Free The Stars Shine Bright by Sibella Giorello Page B

thought you didn’t care about the horses.”
    â€œYou’ve misunderstood. I don’t want to care. That is entirely different from not caring. Tell me what happened.”
    I described the events in the clinic, and the wound. “The vet seemed suspicious about the injury. He took samples. Without my asking.”
    â€œThat old coot is a good vet.”
    â€œIn all your years of racing, have you ever seen the starting gate malfunction like that?”
    â€œNever. But it has tires, doesn’t it?”
    The starting gate did have wheels. It was rolled to different places on the track, depending on a race’s length. “What do the tires have to do with anything?”
    â€œLife has taught me a valuable lesson,” she said. “If something has tires or testicles, it’s going to cause trouble.” She swayed again. “Take my elbow. I’m drunk.”
    We walked from Cooper’s small office into the stables. The moist air was dusted with alfalfa.
    I said, “Did you notice who won that first race?”
    â€œThe long shot. Cuppa Joe only placed.”
    He was the black horse, the one that jumped out as though clearing a hurdle. “Convenient results,” I said. “The favorite didn’t win.”
    â€œEspecially good for a certain bookie. How much did you wager?”
    â€œTwo grand.”
    â€œI’ll consider it tuition.”
    Juan carried water buckets toward the stalls. He glanced our way, paused, nodded at Eleanor, then lowered his eyes. He did not acknowledge me.
    â€œThey think you’re bad luck,” Eleanor said.
    â€œI don’t believe in luck.”
    â€œWhy should you? For that matter, why should I?”
    As we were crossing under the eaves, I saw his narrow shoulders coming toward us. Like a mouse sniffing for good cheese, Tony Not Tony tiptoed forward. He wore rubber slip-ons over his tasseled leather loafers. I decided he was coming to see if I wanted to place another bet. To make up for the 2K I blew on “the favorite.”
    â€œEleanor,” he breathed.
    â€œWhat is it, Anthony?” She sounded irritable.
    â€œI thought you should know, I heard something. But maybe not.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake. Spit it out!”
    â€œMr. Yuck.” Tony Not Tony smiled. “He would like to see you.”

Chapter Eleven
    A security guard stood outside an unmarked door inside the betting office building. He was tall and black with pale green eyes. When he saw Eleanor, he touched the brim of his cap.
    â€œSorry ’bout your horse, Mrs. Anderson.”
    â€œThank you, Lou. Now could you please tell me where I might find that creature from the deep?”
    Lou’s mouth tightened, fighting a smile. He reached for the door, twisting the knob. “Here you go.”
    The room was square and bland, the walls white and empty. An oblong table was encircled by chairs, but nobody was sitting in them. Not Sal Gagliardo, who stood next to the one window. Not his trainer, a belligerent man named Jimmy Bello, who was muttering under his breath. And not the only other female who owned her own barn at Emerald Meadows, Claire Manchester.
    They each faced the track’s head of security, a man known as Mr. Yuck.
    â€œEleanor,” he said, “how nice you could join us.”
    He extended his hand to me. It was wide, almost square, like the defibrillator paddles used on SunTzu. “We haven’t met,” he said. “Charles Babbitt.”
    We hadn’t met, but I knew a bit about Mr. Babbitt. For more than fifteen years he had run the security at Emerald Meadows. His tenure raised a red flag with the FBI. For all we knew, he kept his job by looking the other way. Or even by staying tucked into Sal Gag’s pocket.
    Shaking the paddle, I decided either theory could be right. There was something definitely creepy about the guy.
    â€œRaleigh David,” I lied. “Nice to meet