Twisted Dreams

by F J messina

  Sonia just shook her head and smiled. “Well, just be careful with him, please. I’m guessing he hasn’t had a lot of experience with women, and I’d hate to see him get his feelings hurt while you’re just buzzing around him like one of those bees. Now let’s get to work.”

  Jet came into Sonia’s office and plopped down in the red chair opposite Sonia’s desk. “Okay. What is it that you want to work on?”

  “Well, first, I just can’t get what Gabriela said about Limey out of my head. Maybe there was a lot more going on between him and Mariana than anyone realized. I just feel like we’ve got to get out there and see if we can get a better handle on Mr. . . . Limey, whatever his real name is.”

  Jet pulled her silky blonde hair back into its perpetual ponytail and deftly whipped an elastic around it. “Okay. What else?”

  “Well, while I call James out at Downstream and make an appointment for us to go out there again, I think you need to keep poking around with her old friends. Someone, somewhere, must have some idea where she might have gone, assuming she had any choice in the matter.”

  Jet shook her head. “Look, I’ll do it. I’ll do it because I know this is how PIs find things that others can’t, sheer diligence. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t have much hope. I’ve called and spoken to everyone on that list, everyone except that one girl who’s gone on some wilderness trip out west. So far, nothing.”

  “I know, Jet.” Sonia struggled to shake off the heaviness in her heart. “You’ve done a great job. But we’ve just got to keep trying. She can’t have just disappeared from the face of the earth. She can’t just be gone.”

  Jet stood up and started to walk out of Sonia’s office. When she was halfway through the doorway, she stopped and turned around. “Sonia, sweetheart. It may be time that you start to entertain that exact thought.”

  Sonia knitted her eyebrows. “What thought?”

  Softly, Jet said, “That she might be just that . . . gone.”

  20

  On Wednesday afternoon, Sonia had been able to contact James Racine and make arrangements to visit Downstream Farm again. By ten o’clock Thursday morning, Sonia was standing outside of Magee’s, two coffees in hand, waiting for Jet. The air was clear but noticeably crisp. Jet pulled into the parking lot in her Camry and motioned for Sonia to hop in.

  Sonia slid into the front seat. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” Jet backed out of the parking space then eased into traffic, headed west toward the center of town. “So, you managed to get Racine to allow us onto the farm?”

  “Yup.” Sonia took in the sights as they drove along East Main, a special warmth touching her heart as they passed Thoroughbred Park, with its lifelike statues of horses and jockeys all but flying toward a nonexistent finish line. “They’re busy, with the Bluegrass Stakes coming up, but he made an exception for us.”

  Sonia wasn’t much in the mood to be chatty that morning. She watched the streets go by. Dang, Mariana would have been so excited today, preparing one of the horses on her own farm for the Bluegrass Stakes. Big deal race. Frailing doing so well. Maybe a step closer to the Kentucky Derby. And instead . . . . Sonia tried not to finish the thought.

  It was almost ten-thirty when Jet turned the Camry into the long driveway leading onto the farm. There were not a lot of extra people on hand for the long day of preparations, but those who were certainly seemed busy.

  Jet pulled into the small parking area by the main house and she and Sonia stepped out of the car. Sonia stood tall, taking in the entire scene. As she had on her first visit to the farm, she couldn’t help but wonder if the folks who worked there became numb to its beauty, to the splendor of fabulous animals living and being cared for in this idyllic setting.

  Sonia nudged Jet. “There’s Racine, over there by the smaller barn. We should say hello.”

  “Agreed.”

  They walked toward the entrance to the smaller barn and waited patiently as Racine finished a conversation with three men. Finally, he turned to them. “Ladies. Good morning.”

  “Morning,” the girls replied almost simultaneously.

  “Thank you for letting us come this morning, James. This is my partner, Jet.”

  “Jet?”

  Jet reached out to shake his hand. “It’s a long story. Believe me, everyone just calls me Jet.”

