mind feels like that.â
âWhat? I mean, whatâs whirling around?â
âJorgeâs body temperature.â He exhaled. âGiven that his temperature was pretty close to ninety-eight point sixâdidnât have a thermometer, but he felt normal to the touchâwhat keeps going round in my head is, was this a planned execution or a crime of opportunity?â
âThe storm and loss of power sure were convenient,â Harry said.
âHelp me place everyone. Joan and her folks were with us. Larry, Manuel, and Jorge were getting horses ready, I assume.â
âLarry and Manuel were on the rail when Renata rode Shortro.â
âRight. Where were the other trainers?â
âDonât know. Ward was on the rail. He had someone in the class. Charly wasnât there. Guess he didnât want to see Renata ride, or maybe he had someone in the next class, junior exhibition three-gaited show pleasure. I know Booty had a kid in the class, because we saw him in the practice ring with her when we first came to the show grounds yesterday. If he was there we missed him, but, Fair, the place had so many people it was like ants at a picnic.â
She sounded sleepy. âIâll read my program in the morning to double-check clients, though. Seems to me what matters is the double cross. Noticed Sheriff Howlett questioning the Mexican workers.â
âSure are a lot of them,â Fair idly commented. âSeems like the number doubled since the first day.â
âBig show. All hands on deck.â
âBig show. Workers shipped in.â
Mrs. Murphy opened one eye.
âBig profit, too, I bet.â
âWhat are you fussing about, pussycat?â Harry, warm now, pulled her arm from underneath the covers to stroke the catâs silky forehead.
âDoesnât matter.â
Mrs. Murphy closed her eyes again.
âPretty much everyone was on the rail, except for the grooms and trainers getting horses and clients ready for the next class.â Harry returned to who was where partly because she was losing steam and losing track of the conversation. âWatching Renata and Shortro. Great guy, Shortro.â
âWhoever killed Jorge had ice water in his veins. Cut it close.â He stopped. âBad pun, sorry.â
âMmm.â
âYou falling asleep?â
âIâm resting my eyes,â she fibbed.
Fair glanced at the animals and his wife. âIâm wide-awake.â
âDrink milk.â
Mrs. Murphy opened her eyes again, offering good advice.
He smiled at the cat. âYouâre listening to me.â
âIâm trying, but Iâm pretty sleepy, too.â
âThis is my point: if Queen Esther was stolen in the open, Joanâs pin, as well, and Jorge was killed in the blink of an eyeâif these things were in the open, whatâs hidden?â
âFair, youâre starting to think like Harry.â
Mrs. Murphy sighed.
B loodlines have signatures, right?â
âRight.â Joan made a pot of coffee and a pot of tea while Harry cut into a big coffee cake as they sat in Joanâs kitchen.
âCertain animals breed true. You can spot their get.â Harry used the word meaning âoffspring.â âIn the past the credit usually went to the stallion, but the mare is as important, if not more so.â
âActually, the latest research is leaning more toward the mare, but who knows? Iâve bred horses all my life, and if it were a matter of brains,â Joan tapped her head, âIâd be right one hundred percent of the time.â
âKnow what you mean. Your foundation sire, Denmark, foaled in 1839, consolidated the look and the action of the Saddlebred, you think?â Harry enjoyed the soft light flooding through the kitchen window.
âHarrison Chief, too; he was foaled in 1872.â Joan listened to the coffeepot burble. âBut like the Thoroughbred, thereâs
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