by Mary Daheim
“Yes,” Renie agreed. “She was young and naive. I overheard you insist your religion forbade autopsies. Imagine that—hearing coz tell a whopper as my foot went through your rotting kitchen floorboard.”
“I didn’t want anyone to think I’d tried to kill Dan by buying the gallon of grape juice he begged me to get that morning. How’d I know it’d make him blow up? I mean,” she added hastily, taking the racetrack turnoff, “I knew it was bad for his diabetes, but I felt sorry for him.”
“Of course you did,” Renie said. “You’re too damned softhearted. Hey, pull over by that parking valet. Tell them you’re Uncle Al’s niece.”
Judith shrugged. “Why not? That should get us a free pass inside. Uncle Al helped fund the original track.”
The ploy worked. Five minutes later, the cousins were in the clubhouse section, where two dozen TV screens showed the races at various North American tracks. Renie spotted the feed from Santa Anita not far from the betting booths.
“Drinks,” she said, leading Judith toward the bar next to the dining area. “I’ll get them while you grab us a couple of seats.”
Despite the crowd, Judith managed to find two vacant chairs not far from the Santa Anita TV monitor. She opened the racing program she’d picked up at the track entrance and discovered that all of the races were designated as different types of Breeders Cup events. In fact, she noted, similarly styled races had been held the previous day.
Renie appeared with a Scotch rocks for Judith and a CC and 7 UP for herself. “You look puzzled,” she remarked, sitting down.
“Did Uncle Al explain what goes on at the Santa Anita track this weekend?” she asked.
“They hold the Breeders Cup,” Renie replied, getting her own program out of her purse. “I didn’t ask for a history.”
“The program says it’s a two-day event,” Judith explained after taking a sip from her drink. “I haven’t found Ali’s Purchase yet.”
“Keep looking,” Renie said, gazing up at the monitor. “We’re up to the eighth race. Uncle Al definitely told me the horse was running today.”
“The fourth race,” Judith said, seeing Ali’s Purchase as the third entry on the program. “Juvenile Turf. See for yourself. A field of seven for two-year-olds, five hundred grand purse. And note the trainer.”
Renie’s eyes widened. “Duke Swisher? He’s not exactly in the elite company of Bob Baffert and D. Wayne Lukas. I’ll go find the results.” She got up and scurried away.
Judith noted that the horse had been bred in California by Ali Baba Stables. The jockey’s name was Pedro Feliz, which rang no bells. But, she realized, it had been a while since she’d been to the track.
“This seat taken?” a dark-haired middle-aged man inquired, pointing to Renie’s chair.
“Yes. My cousin went to check the results of an earlier race. We got here late.” Judith smiled. “Sorry. She’ll be right back.”
The man put his foot on the chair. “Which race?”
“The fourth,” Judith replied.
“The one with the inquiry? That ended up with a disqualification for the horse that crossed the finish line. Some illegal stuff going on in the far turn. The favorite’s jockey got unseated.”
“Who won?”
“A long shot, Ali’s Purchase. I got lucky. You sure your cousin’s coming back?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “The winners should be posted on the wall just off the bar?”
“Right,” the man said, removing his foot and pulling out the chair, “I might as well sit until she gets here. You come out for the feature?”
Judith fought an urge to turn around and try to spot Renie. “Ah . . . yes, it is the big race.”
“You pick the winner yet?” the man asked after sitting down and taking a swig from Renie’s glass.
“No, not yet. That’s my cousin’s drink, by the way.”
He shrugged again. “So? I’ll buy her another one. Don’t worry about germs. It’s alcohol. That kills ’em. Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Judith forced herself from rolling her eyes at the tired come-on line. “I don’t think so,” she replied stiltedly. But before asking him to go away, she studied him more closely. His weathered face indicated he was closer to sixty than fifty, so Judith guessed the dark hair was probably dyed. Maybe older, given the sagging skin on his neck. Indeed, there was something familiar about him. Curiosity overcame indignation. “Do you live around here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I own a condo downtown. How about you? I know I’ve seen you someplace.” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “A café . . . Thurlow District . . . The Meat & Mingle?”