  Racine, dressed almost the same way he had been on Sonia’s first visit─boots, jeans, light blue shirt─turned to the three men and nodded. “These ladies are here trying to help locate Mariana Castillo.” He shifted his attention to the tallest of the three. “She’s a member of our staff who is missing, and about whom we’re all very concerned.” All three men nodded solemnly. He turned back to Sonia and Jet and smiled. “And let me introduce these three scoundrels.”

  His attention went first to the oldest-looking man, a man in his late sixties, early seventies. “This is George Masson. His family has owned Downstream Farm for almost a hundred years.”

  Masson looked like money─gray-haired but still quite trim and with a bright smile. He shook hands with Sonia then Jet. He was dressed in the manner one might expect of a farm owner─khaki slacks, embroidered belt, a white shirt with the Downstream Farm logo. Even his “field boots” were clearly expensive. “Very nice to meet you, ladies. We’re so grateful for your help. You know, everyone around here liked and respected Mariana.” He nodded gently. “She’s a wonderful young lady, great with the horses, great with people. We miss her.”

  After an awkward pause, Racine continued. “And this is Jackson Paine. I assume you know of his reputation as one of the finest bluegrass banjo players of his generation.”

  “Of course,” Sonia lied.

  The tall, very thin, man with the flowing jet-black hair that should have been gray, given his seventy-something years, smiled. He was pure country in his attire, but “successful country” for sure. From his fancy cowboy boots, to his designer jeans, to his blue western shirt with its gingham yoke, the look was that of a simple country boy─a simple country boy who got his clothing straight from one of the more expensive men’s shops in Nashville. He shook Sonia’s hand quickly but lingered as he took Jet’s. He made such intense eye contact with Jet that Sonia could sense her discomfort. “Ladies. Y’all are a beautiful addition to a beautiful morning.”

  Racine jumped in, apparently aware that Paine was used to dealing with adoring fans, particularly those of the female persuasion. “Jackson is Frailing’s owner.”

  Paine puffed up even more. “Bought him for a song. And now, look. Gonna win the Bluegrass Stakes and be on his way to the Derby.” Everyone nodded politely.

  Racine turned to the last man, the shortest of the trio. “And this is Gilberto Ramirez. He’s Frailing’s trainer.”

  The slight, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his late forties smiled and reached out his hand to Sonia. “Good morning.” This was clearly a man who actually worked with horses. Simple blue jeans, plain working boots, and a dark-red shirt. Only his ball cap bearing Frailing’s name gave any indication of his connection to the animal and the role this man played in bringing racehorses to the winner’s circle.

  Jet lit up. “Buenos días.”

  Gilberto smiled back. “Buenos días.” He shook her hand as well. “Como estás?”

  “Bien, gracias, y tú?”

  Gilberto’s smile turned just a bit sly. “Qué tan bueno es tú español?”

  Sonia watched as Jet stood in embarrassed silence, clearly unable to answer the question. Even Sonia could tell it had something to do with Jet’s ability to speak Spanish.

  Gilberto helped Jet out saying simply, “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Racine put his hand on Gilberto’s shoulder. “Gilberto’s horses have won every major race in Mexico. And now that he’s come to the States to work, he’s well on his way to doing great things here as well.”

  Jackson Paine pointed over his shoulder with his thumb and nodded. “Starting with Frailing.” He was still
puffed up. Most likely, Sonia guessed, his perpetual state of being. “You know, I was gonna name him G-String, after the top string on the banjo. Wanna know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “ ‘Cause he’s gonna be nothin’ but the top of the heap.” He gave his head a quick shake. “But that darn Jockey Club’s got to approve the name of every racehorse that’s part of the industry, and they wouldn’t go with G-String.” He rolled his eyes. “They said it had ‘sexual implications.’ ” He took a moment to snort and spit. “Screw ‘em, I say. Don’t matter. I named him Frailing instead, after the first style of banjo playing ever done here in the good ol’ U.S. of A.” He swelled his chest as if making an important point. “Came over from Africa with the first banjos.” He leaned back and pointed at the girls, breaking into an even bigger smile. “And you watch, he’ll darn well be first himself. First at the Derby that is. You just watch.” The smile was broad and somewhat contagious, though Sonia figured that behind all the bravado was a man who was actually out of his league, a man who knew very little about horses─except that owning a winning one might get him even more opportunities with attractive young women.

