Live and Let Growl (19 page)

I sucked in a shocked breath.
That was new.

Aunt Peg looked equally surprised. A minute passed before either one of us spoke.

“No,” she said finally. “We hadn't heard about that.”

“Of course not,” Arthur snapped. He straightened and stepped away from us. “The Gates name and Gates money took care of that. When that family wants something buried, it gets done.”

An unfortunate turn of phrase under the circumstances,
I thought.

“It was a fatal accident,” Aunt Peg said. “Surely there must have been a police report.”

“I imagine there was, though I wouldn't know for sure. At the time, I had other things on my mind. I spent the next three days after the crash at the hospital with Maisie, praying that she would beat the odds and pull through. I wasn't worried about what the police were up to. That never even crossed my mind. It wasn't until after I'd lost her that I began to think about who was to blame.”

“Did you talk to the authorities then?” I asked.

Arthur hung his head. Abruptly his body crumpled as if he'd suddenly lost the strength to remain standing. Fortunately there was a chair behind him. He sat down and buried his face in his hands.

Aunt Peg and I exchanged a look of concern. We gave Arthur some time to gather himself.

When he looked up again, I saw that there were tears in his eyes. “A representative of the Gates family visited me in the hospital right after Maisie died.
Minutes after
. Her body was still there when he came into the room. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to see anybody right then, but he came marching right in anyway like he thought he owned the world.”

I could picture the scene. All at once Arthur wasn't the only one with tears in his eyes. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next.

“The attorney told me how sorry the whole Gates family was about what had happened and he asked me to sign some papers he'd brought with him. There was a statement describing the accident and attributing its cause to the late night, the storm, and the dark and slippery roads. It said that nobody was responsible for the terrible losses we'd all suffered. In signing it, I agreed not to hold any member of the Gates family liable nor to seek any judgment against them.”

“I certainly hope you didn't sign that document,” Aunt Peg said huffily.

Arthur didn't answer right away. I knew then that there was more to the story than he'd let on.

“The attorney offered you something for your signature, didn't he?” I asked. “Some kind of settlement? The Gates family must have given you money in exchange for your cooperation and your silence.”

“They did,” Arthur admitted in a ragged tone. “And so help me, I took it. It was too late to bring Maisie back. Nothing could change what had already happened. I figured the least I could do was make those people pay good money for what Miss Ellie had done.”

“That's why there was never any talk about the accident,” I said. “And why no one ever knew the details.”

Arthur nodded. “By the time I walked out of that hospital three days later, it was as if the whole thing had never even happened. The Gates connections must have been working overtime to accomplish that, but they got it done all right.”

“And you took the settlement and went on with your life,” I said.

“It's not as if I had a choice,” Arthur replied bitterly. “If I'd turned that attorney away and tried to pursue justice on my own, do you think anyone was ever going to listen to me? I wouldn't even have been able to find a decent lawyer who was willing to take that family to court. Believe me, I've thought about it a lot since then. No matter what I did, Ellie Gates Wanamaker would never have been held accountable.”

“Unless, after all these years, you took matters into your own hands,” Aunt Peg said quietly.

“You must be joking.” Arthur snorted.

“You expected the police to come and talk to you,” I pointed out. “So obviously the idea isn't as farfetched as you'd like us to think.”

Arthur stood up once again. Without looking at either of us, he strode across the room toward the front door. Clearly we were being ushered out whether we were ready to leave or not. Aunt Peg and I got up and followed.

“I already told you that I put all that behind me. I wanted nothing to do with Miss Ellie or anyone else from the Gates family.” Arthur grasped the knob and yanked the door open. “That woman had the nerve to track me down at the dog show last week. After all these years, she wanted to apologize. Can you imagine that? I told her to get lost and stay that way.”

So that was where Miss Ellie had disappeared to, I thought. Years too late, she'd attempted to make amends for her terrible deed. And Arthur had thrown the apology back in her face. No wonder she'd fled from the showground.

“What happened to Miss Ellie was an accident,” Arthur said shortly. “You told me that yourself. Besides, I was in Louisville all last week with my new specials dog, Ulysses. You can check the entries. You'll see that I'm telling the truth.”

