“Dawn?”
“Yes.”
“This is Wendy. I wanted to let Ben know that Linda left.”
“What?”
“She’s not in the hotel suite anymore and all her things are gone.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell him.” Before Dawn could hang up, Tom motioned for the phone.
“Hey, this is Tom. I’m making chili tonight if you want to come over.”
Wendy chuckled. “Oh, you sweet talker. How could I resist?”
Tom laughed. “We’re going to eat around seven.”
Ben wasn’t pleased with the news that Linda was gone, and for that matter, neither was Tom. “Now where would she go? What is wrong with that woman?”
Dawn sighed. “She’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Probably losing her child.” Dawn took out her cell phone and hit auto dial. “Uncle Matt. I need another favor.” She gave him Linda Dillon’s name and approximate age, mid-thirties. “We have reason to believe she is leaving the state,” she said, and listened. “I did, didn’t I?” She chuckled.
“What?” Tom asked, when she hung up.
“He said I sounded like one of Charlie’s Angels.”
Dusty smiled. “Actually you did.”
Not five minutes later, Dawn’s Uncle Matt phoned back. “She just gassed up in China Town.”
“China Town?”
“It’s about five miles from the racetrack.”
“Okay, so she’s at least still in the area?”
“Do you want her cell phone number?”
“Yes, please,” she said. Having this information so soon came as no surprise to her, but certainly Tom and Ben were impressed. “Hello,” Dawn said, when Linda answered her phone. “Don’t hang up. This is Dawn Iredell from the racetrack.”
“What do you want?”
“I uh....what do I want?” She looked at Tom, Ben, and Dusty. Their faces were blank. “I’m uh, wanting to purchase your ponies. I’ll give you five hundred dollars each.”
Silence.
“Cash.”
Silence still….
“I’ll meet you at the gas station in China Town.”
“Are you following me?”
“No. I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“You’re coming alone, right?”
“Yes. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Why are you doing this?” Ben asked, when she hung up.
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t want her to have any right to the ponies.” She hesitated, digging out her debit card. “And more importantly, I don’t want her to be afraid of losing her daughter.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Ben asked.
“No, I told her I’d come alone.” She started out the tack room door. “I’m going home from there. I’ll see you all later.”
“Do you know where China Town is?” Tom asked.
“No, but I have my GPS.”
“I don’t trust those things,” Ben said.
“Well, I have my Onstar too. See you later.”
Less than ten minutes later, Dawn pulled in next to Linda Dillon’s car. She was sitting behind the wheel with her little girl Maria in a car seat next to her. Dawn got out and walked around to the driver’s side and first gave her a blank piece of paper. “Write out a Bill of Sale,” she said, and waited then gave her the money. “Where are you headed?”
“What does it matter?”
“Well,” Dawn said. “I might be able to help you get a job if I know where you’re going.”
Linda stared at the road, shaking her head.
“I’m serious, Linda. Will you call me?” She tore off a corner of the Bill of Sale and wrote down her phone number.
“I have it,” Linda said, pointing to her phone.
“Then call me, okay. No excuses.” Dawn smiled at little Maria.
“Why are you doing this?” Linda asked. “Why are you helping me? I know what you think of me.”
“What I think of you doesn’t matter. Hold on,” she said, and went back to her car for D.R.s car seat. “It belongs in the back seat, facing the rear,” she said, opening the door and buckling it in. “Here, give her to me.”
Linda hesitated. “You’re going to take her away from me, aren’t you?”
“No,” Dawn said. “I promise. Just give her to me.”
Linda unsnapped the harness on Maria’s car seat and handed her to Dawn. “What’s nice about this car seat is you can still see her,” Dawn said. “Keep it on this side.”
Linda thanked her and sat with tears welling up in her eyes as Dawn gave little Maria a hug. “Take care of your mommy,” Dawn said. “She loves you.”
Linda nodded. “Thank you.”
According to the Bill of Sale the ponies’ names were Poncho and Biscuit. “Poncho is the Palomino, Biscuit is the bay. Poncho is six-years old and Biscuit is eight.”
Glenda smiled. “What are you going to do with them?”
“I don’t know,” Dawn said. “The children are too young to ride. But Poncho did really seem to like D.R.” No sooner said, she figured the reason why: Linda’s child. “I think the first order of business is to continue letting them rest and to fatten them up and get them nice and healthy. Randy says maybe tomorrow they can have a little grass.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Dawn smiled.
“Do you want Harold to pull their shoes?” The farm blacksmith.
Dawn hesitated. This was the first time she’d ever owned a horse, horses, all by herself. It was her decision, her call. “It looks like they were just done recently. Let’s let the feet grow a little before we pull them.”
She got a soft brush and comb, gently brushed Poncho and combed his mane, picked his feet. She put Furacin on his saddle sores. Then she groomed Biscuit. This was a whole new experience, grooming horses this thin. She felt loving, brushing them, and yet sad. She found herself humming the song, “In the Arms of an Angel.” Poncho liked the sound of her voice. Biscuit liked her soft hands. When she brushed his face, he closed his eyes ever so slowly and sighed.
