Men Made in America Mega-Bundle
Page 184
“I don’t believe you!”
“Susan!” Jane whipped around and saw her sister standing in the doorway. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Obviously not.” Susan’s face was nearly as red as the shirt she wore. “Liar!”
“You don’t understand. I can explain.”
But did she want to?
Not that the teenager waited for any justification. With a sob, she fled past them to her car.
“Susan!” Jane called, to no avail.
Only seconds later, the car was down the driveway.
“I’m going to have to tell her,” Jane said, stunned. “It’s the only way. What made me think I could keep my dignity?”
Curran put an arm around her shoulders. “Susan won’t think any less of you for the truth. She’s your blood. She will understand.”
His touch was comforting. Somehow, he managed to make her feel as if everything would be all right in the end.
“You really think so?” she asked.
“Aye.”
Jane ached to throw herself at Curran again so that she could feel his arms around her. But that wouldn’t be wise. She knew what could happen if they touched. Then a rough cough made her pull away instead and she saw Ned Flaherty a few yards off.
“I’ll be begging your pardon, but I have that information you wanted.”
“Ned, what did you find out?” Curran asked.
“Last summer, Gavin Shaw trained a few horses for Paddy O’Connor and one for Liam Black, but no one knows what he’s been up to since.”
That Curran was asking around about Gavin astonished Jane, since he hadn’t said a thing about it to her. She didn’t know whether or not to be upset. Curran was, after all, merely trying to get to the truth to protect her.
“I can certainly give Liam and Paddy a call, though those connections may have been too long ago to be of use to us now. Shaw was at the Keeneland meet here in Kentucky last October,” Curran told Ned. “So he must have been working for someone, possibly an American.” He glanced at Jane. “You wouldn’t know who that might be?”
She shook her head. “I only met Gavin then, remember. If he ever mentioned a name, I don’t remember. But it won’t be hard to find out.”
“What kind of information are you wanting?” Ned asked.
“I don’t know,” Curran and Jane answered in unison.
“If this has something to do with Finn mac Cumhail, I should be informed,” Ned said, looking pointedly at Curran. “Shaw didn’t work with him, did he?”
Jane frowned at Curran, who then said, “Not exactly.”
When his employer wasn’t more forthcoming, a flare of displeasure quickly crossed the assistant trainer’s features before disappearing beneath his customary smile.
Jane wondered about Ned’s reaction for a moment, but then figured the man had to be frustrated. Curran was asking for his help without telling him everything. For which she was quite thankful. The fewer people who knew what a fool she had been, the better.
Although in the end, she mused, it would undoubtedly all come out in the wash.
“We can go over to the library at the Keeneland track,” she suggested. “Last year, the Daily Racing Form donated their complete archive of newspapers and other publications to the library.”
The owner and trainer of each horse that raced being listed, they would easily find the name of Gavin’s employer, especially since the Keeneland meet only lasted for three weeks.
“Later,” Curran agreed. “I don’t want to let down on Finn now that we have him.”
“We do?” Ned asked.
“In a manner of speaking. We have a ways to go. But it’s time for you to introduce yourself to the lad.”
“Let’s be about it, then.”
Her mind on things more important than Finn’s progress, Jane followed, her determination to find answers as to Gavin Shaw’s perfidy stronger than ever.
THE BARONIAL LIBRARY at Keeneland gave them what they needed—the name of Gavin’s employer at the fall meet.
“Dennis Becke,” Jane said. “I don’t know him personally, but I know of him. In the past, Daddy sold him a few of our colts and mares. I’m certain that he has horses stabled at Churchill Downs.”
“There is racing today.” Curran checked his watch. “If he had any entries, we should still be able to catch him.”
They quickly scanned the current Daily Racing Form to confirm the fact that, indeed, three of Becke’s horses had been scheduled to race.
Leaving the library, whose gray stone facade was covered by a network of ivy, they crossed the grounds that had been fashioned into a parklike setting with myriad trees, including dogwoods, sycamores and maples. Jane had always thought the Keeneland architecture and landscaping to be stately, more like an East Coast university than a racetrack. More trees framed a panoramic view of the surrounding bluegrass countryside—tobacco barns amidst bands of grazing horses—a site that never failed to stir Jane’s love of her home state. Even the parking lot was lined with pin oaks.
More familiar with the roads, she opted to drive.
They were on the pike headed toward Louisville before she said, “I assume you have a plan when we find Becke. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I’m hoping he’ll tell us something about Shaw’s associates. Maybe a name will ring a bell for you. Someone who can suggest what he was into, why he would have been willing to break Finn’s legs.”
He didn’t add why he’d been willing to kill her.
What knowing would get her was as elusive as the information itself. It wouldn’t make her feel better. Wouldn’t give back her trust in human nature.
But Jane was certain she needed to know or she and Finn and Grantham Acres were all doomed.
The drive took less than an hour. They arrived at Churchill Downs, as different from Keeneland as could be. Rather than a rural location, this was the in the heart of the city. The building was blinding white and distinguished by its famous twin spires.
