy gave him some kind of hand signal and the dog put his nose to the ground. He must have caught the scent, for his tail wagged furiously, and he bounded away into the woods, leaving Andy to lumber behind.

  "How's he gonna keep up with that mutt?" I asked.

  "Don't you worry. That dog finds anything, he'll take Andy to it."

  My body sagged with exhaustion.

  "Let 'em search," Cormack said. "You can't do anymore here."

  "Okay." I was too tired to argue.

  Will left with a curt nod in my direction. Bobby squeezed my hand and rumbled off in his Mustang. The crunching of Andy's boots grew fainter as he followed the dog deeper into the woods. I prayed the mutt would find Lorna.

  Before someone else did.

  Chapter 37

  I read the blue card on the kitchen counter.

  Dress Code for Virginia's King Day. Business attire is to be worn.

  Men's shirts must have collars. Absolutely no athletic wear or jeans.

  Boy, these southerners sure like to get dolled up. The card had been distributed to the entire backstretch a week earlier, but things being what they were, I hadn't bothered to read it. I dumped my coffee into the sink, double-timed it to my closet, and snatched the outfit I'd worn to the baron's bash. I could end up in the clubhouse after Daffodil's race.

  The bureau's mirror reflected a wild-eyed woman with dark racoon rings under her eyes. One hand clutched a hanger full of clothes, the other covered her mouth as if to restrain laughter about to rise out of control. How insane to worry about dress codes when Lorna was missing. When I faced maybe the toughest race of my life.

  I sank onto the bed, feeling dizzy. It would have helped if I hadn't been awake half the night, lying in the empty cottage, contemplating tangled relations and broken friendships.

  I had to get going, and still clutching the clothes, I stuffed Lorna's rhinestone boots into a bag, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed for Colonial. When I pulled up to our barn, Will stood under the shedrow roof dressed in his riding gear.

  I had mixed feelings about his presence. Had he witnessed my performance on the Cobra's hood? There was something honest and clean about Will. His opinion mattered. I left my car, trying not to look sheepish and could feel his assessing gaze. I waited for a smart remark.

  "Did you hear from Lorna?" he asked.

  "No." I'd hoped he might have news. At least he hadn't brought up my go-round with Bobby. Maybe he hadn't been there early enough last night.

  "Guess she's pretty raw, huh?" He started to say more, then grew quiet.

  I stopped moving, impaled on a sharpened stake of guilt and humiliation.

  "I thought you might need some help." He nodded at the group of equine heads studying us from the shedrow. "You've got that race later and all. I could ride some for you."

  I refrained from throwing my arms around him. "That's really nice, Will. Thanks."

  His gaze fell away. "I'm doing it for Lorna."

  #

  At eleven o'clock, cars jammed the parking lots outside the grandstand. I nosed my car into the lot reserved for jockeys. There weren't enough riders in the entire mid-Atlantic region to account for all the cars crammed into this area.

  I sardined my battered Toyota between a Dumpster and a shiny new Mercedes. What a surprise, the luxury vehicle didn't have a jockey sticker. Whoever drove it, they had no business being in this lot. With glee that might have been evil, I left enough room next to the Dumpster to squeak out of my car, but only four inches between me and the Mercedes. The owner would have to crawl over from the passenger side, except that big console and stick shift I could see through the window might be a problem.

  I headed for the jockey's entrance at the back of the building, pulled my cell out, and rang Cormack. I'd tried all morning, reaching his voice mail every time. Surely he would have called if he'd found Lorna? Could they get a search warrant for the bottling plant if her trail led there?

  Part of me wanted to chuck the race and search for her, but I had an obligation to Jim, to Daffodil, and to myself. I didn't feel especially obligated to Amarilla, but she'd be pissed as hell if I put in a no-show.

  I hesitated, then pushed the numbers to reach Bobby.

  His voice snapped. "What?"

  "Don't bite my head off. It's Nikki."

  "Oh. Sorry. I thought it was . . . listen, I'm really busy. Can I call you back?"

  He sounded tense and preoccupied. "Just tell me if you've heard from Lorna," I said.

  "Uh, no. Gotta go." He disconnected.

  I stared at the phone. Screw him. I shoved the cell back into my purse and pushed through the door leading to the jock's room.

  I set my bag on one of the counters in the blue ladies’ area
and hung my dress clothes on the rod next to it. I headed for the kitchen, hoping they'd have something to tempt a nervous stomach.

  Tables and chairs were scattered about the room, and a plate glass window made up one wall. Some out-of-town riders I didn't know sat near the window. Outside, I could see part of the paddock and the track, with the backstretch barns in the distance.

