Race into Murder Read online

  Race into Murder

  Karen Black

  Copyright © 2017 Karen Black

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including any electronic or mechanical means, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-1975790127

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Contents

  Race into Murder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  About the Author

  Publications

  Connect with the Author

  Race into Murder

  Author, Karen Black

  Editor, Robert L. Arend

  Cover Design,

  Dark Water Arts Designs

  Cover Photo, Laura Barnes-Kadi

  Publicity Photos,

  Laura Barnes-Kadi, Mark Bellard

  Chapter 1

  With an arch of his muscular neck, FraziersFury flared his nostrils and pawed at the sawdust-covered paddock. His steel-grey coat glistened in the southern California sun. It was the day of the Celestial Stakes at the Angelina Racetrack, and the three-year-old thoroughbred was ready to run.

  FraziersFury understood what it meant to be saddled in the racetrack's paddock. He bucked and danced in excitement, and it took both his trainer, Jeff Frazier, and his groom to keep the colt under control as they walked around the circular paddock.

  With some of the best young horses in the country competing, horsemen considered the Celestial Stakes a steppingstone to the Million Dollar Derby, one of the most highly anticipated races of the year.

  Santos Velasquez was Fury’s groom. He knew the animated young horse as well as anyone. At just over five feet tall, Santos had the broad shoulders and narrow waist of a man who kept himself in shape. He was exceptionally strong for his size and had no problem handling even the rankest horse. Although Fury’s antics kept the groom busy, there was never any fear that he would lose control of the young animal. Santos had an uncanny ability with animals of all types and was an expert at controlling energetic young horses like Fury. His talent made him invaluable to Jeff.

  “Fury sure is wound up,” Santos said as they walked Fury to his stall for a final equipment check. “He reminds me of Esperanza. He was the first horse I broke. My father laughed when I said I would ride him. I was twelve years old. I got some big bruises, but once Esperanza understood what I wanted, he tried to comply. It was as if he understood my words and my thoughts. That big grey horse could run like the wind, but he was so efficient that it felt like slow motion. Fury moves like that. There is one difference. Fury is kinder than Esperanza was. I wish I was young enough, and thin enough, to race again. I would pay you to allow me to be his jockey. Look at him over there. He knows what’s coming. He is ready to race.”

  Jeff chuckled. “He sure is. Carl has his hands full with that colt. I just hope he can keep him under wraps for the first half.”

  Fury had raced twice as a two-year-old, winning a Maiden Special Weight in a field of eleven his first time out. He moved up in class to an Allowance race and finished second by a length after a difficult trip. Pleased with the result of his maiden race, Jeff moved Fury up in class. He entered the colt in the Obsidian and then the Rose Stakes; both rated Grade 3. Fury finished second and first respectively, earning national recognition and an offer from David Marsico, a well-known trainer who specialized in equine agreements for his clients.

  Mr. Marsico wanted to purchase Fury for himself, however, he said he might consider a partnership agreement for a substantial sum, but only if he took over the training. Jeff’s wife, Natalie, wasn’t interested in selling, yet, at Marsico’s insistence, Jeff agreed to meet to discuss the offer.

  As a businessman, Jeff was ready to consider what the sale of the young horse would mean, not only to him as the trainer, but to Natalie, who was Fury’s breeder and steadfast in her refusal to even consider the sale of her colt. Even if she would consider a sale, David Marsico would not have enough money to buy him. And since Natalie was Fury’s sole owner, that was the end of the discussion.

  Jeff and Natalie didn’t have any children, so the horses were Natalie’s babies. As a result, throughout their years together she had as much, or even more input into the daily regimen of the horses than Jeff, who also loved the horses, yet was a businessman first.

  Fury was the couple’s first home-bred stakes winner, and the paperwork listed Natalie as his owner. And though a racehorse, Fury was also his owner’s pet.

  For Natalie, winning the Celestial Stakes—the most prestigious race in which she had ever entered a horse—would be a reflection on the married duo’s ability to breed and train a sound and talented colt. For Jeff, a winning race was a reflection on their investment and being able to make a substantial profit. If Fury was unsuccessful on the racetrack, Natalie would have kept him as a western pleasure horse. Jeff had no qualms about admitting that he would sell any horse they had, for the right price; and winning races would increase Fury’s value.

  Natalie listened as Jeff gave the jockey, Carl Lawson, some final instructions.

  “Get him out of the gate quickly,” Jeff instructed Carl. “Try to keep him relaxed, and off the pace. I’d like to see him about four lengths back. If he absolutely demands the lead, don’t use all his energy in a battle trying to hold him back. It isn’t my preference, but if you must let him go, just do it; we’ll see what he does on the front end. Given his attitude, I suspect he’ll be tough to rate. He is definitely ready for this race. Do your best.”

