by Maggie Estep
I say, “No, I’m sorry, I only speak English.”
“Ah,” she says in unaccented English, “you are American? I would not have guessed.”
I am strangely flattered by this.
“Do you live here?” the woman asks.
“I’m thinking about it.”
The woman smiles. She has the strangest eyes, brown flecked with bright gold. They’re friendly eyes though, they hold no traces of contempt.
“Where are you staying in Versailles?” she asks.
“Nowhere. I just got here. I don’t know. I was just walking and I saw these horses and had to stop and look at them,” I say. “I love horses.”
“Horses should be loved,” the woman says. “I come here at least once a week to photograph them,” she adds.
“I’d like to get a job taking care of these,” I say.
“But you should,” the woman says enthusiastically.
“I’ve worked with horses before,” I tell her, as if she’s interviewing me for the job.
“I thought so, yes,” she says. “Your hands.” She motions at my weather-beaten hands. Although they could just as easily look ravaged from almost any sort of outdoor work, this woman has apparently taken them for horse-work hands. Again, I’m flattered.
I smile, finding that I like this woman better than I’ve liked any human in quite a while.
“Of course there are stables just over there,” she says, motioning vaguely ahead.
“Oh?”
“Yes. There’s a school for the horse circus.”
“Horse circus?”
“Yes, the dancing horses.” The woman smiles.
“Maybe I’ll go over and ask them for a job taking care of the horses.”
“You should,” the woman says. “It was nice to meet you.” She adds then, “Good luck to you.” She smiles, tightens her cape around her shoulders, and walks off.
I stand there, my dog at my side, staring at the horses.
RUBY MURPHY
40.
Grace
It’s late morning and the Long Island Railroad train is mostly empty. I don’t suppose there’s much call for going to Floral Park at eleven A.M. on a Thursday in late March. Admittedly, I’m not particularly thrilled at the prospect myself. It’s been difficult to be interested in much of anything these last weeks. The moment I start feeling a little bit better, I picture Attila again. When I’m not picturing his dead body, I’m remembering him full of life, running half naked through the parking lot of the Woodland Motel. And it breaks my heart again and again.
They’ve all been trying to rescue me. Violet all but forced me to go see Dr. Ray, an acquaintance of hers who’s a shrink. I actually like going to sit in Jody Ray’s well-appointed office over in Chelsea but I can’t say that it’s helped much. I’ve had three sessions with her but the images of Attila’s and Ava’s bodies are burned into my head and don’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Jane and her husband, Harry, have made it their business to try helping me too. The day after it all happened, they came by my place to try forcing some life into me. I hadn’t found a reason to eat or get dressed yet when they called to say they were downstairs. I put my robe on and went to let them in.
They stood at the door wearing matching grave expressions. None of us said anything as we climbed up the stairs to my place. Ramirez’s door was open and as we walked by he called out to me. I think he’d been keeping a round-the-clock vigil, expecting trouble.
“It’s okay, Pietro,” I told him, “it’s my friends, Jane and Harry.”
“All right,” Ramirez said, coming to the door to make sure it was in fact Jane and Harry. I offered him a pale smile. He just frowned.
Jane and Harry and I went inside my place. The cats emerged from the bedroom to inspect the visitors. I immediately went back to the couch, where I’d been lying all morning.
“I brought muffins,” Jane said, holding forth a paper bag.
“Oh good,” I said.
“You look like you need one,” Jane said, coming to sit at one end of the couch as Harry crouched down to pet the cats.
“I need more than a muffin,” I said, making a vague stab at humor.
None of us did much laughing though. After about an hour, Jane persuaded me to get dressed and come with her and Harry to take a walk. Coney Island just looked flat and gray though.
After three days I started wondering why Ed hadn’t called since the morning after he’d come to get me in Saugerties. A lot of feelings coursed through me—mostly anger at his apparent abandonment. It got to the point where I was angry enough to call him.
“What the fuck are you doing,” were the first words out of my mouth when he answered the phone.
“Ruby,” he sounded like I’d punched him. Which, I suppose, I had. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay. Why haven’t you gotten in touch with me?”
“I was trying to be respectful.”
“That’s what you call it?”
Ed was quiet. After a moment, it dawned on me that the man had no idea that I wanted him to call.
“I wanted you to call me,” I said.
“Had I known, I would have. Can I come over?”
“Please. Yes.”
He was at my place within twenty minutes. For a while, we sat quietly. He asked if I wanted to talk about Attila. I didn’t.
