Murder at the Racetrack (9 page)

Not much later, Eric stood in line at a betting window, trying to ignore an insistent thought that if he was betting so poorly
today, he would jinx Zuppa Inglese by putting money on him. He was about three people away from the teller when he heard a
familiar voice at the window to his right. Shackel. Laying a two-thousand-dollar bet on Zuppa Inglese to win.

Shackel took his slip and turned, and saw Eric as he did.

Shackel’s face turned bright red.

“Apparently you don’t think I made such a bad decision after all,” Eric said.

“I’ve always believed in the horse,” Shackel said. As he moved away he muttered, “No hard feelings.”

“What a handsome apology,” Eric murmured back, but Shackel was already lost in the crowd behind him.

“Shackel?” a gravelly voice said behind him. “Old sour-puss. Ignore him.”

Eric turned to see a man he recognized—easily—as one of the two men who sat in the box next to Donna’s. The man wore a blindingly
bright green-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt, dark sunglasses, and a twill hat that seemed better suited for a bass-fishing expedition.
“Elias Lazarus,” the old man said, extending a leathery hand. “You’re Jimmy Halsted’s uncle Eric, aren’t you? Got a colt with
Donna Freepoint now, right? Smart move.”

Eric had already learned that Jimmy was known to many of the owners and trainers, who had treated his arrival here today as
a kind of homecoming. He had also realized the truth of something Donna had said, that it was too bad you couldn’t bet on
rumor, because it was the fastest thing at the track. He thanked Lazarus and introduced himself. “Do you have a horse in this
race, too, Mr. Lazarus?”

“Call me Laz. No, Eric, my horses are in the sixth and eighth today. I’m here with my son-in-law, Dennis. He’s just about
as big a sourpuss as Shackel. In fact, Shackel introduced him to my daughter, which is enough reason for me to hate Shackel
to the end of my days.” He laughed. “Good luck to you.” He motioned toward the teller window, and Eric turned to see that
he was next.

He placed an even larger bet than Shackel’s, then, wishing Lazarus luck as well, returned to the box, where Jimmy was waiting.
Seeing that Lazarus’s son-in-law, Dennis, was away from their box, Eric mentioned meeting the old man to Jimmy.

Jimmy nodded knowingly. “He owns Give Me Room—a two-year-old colt, really good horse. Like, really, really good. Some people
say he could take it all next year. But that’s dumb, because with juveniles, a lot can happen between now and the Derby.”

Eric now knew better than to ask “Which derby?” when he heard Jimmy give it that capital D. He also knew that the combined
bets he and Shackel had placed might lower the payoff if Zuppa won, but at least he’d have the satisfaction of knowing that
if Shackel indeed had a scheme, it would be less lucrative.

“He doesn’t seem to like his son-in-law much.”

“Nobody does. I don’t think his daughter likes him much, either. She used to come to the races with them, but he was always
embarrassing her by saying rude things.”

Eric was reminded that not much missed Jimmy’s eyes— or ears.

The bugle call of “Boots and Saddles,” the post parade— Eric found himself caught up in these rituals in a way he had not
been earlier in the day. He felt a strange mixture of pride and nervous anticipation. The blue-and-green silks didn’t look
gaudy to him now. They were downright handsome.

Zuppa had drawn a good post position, Jimmy said. Zuppa was number four. The horse appeared to be fine, calm, and self-possessed.
He looked up into the crowd, and Jimmy yelled, “Here I am, Zuppa!” which caused laughter all around them. Jimmy shrank back
into his seat. Eric leaned over and whispered, “Zuppa heard you, and that’s all that counts.”

Jimmy nodded and sat forward again.

It was a field of seven. From the moment they were off, the other six seemed to be in a different race, scheduled several
minutes after the one Zuppa was running. He broke cleanly, shot to the front, and stayed there. “He’ll wear himself out,”
Laz’s surly son-in-law loudly predicted, but Laz immediately said, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Dennis.”

As they entered the final turn, Zuppa still led. The swell of noise from the crowd was infectious. “Go, Zuppa, go!” Jimmy
and Eric yelled as the horses came down the homestretch, and soon Laz and some of the others in nearby boxes took up the chant
as well.

Zuppa won by four lengths.

