by Abigail Keam
I went into the bathroom and gazed into the mirror. It had been a long time since I had really looked at myself. Shocked at my appearance, I gingerly felt my face and then turned, scrutinizing my appearance.
My short hair was dyed a golden red, which went well with my pale skin. The hearing aid was well hidden and not noticeable unless one looked for it. My teeth, all implants, looked very American–that is straight and white. My face didn’t look quite middle-aged yet, due to a little nipping and tucking when reconstructed. And yes, my body looked quite fit and muscular due to all the workouts.
I came to a conclusion. I was a fake. My hair was fake, my teeth were fake, my hearing was fake, and my face was unnaturally young for my years.
Some people would say that falling off that cliff was the best thing that ever happened to me due to my new look. But they didn’t see the long, ugly scar running down my left leg or hear me cry when the pain got bad, as it still did. They hadn’t witnessed the nasty scenes between doctors and me over pain medication.
What I would give for yellow teeth, crow’s feet, and being fat if I could have skipped that horrible night when O’nan shot Franklin and Baby, and then pulled me off that cliff toward the dark, murky Kentucky River.
Shaneika stuck her head into the bathroom. “Wondered where you had wandered off to.”
“I’m just putting on some lipstick,” I fibbed.
“Some newscaster wants to interview me. Will you come? I would feel more confident.”
“I’m surprised that you’re nervous, Shaneika. You’re such a bear in court.”
“That’s different. People are judging my client, not me. This interview is all about me. I don’t know how to play this.”
Smiling, I intertwined my arm with Shaneika’s. “Remember this is your day, win or lose. You gave it your all. Be nice, but confident. If you need time to think just say, ‘That’s an interesting question,’ or something like that.”
“Sounds like a plan,” replied Shaneika, pulling me along with her to the interview.
7
“How does it feel to be the first African-American to own a horse racing in the Kentucky Derby?”
I knew from the expression on Shaneika’s face that she was remembering all the great black jockeys and trainers who had been forced out of American Thoroughbred racing due to Jim Crow laws starting in 1894. In fact, it wasn’t until 2000 that Marlon St. Julien, an African-American jockey, rode in the Kentucky Derby after an absence of black jockeys for seventy-nine years.
The greatest jockey of all time is Isaac Murphy, the son of a slave, who won three Kentucky Derbies, and whose remains are buried next to Man o’ War’s at the Horse Park in Lexington.
“But I’m not. There was Dudley Allen, who owned Kingman, winning the Derby in 1891 and Byron McClelland with Halma in 1895.”
I imperceptibly shook my head. This was not the time to launch into a diatribe on how the black man had been mistreated in horse racing.
The announcer blushed slightly for not doing his homework. He rushed to the next question. “How does it feel to be the first African-American woman to win the Derby?”
“I don’t know. Comanche has to win it first.”
Catching my frozen, wide-eyed facial expression, Shaneika put on her lawyer face and smiled at the camera, saying, “It is an honor to be included in the Kentucky Derby whether Comanche wins or not.”
“Does it upset you that your horse is not considered a favorite?”
“I can only ask Comanche to do his very best. Of course, I want to win, but I consider this year at the Kentucky Derby the first of many years at the Derby.”
“I’m sure that you are aware that a balloon owned by Charlie Hoskins exploded over Churchill Downs today. What are your thoughts on that?”
“I know very little about it. I hope no folks or horses were injured.”
“There are rumors that you and Charlie Hoskins are having a feud? Any comment on that?”
Shaneika smiled. “The entire racing community can be a contentious lot when racing against each other, but in the end we are a united brotherhood.”
“Do you think Charlie Hoskins’ horse, Persian Blue, can beat Comanche?”
“As Persian Blue is the favorite, most people think he can beat my Comanche, but we will have to wait and see.”
“Thank you, Shaneika Mary Todd, for speaking with us.”
The announcer turned toward the camera. “Shaneika Mary Todd, one of the few female owners in the racing business today and owner of the black steed, Comanche, on his chances of winning the Kentucky Derby.
“There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen, another historic first at the Kentucky Derby at the famed Churchill Downs.”
I gave Shaneika a thumbs-up as she took off her microphone.
She thanked the announcer, and as we stepped out of the booth, two men stopped us.
One of the men flipped an ATF badge and demanded that Shaneika accompany them.
My heart froze as I grabbed Shaneika’s arm. “Don’t go with them!”
“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Josiah!” questioned Shaneika.
“I HAVE!” I exclaimed, pointing to one of the men. “That man was Asa’s husband! The one that double-crossed her!”
8
Shaneika put on her lawyer’s face again. “May I have a closer look at your badges, please?”
Both men held up their badges.
Shaneika perused them slowly.
Holding my breath, I stupidly held on to the back of Shaneika’s dress, afraid they might try to whisk her away. My eyes met the gaze of Asa’s former husband.
His stare never wavered.
My heart pounded faster.
Satisfied that the men were actually from the ATF, Shaneika stepped back. “Were you Asa Reynolds’ husband?”
