Jockey Girl

by Shelley Peterson

  “What about the box from your hiding place?”

  Angela stared at Evie purposefully. “Listen to me carefully. Go to the indoor Walking Ring at Woodbine. Right away, call J.J. to meet you. Call Aunt Mary, because No Justice needs to come, too. He’ll need to be there from the time of entry, today, under guard, until after the race.”

  “And the leather box?”

  “It’s not essential today, but bring it on Sunday. They might need documentation, but more importantly my company cheques are in it.”

  Mark and Evie looked at each other. Evie was beginning to feel overwhelmed about getting this done within an hour. She stood. “Are you sure that’s everything we need to know?”

  “Yes. Now, you must be going. Lovely meal. Thanks.” Angela winced as she stood.

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Yes, dear. I got up too fast.”

  “Come home with us, please? To Aunt Mary’s?”

  Mark agreed. “Yes. Right now. I’ve got a car.”

  “I’m not ready yet. Soon. Scoot, now. Goodbye.”

  “One thing first, Mom.” Evie held her arm. “We need to look after that cut on your head. I think it’s infected.”

  “I’ll go to a walk-in clinic.”

  “No, you won’t, and you know it. Mark, please take her to that bus shelter with Magpie?” She pointed.

  Angela resisted. “You don’t have time.”

  “Sit there with Mark. I’ll be right back.”

  Before Angela could say another thing, Evie dashed to the Shoppers Drug Mart on the corner. She returned in a couple of minutes with a small bag. Mark and Magpie and Angela were seated in the empty bus shelter. Angela was smoking. Several people stood impatiently outside, waiting for the streetcar, obviously avoiding them.

  Mark grinned. “Best way I know to clear a seat.”

  Angela smiled wryly. “Happens all the time.”

  “Works for me.” Evie took the disinfectant and gauze out of the bag and went to work. Angela tightened her lips together and grabbed the bench so firmly that her knuckles went white. When the job was done to Evie’s satisfaction, she smeared antiseptic cream over the wound and covered it securely with a new bandage. “Done.” She handed the ointment and spare bandages to Angela. “Keep it clean and put this on it three times a day.”

  “Thank you. Now go. Quickly. But drive safely.” Angela gracefully rose and then leaned down to pat Magpie. For a second Evie glimpsed the shadow of a beautiful woman.

  Magpie stretched her neck as high as she could and made her little throat noise. “You’re a dear dog,” said Angela. “And so well behaved. But next time, wait until I’m ready for company before you find me.”

  Evie and Mark laughed at her unexpected sense of humour.

  “And thanks for not mentioning my escape from the hospital. Now scoot!” she said. Then, as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone.

  Mark and Evie, with Magpie on the leash, returned to the car with haste. They didn’t have much time. Mark backed out of his spot and waited impatiently for an opening in the heavy traffic before driving onto Queen Street.

  “I like the big city, but this is why we live in the country,” he said. “So many cars! It’s frustrating.”

  “Can I borrow your cell?” asked Evie. “Since you’re the reason I threw mine out?”

  “Will you never forgive me?” Mark grinned and handed her the phone. Evie made the required calls.

  The first was to Jerry. It rang four times, then went to message. Evie spoke quickly. “Hi, Jerry. It’s Evie. I just met with my mother. She wrote something and signed it. We’re racing! I need you to get to the Woodbine walking ring ASAP and get Kazzam to Woodbine. Call me back right away on this cell.”

  She pressed the numbers for Aunt Mary. Again, no answer. She left a similar message. “I hate it when this happens!” she growled.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll call back. We’ll get to Woodbine and hope for the best.”

  Evie threw herself back into the seat and tried to relax. The traffic cleared a bit when they reached the Gardiner Expressway, and moved very well as they headed north on Highway 427.

  “We’re almost there and they haven’t called back!” Evie wailed. She felt like screaming.

  “Cool down,” said Mark. “They’ll call.” He glanced at her. “Your mother surprised me, Evie.”

  “Are you trying to distract me?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “She’s quite smart. She really knows her stuff. And she’s a good person.”

