Live and Let Growl

by Laurien Berenson

  “Thank you.” I scooped up a bite eagerly. “That’s very generous of you.”

  “Indeed,” Aunt Peg agreed. She circled her arm around her own plate and pulled it closer possessively. You know, so I wouldn’t get any ideas about filching cake from both of them.

  “You had business to do for Miss Ellie,” Aunt Peg said again. “What was it?”

  Daniel didn’t answer right away. Nor did he pick up his own spoon. The expression on his face was thoughtful.

  “What?” I asked finally.

  I might have posed the question with a sliver of his own dessert in my mouth. Damn, that torte was good. If he didn’t hurry up, he was going to miss the whole thing.

  “I guess I’m debating whether or not I should trust you,” Daniel said.

  “We’ve been sharing confidences for more than an hour,” Aunt Peg reminded him. “Isn’t it a little late to be wondering about that now?”

  “Not necessarily. I would hate for anyone to get in the way of what I’m hoping to accomplish.” He gave his head a small shake. “But I’m probably worrying for nothing. The two of you don’t seem like the most formidable pair.”

  Aunt Peg stiffened at the veiled barb. Not me. I was too blissed out on cake and cappuccino to take offence.

  “Aunt Peg and I don’t usually squabble like children,” I told him. “We can be quite formidable when the occasion demands it.”

  Aunt Peg lifted a haughty brow. “Does the occasion demand it, Daniel?”

  “It might.”

  He finally lifted his dessert spoon. Daniel then glanced down at his half-empty plate. I’d expected him to look horrified. Instead he simply signaled the waiter to bring us another dessert and returned to the topic at hand.

  “It sounds to me like the two of you don’t know much about Miss Ellie’s family,” Daniel said.

  “We’ve met the two cousins who run Green Gates Farm,” I said. “And we’re acquainted with Miss Ellie’s son, Gates. Miss Ellie told me a bit about the history of the farm last week. She said that the land had been in her family for three generations.”

  “Did she tell you anything about her father?”

  “Only that he inherited a share of the farm that should have been passed along to her when he died. But he was pushed out of the family business by his two brothers. I know that Miss Ellie ended up with almost nothing.”

  ‘Pushed out’ is a polite way of putting it. According to what Miss Ellie told me, her father was the horseman of the group, but he had no head for business. He managed the Thoroughbreds and trusted his brothers to take care of everything else. He assumed that they would protect his interests along with their own. That turned out to be a huge mistake.”

  “That all happened years ago,” said Aunt Peg.

  “Yes, but Miss Ellie never forgot. How could she when she continued to live right there in the same town, virtually around the corner from everything she’d lost? Miss Ellie considered that land to be her birthright. If anything, her bitterness over the way her father had been taken advantage of only grew worse over the years.”

  “She mentioned that her father had a drinking problem,” I said. “Is that how he lost his share of the farm?”

  “Miss Ellie thought the world of her father but in reality Walker Gates was a bit of a scoundrel. Drinking wasn’t his only vice. He was also an addicted gambler. Miss Ellie told me that her father would bet on everything from horses, to U.K. basketball, to the chance of rain when the sun was shining.”

  “Oh my,” said Aunt Peg.

  “Walker racked up sizeable debts and he needed a way to get money fast. He went to his brothers for help. They agreed to bail him out—but they also told him that there was going to be a stiff price to pay for their assistance.”

  “So Miss Ellie’s father wasn’t actually swindled out of his share the farm,” I said. “He gave it up of his own accord.”

  “That’s what the legal papers said, but it’s not what Miss Ellie believed. She said her father told her that he’d been set up by his brothers. At the very least, she was convinced that her uncles had encouraged Walker down the path to his own destruction. After he gave up his legacy, Walker never recovered. He died a broken man.”

  “I can see why Miss Ellie would have been bitter,” Aunt Peg said. “It sounds as though she’d given up a great deal to behave in the way that was expected of her while the rest of her family was acting like a band of marauding pirates.”