Eventually, we went to bed and stayed there for a long time. Ed then stunned me by saying he was quitting the FBI and coming to New York to train claimers.
THE TRAIN APPROACHES Floral Park and my mood improves slightly. I’m about to see Ed for the first time since he left for Florida to pack up his little stable and return to New York.
I get off the train and start walking. The sky is blotched and gray. The air is cold, even though spring should be coming any minute now.
By the time I reach the backstretch entrance, it’s raining lightly and my hair is moist. I don’t have a hat or umbrella and I get soaked.
I reach barn fifty-four but there’s no sign of Ed. There are horses but it’s impossible to know if any of them are his. I walk closer and peer into the first stall, finding a big bay mare. She’s friendly enough and licks my extended palm. I scratch her face a little and then move on to the next stall. Here, a small chestnut gelding shows me his hind end. I cluck at him a little but he’s not in a sociable mood. I move on to the next stall where I find a big dark bay gelding, also with his butt to me. I try a tentative cluck and he pricks his ears forward and turns around. He has intelligent eyes and he bears a striking resemblance to Violet Kravitz’s Jack Valentine. The horse comes over, sniffs at my hands then truffles at my head, rubbing his nose against my wet hair.
“So you found him,” a voice says behind me.
I turn around to face Ed.
“Hey you,” I say.
“Hey yourself.” He pulls me into his arms. I close my eyes and sink into the hug.
“You found your friend,” Ed says eventually, pulling back from me and motioning at the bay horse.
“What do you mean?”
“Jack Valentine. Or do all horses look alike to you?”
“Oh, I thought that was him. What’s he doing here?” I ask, surprised. After winning his and Attila’s last race, Jack came up with a chipped sesamoid bone in his left front leg. He won’t race again, but he will eventually heal. I figured Violet would have already sent him somewhere for a layup.
“He’s using my extra stall until you find somewhere to keep him,” Ed says.
“What?”
“Violet wants you to have him,” he says.
After a few seconds, I realize my jaw is hanging open. Then, I feel tears coming. I look from Ed to the horse.
“You do want a horse, don’t you? You’ve always talked about wanting a horse. When Violet asked me about it, I figured it was a great idea.” Ed is looking at me intently. All I can do is nod stupidly.
“He’s on stall rest for a few more weeks, th
en you’ll have to hand walk him a few times a day. After that, you’re gonna want to let him grow up some. Eventually he’ll make a great pleasure horse though.”
Ed is patting Jack on the neck. “We’ll find a way for you to board him somewhere cheaply, I promise,” he says.
I walk over to Jack and start stroking his face. His eyes droop shut and he puts the edge of his muzzle on my shoulder. I can’t quite believe this is happening.
When I can bear to tear myself away from Jack Valentine, Ed introduces me to his three claimers. One thing I can say about all three horses is that they seem intensely attached to their caretaker. Even the recalcitrant chestnut who wouldn’t give me the time of day is demonstrative with Ed. The man certainly has a way with beasts. And with children too, apparently. After about an hour—most of which I’ve spent vigorously grooming Jack—Violet Kravitz comes by with young Grace Johnson. I had heard that Attila had left a will asking that Violet look after Grace—which gave me a shock since I hadn’t realized that he truly knew his days were numbered. There have been legal complications over the child, but, thankfully, neither Attila’s father nor Ava’s parents really wanted much to do with Grace and it appears Violet and Henry will be able to adopt her. I’ve only seen the girl once, at Attila’s and Ava’s funerals, where she was standing with what must have been Ava’s parents. She looked very pale and solemn, but she wasn’t crying. I didn’t get a good look at her then and now I’m startled to see a lot of Attila in her. I probably stare a little too intensely because she seems frightened of me and won’t talk to me. She takes a shine to Ed though. She babbles at him nonstop as he introduces her to each of his horses, speaking of each one as if it were Man O’ War himself.
Violet and I go into the empty room that will eventually be Ed’s tack room. She wants nothing to do with my gratitude though.
“By accepting the horse you save me the trouble of spending weeks finding him an appropriate home,” she says, waving a hand at me.
“Violet, he’s a beautiful mover and he has a great temperament. I’m sure you could have sold him.”
“To whom though? I can’t let some stranger take my horse. Most people can’t be trusted with a gentle horse like that, dear girl.”
“I’m honored. And I’ll take good care of him.”
