Hex: A Ruby Murphy Mystery

by Maggie Estep

Oliver and I make our way back to my place and within twenty minutes are spooned under the covers.

  Next thing I know, the alarm is going off, and in no time at all I’m back at Belmont.

  X

  SECURITY BITCH turns her button-eyed gaze to me but neither nods nor grunts any sort of greeting. I make my way toward the barns and stand completely still for a few seconds, soaking in the smell of hay and horses before proceeding on down the muddy little road leading to Gaines’s barn. I find no signs of the fact that a woman dropped dead here just thirteen hours ago. It’s business as usual—apparently.

  Gaines is in his office, hunched over some papers at his desk.

  “Morning,” I say, sticking my head in the door.

  He looks startled, covers something with his arms. “Who are you?” He frowns at me.

  “Uh … Ruby? The new hotwalker?”

  “Oh. Right. Get to work, it’s late, first set’s already working,” he says.

  I don’t know what he’s doing in his office if his first set of horses is at the track galloping. But I don’t have much time to dwell on it before Sebastian sees me.

  “I need you working extra today,” the skinny man tells me. “Frank can’t make it in. Got shook up, what with finding the body.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, not expressing anything, wondering if Sebastian will volunteer what he thinks of all this.

  He does not. Just sends me up to the training track to collect a colt.

  And the day begins.

  By the time the sun is all the way up, my back muscles are seizing. And no sooner have I handed what I think is my last charge of the morning over to Sebastian for grooming than Ned appears, barely nodding hello before shoving another colt’s lead shank at me. A bay colt by the name of Permanent Midnight who is so cantankerous no one’s bothered to give him a nickname. He’s a two-year-old, bred to the teeth and pissed off at the world. Which he demonstrates by stepping on me, taking a nip from my shoulder, and banging me into a stall. For no reason at all.

  “Ruby, you’re being too nice to that beast,” Ned’s voice says behind me.

  I turn around, giving the colt an opportunity to lurch forward in a valiant attempt to pull my shoulder from its socket.

  “See?” Ned says.

  He comes over, takes Permanent Midnight’s lead shank from me, gives it a brusque pull and speaks to the colt in a sharp voice. The bay pins his ears back as Ned gives me a lecture about how horses, particularly these extremely high-strung thoroughbreds, have to be taken strongly in hand.

  I nod my head dutifully. I know this already. It’s just that I can’t quite bring myself to do it. “I’ll be mean, I promise,” I tell Ned.

  He gives me a half smile and slowly nods his head. Looks at me over the top of his glasses then looks away. Stands there, seeming to hesitate.

  “So, uh, what’s going on?” I venture casually, keeping one eye on Permanent Midnight’s mouth, the other on Ned’s face.

  Ned frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, with, uh … Molly.”

  Ned frowns harder. “I don’t know,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “What’s it to you?”

  I shrug and quickly change the subject, telling him I’m going to put Permanent Midnight away.

  “Yeah.” Ned nods, not really registering what I’ve said. “Good.”

  I take the ornery colt back to his stall and pat him on the neck to try to make him feel guilty for being such a shit. He pins his ears and shows me his teeth. As I come out of the stall I see a gray-haired man come striding over to the shedrow. He looks up and down the aisle, then bangs on Gaines’s office door.

  “He’s not in there,” I call out to the guy.

  The man scowls at me like he’d just as soon smash my head into a wall as look at me. Thankfully, Ned emerges from Liz’s Tizzy’s stall and intervenes.

  “Mr. Mancuso,” Ned says in a placating voice. “Hello.”

  “Where’s Gaines at?” the man barks.

  “He’s up at the track,” Ned tells him.

  “I gotta talk to him about that fucking Frank. Now,” the guy says.

  Ned takes the guy inside Gaines’s office, presumably to calm him down.

  I turn around and find myself face-to-face with Sebastian.

  “That’s not a happy man,” Sebastian says.

  “Who is that?”

  “Little Molly’s uncle.”