  “Relations between the family members never improved after that,” Daniel continued. “After Miss Ellie got married, she went to her uncles and asked to buy back into the farm. The two men laughed at her. They told her that her lost share didn’t matter because she was only a woman.”

  “Those two sound like a nasty piece of work,” Aunt Peg said angrily.

  “They were,” Daniel agreed. “And the current generation, Sheldon and Billy, aren’t any better.”

  “At least Miss Ellie’s cousins gave Gates a job on the family farm,” I pointed out.

  “Unfortunately that’s another source of contention,” Daniel said. “Miss Ellie thought that was their way of thumbing their nose at her. They made Gates start at the bottom mucking stalls and told him that if he worked hard enough, he could eventually rise to a position of responsibility. The cousins even dangled the possibility that he might be able to buy back into the family land.

  “That was why Gates took the job. He thought it would make his mother happy. But Miss Ellie didn’t believe a single word that Billy and Sheldon said. She thought they were just stringing Gates along and that they’d use him up and toss him away just as they had done to his grandfather.”

  “I feel like I’m in the middle of a Southern Gothic novel,” I said, and Aunt Peg nodded.

  “You still haven’t told us where you fit in,” she said to Daniel.

  The waiter had delivered the additional torte a few minutes earlier. Now Daniel finally paused to take a bite of the dark chocolate confection. Then he glanced up and smiled. The look in his eyes sent an unexpected chill racing down my spine.

  “Never forget that Miss Ellie was born a Gates, too,” he said. “She possessed the same ruthless nature as the rest of the family. Miss Ellie plotted her revenge for a long time. She needed my help because now she was ready to fight back. It was finally time for her to regain everything she’d lost.”

  Chapter 23

  “You have our full attention,” Aunt Peg said.

  That was an understatement. I nodded in agreement. “Please continue.”

  “How much do you two know about Thoroughbred horse sales?” Daniel asked.

  “A good deal more than we did when we arrived in Kentucky last week,” I told him. Luckily I’d had a chance to tell Aunt Peg about my earlier conversation with Erin. “Erin Sayre, whom you met at the funeral, works at Six Oaks Farm. She’s been educating us.”

  “Then perhaps you won’t find what I’m about to tell you surprising, though I certainly did. According to Miss Ellie, some of the transactions that take place at horse auctions are not as straightforward as someone looking in from the outside might think.”

  “Erin told us the same thing,” I said. “Are you talking about dishonest bloodstock agents bidding up the prices?”

  “That’s one way for someone to take advantage of a horse buyer. But there are others as well.”

  “Kickbacks?” I asked.

  Daniel nodded. “And more.”

  “More?” Aunt Peg echoed incredulously. She signaled for the waiter to bring our check. “I can see we’re going to be talking for a while yet. Let me settle this and we can continue our conversation on the walk back to the hotel.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Daniel said, reaching for his wallet. “Dinner is on me.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Aunt Peg retorted. “As I recall, you accepted my invitation.”

  “Yes, and I’ve done little more than grill you for information since.”

  “What ma
ke you think we haven’t been grilling you at the same time?” Aunt Peg asked with a sly smile. She snagged the check from the server who was hovering between them, slipped a credit card into the leather folder, and sent him on his way.

  “Thank you for dinner and the pleasure of your company,” Daniel said, accepting the fact that he’d been outmaneuvered.

  “The evening isn’t over yet,” Aunt Peg informed him. “It sounds as though we still have quite a bit to discuss.”

  Five minutes later, we were on our way. Once we stepped away from the heaters that warmed the patio, the night air was crisp and cool. I slipped on the jacket I’d brought with me and zipped it up. The dark sky above us was awash with tiny, twinkling lights. Yet another way that Kentucky was different from Connecticut. I couldn’t remember ever having seen so many stars in a night sky before.

  While I was admiring the scenery, Aunt Peg’s thoughts were focused on more practical matters. “You were about to tell us more about the shenanigans that take place at horse sales,” she reminded Daniel.

  “One scheme in particular,” he said. “Apparently it’s a tactic that Billy Gates is quite familiar with.”

