Saddle Up for Murder Page 6

  “I understand you didn’t get along with Mr. Sperling. What was the problem?”

  Eric furrowed his brows. “My problem with Derrek Sperling was well over a year ago. I claimed a horse from him. He didn’t like it. He wanted to buy the horse back. I didn’t want to sell. He got mad and took a swing at me. He came out on the losing end. That’s about it.”

  “And you never had another issue with him?”

  “Nope.”

  The detective glanced around the table. “How about your family members? Did any of them have any problems with Mr. Sperling?”

  “Kate? Mike? Any problems with Derrek Sperling?” Both Kate and Mike took their attention away from the monitors to shake their heads no. Detective Landry looked to Vic, but his coarse expression never budged.

  Fiona could see Nathan still watching the redhead askance. She’d moved to the other side of the pillar. Her wary gaze met Vic’s obstinate sneer. She averted her gaze immediately. Detective Landry continued, “Did Mr. Sperling get into a lot of scuffles over horses?”

  “Eh, we all do, just the way things go sometimes. He bought and sold horses a lot. I heard he sold Charlatan just the other day. I would’ve bought that horse from him, and I offered him a fair price. But it seemed he wanted the horse to be sold outside of Mountaineer,” Eric explained.

  “Why would that be?”

  Eric leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “Maybe he didn’t want another trainer here at the Mountain to win with Charlatan, or maybe the horse wasn’t his to sell.” Just then a starting-bell rang, loudly. Straightening, Vic pushed away from the pillar to get a better view of a monitor. The Wests, along with everyone else in the clubhouse, froze, their eyes locked on the flat screens. The starting gates flung open and the horses exploded from their post positions. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. No one moved, no one spoke. Everyone’s attention was solely focused on the race. Yelling drifted in from outside, urging the Thoroughbreds to move ahead and the jockeys to push them forward but inside, not a sound, not a movement.

  After what seemed like fifteen minutes, the horses crossed the finish line and the room burst with noise, joy, disappointment, accompanied by several bitter accusations. A bona fide smile stretched Vic’s craggy lips. He slapped Eric on the back. “Way to go, Eric!”

  Kate and Mike raised their palms to high-five their father.

  “That was your horse that just won?” Detective Landry asked.

  “Yes, it was,” Eric replied with an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face.

  “Well, how about that? Congratulations. Must feel good when your horse wins a race.”

  “Best feeling in the world, Detective.”

  “And that was Jillian Jewel riding the horse, right?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “She’s a pretty successful rider then?” the detective inquired.

  “Jillian is proving to be quite a good rider, yes.”

  “Did Mr. Sperling’s horses win much?”

  “Derrek won his fair share of races,” Eric supplied. Several people passed by the table, patting Eric on the back as they passed. “I’m fairly sure Jillian rode most of his horses. As a matter of fact, I think she was the main rider on the horse you were asking about, Charlatan. Kate, you’re fairly well acquainted with Jillian, did she ride Charlatan most of the time?”

  “Yes. Actually, it seemed to me she was very devoted to that horse. Anytime Doc Spears and I were called to the stable to vet Charlatan, it was Jillian who met with us to discuss his care. She seemed to be more concerned for the horse than Sperling, anyway,” Kate stood. “Well, congratulations, Dad. Doc will be expecting me. So, it’s back to work. See ya at home.” With that, the pretty blonde collected what looked like a medical bag from the floor and then made her way through the crowd.

  Mike pushed up from his seat too. “I’d better be on my way too. I’ll see ya back at the barn when you’re done here, Dad.” He nodded at the detective. “Nice to meet you, Detective Landry.” He smiled politely at Fiona, then followed his sister out of the clubhouse.

  Detective Landry asked Eric, “What did you mean by, maybe Charlatan wasn’t Derrek Sperling’s horse to sell?”

  Out of nowhere, Vic slammed his hand down on the table making Eric and Fiona flinch. Steady in his seat, Detective Landry locked eyes with the old jockey, as he blurted out, “Cuz he ain’t no gentleman. He’s a cheater, and this time it got him killed!”