“Oh I have no doubt of that. What I do doubt is your condition.”
“My condition?”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. I mean not fine at all, but fine. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Violet sighs, “I’m afraid I do. I have no idea what to do with the child,” she says in a low voice, peering outside of the tack room, as if expecting Grace to be standing there listening.
“But you seem great with her,” I say, surprised.
“It’s an act, Ruby, in fact I’m terrified. I’m not sure what Attila was thinking. Henry always claimed to dislike children and I certainly had never planned on having any. But what can I do? I cared about Attila and the child is an orphan.”
“She seems like a nice little girl,” I say.
“She’s a very nice little girl. It’s heartbreaking. She’s the saddest, sweetest child you could ever meet. And I feel inept.”
“That alone means you’re fit to take care of her.”
“What does?”
“That you feel inept. Only people who are trying very hard at something feel inept at it.”
“I’m not certain that I agree with you but it’s a nice thing to say Ruby.”
Violet reaches over and squeezes my hand.
We come out of the tack room and go stand in front of Jack Valentine’s stall. The horse pricks his ears forward and looks at us.
“He’s a keeper, all right,” I say to Violet.
“Oh yes,” she agrees, “and so is that man down there.” She motions at Ed who is just emerging from a stall, Grace at his side.
“You hold on to him,” Violet tells me.
I’m not sure if she’s talking about the man or the horse, but I’ll try to do right by both.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MAGGIE ESTEP is the author of Diary of an Emotional Idiot and Soft Maniacs. Her work has appeared in various anthologies and magazines, including the Village Voice, the New York Press, and Nerve.com. She is currently working on Flame Thrower, the next Ruby Murphy mystery and hanging out at racetracks, cheering on long shots. She lives in New York City.
ALSO BY MAGGIE ESTEP
Staying out of trouble is a long shot when Ruby Murphy gets involved in horse racing’s seamy underbelly—a dangerous world where nothing is as it appears and people and thoroughbreds seem to have remarkably limited life spans.
“There is about Maggie Estep’s work a directness, a clear determination—a drive to cut through, to break through, to claw through—that is impressive.”
—A. M. HOMES, author of In a Country of Mothers
THREE RIVERS PRESS · NEW YORK
Wherever books are sold · www.crownpublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of this work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Maggie Estep
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Three Rivers Press, New York, New York.
Member of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of
Random House, Inc.
www.crownpublishing.com
Three Rivers Press and the Tugboat design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Estep, Maggie.
Gargantuan: a Ruby Murphy mystery/Maggie Estep.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Women detectives—New York (state)—New York—Fiction. 2. Coney
Island (New York, NY.)—Fiction. 3. Jockeys—Crimes against—Fiction.
4. Museums—Employees—Fiction. 5. Horse racing—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3555.S754G37 2004
813′.54—dc22
2004001802
eISBN: 978-0-307-52576-5
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Other Books By This Author
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1 - The Jockey
Chapter 2 - Man on Fire
Chapter 3 - Sherpa Guide
Chapter 4 - Cool My Head Off
Chapter 5 - After Near Death
Chapter 6 - Innocent Beasts
Chapter 7 - Masked Rider
Chapter 8 - Velocity
Chapter 9 - Women’s Studies
Chapter 10 - The Blind Eye
Chapter 11 - Counting Horses
Chapter 12 - Savage in the Heart
Chapter 13 - Darwin’s Hiccup
Chapter 14 - In the Hole
Chapter 15 - Symptoms
Chapter 16 - She Run Good
Chapter 17 - The Comfort of Strangers
Chapter 18 - Ten Kinds of Trouble
Chapter 19 - Hush
Chapter 20 - The Sadness of Humans
Chapter 21 - Radiance
Chapter 22 - When the World Stops Spinning
Chapter 23 - Vicious
Chapter 24 - Half Naked
Chapter 25 - Runaway
Chapter 26 - The Layout of Eternity
Chapt
er 27 - Bad Lady
Chapter 28 - The Girl
Chapter 29 - Last Ride
Chapter 30 - At Sixes and Sevens
Chapter 31 - Caught
Chapter 32 - If Wishes Were Horses
Chapter 33 - Dead by Yesterday
Chapter 34 - Compelling Thunder
Chapter 35 - Crawling
Chapter 36 - Long Shot
Chapter 37 - Ride
Chapter 38 - Falling
Chapter 39 - Ether
Chapter 40 - Grace
About the Author
Also by Maggie Estep
Copyright