  Evie was on edge and a little defensive. “Why are you surprised? Just because she became an addict doesn’t make her more stupid or less nice.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult her. I just meant....” He seemed to struggle for words.

  Evie softened. She had such mixed emotions herself. “You’re trying to say that you didn’t expect a street person to be so with it and lucid?”

  “I guess. I expected a drug-addled, crazy person who smells bad and yells a lot.”

  Evie thought about it. “She does that, too, I guess, at times. She ran out on the street last week, asking people in cars for money to buy drugs.”

  “Is that when she got hit?”

  “Yeah. And she doesn’t smell too bad, but soap would help.”

  “Soap always helps.” Mark turned right on Rexdale Blvd. “Now I know why we brought Magpie along.”

  “Great sniffer on her.” Evie chuckled. “Okay, it’s quarter to eleven and we’re here. And speaking of Magpie, she can’t be seen or we’ll be kicked out.”

  22

  The Draw

  Mark looked for some trees to park the car under, but the entire Woodbine parking lot was bathed in sunlight and full of cars. The draw was obviously a big deal.

  “Where’s best for Magpie?” he asked.

  Evie reached into the back seat and stroked her silky ears. The dog gazed back with adoration shining in her eyes. “Over there.” She pointed to the only patch of shade, cast by a tall television truck. “We’ll leave the windows down to let in the breeze. It’s not too hot, and we won’t be long.” She poured a bottle of water into a dish and put it on the floor of the back seat.

  Mark parked in a remote corner. “Let’s hope she doesn’t bark.”

  “My biggest problem is how to get Kazzam entered if Jerry doesn’t show up.” Evie got out of the car, holding the letter her mother had written. She put it in her pocket.

  “Can’t you do it yourself, with that letter?”

  “No. The owner or the trainer has to enter him, and Jerry’s the trainer. Obviously, my mother can’t.”

  Mark nodded as he clicked the locks shut. “Where’s the Walking Ring?”

  “Right over there.” Evie pointed to the left of the covered walkway that led to the big building.

  Mark and Evie ran across the cinder path where the horses walk out to race. They entered the indoor Walking Ring. It was packed with people who’d been there since nine that morning, and the party was well under way. There was a definite tingle of excite-ment in the atmosphere. Everybody but the two of them was dressed up, and they were the youngest in the room.

  Evie checked her pocket again to make sure she had Angela’s letter. She clutched Mark’s hand. “Jerry and Aunt Mary still haven’t called. I’m going over to Murray Planno and ask him to help.”

  “Who’s Murray Planno?”

  Evie pointed across the crowd. “A steward. In the plaid jacket and crazy vest.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  A buffet table loaded with a great variety of delicious-smelling food stood along the far wall, and Murray was there loading his plate and chatting with a group of men who were all laughing at something he’d said. He was the King of Woodbine, holding court.

  As they approached, one of the men turned around. It was Jerry. She hadn’t recognized him without his hat.

  “Mark! There! It’s Jerry!” Evie exclaimed.

  Jerry caught her eye and elbowed hi
s way right to her. “Evie. Got your message.”

  Evie told him about their trip to Toronto and what her mother had said.

  Jerry nodded excitedly. “That’s what we hoped!”

  “But I need Kazzam to be here, too, and Aunt Mary hasn’t called me back!”

  Jerry patted her shoulder and grinned. “Under control. Now give me that letter your mother wrote. I hope it’ll do.”

  Evie handed it over and watched while he read it.

  Jerry’s grin expanded into his entire face. Evie wondered if his head would split open. “Exactly right,” he said. “Good work! Fireworks to come!” He danced a few steps on the balls of his feet. “Mary will love this!” Then he leaned closer and whispered in Evie’s ear, “You can stop worrying about that insurance issue. If Angela legally owns the horse and he was killed, the money would go to her, not Grayson!”

  Evie gasped. Jerry had obviously taken her concern seriously. “You don’t trust my father, do you?”

  “Not as far as I can throw him. But now, I must get copies made and get this done. Get some food, girl,” ordered Jerry. “And take your friend.” For the first time, Jerry took a good look at Mark. “Who are you?”