  Two jockeys stood in front of the counter, probably waiting on the sizzling burgers and fries bubbling in a deep fryer. You'd think they wouldn't eat the stuff, but some lacked willpower and paid for it in the hot box.

  Delberto Belgado stopped talking to his buddy, Enrique, when he saw me approaching. They both stared at me. Jeez, had everyone heard about last night?

  "Hey, Nikki," said Enrique. "That's cool you're in the big filly race. Good luck!"

  "Thanks." Maybe I was just paranoid.

  I got a turkey on wheat, and joined Kim Kravel where she sat reading The Daily Racing Form. I remembered her anger at Susan Stark when Stark's erratic riding had almost cost Kim her win.

  She glanced up from the Form, breaking into a wide smile. "I see you're in the Princess. You like your horse?"

  "She's got a shot."

  "Saw that work she put in," Kim nodded. “You might get up there today, if you can get past Fletcher's New York shipper."

  Fletcher's Belmont stable held an awesome arsenal of top runners. His entry was the favorite. Though she'd won lucrative stakes in New York, she was still a Virginia-bred and thus qualified for the Princess.

  "Fletcher's horse is Sea Change, right?" I asked.

  Kim ran her finger down the page. "Yeah, the three horse. You won't like her speed figures. They rock! And Cornelio Valentinas is riding her.”

  I was riding against a champion jockey? We stared at each other.

  "Let me see." I reached for the page. "Damn." Sea Change had multiple speed figures over 100. How could Daffodil beat that?

  "Don't look so bummed," Kim said. "Your filly doesn't read the Form,"

  I was more worried about Daffodil reading the other filly's eye if they went head to head. I studied the remaining entries. The big purses had attracted some of the nation's top riders.

  "Damn," I said. "Eduardo Carmanos is in my race."

  "That's trouble, right there," Kim rapped her finger on the table in time to her words. “They don't call him ‘The Intimidator’ for nothing, and he's riding the nine horse, Jamestown Jessie. Awesome animal, that one.” She glanced at me more closely. "Are you all right? You look kind of tired."

  "Rough night." I bit into my sandwich.

  Chapter 38

  The noise of the crowd brought me up short as I stepped into the paddock. The mob made me uneasy, as if I were on-stage. Wasn't every day Colonial had races like the Princess and the Virginia's King. Not every day top horses and jockeys showed up, either.

  I glanced at the other riders strutting into the paddock. I'd never met any of them, only watched them on television. I felt two feet tall, way out of my league. Look at it this way, I told myself, these guys don't know anything about you and the Cobra hood. Vastly reassured, I marched past Carmanos and Valentinas without blushing or gawking.

  Amarilla waved at me from the grassy center-oval where she stood with the baron. She wore her big rhinestone sunglasses and a yellow-dyed fur coat with brown trim. She shifted her weight from one boot to the other. The baron patted her arm and sucked on his curlicue pipe, sending puffs of smoke into the air like a little factory. His massive belly appeared to have let itself out a notch. Probably all that sugar in his illicit bourbon. Did he know the cops were on to him?

  Jim waited for me in stall eight with Daffodil. His jaw tight as a steel trap, he tapped his pursed lips with one forefinger, a sure sign of nerves with Jim. Ramon held the filly, his eyes cutting anxiously left and right, checking out the competition. I heard him mutter, "Madre de Dios."

  Daffodil, statuesque and calm, wore her innate elegance like a princess's crown. She radiated a much needed confidence the rest of us seemed to lack. Could we win this thing?

  The paddock judge called, "Riders up!"

  Jim boosted me into the saddle, saying, "You know what to do, Nik."

  My senses sharpened as my world shrank down to Daffodil, me, and the competition. The warmup of twelve horses, the load into the gate, played in slow motion.

  Daffodil strode into the metal cage, her ears pricked forward, her entire focus on the green path stretching away to the first turn. The horse to her left scrabbled its legs and fought with an assistant starter. Daffodil ignored the ruckus. Good Girl.

  I sensed a stare from the right and glanced over. Carmanos, on Jamestown Jessie, gave us the once-over, his lips curled in an arrogant smile, his eyes predatory over a sharp, hawk like nose. Had he seen Daffodil's speed work in the Form? I hoped he didn't give it too much credit.

  They were still loading the eleven and the twelve, so I glanced at the tote board. We lay under the radar at ten-to-one. Hopefully these hotshot riders would dismiss our chances, too.

  The last filly loaded. A few riders with scrambling horses cried, "No, no, no!" Finally, silence.