She tried not to think of Linda Dillon and how she could treat these animals the way she did. She tried to only think of the positive; they were safe now. “Spent all your time waiting, for that second chance,” she sang softly. “For a break that would make it okay. There’s always some reason to feel not good enough. And it’s hard at the end of the day.”
Randy walked into the barn and stood watching her, listening.
“May you find some comfort here…” she sang, in the quietest of voices, the softest of touch.
Randy loved listening to her sing, loved when she sang lullabies to Maeve and D.R., loved listening to her singing now. She started out of the stall and looked at him. She had big tears in her eyes. “They’re home,” she said.
“I know. I heard.” He smiled and wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, Dawn.”
“I love you too.”
Chapter Sixteen
They all sat around the table trying to decide if Tom had added a new spice to his infamous chili. He denied it at first. “But if I did,” he said, “it would only be something to make it healthier.”
“Healthier?” Randy looked at him.
“Yes, healthier. I was reading today, in the uh, reading room and I came across this very informative article.”
Randy laughed, as did Ben, Dawn, and Dusty. Wendy didn’t pick up on the humor, not at first. She didn’t realize Tom usually didn’t talk in such an academic way, not to mention, the “reading room” being the men’s room at the racetrack.
“What did the article say?” Randy asked.
“Well, being a doctor, you should know. Certain medicines, actually most of them, are derived from herbs and spices.”
“Derived?” Randy smiled. It was then that Wendy laughed. Tom was obviously talking this way for her benefit, the conundrum thing.
“Yes,” Tom said. “Derived.”
<
br /> “So this new spice you may or may not have used is a derivative of…?”
Tom helped himself to another bowl full. “It’s turmeric; one of the healthiest spices on God’s green earth.”
“Ooh, I taste it now that you mentioned it,” Dawn said. “I like that it’s not a hot spice.” She glanced at Wendy. “There’s only pepper in this house. Pepper and salt, that’s it. Red pepper, pepper flakes, ground black pepper, white pepper, jalapeño, habanera.”
Wendy smiled. “I think I also taste paprika.”
Tom looked at her. “You do? You’re kidding me. I added that too. I heated it first in olive oil. It’s supposed to add a mild sweet pepper taste and it’s healthy as well.”
Ben shoveled it in. “Why all the concern about health all of a sudden? This isn’t about me, is it? Did one of you talk to my doctor?”
“No,” Tom said, “This is actually about people in general.” He went and got the article. “See, it says here that if a person is not getting the proper nutrients, they will want to keep eating. But, if their needs are met they eat less, naturally. They don’t have to worry about eating too much, or…” he said, “not enough.”
“Okay,” Wendy said. “Now I think you’re talking about me. Did you talk to my nutritionist?”
Everyone laughed, and then as usual, talk went back to revolving around the racetrack. “Did you see where Some Sam was eased today? I think he’s done.” Dusty said.
“He’s a nice horse,” Ben shook his head. “That’s a shame.”
“Grand-looking too,” Tom said.
Randy nodded. Some Sam’s trainer was one of his clients. “Fortunately for him, he’s being retired relatively sound. He’ll be fine,” he said, which was precisely what he’d told Bud Dickson, the horse’s trainer today. “He’ll just need a little rest for a couple of months and he’ll be good to go for his next career.”
“That would make a great video to play in the grandstand,” Dawn said. “His going home, retired, a happy event.”
“Do you want me to talk to Bud about it?” Dusty asked Dawn.
“Thank you. That would be great.”
“You’d better talk to him first thing in the morning,” Randy said. “I think they’re shipping him out tomorrow.”
Dusty nodded. “What happened to him?”
“I’d rather not say,” Randy said. “Wendy here hasn’t passed the sworn-secrecy muster yet?”
Wendy smiled. “What do I have to do?”
“Sign your name in blood on parchment paper,” Randy said.
Everyone laughed, Wendy included. “By the way,” she said, reaching for her notepad. “I have interesting stats to share. Approximately sixty percent of the people attending the races arrive before the first race. About thirty-five percent come between the second and fifth races. The remaining approximately five percent come through the free turn-style after the seventh.”
Tom sat back. “Okay, so attendance doesn’t really seem to have much to do with admission. If free admission is after the seventh race and only five percent show up then….”
“But,” Wendy said. “At least half the wagering dollars go to the perfectas, trifectas, and exactas. So, forty to fifty percent of the total money gets bet after the second race.”
“So what are you saying?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know,” Wendy said.
Tom shook his head. “So we don’t know what any of that means?”
“No,” Wendy said. “But it is interesting, you have to admit.”
Dawn smiled.
“Even more interesting,” Wendy said. “Even though there is no real way of tallying this, it appears to the naked eye that at least half of the crowd leaves before the last race.”
“Well,” Randy said. “Maybe they lose early on and leave because they’re broke.”
“Or,” Ben said. “They leave to go to work, second shift.”
Tom sat mulling this over. “You know, I think we might be on to something.”
“What? This happens at all sporting events,” Dusty said. “When the team’s losing, the fans bail. In this case, if the fans themselves are losing….”
