Golden Filly Collection Two (56 page)

Marge grabbed Trish’s arm and pulled. Trish dropped the receiver in the hook, and they ran on their tiptoes back to the saddling paddock. When the gate screeched again, they heard a man yell, “Who’s there? Stop or I’ll shoot!”

They ran as fast as they could, down the tunnel, out the gate, and into the car. Trish jammed the key into the ignition and, when the engine roared to life, threw the car into reverse and spun in a tight curve. She slammed her foot to the floor and headed for the exit.

Halfway across the parking lot, a red Corvette swerved across in front of her. Trish cranked the wheel to the right only to be confronted by the broad side of a silver BMW. They were trapped. The sight of a gun sticking out of the BMW’s window kept her from reversing out of there.

She looked at her mother. Marge’s lips moved. Trish knew she was praying. All Trish could say was “Help, God! Help!”

“Get out of the car.” The man in the BMW eased his door open, so his voice carried well.

Trish fought the panic rising in her throat. What could they do? She looked to her mother.

“Just do as he says,” Marge answered softly. “Somehow God will protect us.”

Trish reached for the door handle.

Flashing red and blue lights at every exit announced the arrival of the police. Before the two in the other cars could even start their engines, they were surrounded.

“Get out of your car with your hands on your head.” An Officer with a bullhorn gave the instructions.

“Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you,” Trish and Marge murmured together, the only words they could think of.

“Trish, are you all right?” Officer Parks reached the van.

She nodded and slowly opened the door. When she stepped out, her knees buckled. The man’s quick action kept her from hitting the ground.

“Sorry.”

“Shock does that to you. What about you, Mrs. Evanston? You okay?”

Marge laughed a shaky laugh. “Think I’ll just stay right here if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine, ma’am. We’ll get these two taken care of and then we’ll come for your statement.” He gave Trish a hand as she climbed back into the minivan. “Take some deep breaths and let yourself relax. You did one fine job, young lady.”

By the time they’d given their information to the officers, Trish and Marge wore matching looks of exhaustion.

“I’ll bring these statements by tomorrow for you to sign,” Officer Parks said. “Trish, do you think you can drive, or would you rather one of us drove you home? We can do that.”

“I think I’m okay now. I’m not shaking anymore. I’m mad. Clear through.”

“Not a good time to drive either. How about you, ma’am?”

“We’ll be fine. I need to stop and call Patrick, our trainer, and let him know we’re all right. He’ll be sending a rescue squad out any time now.”

“If you’re sure?”

“See you tomorrow.” Trish turned the ignition and pressed the electronic button to roll up the windows. She very carefully put the van in gear and eased out of the parking lot. By the time she reached the on ramp to I-5, she felt almost normal.

Curt was parked in their drive when they arrived. He’d heard about the arrest on the police scanner.

Brad and Patrick met them at the front door, so the five of them gathered around the table where Trish could tell her story. When she finished, Patrick shook his head.

“Lord love ye, lass. What’ll it be takin’ to keep ye out of trouble?”

Trish looked at her mother, and both of them broke into giggles. One by one the others chimed in.

When they all wiped their eyes, Marge pushed herself to her feet. “I’m calling for pizza—delivered. How hungry are all of you?” She looked from Brad to Curt and shook her head. “Silly question. How about a supreme and a Canadian bacon with pineapple, both large?” At their nods, she went to the phone. She called from the counter by the door. “Trish, you got any coupons?”

Trish sighed. Everything was back to normal. She looked around the room and from face to face of the three men talking, discussing what might happen next at Portland Meadows. Normal sounded heavenly. “I don’t think so.”

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Trish assumed it was the pizza delivery. Instead a television reporter with a cameraman introduced herself. The pizza truck arrived just as the television people left.

“You’re going to be famous over this one,” Curt warned after gobbling his pizza and calling in his story. “Bet this hits the front page.”

He was right. It hit the front page and the Associated Press wire. When Trish arrived home from a school that buzzed with excitement, the reporter who called her “The Comeback Kid” had called. Trish answered his questions and hung up just in time for the two reporters from the local papers who’d shown up that morning after she left for school.

The afternoon paper carried banner headlines. “Portland Meadows to Open in Two Weeks.” Her picture topped another article about the arrest the night before. “Local Girl Solves Track Mystery” read the headline on that one.

“Thank you, God” seemed so inadequate, but that’s all Trish could say.

The next two weeks passed in a whirl of activity. Adam Finley hired a van to bring the horses up from California and flew Firefly back to Kentucky. They moved the horses to the track and prepared for opening day. Sarah’s Pride and Gatesby were both to run that day, the filly in the Hal Evanston Memorial Handicap like they’d planned. Half the student body from Prairie High promised to be there to cheer them on. Red called, several times, just to make sure Trish was really all right and then to ask how she was holding up as a celebrity.

Trish rose early to exercise the horses at the track before leaving for school, and by Friday, the lack of sleep and strain of all the excitement gave her a colossal headache.

“Just go to bed.” Marge turned back the covers. “After this weekend, we’ll have Genie ride for us in the morning.”

Trish didn’t even argue. Her mother was right. No matter how hard it was to admit, she didn’t want to live on this schedule for the next six months.

Saturday morning dawned with a heavy cloud cover and a fifty-fifty chance of rain. Trish sniffed the wind as she trotted Sarah’s Pride out on the track to loosen her up. “Please, God, here I am asking for something again, but could you possibly let the sun come out for the races this afternoon? A fast, dry track would be such a great way to start the season.”