  The sidewalk was narrow. Daniel and Aunt Peg led the way, striding out together. I fell into place behind them.

  “I’m assuming it was Miss Ellie who told you to hire Billy as your agent?” Aunt Peg said.

  “That’s correct.”

  “And he knows nothing about the connection between you?” I asked.

  “Also correct,” Daniel confirmed. “All Billy knows is that I have money to spend and I want to buy a couple of nice young Thoroughbreds. I’ve engaged his services with the understanding that I’m a newcomer to the industry and I require his expertise in order to spend my money wisely.”

  “That sounds as though you’ve written him a blank check,” I said.

  “I should hope so.” Daniel turned and glanced back at me. “That was the whole point. The day after tomorrow, over a hundred two-year-olds will breeze on the Keeneland racetrack so potential buyers can check them out. Billy and I will watch the workouts together. Later we’ll visit the horses back at their barns. Billy has already made a short list of those he likes, so assuming that they work well, those two-year-olds are the ones we’ll focus on.”

  “So far, it sounds as though Billy will be making himself quite useful,” Aunt Peg said.

  “He will,” Daniel agreed. “At least when I’m standing right there next to him.”

  “And when you’re not?” I asked.

  “That’s when things start to get dicey. Say that he and I end up with several horses we agree we ought to try and buy. For the purposes of Billy’s ploy, the most important thing is that the animal’s consignor—the person who’s selling him—is someone Billy thinks he can do business with. Let’s call our first horse-of-interest Dobbin.”

  “Surely not,” Aunt Peg interjected. “Dobbin doesn’t sound anything like a racehorse. How about Zeus?”

  “I defer to your superior naming skills,” Daniel said with a laugh. “Zeus it is. Now the horses breeze on Thursday but the sale itself isn’t held until Monday. Over the weekend Billy will approach Zeus’s consignor and ask if the horse has had a lot of activity. Have there been many interested buyers looking at him? Most likely, the consignor is going to say yes. Because even if it isn’t true, who wants to admit that their horse is unpopular?”

  “Nobody who’s in the business of selling things,” I agreed.

  “Next,” Daniel continued, “Billy will say, ‘So how much do you think he’s going to bring?’ At that point the consignor might hem and haw, but eventually he’ll probably supply either a price or else a range that he thinks the price will fall into. Say he tells Billy he thinks his colt is going to sell for between two hundred and two-fifty.”

  “Thousand?” asked Aunt Peg. “As in dollars?”

  “Dollars,” Daniel confirmed. “Real money.”

  Aunt Peg looked shocked. I wondered if she was reevaluating her inheritance.

  “Now,” Daniel told us, “Billy says to the consignor, ‘I’ll give you two hundred and eighty for Zeus right now.’ ”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would Billy offer more money ahead of time than he’s likely to be able to buy the horse for during the sale?”

  “I’ll get to that part in a minute,” Daniel said. “But first we have to finish our transaction. So now the consignor thinks, Hmmm this guy is offering me more than I think my colt is worth. Maybe I should listen to what he has to say. But is it strictly legal what he’s asking me to do? Nope, no way.”

  “Why not?” asked Aunt Peg. “Zeus went to the sale to be sold. Why does it make a difference when that happens?”

  “Because the next thing Billy says is, ‘I’ll buy the horse from you now, but I want you to keep him here in your barn and run him through the sale on Monday just like nothing has changed. This ownership deal is strictly between us.’ ”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. I was pretty sure where this was heading.

  “That part doesn’t sound right,” Aunt Peg agreed.

  “That’s because it isn’t. It’s called dual agency, and thanks to laws that were passed in Kentucky several years ago for the express purpose of preventing this kind of thing from happening, it’s definitely illegal. Because the next thing Billy plans to do is tell his clueless buyer—in this case, me—‘Hey, I think we can get that really nice colt for half a million. That’s the next Derby winner for sure. He’d be a steal for that price. So let’s take our best shot and hope we can get it done.’ ”

  “Half a million,” Aunt Peg said faintly. “If I’m understanding correctly, nearly half of that purchase price will go directly into Billy’s pocket.”

