Bluegrass Peril Read Online Free PDF Page B

look. “You work for a breeder.”
    “And you think everyone who has anything to do with Thoroughbreds is a racing enthusiast.” Scott laughed. “Would you believe I’ve never even been to the Derby?”
    “Yet you recognize the name of a horse and even know the week it’s scheduled to race.” Foster’s statement held a question.
    “Professional interest.” Scott shrugged. “I might not bet on the races, but I can tell you something about the record of every horse we’ve bred since I came to Shady Acres, and their lineage.” He nodded toward the paper. “In this case, I know the manager over at Harwood. He was bragging about that filly last week.”
    Whitley flipped the note over again and studied the handwriting. “Did the victim ever go to the races?”
    “Haldeman?” Scott threw back his head and laughed. “He never missed. The man loved the sport. He was as close to a fanatic as anyone I’ve ever known.”
    “So he would have been at Keeneland this week when this horse—” Foster gestured at the note “—raced?”
    “I’m sure he was.”
    Foster nodded while Whitley took out a plastic bag and sealed the scrap of paper inside.
    “What else can you tell us about the victim?” asked Foster.
    Scott looked away, considering his answer. He should be honest with the police, of course, but he hated to say anything bad about a guy who could no longer defend himself. “I didn’t know him well.” Foster watched his face, waiting for him to continue. “We talked some. I met him last year when I came to work for Mr. Courtney, and we ran into each other around the farm fairly often. He loved the industry, everything about it. And he loved these horses.” Scott nodded over Foster’s shoulder, toward Samson. “He was passionate about saving them. You didn’t want to get him started talking about Ferdinand or Alydar.”
    “Who is Alydar?” asked Whitley.
    Scott waved a hand. “Another champion who died. Doesn’t matter. The point is, Haldeman seemed determined to save every stallion he could. He had a list of horses he was watching, mostly in Japan, and he was relentless about raising the money to go get them the minute the Japanese were finished with them.”
    “Relentless?” One of Foster’s eyebrows arched.
    Scott shook his head. “I don’t mean that negatively. Haldeman was smooth, a real talker. Remember that he was a salesman before he founded this place. He could get a donation from anyone, and if it meant he could save another stallion, he’d try.”
    Foster examined Scott from between narrowed eyelids. “What are you not saying, Mr. Lewis?”
    Scott looked at the grass between their feet. “Well, I don’t know this for a fact, but the talk around town says Haldeman had an eye for the ladies. Especially rich ones. I’ve heard it didn’t matter how young or how old a woman was, if Haldeman thought he could get money out of her for the Pasture, she was fair game.”
    “I see.”
    Scott raised his chin and looked the detective in the eye. “That’s really just farm talk. I don’t have any personal knowledge to base it on. Haldeman and I didn’t run in the same circles.”
    “And what circles would those be?” asked Whitley.
    Scott shifted his gaze to the younger man. “I have no idea who Haldeman ran with. I’m active in my church, and that’s where I spend most of my free time.”
    Both men nodded, and Detective Foster looked toward the farmhouse. “I think we’re going to finish up in there this afternoon. You and Mrs. Dennison should be able to get back to work tomorrow.”
    A man came out of the barn and gestured to Foster. He tossed his head in answer. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, you’ll give us a call?” He didn’t wait for a response, but headed toward the barn.
    Whitley fished a card case out of his black bag and slipped a business card out of it. Scott took it, saw that it had contact information for Trooper Jeffrey Whitley, and