  “Mark Sellers, sir,” Mark answered. They shook hands firmly.

  “Nice young man,” Jerry said to Evie with a nod. “Now eat, both of you. The proceedings are about to start.” Jerry disappeared from sight, intent on his mission.

  Evie was too excited to eat, but Mark dug in. While he filled his plate, she looked around to see who was here. Famous jockeys, well-known trainers, and elegantly dressed owners mixed with one another with confidence. People spoke animatedly, telling stories and connecting, doing business and selling horses.

  Evie picked out a few familiar faces, including the people she’d met getting her apprentice-jockey status. She waved at Imogene Watson, who smiled broadly and waved back. Amazing that she remembered her from the test run! Evie’s heart swelled with pride.

  Then she saw her father. Right over by the far wall, smiling as usual and chatting jovially with a group of men. He was in his element.

  Then he saw her, too, and glowered. Evie’s chest constricted. Suspicion pursed his mouth, and he jutted his jaw in apparent consideration of why his daughter would be there. Evie watched his eyes squint as he put two and two together.

  “Who’s that?” asked Mark. “That guy over there who looks like he’d enjoy murdering you?”

  “My father.”

  “No, couldn’t be. That guy, tall, with the yellow suit and purple tie.”

  “My father.”

  Mark stopped chewing. “What’s his problem?”

  “You’ll see,” she muttered. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she wanted to do this. In fact, she was sure she didn’t. She had to put a stop to this whole thing. Where was Jerry?

  Before she could change the plan, Murray Planno called everyone to order. “Time for the draw!” he bellowed. He held out a big white hat with slips of paper in it.

  Evie balled her hands into fists and bit her lip. Mark put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

  Murray tested the microphone, then resumed his speech. “Come up when I call your name. There were thirteen entries until one minute ago. Now there are fourteen.”

  Everybody inhaled at the same time.

  “As you know, each person reaches in and picks a number. Then, from one to fourteen, he selects his starting position. Here goes.”

  Evie noticed how quickly the mood in the room had changed. This was serious business, not just a party.

  Murray called out the first entry. “Passenger Pigeon. Owner: Blue Ridge Stables. Trainer: Elliot Stone. Jockey: Irv Walla. Elliot? Come on up.”

  A man nervously walked up, flexing his fingers. He cracked his knuckles and deep-breathed.

  “A rattler in that hat, Stone?” called a man. Everybody laughed, easing the tension. Elliot Stone’s lip quivered in an attempt to smile. Suddenly, his hand shot into the white hat and he pulled out a slip.

  Murray took it. He paused for dramatic effect, then read it out. “Three.”

  Elliot bobbed his head and stepped away.

  Next, Murray Planno called out, “Thymetofly. Owner: Maple Mills. Trainer: Les Merton. Jockey: Abe Moxy.”

  Her father’s horse. Evie knew he was fast and fit. He’d been trained by Jerry, too, but since Jerry had been fired, Evie guessed that Les Merton had taken over. The tall man walked up and drew the number six.

  “Pirate’s Dream. Owner: Fox Ridge. Trainer: Christopher Higgins. Jockey: Luke Henry.”

  Murray called out name after name. The big horses, the ones most favoured to win, were Thymetofly, Paradise Found, LaLaLady, Gasparilla, and Roustabout, and attention was paid when their names were called. As people chose their number, they became more comfort- able and the undercurrent of chatter became louder.

  There was only one left.

  Murray cleared his throat. Suddenly there was dead silence. Curiosity reigned. Who was the new entry? people wondered. The fourteenth horse?

  Murray held the final name, and read aloud, “No Justice. Owner: Angela Parson Gibb. Trainer: Jerry Johnston. Jockey: Evangeline Gibb.”

  Immediately the room was buzzing like a giant hive of bees.

  “Preposterous!” hissed an uncomfortably familiar voice. Evie froze.

  “This is ridiculous.” Grayson Gibb stepped up to the front. He smiled broadly, including the entire room with his large presence and charm. “The horse is mine. I didn’t enter him for obvious reasons. How is this possible, Murray?” He held his palms up in a gesture of dismay and amazement.

