The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  Moonsugar seemed glad to see him, and nuzzled the back of his neck. Showers ran his hand along the horse’s neck and back, then crouched and gingerly lifted the animal’s injured leg. Moonsugar became a little skittish, but did not interfere.

  “He can’t put much weight on it yet,” Becky said.

  “We’re damned lucky.”

  Showers stood up straight. Patting Moonsugar’s head again, he left the stall and went to a shelf near the tack room, where the vet had left a list of medications.

  “This dosage seems rather strong.”

  “It’s working, David. I gave it to him myself.”

  He squeezed her shoulder affectionately, then turned at the sound of a horse’s whinny, coming from the other end of the barn. The stalls down there had been vacant.

  “What’s that? A new boarder?”

  “You might say. Come take a look at him.”

  The big bay was moving about, agitated. Showers couldn’t tell whether his unhappiness was due to his confinement or being kept so far from the other horses.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “Is this the colt out of Queen Tashamore’s granddaughter? Alixe said something about buying him.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s yours, David.”

  “Mine?”

  “Alixe’ll explain everything. I’ll have her come over.”

  Showers gave her a dark look. “When you call Alixe, tell her to bring her trailer.”

  Alixe came on foot, walking over on the path through the small woods that divided their properties. Showers had put a bridle on the bay and had led him out into his stable yard. The stallion seemed happier outside, and even handsomer.

  “Saddle him up, David,” Alixe said, her voice booming. “Or have you hocked all your tack?”

  She was carrying a large manila envelope—the horse’s papers.

  “I appreciate your generosity,” Showers said politely. “But I can’t accept the gift.”

  “Who the hell said anything about a goddamn gift? I mean to sell him to you.”

  “Alixe. This horse is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. Probably a lot more.”

  “Then this is your lucky day, because I picked him up for a paltry thousand, and that’s all I want from you.”

  “A thousand? That’s impossible.”

  Alixe pulled some papers out of the envelope. “It’s all here. All legal.”

  The bay was looking at Showers.

  “Who did you swindle?”

  “Didn’t swindle a soul. It’s as I told you. The buyer had an impulse at the auction, and then thought better of it. Changed her mind.”

  “You said the auction price was ten thousand. Who would let go of nine thousand dollars just for a change of mind?”

  “Someone with a lot of money and not much horse sense. We get a few like that out here.”

  Showers stepped closer to the stallion, stroking him.

  “Who is she, this buyer?” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Alixe. Her name’s on the papers.”

  “’Spose it is.”

  “Well, who is it?”

  “It’s that actress you introduced me to, May Moody, the governor’s daughter.”

  “She bid on this horse?”

  “Yes. Only bidder.”

  “And then she just let him go?”

  “Those Hollywood people do things a lot stranger than this. But who cares? Here he is.”

  Showers stood silently a moment. “Alixe, I simply don’t have the money.”

  “You have a hundred dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take that, and your brood mare for collateral. I’ll give you two years to train him and another to race him. If you haven’t paid me the remaining nine hundred by then, then you put him to stud and I get the first foal. But I expect you’ll have paid me off long before then. Paid me off and won the Old Dominion National.”

  Showers bit down on his lower lip. “If this horse belongs to anyone, it’s Miss Moody. Before we start thinking about races, I’d like to make sure she doesn’t want it back.”

  “A noble thought, David, but she made it pretty damned clear she doesn’t want it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Got it from the horse’s mouth, m’boy. Now are you going to accept my offer?”

  “Yes. I’d be foolish not to. Have the papers drawn up.”

  Alixe grinned. “Already did that. Let’s go into your kitchen and sign them.”

  When Showers had signed his name in all the proper places, he started to push the papers away, then pulled them back, leafing through them until he came to the horse’s registration again, studying the accompanying sketch. He frowned. Watching him, Becky did, too.

  “What’s wrong, David?”

