Death By Bridle
Authors: Abigail Keam
Death By Bridle
A Josiah Reynolds Mystery
Abigail Keam
Worker Bee Press
Death By Bridle
Copyright © Abigail Keam 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.
ISBN 978 1 4675 1735 5
The Thoroughbreds are strictly fictitious and do not represent horses with similar/same names registered with the Jockey Club of the past, present or future.
All characters are fictional and similarity to any living person is just coincidence unless stated otherwise. It’s not you. So don’t go around town and brag about it.
The 1962 plot line is based on “The Thin Thirty” by Shannon Ragland and other articles about KY football. All football characters are fictitious except for Coach Bradshaw. Many sources were used. The story has been embellished for this mystery.
The historical facts about Kentucky are true.
The geography is true. The beekeeping is true.
The artists are real, but the art may not be.
Rock Hudson was a real movie star.
Worker Bee Press
P.O. Box 485
Nicholasville, KY 40340
The author wishes to thank Al’s Bar, which consented to be used as a drinking hole for my poetry-writing cop, Kelly, and Morris Book Shop,
www.morrisbookshop.com
, which consented to be a meeting place for Meriah Caldwell and Josiah in the series.
Special thanks to Daniel Considine, of Considine Farm Inc., for his special insight into the horse business and allowing access to horse breeding and racing facilities. Also to Benita “Bunny” Lancaster for her help as well. Special thanks must be given to Lucy Breathitt for her oral history of Al Capone’s sister.
Thanks to my beekeeping buddy, Clay Guthrie, for letting me use him as a real person in a fictional work.
Thanks to my editor, Brian Throckmorton.
To the Lexington Farmers’ Market, which has given me a home for many years.
www.lexingtonfarmersmarket.com
Art Work by Cricket Press
www.cricket-press.com
Book Jacket by Peter Keam
With much gratitude.
Death By A HoneyBee
Readers’ Favorite Gold Medal Award 2010
Finalist of USA Book News Best Books of 2011
Death By Drowning
Readers’ Favorite Gold Medal Award 2011
Finalist of USA Book News Best Books of 2011
Death By Bourbon
Coming Soon!
To Rebecca, Timothy, and Aaron
A door slammed.
Nine-year-old Lincoln Warfield Clark Todd was sleeping comfortably atop several bales of hay next to the stall of his mother’s Thoroughbred stallion, Comanche, when the horse began pawing and snorting.
He thought little of it, as the black stallion was always restless and skittish. It wasn’t until the horse began kicking his stall door that Linc sat up from his makeshift bed and rubbed his sleepy hazel eyes. “Whoa, boy. Nothing’s gonna hurt ya while Linc’s here,” he murmured softly to the horse. “Go back to sleep.”
It was then that he heard two loud voices coming from deep within the race-training complex. He looked at his cell phone. It was 2:30 in the morning. Linc crept over to soothe the horse by rubbing his velvety muzzle.
“Quiet, Comanche,” Linc commanded the big Thoroughbred.
Both horse and boy strained to listen. Comanche’s ears lay flat against his gleaming black coat. Linc held on to the horse’s bridle as he wondered where the night watchman was. Probably watching TV in the owner’s office.
A chair scraped across concrete. The voices became louder and more argumentative. A man called the other a “son-of-a-bitch” and said “you’ll ruin me.”
The young boy, heavy with excitement, crept forward among the hanging tack, leaning rakes, stacked bales of hay, and black plastic buckets stuffed with brushes, combs, and hoof picks. Peeking around the corner he chewed on his lower lip, a habit his mother was trying to get him to quit.
At the far end of the stable corridor, two men stood facing each other like gunfighters. He couldn’t see them very well as only one yellow light glowed feebly from the ceiling. Horses poked their shaggy heads out of their stalls, their walnut eyeballs wide and glassy with foreboding.
A washed-out-looking man drew his fists up, crying, “I’ll kill you if you tell. I’ll kill you. I swear I will.” A single light, dangling from a worn-out cord, swung slightly from a light breeze, creating eerie dancing shadows on the man’s gray flesh. He fumbled towards the other man, who raised his arms in defense.
A spike of fear ran up Linc’s back. He rose from his crouching position, gasping.
Both men swiveled, staring at him with dumbfounded irritation. One of the men thudded towards Linc. The young boy ran in the opposite direction, but fell over a feed bucket, cracking his head on the concrete floor. His world went black.
It stayed black for a very long time.
Shaneika called at seven that morning, relating that Linc was in the hospital and asking me to come right away.
“I’ll be there,” I mumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Pushing away Baby, my fawn English mastiff, I untangled myself from the bed sheets but Shaneika hung up before I could ask any questions.