  The bell shrilled, metal clashed, the announcer screamed, "They're off!"

  Daffodil broke mid-pack. Horses walled us in from all sides where we lay five lanes off the rail going past the grandstand the first time. Didn't want to get hung wide going into that first turn, but for the moment I sat almost motionless, reins long, letting my horse relax.

  Two fillies between us and the rail engaged in a speed duel and spurted ahead. I steered Daffodil into the empty spot, saving precious ground as we swept through the first turn.

  Unlike the flap-like-a-chicken locals I usually rode with, these pros were cool, their whips motionless. The few asking for early speed used their hands and legs with an admirable economy of motion as the field churned out of the turn and raced into the backstretch. Around me, the thunder of hooves under half-tons of live weight rocked the air.

  Immediately ahead, a horse broke down, crashed forward, and spun her jockey into the rail. I reined Daffodil right, flashed around the fallen horse, sucked in the horror, and sailed on.

  Maybe five horses lay ahead, one of them gray, probably the favorite, Sea Change. I glanced under my arm, looking back. Jamestown Jessie closed in on Daffodil's right flank. Carmanos had us in his sights. No room up front unless I went wide. I waited. Carmanos waited, too.

  Nearing the last turn panic broke loose inside me, and I almost asked for speed. No. Remember Hall-of-Fame jockey, Pat Day. There was a reason they'd nicknamed him Wait-All-Day.

  Inside the last turn two of the lead horses slowed, drifting away from the rail as their strides shortened. Now. Daffodil sped for the gap, but Jamestown, with Carmanos whipping and driving, got there first. Carmanos pulled his filly sharply into our path, making me stand in the stirrups to avoid clipping Jamestown's heels. Son-of-a-bitch!

  Daffodil took a few strides to get back in gear. Damn that Carmanos, he'd pegged my filly as a threat, made her stop and start over. Cost us almost five lengths.

  Ahead, Sea Change had only one horse left to pass. Jamestown stalked the gray favorite, only half a length off her flank. The speed horse in front labored in exhaustion. The two favorites' movements springy and effortless by comparison. A bay filly ran hard just behind them. Daffodil's long legs floated down the track, rapidly closing the distance.

  Out of the turn now, top of the stretch. I reined right, showing my filly daylight. She opened up, her lungs pumping oxygen in rapid mini-explosions as she flew past the bay and took aim at the favorites.

  The front runner was finished, legs rubbery, speed diminishing, she appeared to roll backwards as the favorites and Daffodil passed by. Only Jamestown and Sea Change ahead of us now.

  Daffodil opened a gear I didn't know she had, stunning me, bearing down on the favorites. Sea Change on the rail, Jamestown a neck behind on the outside, with Carmanos glancing back to see who was coming.


  We were outside Jamestown, about to draw even. Carmanos pulled his filly into our path again, leaving us no option but to shorten stride. Bastard! I used the reins and my legs to steady Daffodil, hoping to keep her together, praying she'd regain her stride quickly.

  Jamestown had a tendency to lug right. She'd take me over to the grandstand before she'd let me by on that side. If I tried to go between the two, they could squeeze me out. But would they expect a local female rider to have the balls to do it?

  I pointed Daffodil for the narrow space between the favorites, drove with my legs, pumped with my body, flashed the whip on her right flank twice. All heart, she dug in, grinding it out, gaining an inch at a time.

  Valentinas glanced back, saw me coming, and urged Sea Change on. The gray filly shot forward, opening up a length. I drew even with Jamestown, determined to slug it out with Carmanos. Racing stewards tend to watch the stretch drive with sharp eyes. I didn't think the jockey would dare try anything else.

  Carmanos flipped his whip to his left hand, and reaching back to strike his filly on the flank, he almost smashed Daffodil in the face. Instead of backing off, she pinned her ears. Carmanos had lit her fuse.

  Ahead, Sea Change opened up by three. Almost to the wire. No catching that filly today, but damn if I'd let Carmanos take second place from me! I pushed Daffodil down that stretch, my movements a nanosecond faster than hers, asking her to match me. She did, digging deep into her heart like she dug into that turf, shoving first a nostril, then her eye, and finally her neck past Jamestown's head.

  We flashed under the wire. I couldn't resist a little fist pump in the air. I'd run second in a $500,000 stake. My God. I'd just earned $10,000!

  Chapter 39

  Ramon waved me in like I was taxiing off a runway after a rough flight. The minute he grabbed Daffodil's bridle, I dropped the reins, dragged in more air, and slid from the saddle. Then I leaned forward and planted a kiss on Daffodil’s neck.