A light mist shrouded a sun circle while she finished her duties and headed for the track kitchen. She could hardly get through the line for her food, so many people stopped to talk with her. Trainers, bug boys, grooms, owners, everyone commenting on the investigation and how grateful they were the track had opened.

The hubbub sounded more like a party than a normal track morning.

Trish sat with Bob Diego and put her plates out on the table so he could put her tray back. “He sure suckered me in,” Diego said when he sat back down. “Here I was introducing the crook around and trying to make him feel welcome. I even took him out to see a ranch I know that’s for sale.” He shook his head. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Well, he scared me out of a year’s growth,” Trish grinned at her friend. “Let me tell you, a gun looks different when it’s pointed at you than it does on TV. I was so glad to see those patrol cars I nearly cried.”

“I thought that attorney was part of this, the way he acted at the council meetings.”

“Patrick calls him a do-gooder who just believed the wrong man. Strange that a lawyer got sucked in like that. I thought they knew everything.”

“They just think so. His ears must be burning; he’s been talked about enough.” Diego held up his cup for the waitress to refill it. “Sorry you’re not riding for me in the handicap, but I guess it is important for you to ride your own horses. I’ll let Genie Stokes give you a run for your money.”

Trish finished the last bite of her toast. “That’s okay. With your other one, I have six mounts today anyway.” She waved Patrick over to take her chair. “I gotta get going. See you in the paddock.”

By the time the call came for the jockeys to parade to the saddling paddock for the eighth race, Trish had won two, had a place and a show, and still had the ninth to go. Wearing the crimson and gold silks of Runnin’ On Farm, Trish fell in behind the others. She weighed in, thanked the official for his good wishes, and tried to swallow the butterflies doing their grandstand performance in her middle.

Why was this race scarier than the others? After all, she’d walked this path four times already today. She smiled at the crowd and waved to a group of crimson-and-gold-garbed students hanging on the rail.

“Tri-cia, Tri-cia, Tri-cia.” They turned her name into a two-syllable chant.

David boosted her aboard and patted her knee. “Give it all you got, kid. Sure good to see you up on one of ours.”

“Thanks, David. I’m so glad you could make it home for this.”

“You’ll be knowin’ what to do.” Patrick looked up at her, a sheen of moisture in his eyes. “Do this one for your dad.”

Trish swallowed and tried to smile at her mother, but she could feel the wobbles at the edge of her mouth.

“God keep you” was all Marge could say.

Sarah’s Pride minced out of the tunnel and tossed her head when the sun hit her. Trish blinked in the brightness. God had answered another prayer. While much of the day the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, now it shone on a dry, fast track.

“Your favorite kind, huh, girl?” Trish patted the sorrel neck and smoothed the filly’s slightly darker mane to the left side. Off to the east, Mount Hood waited patiently for its yearly snow cover.

The Prairie students continued their chant.

When they cantered back past the grandstands, Trish raised her whip in acknowledgment. She couldn’t quit grinning. But she didn’t try very hard.

The filly walked into the number-three slot as if she owned it. Trish focused on the spot between the filly’s ears and settled into her saddle. The shot! The flag was up and they were off.

Sarah’s Pride broke clean and settled into her stride. Trish took her favorite position slightly off the pace and running easily. She didn’t want the filly tired before the final stretch.

With a dry track and all fresh horses, the pace was fast, the seconds ticking past. Coming out of the turn, Trish felt someone coming up on the outside. With three in front of her, she made her move. Stride for stride, the outside horse paced her.

They passed the third runner and then the second.

The other riders went to their whips. Neck and neck, three abreast, they thundered for the finish line.

“Now, girl.” Trish swung her whip just once. Sarah’s Pride leaped forward, nose straight out. One stride, three, and they crossed the line.

Trish grinned at the rider on her right. Genie Stokes grinned back. Neither of them knew who won. Nor did anyone else.

“And that’s a photo finish, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer intoned. “We’ll have the results for you shortly. Rarely do you see three so close. Numbers three, five, and seven.”

Trish cantered on around the track and walked toward the winner’s circle. Gold and bronze chrysanthemums bordered the boxed-in area.

David reached her as number three flashed on the scoreboard to win. “You didn’t have to cut it quite so close.” He grinned up at her.

“Keeps you on your toes that way, Davey boy.” Trish tapped him on the head with her whip. She raised a hand at the chanting that swelled rather than diminished from her friends at Prairie High.

In the winner’s circle, the announcer presented her with the ornate silver cup Runnin’ On Farm had donated as a permanent trophy for the race.

“It’s only fitting, ladies and gentlemen, that the winner today should be Trish Evanston, daughter of the man we honor. While we didn’t plan it this way, it couldn’t have worked out better.”

The three evanstons accepted the trophy together. Trish took the mike in her hands and stopped to look out at the crowd. “We nearly didn’t have racing here anymore, but justice won out. We’ve been given a second chance, a second wind, and I—we—thank God for the opportunity. May Portland Meadows continue to provide you racing fans with the sport of kings, and we’ll give the only King that counts all the glory. Thank you.” She handed the mike back.

Arm in arm, Trish, David, and their mother walked out of the winner’s circle and into the circle of all their friends and fans.
What a start to a new year,
Trish thought.
Today really is a second wind.