“I was,” answered a tall man in a Burberry coat, who flicked his eyes toward her.
“I consider your involvement to be a conflict of interest as Asa Reynolds and her mother are my clients.”
“This isn’t about Asa Reynolds,” retorted the man, his facial expression and voice neutral.
“Then what’s it about?” Shaneika asked, perplexed.
“We have some questions to ask you about Charlie Hoskins.”
“I see,” responded Shaneika thoughtfully. “It still is a conflict of interest. I’m afraid I can’t talk to the two of you.”
“Under the Patriot Act, we can force you to come with us.”
“I hardly think a balloon accident comes under national security, especially if Charlie Hoskins had anything to do with it. I didn’t realize that the ATF had a department covering stupidity.
“I have a race to watch. I will be happy to make an appointment with you on the day and time of your choosing but not today, gentlemen. Please excuse me.”
My hand tightened around the fabric of her dress.
Shaneika walked around Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum with me clutching her dress and trailing behind.
We left the men huddled in a sad little pile of togetherness, but I could not stop shaking from fear.
9
When Shaneika and I arrived back at the suite, Shaneika’s mother, Miss Eunice, and her son, Linc, had joined the group. As usual, Lincoln was stuffing his face and wearing Lady Elsmere’s diamond and emerald bracelets.
Lincoln jumped up, spilling the plate on his lap. “Mama, you were great on TV.”
“That’s nice, Linc. Now give Miss June back her jewelry before you break it. I can’t afford to replace those stones if they get loose from the settings.”
“Aw, okay,” whined Lincoln.
Eunice rose from her chair and went over to her daughter, kissing her on the cheek. “You looked very elegant, my dear. I’m very proud.”
“Thank you, Mom. You know I better get down to the paddock. It’s time to show Comanche off to the public.”
“Sure, you go ahead. We’ll meet you in the owner’s box to
watch the race.”
“Make sure you’re there.”
“Baby, Linc and I will be waiting for you.” Eunice smiled with pride. “I just gotta pull Lincoln away from all this food before he busts.”
Always the perfect gentleman, Charles rose from his chair to escort Shaneika to the paddock.
I sat in Charles’ seat.
“Whatever is the matter with you?” questioned June. “You’re trembling.”
I grabbed June’s champagne glass and took a large swig. “You won’t believe who I just saw.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, especially at my age.”
I could barely spit out the words, “Asa’s ex-husband, Minor Reasor.”
June reared back in shock. “I can’t believe that he would show his face in Kentucky.”
“Oh, June, it’s worse than that. He’s more handsome and arrogant than ever, and still working for the ATF.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He wanted to interview Shaneika about Charlie Hoskins.”
June thought for a moment. “The ATF does investigate explosions, and that balloon blow-up was a doozy. The TV cameras didn’t catch it, but many of the spectators in the infield taped it and now it’s on every channel. No one could have survived it. It was horrible.”
“And someone must have tipped off the ATF about the fight Charlie and Shaneika had at your Derby party.”
“Still, how did he get here so fast? I have a bad feeling about this, Josiah. A very bad feeling.”
“Shaneika wouldn’t talk to them today, but she will have to talk with them eventually.”
“Look, the next race is starting. We’ll have to discuss this later.”
I nodded and left the suite, looking for a pay phone. They were very hard to find in this day and age, but I finally found one. I dialed a number that I had memorized. When the line on the other end was answered, I just said one word, “Rosebud.”
10
Minor Reasor checked into Louisville’s historic Seelbach Hotel. All he wanted to do was shower and order room service. He was beat and dirty from the day’s work. Part of it was spent on the crime scene and the other part was spent running down and interviewing witnesses.
He usually worked cases involving the smuggling of alcohol or tobacco. In fact, he had worked on breaking up Kentucky’s notorious Cornbread Mafia, but that had been years ago.
The ATF had gotten a tip days ago that something was going to go down at Churchill Downs during the Derby, so he pulled in every favor to get assigned to the case. ATF and Homeland Security agents had been all over Churchill Downs for a week prior to that Saturday.
He had his own reasons to be here. It was to stir things up. Sometimes old wounds never heal.
Throwing off his tie and kicking off his shoes, Minor went into the bathroom and quickly disrobed. Taking a hot shower, he emerged wearing a thick cotton towel.
Then Minor stopped short.
Sitting in a chair was Asa Reynolds pointing his own gun at him.
“Hello Minor.”
“How did you know I was here, Asa?”
“I remembered that you have always loved this hotel. It was simply a matter of having my people stake it out.”
“Were you already in Louisville?”
“No.”
Minor sat on the bed. “Ah, your mother must have called.”
Asa didn’t reply, but waved the gun at the door when someone knocked.
Minor twitched at the sound. “Your people again?”
Asa smiled. “I think it may be room service. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
Minor rose and answered the door.
True enough, it was room service. Minor signed for it and closed the door.
“Would you like to taste my food first?” questioned Minor with a lackadaisical grin.