  Letting out an impatient breath, Eric glared at the old man. “Don’t you have some horses to take care of at the barn, Vic?”

  Vic met Eric’s gaze filled with reprimand. Clenching down on his jaw, he mustered up his composure, pitched the detective a default glower, then limped away.

  Blowing out his impatience while shaking his head, Eric turned back to the detective. “Sorry about that. Vic’s always had a bad temperament. Here’s the deal, Mountaineer Racetrack has a healthcare and a retirement program for the employees who work the backside of the racetrack, the barn area, like pony riders, grooms, security, the guys who work the gate, and the jockeys too. But, here’s the catch, none of those employees are permitted to own a racehorse, or they will lose their healthcare and retirement benefits.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, for example, if a jockey in a race owns the number four horse, but was riding the six horse, how hard do you think he’d try to win against his own horse?”

  The detective smiled. “Conflict of interests.”

  “That’s right. Now, how many people do you think secretly own racehorses and have arrangements with trainers to train, race, and keep their horses in their stable? In other words, the Thoroughbred is registered to a trainer but is actually covertly owned by a groom or a jockey or a pony rider. Now, if that trainer would have a mind to sell said horse, what could that person do? Not a thing, because on paper the horse belongs to the trainer. Basically, they have absolutely no recourse. If they admit to owning the horse, they lose all their benefits, and believe me, just like everyone else, they need healthcare benefits for their families.”

  Detective Landry fell back against his chair. “Whoa, there’s a whole lot more to horseracing than racing a horse.” Still keeping the redhead in his sights, he leaned over the table. “Is that what you think happened? Mr. Sperling sold Charlatan out from underneath someone?”

  Eric West pushed away from the table. “I’m a horse trainer, not a detective, but it’s a possibility.”

  Detective Landry shook his head. “I’m always amazed at the things people will kill for—a woman, money, and in this case, a horse.”

  Eric smiled. “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.”

  “Churchill?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Ah. Now, Mr. Sperling’s horse will be in a later race, correct?”

  “I’m afraid not, Detective. The horse was scratched from the race. Not surprising, considering the circumstances,” Eric explained.

  “Who has the power to scratch his horse from a race?”

  “I can’t help you there. I have no idea who is in charge of his estate, Gwena, perhaps? I don’t know what their arrangement was in the divorce. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I have horses to tend to.” He reached across the table to shake Nathan’s hand.

  “Of course, thanks for the information, Mr. West. You were most helpful and congratulations again on the win.” The detective watched Eric take several strides, then he called out, “Mr. West, can I ask you one more question?”

  Eric turned. “I suppose.”

  Detective Landry closed the distance between them. “Have you ever secretly trained a horse for a track employee?”

  Eric grinned. “That would be a secret, Detective Landry.”

  The detective chuckled. “Oh, yeah, I suppose it would.”

  SEVEN

  “Okay, now what?” Fiona asked as a preoccupied Nathan perused the clubhouse. Fiona grinned and jerked her chin toward the gla
ss doors leading to the indoor paddock area. “The redhead went thatta way, Detective.”

  “The redhead’s name is Devyn Youngwood. I haven’t had a real opportunity to talk with her. Now seems like a good a time. She acted like she wanted to talk. Ever been to the backside of a racetrack?”

  “The backside? No, I don’t believe I have. Sounds…intriguing, I think.”

  “According to Mr. Sperling’s ex-wife, the backside is where he spent most of his time. I have to think it’s also where most of his business associates spend their time. Along with Ms. Youngwood, we’ll see who else we bump into.”

  Fiona made a big show of shuddering. “I hope we don’t bump into that nasty old man, Vic Deveaux.”

  The right side of Nathan’s mouth curved upward. “Funny, I hope we do.”

  The dusk-to-dawn lanterns stationed on the long barns provided an eerie glow to the backside. Conversations and laughter wafted from the barns. Pumped up Thoroughbreds trotted alongside horses with riders who led them through the barn area. A cautious Nathan positioned his body between the horse traffic and Fiona. Other than the lanterns lighting the roadways, Derrek Sperling’s stable was dark.