  “This horse has a bad Coggins. The drawing’s not right,” he said, referring to the annual veterinarian’s report required for every horse—always accompanied by a sketch.

  “Veterinarians aren’t exactly Edgar Degas, Captain,” said Alixe.

  Showers turned the sketch toward her. “This shows white stockings only on the forelegs. That bay has a stocking on the right rear leg, too. And the blaze on the forehead isn’t quite right, either. His is much more elongated.”

  “A lot of fucked-up vets around, David,” Alixe said. “Who did it? Anyone we know?”

  Showers turned to the page with the veterinarian’s signature.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “It was Meade Clay.”

  Alixe was pouring herself a drink. “Are you sure?”

  “Take a look.”

  “I’m sure he just made a mistake, David,” Becky said.

  “This horse is from New Jersey,” Showers said. “What’s Meade’s name doing on the Coggins?”

  “Vicky used to go up there,” Becky said. “With Bernie Bloch. Sometimes Meade would go along.”

  Showers pushed back his chair. “I want to take a look at that stallion’s upper lip.”

  Unlike European bloodstock, every registered American horse bore something far more useful than a brand—a number tattooed on the underside of its upper lip. The practice had done far more to eliminate horse theft than all the summary hangings of yore.

  The number on the lip matched that on the papers. Showers examined the flesh around the tattoo carefully. It was cleanly pink. There’d been no surgical attempt at alteration or erasure.

  “You see,” said Becky.

  “Meade Clay was as much a boozer and pill popper and coke sniffer as his wife,” Alixe said. “I imagine there were days when he had trouble signing his own name.”

  Showers was looking at the stallion’s teeth, not happily.

  “This horse is supposed to be five years old, Alixe,” he said. “I don’t think he’s half that.”

  “I think you’re getting damn particular. The numbers match. He’s the right color. He’s a damn fine animal. You’re certainly not getting cheated. If Meade did a sloppy job or made a mistake, what difference does it make? He sure as hell can’t tell us about it now.”

  “Something isn’t right.”

  “Maybe Dandytown Bloodstock made a mistake,” Becky said.

  “Auction houses don’t guarantee horses,” Showers said. “But they guarantee that they don’t make mistakes. I’ve never heard of Dandytown Bloodstock making one. Not a big one.”

  “I think you’ve been working too hard, David. If you don’t want the horse, fine. I’ll take him back. I’m getting tired of all this goddamn nonsense.”

  Showers put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll keep him, Alixe. Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m damned grateful. Everyone knows I would have lost this place long ago if it hadn’t been for you. But I think there’s something wrong here. I’m just not sure this is a horse out of the Tashamore line. I don’t want to be a party to a questionable transaction. Not with a horse this valuable. I don’t
want you to be, either. Or Miss Moody.”

  “He’s ours now, David,” Alixe said. “Yours. All perfectly legal. What do you want to do, drive up to New Jersey and ask those people if this is the horse they put up for auction?”

  “Bernie Bloch was interested in it,” Showers said. “Vicky told Becky that. Maybe he knows something.”

  “That was just Vicky’s prattling,” Becky said. “I doubt she was telling the truth. She seldom did. Bloch didn’t even come to the auction.”

  “He couldn’t,” said Alixe. “That damn-fool sheriff had everyone under house arrest out at the inn. And Bloch sent Billy after the horse. He tried to take it away from the Moody girl.”

  Showers kicked at a clod of earth. His shoes, highly polished that morning, were covered with dust. He wanted to get out of these clothes, into some breeches and boots.

  “Alixe, who’s the best judge of bloodstock you know? Someone whose word you absolutely trust?”

  “That would be Heather Freeman over in Berryville, or maybe Kerry Donahue.”

  “Would you ask one of them if she’d mind coming over some time this weekend and taking a look at him?”

  “I’m sure Heather would be delighted. She’s the nicest and most helpful horsewoman we’ve got out here.”