I called my best friend Matt at his law office, informing him of the morning’s call. Both he and Shaneika were my lawyers, often working together. Matt asked that I keep him apprised of the situation. He replied that he had to go after I heard someone calling his name.
A woman. Hmmmm. I recognized that friendly sexy tone of voice and knew what it meant, but couldn’t bother to think of that now.
Looking for Jake, I found him swimming laps in the heated infinity pool. Jake had been my bodyguard/physician’s assistant since my fall from a cliff when a rogue cop tried to kill me. That’s a long story, one that I want to forget, but the cop is still on the loose.
My daughter assigned Jake to me. He really works for her.
Somewhere along the line, I crossed the no-no boundary and fell in love with Jake. But I have nothing to offer. I’m much older. My body is put together with glue and wire. I don’t think it could survive a younger man’s attention. What little money I have is tied up in paying medical bills and keeping my farm afloat. So when his contract is up this October, I’m going to send Jake away.
By the way, my name is Josiah Reynolds. My grandmother named me after a Hebrew king known for his righteousness.
I’m known for other things, not all of them nice.
Previously an art history professor, I now keep honeybees and sell honey at the Farmers’ Market in Lexington, Kentucky. It’s enough to get by on if I live on the cheap. I’ll never get rich on honeybees. It’s more a work of love.
I clutched my robe at the throat while leaning over the steaming water to get Jake’s attention. He rose up like Nix, the Norse god of lakes – water streaming from his long, blue-black hair and down his ruddy, muscular body. “What’s up,” he asked, wiping hair from his eyes. He looked at me from under thick, dark eyelashes.
The pool wasn’t the only thing steaming.
“Shaneika called. Said her boy was in the hospital. Wants me to come. Can you drive?”
“Sure thing. Why’s he in the hospital?”
“Don’t know. Just told me he was and asked me to hurry.”
“Okay, but you do your exercises first, have breakfast, take your medication and then we’ll go.”
I shook my head. “That will take too long. She wants me to come now.”
Jake scowled. “I don’t care what she wants. You’re still on a medical schedule. You don’t know how strenuous a day this will be. You’ll need your therapy and medication to make sure you can endure today without a lot of pain.”
The magic word – pain.
I was terrified of pain and would do most anything to avoid it. We never fight except about my pain medication. I want more – lots more of the pain medication – not the pain.
He was right and I knew it. I dropped my robe and, in my jammies, got into the warm water. We did a half hour of stretching before Jake sent me to the showers while he made breakfast and got dressed himself. Within minutes, we were racing towards the hospital.
Linc’s skin was ashen as he lay in the hospital bed with tubes placed in various orifices. It didn’t look good.
“What happened?” I asked, touching Linc’s forehead. He felt cool.
Shaneika stood at the foot of the bed with her arms folded tightly. “Nobody knows. Nobody will tell me anything. That’s why I called. I need help. I got a call from the guard at the Royal Blue Stables letting me know that Linc was hurt, but not how. Police have been milling around this floor since we got here. I don’t think Linc’s injuries are accidental, but nobody will talk to me. Something is going on. Please help me, Josiah. I can’t leave here, but you can ask around,” she pleaded in her English clip. She had spent many years in Bermuda.
Jake interjected, “Mrs. Reynolds is in no position to play sleuth. She is still healing from her . . .”
“Don’t give me that,” snapped Shaneika. She pointed a finger at me. “I’ve done nothing but favors for you. Now I want some payback.” Her hazel eyes burned madly.
When I didn’t respond, Shaneika began to cry. “I’m so sorry, but I need some answers and need them quick. What is going on? How’d this happen to my baby?”
I sighed. It hadn’t been that long since Irene Meckler had asked me to nose around her nephew’s death. I was still recovering from my fall and was exhausted, frankly. Still I said, “I will see what I can do, but no promises.”
“But,” interrupted Jake, looking frantically at us both.
I held up my hand to silence him. Turning to Shaneika, I said, “Keep me apprised if you hear anything and I will do the same.” I limped out of the hospital room on my black ebony cane with the silver wolf’s head.
Jake followed hotly on my heels. “Now listen, Boss Lady, you’re in no shape to go traipsing around the countryside. Remember the agony you were in poking around the Dunne case.”
I nodded. He was right. But I couldn’t sit comfortably at home when people who had taken risks for me now asked for help. I was obligated to Shaneika. And obligated people with a sense of honor rise to the occasion.
Social critic Thomas Sowell said, “One of the common failings among honorable people is a failure to appreciate how thoroughly dishonorable some other people can be, and how dangerous it is to trust them.”
This advice was not lost on me as I had discovered the depths of people’s depravity, but only recently.
As Matt’s boyfriend, Franklin, told me, “You have poor risk assessment.”
So do most people.