Dantzler was surprised to learn that he knew Rachel Whitehouse, Eli’s daughter. She was now Rachel Foster, wife of Kirk Foster, a former circuit judge who currently held the position of chief of staff to the governor. The Fosters also owned and operated RKF Farm, one of the most successful thoroughbred farms in the nation. They were politically powerful, very wealthy, and highly placed among the social elite. The Fosters were, in every respect, an A-list couple.
Dantzler only knew Rachel in passing; he couldn’t recall ever having had a conversation with her. He was more familiar with Kirk, although he wouldn’t include the man among his coterie of friends,. A nodding acquaintance at best. Primarily, he knew the Fosters from the Lexington Tennis Club, where they were members, and where Dantzler was part owner.
As a young man, Kirk experienced some success as a junior tennis player, having once been ranked in the top ten in several age divisions. His love for the sport carried over into adulthood. So did the confidence he gained as a youngster. Three years ago, Kirk, yielding to a burst of self-assurance, challenged Dantzler to a set of tennis. Dantzler, arguably the best tennis player in Lexington, won six-love. Like many powerful, successful men, Kirk did not graciously accept defeat. He quickly challenged Dantzler to a second set. The result was the same. It took two subsequent sets, both ending at six-love, before Kirk finally raised the flag of surrender.
“Come on, fellow,” Kirk said when the two men met at the net. “Couldn’t you at least have given me a sympathy game?”
“I would have,” Dantzler replied, “if you hadn’t been so damn sure you could beat me.”
Dantzler enjoyed few things more than humbling a cocky opponent.
After learning that Rachel Foster was Eli Whitehouse’s daughter, Dantzler went to the Tennis Club in search of Kirk. Arriving at seven-fifteen p.m., Dantzler went downstairs to the courts, where Kirk was involved in a doubles match. Dantzler waited until the changeover before approaching Kirk.
When Kirk noticed Dantzler heading in his direction, he stood, and said, “Have you finally seen fit to apologize for the beating you gave me?”
Dantzler shook his head. “I never apologize for winning.” He waited until Kirk’s partner walked past before continuing. “Listen, Kirk, I need to speak with your wife. Would she happen to be here tonight?”
“No. She’s out of town,” Kirk answered, wiping his face with a white towel. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you need to speak with her?”
“Some questions regarding Eli.”
“You know her father?”
“I don’t know him. I met him once, at the prison.”
“That’s where she’s been today, visiting him. She should be home around nine, maybe a little later. When would you like to meet?”
“Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Is something going on that I should know about?”
“I need to get some information from her, that’s all. Clear up a few things.”
“Come to the farm in the morning. Ten, if that’s okay. I’ll leave your name with the guard and he’ll let you through. Go to the first barn on your left. That’s where she will be.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Still no apology, though, right?”
“Never.”
Dantzler identified himself to the guard and was immediately waved through the gate. Following Kirk’s directions, he drove slowly toward the main house, his eyes on the lookout for the barn. It wasn’t until he crossed over a wooden bridge that the barn came into view. Turning left, he traveled another hundred yards, eventually stopping and parking behind a white Cadillac Esplanade.
Rachel Whitehouse Foster was standing just outside of the barn, cup of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other hand. She was dressed in Levis, a sweatshirt, leather boots, and a white baseball cap with RKF Farm on the front. A stopwatch dangled from her neck.
“My husband tells me you show no mercy on the tennis court,” she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “What was it, six-love times four?”
“I like bagels.”
“Probably did him some good, being cut down to size like that.” She extended her free hand. “Hello, I’m Rachel Foster. I’ve seen you around for years. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Thanks for taking the time,” Dantzler said, shaking her hand. “And for meeting me on such short notice.”
“Let’s go inside,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the barn. “To my grand air-conditioned office. You may not care much for the smell of horse manure, but at least you’ll be cool.”
“Fair enough,” Dantzler said, following her into the barn. Once he was seated in a leather chair across the desk from her, he said, “How long have you and Kirk owned the farm?”
“We bought it in ’eighty-nine,” Rachel said. “Back then it was known as Limestone Stables. We got it for virtually nothing, which is exactly what it was worth at the time. Took a lot of hard work and tons of money to get it back into working shape. We killed ourselves, sometimes working twenty hours a day for weeks on end. Finally, we managed to turn it around. And we were also very lucky. Not long after we got into the business, the price for thoroughbreds went through the roof. The big American owners and trainers began bidding wars against each other. Then the Europeans came, especially the guys from Ireland. That pushed up prices even more. And to top that off, the Saudi sheiks suddenly decided to use all that oil money they make off us to get into the horse business. Sales prices skyrocketed. It was insane. Still is, if you want my honest opinion. Our first group of foals, this was in ’ninety-six, turned out to be very successful, put us on solid footing within the industry.”
“Hard work, good luck, and timing-that tends to translate into success in any endeavor. I know it’s certainly true in my profession.”
Rachel got out of the chair, opened a small refrigerator, and took out two bottles of water. She handed one to Dantzler, then sat back down. After opening the bottle and taking a drink, she said, “So, Detective, what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about your father.”
“Kirk mentioned you wanted to talk about Eli. Well, about the only thing I can tell you is he’s terminally ill. Cancer in both lungs.”
“Yes, I know. Sorry.”
“You know my father?”
“I met him last week at the prison.”
“Did he send you to see me?”
“No. Until two days ago, I had no idea Eli Whitehouse was your father.”
“You would have had no reason to.”
“I understand you visited him yesterday. How is he holding up?”
“Better than expected,” Rachel replied. “But… it’s obvious he’s beginning to go downhill.”
“Any idea how long he has?”
“His oncologist said three weeks at best. I’m hoping he is wrong.”