Judith gulped. “Yes. We owned it. You were one of our customers?”
The man grimaced. “Hell, no. I was the food inspector. Just retired last year from the city. You owned that place? Really?”
“Yes, and we went broke, but it wasn’t because of the food.”
“No,” he agreed. “The kitchen always got good marks. It was the clientele that was low grade.” He put out a hand. “Marv Farrell. Sorry, can’t remember your last name.”
Judith accepted his handshake. “It was McMonigle, but after Dan died, I remarried. It’s Judith Flynn now.”
Marv grinned and took another sip of the drink. “I never forget a face. I forgot the place had closed. I’d probably already transferred to another department. Sorry about your losses—the husband and the café, that is.”
“Thank you,” Judith said. “Speaking of the Thurlow District, did you know that the winning horse in the fourth race is partly owned by someone who has a business there?”
“No, wish I had. My bet was just a hunch. You picked any winners?” He polished off Renie’s CC.
“We haven’t had time,” Judith replied. “As I mentioned, we got here . . .” She stopped, seeing her cousin carrying a giant box of popcorn.
“What the hell?” Renie screeched. “I turn my back, you pick up some guy who takes my seat and drinks my booze? Are you insane?”
“I can explain,” Judith said. “You were gone so long that—”
Renie made a dismissive gesture with her free hand. “I smelled popcorn. I’m hungry. There was a line. Maybe I should steal your car and go home. You two seem to be having fun. At least I’ve got popcorn.”
Marv shook his head and looked at Judith. “Somebody’s crabby.”
“She’s ornery,” Judith retorted. “Move and buy her another drink.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, but stood up, pulling out the chair for Renie. “There you go, little cousin. One CC coming up.”
“With 7UP,” Renie snarled, plopping down in the chair. “Make it snappy. We haven’t got all day.” She swiveled to look at Judith as Marv ambled off toward the bar. “What was that all about?”
“He’s a retired food inspector,” Judith replied, not without some embarrassment. “He used to come to The Meat & Mingle.”
“No wonder he retired,” Renie muttered before shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Swunnereesuhbibed.”
Accustomed to deciphering her cousin’s words when she talked with her mouth full, Judith made a face. “He survived just fine. You know Dan’s food was always very good.”
Renie swallowed before she spoke again. “Too bad Dan wasn’t. Okay—so how many suspects from your list does this guy know?”
“I didn’t have a chance to ask him,” Judith replied indignantly. “I was preoccupied with what was taking you so long to look up the race results. Never mind—he told me what happened. There was a disqualification, in case you didn’t notice while you were overcome with popcorn fumes. I don’t suppose you saw anybody wearing a turban?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Renie said, ignoring a couple of popcorn kernels she’d dropped on her bosom.
Judith leaned forward in her chair. “You did? Where?”
“Coming out of the ladies’ room. She was a tall blond goddess.”
“Ohhh . . . somed
ay you’ll drive me to murder!”
“Don’t even think about it,” Renie said calmly. “I’ll rat you out to the cops about that gallon of grape juice. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
Judith leaned back in her chair. “Behave yourself. Here comes your drink.”
“CC as ordered,” Marv said, setting the drink in front of Renie. “May I sit in your lap?”
“You may not,” Renie retorted. “The only one who can sit in my lap is Oscar. And sometimes Clarence, except he sheds.”
“I’m guessing Oscar and Clarence are pets,” Marv said, bemused.
Judith held up her hands. “Don’t pursue this line of inquiry.”
“Hmm.” Marv stroked his chin. “Kinky, eh? Why do I suddenly feel unwanted? I think I’ll go to the private lounge and congratulate the owner of the Juvenile Turf race. I not only had the winning ticket, but I had the trifecta, too. Thank you, ladies. It’s been . . . a mixed feed bag of pleasure.” He sauntered off to the far end of the dining room.
