Thrice Familiar

by Carolyn Haines

  “It might be best not to speak of it,” Timmy said hesitantly. “Talk like that can get a man in trouble.”

  “If it’s trouble McShane wants, I’m the man to give it to him. Tell him. And tell him this time, Peg won’t stop me. I’m sorry for her, true enough, married to the likes of him. But pity won’t hold me back this time. Tell him all of that.”

  “I will.” Timmy had no desire to argue with Patrick. Not in the black mood he was in. “Take care, Patrick,” Timmy cautioned.

  “And you.” Patrick returned the telephone to its cradle with a short curse as he paced the small room he’d taken near the track in Kildare. He’d asked Timmy to check Old Mick’s cottage in the hopes Old Mick had somehow magically returned. The lie Patrick had given Timmy was that Old Mick had gone to visit his son in Belfast to rest his injured foot.

  Even though Patrick knew it wasn’t plausible that Old Mick had returned, he couldn’t stop himself from checking to see if the old man was home. But Old Mick’s cottage had remained vacant. There was no sign that anyone had been around Timmy said. Old Mick had vanished.

  Patrick paced the floor and tried to imagine what Catherine was doing. With any luck on her side, she’d be on her way back to Kildare. Back to him. Joy at the prospect surged through him, only adding to his sense of restriction. All he could do was pace and wait.

  He could only hope that Catherine’s search would prove more useful than his. There was no document at the Kildare track reflecting a claim race between Limerick and King’s Quest. There was a racing agreement signed by Catherine and David Trussell, the two owners, for a match race. But it was only a brief form. The contract was missing, a fact that Patrick wasn’t sure was favorable or not.

  It had taken every bit of his considerable charm to get one of the young secretaries to call up the files on her computer. When she couldn’t find it electronically, he’d begged her to look manually. Zip. That was the end result. That, and the fact that he’d felt like a heel for using the girl. Had there been another way, he would have taken it. Unfortunately, the security in the office at Kildare was a bit more professional than he’d anticipated. It was a good thing he’d stopped Catherine from her harebrained scheme of trying to break into the office and steal the document. She would have been caught for sure.

  Something else that disturbed him was the gossip floating around the track about Catherine. There were some harsh rumors being spread regarding the race with King’s Quest and the bad position David Trussell had been pushed into. Track sympathies were running hard against Catherine Nelson, new owner of Beltene Farm.

  Patrick sat down on the narrow bed and tried to put the chaos of his life in order. Limerick. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the stallion arching his neck eagerly toward him. Who had taken the horse? And why?

  The worst of it was that no ransom note had arrived. Deep in his heart, Patrick knew that whoever had taken Limerick was up to something other than money. If it was a simple case of horse napping, then Catherine would have heard the ransom demands by now. The very fact that kidnappers were still holding Old Mick spoke of other motives.

  He got up and paced the small room. Eight strides in either direction in the cramped space. He’d been cast into limbo, unable to do anything to help. The only two facts he had were that Old Mick was taken, and Limerick had been ridden into the treacherous bogs.

  And ridden was the key word. Someone had ridden the horse away.

  That was perplexing. Patrick could ride him easily. Timmy managed him on the track. Other than that, no one else had ever been on his back. Limerick loved a good run, but would he willingly accept a strange rider?

  Even more troubling was Old Mick. Someone had known that the old man would be able to tell where Limerick was hidden. So it had to be someone who knew Patrick and Old Mick had taken the stallion in the first place. At the barn, only Jack had discovered their plan, and he would never do anything to injure Old Mick. No, it had to be someone else.

  The finger of guilt pointed toward Beltene Farm and some of the hands there. All of them were men and boys Patrick had known for years or handpicked himself. The exception was McShane. He was the bad apple in the barrel, but McShane knew nothing. He suspected a great deal, but he had no facts.

  He was exactly the kind of man who would kidnap an old man and force him to talk. At the thought of what Old Mick would have endured before he told where Limerick was, Patrick clenched his fist. He drew it back and aimed it at the wall but held himself in check. Smashing walls wouldn’t undo anything. It would only prove he was out of control, and of all times he needed every ounce of intelligence and power, it was now.

