Twisted Dreams

by F J messina

“Oh, it’s very comfortable for four, why?”

  “Just asking.”

  Sonia sensed a strange vibe in the close quarters of Jet’s office but couldn’t put her finger on it.

  A few moments later, Burnett stood, reached out both his hands, and took Jet’s between them. He bent a little at the waist. “Having delivered my excellent news, good lady, it is now time for me to depart. I have work to do, and─”

  “Yeah, we know, honey. You do your best work in your own space.” Suddenly the white gravy in her voice bubbled up. “Go on. Run along now and leave us women folk to the scrubbin’ and cookin’.” A minute later, Burnett was gone.

  Sonia watched the door close behind him. “What a lovely man he is, isn’t he Jet?”

  The gravy was gone. “Lovely for sure. Still and all, he’s a strange bird.”

  “What’s that mean? I thought you liked him.”

  “Oh, I do.” Jet bent her arms and interlocked her fingers, pulling them back over her head in a dramatic stretch. “It’s just that sometimes things like, ‘I do my best work in my own space,’ well, it can kind of get to you.”

  Sonia sat in silence.

  “I guess that’s the difference.” Jet looked across the floor around her desk, apparently searching for something.

  “What’s the difference?” Sonia asked.

  Jet spoke while bending down. “The difference between men and women.”

  Sonia scooted into the more comfortable red chair in front of Jet’s desk. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  Jet came up, hair-tie in hand. She deftly slipped her silky ponytail through the elastic band. “You know, how men are always focused on the task, getting things done and all? But women, we care about the process, how things get done?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Let me give you an example.” Jet finished her task by pulling the ponytail through her fingers several times. “A woman says to her husband, ‘Honey, would you go to the store and get some bread, so I can make some sandwiches for lunch?’ ” She rocked back in her chair, opening her arms. “He says, ‘Sure. What kind of bread do you want?’ Then she says, ‘Some sort of roll or bun. Whatever.’ ”

  Jet made a walking motion with two of her fingers. “Off he goes to the store.” She reached out her empty hands and smiled. “He comes back and hands her a package with some Kaiser rolls in it.” Jet went back to her ponytail. “She says, ‘What other kinds of rolls did they have?’ Then he says, ‘You told me to go get you some sort of roll for our sandwiches, and I brought you Kaiser rolls. Why are you asking me about anything else they might have had?’ ”

  Sonia looked blankly at Jet. Why is she telling me this story?

  “Don’t you see.” Jet’s eyebrows went up. “All the guy wanted to do was make his wife happy by completing the task. He got rolls. Task completed. End of story.”

  “What’s your point?” Sonia brushed that wisp of hair out of her face.

  Jet bore down. “Don’t you see, Sonia? When a man needs something, he’s a hunter. He finds it, he bags it, he takes it home. Task done. Now a woman, she’s a gatherer. She has to look at every possible option. She not only wants the things, she wants the process to be right, too.”

  Sonia leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay. I’ll give you all that. Now, why are we having this conversation?”

  “Sweetheart.” Jet’s head leaned heavily to one side, her voice almost pouty. “Don’t you see. That’s what’s going on with you and Brad.”

  Sonia sat straight up. “Now wait a minute.”

  “No, you wait a minute Sonia.” Jet leaned in swiftly and put her hands squarely on her desk. She spoke quickly and with conviction. “Look, Brad was married. It wasn’t real and he wasn’t with the woman anymore. Then he falls in love with you. He knows he should tell you, but what he thinks is important is that he gets the divorce. So, off he goes. He starts the process. He accomplishes the task. He thinks you should be happy.”

  Sonia leaned in as well. “But I’m not happy. He lied to me.”

  Jet let the energy subside. “Yes, lady, he lied to you, lied by omission, and that was total crap, real caveman stuff. But that’s where his little lizard brain was, bless his heart.”

  Sonia sat in silence for a long time. She spoke quietly. “So, you think I should let it go?”

  Jet shrugged her shoulders gently. “I certainly think you could give him a chance to explain, to apologize. I’m pretty sure that he knows that what he did was wrong. But here’s the thing. Do you love this guy or not? Can you forgive him?”

