Live and Let Growl Read Online Free PDF Page B

but, oh, there are days when I still miss the farm.”
    Dodging the terriers who eddied around our legs, we followed Miss Ellie into the house. She led the way to a comfortable living room with a wide stone fireplace and a rounded bow window that looked out over a tree-shaded backyard. Faith had returned back to my side and remained there as Miss Ellie shooed the Jack Russells on through the kitchen and out the back door.
    Most of the homes I visit have multiple photographs on display. Usually they’re an assortment of win pictures from dog shows. But Miss Ellie’s large collection of framed photographs was different than any other I’d seen. Only half of them featured Standard Poodles. The remainder were of sleek racehorses, shown winning at numerous race tracks, each one topped by a jockey clad in a distinctive set of green and white silks.
    I turned to motion Aunt Peg over to have a look and saw that she was standing by the fireplace, studying an oil painting that hung above the mantelpiece. The equine portrait featured a single chestnut stallion. The horse standing in the foreground and staring proudly into the distance. Though the stallion was still, there was a quivering watchfulness about him. It wasn’t hard to imagine him taking flight and racing away across the landscape.
    â€œRichard Stone Reeves,” Aunt Peg said when I walked over to join her. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
    â€œWonderful,” I agreed. “Who is the horse?”
    There was a small plaque affixed to the bottom of the frame but before either of us could read it, Miss Ellie reappeared carrying a silver tray with a crystal pitcher and three glasses.
    â€œThat’s Cockerel,” she said. “My father bred him nearly thirty years ago. He was the best two-year-old of his generation. Injured before he could run in the Derby, he came back and won several good races at four before retiring to the farm to stand at stud.”
    â€œHe’s gorgeous,” I said.
    Miss Ellie nodded. “He was indeed. For a time it looked as though he was going to be the one to reverse Daddy’s fortunes. But like so many other good racehorses, he turned out to be not nearly as proficient at siring good runners as he was at running on the track himself.”
    She set the tray down on a low table between two plump couches. “Sweet tea?”
    â€œI’d love some,” said Aunt Peg. She’s never turned down a sweet in her life.
    â€œMe, too.” I sat down across from Miss Ellie and took the glass she offered. Faith turned a small circle on the rug and lay down beside my feet.
    â€œNow I want to hear all about this new broodmare of yours,” Miss Ellie said once we were all settled. “I’m happy to find you in my own backyard, but I must confess your news came as quite a surprise.”
    â€œTo me as well,” Aunt Peg admitted. “I believe I explained the circumstances under which Lucky Luna became mine?”
    â€œYou did. I know Six Oaks Farm well and I’m acquainted with many of their clients, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a man named Anthony Stone. Did he own many mares?”
    â€œProbably never more than a handful,” said Aunt Peg. “At the time of his death, there was just the one left.”
    â€œThat explains it,” Miss Ellie said with a nod. “Here in central Kentucky, the same families have been around for a long time. Everybody pretty much knows everyone else. So I wondered whether I might have previously run across your benefactor. But it sounds as though he was an outsider.”
    â€œAnthony was from Boston,” said Aunt Peg. “But I gather he had a rather nice mare nonetheless. I’ve done some reading about Lucky Luna’s pedigree. The solicitor told me she was very well bred. Her sire is a horse named Malibu Moon?”
    â€œYes, indeed.” Miss Ellie smiled. “That works. And her