“Follow him,” Judith said. “It just dawned on me that’s why we haven’t seen Mr. Alipur. He’s in the private area.”
Renie sighed heavily. “I just got my drink. I’ve only eaten a fourth of my popcorn. You follow him. Lie your way in or make your pickup guy do the honors for you.”
Judith hesitated. “Oh, why not? I can always use Uncle Al’s name.” She swallowed the last of her Scotch, stood up, and headed in the direction that Marv had gone. By the time she reached the VIP lounge’s entrance, he was already inside. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and opened the polished oak door. A young tuxedoed waiter greeted her with an inquiring expression.
“You’re . . . ?” he said tentatively.
“I’m with Marv,” Judith said, seeing him talking to a squat, olive-skinned man holding a champagne glass. “He walks too fast.”
The waiter nodded. Judith doggedly moved toward Marv, barely taking in the elegant Art Deco surroundings with their sleek yet elegant geometric lines and bold use of color.
“Ah!” he said, turning away from the man with the champagne. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
“I couldn’t resist trying to find Mr. Alipur, the part owner of Ali’s Purchase,” Judith declared with a nod for the other man. “Is he here?”
Marv shook his head. “I suppose he left after his horse won the race.” He gestured toward the window that overlooked the track. “There’s the trainer, Duke Swisher. Maybe he can give whatever message you’ve got for Mr. Alipur. Swisher’s the one in the brown corduroy jacket.”
Judith made a beeline for her prey. She was surprised by the rugged good looks that didn’t seem to have deteriorated with what she assumed must be sixty or more years. There was little gray in his fair hair and the lines in his face added more distinction than age. He didn’t look much like the riffraff Ziva Feldstein had described. Judith waited for a lull in the conversation he was having with two other men. To her surprise, he spoke first.
“You’re . . .” he began . . . and frowned. “Dang—the name escapes me.”
“You don’t know me,” Judith responded. “I’m—”
“No, but you remind me of . . . ah! Al Grover, shrewd handicapper and big sports hero. I’ve seen him around here for years.”
Judith blinked several times. “I remind you of him?” Except for her being tall like Uncle Al and also having dark eyes, no one had ever made the connection by physical resemblance.
Duke nodded. “Yes. One of those family things. Same with people as it is with horses. There’s always some giveaway about pedigree.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Are you a Grover by birth?”
“Uncle Al is my late father’s brother. I’m Judith Flynn. I got here too late to bet on Ali’s Purchase. How long have you been a trainer?”
Duke shrugged. “I’ve been around horses all my life, but I didn’t become a trainer until about ten years ago. I knew one of the owners of Ali Baba Stables and he talked me into it.”
“Mr. Alipur?” Judith inquired.
“He was still in California,” Duke said. “It was a local, Lee Watkins. He’d bought his first horse and I’d recently gotten married. I was starting a new life and figured why not? So here I am, puffing up my résumé.”
“You’ve done well,” Judith remarked. “Do you still live here?”
“My wife and I spend most of the year in California,” Duke replied. “Felicia’s from Santa Barbara. I met her when I went down to Palm Desert after going through a rough patch several years before. I needed to get away.” His blue eyes shifted to the window, as if he could see into his past. “I lost someone very dear to me.” He looked again at Judith. “Sorry about that. Would you like a drink? I wouldn’t mind one. May I? It’s an honor to meet one of Al Grover’s relatives.”
“Oh, I probably shouldn’t,” Judith began. “I left my cousin in the dining room. I just wanted to congratulate you on your win in the fourth race. A friend knows Mr. Alipur. Is either he or Mr. Watkins here?”
“Ali left after the fifth race,” Duke said. “He hates leaving anyone else in charge of his restaurant. Lee was here.” He craned his neck to search the room. “I don’t see him now, though. Let’s go over to the bar.”
“Who’s the third owner?” Judith asked as they made their way through the crowded room.
“I am,” he replied. “It’s one of only two horses I’ve ever owned. The other one was a filly.”
“Was?” Judith echoed.