  There was another long silence before Sonia could answer. When she did, her voice was low, still conflicted. “Yes. I love him. I never stopped loving him, but─”

  “Well, sweets. If you love him, truly love him, you can forgive his caveman stuff because that’s just who he is, how God made him. If you don’t love him enough to do that . . . then you don’t really love him. That, my dear, is the question. Can you love him for what he is, what he does, even if he does it in a way that’s,” she shrugged, “not the way you wish he had?”

  47

  Sonia had thought long and hard about what Jet had said on Wednesday afternoon. It did all come down to trust, and when she’d searched her heart deeply, she’d found there was no question that she believed Brad loved her. They had met that evening. She had gotten her apology and he had gotten his forgiveness. By the time they left the cozy little bar on Euclid Avenue, Charlie Brown’s, they were officially engaged. The only thing missing was the ring.

  After their moment of reconciliation, while most couples would have started discussing wedding plans, Sonia had taken a deep breath and then told Brad about being attacked by the BMW. His reaction was what she had feared─almost over the top. Holding his shaking hand, speaking softly and calmly, she had assured him that she was alright and that she and Jet had done everything possible to track down the owner of the car. Nonetheless, she was quite certain that after he had taken her home, Brad would be on the phone with his NCIS buddies.

  Just after ten on Friday morning, Sonia slid into Brad’s Corvette and they took off for Louisville. It was a trip that would take about an hour and a half. Around eleven-thirty, they met Jet and Burnett in the lobby of the double-towered Galt House, the historic hotel right on the Ohio River. It was there they would stay the night. After lunch, they all hopped into Burnett’s classic Mercedes sedan and drove over to the even-more-historic racetrack, Churchill Downs, with its iconic twin spires and manicured lawns. Races had started at ten-thirty that morning, but the Kentucky Oaks wouldn’t run until five forty-nine, so they had plenty of time to soak in all the sights and sounds of the beautiful racing venue.

  Although Brad had worked on horse farms as a young man, it was Burnett who was, by far, the most knowledgeable about the coming race. Sonia smiled as she watched him go on and on, telling Brad about how Summer Wheat was one of the three horses running beyond their breeding, and how the chestnut filly had a real chance of winning the race.

  Sonia, Jet, and Burnett felt they had a special connection with the horse, having seen her run at Keeneland just a few weeks earlier. They each placed a bet on her, just for fun. Soon they were all back in their grandstand box, surrounded by more best-dressed men and women than Sonia had ever seen in her life. She was wearing a classic, dark blue, fitted dress, and dark blue wedges. Jet was more flamboyant, wearing yellow pants, long yellow earrings, a broad-brimmed, light yellow, straw hat, and a flowing white top─a top with a daring plunge in the front. The blouse had Burnett off balance most of the day.

  “Just wait ‘til tomorrow at the Derby,” Burnett said, a big, knowledgeable smile on his face. “Then you’ll see some real sartorial splendor.”

  Right around five thirty-five, Sonia saw Burnett, the smile gone from his face, move to the edge of his seat. Clearly, he was focusing intently on the information board across the track.

  “Oh, my goodnes
s. My, my goodness.” Burnett was shaking his head.

  Sonia gently grabbed his arm. “What is it Burnett? What’s going on?”

  Burnett pointed to the large, electronic board across from the grandstand. “Look for yourself. See there, on the board. Summer Wheat has been scratched.”

  Sonia craned to read the board herself. “She’s not running in the race?”

  “Exactly. She’ll not be in the race.” It was clear that he was perplexed. “I wonder why.”

  Brad asked, “I guess there’s no way to know the reason, is there?”

  Sonia reached into her purse. “Unless, gentlemen, we look it up on our iPhones. I’ll bet someone is broadcasting the race, and they’ve made some announcement as to why she’s been scratched.” Within a few moments, she was able to report to the group. “It seems that Summer Wheat has been scratched because of a hairline fracture in her foreleg. Oh, wait, here’s a clip of his jockey talking to a reporter.”

