Whisker Of Evil

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.”