Cooper interrupted. “The actress?”
“Yes.” Big Mim picked up the conversation. “She had a good career, married again and again and again. She lives in Santa Barbara and, as you know, occasionally comes back to St. James, which she maintains just as Mary Pat left it—except for renting out the stables and training track to Barry Monteith and Sugar Thierry. Alicia’s not really a horse person.”
“Graveyard of old movie stars, Santa Barbara,” Aunt Tally giggled. She remembered Santa Barbara when Ronald and Benita Colman owned San Ysidro Ranch. Aunt Tally had spent many a lovely weekend there in her youth, and it was quite a wild youth, lasting well into her fifties.
“Her horses were sold at auction. A big breeder in Maryland bought most of them. I remember Humphrey Finney was the auctioneer. The progeny of her stable are still on the tracks today. Mary Pat knew what she was doing.” Big Mim sighed, for she had loved Mary Pat. “And she bred back that mare to Tom Fool. Ziggy disappeared just as his career was burgeoning but, thank God, the bloodlines survived. When the broodmare band was dispersed, Ziggy’s mother was bought by a breeder in Kentucky. Forget the name. Out of that breeding came Ziggy Dark Star, Flame’s full brother, a year younger, who had a stud career. Never raced, or if he did I never heard about it. He was in Maryland. Of course, Mary Pat was gone by then, so she didn’t know just how good her breeding program was.”
“Don’t forget Tavener Heyward.”
“He was a suspect?” Harry was incredulous, since Tavener Heyward was one of the most respected equine veterinarians in the country.
“No, no. Mary Pat gave him four broodmares, daughters of Speak John, Raise a Native, Secretariat, and Buckpasser, and a sum for stud fees. She’d left instructions for their breeding, too. Tavener did quite handsomely with those mares. Course, he’s made a bundle in the practice, too. He was one of the few people who stood by Alicia when she was under suspicion.” Big Mim checked the large clock on the wall. “Aunt Tally, we need to leave soon.”
“When I’m ready will be soon enough. I’m not ready,” she resolutely replied. “Those broodmares put Tavener on the map. That’s how he got into the racing world, but for him it’s steeplechasing. As you know, he’s behind one of the most successful chasing stables in the country and he took over her colors, green and gold. I think he was in love with Alicia.”
“What a strange and sad story.” Harry vaguely recalled her parents’ distress when the popular Mary Pat disappeared.
“Strange, and now we know she’s somewhere out there. I guess Ziggy is, too,” Big Mim half-whispered.
“What do you mean, Mimsy?”
“Aunt Tally, she always wore this ring. Her remains have to be somewhere upstream; the ring would only wash downward,” Big Mim replied.
“She could have lost it,” Tally argued for the sake of arguing, but she knew if Mary Pat had lost her class ring everyone would have heard about it. Mary Pat always wore her ring.
“And just why did you bring it here?” Big Mim directed this to Cooper.
“If I turned it over to the sheriff, he’d put it in a tiny Ziploc bag and there it would languish. I wanted to find out whatever I could before turning it in.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to even give it to Rick,” Aunt Tally said. “Mary Pat’s ring has nothing to do with Barry Monteith getting his throat ripped out, even if he did rent the stables on her old farm. It’s just coincidence.”
6
Fair Haristeen and Sugar Thierry turned out a lovely gray mare, which Fair had just vetted.
“Going to run her first. Then I’ll breed her.”
“Chaser?”
Sugar nodded. “Someone has to give Tavener Heyward competition.”
“He’s had a couple of great seasons.” They walked back to Fair’s truck. He tossed his clipboard on the front seat.
“Can you put this on account?” Sugar, muscles tight in his face, requested.
“No charge.”
“Fair, you’re good to me.” Sugar’s facial muscles relaxed.
“Starting out in the horse business is hard, really hard when you aren’t rich.”
“You can say that again.”
“You doing okay?”
“I don’t know.” Sugar’s eyelids closed, then opened slowly. “Shook up.”
Fair’s voice dropped. “A blow like that just blindsides you. You don’t know what hit you, literally.”
“Rick came here. Asked a lot of questions. It stung me.” Sugar’s voice grew louder.
“He has to do his job. You were Barry’s partner.”
“He acted as though I killed him!”
“Like I said, he has to ask uncomfortable questions. It’s his job.”
“Barry and I were a good team. Why would I cut off my right arm?”
“You wouldn’t. We all know that. But like I said, Rick has to do his job, and the statistics show most people are killed by people close to them.”
“Barry wasn’t killed. I mean he wasn’t murdered.” Sugar’s expression darkened as the grief cut him anew. “Poor Barry.” He breathed in. “Is Harry okay?”
“Yeah,” Fair replied. “She’s tough.”
“She was good to call me. You know, she called and asked if I needed help with the horses. No one else did that.”
Fair stepped up into the truck. “She’s a wonderful woman but she doesn’t want anyone to know it.” He smiled, then asked, “Do you need a hand here?”
“I can manage for a while.” Sugar looked out over the white stables of St. James, Mary Pat’s racing colors painted on each support post of the shed row barns. A one-foot band of emerald green with a thin band of gold was in the center, and an even thinner pinstripe of black in the gold enlivened the middle of each post.
“I’ll keep my ears open for affordable help. But call me or Harry. You know we’ll pitch in. We’re all horsemen.” He placed his hand on Sugar’s shoulder.
“One of the reasons we were starting to break even was that we did all the work. Barry was a good hand with a horse.”
“I know,” Fair agreed. “Sugar, I’m really sorry.”
Sugar squinted up at Fair, then shaded his eyes with his palm. “What’s that saying, ‘Life’s a bitch. Then you die’?”
“Something like that.” Fair cut on the motor. “You know where I am. Call if you need me, and, Sugar, it’s okay to need people.”
7
A long blue fingernail with tiny stars and a sliver of moon pointed in Sheriff Rick Shaw’s face. “I didn’t kill him, but I gave it a thought.”
“Miss Gamble, when was the last time you saw Mr. Monteith?”
“You mean Shithead?” A streak of vulgarity ran through the undeniably pretty and petite Carmen Gamble. “And why are you on me like white on rice? An animal killed him. Leave me out of it.”
Rick, a solid presence, leaned toward her. “Carmen, get over yourself.”
He’d known her for years and decided that correct procedure as to proper address wasn’t going to work with her.
She tossed her crimped curls. “Well, I don’t like being a suspect.”
“You just said you thought about killing him; now, calm down and answer my questions. I don’t think you killed him. Does that make you feel better?”
“Why don’t you think I killed him?”
“Because you would have castrated him.” Rick pulled out a cigarette from his Camel pack, offered Carmen one, which she took.
He sat back down in the questioning room at headquarters.
“Okay, the last time I saw Shi—I mean, Barry, was at Georgetown Veterinary Clinic. I was taking Ruffie to see Mrs. Dr. Flynn.” She said “Mrs. Dr.” because Mrs. Virginia Flynn’s husband was also a veterinarian, an equine vet, and one of the most respected men in his field nationally.