  They couldn’t reach Miss Freeman, but Kerry Donahue came out that afternoon. She examined the animal carefully, and then walked and trotted him around Showers’ ring through a few figure eights. She even jumped him over a low rail that had been set on a couple of blocks. Her conclusions were everything Showers didn’t want to hear but expected: The animal was closer to two years old than five. He had received very little schooling and had never been jumped. The Coggins looked suspicious indeed. And the horse was of such quality that she would have paid a hundred thousand for him in an instant.

  Showers thanked her warmly. To repay her, Becky elected to go back with her and help exercise her horses. After they had gone, Alixe slapped Showers on the back in friendly fashion.

  “We’ll clear this up in no time,” she said. “What I think you might end up with is the right horse but some fucked-up papers.”

  “This isn’t the right horse.”

  She left him to make her weekly run up to Winchester for supplies. Showers, weary, went up to his room and, without bothering to take off his boots, lay down on his bed. A deep slumber came with the closing of his eyes.

  He awoke to darkness. Day had become night. He found himself still alone in his house. There was no sign of the old Toyota Becky had bought to replace the pickup truck her husband had taken as part of the divorce settlement.

  A light was showing in the window of the servants’ cottage that was now Becky’s quarters. It could mean her return or simply that she had forgotten to turn it off in the morning. Like many who lived in the country and were often away, they kept lamps on all night against visits by prowlers. Showers walked slowly over to the little house, his injured leg stiff from all that sleeping. He knocked on the frame of the screen door.

  “Becky?”

  No answer.

  He gently pulled open the door. This was an unpardonable intrusion, but it was his cottage. He had not been in it for weeks. If nothing else, he wanted to see whether Billy Bonning had taken anything he might deem a souvenir.

  The furnishings and wall prints, all inexpensive, seemed to be in place. The small living room was quite cluttered—horse magazines and newspapers spread over the coffee table and floor, a couple of soft-drink cans left on the table, a pair of dusty boots lying on the rug, a bag of snack crackers on top of the television set.

  There was a VCR connected to it. She must have just bought it, because Billy had taken the one she used to have.

  Showers stepped closer. A red light showed that there was a tape in the machine. He noticed a cassette box and picked it up. The label bore the word VICKY. It was the tape Billy had left behind the night he’d moved out, the tape Showers had asked her to return.

  He stared at the box, feeling guilty. Finally, he put it back where he had found it. Where on earth was Becky? She had promised to be back for dinner.

  There was a phone in the cottage’s tiny kitchen. He went to it, called information for Kerry Donahue’s number, then dialed it. She said Becky had left to return to Dandytown more than an hour before.

  Showers went back to the machine. If nothing else, the tape might contain something of interest to the sheriff. He hesitated, then turned on the television set and pushed the VCR’s Play button. The screen came to life in midscene.

  It was, in truth, pretty much what he’d expected. There was Vicky, naked, in the midst of making love—in unique fashion. She was on a very rumpled bed, on her knees, rear to the video camera, straddling another naked form, sitting far forward, over the other person’s face, gyrating. The other person’s knees were up, but the breasts were visible and the vaginal area wantonly exposed. Showers wasn’t shocked to see it was a woman. He’d heard that about Vicky, too.

  He stood there, watching in consummately guilty fascination, waiting for the two bodies on the screen to part, for the one beneath Vicky to sit up and reveal herself. It would not have surprised him to see Billy enter the picture. There had been rumors about that as well.

  He hit the Stop button, then clicked off the machine. The disgust he felt was overpowering—disgust with what he’d been watching, disgust with himself. Whatever the tape contained, it was Becky’s private property. This little house was her legal domicile, accorded her as part of her meager compensation for her employment. He had no right to be here.

  Leaving everything as he had found it, he crossed the yard to the main house, going directly to the kitchen. He called Alixe, but she had not returned. On impulse, still curious about Lenore’s appearance at the funeral, he dialed the Fairbrothers, hoping she might answer. Instead, it was a servant, who informed him both Fairbrothers were out.