  Old Mick needed him.

  Limerick relied on him.

  Catherine had even put her faith in his ability to get the horse and Old Mick back safely. And, by God, he was going to do it. He knew exactly the next step that had to be taken. He couldn’t find Old Mick and Limerick. He hadn’t the first idea where to look. But he could find David Trussell and find out the truth of the racing agreement.

  The thought that perhaps Trussell, an old man who felt cheated out of the end of his life, might be involved in Limerick’s disappearance blossomed in Patrick’s mind. Trussell and Old Mick were old friends. Long-time friends. Trussell could have met Old Mick at O’Flaherty’s, offered a drink, and taken him without a struggle. Old Mick wouldn’t have been the wiser until it was too late. And Trussell might be holding Limerick just long enough to cause a forfeiture of the race, so that Catherine would lose the horse to Kent Ridgeway. Not a perfect solution but a biblical justice—eye for an eye and all of that. Yes, it was a scenario that might appeal to Trussell.

  For the thousandth time, Patrick glanced at his watch. Catherine knew where to find him. They’d settled it all before she’d left for Wicklow. He’d simply have to endure the waiting, and as soon as she arrived, they would head for Castlerock, the Trussell farm. It was across the country north of Beltene on the Dingle Peninsula. It was spectacular countryside, as rugged as County Galway. And, like the country, David Trussell was a hard man, capable of stealing Limerick and holding Old Mick.

  Patrick had the exhilarating feeling that at last he was on a hot trail.

  13

  “David said to tell you it’s not personal, man, but he has nothing to say to anyone from Beltene.” Stephen Trussell stood beside the gate to the inner stable yard at Castlerock, one hand resting on the latch in an unconscious gesture of defensiveness. He shot a look of hatred toward the Volvo where Catherine sat.

  Patrick assessed the young man who spoke to him, hat pulled low over his eyes, face stubbly, and clothes unkempt. It was David Trussell’s nephew, one of the last Trussells to remain on what had once been one of the most prestigious breeding and racing stables in western Ireland.

  “Is your uncle forgetting that the Shaws and Trussells go back in time together?”

  “He’s not forgetting. He’s just hurting something fierce about King’s Quest.” Stephen Trussell shook his head. “That horse was his heart, his hope for the future.”

  Patrick sighed. “That’s what I’ve come to talk to him about.”

  “Talk to that redheaded devil who sent you here.” He jerked his head toward the car. “She’s the one tricked him out of the horse. He can’t see enough to read anymore, and she put the wrong papers on the table. Trusting fool that he is, he signed them and gave away his last dream.” As he spoke, Stephen’s face grew white with anger. “There’s a special place in hell for the likes of her.”

  “If that was the way it happened, you have a right to hate her.” Patrick took a few seconds to try to figure out the best way to tell Stephen what he had come to tell him. “I had some sore feelings toward Catherine Nelson myself, as you can imagine. Beltene has been in the Shaw family for generations.”

  “And how did she trick you?” The young man was eager to learn the details. They would be fuel to feed his anger. “And how is it you’re traveling the country with her?”
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  “Wasn’t any tricking involved. She bought the farm fairly. If there was any fault, it was from my family. Da’ had taken out some loans against it.”

  “Yeah. Colin.” Stephen shook his head. “Uncle Davey talked about the troubles you had. He could see the road Colin was taking, but there was no way to get him on another track. He admired Colin in a way, and pitied him in another. He said the time for rebels had come and gone in Ireland. When Colin was in prison, we thought it was done. That he’d be there long enough to grow up a bit. Then when he escaped....”

  “It nearly killed my da’.” Patrick said it simply enough. He’d trained himself not to let the hot, boiling emotions rise. Colin, his older brother, drew so many conflicting things from him. In most recent years, resentment was the primary emotion, mixed with a good portion of anger. Colin had jumped from one bad incident to another, breaking his parents’ hearts and costing a fortune in legal fees. Beltene had eventually been sacrificed to Colin’s wild dreams of Irish independence. But there had been a time when Colin was the hero every young boy worshiped, especially a younger brother. He was a man who believed in a cause and was willing to fight for it. Storybook stuff. Until their sister was killed.