“Don’t worry,” replied Asa. “It’s not poisoned.” She pinched a strawberry and ate it. “At least not by me.”
She rose and put Minor’s gun on the bed. “You shouldn’t leave those things lying around. Never know who will pick them up. Someone might get hurt.”
Minor lifted the covers off the dishes. “You remembered what I like to have after a case.”
“Breakfast. Two eggs over easy, toast, stack of wheat pancakes with bacon and black coffee.” She started toward the door. “I’ll leave now. You need to eat before your eggs get cold.”
“So soon? Why did you come?”
“To let you know that I’m around.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You wish. I’m just letting you know that I’m not the naïve, idealistic kid I once was. I know the score now.”
“Gee, you troubled yourself to come here to say that.”
Asa smiled. “I’ll be watching you, Minor.”
“It’s illegal to interfere with the investigation of a case or threaten a law enforcement officer. I could have you arrested, Asa.”
“Goodnight, Minor.”
“Wait. Wait!”
But Asa was gone.
When Minor opened the door to his room and looked into the hallway, there was no sign of his former wife.
“How in the hell did she get away so fast?” he mumbled to himself as he shut the door.
He should have realized that Asa would be nearby.
In fact, Asa was three doors down, watching Minor chow down his pancakes. “Good work, Boris.”
“It’s easy to plant hidden cameras.”
“He’ll probably search the room after he’s eaten and find them. He’s no dummy. Just keep tabs on Minor. I want to know everything he does.”
“Where’re you going?”
“I’ll get in touch when I’m needed. Minor has already called his boss to tell him I’m here. Within an hour, this hotel will be full of agents. Gotta go. I would advise you to do the same. You can watch him from anywhere.”
Boris knew better than to argue.
Asa went through a connecting door to the suite and quietly slipped out through another exit into the hallway.
Boris gathered his equipment and headed downstairs. As he was hurrying out through the kitchen, a black SUV pulled up in front of the hotel.
Four men in dark suits climbed out and hurried inside the Seelbach Hotel.
11
“Why did you have to see Minor, Asa?” I asked.
“I wanted to rattle his cage some.”
“And did you?”
Asa smiled as she looked over the cliff and across the river to the green rolling hills of Madison County. “Revenge is a tasty dish best served cold. However, I want to make him sweat a little bit first.”
“Revenge is mine, sayeth the Lord,” I quoted.
Asa finished the quote. “I will repay. In time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”
“Whosoever smites thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.”
Asa wistfully turned and looked at me. “Mom, you know my psych evaluation. I’m a sociopath. We don’t turn the other cheek.” She looked away from me. “We obliterate the threat.”
12
“Ms. Todd, you can sit here. Thank you for coming.”
Shaneika sat in the ATF office located in Louisville. “This is my lawyer, Richard Mandrake,” she announced.
“Do you need a lawyer?”
“I want to make sure that nothing I say is misquoted or taken out of context.”
“Can I offer you something to drink?”
Shaneika smiled. “No, and neither will my attorney have anything to drink or eat.”
“I notice that you are wearing gloves?”
“Any law against that?”
“No, but it makes one wonder.”
“Can we have your names and badge numbers, please?”
“Sure. I’m Agent Joseph Caperella and this is Agent Minor Reasor.” Both ATF men pulled out their badges and let Shaneika take a snapshot of them.
“
Being overly cautious for an ‘innocent’ person, aren’t you?” questioned Agent Caperella, putting away his badge.
Shaneika placed a tiny tape recorder on the table and pushed the “on” button. “Let’s get this over, shall we?”
Agent Caperella shrugged while glancing at Minor. “Okay, let’s start.”
“Name and address for the record, please.”
Shaneika leaned across the table. “Let’s cut the formalities. Why am I sitting across the table from two ATF agents?”
“We are investigating the balloon explosion at the Kentucky Derby. The ATF always investigates high profile explosions.”
“Who owned the balloon and who was in it?” Shaneika demanded.
Minor shot back, “We ask the questions here. Not you.”
Shaneika leaned back against her chair. “You know fellows, there are all sorts of things wrong with this interview. Number one–it is rumored that Charlie Hoskins owned the balloon. Now Charlie didn’t have a lot of admirers. I would say that Charlie had lots of people holding a grudge or two against him. Out of all those people who didn’t like Charlie, you seem to be honing in on a black woman. Are you interrogating lots of white people as well or just little ol’ me?”
“This is not about race. This is about justice,” assured Joseph Caperella.
Shaneika snorted. “Like the Ruby Ridge case?”
Both men twitched at the mention of Ruby Ridge.
“We’re not here to discuss cases of the past. We’re here to discover the how and why of the balloon explosion over Churchill Downs.”
“Has the explosion been ruled as accidental?” asked Richard Mandrake, looking up from his notepad.
“We haven’t reached a conclusion yet.”
Shaneika started to say something, but Richard put his hand on her arm.
“So at the moment you don’t know if the balloon blew up due to human error, incompetence, equipment failure, or tampering?”
Minor stated, “We’re not saying where we are in this investigation.”
