Murder at the Racetrack (7 page)

Zuppa Inglese let Donna look him over without making a fuss, even letting her pull his lip to take a quick look inside his
mouth. “The tattoo checks—he’s your colt,” she said to Eric, further baffling him. Shackel took offense at this, and tried
to come nearer, but the horse flattened his ears and tried to nip at him.

Shackel evaded the colt’s teeth and turned to Donna. “The track lip reader not good enough for you?”

“Don’t worry, everything will be done by the rule book,” she said. She smiled at Shackel in a way that seemed designed to
further infuriate him.

A moment later, a pair of Shackel’s workers tried to approach to help load the horse, and Zuppa Inglese tossed his head at
one and kicked at the other. “I’ll do it,” Donna said, and led the horse up the ramp without further incident.

“Go on ahead, Mr. Halsted,” she told Eric when this operation was completed. “We’ll see you at Copper Hills.”

Mr. Halsted. He refused to let himself sigh in disappointment.

So he began the long drive to Copper Hills Farms, where Jimmy was waiting. Even before Eric had met Donna Free-point, he had
been pleased with the place. He had visited it twice to make arrangements for Zuppa Inglese’s transfer, and he liked it even
better now that he had spent time with Shackel. Copper Hills was well equipped—or so Jimmy had said—but it wasn’t showy. The
grounds were clean and neat, and obviously well-cared-for. The staff was smaller than Shackel’s, but they struck Eric as being
friendlier. Which was just the sort of observation that would probably make Jimmy roll his eyes.

At twelve, Jimmy was an expert eye-roller and had a repertoire of other facial expressions designed to let Eric know he didn’t
think much of his uncle’s intelligence. This was a novel experience for Eric, who held advanced degrees in engineering. He
also held eleven lucrative patents for robotic devices in use in a variety of manufacturing applications. He knew most other
people didn’t want to hear about his “widgets,” as Mark had called them. He had wealth from those widgets, though, and had
been generous with his younger brother and his family. Not that they had ever tried to sponge off him. There had been no need.

Mark and Eric’s parents had started their family late in life, and both parents had died before Eric reached thirty. Eric—
six years older than his brother, and already a successful entrepreneur by his mid-twenties—never questioned that he should
support Mark, and took over tuition and room and board payments.

To Eric’s dismay, Mark dropped out of school before the end of his sophomore year, his head full of dreams of being a restaurateur.
He convinced Eric to loan him enough money to start an upscale eatery, money Eric had little hope of seeing again. But he
had been wrong—the restaurant was a hit, and Mark repaid the loan within a year.

That same year, Mark married his pastry chef, a lovely, lively woman named Carlotta, and together they opened four more restaurants—each
doing better than the last. Two years after they married, Jimmy was born.

In those years, Eric thought Mark and Carlotta had a near perfect life. They loved each other. They loved their son. They
owned a successful business. And they had enough money to pursue their mutual love of racehorses. Jimmy was no less devoted
to horses than they were. Eric, running his own business and caught up in the world of invention, was pleased for them, saw
them on holidays, and tried not to yawn when the talk turned to horses.

Late one spring evening, not quite two and a half years ago, Mark and Jimmy were at Shackel Horse Farm, where Don’t Trifle
With Me was in labor with Zuppa Inglese. Carlotta was on her way there from one of the restaurants. Mark became irritated
when she was late, then worried. She had been so excited about the foal, had even chosen the name. Mark called her cell phone.
No answer. He tried the home phone, wondering if she had misunderstood where they were to meet. No answer there, either.

The birth of the foal occupied their attention for a time, but both Mark and Jimmy were disappointed that Carlotta had missed
the event.

An hour later, a deputy sheriff had finally located Mark. He was the one who told them that Carlotta had apparently lost control
of the family SUV on a curving stretch of rural road about ten miles away, just over the county line. Another vehicle may
have been involved. They were still investigating the cause, he said, but these high-profile vehicles also rolled on their
own if the driver took a curve too fast… In any case, the SUV had rolled, going over a steep embankment. She had not survived
the accident.

Thinking about that night, Eric wondered if Jimmy associated Shackel Horse Farm with his mother’s death. It certainly had
some association with Mark’s death—he had shot himself in a wooded area not far away from it, after watching morning workouts.
Was that association why Jimmy was so adamant about changing trainers? Had Mark made some recommendation to Jimmy? And if
so, was Mark’s judgment impaired by his depression?