Jimmy and Eric hugged and jumped up and down and cheered as if they had just seen him win the Triple Crown.

“Wire-to-wire—congratulations!” Laz said, and then, winking, added loudly, “I don’t think that colt of yours is even breathing
hard.” Dennis glowered at them as they left for the winner’s circle.

It wasn’t the money he raked in on his first winning bet, it wasn’t the winner’s circle, it wasn’t even seeing Shackel looking
unhappy despite the fact that he had made money, too. The best part of the day was listening to Jimmy and Donna talk about
the race over and over again on the way home, their enthusiasm never abating. Even when Jimmy said, “Mom and Dad would have
loved to watch him today,” it was with pride rather than wistfulness, as if something so right had happened, nothing could
mar his pleasure in it.

Donna surprised him by knocking on their door the next morning, carrying a stack of copies of the
Sacramento Bee.
“I cleaned out the newsstand at the little market in town,” she confessed. “Call Jimmy, he’ll want to see this.”

She showed them the sports section, the first page of which had a great photo of Jimmy and Zuppa. When the story continued
to the inside, there was a photo of Donna, too. The story about the stakes race was smaller than the one about Zuppa Inglese
and those around him. Although appropriately cautious about predicting the future of the horse based on this outing, and noting
that only time would tell whether racing fans had just seen a fluke or a phenomenon, the reporter said that if the colt continued
to show the kind of speed seen yesterday, he shouldn’t have trouble against better company.

Pleased and excited, Jimmy was, nevertheless, puzzled by the play the article got. “Our race wasn’t as big as the stakes race.”

“The local horse in the stakes race didn’t win,” Donna said, ruffling Jimmy’s hair. “And you and Zuppa—human interest. You
two are famous, kid. And going to be more famous.”

“So are you,” he said.

“He’s right,” Eric said. “This story talks a lot about how well your horses are doing and that maybe owners ought to take
notice.”

Jimmy suddenly looked at Donna and grinned. “Did your dad call you?”

She blushed, then said, “How do you think I heard about this story?”

She invited Eric and Jimmy over for a celebratory dinner.

As they worked together in her kitchen that evening, Jimmy helping her make a salad, Eric helping to set the table, Eric realized
that he was at ease—a novel experience for him. On any given day, he still had the sense of being caught in the orbit of an
alien world, and he spent his waking hours wondering if Jimmy would be messed up for the rest of his life because of something
his uncle had done or failed to do. But when it was just the three of them—or the three of them and Zuppa—he felt a kind of
contentment that he could not recall experiencing at any other time.

“I saw you watching Shackel after the race,” Donna said. “He give you any trouble?”

“Not really. Shackel must have made a bundle on Zuppa yesterday, but I don’t think he really enjoyed it.” He told them about
seeing him at the betting window.

Jimmy was angry, but Donna said, “Look, Jimmy, Eric’s right. Shackel had another horse he’s been working with do surprisingly
well for him, and that didn’t make him happy either. Nothing is going to make ol’ Shack happy, so we’ve already beaten him.”

“Easy Dreamer? Placed in the sixth race?” Eric asked.

“Yes. Another two-year-old. He was in tougher company than Zuppa faced today.”

“Easy Dreamer always breaks fast and fades,” Jimmy said. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen him stay in the race. Shackel
puts him up against plodders and he loses.”

“Give Me Room is no plodder,” Donna argued. “He won, but he didn’t finish all that far ahead of Easy Dreamer. Admit that Shack
might have a good horse in Easy Dreamer.”

“You could make Zuppa start a race from the parking lot, pay admission, and get his hoof stamped for the turf club— and he’d
still beat Easy Dreamer. And probably Give Me Room, too.”

Donna turned to Eric, obviously trying not to let Jimmy see her stifle a laugh. “We’re about set now. Get that bottle of fume
blanc out of the refrigerator, will you please, Eric?”

“What is it with you trainers,” he asked, “and fume blanc in the refrigerator?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He had opened the refrigerator door by then, and said sheepishly, “Sorry, of course your refrigerator would be a thousand
times different than, uh, ol’ Shack’s.”

“You’ve checked out his refrigerator?”

He told them the story of nabbing the Pellegrino on the day Shackel had to give up Zuppa.