“What a thoroughly unpleasant man,” Aunt Peg said when we were once more on the other side of his gate and driving away down the road. “It's a shame that he has an alibi.”

“I'm not sure he does,” I said.

“A dog named Ulysses sounds like he'd be hard to miss,” Peg pointed out. “And apart from that, proof of his presence would be recorded in the judge's book.”

“The woman I spoke to on Sunday—the one at the Newf ring who gave me Arthur's name—also told me that his dog had been entered for the whole cluster but that she hadn't seen him since Thursday.”

“The day he ran into Miss Ellie.”

“That's right.”

“What was the woman's name?” asked Aunt Peg.

“Umm . . . I don't exactly know. We got started talking. We never bothered to introduce ourselves.”

Aunt Peg slanted me a look. “So one person we know who surely has a motive may or may not also have an alibi—depending on whether we choose to believe him or a woman about whom we know next to nothing.”

“That about sums it up,” I told her.

She shifted her eyes back to the road. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

Chapter 19

A
unt Peg and I stopped for lunch in Midway again. We ate in a quaint café at the end of East Main Street named Darlin' Jean's. It was warm enough for outdoor seating to be available and nobody objected when Faith accompanied us to our table. She lay down on the plank floor underneath it and made sure to position herself within easy reach. I took the hint and slipped her several good-sized bites of my very good bagel melt.

A breach of conduct like that usually merits a lecture from Aunt Peg. Now she just looked the other way and pretended not to notice. Apparently I wasn't the only one who was feeling guilty about all the downtime Faith had had to endure recently on our behalf.

“What do you have left to go over with Ben Burrell this afternoon?” I asked as we were settling the check.

“I initially made the appointment because Lucky Luna's breeding contract needed to be rewritten in my name and now that it's ready, it has to be signed. But I have to admit that the business Erin was talking about at Miss Ellie's funeral really made me stop and think.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. “And I don't even have a horse.”

“Ben was great about discussing everything with me last week,” Aunt Peg said. “But dipping a toe into the Thoroughbred industry is like any other new endeavor. Sometimes you don't even know what kinds of questions you should be asking about until you've had the opportunity to learn more about how things work.”

Faith stood up and had a leisurely stretch. We hopped down the steps at the near end of the deck and crossed the parking lot. Aunt Peg unlocked the minivan and the three of us climbed in.

“I thought about it overnight,” she continued, “and it occurred to me that I might be precisely the kind of naïve new owner Erin was talking about. What if Six Oaks Farm thinks that they are managing
me
in the same way Billy Gates is handling Daniel Nash's affairs? Perhaps they, too, are giving me only the information they wish me to have and counting on the fact that I will be too stupid to seek out the rest on my own?”

Aunt Peg is a decisive and forceful woman. Certainly I'd never had any luck in getting her to do things my way. So it was hard for me to imagine anyone successfully manipulating her. But this business with Lucky Luna was all uncharted territory, and I could understand her concerns.

“Especially as I'm an absentee owner, I feel the need to clarify my position,” Aunt Peg said. “If Ben and I both take the time now to outline our specific duties and expectations, I'm hoping that will cut down on the possibility of misunderstandings in the future.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” I agreed. “And while you're putting Mr. Burrell through his paces, Faith and I will be having fun with Erin.”

I called ahead to the farm when we were on our way. By the time we reached the office at Six Oaks, Erin was waiting for us in the small parking lot out front. Aunt Peg left us and went inside the building. I beckoned Erin over and slid open the minivan's side door. Faith stood in the opening and wagged her tail obligingly.

“Is it okay if she comes with us?” I asked. “She's very well-behaved and I have a leash.”

Erin hesitated. “You're sure she won't get away from you?”

“Positive.”

“And she won't bark at the horses, or jump around and spook them?”

“No way,” I told her firmly.

“I guess it's all right then. Bring her along and let's go.”