“How can we give them better odds?” Ben asked.
Tom looked at Wendy. “Wait a minute, are you saying the daily double has no appeal?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I don’t know. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay? On a more positive note, I got the ad from the band. They call themselves the ‘Dew Lotts.’”
“The Dew Lotts?” Tom said.
Dusty made a face. “What the hell kind of name is that?”
“Well, I was curious too, so I asked. Seems they can’t remember who actually came up with it, but they all like it, so….” Wendy took a sip of her water. “We’ll be running an ad for them tomorrow on the last page of the program, inside flap. And then we’ll run it again in the Friday program on the inside front flap. It’s a nice ad.”
Everyone was pleased to hear that, an accomplishment.
It was a pleasant evening, miles and miles away from the worries of the racetrack, figuratively and literally. When Wendy offered to help with dishes, Ben declined the offer. “Meg never liked other women in her kitchen,” he said. “She’s gone now, but that rule still stands.”
Wendy smiled. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“What?” Tom said. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I have plans to see a movie tonight with a friend.”
Tom stared. A friend? What kind of friend, he wondered.
“Good night,” she said.
“Good night.”
Dusty spoke with Some Sam’s trainer first thing in the morning and got an okay to video the horse leaving the racetrack. The van was to arrive around ten-thirty after the track closed for training. “Now that’s a good rule,” Tom said. “No shipping in and out during training hours. There’s already enough activity going on at that time.” It felt good to have something they didn’t need to fix or address. “The track surface too, thank God.” It had been redone four years ago and seemed to get better each year.
Dawn had charged the battery on her video recorder last night but checked it again anyway. Dusty showed up at the barn with yesterday’s racing form. “In case you want to narrate it.”
Dawn hadn’t thought of that. “Rookie,” she said, of herself. She jotted down the horse’s sire and dam’s name and his earnings record. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll film, you narrate.”
Dusty stared wide-eyed. “Me?”
Some Sam was a large thick-bodied shiny black Thoroughbred. With his legs all done up in white shipping bandages, he looked regal. The van sat at the end of the shedrow, diesel engine idling, loading ramp down. The horse’s groom led Some Sam toward the video camera. The young man was all business but for a lone tear trickling down his cheek.
“I’m going to miss him,” he said.
Dawn nudged Dusty.
“Some Sam was sired by Nasty Sam,” Dusty said, “whose lineage can be traced all the way back to Nasrullah. He gets his size and tenacious temperament from his dam Queen Ribot, who still holds the track record at Detroit Downs for a mile and a sixteenth.”
Dawn glanced at him. That wasn’t on the notes. She kept filming.
“Some Sam is being retired from racing to a promising career as a show horse.” Now he consulted the notes. “In his eighty-nine lifetime starts, Some Sam had twelve wins, nine seconds, and fourteen thirds. His lifetime earnings as a racehorse is two hundred and ninety two thousand dollars.”
The groom led Some Sam up the ramp and backed him into the crossties. Some Sam pawed and whinnied. “Look out, show world.” Dusty said. “The big man’s coming.”
Dawn looked at Dusty and shook her head marveling as the two of them stepped back and watched the van pull away. “How did you know all that?”
He looked at her and shrugged.
“Oh no,” she said. “Was he one of your horses?”
Dusty nodded. “I’d had hi
m since he was a three-year old.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dawn said.
Chapter Seventeen
When all the horses in the Miller barn were done up and the shedrow raked, Dawn scanned the video and headed over to the grandstand to deliver it to Wendy. Ben had entered B-Bo for Saturday and walked over with her to see if the race had filled.
“I can’t be here today to see how this video is received,” Dawn said. “I’m taking the kids over and spending the afternoon with Linda and Alice Marie.”
“I’ll watch it.”
When they got to the grandstand, Ben headed for the secretary’s office and Dawn, the general offices. She took the stairs. Wendy was at her desk and appeared distressed. “What’s the matter?” Dawn asked.
“I don’t know. Did you ever have a really strong feeling that something bad was about to happen?”
Dawn smiled. “All the time. I think women are just programmed that way. We’re afraid to coast. We have to always be pedaling, looking ahead and looking back over our shoulders.”
“I like that.”
“Is this feeling work-related? Home-related? Kid-related?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did it happen? Just now? On the way to work? Was there a close call in traffic?”
Wendy had to think and while she sat there pondering for a few seconds, Dawn glanced ahead. Her eyes were drawn to a tiny red light on a book shelf behind Wendy’s desk. “What is that?”
Wendy turned and stared. “I don’t know.”
Dawn walked around behind the desk. “Has it always been there?”
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and Spears stepped off. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, all smiles.
Both women returned the greeting, both pointed to the little red light. “What is that?” Dawn asked.
Spears stepped close to look. “Um….” He glanced at Wendy. “Has it always been there?”
“That’s what I just asked,” Dawn said.
“Maybe it has something to do with the computers?” Spears suggested.
Dawn moved her hand back and forth in front of it, touched the tip. It was warm, not hot, and operating from a single thin wire. “Do you have a pair of scissors?” she asked Wendy.
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 61