Free The Harriet Bean 3-Book Omnibus by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

trainer of racehorses. Now, do you know anything about horse racing?”
    “No, she doesn’t,” interjected Aunt Thessalonika, fixing me with a piercing look. She was right, of course.
    “Well, anyway,” went on Aunt Japonica. “Racehorses have to be trained, and the people who do it are racehorse trainers. They take the horses for long gallops in the fields and teach them to go faster and faster. Then, when the horse goes into a race, it knows to gallop as fast as it possibly can. And that’s all there is to it.”
    “Oh,” I said. It did not sound very interesting to me, but I suppose that the horses enjoyed it.
    Aunt Japonica took another sip of tea. Then she went on to explain that the trainer, Mr. Fetlock, had not won a race for over three months. All of his horses, which were normally very fast, had become very slow. One of them had even sat down in the middle of a race. Another had thrown its rider off even before the race had begun. Mr. Fetlock had no idea what the trouble was, but it was obvious that somebody was interfering with the horses in some way.
    It sounded very simple to me. If somebody was interfering with the horses—perhaps byputting thorns under their saddles or sleeping pills in their oats—surely the answer was to watch and see who was doing it. I could not see how I could possibly help. Then Aunt Japonica answered my question.
    “I see that you’re wondering how you can help,” she said, glancing at Aunt Thessalonika as she spoke.
    Aunt Japonica looked at me closely.
    “Have you ever seen the people who ride racehorses?” she asked. “Have you ever seen a jockey?”
    I scratched my head. I thought that I had seen pictures of them in the newspapers. They wore riding helmets and very colorful shirts.
    My aunts did not give me time to reply.
    “They’re smaller than most adults,” Aunt Japonica said, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm. “Small people are lighter, and this allows the horses to go faster. So jockeys are usually not tall and certainly never fat.”
    “Yes,” agreed Aunt Thessalonika. “They’re really all … well, just about your size!”
    Immediately, I knew why my aunts wanted me to help them on this case. But what exactly would I be asked to do, and would it be dangerous? Would I have to ride a horse? Worse still, would I have to enter a horse race?
    That very afternoon I traveled with my two aunts out to Mr. Fetlock’s racing stables. Mr. Fetlock himself met us at the gate and walked us up the long driveway to the group of buildings where the horses lived. He was a tall man, wearing brown jodhpurs, a smart checked coat, and riding boots.
    “It’s very good of you to come out here,” he said. “I lost another race yesterday. It was my very best horse, Black Lightning. Not only did he come in last, but the horses in front of him overtook him on their second time around the racetrack. I was so embarrassed, I went and sat in my stall so that nobody would see me.”
    “Somebody’s cheating,” said Aunt Japonica through pursed lips. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a cheat.”
    “Yes,” said Mr. Fetlock sadly. “But who can it be? The only people who have been anywhere near that horse over the last week are the stable boys and the jockeys themselves.”
    “I see,” said Aunt Japonica thoughtfully. “Well, it must be one of them.”
    Mr. Fetlock looked astonished. “But that’s impossible!” he snorted. “They wouldn’t cheat me!”
    Aunt Japonica shook her head. “We’ll see about that,” she said. “But first, would you please show us the place where you keep all the riding clothes? You know, jodhpurs, boots, jackets—things like that.”
    Mr. Fetlock looked puzzled, but, shaking his head, he led us to a small building near the stables. Unlocking the door, he pointed to a large cupboard against the wall.
    “There’s an awful lot of stuff in there,” he said. “You could dress ten jockeys with that.”
    “We need to dress