Death By Derby 8 (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) (7 page)

Goetz looked blank for a moment and then he remembered what he had told me. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He grabbed some papers off his desk and stuck them in his pocket.

He then unceremoniously pushed me out the door, locking it behind him. “Come on. Let’s go or I’ll be late.”

I admit I did my best to walk as slowly as I could, chattering all the way, while droplets of sweat broke out on Goetz’ forehead.

I just love yanking his chain.

Aren’t I a stinker!

Don’t answer that.

“A
re you sure it was Minor?”

“I think I’d know the voice of my former son-in-law.”

Asa and I were sitting in the lobby of the Gratz Park Inn, tucked away in downtown Lexington.

“Shaneika filed a complaint against his boss for sending Minor here. She was told that Minor would be pulled from the case due to his connection with us,” revealed Asa.

“Well, he’s still around and having private conversations with Goetz.”

“With your new boyfriend?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not a couple. We just do things together, you know, social things.”

“That’s what people call dating.”

“WE ARE NOT DATING!” I yelled. Embarrassed, I looked around to see if anyone was watching.

Asa rested her teacup on her lap. “If you say so.”

“Minor told Goetz that Charlie Hoskins was not in that gondola.”

“There are witnesses who saw Charlie get into the gondola and the balloon lift into the air.”

“Somewhere between Bowman Field and Churchill Downs, Charlie got out.”

“Don’t you think someone would have witnessed that? A person doesn’t often see a huge balloon in their neighborhood. It’s an object that cries for attention,” said Asa.

“I’m just telling you what Minor told Goetz.”

“Let’s say that Charlie did get out of the balloon somehow. What would be the purpose of exploding it?”

“So people would think that he was dead.”

Asa shook her head. “It would only take a few hours for the police to determine that no one was in the gondola. I don’t see a real purpose there.”

“Then what?”

“To provide a distraction. To create confusion. The police have never confirmed that a body was found. What if Charlie wanted to distract certain people with the explosion to allow time for him to get away?”

“On Derby Day when his horse is running? Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he was desperate.”

“He would have to be desperate to miss his own horse running in the most important race of the year.”

“Something was more important than the Derby. We’ve just got to find out what.” Asa thought for a moment.

“It has nothing to do with us, thank goodness.” I got up to leave.

“Do you think I can come home tomorrow?”

“Call me. Right now Kelly is still sleeping it off. I’m going to see his wife. Maybe I can fix this.”

Asa rose too. “Perhaps I should see her.”

“Oh, goodness no. That would be throwing gasoline on the fire.”

“Can I see Kelly?”

I stared at Asa. “Sometimes I think you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself. No, you can’t see Kelly. You’ve done enough to destroy his life.”

“That’s kind of harsh. I didn’t put a gun to his head, you know.”

“If you love him, the kindest thing you can do is stay away. He made it clear in the hospital that it was over. He made his choice. Now help him keep it.”

“Are you really mad at me, Mom?”

“Yep.”

“Do you still love me?” asked Asa with trepidation.

“Silly goose. I’m just mad.” I kissed her forehead. “You are my shining star . . . my shining star I’d like to kick in the tuckus right now.”

“Did you never make mistakes when you were young?”

“When I was young! I make mistakes all the time still. It’s the process of being human. It’s because I am your mother that I can bitch about your mistakes. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

“I see.” Asa put down her teacup. “Well, I have a dinner date so I have to dress.”

“I can see that I’m being dismissed. Okay, I’ll go over to Kelly’s house and try to see his wife, if she will let me in the door.”

“You’ll do fine, Mother,” sighed Asa.

“I always do.” Since I liked having the last word, I bounced happily to my car.

A
sa watched her mother leave the hotel. Looking out a lobby window, Asa made sure Josiah got into her car safely and drove away.

She sincerely hoped that her mother could get Kelly’s life back on track. Asa realized how selfish she had been with Kelly and felt sorry she had started the affair. Asa loved Kelly deeply and was now worried that she had ruined his life.

Exhausted, she climbed up the staircase to her room. Unlocking the door, she felt for the light switch before stepping into the room.

Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, placing his hand over her mouth before she could react. “Don’t kick, Asa,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear, “and I’ll let you go.”

Recognizing the voice, Asa slumped against the body holding her. She inhaled his cologne and masculine smell. The aromas brought back intense memories that brought her both pleasure and pain.

“I’m going to take my hand down. Okay?”

Asa nodded.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

She could not bring herself to move away from him. Being in his arms felt like home, even though she knew he was the enemy. Damn. She could never trust herself with him.

He didn’t pull away either, but took the occasion to deeply breathe in her shiny hair and warm luscious skin. “You always smell like Paris after a spring shower,” he murmured as he clasped his hands around her waist.

“What are you doing here, Minor?” asked Asa, trying to find the resolve to push him away.

Minor’s hands ran up and down her blouse.

Asa gasped with pleasure.

“You surprised me at my hotel room. I thought I’d return the favor.” He nuzzled her neck.

Asa moaned.

Minor pulled Asa over to the bed and threw her down. Kicking her legs apart, he placed himself between them and leaning over, gave Asa a deep kiss.

She hated herself for kissing him back. She hated herself for wanting him . . . still, after his betrayal so many years ago. Minor was a sickness with her.

Kelly was her soul mate, a person she would love until her last breath, but her feelings for Minor were built on heat and need. Asa hadn’t realized how much she had needed Minor to touch her through the years, but now she exploded with need and she didn’t care what the consequences might be.

M
ark Twain once said, “I want to be in Kentucky when the end of the world comes, because it’s always twenty years behind.”

I don’t think Mr. Twain was wrong then and I don’t think he’s wrong now.

I was mulling this over as I drove around Cheapside, looking for a parking space. I circled the block around the old Courthouse several times, not finding a parking space. The old Courthouse used to be the site of the old slave market in Lexington. Passing, I saw two statues of Thomas Hunt Morgan and John C. Breckinridge glorifying the Confederate side of the Civil War.

Even though Kentucky was a border state and stayed in the Union, there are no statues honoring the glorious dead of boys in blue around the old Courthouse. There were also no statues to those Lexingtonians who changed the world for the positive. No carved stone to commemorate Lexington citizens like Morgan’s nephew, Thomas Hunt Morgan, a Nobel Prize winner for his discovery of the role that chromosomes play in heredity.

Then there was Mary Breckinridge, John C. Breckinridge’s granddaughter, who founded the Frontier Nursing Service, which serviced the health of women and children in Eastern Kentucky. Intrepid nurses rode on horses or mules into the mountains to visit families, as there were no paved roads. They even rode in the snow and rain into hollers with their nursing supplies in saddlebags.

Another notable was Harriet Van Meter, who founded the International Book Project. In 1966, Miss Harriet placed an ad in an English-speaking newspaper in India offering to send books to whoever needed them. She got responses and began sending books from her basement.

Today, IBP sends over 200,000 English-language books overseas annually.

Miss Harriet was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize and was recognized as a “Partner For Peace” by President George H. W. Bush.

Where are their statues? They certainly did more to change the world for the better than their Confederate ancestors.

But I digress. You gotta love it when you think about the South hanging on to its past, but now for the fun part of our history. Since we are talking about statues, let’s talk about Black Bess. Black Bess was the famous mare belonging to John Hunt Morgan, the Thunderbolt of the Confederacy. She was one of the more famous horses of the Civil War. One could say she was a veteran of the War, but even though she carried John Hunt Morgan through many a skirmish, she was not deemed heroic enough for the statue at the old Courthouse (even female animals get cheated out of their place in history), so the sculptor, Pompeo Coppini, made the horse a stallion.

Of course, horse lovers took offense and for many years, frat boys took it upon themselves to paint the horse’s, umm, testicles in protest.

So darkness comes to Bluegrass men

Like darkness o’er them falls

For well we know gentlemen should show

Respect for a lady’s balls.

Because I was thinking about all of this, I missed a parking space and had to go around the square again. Giving up parking on the street, I settled on a parking lot, grabbed my ticket, and handed over my car keys to the attendant. This was something I was reluctant to do, as it provided a way for some unscrupulous person to copy my keys, but I also had to gauge how far I had to walk.