They laughed, as he intended them to—or did until he started describing the contents of the refrigerator.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Donna said. “Baking soda—and the sports drinks weren’t in the fridge?”

“No.”

“Milkshake,” Jimmy said with authority.

“Milkshake?” Eric made a face. “Who would ever want to make a milkshake out of those ingredients? Tell me they don’t add milk
to the mixture…”

“They don’t. They mix baking soda and the sports drink, feed it through a tube into a horse’s stomach not long before a race,
and it prevents the build up of lactic acid in the horse’s muscles as he’s running. That means he won’t tire out, he’ll be
able to maintain his pace for a longer period of time. It’s cheating.”

“Bet that’s how Easy Dreamer managed to run in the money yesterday,” Jimmy said. “Fits perfectly—all of a sudden, he’s got
all the energy he needs to finish second.”

“Should we notify someone?” Eric asked.

“It would be impossible to prove. You need to take a blood sample within twenty-four hours.”

“Is it possible that he had the baking soda in there to make the refrigerator smell better, and the sports drink is for human
consumption?”

“I’m sure that would be his story, which is why you have to catch it in blood tests.” She paused, gave her head a shake, and
said, “No more talk about Shackel. This evening is for us!”

The cheerfulness was only determined cheerfulness for a short while, giving way to the genuine article as they spoke of plans
for Zuppa’s future.

Those who thought Zuppa was a fluke winner saw that theory demolished over the next two months. He won his next two races—including
his first stakes race—against much tougher company, and did so handily. When his times were posted for the stakes race, Laz
offered to buy him. The Halsteds declined. “Can’t say I blame you,” Laz said unhappily.

One evening, as he watched Eric working on a prototype of a robotic arm, Jimmy asked, “What will that robot do?”

“This one? Police will use it to help defuse bombs.”

“Shut up! Seriously?”

Brie smiled. “Seriously.”

“What else do they do?”

“All kinds of things. Help doctors operate. Weld car parts. Clear land mines. Human beings are still far, far, more complex,
but robots can do some work that would be difficult or dangerous for people. They can explore shipwrecks under the ocean,
or sample the air and soil of other planets. I just read about a robot that can ride a camel in a camel race—a robot jockey.”

“But why not use a person to do that?”

“The danger. In Qatar, where it’s being used, they made it because the young boys who usually have the job of racing camels
can be hurt or killed.”

“They’ll never go for that in horse racing.”

“Probably not,” Eric agreed, thinking that any sport that still hired hornblowers and prided itself on animals bred from only
three common ancestors was not likely to do anything so radical.

“Could you, like, you know… teach me how to make a robot?”

“Yes, sure.”

Eric helped him build a simple radio-controlled one that would fit in the palm of his hand. Dubbed “the wake-up bot” by Jimmy,
it could slip under a door and then be activated to beep. Jimmy used it to wake his uncle up in time for the workouts. He
later caused havoc in the stables by playing with it there one morning—apparently the horses were spooked by the sight and
sound of it. Donna was not amused. After that, all electronic playthings were confined to the house.

School started not long after Zuppa won his first race, and in Jimmy’s absence, Eric found himself with more time on his hands.
He used some of this to attend to his own business affairs, but by the beginning of November, he knew that he needed to face
several tasks he had been avoiding. One was that of sorting through Mark’s belongings.

Unsure of whether or not Jimmy would want to continue to live away from his childhood home, Eric had put off making permanent
arrangements regarding Mark’s house. He had hired a local semiretired couple to keep an eye on it, to do basic housekeeping
and gardening, and forward the mail. They were happy to have the added income, but had warned him that they would be away
this week. It was as good a time as any to begin making decisions about which of Mark’s belongings would stay there, be moved
here, or be disposed of in some other way.

He talked this over with Jimmy. With the sort of insight Eric was by now less surprised by, he said, “I think you should start
with my mom’s stuff. You can give away her dresses and all that kind of stuff—someone else might need them. You didn’t know
her as well as you knew my dad, so it won’t, like, you know, be so hard on you.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Eric said quietly. Then he added, “Do you want me to wait until you can come with me?”

“Not for this part. You won’t give away anything I’ll want.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I trust you.”