  “Oh …”

  “Cops talk to you?” he asks me.

  “No. Why, were they going to?”

  “I dunno. Thought they were talking to everybody. Sure wasted plenty of my time.”

  “Oh yeah? What’d they want?”

  “Just asking about Frank mostly. Told ’em I don’t know much. I reckon Gaines gave ’em an earful. You know the story, right?”

  “What story?”

  “Frank used to be Gaines’s assistant trainer.”

  “He did?”

  Sebastian nods. “Got into trouble, though. Drugs and some breaking and entering. Went off, did a little time. Came back eventually, but now all Gaines lets him do is walk hots.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, surprised at Sebastian’s sudden talkativeness. “So, what, maybe Frank’s pissed off being demoted to hotwalker?”

  “I’d reckon, yeah. But I don’t mean he had something to do with Molly dying. I wasn’t implying that,” Sebastian says, looking worried. “Why you wanna know anyway?” he asks, suddenly suspicious, seeming to forget he brought the whole topic up in the first place.

  “I don’t really, I was just … uh, I dunno.”

  “What you doin’ working here anyhow?” he asks me. This seems to be a lot of people’s favorite question.

  “I needed a change. I like horses.”

  “Yeah? You ride?”

  “When I can. Not much. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a horse?”

  “Yup.”

  “Here?”

  “Here? Thoroughbreds? Nah. I got a quarter horse. I’m with the Federation of Black Cowboys.”

  “The who?”

  “Black Cowboys. We put on rodeos. Parades. Ride around the projects letting kids see the horses. Got a stable out on the edge of East New York. The Hole.”

  “The Hole?”

  “That’s what we call it. That’s where I first met Frank. When he was about yay high,” Sebastian says, holding his hand three feet off the ground. “Had to be the only white kid growing up in East New York at that time. Quiet kid. Used to come nosing around the stable. We put him to work. He did good. I’m the one brought him to work for Gaines six years ago. Started out walking hots, and then, like I said, got all the way up to assistant trainer before he got his nose in too much trouble.”

  My interest is seriously piqued and I want to ask some questions, but at that moment Molly’s uncle and Ned emerge from the tack room. The uncle storms off. Ned looks over at me and Sebastian.

  “I’m gonna go rub Cipullo,” Sebastian tells no one in particular, then turns and walks toward the colt’s stall.

  Ned looks at me and frowns, like he’s about to chide me about something. “You wanna have dinner?” he asks abruptly.

  I stare at him. I nod. “But I’m done for the day and you’re still working,” I point out.

  He contemplates this. His little glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them back. “Where do you live?”

  “At the end of Brooklyn.”

  “The end?”

  “The end. Coney Island.”

  “You live at Coney Island?”

  “Yeah. And you?”

  “Queens.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Born and raised,” he says, shoving hands into pockets.

  I suggest meeting at a Russian place I know in Brighton Beach. Ned seems to like the idea. Pulls his little memo pad from his pocket, jots down the details.

  He starts walking away then turns back. “Eight good for you?”

  “Very,”
I say gravely.

  I watch his ass as he walks away. I get a slight pang of guilt over enjoying another man’s ass when, in effect, I’m shacking up with Oliver. Even though he’d be the first to tell me to go for it.

  I mull this over as I retrieve my bag from the tack room then head to the ladies’ room to clean up. I’m running a brush through my hair when the phone chirps in my pocket. I put it to my ear.

  “Have you found anything, Ruby?” Ariel asks breathlessly.

  “No. Not yet. I had to do my hotwalker work first. Now I’m gonna poke around.”

  “Poke around?” she says, sounding irate.

  I tell her about Jimmy John Mancuso, uncle of the deceased apprentice.

  She cuts in: “You’re not wasting my time, Ruby, are you?”

  I have a strong urge to reach through the telephone and rip her head off. “Ariel,” I say, restraining myself, “this was your idea. I didn’t want to come back here. Remember?”

  “I remember. But don’t think I’m made of money.”

  “Okay. I’m not thinking that.”