  “We was jus’ out on the track doin’ our regular routine and then suddenly she came up lame, real lame. I jus’ walk her back to the barn and call the trainer. They use the x-ray and they see a thin, long crack in the bone. But, no, we didn’t have no accident or anything. The bone, she just broke on her own.”

  Sonia stood up, looking around in frustration, then she plopped back into her seat, her face and shoulders drooping. Finally, she looked up at Burnett. “Why did they wait so long to scratch her from the race?”

  Burnett shrugged, unable to keep his hands from his lapels. “I imagine it was just hard for them to face the reality that this exceptional horse wasn’t going to run today─maybe ever again.”

  “What a shame.” Sonia’s lips protruded in a pout. “Well, there goes another part of our historic weekend of horse racing, right Burnett?”

  “I’m afraid you’re correct, Ms. Sonia.” Burnett eschewed touching his lapels but apparently couldn’t resist a quick tug on his bowtie. “First Frailing failed to make the Derby because of his dismal showing at the Bluegrass Stakes, and now this. I’ll bet the owners and trainer are just crushed.”

  Brad asked, almost nonchalantly, “Who’s the owner?”

  Burnett checked the program. “The owners are Robert and Jean Edwards. The trainer is Jack Devlin. Bred in Florida.”

  For some reason, something tingled in Sonia’s mind. “Where in Florida?”

  Burnett rechecked the program. “Bred by Stefan Ashkenazi at Willowbay Farm. I believe that’s somewhere near Ocala.”

  Burnett’s reply didn’t mean anything special to Sonia, but that wasn’t the case for Jet. She turned to Sonia, her eyes wide open. “Hey, remember I told you that I tracked down LaKeisha Washington on a horse farm in Florida?”

  “Yeah. They told us that she’d been killed in a hit and run accident? If you want to call it that.”

  “So, what farm do you think she was working on?” Jet was clearly making some important point.

  “The farm that bred Summer Wheat? Willowbay?”

  “Willowbay Farm.” Jet’s voice was strong, clear. “That’s where she was. I talked to the farm manager, John somebody. He’s the one who told me all about LaKeisha.”

  Sonia’s head was spinning so much that she couldn’t help but stand up and gesture to the other three. “So, there are three horses doing exceptionally well this year. One of them, Frailing, is bred right here in Lexington, on Downstream Farm, where Mariana Castillo worked. Another one is bred in Florida, on Willowbay Farm, right where LaKeisha Washington worked.” She turned to the man in the bowtie. “And the third one, what’s his name, Burnett?”

  Burnett was already looking up at her. “Run Lucky?”

  “Right. Where was he bred?”

  Burnett glanced back down at his program. “Honestly, I don’t know. They don’t list the Derby horses’ information in today’s program.”

  Sonia checked her phone again. “Give me one sec. What I’m guessing, though, is that I don’t even have to look it up. Jet, what was the name of the farm that Penny Rae worked on?”

  Jet’s hands were sliding over her ponytail, clearly in response to the sudden tension in the air. “I’m pretty sure it was Holbrook, or something like that.”

  Sonia looked at her phone, waiting for her inquiry to be answered. “I got it. Not Holbrook, Hol-den-brook.” She read right from the Google entry. “Holdenbrook Farm, owned by Bonnie and Giles Daneck.” She looked back to Jet, then to Brad. “Run Lucky was bred on Holdenbrook Farm, the same farm that Penny Rae Nelson worked on.

  48

  The Kentucky Oaks went off at five forty-nine, exactly as scheduled. Surrounded by thousands of screaming horse racing fans, Sonia hardly noticed. She held her tongue for the one minute and fifty seconds it took to actually run the race, primarily because no one could have heard her ask or say anything anyway. As soon as it was over, however, she pulled Brad’s head down toward her. “We’ve got to do something. We’ve got to go to the police right now.”

  Brad looked at her and smiled. “Honey, remember, you’re in Kentucky.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sweetheart.” Brad’s voice was just short of condescending. “It’s Derby weekend. Every cop in this state is either working on crowd control somewhere or preparing for tomorrow’s Derby party. Now you want to give them a call and tell them what?”