Comfort over paranoia.

I limped my way to Shaneika’s office. Feeling rather righteous, I poo-poo’d the secretary when she asked me if I had an appointment and brushed past her into Shaneika’s office.

Shaneika looked up from some briefs when I opened the door. “Don’t you even bother to knock?” She waved her secretary away. “I could have had a client in here.”

“All will be forgiven when I tell you the news,” I replied confidently. I looked about her office, taking in all the relics and heirlooms of the Civil War–a Confederate officer’s sword, a framed fragment of a Confederate battle flag, a letter from Lincoln to his wife’s brother, a photograph of African-American women washing clothes at Camp Nelson, a small painting of Generals Lee and Grant at Appomattox, a silver Mint Julep cup from the Todd family, and so forth. Her office was a shrine, and no matter how many times I asked, Shaneika would not discuss the artifacts, except to say they were family heirlooms.

I wanted juicy details.

“What’s your news?”

“There’s no corpse.”

Shaneika sat silent for a moment and then asked, “No corpse as in ‘can’t find it yet’ or ‘there was never a person inside the gondola?’”

“As in, there is no body and will never be as Charlie was not in the gondola.”

“Hmm. Isn’t that interesting? Why do you think the ATF was chewing up my panties then?”

“I think it was part of a ruse to get back at Asa.”

“I wish they’d get over her. I guess the harassment will go on until everyone connected with Asa’s story dies or retires.”

We sat in silence with our collective thoughts until Shaneika asked, “How do you know that Charlie wasn’t in the gondola?”

I suddenly found my feet very interesting.

“Josiah, have you been peeking in keyholes again?”

“Kinda. Can’t tell you so you have deniability if asked.”

“So you were not told officially?”

I shook my head.

“Nice talking with you, Josiah.” Shaneika went back to her brief.

But I knew Shaneika wasn’t angry because she was wearing a smile. Barely visible, but it was there.

A
sa unlocked the door to the Butterfly and disarmed the alarm system. Hearing a growl, Asa quickly whirled around and said, “Baby, it’s me,” before the two-hundred twenty-five pound Mastiff could knock her to the floor and sit on her. Reassured, Baby bounded over to Asa, sniffed while drooling on her pants, and then happily stuck his snout in her crotch waiting for his ears to be scratched.

Asa bent down and kissed the scar on Baby’s forehead. “Baby, is it possible that you are getting prettier each time I see you? Yes, you are. Yes, you are. You are so pretty and strong. I love you, Baby. Yes, I do.”

Baby looked happily up at Asa and then sneezed all over her before licking the slobber off her hands.

“I love everything about you, but the fluids,” laughed Asa, going into the kitchen for towels. “I don’t know how Mother keeps this house clean with you salivating over everything.”

Baby padded after her, but refused to let Asa clean his face.

Giving up, Asa threw the towel on the kitchen counter. “Let’s find Kelly, shall we? Do you know where Kelly is? Go find him for me.”

Asa followed Baby as he led her to one of the guest bedrooms. Knocking on the door, she listened but heard no answer. Quietly opening the door, she entered and found Kelly spread out, asleep on the bed. An empty bottle of vodka sat on the floor.

Asa let out a long sigh.
This is my fault
, she thought as she covered Kelly with a blanket. Baby took up residence next to the bed while Asa settled in a chair. It wasn’t long before several cats of the Kitty Kaboodle Gang joined them.

One crawled into Asa’s lap and fell asleep.

But Asa didn’t sleep. She watched Kelly take one deep breath after another as she pondered what to do.

Asa decided that she would tell Kelly the truth for once. The truth would be hard to utter because it was so ugly–so very ugly, because it was so selfish.

A
huge wet nose bounced on the bed.

Kelly opened one eye after inhaling hot moist doggy breath.

Directly in front of him bobbed a large droopy furry face with a huge tongue dripping slime. One dark friendly eye blinked while the other eye, ruined and scarred from a gunshot, sat motionless in its socket. The entire head shook with excitement when Kelly sat up in recognition.