A Ghost at Stallion's Gate (9 page)

“Alex said he was coming, he should be here soon,” I said. “He was with me last night.”

Francisco diverted his attention from the pasture to look me in the face. “I spoke to Alex, late last night. I hope you do not mind. Shannon, I was concerned for you. When Joshua called me last night, he said you had been with Alex out here to this pasture. I wanted Alex’s opinion. However, I would like to emphasize, I did not call Alex until after I spoke with the person I know on the board of the Pasadena Conservancy. I was in your court before speaking with Alex. Alex is too, by the way. He may seem a bit reluctant, but he is adamant about your intuition in regard to this excavation.”

“I know. I’m lucky to have the both of you in agreement with me. Too bad I cannot convince Joshua.”

“Convince Joshua of what?” Alex called out.

I turned to see him standing next to me. In the noise of the backhoe I had not heard Alex approach, though no doubt Francisco saw him walking up.

I explained to Alex, “Joshua is not happy about the excavation.”

“I can appreciate his point of view. He may feel that this excavation is, or could be, a negative reflection on his professionalism,” Alex said.

“Yes, I suppose so, but in the end, I hope he’ll see it differently.”

The noise of the backhoe made it annoying to try and talk in normal voices. So, there we three stood, patiently waiting for results. I stood between Francisco and Alex. Alex reached down and took my hand in his. At that same instant, I felt a gentle presence behind me. Was it a ghost horse or a ghost magician? I wondered.

I had my answer in the next moment, Eric whispered in my ear, “It is as it should be.”

We stood like soldiers waiting for a bugle call. I could see Josh, with his back toward us he was leaning over the pit. Then with the next scoop of the backhoe he made a hand sign to the operator to stop. He turned and waved to us, we ran over to where he stood.

Josh pointed to a large clump of dirt and what look like muddied sticks. “I’m pretty sure those are bones sticking up. No more heavy equipment from here on out, I need to hand pick and shovel.” He turned to Alex and said, “I’m jumping down in, then hand me that small shovel, okay?”

Josh didn’t jump; he carefully lowered himself into the pit. The hole was nearly as deep as he was tall. With Josh standing next to the clumped tangle of dirt, Alex handed him the small shovel. Josh carefully removed dirt from around the clump and isolated the mass as best he could. It took him nearly thirty minutes. We watched, as the mass of clumped dirt and sticks became obvious in its appearance. There was no doubt it was the entire skeletal remains of a very large horse.

Josh dug around a little more and found patches of dried hide. He looked up at us and said, “This will be of help in identifying the horse and knowing what color it was. And with the bones we’ll be able to determine the horse’s breed.” Then he looked at Francisco and said, “Maybe we should get a horse doctor out here to help?”

Francisco nodded and said, “I know of several equestrian veterinarians, most are associated with the riding stables and professional horse racing arenas in this area. I’ll take care of that, right now.” Francisco walked away.

I turned to see him disappear around the other side of the barn, walking back to the mansion. I looked at Alex and leaned over to him and whispered, “I have a sickening feeling that I know who that horse is.”

Alex put his arm around me. He said to Josh, “We’re leaving for now. I’m sure Francisco will keep us up to date on developments.” 

Chapter 16

Francisco intercepted Alex and myself just as we were walking up to Alex’s car. He asked that we wait, at least until the veterinarian arrived. I agreed and told Alex that I knew where I wanted to wait. He was surprised when I led him to the trophy room, it was not locked, and we walked right in.

I watched for Alex’s reaction as he looked around the room. It was as I expected, he was puzzled, but not shocked.

“And why do you want to wait in here?” He asked me.

I pointed to the horse and carriage. “That’s Rory. And the carriage he is hitched to is the one he pulled Marla Devereux in at the Rose Parade of 1926.”

Alex was still confused. And I couldn’t blame him, I knew I wasn’t making much sense and I wasn’t having much success finding the words to express my theory.