They arrived just before the last race began. People were already heading out in droves. As they walked against the crowd, Jane was jammed by an obviously disgruntled bettor—a loser, no doubt—and Curran put a protective arm around her shoulders to steady her.
Her pulse kicked up as it always seemed to when he touched her, no matter how innocently, but she put her mind to their purpose. Becke’s last horse had already run.
Fearing they might be too late to catch him, she immediately headed for the backstretch. Curran hung on to her, steadying her even while pushing her to move faster. Horses for the last race were already in the paddock. At the backstretch security gates, they showed the guards their identification that labeled them as horse people and got directions to Becke’s barn.
Despite the late hour, the area was busy. They passed hotwalkers cooling down horses from a previous race, grooms who were bathing their charges before stabling them for the night and a couple of jockeys who were arguing about an unsuccessful ride.
By the time they reached the right barn, Jane felt as if she’d run a marathon. But the rush had paid off. They caught Dennis Becke just as he was waving goodbye to his crew. Jane recognized his silver hair and distinctive sunglasses instantly as they approached him beneath the underhang.
“Mr. Becke, may we have a few minutes of your time?” she asked, looking up at the man who was taller than Curran. “I’m Jane Grantham of Grantham Acres, and this is Curran McKenna—”
“I knew your father,” Becke interrupted, shaking Jane’s hand. And then he pumped Curran’s. “And I certainly know who you are. I saw Sligo Red win the Irish Champion Stakes at Leopardstown. If you’re here looking for work, I’m interested in talking to you. I was thinking of buying some new horses anyway and I hear you have the touch.”
“Ah, now there’s some blarney,” Curran said with a laugh. “I appreciate the compliment, but actually, I’m wanting to talk to you about Gavin Shaw.”
“Shaw.”
Becke’s smile faded a tad. “What has he gotten himself into?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Jane hedged, wondering if Becke was aware that Gavin had dropped out of sight.
But Jane knew he hadn’t a clue when he said, “I don’t know how I can help you since I haven’t seen him since last November.” Which had been shortly after she’d met him.
Curran said, “How is it that Shaw worked for you?”
“He came over with a couple of Irish Thoroughbreds I had just bought. It was to be a temporary situation. Get them settled in and all.”
“And were you satisfied with him?”
“Yes, of course. He had a nice rapport with the animals.”
“He never did anything…cruel to any of your horses, did he?” Jane asked.
“What? No, of course not! Actually, when I saw how well the horses responded to him, I asked him to stay. I gave him a few of my older mounts who hadn’t been doing so well, also. I wanted to see if he could do better with them than my current trainer. And it seemed as if he would have.”
“But he didn’t stay,” Jane said.
“Not nearly long enough.” Becke shook his head. “He had some personal problems—I knew that right away—but what man in this crazy business doesn’t.”
Curran and Jane exchanged looks.
“What kind of problems?” Curran asked.
“He liked the high life. Drinking, women, betting. The usual.”
The usual.
Jane cringed inside. Obviously she hadn’t been the only woman Gavin had wooed. Though perhaps she’d been the only one so naive, so trusting…
Would she ever be able to trust a man again? she wondered, glancing sideways at Curran.
Becke went on, “Shaw’s pursuits were fairly harmless, I thought, until suddenly he grew very morose. There were a few odd phone calls and then without giving me notice, he up and returned to Ireland.”
“Have you any idea why?” Curran asked.
“Pressing business, he said. Something he couldn’t get out of…or some debt he owed someone. I’m not quite clear on the details. And I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more.”
“Maybe someone else can. His friends, perhaps?”
“He hung around with a couple of other Irishmen. An owner named Ian McCurdy—he’s now based at Santa Anita. And Sean Harris, a local sportswriter. Actually, he writes for the Lexington Record.” Becke paused for only a second. “How much trouble is Shaw in?”
“Too much. We thank you for your assistance.”
Curran was the one hedging this time, Jane thought, wondering if Dennis Becke was going to challenge him for details.
But the owner merely gave him a considering look before saying, “No problem. And if you do decide to settle here in Kentucky, keep me in mind. I’m always looking for a top-notch trainer.”
Dennis Becke headed out, as he had intended before their arrival. Jane glanced at a nearby blood bay who gazed at her curiously from his stall as he munched on a mouthful of hay. Unable to resist, she stroked his velvet nose. He lipped her hand as if looking for a treat and snorted in disgust when he didn’t find it.
Jane grinned despite their serious mission.
“Let’s find a house phone,” Curran said, “and call up to the press box to see if Sean Harris is still around.”
“We can try, but the last race just ended,” Jane said, indicating the horses being led back to their stalls. Then she spotted a phone at the end of the shed row. “Over there, Curran.”
As they made their way toward it, he said, “So we were right about Shaw’s actions being out of step.”
“He must have been terribly desperate.”
Jane thought again of Gavin’s intensity as he slashed with the pipe first at Finn, then at her. What could have caused such uncharacteristic behavior?
And what dark forces were still at work against her?
Curran’s call up to the press box took only a minute. Harris had already left.
“It seems as if we’re on a wild-goose chase,” Jane said.
“I shall catch up to Harris later.”