  “Where is the boy now?” Stephen asked.

  Colin’s whereabouts was anyone’s guess. There were rumors that he’d gone to America or to Australia. Or that he was building up a paramilitary organization in the rugged terrain of the north. All Patrick knew was that Colin had failed to show up for his own father’s funeral two years back. There had been no note, no call. That his brother was in hiding was a fact—he was an escaped convict. But in Patrick’s mind, not even that excused his lack of concern for his family.

  “I have no idea where he is.” Patrick spoke softly, calling up his rigid control once again. “I hear he might be in Boston. I hope he’s doing well.”

  “Just hope he never comes back here. If he can start his own life, it’ll be best for everyone.”

  “True.” Patrick looked around at what had once been a thriving farm. The barn roof had sloped on one end, showing a desperate need for repair. The stable yards themselves were dirty. There was a general air of neglect about the place, and Patrick felt his heart twist. If he hadn’t sold Beltene to the Nelson family, it would have grown to look this way. He didn’t have the money to keep it up. If he’d been able to race Limerick, he might have made it. But that was water under the bridge. Now, at least, Beltene was well kept. The farm showed signs of love and money.

  “Looks sad, doesn’t it? Unc’ Davey won’t let go. But I’ll tell you, he won’t last much longer. His heart.”

  “Is he sick?”

  “Nah. Not medical sick. Just he’s lost his will. King’s Quest was it. He’d hung on and hung on because he saw potential in that horse. The race with Limerick was to be the beginning of a new era for Castlerock.” Stephen snorted. “King’s Quest has potential. No doubt about him. He could have rallied the troops here at Castlerock. Now Unc’ Davey’s given up, and all of the help except me has moved on.”

  “I need to talk to him. Whether he wants to hear it or not, Catherine Nelson didn’t cheat him. The papers calling for a claim are forgeries. Catherine wants to tell him that herself.”

  “Be off with you.” Stephen looked amused and angered. “Unc’ Davey’s not going to cause a stink. She can rest easy. He sold the horse to that Ridgeway character. I think that cost my uncle as much as anything could have. Ridgeway.” Stephen sneered. “Might as well have sold him by the pound to the meat packers.”

  “Maybe not.” Patrick understood Stephen’s desperate anger. It was heartbreaking to see a good horse go to a home where he would likely be ruined. “Just think this through. If Catherine has been tricked also, then the papers can be proven to be false. David may be able to get King’s Quest home.”

  “From Ridgeway? How? Even if the papers are false, it doesn’t invalidate the contract with Ridgeway. He has the horse and his papers.”

  Patrick hesitated. “It would if Ridgeway initiated the fraud. Or if he knew about it. Catherine is willing to tell the truth. She was tricked, too.”

  Stephen’s face opened with the first hint of hope. “That’s true.” His eyes shifted to Patrick’s. “If it could be proven.”

  “We need to talk to David.”

  Stephen hesitated. “He’s gone down, Patrick. He doesn’t care to see anyone.” Sorrow moved across Stephen’s face. “It’s heartbreaking to look at him, and the old man knows it. He doesn’t want pity so he hides away where no one can see him.”

  “Maybe I can give him hope.”

  Stephen looked around the stable yard. “This place needs hope, and a lot more.” He sighed, weighing both sides. “Come on, then. He’s in the office. Sitting and staring out the window, more than likely. Just don’t act like you’re sorry for him. He’ll go into a rage. And there’s no guarantee about what he’ll say to Ms. Nelson.”

  Patrick laughed. It held neither humor nor bitterness. “That’s what we’re left with, isn’t it? Pride.”

  “If Colin were around, he could probably recruit.” Stephen looked back over his shoulder. “I hope you can give Unc’ Davey more than hope. That might just be the thing that finishes him off if it’s pulled out from under him one more time.”

  Patrick took those words to heart as he went to the car and opened the door for Catherine. “It’s touchy,” he told her softly. “Let me do the talking.” He looked at Familiar curled on the back seat. “And you stay put. No shenanigans from you,” he warned as he carefully closed the door.