Eric shuddered, thinking of how Mark had changed after Carlotta’s death. Mark lost weight—too much weight. He looked haggard,
and when Eric mentioned this, he simply shrugged and said he wasn’t sleeping well. The doctor had given him some pills, but
he didn’t like taking them, didn’t like how groggy they made him feel the next day.

He had seemed listless in any case, Eric thought. It was as if all of Mark’s past pleasures had lost meaning. He sold the
restaurants, saying his heart was no longer in the business. Within a year, he also sold off all of his horses except Zuppa
Inglese. This had all been noted in the investigation of his death by Detective Delmore and seen as indications of his depression
and preparation for suicide.

Eric had asked him about the sale of the horses, but Mark had been evasive, saying only that he now wished he had never gotten
into the racing business in the first place. When Eric had tried to convince him that he needed to start up another business
or at least find a hobby, Mark fobbed him off, saying he was “working on a project or two,” but wouldn’t say what they were.
Eric now doubted their existence and deeply regretted not being more persistent.

Mark was still a wealthy man at the time of his own death, but his income had declined sharply in the past year. Shortly after
Carlotta died, Mark made out a will, telling Eric he was finally forced to believe in his own mortality—but Eric knew that
Mark was fearful about what might become of his son if anything happened to him, the boy’s only surviving parent.

He left almost everything in trust to Jimmy, with Eric as trustee. One notable exception was Zuppa Inglese. A recently added
codicil regarding the horse was nearly longer than the original will. He left the horse to both Eric and Jimmy, with instructions
to Eric not to sell the horse without Jimmy’s permission. He made it clear that Eric was being given part ownership so that
the horse could be entered in races, and that Eric should definitely do so, provided the horse was sound. He was to rely on
Jimmy’s advice to the greatest extent possible.

Eric felt one of those sudden spikes of anger at Mark that seemed to take him unawares these days.
Why leave all your problems to me? Why couldn’t you see how much Jimmy still needs you? I don’t know anything about being
a parent! I don’t know anything about horses!

Eric realized that he had pressed on the accelerator in his fury, and quickly let up on it, telling himself it would do no
good to Jimmy if something happened to
him.
He drove in what Jimmy called his “granny gear” —at a nice, sedate pace. Granny gear or no, he’d muddle through somehow.

Jimmy hurried out to meet him, for once not bothering to feign aloofness. Eric realized that this boy, usually so solemn and
quiet, was more animated than he had seen him at any time in the past two years. He was standing outside Eric’s car door before
Eric had time to set the parking brake.

Tall for his age but thin, Jimmy had large dark eyes and black hair, and the sort of strong features that might or might not
grow into handsomeness over the next few years—dark brows, long-but-not-too-long lashes, a nice straight nose, a determined
chin. Eric could see something of each of Jimmy’s parents in that face.

“What happened?” Jimmy asked, the moment Eric stepped out of the car.

Eric smiled. “I fired him, just as you asked me to. Zuppa Inglese should arrive here any time now.”

To Eric’s surprise, Jimmy let out a loud whoop, punched his fist in the air, and gave his uncle a quick hug. “Oh, Uncle Eric—that
is so awesome. Was he all, like, angry and everything?”

“Yes, he certainly was,” Eric said, remembering some of Shackel’s choicer insults.

Jimmy’s brows drew together in worry. “He didn’t try to hurt you or anything, did he?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I simply told him that this was the way it was going to be, and he really had no choice in the
matter.” Feeling that he might be making himself sound too heroic, he added, “Ms. Freepoint didn’t allow him to give her any
grief. In fact, Zuppa Inglese tried to bite him.”

Jimmy laughed. “Did Zuppa act up?”

“A little. Not with Ms. Freepoint, though.”

“He’s a little head shy sometimes—he doesn’t like people to make sudden moves near his face. Freaks him out a little. But
if he likes you, he won’t mind. He probably likes Donna.”

“I guess he doesn’t like Shackel. In any case, he is no longer in Mr. Shackel’s clutches.”

“I’m glad. I’m so glad.” Within the next moment, though, he sounded anxious again. “Uncle Eric?”

“Yes?”

“Stay away from Shackel, okay?”

