Backstretch Baby Page 2

  “I’m just helping the women understand American social programs,” Eve said. “There’s a lot of assistance they don’t know about. And they like to practice their English. You should join us in the afternoons. Maybe even learn some Spanish.”

  Ashley’s nose wrinkled. “I’ve tried but my mind always blocks the words.” Then she brightened. “But it might be worth the trouble if it’d help me become a better jockey. Half the time I don’t know what the groom is saying. What they’re telling me about the horse might be important.”

  Eve gave a wry nod. Understanding Spanish would definitely be helpful. Most of the grooms and hotwalkers were from Mexico, Guatemala, Ecuador or Peru. Some were illegal. The jobs were low-paying and grueling, which made it even more compelling to help the Hispanic mothers, many of whom felt totally isolated.

  She reached out and squeezed Ashley’s shoulder. She was responsible for the girl being here. Up until last month Ashley had been hiding her pregnancy from Jackson and his wife, afraid they wouldn’t let her ride anymore. Or even work in their barn. So it had been prudent to whisk her away, before Jackson made any more staff cuts.

  ‘It doesn’t look good for our stable to have pregnant people handling racehorses,’ Victoria had said to Jackson, loud enough for Eve to hear. ‘Owners don’t like it either. Just think of the potential lawsuits.’

  Jackson had just mumbled some appeasement. He’d bent over backwards to accommodate Eve’s pregnancy. But that had been over four years ago, before he’d married Victoria. Things had changed.

  She squared her shoulders and pulled out her phone. Time to call their boss.

  “Are you calling Jackson now?” Ashley backed away, her voice rising in alarm. “Victoria is going to freak. Want me to talk, apologize about the bridles?”

  “No,” Eve said. “That’s my job. Go help Miguel with the wraps. Then start hand walking Stinger. I’ll be along soon to help.”

  Ashley gave a relieved nod and hurried away, clearly confident Eve could handle their boss.

  But as Eve trudged toward the privacy of the picnic tables, she pulled in a fortifying breath, aware it wouldn’t be quite so simple.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jackson answered Eve’s call without any sort of greeting. “How’s it going up there?” he asked. “How did Tizzy work today?”

  Her grip tightened around the phone. “I couldn’t gallop any of the horses,” she said. “Our bridles were stolen.”

  “Dammit. They can’t miss any days, not with two races this weekend.”

  She circled the picnic table. She’d hoped her boss might have some suggestions, something a little more positive. In the old days, he’d been a problem solver, one of the reasons she enjoyed working for him. But it was becoming more and more apparent that this splinter barn was isolated by more than geography.

  “We’ll hand walk them under tack,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “They’re already in good shape.”

  “I suppose,” Jackson said grudgingly. He was silent for a moment. Then he gave a wry snort. “Tizzy is probably broke enough that you can ride him without a bridle.”

  Her fingers loosened a notch. Clearly Victoria wasn’t around. Jackson almost sounded like his old self. “Tizzy’s certainly well trained,” she said. “But the outriders wouldn’t tolerate a bridleless horse.”

  “No,” Jackson said. “They’d write you up for sure. But what happened with the tack. Was the door kicked in?”

  “No. I must have forgotten to lock it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you. Or Miguel.” He made a sound of disgust. “It was Ashley, wasn’t it? I have to let her go.”

  “But she’s pregnant.” Eve’s voice rose. “And she’s a good rider. It’s only three more months. You gave me time.”

  “That was different. You were competent and the barn was making money. Besides, Victoria told me about a trainer who was sued when a pregnant groom was kicked.”

  “I’ll look out for Ashley,” Eve said quickly. “We’re careful here. And all the horses are quiet except for Stinger.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “And the two most important owners really like her,” Eve said. “They might even move their horses if she were fired.”

  She crossed her fingers, uncomfortable with the little lie. Scott Taylor and Dex Tattrie barely knew Ashley. But both men were fair and they wouldn’t want a pregnant groom kicked to the curb. More importantly, Scott’s wife, Megan, was Eve’s sister-in-law, or would have been if Megan’s brother hadn’t died.