  Murray looked uncomfortable and answered, “It’s all in order, Grayson. Let’s talk about this later in my office.” He wiped beads of sweat off his brow.

  “We’re among friends. There’s been a mistake. We can talk about it right now.” Grayson was still smiling, but his skin was bright red and beginning to mottle. Evie had seen him mad, but never this mad. She was unable to breathe.

  Jerry Johnston spoke up. “Pardon me, Mr. Planno. May I speak?”

  Murray nodded.

  “Mr. Planno, Mr. Gibb. This is a valid entry. I have here in my hands a document that cancels your power of attorney over the horses in 703556 Ltd. and gives me that power. I am the trainer of No Justice and have the right to enter this horse and to choose his jockey.”

  Murray spoke up. “Agreed, subject to legal verification of that document before the declaration of winner.”

  Jerry nodded curtly in acknowledgement. He stood at ease and seemed sure of himself, so Evie began to breathe again. She still couldn’t look at her father.

  Grayson sputtered, “Really?” He spun and grabbed the document from Jerry’s hand. “This is worth nothing!” He bunched it up, then glared at Evie, apparently trying hard to retain a semblance of good humour. “With all respect, this child is incapable of riding any racehorse, let alone one that bucks. It’ll end in disaster. This entire thing is a charade and an insult to racing. I insist, Murray. Scratch No Justice!”

  No one dared speak. All eyes were on Murray now. The tension was overwhelming.

  To his credit, Jerry didn’t cower. “If you’ve had your say, Mr. Gibb, the paper you took is one of several copies. Mr. Planno has the original in his possession.”

  A murmur rose in the crowd as everyone quietly commented to others.

  “And Evangeline Gibb has been deemed worthy of the title of apprentice jockey by the Ontario Jockey Club. She’s a very capable rider and on behalf of the Jockey Club, I’m offended by your remark.” Jerry Johnston stood tall and expanded his chest as he continued, “Perhaps I didn’t make the owner’s wishes clear. I have the power of attorney over all the horses in 703556 Ltd.” He cleared his throat and looked directly at Grayson. “Your entry, Thymetofly, is included in that company.” He paused dramatically. “I therefore have the right to decide not only about No Justice, but about Thymetofly as well.”

  Like a ten
nis match at Wimbledon, all heads pivoted to witness how Grayson would respond.

  Grayson dropped his charm. His eyes narrowed and all but disappeared. His face contorted. Evie thought that if looks could kill, Jerry would be dead. “Ridiculous!” Grayson barked. He then turned to Murray Planno. “Stop this nonsense, man!” he demanded. “I will take my complaint to the top and delay the running of the Queen’s Plate!”

  Murray’s head tilted to the side. He licked his lips nervously and tucked in his chin. “Under these circumstances, I feel it’s best for the management and the stewards to have a private conference.” He mopped his dripping brow again.

  Jerry saw a bargaining opportunity and took it. He stepped closer to the stage beside Grayson. “If I may, Mr. Planno? If Grayson Gibb agrees to drop his complaint against No Justice, I will allow him to run Thymetofly.”

  All eyes turned back to Grayson. Seconds passed with no sound in the room. To Evie, it felt like hours. She started to worry about Magpie in the car outside.

  “Deal,” he pronounced in a harsh whisper.

  The tension was punctured and the crowd exploded into applause. Grayson held up his hand for silence. He smiled broadly and laughed. “And just for the record, No Justice is no threat.” He gestured with his hands expansively. “I could not care less if he runs. You’ll see. And as for the jockey?”

  Evie withered as Grayson pinned her to the wall with his beady blue gaze. His voice was overly solicitous. “I only hope that she doesn’t cause an accident with her rank inexperience and rank horse.”

  The entire crowd gasped as one. The culture of the racehorse industry is very superstitious, and what Grayson had said was akin to a curse. The noise level became deaf-ening as Jerry strode up and took the last slip of paper from Murray Planno’s hat. It was number fourteen.

  Aunt Mary appeared beside Evie. “Well, well,” she whispered in her ear. “Lots of fun.”

  Evie spun around to face her. “Aunt Mary! You’re here! Where’s Kazzam?”