“I have no plans to go near him,” Eric said with feeling.

Jimmy grew quiet again.

A new thought occurred to Eric. “Has Shackel ever tried to harm you or scare you?”

“No… But I’ve seen him act mean to the people who work for him. He can get kind of crazy.”

“He was a little crazy today,” Eric admitted. “But I’m glad to hear he’s never bothered you.”

“He was only nice to me because he wanted Zuppa.” He frowned, and grew quiet again.

“Did you find things to do while you were waiting?” Eric asked.

“Huh?” he said, coming out of whatever thoughts were troubling him. “Oh, yeah. I love it here. Donna lets me help out. And
I know the grooms and hotwalkers and everybody else. They’re all nice to me.” He paused, then added, “Mom told me that Donna
pays her grooms better than other people do, and takes good care of the people who work for her.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Eric said, thinking of some of the conditions he had seen along the backstretch. “That means they’re
probably loyal to her, too.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “And, like, you know—the best people want to work for her.” After another silence, he pointed to a property
across the road. “See that house over there?”

“Yes. The one with the ’for sale’ sign?”

“Exactly!”

“Oh…”

“Could you buy it?” he pleaded. “I mean, or could you buy it now and I could pay you later, you know, like… when I’m older?”

This was just the kind of ticklish situation he found himself in lately, Eric thought ruefully. “Have you actually been inside
that house?”

“No. But it’s ten acres, so if you don’t like the house, you could build a different one, and you know, live next door to
me.”

“Are you sure you’d want me for your neighbor?”

“No—what I mean is, I’d like it better if we lived in the same house, but not if you don’t like it.”

Eric smiled. “Thanks. I’d rather we lived in the same house, too.” Eric thought briefly of the beautiful seaside home he had
sold in order to move into Mark’s home, all with the idea of not causing further disruption in the boy’s life. Now Jimmy wanted
to move? “Are you unhappy in the house we’re in now?”

Jimmy looked away, then said, “Not exactly. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“The memories?”

He nodded. “It’s like… I don’t know… it’s just hard to be there.”

Eric had felt it himself He had put most of his possessions in storage, afraid to make too big an impact on Mark and

Carlotta’s home, or to risk further upset for Jimmy. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of staying in their bedroom,
and had instead taken over a large guestroom. He hadn’t been able to make himself sort through the vast majority of Mark’s
personal belongings, either, and it was clear to him that Mark had not been able to do so with Carlotta’s.

“Well,” he said now, “we can move if we want to, but let’s get more information before we make a decision, all right?”

Jimmy looked up at him, studying his face, as if he wasn’t sure if Eric was humoring him or telling the truth. Apparently
he decided on the latter, because he nodded agreement.

They heard the truck approaching. Jimmy had been very specific about the transport company and the style in which his horse
was to travel, and he seemed relieved that Eric had followed his instructions.

As the truck came to a gentle stop, the horse made a sound that Eric could only think of as a trumpeting of his arrival. “Here
I am, Zuppa!” Jimmy called, and the horse repeated his own call. Eric stood back and watched as the horse was unloaded. Jimmy
had apparently forgotten his uncle’s existence. The big colt obviously recognized Jimmy, and made a series of soft, low sounds
as he approached. Eric grew worried when the horse looked as if he might nip at the boy, but then saw that he was just nuzzling
him.

Jimmy became a changed being. He was smiling and laughing, talking constantly to the horse, who looked for all the world to
be hanging on his every word. As he led Zuppa to his new stall, telling him how much happier he was going to be, Eric could
only watch in wonder.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind him.

He turned to see Donna Freepoint standing nearby. “Yes. ”

“We need to talk, Mr. Halsted. Jimmy will keep busy for a while, and the folks who work here are fond of him—they’ll make
sure he doesn’t come to any harm.”

He followed her into her office and she motioned toward a wooden chair. She began talking about the difference between Zuppa’s
workout times and his race performances. She was talking about morning glories and dockers and airing, and he got nothing
more out of this than the fact that she thought Zuppa was not racing as fast as he worked out. She went on to explain several
possible reasons for this, and things she wanted to try for starters. Eric found himself watching her mouth move. A really
nice mouth. He had just managed to re-focus his attention on the business at hand for about one minute when she paused and
asked, “Have you understood a word I’ve said, Mr. Halsted?”