  “Bullshit,” Jackson said. “If those men saw how Ashley handles their horses, they’d probably dump me as their trainer. She might be good in the saddle but she’s useless on the ground. And they don’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “True,” Eve said. “But Megan likes her, and like most men, Scott listens to his wife.” She couldn’t keep the accusation from her voice.

  “You don’t understand,” Jackson said. “Victoria wants things: a new truck, bigger house, regular vacations. At least she wants to help out more. She applied for her trainer’s license and even convinced Eddie Blake to ride for us. He had a win yesterday on the Barkeeper colt.”

  Eve’s hand tightened around the phone, almost smothering the small mouthpiece. She’d ridden that colt three times last fall, never finishing better than fourth. No doubt Eddie Blake was one of California’s top jockeys. But if he was riding for Jackson’s barn now—and Victoria wanted to assist with the training—where did that leave Eve? And while it was a relief the topic had switched from pregnant grooms to horses, this certainly wasn’t reassuring news.

  “Wow,” she managed. “A new wife really does change things.”

  “Don’t worry.” Jackson’s voice lowered. “You’ve earned your spot. Ashley and Miguel might have to go, but you’ll always have a job. She can’t change that.”

  A lump clogged Eve’s throat, and she slumped against the picnic table. Jackson was a decent man but Victoria was like water on a rock. And in time, rocks crumbled. Victoria had already changed his name from Jack to Jackson, insisting he needed a more distinguished handle. And the way Jackson was whispering now was totally unsettling, as if he’d already relinquished control.

  “Just make it easy for me,” Jackson went on. “Win some races. Then Victoria will be happy. With her, it’s all about the bottom line.”

  “It’s not that,” Eve said. “She’s insecure, jealous—” She clamped her mouth shut, wishing she wasn’t always so outspoken. Jackson had enough problems dealing with his demanding wife. And Eve wanted them to work it out so his race stable could function smoothly again.

  “We need to find you some bridles,” Jackson said, thankfully ignoring her outburst. “Victoria was a hotwalker there but I don’t know if she still has any contacts. Probably best if you buy what you need. We’re screwed if we lose another day of training.”

  Not him, Eve thought glumly. But she certainly would be.

  “Give me an hour to arrange some credit,” Jackson said, speaking a little faster now, clearly in a hurry to end the call. “There’s a tack store a couple miles south on the highway. Carries everything. Buy what you need to win.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

  “How’s the motel?”

  “We only stayed there the first week,” Eve said. “Ashley qualifies for a dorm room and it’s easier for us to sleep on the grounds.” Especially since some lowlife had lifted Eve’s car battery, leaving her Civic grounded.

  “Our room is close to Miguel and the horses,” she added, hoping to distract him. But what kind of trainer didn’t have a car? She could no longer pick up supplies or help out her staff. However, she didn’t want to tell Jackson about every single problem. It would be total failure to be ordered back to Santa Anita without running a single race.

  “Good,” Jackson said. A woman’s authoritative voice sounded in the background and it was clear his attention had shifted. “Good luck,” he added hurriedly. “K
eep Ashley away from the owners.”

  He cut the connection without asking how Banjo’s back was healing, or if Eve had found a female jockey for Tizzy, or even to help pick out a suitable race. It was probably wise not to bring up race conditions though. Victoria had already insisted Stinger be entered for a mile and an eighth, even though the horse was a dedicated sprinter. Eve didn’t want Victoria picking a poor-fitting race for Tizzy as well.

  She jammed the phone against the palm of her hand and checked over her shoulder. Ashley was trying to lead Stinger around the small ring, in lieu of his morning gallop. But it was debatable who was in control.

  The horse was dragging Ashley around, and she was doing little to correct him. The chain wasn’t wrapped the traditional way around his nose, and the lead shank was too low to be effective. Stinger was a bulldozer, a horse who would take advantage if he could. As usual, Ashley was going to need help. And soon.