  Sonia stood tall, her voice firm. “We’re going to tell them that we’ve found the connection between the three missing girls. We know that each of them worked on one of the farms that produced these, well, winning horses.” Even as she said it, Sonia could hear that the connection was not nearly so clear in her words as it was in her mind.

  Brad pulled Sonia close and looked down into her face. “Listen, babe, I know that you’re right. There’s no question that there’s some sort of connection there. It’s just that we don’t know what it is, and we’re not going to get the police to do their best work until we bring them something more substantial.” He turned, looking off into the distance. “I’m thinking that what we do now, is go down to the barns and see if we can pick up something, anything, about who is thinking and saying what.”

  Burnett had been able to overhear the last part of their conversation. “Given what’s just happened to Summer Wheat, I’m thinking it’s going to be pretty difficult to get near that barn.” He had fallen back into his professorial tone. “What with the caliber of the race and then the sudden scratching of Summer Wheat, I think the press will mob the place, and the security folks will be doing everything in their power to keep anyone who doesn’t belong there from getting close.”

  Brad just smiled. “Well then, it looks like I’m going to have to deputize this young lady and make both of us members of that security detail.”

  The blank look on Burnett’s face said it all.

  Jet, however, jumped right in. She lightly punched Brad’s arm. “Go get ‘em, cowboy. We’ll wait right here and keep the wagons circled.”

  Brad grabbed Sonia’s hand and pulled her after him as he left the box and headed for the barns. “C’mon.”

  Sonia stumbled a bit, trying to keep up. “How are we going to get back there, Brad?”

  “Listen, over the years I’ve learned a trick or two.” He was speaking while he looked forward, away from Sonia. She struggled to hear him. “The important thing is that you look as comfortable and official as I do.” He turned back toward her. “Try to tell yourself that you wish you were home with your kids, and you’re just here asking questions and protecting folks because that’s your job.”

  As they approached the line of security guards, Sonia was glad that she hadn’t worn anything too flashy, something that would have made her security personae harder to believe. Within moments, she was also wishing that she and Brad had press credentials hanging around their necks. Burnett had been right. The press folks were swarming the place. So was security. She knew that in lieu of press credentials, she and Brad were going to have to rely on sheer bravado to
get past the security line. That was until she saw Brad reach into his pocket and pull out a small leather wallet.

  As they approached a line of security personnel, Brad flashed the wallet, mumbled something and just kept on walking. Sonia put on the most serious face she could muster and walked right behind him. Son-of-a-gun, he just pulled off the phony credential thing you see on TV all the time. Wow, well done Captain Dunham.

  As soon as they were past the security line and around the corner of one of the barns, Brad turned to her. “Now what?”

  “Well . . . I’m working on that.” Her eyes were scanning the whole area. “I haven’t the slightest idea where Summer Wheat is,” she turned to Brad and winked, “but you know what they say. When in Rome . . . .” She looked around for a few moments, then saw several reporters walking toward one of the barns. She pointed. “Here we go. It’s either Summer Wheat or the winner they’re headed for. We’ll find her soon enough.”

  It didn’t take long, and Sonia and Brad were standing twenty-five feet away from a tiny group of reporters, only three, asking questions about Summer Wheat’s condition. The press was much more interested in the race’s winner. Brad leaned in toward Sonia, speaking furtively. “Do you recognize anyone?”

  “Actually, I do.” Sonia nodded in the direction of a trio of people. “That’s Stefan Ashkenazi on the left. He’s the one who bred Summer Wheat on his farm down in Florida. The man and the woman, that’s Robert Edwards, one of Summer Wheat’s owners. I saw Ashkenazi and Robert Edwards at Keeneland. The woman must be Edwards’ wife, Jean.”

  Brad held the back of his hand up to his mouth. “They don’t look very pleased, do they.”

  “Well, I guess that’s understandable.” Sonia shrugged gently. “Who knows if Summer Wheat will ever race again?”

  Brad scanned the rest of the crowd. “Recognize anyone else?”

  Not being as tall as Brad, Sonia was on tip-toes, scanning the crowd. “No. I guess the rest are all stable hands or . . . . Wait a minute. Oh, my gosh, there are two more guys I recognize.”