“Or Timothy Brady,” Jane suggested. “I didn’t even think to find out what he might know about Gavin’s troubles, and he was Gavin’s assistant.”
“’Tis worth a try,” Curran agreed. “And he might be on the grounds.”
They got directions from one of the hotwalkers to the barn where Stonehenge was stabled and immediately set off to see if they could find Tim. As they drew closer to Mukhtar Saladin’s barn, a raised woman’s voice echoed from within.
“You assured me that you could handle this!”
Jane heard a low male response, but she couldn’t identify the speaker or make out what the man was saying.
“Too much is riding on this—keep that in mind.”
Suddenly, Phyllis rounded the building alone, and upon seeing Curran and Jane, stood stock-still, her frozen expression one of unpleasant surprise.
But only for a moment.
“Jane, darling…and Curran!” Quickly thawing, the society matron advanced on them, a smile pulling at her mouth, her arms spread wide in welcome. “What brings you two here today?”
A movement from the shed row caught Jane’s attention. A man pulling back into the shadows. Unless she was imagining things, he was purposely avoiding them.
“We would be getting the lay of the land for next week,” Curran said, turning Jane’s attention back to their unexpected encounter.
Phyllis’s smile faltered once more. “You mean that Finn mac Cumhail will be ready for the Classic?”
“Curran is something of a tease,” Jane said, avoiding a straight answer. Truth be told, she still wasn’t certain that the stallion would come through for them so quickly. “Actually, we’re here looking for Timothy Brady.”
Phyllis stared at her, expression blank as if she didn’t know who Tim was. And perhaps not. Perhaps an assistant trainer was beneath her notice.
But before Jane could clarify, Mukhtar Saladin himself appeared and Phyllis’s demeanor changed instantly, a frisson of something dark—fear?—crossing her neutral expression. Saladin himself seemed displeased.
Tension oozed from them both.
“My little raven,” Saladin said, his voice low but firm. “We need to finish that discussion.” He glanced at Jane and Curran, and then summarily dismissed them. “In private.”
Had Phyllis been arguing with Saladin? Jane had the feeling not. Whoever the woman had been berating hadn’t wanted to face them, and Jane doubted Phyllis would so much as speak an ill word to her newest beau.
Confirming that conclusion, Phyllis purred, “Yes, darling, of course,” and gave Saladin a look of adoration. “Now, if the two of you will excuse us—”
“Wait!” Jane said. “What about Timothy Brady?”
Saladin glowered at her. “If Brady is here, then he is working with one of my horses. I do not want his time taken up with idle chatter.”
Wrapping an arm around Phyllis’s shoulders, he swept her away for that privacy he’d demanded.
Leaving Jane wondering if Tim had been the source of the earlier altercation—Phyllis probably wouldn’t have had any compunction against speaking harshly to a trainer or especially to an assistant. Now Phyllis was doing her best to appease an angry Saladin.
There was trouble brewing in paradise…if not trouble of a more serious nature.
JANE GRANTHAM WASN’T DEAD. That fact nearly choked him.
What the hell had gone wrong? He’d seen her lying there, at the bottom of the ravine, all the life drained out of her.
Or so he had thought.
Too many assumptions. He must have missed her completely, and she had merely fallen.
Why hadn’t he double-checked?
He couldn’t take his eyes off her and McKenna as they walked through the backstretch, so eager to find the truth.
Well, the truth was going to find them. Both of them. And they weren’t goi
ng to like it.
Damn!
How could things keep going from bad to worse? he wondered. He’d known McKenna was going to be trouble, but what he hadn’t realized was that he might be forced to kill more than a defenseless woman.
Chapter Eleven
On the way home to Grantham Acres, Jane suggested they stop for a meal at a cozy, brick-faced restaurant just off the highway. Suspecting that she wanted to avoid a dinner confrontation with Susan, Curran readily agreed.
They could use a little downtime, an hour just for the two of them, away from the farm’s financial troubles and the search for the identity of a potential murderer. Truth be told, he simply wanted to be with her.
And being so close, he naturally wanted to touch her, but after her last warning about not getting into her mind, he figured discretion was in order. It took great restraint for him not to wrap his arm around Jane’s waist as they went from car to building. The Black Stallion was obviously named after the owner’s prized Thoroughbred. They passed photos of the magnificent horse lining the walls from the foyer into the cozy dining room.
Seated in a dark corner and with their orders taken, a full pint before him, Curran started to relax.
And then Jane mused, “What could Phyllis Singleton-Volmer be trying to hide?”
Not exactly the dinner conversation he’d anticipated, Curran thought, taking a swig of his beer. “What makes you think she’s hiding anything?”
“Her reaction when she saw us. That was certainly some double take.”
The socialite had seemed a bit taken aback, Curran remembered, but then she’d been arguing with someone and undoubtedly had been in a dark mood. Only with whom had she been at odds? he wondered. Other than Saladin himself.
He said, “It seems to me that she merely put on a good face so no one has anything to criticize.”
“Not everything is about appearances.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Now why do I get the feeling that barb is meant for me?” Jane asked, her complexion flushing with soft color.