  Eve pressed Megan Taylor’s number, trying to squeeze in one more call before she rescued Ashley.

  “I won’t be working Stinger until Wednesday,” Eve said, after dispensing with their usual round of greetings. “But I’ll let you know how he gallops.”

  “Thought you planned to blow him out today,” Megan said. “Is he okay? Is everything all right?”

  “He’s fine,” Eve said. She hadn’t planned to talk about the latest setback, but Megan’s interest was always hard to deflect. And within minutes she’d confided the details of the most recent theft.

  “That track is a den of thieves.” Megan’s voice bristled with indignation. “First they steal your car battery, then the hay and buckets, now the bridles. How can you possibly train? Is that amount of theft normal?”

  “It’s a small track,” Eve said. “Everyone here struggles.” But a wave of misery swept her because it did seem their luck had been unusually bad. It was exhausting trying to put on a brave face for her staff, her boss and the owners, along with the constant worry about when she could send money home to Joey. And she wouldn’t earn anything until the horses did. She gulped, clearing the sudden thickness from her throat.

  “Maybe you should make friends with the security guys,” Megan said. “It would make their day to flirt with a pretty woman trainer. Although you probably prefer thefts to the guards.”

  Eve gave a weak smile. They both understood and accepted her aversion to men in uniform.

  “Seriously though,” Megan added, “just chat them up a bit. Throw them a smile or two. It won’t take much. Just enough so they don’t forget your barn during patrols.”

  Eve wrinkled her nose. Megan was far more pragmatic than she could ever be, even remaining tactful with the cops who’d botched her brother’s murder investigation. But Eve couldn’t pretend to respect someone if she didn’t. People always knew how she felt.

  “Our barn is quite isolated,” she said, trying to be fair. “And the guards are busy with their regular patrols. But we’ll keep the tack room locked. And the feed room. And anything else that can be picked up and carried off.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a very safe place,” Megan said. “Can’t Jackson hire a watchman?”

  “Victoria has him on a tight budget. She’s making changes.”

  “Wives tend to do that,” Megan said. But her laugh sounded troubled. And that wasn’t good. She tended to be over protective, worrying about Eve and Joey, and always rushing in to help.

  It made Eve feel incompetent.

  “We’ll be fine.” She spoke a little more crisply than she intended. It was best to change the subject before Megan suggested that Eve quit the horse industry and start a safer occupation, something like basket weaving or making jewelry.

  “Mom is looking after Joey while I’m up here,” Eve added. “But I’m driving home after the races on Sunday to see him. We can talk more then.”

  Megan hesitated. “I planned to visit my mother this weekend,” she said. “And I was hoping Scott and I could take Joey. I know the timing isn’t good, especially with you working away, but it would mean a lot.”

  Eve jerked away from the picnic table. Megan was Joey’s aunt, and it was important that he spend some time with his other grandmother. She lived on a farm, and Joey always enjoyed the visits. But it meant Eve wouldn’t see her son for two whole weeks, fourteen days that they couldn’t hug and laugh and hold hands.

  “Sure,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “He’ll like that. It’s probably good not to drive home this Sunday anyway. I can stay and guard our stuff. Maybe sleep in the barn and catch the thief.”

  “But you need your rest, especially if you’re galloping all those horses. I’ll have Scott send an investigator.”

  “No need,” Eve said. “I have two grooms and only four horses to ride.”

  “Thought you had six?”

  “I do, but a couple got hurt. The two that were entered to run last week.”

  “So you haven’t even raced yet?”

  “No.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut, hating the reminder. She must be the worst trainer ever.

  “The two horses that were supposed to run last week? They’re the ones that were hurt? That’s weird.”

  “Just bad luck,” Eve said.

  “Maybe,” Megan said, her voice troubled. “But we both know things aren’t always what they seem. I think it’s best if Scott comes up. Checks it out. I’ll talk to him and call you back.”