  He had another idea. The Los Angeles information operator consulted her computer, then rather rudely informed him May Moody’s number was unlisted. Pacing his kitchen floor, he remembered the papers from the auction house. Searching through them on the kitchen table, he found what he sought. May Moody, an address on Burton Way. A phone number.

  After three rings, her voice came on the line—as clear and melodic as he had recalled, but recorded; an answering machine. He started to hang up, but there was a click, and her actual voice interrupted the recording. She sounded edgy and unhappy, disturbed by the interruption.

  “Miss Moody? This is David Showers, out in Virginia.”

  There was a pause. When she spoke again, she sounded calmer, less displeased.

  “Oh yes. Captain Showers, right? The horseman.”

  “Yes.”

  “Excuse me,” she said. “But how did you get this number?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I found your number in the papers.”

  “What papers?”

  “From the bay stallion you bought at the auction out here.”

  She hesitated. “The horse. Yes. What about him?”

  “Well, you sold him to Alixe Percy.”

  “Yes. What did she tell you?”

  “Only that you bought him and then sold him to her on the spot. You had second thoughts or something.”

  “I just didn’t know what I was doing. He seemed so pretty. I didn’t stop to think that I’d have no place to keep him. And no time to ride him. What did she say?”

  “She knew I was interested in the horse. He comes from a line that was once connected with my family. So today she sold him to me—not for a great deal of money.”

  “She sold him to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m glad he’s got a good home.”

  “He’d be better off with her, actually.”

  “Don’t you like him? I thought he was beautiful.”

  “Too beautiful.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t you want to keep him?”

 
It would do no good to bring up his doubts about the horse’s pedigree. This woman was so nice. Not at all like his preconceptions about movie stars. Not at all like her irascible father.

  “I just wanted to make sure you—I mean, are you certain you don’t want this horse? I believe he’s worth a great deal of money. A lot more than I’m paying Alixe for him, a lot more than she paid you.”

  “Don’t you want him?”

  “Yes. Of course. He’s wonderful.”

  “Well, like I said, I’m glad he’s got a good home.”

  He sat in silence for a moment. He could hear her breathing.

  “Look, Captain Showers. I’ve got some people here. An insurance man. My apartment was broken into and I had some stuff stolen. There’s all this paperwork.”

  “I’m awfully sorry.”

  “I’ll be back out there soon. I’m starting rehearsals for a play. In Washington. At the Folger.”

  “The Shakespeare Theatre.”

  “Yes. Maybe I can come out to your place, and see the horse. See how he’s doing.”

  “That would be marvelous. Please. Anytime.”

  “The horse you were riding. The one who was injured …”

  “He’s doing fine. The break wasn’t as serious as we thought. He’s in my stable now.”

  “I’m really happy to hear that. I’m afraid I really have to go. There’s a policeman here, too. Thanks for calling.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Goodbye now.”

  “Goodbye.”

  His dog was at the front door, barking furiously. Showers thought it might be Becky, but quickly discounted that possibility. Hardtack never barked at her. He never barked at cars, always waiting to determine who it was getting out.

  Showers went out onto the veranda, the dog, still barking, darted outside with him.

  A horse came bolting out of the woods at full gallop, followed by two others. They cantered crazily around the stable yard for several turns, then careened on around the side of the barn.

  Showers looked back in the direction from which they had come. Above the trees was a weird orange glow, growing brighter.

  He took off, running as best he could, Hardtack bounding ahead.

  There were two main stable buildings on Alixe’s farm, long rectangular barns set side by side, adjoining her main exercise ring. One of the barns was engulfed by flames, which had fully consumed one end and were spreading rapidly through the entire structure. The other barn was as yet untouched, but was threatened by the blizzard of sparks spewing into the air.