  “Are you being flip with me, Ruby? This is not a joke.”

  I say nothing. I don’t know what the hell to think. Ariel DiCello is sounding distinctly unhinged.

  “I’m encountering some difficulties,” she says eventually.

  “Oh?”

  “Perhaps this is enough,” she says.

  “Enough?”

  “Enough from you. I can’t spend any more time thinking about all this. I must organize myself.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, “you’re terminating me, then?”

  She mulls this over. Then: “No. Keep doing what you’re doing. For the moment.”

  “Ah. Okay,” I say, half expecting her to change her mind again. She doesn’t, though.

  “Tell me everything, Ruby, everything you learn.”

  After vowing to keep her posted, I turn the phone off. I finish brushing my hair as I ponder Ariel’s psychological well-being. Or lack of it.

  Emerging from the ladies’ room, I make my way over toward Will Lott’s barn, hoping to find Little Molly’s uncle.

  The shedrow is quiet and mostly empty. Horses’ heads poke out over stall guards. Horse laundry dries on a makeshift clotheslines. A tiny black guy dozes in a lawn chair. Down the aisle, I see a Spanish kid, raking. When I ask him if Jimmy John Mancuso is around, he squints at me.

  “What you need him for?”

  “Just wanted to ask him a question.”

  “Oh yeah? You wanna ask me instead?” The kid leers.

  “Thanks, but no. You know where Jimmy John is?”

  “Captain Cash’s stall. Gray colt. Other side of the shedrow.” The kid motions.

  I make my way around the barn and find a man leading a gray colt to a stall. The colt is a handsome beast, well-made head, kind eyes. The man tending to him is the one I saw earlier, banging on Gaines’s office door. He’s stocky, with salt and pepper hair, and bears no physical resemblance to Molly other than a similar sour facial expression. He puts the colt up on the wall and starts currying him.

  “Mr. Mancuso?”

  “What,” he says flatly, without looking up.

  “My name’s Ruby Murphy. I was sorry to hear about your niece.”

  “You knew Molly?” He squints at me.

  “No, not really.”

  “So what do you want?”

  “I just wanted to ask you some questions about Molly.”

  “Why?”

  “For a friend.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He scowls, holding the currycomb like it’s a weapon.

  “Was your niece involved with Frank, the hotwalker who works for Arnold Gaines?”

  Next thing I know, Mancuso comes popping out of the stall and shoves me, throwing me down and pinning me to the ground. As I yelp out in pain, he puts his mouth to my ear.

  “Don’t ever make suggestions like that about my niece.”

  My heart’s beating fast and I feel myself breaking into a cold sweat. I must look scared out of my mind because, as I stare up helplessly at Jimmy John Mancuso, his frown relaxes and he loosens his grip on my hands.

  I don’t trust his sudden benevolence so I just hold still.

  “You can get up,” he says, and then, begrudgingly, adds, “Sorry, I’m a little uptight.”

  I stand up slowly, wobbly.

  Jimmy John Mancuso looks pretty contrite now. He glances in at the gray colt. Like the horse is gonna open his mouth and pronounce judgment on Mancuso’s untoward behavior.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Mancuso says, “but that’s my niece you’re talking about. I’d like it if you’d just leave now.”

  The way he apologizes, it’s clear he’s not accustomed to doing it.

  “I just wanted to ask a couple questions.”

  “You’re a cop?” He sneers.

  “No. I’m just friends with a lady who’s a friend of Frank’s.”

  “That piece of shit was stalking my niece, and you have the nerve to come over here asking me questions? I’ll give you some answers,” Mancuso threatens, angry all over again.

  He grabs the front of my shirt. The abrupt movement spooks the gray colt, who skitters and bangs his shoulder against the wall. Mancuso lets go of me and soothes the horse.

  I step back.

  The horse calms down and Mancuso turns back to me. “If I were you I’d get the hell out of my sight right now,” he says.

  “Right. Well, thank you, sir,” I say, turning and hurrying away from Molly’s insane uncle.

