horseflesh – you didn’t answer my question, who is going to train Jean Harlow?”
“Aspen, of course.”
“Aspen?”
“Yes, why not.”
“Because he might have been the one who killed Arthur.”
“Tosh, he has an airtight alibi which no one has been able to break. He was at the party next door until he went home. He’s got dozens of witnesses.”
“But that party took place right next door to the Royal Blue Stables. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Aspen didn’t do it,” June countered emphatically. “He didn’t do it. He’s an old man. He would not have had the strength to hoist Arthur up to the rafters. He’s got terrible arthritis. He couldn’t physically have committed that murder.”
“Why do you say that? Do you know who did? Why was Arthur beholden to Aspen?”
“Josiah, don’t spoil my glorious day. I’ve got an offspring from Arthur’s Dancing Ruby and his best friend is going to train Jean Harlow to win the Derby for me. It is the last thing I can do for my darling Arthur.”
Some well wishers came over. June turned and joyfully greeted them. I knew I had been dismissed. That was okay. I needed to think. June was right on one thing. Aspen was too weak to have killed Arthur by strangulation and then have hoisted him to the rafters unless he had had help. Perhaps I should be looking for a younger, stronger man.
21
Comanche was safely ensconced in a stall along with Shaneika, the vet, and myself waiting for Mike Connor’s witchy-woman, Velvet Maddox. Finally we saw dust stirring on the gravel road and soon a beat-up farm truck emerged from a brown cloud to abruptly stop in front of the barn. A spry little elf of a woman, who was no bigger than a worn-out piece of soap, hopped out of the dusty cab carrying a carpetbag. She strode up to the vet. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got beans to pick.”
The vet, startled by this introduction, opened his mouth but no sound came out. He just looked confused.
Shaneika had the presence of mind to say, “This way, please. Comanche is rather feisty today.”
“He won’t be,” assured the little elf. “Animals take to me.”
I followed, sharply observing Velvet Maddox decked out in polyester pants and cheap blouse purchased from a discount store. On her hand, though, was a fabulous emerald ring. Also her white hair was smartly done and her toenails, sticking out from her expensive sandals, were professionally painted. Hmmm, no boots. No boots around a horse? Not a good thing.
Velvet Maddox thought certain items about her life warranted getting the best. Clothes did not fall into that category.
Shaneika opened Comanche’s stall. The black brute came towards his owner, nudging her shoulder for peppermints. Shaneika’s face softened as she gave him some and rubbed his neck.
“Can you walk him up and down for me?” requested Miss Velvet. She watched intently as the horse moved before her.
“I can’t find anything wrong with this horse,” whined the vet. “It is beyond me why he won’t do his best. He just doesn’t have it in him.”
Shaneika shot the vet a dark look. “Shush, he can hear you.”
Miss Velvet sighed. Reaching into her carpetbag, she pulled out two dowsing rods that looked like they had been cut from wire coat hangers. She quickly said a prayer and asked the rods to look for sickness in the horse.
Comanche neighed, looking suspiciously at rods.
“Now hold him tight,” commanded Miss Velvet. She pointed her dowsing rods at the horse in her tiny hands with firm conviction. Starting at the back end, she moved slowly around Comanche’s legs, then his sides, and his middle, underneath his belly. Nothing. The dowsing rods did not move.
The vet smirked.
Then she moved towards his head on the right side. Nothing.
Shaneika looked downcast as she moved under the horse’s neck so Miss Velvet could move on the left side.
With tightened lips, Miss Velvet moved on the left side of the horse’s
“Aspen, of course.”
“Aspen?”
“Yes, why not.”
“Because he might have been the one who killed Arthur.”
“Tosh, he has an airtight alibi which no one has been able to break. He was at the party next door until he went home. He’s got dozens of witnesses.”
“But that party took place right next door to the Royal Blue Stables. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Aspen didn’t do it,” June countered emphatically. “He didn’t do it. He’s an old man. He would not have had the strength to hoist Arthur up to the rafters. He’s got terrible arthritis. He couldn’t physically have committed that murder.”
“Why do you say that? Do you know who did? Why was Arthur beholden to Aspen?”
“Josiah, don’t spoil my glorious day. I’ve got an offspring from Arthur’s Dancing Ruby and his best friend is going to train Jean Harlow to win the Derby for me. It is the last thing I can do for my darling Arthur.”
Some well wishers came over. June turned and joyfully greeted them. I knew I had been dismissed. That was okay. I needed to think. June was right on one thing. Aspen was too weak to have killed Arthur by strangulation and then have hoisted him to the rafters unless he had had help. Perhaps I should be looking for a younger, stronger man.
21
Comanche was safely ensconced in a stall along with Shaneika, the vet, and myself waiting for Mike Connor’s witchy-woman, Velvet Maddox. Finally we saw dust stirring on the gravel road and soon a beat-up farm truck emerged from a brown cloud to abruptly stop in front of the barn. A spry little elf of a woman, who was no bigger than a worn-out piece of soap, hopped out of the dusty cab carrying a carpetbag. She strode up to the vet. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got beans to pick.”
The vet, startled by this introduction, opened his mouth but no sound came out. He just looked confused.
Shaneika had the presence of mind to say, “This way, please. Comanche is rather feisty today.”
“He won’t be,” assured the little elf. “Animals take to me.”
I followed, sharply observing Velvet Maddox decked out in polyester pants and cheap blouse purchased from a discount store. On her hand, though, was a fabulous emerald ring. Also her white hair was smartly done and her toenails, sticking out from her expensive sandals, were professionally painted. Hmmm, no boots. No boots around a horse? Not a good thing.
Velvet Maddox thought certain items about her life warranted getting the best. Clothes did not fall into that category.
Shaneika opened Comanche’s stall. The black brute came towards his owner, nudging her shoulder for peppermints. Shaneika’s face softened as she gave him some and rubbed his neck.
“Can you walk him up and down for me?” requested Miss Velvet. She watched intently as the horse moved before her.
“I can’t find anything wrong with this horse,” whined the vet. “It is beyond me why he won’t do his best. He just doesn’t have it in him.”
Shaneika shot the vet a dark look. “Shush, he can hear you.”
Miss Velvet sighed. Reaching into her carpetbag, she pulled out two dowsing rods that looked like they had been cut from wire coat hangers. She quickly said a prayer and asked the rods to look for sickness in the horse.
Comanche neighed, looking suspiciously at rods.
“Now hold him tight,” commanded Miss Velvet. She pointed her dowsing rods at the horse in her tiny hands with firm conviction. Starting at the back end, she moved slowly around Comanche’s legs, then his sides, and his middle, underneath his belly. Nothing. The dowsing rods did not move.
The vet smirked.
Then she moved towards his head on the right side. Nothing.
Shaneika looked downcast as she moved under the horse’s neck so Miss Velvet could move on the left side.
With tightened lips, Miss Velvet moved on the left side of the horse’s
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