  “Isn’t that Devyn Youngwood ahead?” Fiona asked.

  In the distance, the young redhead hurried into Derrek Sperling’s stable. Devyn appeared not only to be in a rush, but she glanced around stealthily before she entered the barn.

  “Sure is.” Nathan swept his arm across Fiona’s body. “Hold up. We’ve got a group of horses coming. We need to let them pass.” They stepped aside to allow a cluster of horses with riders leading Thoroughbreds up the hill toward their respective stables. After the rather large group passed, Nathan and Fiona made their way toward Derrek Sperling’s stable. They climbed the crumbling cement stairs that led to the shed-row. “Careful,” he warned. They stepped into the dimly lit stable. The horses’ attention was immediately drawn to the unexpected, unknown visitors. Several of the animals knickered quietly. Nathan called out, “Hello…is anyone here?”

  Fiona let go a gasp. “Oh, aren’t they beautiful? So, majestic.” Letting go of Nathan’s hand, she made her way down the shed-row to get better acquainted with the horses.

  “The romance of horses. Be careful. Keep your distance. We don’t know anything about horses.” Nathan cautioned. Slowly, he walked in the opposite direction, calling out, “Is anyone here? Ms. Youngwood.”

  “I just want to get a little closer.” Fiona’s words were filled with awe. “They’re so big. Hey, I’m a city girl, I’ve never been this close to a horse before.” She inched her way toward a bay horse, and ever so slowly reached her hand up to stroke his muzzle. The horse’s jaw moved, and Fiona jerked her hand away. Realizing the horse meant no harm, she smiled then moved farther down the row.

  The sound of fast pounding hooves in the short distance brought Detective Landry to attention. He whirled around in time to see a massive horse gallop around the corner. The Thoroughbred was loose, and it was most obvious the animal was spooked, it came charging down the shed-row. Lifting their heads, the horses in the stalls whinnied, shook their heads, and danced in place.

  “Fiona!” Nathan cried out as he dashed down the row toward her as fast as his legs would move. The horse was gaining, and it didn’t appear that it cared who or what was in its path! “Fiona!” he yelled again. Wide-eyed, she spun around just as he dove atop her knocking her into an empty stall. The panicked horse galloped past, down the shed-row and around the corner.

  “Loose horse on the backside!” people began to yell throughout the stables. “Heads up! Loose horse on the backside!”

  Nose to nose with the strawberry blonde, Nathan asked, “Are you okay?”

  Fiona opened her eyes. She whispered, “I think so…but…I think I might’ve landed in…” Nathan pushed up to offer his hand. Fiona grimaced as he pulled her from the dirty straw. She cringed when she looked down to see the right thigh of her jeans covered in wet brown dung. Yep, she’d landed in a pile of horse manure. “Ugh! I landed in a pile of poop!”

  “Happy landings,” Nathan muttered.

  Her gaze meeting his, and she added, “Run.”

  “Your happy landing and my unscheduled run was no accident. I guess our fortune cookies really were trying to tell us something.”

  Trying to wipe away the muck without touching it, Fiona groused, “I couldn’t agree more. Derrek Sperling may have been murdered in Allegheny County, but we’ve come to the right place to find his killer, Detective.”

  “One thing’s for sure, we can eliminate, Devyn Youngwood from our list of suspects.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because someone already has.” Nathan hitched his chin toward a dead body in the far crook of the stall—Devyn Youngwood.

  Fiona sagged against the stall wall. “Oh, no.”

  Nathan shuffled through the deep straw toward the limp body curled in the corner. He pressed his fingers to the girl’s neck, let out a defeated sigh, then pulled his cell from his pocket and began to dial. “Sheriff Paxton…Detective Landry here, we’ve got a situation at the Mountain.”

  It wasn’t terribly long before the backside of the racetrack was a bustle of police activity. The entire stable area had been put on lock-down, while management closed down the racetrack, asking all patrons to evacuate, encouraging them to resume with off-track wagering at the casino a short distance away. A gentle drizzle had begun to fall as two Hancock County police officers strung crime scene tape across the entrances to Derrek Sperling’s barn.