  I bump smack into the young hotwalker who initially directed me to Mancuso. “I think you’re right,” the kid says to me.

  “Huh?” I gape at him.

  He’s probably about sixteen, but it’s hard to tell because he’s on the small side anyway. He has close-cropped black hair and a fine-boned face.

  “I overheard what you were asking Jimmy John.”

  “Oh yeah? And what am I right about?”

  “How ’bout I tell you over a drink.” He grins.

  “How about I don’t drink but I’d be happy if you told me something?”

  “How about coffee?”

  “I don’t have time for coffee right now,” I say watching his face cloud over.

  The kid sighs, rolls his eyes, then says, “That Frank guy. He was up to something. And Molly knew about it. Only she was hot for him so she kept her mouth shut. I seen those two together—if you know what I mean. And that Frank, he’s a black wish.”

  “He’s a what?”

  “He’s a curse. A black wish. Nobody on the backside will hire that guy. Except Gaines.”

  “So what are you saying? What do you think?”

  “I can’t tell you that. How come you wanna know, anyway?”

  “I’m friends with a lady who goes out with Frank.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why she goes out with Frank?”

  “I have no idea. But she does.”

  “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “I don’t want a drink and neither do you.”

  “That’s true.” He drops his head. “I hate drinking,” he admits. He pauses. Scrutinizes me a little. “How come you working for Gaines?”

  “I needed a job.”

  “There are other trainers.”

  “What’s wrong with Gaines?”

  “A lot of bad shit happens around that guy,” the kid says obliquely.

  “Like what?”

  “Why am I gonna tell you? You work for him.”

  “I’m not planning on working for him long.”

  The kid looks thoughtful. Then he peers around to see if anyone’s within earshot. He lowers his voice to an intimate whisper: “You know a horse Gaines was training died two months ago, right?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. Dropped dead. Insurance company investigated and all. I guess they thought something was up. Expensive horse.
Good bloodlines but he didn’t run good.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he says. He scans around again, lowers his voice some more. “Frank always walked that horse.”

  “You told this to anyone? Cops?”

  “Nah.”

  “Why not?” I say, highly unconvinced of the kid’s allegations.

  “Nothing to tell. I never actually seen anything bad happen. Just know things go wrong around that Frank guy.” The kid shrugs. “You gonna have coffee with me tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Maybe I will. What’s your name?”

  “Larry, but I didn’t tell you none of this,” he says, narrowing his brown eyes. “I’m serious, man.”

  “Okay. Sure, Larry. But you know anyone else I can ask about this?”

  “No way,” he says, shaking his head vigorously. “If something like this is really going on, folks get violent.”

  “Like Molly having a heart attack?”

  The kid’s eyes get round. “No way. She just had a heart attack. From the speed,” he says. Then: “I gotta go. Don’t tell nobody you talked to me. And you have coffee with me tomorrow, right?”

  “Okay,” I tell the kid.

  He grins lecherously then turns and walks away.

  I don’t know what to think. So I head home.

  X

  AS I WAIT for the LIRR train, I dial Ariel.

  “Hello?” her voice quavers.

  “I’ve got some news. It’s not so nice.” I relay what the kid told me. “The kid’s probably talking out his ass,” I tell her, “but it bears looking into.”

  “So Molly’s uncle thinks Frank was stalking her? In a sexual manner?” Ariel sounds like she’s having trouble getting her breath.

  “I don’t know what kind of manner and I don’t know if I can believe a word the kid said. But yeah. I guess that’s what the uncle thinks,” I reply calmly.

  “Oh,” she says weakly. I can barely hear her as my train clangs into the station.

  “Train’s here. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I say, hanging up. I switch my phone off, with no intention of turning it back on until tomorrow morning.

  The train doors swoosh open and I get on. Within a minute of sitting down I find myself turning the phone on again and dialing my tempestuous piano teacher’s number. We haven’t scheduled our next lesson and, with all this crap going on, I need one badly. The voice mail answers, haughtily telling me to state my purpose.