Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

CHAPTER 16

A stiff breeze swept across the front of the main Broad Creek Stables barn. Patches of snow dotted pastures facing north. Otherwise, the mud-brown landscape offered no promise of spring, not even an early crocus.

Phil stood next to Sister and Tootie while Phil’s manager, Ignatius, trotted a yearling.

“Let-down hocks aren’t going to be a problem foxhunting and they might not even be a problem racing.” Phil pushed his gloved hands into the pockets of his down jacket, as he focused on the hind legs. “But racing, as you know, can be hard. I’d rather not see him end up there.” He broke into a smile. “He’ll have a wonderful life as a hunter.”

Sister replied, “Conformation is always worth studying. We’ve all seen horses with less than perfect conformation who were fabulous winners. Seattle Slew for starters. Ignatius”—she smiled at him—“hold him up a minute.”

Sister walked over to the colt with Tootie. Phil stayed put. The older woman touched the youngster on the neck, ran her fingers down his neck, then over the muscles on both sides of his spine. He didn’t flinch, nor did he move away from her. She continued over his hindquarters, felt his stifle, then stepped back. She returned to his front, knelt down and ran her hands, gloves off, down each leg, then picked up a hoof. The colt stood calmly. She moved to the rear, picked up the hind hooves.

Coming back to his head, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a delicious peppermint, which he happily ate off her palm. She liked that he had been handled, had ground manners. Quality was already there: bone, a wonderful sloping shoulder, a good frame. He would muscle up naturally if he came to Roughneck Farm, and with no steroids.

She never asked Phil if he used steroids or doses of growth hormone. They were illegal but not that hard to get. Walking up and down hills, running around the huge pastures, gave youngsters a solid foundation. At three, a horse would begin to learn his trade. Sister rarely hunted a horse until the animal was four. She preferred five. Like people, some mature more quickly than others, but she believed in bringing a horse along slowly, no drugs. Usually the horse told her when he was ready, and she listened.

This handsome one looked at her with a large soft eye, nickered, and was rewarded with another peppermint.

“What’s his name?”

“Midshipman.”

“Your Navigator line then?”

Phil nodded. “Yes, so you know he has stamina.”

“I do.” She patted him on the neck, offered one more peppermint.

Ignatius returned Midshipman to his field.

The horses at pasture had large three-sided run-in sheds, backs to the wind. They were warm enough. Phil always had them deep in straw. Once in work, they would get their own stall, plus plenty of turn-out in the pastures.

After Midshipman thundered across his large paddock to join his friends, Phil waited as Ignatius brought out another three-year-old. Sister carefully watched the colt move. He was fluid.

“Okay,” Phil called. “Trot him right toward the Master.”

Ignatius did, then turned and trotted the horse about 16.1 hands away from her.

“Tracks well,” Tootie said low.

By this she meant his legs didn’t flay out to the side, nor did he have an odd way of moving. As Sister would say, “Has a hitch in his giddy-up.”

Then Ignatius slowly trotted the horse in a circle in each direction.

After this, Sister checked out the colt just as she had with Midshipman.

“So, Phil, you gelded him.”

“I did. He’s sort of a number-two guy, you know? I figured he’d be better off gelded with other geldings. We broke him, worked him on the track, and truthfully, he’s slow.”

She laughed. “Your slow isn’t my slow.”

“Exactly.” He laughed, too. “Both of these boys have good minds, manners. No one is afraid, rolling their eyes, avoiding people. They’re curious. When I mentioned these fellows to you I was way wrong about their ages. Both are three years old.”

“What do you want for them?” asked Sister.

“Come on into my office, get out of this cold and we’ll talk.”

Sister glanced at Tootie. They briskly followed Phil through the stable and into his wood-paneled office. How good it felt to be warm.

“Sit down, ladies. Anything to drink?”

“No. Don’t butter me up, Phil. Oh, what’s the three-year-old’s name?”

“How do you know I wasn’t offering you coffee or tea? I know liquor won’t work.” He smiled genially as he peeled off his coat. “The three-year-old’s name is Matchplay. He’s got that Wimbledon blood if you go back a bit. He’s pretty easygoing.”

“Okay. How much?”

“Well, I’ve put time and money into the boys. They’re sweet guys. I’ll send them over. You live with them for a month. If you like, Sister, how about two thousand dollars apiece?”

“Phil, that’s generous.”