I hopped Faith up into the cab of the truck and climbed in beside her. “I thought we'd head back to the broodmare division,” Erin told me as she put the vehicle in gear. “The mares and foals are outside now and I like to walk around the fields in the afternoon and make sure that everything is as it should be. It's such a pretty day, I was hoping that you wouldn't mind walking with me?”

“That would be perfect,” I said. “And Faith will love it.”

“That's a pretty name.” Erin glanced over at us. “My family had a Poodle when I was a little girl. His name was Jacques. He wasn't anywhere near as big as Faith is though.”

Poodles are the quintessential family dog. And it was amazing how many people I met who had fond memories of growing up with one.

“Faith's a Standard Poodle,” I said. “That's the biggest of the three varieties. Jacques would have been a Mini or a Toy.”

“He was about this big.” Erin took her hands off the steering wheel and indicated a space slightly more than a foot apart. “What would that make him?”

“Probably a Miniature. All three sizes are great dogs.”

“Jacques was the smartest dog in the world. He learned all sorts of silly tricks just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I'm pretty sure that dog understood every word I said.”

“Faith does, too,” I told her.

Erin laughed at that. “Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to watch what I say around her.”

The farm road we were on wound past several expansive fields, then took us through another gate. Finally we turned down a long driveway and parked beside another big, horseshoe-shaped barn.

“Your aunt . . . she's somebody important in dogs, right?” Erin asked as we all got out of the truck.

“She is indeed.” I nudged Faith's ear aside and double-checked the clasp on her leash just to be sure.

“Does she know anything about Jack Russells?”

“Aunt Peg has an amazing gift for understanding all dogs. Terriers aren't her specialty, but if you need help, I'm sure she'd be happy to try.”

“I'm not the one who needs help,” Erin said. “It's Gates. He took over the care of his mother's dogs but he lives in an apartment where pets aren't allowed. So for the time being they're still at Miss Ellie's house. He stops by a couple times a day to feed the dogs and let them outside but that's not working out very well. They're driving him a little crazy.”

“I can imagine,” I said, frowning. “JRTs are a busy breed. And that doesn't sound like a great situation for them
or
Gates. I'm sure Aunt Peg will have some ideas. And she can probably help find homes for them if that's what he decides he wants.”

“Thanks,” said Erin. “That would be great.”

Each of the pastures in front of us was enclosed by double fencing whose purpose, according to Erin, was to keep the occupants of one field from interacting with those in another. As a result, a grid of wide alleyways separated each pasture from the next. Erin headed toward the nearest wide, grassy lane and Faith and I followed.

“You said that you wanted to learn more about the horse business,” she said when we'd passed through the first gate and Erin had closed it carefully behind us. “Is there anything in particular you're looking to find out?”

“That stuff you were telling us yesterday about the Thoroughbred sales was fascinating,” I told her. “It's surprising to me that buyers are willing to give up so much control. It almost sounds like they don't make any decisions at all.”

“Sometimes that's true,” Erin conceded. “But look at it this way. Buyers aren't handing over control so much as they are hiring expert consultants who can help them make the best possible choices. That's no different than what a businessman in any other industry might do.”

Faith stopped to sniff the base of a fence post. A small group of mares was grazing nearby. Most of their foals were asleep in the grass at their feet. I paused and leaned my arms on the top rail of the fence, gazing at the idyllic scene.

“Last week when you took us over to the training track, we saw some young horses galloping,” I said.

“That's right. The ones who were here prepping for the sale. They're all over at Keeneland now. The sale is next Monday, but there's a preview day on Thursday when the two-year-olds will breeze on the track for prospective buyers.”

“Those two colts that Daniel Nash was looking at—a bay and a chestnut—will they sell well?” I asked curiously.

Erin shrugged. “We'll have to see, won't we? They're both good-looking, well-bred colts. But a lot will depend on how well they perform on Thursday.”

“Billy Gates appears to be quite an expert.”

“He is,” she agreed. “Billy knows as much about horses as Peg does about dogs. Maybe even more. Horses and that farm are his whole life.”

“So was Aunt Peg wrong?”

Erin glanced my way. “Wrong about what?”

“She liked the bay horse better. But Billy was recommending the chestnut.”