  Sonia sensed it might be useful to meet all these men, but the one she really wanted to get close to was nowhere in sight. “James, I guess everyone is really busy today?”

  “Oh yeah.” He let his eye scan the farm quickly. “Lots to do. We’ve got to get ready to move Frailing over to Keeneland this afternoon. It’s a short trip, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to use all the precautions we normally do when putting a valuable racehorse in a van and transporting him. We do it the same way we would if we were shipping him to any other venue.”

  “So where is Frailing?” Sonia leaned to her left with the expectation that she might be able to see him in the main barn. “I don’t remember seeing him the other day.”

  “No, ma’am. Frailing’s not here.” Racine smiled. “This is a breeding farm. He’s been out at Running Creek farm. It’s a training facility. We’ll be picking him up today and bringing him over to Keeneland.”

  “And everyone’s involved?” Sonia scanned the immediate surroundings as well. “All the folks that normally work with him, like Limey, say?”

  Racine nodded. “Sure, yeah. Everyone on the farm is focused on this, Limey included. Of course, we still have to take care of all the other horses.”

  Sonia looked at Jet, then back to Racine. “Well, we should be getting out of your hair. If you don’t mind, we’re just going to walk around and get a sense of things. You don’t mind if we ask some folks some questions . . . if we keep it short?”

  “No.” Racine looked around again, clearly intent on making certain everyone was as focused as he was. “Go right ahead. Just remember, their minds are really somewhere else today.”

  As Sonia and Jet walked away from the trio of men, Jet gently put her hand on Sonia’s shoulder. “Nicely done. So, I assume we’re off to find Limey?”

  “You’ve got it. Let’s try the big barn.”

  The girls walked over and through the bigger barn, noting these horses had accommodations that were nicer than many people’s homes. Limey was nowhere in sight. They eventually found him behind that barn, bathing and brushing one of the other horses, a beautiful grey animal with a black mane and tail and a white blaze on its face. There was another man with him, talking to Limey while the big man worked on the horse.

  Sonia led the way over to them. “Wow. That’s quite an animal.”

  Limey gave her a broad smile. “Surely she is ma’am. Surely she is.” There was a clear touch of English heritage in his speech, though more cockney than Kensington Palace. “Name’s Pawtucket, like the city in Rhode Island. Stands sixteen hands tall, every bit of it pure muscle. She won her share of races, too. Now she’s one of our most important brood mares.”

  Having grown up in the city, Sonia was not exactly used to horses. She was anxious about being around such a powerful animal, but she tried to put her fears aside. “Can I pet her?”

  Limey chuckled. “She’s a bit sloppy now, ma’am, but just come at her nice and slow.

  “By the way, my name’s Sonia. And yours is?” She very tentatively scratched the horse’s face. She was being careful to avoid any part of Pawtucket that might bite her.

  “Limey, ma’am. They just call me Limey.”

  Jet stepped forward. “Sounds like me. They just call me Jet.”

  Limey turned to Jet. “Now that’s an unusual one, isn’t it? I’m sure from my accent you can tell why they call me Limey. But Jet, what’s that about?”

  “Oh, it’s a long story.” Jet reached out and let Pawtucket’s nose nuzzle her hand as she got a good sense of Jet’s intentions. Jet’s moves were much more confident than Sonia’s. “So how long have you been in the states?”

  He bent over, picked up a hose, and began gently rinsing the horse. “Came over when I was a young man. Had a run in with some folks who were uncomfortable with me because of my family background.” He gave her a sly smile. “Bit of a royal, you know.”

  Jet stepped a little closer to Limey. “Sounds fascinating. I’d like to hear more about that sometime.”

  21

  Sonia had given Pawtucket what she felt was enough attention to sell the notion that she was truly interested in the horse. She stepped back and turned to the other man. “And who are you, sir?”