  The jockey nodded. “Understood.”

  Carl was one of the taller jockeys who raced at Angelina. Long, smooth muscles stretched over his sixty-five-inch frame, like steel cables. He kept those muscles in shape with daily workouts, which gav
e him the strength to control a mount that weighed close to ten times as much as he did.

  Carl was Fury’s regular jockey and had ridden the horse in all his races and formal workouts. When he was available, and that was most of the time, Carl was Fury’s exercise rider, too. He had a rapport with the colt and knew that the young horse was ready to run.

  The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, “Riders up!”

  Jeff gave Carl a leg up as Natalie whispered in Fury’s ear, “Run fast and come home safe, my beauty.”

  Carl turned Fury toward the track’s entrance. The stunning grey colt pricked his ears, arched his neck, and with the slightest of bucks, danced his way onto the dirt oval. When he reached the track, however, Fury’s antics stopped. It was as though he understood that it was time to work, and he focused on Carl’s signals.

  Carl Lawson had been riding for seven years. He had a good reputation and a decent win record. On occasion, he had ridden for some of the major trainers, but not their top prospects. The jockey had gotten some good press after Fury’s win in the Rose Stakes, and he expected some additional recognition if Fury did well in the Celestial Stakes. When the California Horse Network interviewed him, Carl had given all the credit to Fury. The jockey was convinced that Fury was not only the best horse he’d ever ridden, but possibly the best three-year-old currently racing.

  Frazier’s Barn was where Carl had become acquainted with Jeff and Natalie. He became one of the couple’s best friends, which led to him becoming Fury’s exclusive jockey.

  Natalie reached for Jeff’s hand.

  “He certainly seems ready to go,” Jeff said, smiling at his wife.

  Not taking her eyes away from the colt, Natalie said, “That he does.”

  Long, auburn hair brushed the side of her face and drew attention to her wide, lime-green eyes. Married for thirteen years, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Santos joined the couple, and the three friends crossed the paddock to the inside rail.

  “I like to hang out with the trainer,” Natalie reached for Jeff’s hand. “It gets me a front row spot for the race.” Jeff rolled his eyes as he squeezed her hand. Santos chuckled.

  Jeff thought that Fury looked good warming up, but noticed the colt had broken out in a sweat. Fury was more anxious than in past races, and the trainer figured that it was probably because of the noisy crowd. Though lightly raced, Fury already had quite a following at Angelina, and the roar of the fans seemed to increase when Carl rode him onto the track.

  Watching horse and rider, Natalie thought about the strength and determination jockeys needed to be able to do what they do; horse racing is a dangerous occupation.

  Jockeys make a living riding a half-ton mass of pure muscle that moves beneath them at 35 to 40 miles per hour, Natalie marveled. The 120-pound riders balance on two little steel stirrups, holding onto a thin piece of leather, or a fist full of mane, yet somehow manage not to fall off. After all the years working around the track, she still found those professionals amazing.

  The announcer’s voice filled the air. “The horses are in the starting gate.”

  For those few seconds, Natalie stopped breathing, exhaling only when the announcer bellowed, “And they’re off, in the Celestial Stakes.”

  Natalie’s home-bred colt moved quickly from the starting gate and onto the Angelina oval, spurring her excitement. She was midway into silently thanking the racing goddess for Fury’s safe start when the announcer crumbled her exultation with his next report.

  “After a clean start for all, FraziersFury is running 6th, with about eight lengths to make up.”

  Fury had bounded nicely out of the gate, but veered toward the rail, bumping, or being bumped, by the big bay horse in the process. Yet, neither seemed any worse for the wear while they thundered down the backstretch. Fury wasn’t gaining ground but didn’t seem to be losing any. Seated still as a statue, Carl had a tight grip on the reins. Fury seemed comfortable where he was. Eight lengths were farther back than Natalie would have liked, but she thought it was better than being in front too early.

  “Come on Fury!” Natalie shouted, as if he could hear her and that would make a difference.

  “The horses are approaching the top of the stretch,” the track announcer called. “Nordstrom still holds the lead, with pilot A.J. McCoy sitting chilly, followed by ImageOfAKnight and BaskervillesBobby a half-length behind. HotDogsAndBeer is fourth. On the outside, FraziersFury is making a move. Jockey, Carl Lawson, is asking Fury for more speed and getting it. Nordstrom is still in front, then BaskervillesBobby, and HotDogsAndBeer. ImageOfAKnight has dropped out of it but look at FraziersFury!”

  Countless spectators rose from their seats, their cheers uniting in a cacophony that swarmed the arena.