Erin hesitated. When a minute passed and she still hadn't answered, I said, “Here's the thing. Aunt Peg can be incredibly annoying and opinionated. But she never tries to appear more knowledgeable than she really is. And much as I hate to admit it, when Aunt Peg ventures an opinion she's almost always right. So that's why I'm curious.”

“I get it,” Erin said with a sly grin. “You're hoping your aunt was mistaken, aren't you?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, and we laughed together. “Trust me, it would make a pleasant change.”

“I wish I could help you but to tell the truth, I don't know. Billy sometimes sees things in horses that other people don't. He's kind of a genius that way. That's why people hire him to do what he does.”

“Then I guess Daniel Nash is lucky to have him.” That thought brought up another question. “How do people who are new to the industry find a skilled advisor like Billy?”

“If they're lucky, they get someone good through word of mouth. But sometimes newcomers just read the trades and hire the big-name people who get the most press.” Erin straightened, pushing herself away from the fence. “Come on. Let's walk some more. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and Faith looks like she'd rather be moving.”

I could have stood and watched the mares and foals all afternoon. But Erin was right, Faith was growing impatient. When the three of us continued down the lane, Faith bounced and played at the end of her leash.

“If you're staying through Monday, you should stop by the auction at Keeneland,” Erin said when we'd reached the far end of the first pasture and turned the corner. “You and your aunt might find it interesting to watch.”

“We probably would,” I agreed. “Finally something around here that's easy for non-horsemen to figure out.”

“Not necessarily,” said Erin.

“Why not? An auction is a straightforward system for setting a fair price.” I turned and looked at her. “Isn't it?”

“It can be. But it isn't always.”

“Explain that to me,” I said. “Because I don't get it.”

“That's probably because you're assuming that all the bidders are interested in acquiring the horse they're bidding on.”

“Well . . . yes. If someone doesn't want to buy a horse, why would they be bidding on it?”

“Could be that the owner of the horse is bidding against you and running up the price. Or maybe you've had the bad luck to hire the wrong advisor. If so, he might be doing the same thing.”

Abruptly I stopped walking. Caught by surprise, Faith hit the end of the leash. She circled back and looked at me reproachfully.

“Sorry, sweetie,” I said. Then I shifted my gaze back to Erin. “My agent is supposed to be helping me shop and protecting my interests. Isn't that why I hired him?”

“Sure. But like in any other business, there are good guys and bad guys. And if a newcomer makes the wrong choices about who to get involved with, he could end up with an agent who's looking to make some extra money on the side.”

“I can see how running up a horse's price would benefit the seller. But how would it help my agent?”

“Let's back up for a minute,” said Erin. She started walking again. “Say you're a guy from out of town who's been to the races a few times. You got a great buzz from the betting, and the winning, and the excitement of the racing. And you start thinking this might be a terrific hobby to have some fun with. Are you with me so far?”

“Yup.” So far, it was easy.

“So you come to Kentucky because everybody knows that if you want Thoroughbreds, this is the place to be. You look around and meet some people. Maybe you join TOBA.”

Erin saw my blank look and added, “Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders Association.”

“Of course,” I replied as if that was the only possible answer.

Faith looked up and gave me a doggy grin. She hadn't known either.

“So now there's a sale coming up. Let's make it the Keeneland September sale. That's the best place to shop if you're looking for a yearling. But with more than four thousand to choose from, you don't know where to begin. You're a smart guy and you want to get this right, so you hire a bloodstock agent to help you.

“Of course I do,” I agreed. Aside from that TOBA blip, she hadn't lost me yet.

“You tell your new agent that you want to buy a nice colt to take to the races. Let's make your budget something reasonable . . . say, one hundred thousand dollars.”

“That's
reasonable?
”

“Middling,” Erin told me. “That kind of money won't put you at the top of anyone's list. The important agents, they're looking for the millionaires.”

“I hate to break it to you,” I said on a strangled laugh, “but if I'm spending
one hundred thousand dollars on a horse
, I
am
a millionaire.”

“Okay,” Erin said airily. “Then they're looking for billionaires.”

“Yikes. That's some rarified company.”