Free Cutter (Gail McCarthy Mystery series) by Laura Crum Page B

like him."
    "So I gathered."
    "He works for Will George a lot. He's the one that came to pick up Gus that day; he and Casey got in a fight. Ken's been buying cattle from him."
    She focused on the conversation between Ken and Casey, which appeared to be about a horse Ken was thinking of buying. I noticed Ken hardly looked at Shiloh, never stroked her shoulder or rubbed her forehead. Wondering what drove him to be in the horse business-he certainly didn't appear to love horses-I wandered off in Bret's direction.
    He ambled over to meet me; he'd been chatting with his ex-employer, Jay Holley. "Jay thinks that Shiloh mare is the best novice horse he's seen in years," Bret said as he walked up.
    "She sure looked great to me," I agreed, "though I don't know much about it. Who's Dave Allison?" I asked him curiously.
    Bret laughed. "Oh, old Dave. Dave's your classic failed horse trainer. He used to be a big name in the business, so they say. That'd be before my time. The boys tell me he'd let all the horses stand in the barn for weeks and never ride one. Too busy drinking and chasing girls." Bret grinned. Drinking and chasing girls were his normal occupations. "Then, when a show would come along, Dave'd get the horses out and try to tune them up the day before. Eventually people quit sending him horses. He more or less works for Will George these days, I think."
    "He works for him?"
    "Will gets so many horses he sends the ones he isn't crazy about to other trainers to ride-for half the training fees. That's what Dave is these days-a hired boy for Will. He raises cattle, too. But he did used to be a big name."
    "He sure drives a fancy truck."
    "The bank probably owns it." Bret grinned his impish grin. "All these trainers are big on keeping up with the Joneses. Every single one of them has to have just as big and fancy of a dually pickup as the next guy, even if they're about to go broke."
    I smiled at Bret's irreverence and looked back at the little group surrounding Casey. They were moving in our direction, Casey riding Shiloh and talking to Ken, Melissa following them. Jay Holley rode by and called a comment I didn't catch; Casey responded with a wild "Hoo-aw" and a wide grin.
    As I watched, the sound of cheering from the show ring caught my attention. It caught the attention of Casey's group, too, and they all looked in that direction.
    The loudspeaker crackled and blared, "Gold Coin, ridden by Will George, marks a 75. As that was our last horse to work, ladies and gentlemen, Will wins the Novice class."
    The voice had scarcely finished when Will George rode by us, flanked with chattering acolytes. His handsome face was serene, and he gave me a pleasant, meaningless smile as his eyes moved on to Casey. He smiled again and there was no mistaking it; this time his eyes held a triumphant, gloating expression. He rode on without a word.
    I looked at Casey. He was staring after Will George, his emotions plainly readable for once.
    "What've you got to do, kill the bastard to beat him?" Casey said it savagely, loud enough for all of us to hear, before wheeling Shiloh and trotting off, ignoring the second place that was being announced as his.
    I watched his departing back and felt misgivings. Casey, volatile as a Roman candle, looked as if he might suddenly start showering sparks in all directions, regardless of the consequences.

 
    Chapter EIGHT
    Monday morning dawned with a more or less routine set of veterinary problems on the schedule. Horseshows and feuding trainers behind me, I forgot Casey Brooks and his troubles except for a brief moment when I mailed the blood samples from his horses off to the lab.
    I had plenty else to occupy my mind. A first-class jumping horse with what looked like a bone chip in his knee had to be referred to the veterinary surgery center at Davis, a polo pony with a hind-leg lameness that turned out to be bone spavin-a type of arthritis-required that I reassure his owner for the better part of an hour,