Рита Браун - Murder She Meowed

"I'm fine. How long till the next race?"

"Half hour. Just about," Jim answered her.

"I need a co—cola."

"You need something," Larry joked. "You're breathing like a freight train. Why don't you come to my office Monday? How long's it been since you had a checkup?"

"Larry, I'm fine. I had a little tête-à-tête with Boom Boom."

"Say no more." He smiled and as the two men drove off, Jim said, "Did she say tit a tat?"

"No." Larry laughed loudly. "Jim, you're just a redneck with money."

Jim grunted. "Sounded like body parts to me, good buddy."

"Mom, I'm hungry."

"Tucker, stop yapping, you're getting on my nerves."

"You've had a ham biscuit and I haven't had anything since breakfast." The aroma from the food tents drove Tucker to distraction.

Harry checked her watch. Twenty minutes. She dashed into a tent, grabbed fried chicken, a small container of coleslaw, another one of beans, one cold Coke, and a big cup of hot tea with a plastic cover on it.

As Harry threaded her way through the crowd, she passed the jockeys' tent. A commotion stopped her. The flap of the tent opened to reveal colorful silks on hangers dangling from a rope strung across the tent. Ace bandages, caps, and socks were tossed on low benches.

Nigel, close-cropped black hair gleaming in the sun, charged out. Chark Valiant charged out after him.

"Leave him alone," Addie called after her brother. She opened the tent flap, sticking her head through. She hadn't finished changing and couldn't come all the way out.

"Shut up, Adelia." Chark pushed her head back behind the flaps, then twirled on the young man. "You flaming phony—you don't fool me. If my sister weren't a Valiant, you wouldn't give her the time of day."

Addie popped her head back out of the tent as a florid Mickey Townsend bore down on the scene from one direction.

Arthur Tetrick leaned out of the top of the two-story finish-line tower. "Mickey, don't—" He shut up, realizing he'd cause a bigger scene.

The jockey kept walking away from Chark, who grabbed him by the right shoulder, spinning him around.

"Stop it." Nigel's voice was clipped and furious.

"You stay away from my sister."

"She's old enough to make her own decisions."

Chark shook his finger in Nigel's face. "You want her money, you lying sack of shit."

"Bugger off," Nigel growled.

Chark hauled off to hit him but Mickey Townsend grabbed Chark from behind, pulling him back. "Settle this later."

Chark twisted his head to see Mickey as Nigel returned to Addie, who'd stuck her head out of the tent again. He slipped into the tent with her as three other jockeys slipped out.

"Takes one gold digger to know another." Chark struggled.

Mickey, square-built and powerful, continued dragging him away. "Shove it."

Arthur, who had hurried down from the tower, approached the two men. "Mickey, I'll take over from here."

"Suit yourself." Mickey unleashed his iron grip on the young man.

"Thank you for defusing an embarrassing situation." Arthur grabbed Chark's elbow.

"Yeah, sure." Mickey inclined his handsome, crew-cut head, then ambled back to the paddock.

"Charles, this will not do," Arthur sternly admonished him.

"I'll kill that creep."

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward. ' 'The more resistance you offer, the more irresistible he becomes. Besides, Adelia's a baby. She's not going to date men you find attractive."

"I don't find men attractive," Chark sassed back.

"A slip of the tongue. You know what I mean." Arthur draped his arm over Chark's shoulder. "Calm down. Ignore this absurd romance. If you do, it will die of its own accord." The horses were now in the paddock. "Tell you what, after the races I have to fax in the paperwork to National from the big house. Take everyone maybe an hour. How about if I meet you at the Keswick Club for a drink? We can talk this over then. Okay? Then we'll look in on Mim's party or she'll banish us to Siberia."

"Okay," Chark replied, trying to settle his churning emotions. "But I just don't get it."

Arthur chuckled. "That's what makes the world go 'round. They don't think like we do—"

Chark interrupted. "They don't think."

"Be that as it may, men and women see the world quite differently. I've got to climb back up to my perch. Keswick Club at eight."

"Yeah." Chark smiled at the man who had become his surrogate father, then headed to the paddock where Addie, already up on a rangy bay called Chattanooga Choo, ignored his approach.

Nigel, in orange silks with three royal blue hoops, rode a striking chestnut beside her as they walked the horses around.

Chark sighed deeply, deciding not to give his sister instructions for the third race. She usually ignored them anyway.

Harry jogged back to her position, nodding to friends as she weaved her way through the dense throng. As they spied the official's badge, they waved her on, a few calling that they'd drop by to see her. She wondered what it was about romantic energy or sexual energy that made everybody crazy, producing a scene like the one she had just witnessed.

She returned to the east gate jump, sat down, and opened her tea. A plume of steam spiraled upward.

"Mother!" Tucker's voice rose.

"Beggar." Harry tore off a piece of hot chicken which Tucker gobbled. "Fat beggar."

"I'm not a beggar, but I can't reach the tables and you can. And I'm not fat. Fat is Pewter." Tucker aptly described the gray cat who worked at Market Shiflett's convenience store next to the post office in Crozet. Pewter couldn't come to the races either, doubling Tucker's supreme satisfaction.

The announcer called out post time. Harry started eating as fast as Tucker. She hadn't realized how famished she was, but she'd been up since five that morning with only a few bites to sustain her.

Each morning Harry fed her three horses, then turned them out into the pasture. She left marshmallows for the possum who lived in the hayloft. Then she'd feed her pets . . . but sometimes she forgot to feed herself. Mrs. Murphy, apart from a good breakfast, had a huge bowl of crunchies in mixed flavors. Usually Harry left open the animal door that she had installed in her back kitchen door. The screen door off the screened-in porch, which ran the length of the kitchen, was easy for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker to push open. But this morning she had closed up the animal door, deciding she'd keep Mrs. Murphy in the house since the cat had been known to follow the car. By the time she left to fetch Mira, she'd put in three hours of hard work on the farm.

The trumpet call to the third race made Harry eat even faster. She rinsed the food down with tea and Coke.

"Got any left?"

"Tucker, get your nose out of that cup."

"Just curious."

Harry brushed herself off, picked up her debris, and stood at her position.

She heard a crack, then a double shot fired. False start. Those wore on the nerves of riders and horses. The announcer called out the renewed lineup. "Horses in position. They're off!" The third race, the Noel Laing Stakes, two and a half miles over brush, was the second biggest race of the day, with a purse of $30,000—60 percent to the winner.

The crowd yelped in anticipation. The horses charged out of sight and Harry heard the rumble of hooves, the ground shaking like Jell-O. The leader, a bright bay, was way ahead of the others. Every one cleared her fence, although one horse faltered. The jockey pulled up, his green silks with a blue cross already pasted with sweat to his body.

Harry knew this race was two and a half miles long. The horses would be around again in a few minutes. She ran out to the jockey, Coty Lamont.