  Together they followed Stephen into the barn. The place had gone down fast. The stalls, once neatly cleaned and filled with fine animals, were empty and dirty. The barn aisle was cluttered with tools and pieces of equipment that had never been put away. Several puddles indicated there were chronic leaks in the roof, and the air itself was musty, old, and forlorn.

  “Good Lord, Stephen,” Patrick said with disapproval.

  “There’s no money, Patrick. He put away the funds he got for King’s Quest. He won’t say where, and he won’t spend them.”

  Patrick’s heart sparked. “Then he still has hope himself, the old devil. He knows he’s been tricked. He’s hoping to get King’s Quest back.”

  “Maybe. He knows he’s been had, that’s true enough. But he hasn’t a clue what to do about it.”

  The thought that David Trussell might be behind the theft of Limerick and the disappearance of Old Mick returned to Patrick like the bitter aftertaste of bad food. It was possible. Anything was possible. But David Trussell had always been a man of honor. He might shoot Catherine if he discovered she’d cheated him, but he wouldn’t steal from her. Or at least, that was how he’d once been. They were about to discover if time had changed him.

  When Stephen opened the door of the barn, Patrick saw the anger ignite in David’s eyes.

  “Get her out of here,” David said. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk.

  “Give us a chance,” Patrick said before the older trainer could say more. “I think you and Catherine Nelson have both been duped. She didn’t trick you, David. You have my word on it.”

  Catherine felt the old man’s look as if it were a physical blow. Though it cost her to do so, she straightened her back and refused to look away from him. There was plenty she wanted to say, but Patrick had asked her to hold her tongue.

  The anger was slow to die in David Trussell’s eyes. When it had fallen to glowing embers, he sighed. “I don’t know what to believe. If it wasn’t her, who was it?”

  “I’m not certain. Do you have the agreement?”

  “Ridgeway took it.”

  Patrick nodded. “I thought as much. I checked the track and there isn’t one filed there.”

  David sat up straight. “Then it isn’t valid.”

  “Want to make any bets that one will appear before the race date?”

  David Trussell stood. He was a tall man, still lean and musc
ular even though he was in his late sixties. “Are you certain Ms. Nelson doesn’t have all the copies?”

  “I’m positive.” Patrick put his hand on Catherine’s shoulder, a gesture of friendship and support. By word and deed, he was demonstrating his bond to her. “Catherine is no cheater. You have my word on it.”

  “And how can you be so certain of the family that put you out of your own farm?”

  Patrick’s hand tightened, restraining her. “Because there’s a clause in there that doesn’t allow for a scratch unless both parties agree.” His voice was soft.

  “Don’t you think I know that, man?” David pounded the desktop. “If I’d had a chance to scratch, I would have pulled King’s Quest from that cockamamie agreement, and he’d still be here. I’d still have a future. That clause means nothing to her!” He glared at her.

  “Four months ago, I might have agreed with you. But now.... I know for certain that Catherine stands to lose far more than you by the terms of that agreement.” Patrick waited until he saw the interest build and grow in the older man. “Limerick’s been stolen. If he isn’t there to race, and if Ridgeway won’t agree to a delay, Catherine will lose him. And believe me, David, Limerick is as much to Beltene as King’s Quest was to Castlerock. The heart and future.”

  “The stallion’s gone?” David was incredulous. “How? What were you doing when they took him? This isn’t possible. I thought you and that old reprobate Old Mick never left his side.”

  “It’s worse than that. Old Mick has disappeared without a trace or word. I’d stolen Limerick myself in an effort to force Catherine to rest his bad knee. I hid him out in the bogs, very isolated. Only Old Mick and I knew where he was. Someone stole him from me.”

  Catherine couldn’t help herself. Her hand moved up Patrick’s back, stroking a soothing path. He was a man of great pride, and it had cost him to admit that he’d lost Limerick. And he’d done it for her. No one had ever given her so much.

  David sat. “This is the damnedest tale I’ve heard.” He motioned to Patrick, Catherine, and Stephen to take a seat. “What’s going on here?”