  Sheriff Paxton was kind enough to allow Fiona to sit on a bale of straw just inside one of the entrances to the barn, it was the farthest entrance from the stall where Devyn Youngwood’s body lay. Silently, she watched CSI’s dart in and out of the stable, ducking under the awful yellow crime scene tape, carrying their black boxes to and from their van. Detective Landry and Sheriff Paxton had gone into the crime scene area over an hour ago and had not returned. The drizzle had graduated into a steady rain making the night that much drearier.

  “Please, Officer, let us in. That’s our daughter!” Fiona heard a woman wail through the dark and the damp.

  “I’m sorry ma’am, I’m not allowed to let anyone into a crime scene,” the officer explained.

  Fiona jumped up to hurry over to the woman and the man huddled under an umbrella. “Please, Officer, is there somewhere dry Mr. and Mrs. Youngwood can wait for information?”

  Just then Sheriff Paxton and Detective Landry came around the corner. “Can you take Ms. Quinn and the Youngwood’s to the cafeteria? Maybe they can have some coffee?” Detective Landry suggested.

  The officer looked to Sheriff Paxton for permission. He was hesitant. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Detective Landry.”

  “Believe me, Sheriff, if there’s one person we want to talk with the victim’s parents, it’s Fiona. People tend to trust her.”

  The sheriff studied the detective for a moment. His mouth curved upward. “That may be a very good idea.” His cell phone rang as he pulled it from his pocket, and he turned back toward the officer. “Take them down to the cafeteria, but stay with them. Excuse me,” he said as he stepped away, pressing the phone to his ear.

  Fiona’s gaze met Detective Landry’s. Wearing a svelte smile, he tossed her a confident wink. The officer escorted Fiona and Devyn’s parents to a nearby cruiser and drove them a short stretch to a dimly lit building. They quickened through the rain and into the small restaurant where most of the chairs were upside-down on top of the tables. Fiona practically took a step backward when she saw Vic Deveaux talking with an older rather tubby man with silver hair, wearing a stained apron near the lunch counter.

  Without glancing over his shoulder, the man announced, “We’re closed.” Vic’s expression caused the man to turn, and his stern tone melted away. Quickly, he made his way toward the Youngwood’s, while Vic quickly snatched up a Styrofoam cup and made his way out the door.

  “Joyce…Marty…
I’m so sorry. Vic just told me. What a terrible thing to happen in the stables.” He took the grieving couple into his embrace. “Please, have a seat. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee. You stay as long as you need.” He grabbed chairs from the nearest table and stood them upright. As he hastened toward a door at the back of the room, he pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his apron. He had the phone to his ear by the time he pushed through the door, which revealed the kitchen.

  Fiona and the Youngwood’s sat at the table, while the officer grabbed a chair off a table closer to the door and eased down. This was the first real opportunity Fiona had to take in the couple’s faces. Joyce looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had an aged weathered look about her. The wrinkles and lines etched on her face were signs of a hard-working woman. Martin appeared as worn as his wife. His hands were big and calloused and a bit twisted from arthritis.

  “Are you a policewoman?” Joyce asked trying to suppress her whimpers.

  Fiona could see the heartbreak in their eyes. She knew she had to tread gently. “No. My name’s Fiona. I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Youngwood. Your daughter must have loved horses very much to work so closely with them.”

  “Oh, yes. Our Devyn loved horses. She was in 4-H. Ran barrels at the local shows. She was hopin’ to become a veterinarian’s assistant someday. Not just because of horses, mind you, Devyn loved dogs and cats too. She was always draggin’ some stray home, that girl was. We didn’t mind. I didn’t want her workin’ at the track, it can be a dangerous place.” Her voice trailed off. She managed to gather up enough composure to ask, “Do you know how she died?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. Do you know anyone who might want to hurt your daughter?”

  Joyce and Martin’s eyes met, then Martin managed, “There was a jockey who took a liking to her. She wasn’t really interested. At least that’s what she told us. She had her sites on goin’ to school in the fall. Like Joyce said, she wanted to work with a vet, not necessarily at the track, she just wanted to work with animals.”