Dean’s jockey went to the whip.
I frowned. Really? So soon. They passed the furlong pole, my horse still in the lead. I curled my fingers around the rail and leaned forward. “Come on, baby. Come on.” Gabriella glanced under her arm, and I saw her lips move. “Now.”
My heart soared. Yes! Diadem opened up as if he’d only been toying with the gelding, taking his lead to one length, then two. The other horses struggled valiantly to keep up, but on this day they were out classed by the two front runners. Gabrielle rode still, not reaching for her whip, which remained tucked under her arm, just calm and steady on the horse’s back. It was clear who was going to win this day. And when he passed the finish line several lengths ahead, I smiled. No one beat the goddess of horses at her own game
Back at the stable, I watched Diadem’s rub down. I refused to interfere in the mandatory drug testing that occurred after each race, and yet, I needed to see what Dean’s gelding might have had in his system. He’d run about as well as the handicappers had anticipated, though he appeared as if it’d taken a lot out of him. I made a mental note to check his schedule and see when his next race was. If it occurred within three to four weeks, I’d get more suspicious. In the next stall, the grooms prepared Chantel to her satisfaction. The young filly was proving to have the demeanor of a diva, though some of the best ones often did.
Kel tapped me on the shoulder. “Between the third and fourth races would be the best opportunity. I’ve got a friend who will be doing a random check of the barns and that’s when Dean’s is slated for. He can take photographs and send them to me.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want your friend to get in trouble.” I glanced around, though no one else was in earshot.
“I’m sure. He says the higher ups aren’t happy about Dean’s sudden streak of luck.”
“Indeed. They aren’t.” Of course, we spoke about different types of higher ups. Kel focused on the track officials. I spoke of the gods.
“… it’s not that he doesn’t deserve it, but the caliber of horses he’s winning with. It’s—”
I held up my hand to stop her, as one of the grooms came out of Chantel’s stall. “Understood. Stay safe.”
She glanced behind her at my change in focus and nodded. “Will do. Good luck.”
The groom approached just as Kel left. “She’s as ready as she’s going to be. Not sure her head is in the game today, though.”
“We’ll just have to find out.” Knowing I left Diadem in good hands, I turned my attention to Chantal. Race days were hectic, but they also were the days I loved the most. We went to the filly’s stall, and indeed, she glanced around, not seeing to be her usual, composed self. I frowned. We’d just have to see what happened, because it was time for me to clip a lead rope onto the bay filly’s halter and led her over to the saddling area. She’d either get her head in the game or she wouldn’t. I hoped for her owner’s sake, a little old lady out of Ocala, Florida, she did.
Breaking from the last post meant when Chantel drifted wide without interfering in other horses, almost as if she didn’t want to run next to Dean’s horse, a flashy gray filly who pinned her ears back at Chantel and lunged at her as they came out of the gate. And who could blame her? I certainly didn’t. Whatever the gray’s problem was, she seemed to take it out on the horses around her. The entire scrum ran all together, the filly’s ears pinned back. Her jockey tried to maneuver her to the lead; the horse wanted none of it. Almost as if she wanted to stay there and fight. Surely, there’d be a disqualification by the time the race ended for interference.
Once Chantel got free of the horse, she sprinted, making sure to get wide of everyone. Running down the center of the track meant the horse had more ground to cover, she also had the talent to do so. At the halfway mark, I heard the announcer exclaim that she was in second place, as surprised as many people, and Dean’s horse had been pulled up. I hoped it wasn’t a serious injury. No animal deserved that, no matter how despicable the trainer was.
With Dean’s horse out of the race, Chantel folded back in, and managed to claim second place only a neck behind the winner. Another good trainer took third, his horse acting as if the presence of Dean’s filly had discombobulated her as well, not to mention the entire field. I glanced at where the gray walked calmly into the ambulance, as if nothing had happened. Must not have been a serious injury, and perhaps the jockey had pulled up for his own safety given the way things were going.
The results were posted. I refused to be upset at Chantel. Whatever had happened on the field only contributed to my belief that something wasn’t right. For all her diva-ishness in other ways, she peed immediately after the race and the sample taken. I followed her back to the barn aisle. The next two races with Flora’s horses would demand all of my attention. Still, I slipped over to the other aisle, intending to offer my concerns and condolences. Instead, I stopped. Dean stood with two of his main helpers, screaming at them in the middle of the aisle.
“What did you do? I told you only a little,” he said, his