  “On the far outside, FraziersFury is gaining with every stride. There are three furlongs to go. Nordstrom and BaskervillesBobby are battling for the lead. FraziersFury is moving up to challenge. Any one of them can win. Nordstrom has moved past BaskervillesBobby on the inside. FraziersFury is moving right with him, trying to take command on the outside. McCoy gave two taps of the right-hand whip and Nordstrom has responded with a leap to the lead. With steady urging FraziersFury is digging in. They are coming to the wire. It’s too close to call!”

  Nordstrom might have held on, but Fury was gaining on the outside. A head bob could decide the winner. BaskervillesBobby was third.

  “Did Fury catch him, Jeff?” Natalie wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t know,” Jeff answered. “It was awfully close. Fury’s nose was coming up just as they hit the wire. First or second, he ran a great race. I’m proud of him and Carl.”

  Jeff jumped over the rail and then turned to help his wife over. Hand in hand, both ran onto the track to wait for Carl to gallop out and bring Fury back.

  Natalie eagerly looked up into her husband’s sea-colored eyes. “While it would be beyond thrilling if Fury did win in company like this, I will still be delighted with a second place for him,” she said.

  Santos approached. “Fury caught him, Nat. Fury won.”

  Is it possible that we have a starter for the Million Dollar Derby? Natalie thought. She wasn’t yet ready to ask that question out loud.

  The Million Dollar Derby was the first of the Triple Million Race Series for three-year-old horses. It was a group of three races, each with a purse of one million dollars. There was a bonus of two million dollars to the winner of two of the three races, and a bonus of three million dollars to the winner of all three. The only way to race in the Million Dollar Derby was to be one of the top twenty money earners who were interested in entering.

  Natalie and Jeff had worked with horses for years. They had a small operation. They weren’t rich but earned enough to pay their expenses and live comfortably. Jeff’s interest was in training winning racehorses. Natalie was more involved in breeding and genetics that produced longevity and sound horses.

  Natalie never tired of studying the pedigrees and following careers. Fury and his younger sister, Flight, weren’t Natalie’s first home-bred racehorses—or even her first stakes winners, but Fury was the first graded stakes winner.

  Graded stakes races were determined by the amount of the purse money, and drew the top horses from across the country, even other continents. The competition became more difficult the higher the grade. Fury had won a Grade 3 race, the Rose Stakes. The Celestial Stakes was a Grade 2. All three races in the Triple Million Series would be Grade 1 races. It had been twenty years since a horse had won all three races; winning even one of the three was often the pinnacle of a racing career for a trainer, a breeder, a jockey or an owner.

  Followed by Santos, Jeff and Natalie met Carl and Fury in front of the winner’s circle. The young grey galloped back easily, seemingly pleased with himself. Natalie was sure Fury knew he had done something special. Fury whinnied, as he lowered his head to greet her, and Natalie rubbed his silky nose.

  Somewhat br
eathless, Carl said, “I think we caught him at the wire. Nordstrom was having one heck of a race, but Fury dug in on his own. He wanted to catch him.”

  When Natalie and Santos strolled to the tote board, she willed Fury’s number to show up on top. What they saw instead was the word “Objection” and Fury’s number blinking on the tote board. That meant that the objection was against Fury. That wasn’t good news.

  “Do you think Fury interfered?” Santos asked her.

  “No. I don’t think so, but it all happened so fast. I don’t have any doubt that Fury was closing faster than Bobby. Carl moved him toward the rail, but there was no contact, and I didn’t see Doug check Bobby. I don’t think Fury caused Doug to lose first or second place. Fury and Nordstrom were the better horses today.”

  The voice of the track announcer finally boomed from the public address towers. “Doug Whiteman, riding number five, BaskervillesBobby, who finished third, has lodged a claim of foul against number seven, FraziersFury, ridden by Carl Lawson, for interference in the stretch. Hold all tickets, please.”

  If they upheld the objection, it wouldn’t make any difference if Fury won the race or came in second. The stewards would move Fury behind Bobby, putting him into third place and Bobby into second place.

  “No, the stewards won’t uphold the claim,” Santos said confidently. “Carl moved Fury toward the inside in the last furlong, but Bobby was done after Nordstrom passed him.”

  Also confident there was no interference, but unsure if the stewards would agree, Natalie said, “There is nothing to do but wait for the decision. The worst-case scenario is that the racing stewards move Fury into third place. If that happens, I’ll still be proud of his effort.” She refused to allow anything to destroy her enthusiasm about the race her horse had run.

  “You’re right. It was a great effort and third place in a Grade 2 race isn’t bad at all.” Santos said. He knew it was the jockey’s right to object, and that Doug Whiteman was just taking a chance that the stewards could find in his favor. Still, Santos was furious with Doug, and if the jockey had been standing there, Santos was afraid it would be hard to resist knocking him out cold.