Nine Lives To Die

“Kind of white, almost like freezer burn.” Harry described the condition of the fingers to her husband.

She’d called him as soon as Sheriff Shaw and Deputy Cooper released her. Then she drove over to join him at Big Mim’s stables.

Paul Diaz—the wealthy woman’s stable manager, a good-looking man in his mid-thirties—held a mare for Fair.

“Gives new meaning to chicken fingers.” Fair patted the broodmare Dinah on her hindquarters.

Paul laughed as Harry tried not to. “Fair!” she protested.

“Honey, it’s all just too weird. Might as well laugh at it.” He turned to the raven-haired Paul and waved at the horse. “She’s fine. Is Big Mim thinking about breeding her in January?”

He nodded, adding, “She’s not looking to race the foal. She’s more interested in a chaser.”

“Dinah sure has the bloodlines for steeplechasing.” Harry knew the animal. “But you still want to put her under lights and all that to get her ready for January?”

“Or early February. It’s to a Thoroughbred’s advantage to be born as close to January as possible in the new year. December won’t do you a bit of good.” Fair stated a fact well known to racing people.

“Guess not.” Harry sat on a tack trunk.

All Thoroughbred birthdays are registered at the Jockey Club as January 1, regardless of the month in which the animal was foaled. A Thoroughbred born in July would still be registered as being born January 1. So that fellow or filly would have to run against more mature horses foaled early in the year. The problem was that mares generally come into season with springtime, like most other mammals. The season had to be hormonally induced. This was time-consuming, expensive, but it had to be done.

The other wrinkle for Thoroughbreds is that the rules stated the stallion must cover the mare. No artificial insemination is allowed. This means vanning mares to the state in which the stallion stands. For Virginians, that usually meant Kentucky, although West Virginia and Pennsylvania, thanks to legislatures that wanted the equine dollar, now stood some good stallions. Poor Maryland, once a powerhouse, had blown it. People flew out of that beautiful state, taking their horses with them. Politics destroyed a huge industry. Other states took notice.

The three people in Mim’s barn—conversant with this, loving horses—wanted this mare to have a chance at a superior stallion.

As they chatted on, Harry slumped back against the wall, wrapping her arms around her, for the day was cold. “Ever think about how we breed horses with more care than we breed one another?”

“Yep,” Paul replied.

“Seems unfair, doesn’t it?” Harry continued in her line of thought. “If we were as responsible to ourselves as we are to Thoroughbreds, there’d be a lot less hungry, abused children.”

“I give Silver Linings a lot of credit for reaching out to boys with problems.” Fair wrote up his findings on a metal clipboard. “When you see cast-off kids, it hits you.”

Returning from putting the mare in her stall, Paul said, “What’s going to happen to Silver Linings now that Pete is dead? Didn’t he pump a lot of money into that group?”

“He did,” Fair answered. “The hope is some other people step up to the plate. Max de Jarnette has been generous, Coach Toth will call friends he has in the NFL. If he can get a big name attached to this, boy, that will really help.”

“You’re not a member, are you?” Paul asked.

“No. Harry and I go to the fund-raisers, but you can’t do everything, and I am involved in so many equine and animal charities, including the riding for the returning veterans. I just don’t have the time.”

“That riding program is special.” Paul smiled.

“Okay, here’s Dinah’s schedule. Put her under the lights. I’ll check her regularly and we’ll take it from there.”

Fair and Harry walked outside to their respective trucks. Harry’s cell rang.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” She fished it out of her pocket. “Hello, Coop.”

“Where are you?”

“Big Mim’s.”

“Stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Harry closed her phone, relayed the message to Fair.

“Well, I’ve got to get to my next call.” Fair kissed her on the cheek.

“I am not telling her the crack you made about fingers.”

“Good idea. I should be home by six. Maybe even earlier.” As Fair drove out, he waved at Cooper driving in.

“What did I do now?” Harry asked as the lean officer climbed out of her car.

“Nothing.” Cooper looked around. “Hey, get in my squad car. We found Lou Higham. His index and middle fingers are missing from his right hand.”