“Not so generous, Sister. With the economy the way it is, you can’t give away horses. I try to help out the Thoroughbred Retirement Fund, as I know you do, too. It’s depressing but I figured you’d hit it off with these two. They’re your kind of horses. Mostly I’m trying to get back what I put in. I’ll never recoup the stud fees but two thousand dollars covers food, trimming, and shots.”

“I appreciate that. Let me think it over. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Before she could rise, she heard a heavy thud from the secretary’s office next door.

“Dammit!” Mercer’s voice grumbled.

A woman’s voice could be heard, Phil’s secretary. “Mercer, sit down. I’ll pick it up.”

Phil rose. “Excuse me a minute.” Opening the door between the two offices, Phil stuck his head in the other one. “Are you mistreating Georgia?”

Georgia’s voice carried. “Mistreating me. He’s a pain in the ass. Look what he’s done to my office.”

“Oh, Georgia, I have books spread out,” said Mercer. “It’s not that bad. I’ll put everything away.”

“Phil, why did you tell him he could go through records from the early years? I could strangle you.”

Phil laughed. Mercer and Georgia could be heard laughing, too.

Sister couldn’t stand it so she got up to position herself in the opened door. “Georgia, strangling is too good for him. Did you hear what he did on the hunt yesterday?”

“I did and Sister, you were too kind to him. Should have thrashed him with your whip. Or tied him to a tree.”

“We could still do that,” Phil offered.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mercer sat down at the small second desk. “Well, Sister, I’ve been busy, so before you all sit in judgment of me”—he stared hard at Georgia—“I found the cost of Benny Glitters’s slate slab, the bill for the engraving, and the bill for shipping. And, best of all, the cost of Harlan Laprade’s travel to Lexington, Kentucky, with the memorial slab.”

Phil folded his arms across his chest. “Anything else?”

“I was looking for lodging.”

“Mercer, obviously Harlan went to the house of ill repute,” said Phil. “I really doubt my grandfather would note that in the official records. He wouldn’t put in a rate for lodging, I just know it.”

“Oh, hell, Phil, none of us know what our grandfathers would countenance. I just wanted to see what the slate cost. For giggles, I went to the old studbooks—on the computer, of course—and pulled up Benny Glitters’s pedigree. Blue chip. Too bad he washed out at the track.”

“A lot do.”

“Yeah, but Domino for a sire?”

Phil listened. “Mercer, you’d better put everything back in its place. If you don’t, I have to hear about it from Georgia.”

“You can hear about it now.” She threw a paper clip at Mercer.

“Oh, Georgia, you just want my attention.”

“I’ve got it.”

Phil closed the door. “I must have been out of my mind to let him root through the old account books and files.”

“Phil, Mercer can talk a dog off a meatwagon.” Sister laughed.

“Yes, and I had imbibed entirely too much wine.” He sighed. “I suppose I hoped he would wear himself out with this research stuff; 1921 was a long time ago and he isn’t going to find anything to help him solve what happened. And for all we know,” Phil whispered, “Harlan Laprade may have deserved it. He inflamed someone’s anger. I’m not going to say that to Mercer, and I sure won’t say it to Daniella. She orders him about. She orders me about.”

Sister couldn’t help but laugh, which made Phil laugh, too. “There are people who leave an indelible impression.”

Phil’s eyes brightened. “She used to swing a cricket paddle at us. Oh, yes, she’d come to the barns because we’d usually be here after school and she was ready for any manner of boyish wrongdoing. Neither of us liked school. We went to different ones, of course. I don’t know whose was worse, mine, which was private and cost Dad an arm and a leg or his, public.” He frowned. “Another trip down Memory Lane. I’ve heard so much about Mercer’s family, now I’m doing it. Hey, let me get Georgia to run off the pedigrees of Midshipman and Matchplay.”

Phil opened the office door again and Sister and Tootie heard, “I haven’t done a thing. Stop checking up on me.”

“This has nothing to do with you. Georgia, run off the pedigrees of Midshipman and Matchplay.”

The sound of a chair being rolled could be heard, then Mercer appeared in the door frame.

“Sister, aren’t those two good-looking horses?” he asked.

“Yes, they are.”

“I admire you for looking at young horses. Means you think you’ll live a long time.” He ducked back into the office before she could say something.

Driving to the farm, Sister smiled as Tootie read the pedigrees. “I hope I’ll live a long time.”