  Limey answered first. “Oh, that’s Ron Harris.” He directed a snarky smile toward his friend. “Wouldn’t know the front end of a horse from its rear. All he knows about is money.”

  Ron Harris, a smaller, blonde-haired man in his early forties, was dressed more in business casual clothing than farm attire─nice slacks, button-down shirt, loafers. “I’m sorry for the rude interruption. My good friend, Limey, here, doesn’t seem to have the appropriate appreciation for the people who make this whole horse racing thing work, thereby giving him and others like him gainful employment.”

  Sonia tried to take in the man’s essence. “And what exactly is it that you do?”

  “I’m a broker.” Harris held his head just a little higher. “Actually, the proper term is bloodstock agent. We appraise animals, analyze bloodlines, sometimes bid on horses for our clients, or even broker deals between owners.”

  Sonia smiled at Limey. “So, he really does know the front end of a horse from its rear, now doesn’t he, Limey?”

  Limey feigned being insulted. “If you’ve never bathed them, brushed them, fed them, and mucked out their stalls, you don’t really know them. That’s what I think.” He turned and gave Jet a big wink as he began brushing the magnificent animal.

  Sonia pressed a little. “And why are you here on such a busy day, Mr. Harris?”

  Harris gave a quick wave of his hand. “Oh, you can call me Ron.” He ran his fingers through his short, blond hair. “I’ve got a special interest in Frailing. I’m the one who helped Mr. Paine purchase the horse after it was bred right here on the farm.”

  Jet didn’t hesitate. “And if Frailing wins on Saturday, does that mean a pay-off for you?”

  Ron chuckled. “I wish. No, I get paid commissions on deals I negotiate, but none of the spoils if I help someone come up with the buy of a lifetime.”

  Jet passed a look at Sonia, and Sonia got the message. She gave Harris an engaging smile. “I’d like to know more about that, Ron. Would you mind walking with me as I look around? Maybe you could explain some things to me.”

  Ron Harris lit right up, clearly pleased by Sonia’s attention. “Certainly. Lead on. What would you like to know?”

  Sonia gave Jet a knowing look and took off in the direction of one of the smaller barns. It wasn’t that she was so interested in hearing what Ron Harris had to say. What interested her most was what Jet would get out of Limey if left alone with him.

  Less than thirty minutes later, Sonia and Ron Harris finished the loop from the bigger barn to the little ones and back. Along the way, Ron had explained how the whole horse business worked, who m
ade deals with whom, who bought or sold horses or breeding rights, and so on.

  As they approached the back of the bigger barn, Sonia saw Jet sitting alone on a bale of hay. “Thanks for all the information, Ron. Just fun to know.” She shook his hand briefly. “Nice to meet you. Good luck at the races Saturday.” As she walked away, she could feel his eyes follow her, a sensation that was not new to her.

  It took Sonia less than a minute to make her way over to Jet, taking in the beauty of the farm as she went. “Ready to go?”

  Jet stood up. “Absolutely.” They began strolling back to Jet’s car.

  Sonia spoke in a hushed voice, her eyes forward. “Well, what did you find out?”

  “Not much.” Jet put a piece of hay she had plucked out of the bale into her mouth and chewed on it between words. “I was able to get him to talk about Mariana, after, that is, I squelched his attempts to hit on me. Seems he really did like her. Says he considered her,” she made quotation marks in the air, “a friend.”

  Sonia turned more directly to her. They stopped walking. “Anything else? Anything important?”

  “Nothing’s for certain, but he really did seem upset about something when Mariana came up.” They started walking again. “Of course, he could just be good at hiding things, but there was this one thing he said.”

  “Yeah?”

  Jet brushed some errant hay off her jeans. “He said that in the last few months she seemed more and more distracted, that she had less and less time to spend with him.” She made the quotation marks again, “ ‘Just as a friend,’ he was quick to point out.”

  “And how did you read that?” Sonia brushed that wisp of hair out of her face.