  “Yup.” Daniel nodded. “That’s how it will work out.”

  I was equally appalled. “So Billy’s clueless client will end up paying double what the horse is worth? That’s highway robbery!”

  Abruptly Aunt Peg stopped walking. Pausing in a pool of light provided by a street lamp, she turned to face us. “Surely everyone here doesn’t do business that way.”

  “Of course not,” Daniel said. “There are plenty of honest people in the horse industry, too. But in a situation like this, the deck is stacked against them. Let’s look at this deal from Zeus’s consignor’s point of view. When he gets the offer from Billy, he can probably guess exactly what’s going to happen to Billy’s client. He also knows that even though he’s not the one who initiated the scam, he will be equally guilty of participating in a fraudulent transaction.”

  “And hopefully he refuses,” I said.

  “Suppose he does turn Billy down . . . Is that really the right thing for him to do?” Daniel asked.

  “Of course,” Aunt Peg snapped.

  “Not necessarily. Stop and think about it for a minute. The consignor’s first responsibility is to the colt’s owner whom he’s representing at the sale. It’s his job to get that horse sold and for as much money as possible. Not only is this price higher than he’d thought he’d be able to get for the colt, it’s a sure thing. So one might argue that if he turns Billy down, he’s not doing the best he can for his client, the colt’s owner.”

  “You must have been a politician,” Aunt Peg said unhappily. “Because you certainly know how to argue both sides of a debate.”

  “I’m just trying to acquaint you with all the different angles that are in play. The other thing Zeus’s consignor knows is that there are plenty of other horses in the sale, and that if he doesn’t take Billy’s deal, someone else certainly will. So his refusal doesn’t help Billy’s client, it only hurts his own.”

  “I don’t care how appealing you make the transaction sound,” I said stubbornly, “what you’re talking about is still illegal.”

  “You’re right,” Daniel agreed. “And our consignor knows that. Could be that he’s an ethical man and he’s waffling. So Billy adds one last piece of persuasion. He says to Zeus’s consignor, ‘
I’m a big man in this industry and I know a lot of important people. If you don’t do business with me I’m going to tell all my friends they shouldn’t even bother looking at your colt because I’ve already seen him and he’s a train wreck. By the time I get done trashing your horse, nobody’s going to want him at any price.’ ”

  “Holy crap,” I said. “Somebody would actually do that?”

  “According to Miss Ellie, they do indeed. Her cousin is a repeat offender but he’s not the only one. Everybody’s trying to find an edge over the next guy and that kind of trash talk is part of the game. The more people you can turn off a horse you want to buy, the less you’re likely to have to pay for him.”

  “I think I need a stiff drink,” Aunt Peg said. She turned and headed briskly across the parking lot toward the hotel. “Either that or a bottle of disinfectant to pour over my head. What kind of business have I gotten myself mixed up in?”

  “Horse trading.” Daniel grasped the hotel door and pulled it open. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “Or the pure of heart either apparently,” I muttered.

  As we entered the lobby. Aunt Peg took a moment to survey her options. Then she made a beeline for the bar. I’d had every intention of going back to the room where Faith was waiting for us. But when Daniel strode after Aunt Peg, I found myself following, too. I wasn’t about to be the only one who didn’t hear how this all turned out.

  We were in Kentucky so we all ordered bourbon. Drinks in hand, we settled at a small table in a dark corner. Somehow the setting seemed appropriate to the conversation.

  “So now what happens?” asked Aunt Peg. On the way to the table, she’d downed nearly half her tumbler. My aunt is no more of a drinker than I am. I sincerely hoped she had a better head for alcohol than I did.

  “Now I go to the Keeneland sale and let Billy believe that I have every intention of buying an expensive horse or two,” Daniel said. “Miss Ellie took great pains to acquaint me with everything I needed to do ahead of time, including applying to the sales company for a line of credit. As Billy is well aware, I have a budget of a million dollars.”