“Let me backtrack some. Yesterday, after I left the library and before you picked me up for our date, I did some research in the Internet newspaper archive, the one that is your subscription, but you allow me access to. Anyway, I remembered that horse racing was illegal in the United States in the 1920s, but horse racing was still going on in Mexico, where it was legal. And in Mexico at that time, huge horses, such as Clydesdales, were a novelty. They weren’t raced the way thoroughbreds were. Clydesdales were raced hitched to small lightweight carriages. And Rory, here, was a prince in the racing arenas. He won often. Reggie Coover made certain Rory was entered in the high stake races, except for one. There was only one race Rory was not actually in.”

I looked at Alex to see if he was following my theory.

“What do you mean by
was not actually in
?” Alex asked.

I smiled at him, beaming with pride that he got it. “Because a horse cannot be in two places at once. Rory could not have been in a race in Mexico on New Years Day, January first of 1926 and still pull Marla in her carriage in the Pasadena Tournament of Roses Parade, also on New Years Day, 1926.”

“Shannon, how did you put this together and what about the horse in the pasture?” Alex asked.

“I researched horse scams and one came up that wasn’t all that long ago. The scam came to be known as Fine Cotton. It took place in Australia in the 1980s. Basically, a winning horse was injured to the point he could no longer race. Well, the greedy owners did not want to give up the winning streak and they devised a way to keep their horse in the race, so to speak. They brought in a ringer for him, an illegal ringer. And get this; the substitute horse was painted to look like the winning horse. That was when it dawned on me. When Rory said to me
too red
, well I misinterpreted him. Rory meant the numeral two. There were two red horses. Rory and his impostor, and the impostor was a different color than Rory. So the impostor was dyed or painted, I’m not sure about that part. But anyway, down in Mexico, no one was the wiser for it. Until January First of 1926.”

“Because there was a race in Mexico on that same day?” Alex guessed.

“Yes. And Rory won,” I answered.

“But it wasn’t the real Rory that won the race, the real Rory was here in Pasadena, right?” Alex asked.

“Yes. It had to be that way, because Marla would have known the difference between a fake Rory and the real Rory. Technically, Rory was her horse. My guess is that the horse that was just found out in the pasture is the ringer. He was brought up here to avoid detection of the scam and then killed and buried.”

We fell silent. I gazed at Rory.

“Shannon, how did you know?”

“I didn’t, at least not all at once. When I realized I misunderstood Rory’s reference of the homonyms of too and two, the notion fit beautifully with something else he said to me. He said he was a horse of a different color. Then when I came across the court case about Marla Devereux and beauty products tycoon, Empress Tatiana, the concept came together. You see, Marla was promised a starlet’s billing in the advertisements. But instead she was used as a body double. Her contract was fraudulent. If people have doubles in advertisements, then maybe there could be horse doubles, too? And, it was Rory’s insistence about carrots that kept nagging at me. I looked up old magazine articles about Stallion’s Gate and one story from the summer of 1925 mentioned a carrot garden that was planted just for the horses, especially Rory. The old photo showed Rory standing in the pasture with Marla feeding him carrots that were grown there.”

“So,” Alex replied, “after the impostor horse was killed, the pasture and the carrot garden were dug up to bury the horse. So, no more carrots for Rory.”

“Yeah, I think it’s kind of like that, except by that time, or around the same time, it was reported that Rory had died, too,” I said.

“So, are you sure that it is not Rory we found out in the pasture?”

I bit my lip. “Yes. Pretty sure, but I need to do a little more research to be absolutely certain.”

We heard footsteps approaching; we turned to see Francisco. He stepped inside the room. “Doctor Hernandez has made an arrangement to have the horse remains transported to his office and laboratory. He’ll perform an autopsy tomorrow. For now, we should leave.” He turned to me and said, “Shannon, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m going back to the Rose Victorian. I need to get work done on the publicity brochure for this place. I’ll be there the rest of the day.”