Duke nodded, but they’d reached the small bar with its sleek lacquered mahogany paneling. “Two champagnes,” he told the mustachioed man in charge. When the drinks were poured, Duke steered Judith to a corner by a glass-fronted trophy case. “She broke down in her first race at Del Mar and had to be destroyed.” He raised his glass. “Let me propose a toast to my lost Thoroughbred. Here’s to Opal’s Eyes.”
Judith and Duke clicked glasses. “An interesting name,” she remarked after taking a sip of champagne. “For someone in your family?”
Duke’s smile was wry. “Almost. We were engaged to be married. Unfortunately, she died suddenly. That’s why I headed for California back then. I suppose I was running away. But I ended up meeting Felicia.” He shrugged. “Life takes strange twists and turns. I feel like a different person since I met her.”
“That’s wonderful,” Judith said, though her brain was doing all sorts of tricks to backtrack in their conversation. It finally occurred to her that for once, she could be candid. She almost surprised herself when she continued. “Oh! This may sound odd, but did you name that filly for Opal Tooms? I know her daughter, Ruby.”
Duke’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! What a coincidence! Yes. How do you know Ruby?”
“I met her when I was in Little Bavaria last month,” Judith replied. “I own a B&B and she’s staying there now through the weekend.”
Duke lowered his voice. “I haven’t seen Ruby since she was a kid. Did she mention I was engaged to her mother?”
Judith could only stick to the truth for so long. “No, but Opal isn’t that common a name. I got the impression that foul play might’ve been involved in Opal’s death. Is that true?”
Taking a big sip of champagne, Duke frowned and looked beyond Judith. “Yes. As far as I know, the case was never solved. But I haven’t been back to the old neighborhood since I left.” He finally turned a flinty gaze on Judith. “I’ve tried to put the past behind me.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said. “I thought that since Mr. Alipur is in partnership with you, he might have talked about the case.”
Duke’s expression became bland. “No. Why would he? He didn’t live in the Thurlow District back then. He probably never heard about it. He’s a shrewd businessman, and when I told him the old Lockjaw Tavern was being sold dirt cheap, he jumped at the chance to buy the property. He already envisioned the neighborhood coming up in class. It was a lot less than he would’ve had to pay for somethi
ng similar in California.”
“I went to The Persian Cat for the first time today,” Judith said. “My first husband and I lived in the area a long time ago. I hadn’t been back since he died and I moved away. It’s certainly changed.”
“So I hear,” Duke said indifferently as he finished his champagne. “Very nice to meet you. I should head down to the paddock and see if any of the local trainers are hanging out there.”
Judith didn’t bother finishing her own drink. “Thanks for the bubbly. I’d better track down my cousin.”
Duke moved off, pausing briefly to greet a tall, dark-haired man near the door. Judith set her glass down next to a statuette of a woman holding a globe. Taking her time heading to the exit, she saw Duke leave. The other man turned to greet a woman who’d just made her entrance. Judith’s step faltered as she saw the man’s profile. His nose was hawklike and his chin jutted. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was part of Ruby’s vision from years ago . . . or her mysterious companion from the Thurlow District.
Or both.
Chapter 12
Judith was tempted to feign some minor distress to get the man’s attention, but before she could think of anything, he turned sharply to make his exit—and ran right into Renie.
“Hey!” Renie yelled. “Watch the popcorn, you moron!”
The man murmured an apology, but kept going. Renie was still cussing under her breath as she brushed kernels off of her front.
“Follow that can!” Judith hissed. “I mean, that man.”
“Why?” Renie asked. “Look at all the popcorn on the floor.” She turned to see the man go into a restroom. “You were right the first time. He went into the can.”
“Dammit,” Judith said under her breath, “I wanted to talk to that guy.”
“Jeez!” Renie exclaimed in disgust. “Did you come here to pick up guys or to sleuth? I thought you had to go home before six. It’s after five now.”
“You’re right,” Judith said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “We’d better go. It was probably a nutty idea anyway.”
“What was?” Renie asked as they retrieved their jackets in the dining room.
