LITMIR.BIZ

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sport of horse racing and betting. Going to the track for breakfast and taking the public tour of the horse stables and backstretch areas would be the perfect place to start. She hurriedly checked some of the plants and decided they were wet enough.

      After the champagne breakfast, she joined the group lining up for the tour. The guide announced that her name was Sandy and gave them a short history of the track as they rode in the open shuttle to the backstretch. "The Saratoga Racetrack, which first opened in 1863, is one of the oldest in the country,” she recited.

      Then as they toured the stables, Sandy explained how the racehorses were pampered. “Their accommodations are more spacious and cleaner than those of anyone traveling with them. They are exercised each morning, and after that they are walked for forty-five minutes. They eat all day long and usually only run once or twice a week.”

      Although Kate found the talk informative, she was looking for a different kind of information. When the shuttle stopped to let a horse and rider pass, she jumped off and ducked behind a row of stalls. Walking along, she spotted a young man cleaning out one of the stalls and stopped. “Who knows the most about this track?” she asked.

      “That would be old Mose. He’s been around this track forever,” the man replied.

      “Where could I find him?” she inquired, smiling.

      “He’s usually over at Highwayman’s stall.”

      “Thanks,” Kate said. And after receiving directions, she went to find Mose.

      * * *

      "I've always wondered who comes up with the names for racehorses," Kate declared as she approached a tall lean man with close-cropped gray hair, patting and talking to Highwayman.

      "I know what you mean. I have often wondered about that myself," the man answered.

      "You're Mose, right?" asked Kate.

      "That's right."

      "May I touch him?" She looked admiringly at the reddish brown horse.

      "You can rub his nose, but be careful. Highwayman is one high-strung horse," answered Mose, firmly holding the side of his bridle.

      "How's this season going?" Kate inquired as she gently stroked the horse's nose.

      "I think he likes you," declared Mose, looking at her curiously through his black eyes. "We're having our share of foreigners this year."

      "What do you mean?" asked Kate in her friendliest manner.

      "Well, we've had Mexicans working this track for a least the last ten years, but I'm hearing languages this summer I've never heard. More heavy betters this year, too.

      "Really," Kate exclaimed, meeting Mose's eyes.

      "Yep. Sam, who works the one hundred-dollar window, says he’s never seen so many hundred-dollar bills before, and they’re all shiny and new. I guess it means a good season for Saratoga,” Mose explained as he rubbed the horse’s neck with his other hand.

      “Thanks for letting me pat Highwayman, but I better be going. See you around,” Kate said, walking away.

      * * *

      A fax was waiting for her when she returned to the townhouse. It was a copy of the police report on Guy's accident. She read that the BMW was going sixty miles per hour in a thirty miles per hour zone when it ran the red light and hit the Honda broadside. The Honda was going approximately twenty-five miles per hour. Sitting in a chair at the desk in the small study, she continued to read. The BMW had been rented by a woman with a Spanish accent who had presented a fake ID. She had paid for the rental card with cash.

      Kate removed her cell phone from her purse and called the hospital in Jacksonville. Guy was still listed as critical.

      After showering and changing into a flowery shirt, a short sleeve cotton sweater, and sandals, she drove to downtown Saratoga and spent the afternoon strolling through the streets. Mentally, she tried to put the pieces of her story together. I'm turning up Russians, Chinese, and the Spanish drug cartel. It does look like someone was trying to kill Guy, but why? Kate continued to turn the questions over in her mind as she ate an early dinner in one of Broadway's sidewalk cafes.

      At the townhouse she had a message from Maria on the answering machine which said she had drawn a blank with the fingerprints. There was no record of them anywhere. Kate went to bed that night feeling lonely and troubled over who Rod was and why he had not called her.

      She exhausted the next several days in the public library reading anything she could find on horse racing and betting in Saratoga. She went to the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame.

      Toward the end of the week, she drove over to the racetrack, paid a general admissions fee and was standing in front of the tall Victorian grandstands by the one o'clock post time. By the fifth race, she was making the rounds of the many refreshment stands looking for something to drink when she saw Mose leaning against a fence, smoking a pipe.

      "Are you winning?" he called to her.

      "I'm breaking even, I think," she yelled, weaving through the crowd over to him. "I usually pick the horses by their names. How do you bet?"

      Mose took his pipe out of his mouth and said, "I don't. I know better. But fellas that study the odds, the trainers, the times, and the betting sheets don't come out much better."

      Kate stood next to him, looking over the white fence surrounding the paddock. "Now, if I was going to bet the horses, I would come out here and watch them when they are being saddled and mounted, and I would watch them when they are waiting to be taken into the starting gate," Mose said.

      "Why?" Kate wanted to know.

      "Well, I would be studying their eyes. Some of them will have downcast eyes and be looking disinterested in the whole thing while others will have bright, almost twinkling eyes and will be glancing around at everything going on. Now they are the ones who want to win."

      "But what if they're several with bright eyes?" Kate asked.

      Mose tilted his head back and let out a big laugh. "Now that's the trick. You have to figure out that part by yourself."

       Kate gave Mose a fake punch to his arm. "Thanks a whole lot, but I'm going to try it anyway."

      CHAPTER FIVE

      By 11:00 p.m. Kate was in her nightgown, sitting in a stuffed chair with her legs and feet stretched out on a hassock, watching the late news. There was a soft knock at the front door.

      "Who's there?" she called out.

      "Kate, it's me -- Rod."

      She flung the door open. "What are you doing here? It's not August."

      "Aren't you glad to see me?" Rod asked as he reached for her.

      "You know I am." As angry as she was over not hearing from him for weeks, she was so overjoyed to see him that she melted into his arms.

      After a long kiss, Rod related that Kathryn had given him her message. "And I had business to take care of in Saratoga, so here I am with the whole weekend free."

      The next morning they slept in, neither one of them being in any hurry to leave the comfort of the bed and each other. In the afternoon they decided to drive up to Lake George and go on the paddle boat dinner cruise around the lake. After dinner as they stood next to the boat's railing, he kept one arm protectively around her.

      "This is a beautiful lake," he whispered to her.

      "Yes, it is. When I was at Skidmore, Maria and I used to hike all the mountains around here." Kate spanned the area with her arm as she talked. "You should see the lake from the top of the mountains. It is magnificent to see it stretching out below you. We would always carry food and drinks in our backpacks and have lunch on top of whichever mountain we were climbing."

      "Weren't you afraid of getting lost?" inquired Rod, holding her tighter against him.

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