Francisco nodded. “I will keep in touch with both of you. When I hear from Doctor Hernandez, I will call you,” he said and then left.

Alex and I closed up. I locked the door to the trophy room.

Chapter 17

Bleak images ran through my mind as I drove back to my cottage. The creepy sadness of the morning’s discovery was one I needed to put behind me. I welcomed the opportunity to work on the publicity brochure. Once inside, I got to work at my makeshift desk, the kitchen table, and concentrated on finalizing the publicity brochure. I reasoned with myself that I had a really good and valid excuse for wrapping up this assignment as quickly as possible. I desperately wanted to return home to San Diego and leave all of the bizarre mystery that shrouded Stallion’s Gate behind me, way behind me by at least a hundred miles.

Two hours went by without my notice and then my cell phone rang. It was Alex calling with an evening invitation that I will never forget. He asked me to accompany him to investigate a haunted theater in the historic Broadway district of old Los Angeles.

“Wait, Alex, you mean to say, you are inviting me to join you on a ghost hunt?”

“It’s not an ordinary ghost hunt. As it turns out this is the theater that Marla Devereux last performed at. This was the last place she was seen alive.”

“But, Alex, you of all persons, a college professor and professional magician, c’mon, you know that most of those ghost investigations are staged. I can’t buy into it.”

“Just come with me. I’m onto a lead and I’ll explain when I pick you up, about seven, tonight?”

I sighed and caved in to his request, “Okay, so how do I dress for a ghost hunt?” My question was meant to be wry.

“Wear jeans and walking shoes, no heels. Bring a light jacket, sometimes in the basements of these old buildings it can be drafty. And be sure to pack a flashlight. Oh, and bring your digital camera and a voice recorder with fresh batteries.”

I agreed and then hung up. With four hours to kill until Alex would be here, I concentrated on finishing the brochure. At six I packed up my work and made a quick sandwich, wolfed it down and then got dressed for my night of ghost hunting. Alex was right on time. I met him at my door.

“Ready,” I said.

He gave me a once over look and commented, “I should take you on a ghost hunt every night, that shade of lavender in your blouse really brings out the red highlights in your hair. And your eyes, they seem greener that usual.” He peered at me as if he suspected I had popped in colored contact lenses.

I batted my eyelashes in an exaggerated manner and said in my best pseudo Southern belle accent, “Why, Mr. Blackthorne, you do flatter me, to what do I owe your attention?” If only I had an old fashion hand held fan, I would have fluttered it in front of my smile.

Alex stood back and gave me a wink, “Enough said, let’s go look for ghosts.”

On the drive to the old Broadway district Alex explained that after he left Stallion’s Gate, he went back to the Magic Castle and did some research in the castle’s archives. Evidently, in Los Angeles of the early 1900s, world famous entertainers of all talents, including magicians, had performed at the various vaudeville palaces in the Broadway district. Then at the onset of the Hollywood film industry, these same vaudeville palaces had been fitted with screens to accommodate the latest rage in entertainment, silent films. And that even after talkies were introduced, the vaudeville stage palaces remained popular because their excellent acoustics and sound systems were easily converted to and equipped with the speakers required for talking films. Then, in the 1950s and 60s the district had become shabby because the single screen theaters couldn’t compete with the indoor multiplex and outdoor movie theaters. By the 1960s, most of the palaces fell into ruin. A few of the grand theaters had been maintained in one form or another, and now there was a huge revitalization movement taking place.

“So, the vaudeville palace we are visiting tonight, what’s it called?” I asked.

“It is the Regency. That is the original name from when it was constructed in 1910. That name has held for over a hundred years, it’s still called that today. Ten years ago, it was some kind of obscure grassroots church. Turns out the church could not afford all the retrofitting needed and
they abandoned the theater. It remained vacant for quite some time until a conservancy group purchased it last year”