  “No,” Eve said quickly. “He’d be bored here. And he has an investigative business to run.” She rounded the table in time to see Stinger rear. One of his big hooves waved perilously close to Ashley’s stomach.

  “Maybe someone else then—”

  “Sorry, but I have to go,” Eve said. “I’ll call you back.”

  She didn’t fully exhale until she’d cut the connection and rushed over to grab Stinger’s lead line. Didn’t want to admit that her staff was extremely limited in its capabilities. And that right now Megan and Scott’s unruly horse posed the biggest threat of all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The police dog whined with excitement, his quivering nose pointed at the ground. His handler raised an arm. “We’ve got something,” he called.

  Rick Talbot felt little satisfaction. They’d already recovered a bloody ball cap, and he’d been confident the corpse had been buried beyond the stand of trees. But once again, discovery came too late for the victim. And despair hollowed his chest.

  He pulled his gaze off the sniffer dog and his triumphant handler, gave a brief nod to the lead detective and trudged away from the circle of officials. He was certain there was only one male in that shallow hole, one adult male. But just in case…

  Bile climbed his throat. He swallowed and walked faster, trying to control his reaction.

  A uniformed officer stepped in front of him. “Going to hurl? Think the head is off?”

  Rick gave a non-committal grunt.

  “You’ll get used to it,” the officer said. “This is my fifth. Besides, it’s nothing but bottom feeders in those holes. No sense feeling sorry for them.”

  Rick ignored the man’s blathering. His gaze shot back to the grim knot of people. Already the corpse dog and his handler had been relegated to the fringe of the crime scene, beyond the yellow tape. The black lab sat quietly now, tongue lolling while a man in plastic-covered boots used a spade to scoop away the clinging earth.

  Moments later a foot appeared, a big boot encased in dirt. Had to be at least a size twelve. Definitely an adult. Rick’s breath escaped in a whoosh of relief.

  “Haven’t seen you before,” the garrulous cop went on. “Undercover?”

  “PI,” Rick said.

  The man stiffened. His gaze slid from Rick’s black jacket down to his faded jeans and worn leather boots. When the officer spoke again, his voice rang with fresh authority. “This is a crime scene,” he said. “Secured by LAPD. You need to move back to the road. Immediately.”

  “Trying to,” Rick said mildly. “You’re blocking my way.” />
  The cop’s eyes narrowed. His hand shot to the top of his bulky holster. “What are you doing here? How did you get past security?”

  “Came with the investigators.” Rick flipped open his agency ID. “We supplied the information about the dumping ground.”

  The officer studied the ID with a suspicious expression. Seconds later, his head shot up. “You’re the guy who was involved with the Cache Creek gang? That one with Taylor Agency?” His voice turned hopeful. “Any chance they’re hiring? I heard about their cases. High-octane stuff. Are the rumors about their pay true? I’m single so I don’t mind going deep. A few years of that and I could move to an island...”

  The man’s mouth was still moving but Rick had quit listening. He couldn’t stop looking at the corpse. Fortunately, it was intact. But like all bodies, it shared a peculiar flatness, a distinct smell. And dirt always made them look pitiful, smaller somehow. Even if they were already small.

  A familiar band tightened around his chest. He struggled to breathe through his mouth, but couldn’t suck in enough oxygen. The air was too clotted with dirt and death and decay. Even the grass was ugly, a greenish brown with tips bleached to bone white.

  His forehead prickled with sweat, trembles starting in his hands and then moving inward, and the vise around his ribs turned suffocating.

  “Gotta report back,” he managed. He jammed his hands in his pockets and shouldered past the officer.

  He fled up the hill, away from the eager technicians, the smug detectives and that sad broken body. Retreated toward the dented Mazda with mismatched tires and three bullet holes in the trunk.

  His chest still ached but at least the air here was cleaner. Eventually his heart stopped its frantic banging and it was no longer necessary to fight for his next breath. He even dared to pull his shaking hands from his pockets.