Read Online Cutter (Gail McCarthy Mystery series) by Laura Crum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Crum
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attitude seemed businesslike and concentrated. I wondered how much inward pain was concealed under that quiet exterior; surely he couldn't be entirely healed from yesterday's fall.
Melissa had returned, carrying two cups of coffee, and was standing next to me. "Casey took off, as usual," she muttered. "Anybody want this coffee?" Her eyes moved to Casey as she spoke, and I saw her face stiffen suddenly. "Oh, no," she breathed, "Martha Welch."
I looked where she was looking and saw a middle-aged woman march into the ring and step directly in Shiloh's path. Without any hesitation she grabbed at the roan mare's bridle, caught it, and jerked the horse to a stop.
The mare's head flew up in the air, Casey, startled, yelled, "What the hell?" and the woman snapped, loud enough that most people in the ring could hear, "God dammit, Casey Brooks, you've gone too far."
Chapter SEVEN
Martha Welch was tall and fit and aggressively made-up, with fire-engine red lips and the type of foundation that hides any clue to the skin beneath it. The tautness in the line of her jaw and the hollows in her cheeks looked unnatural, and the many carats of diamonds on her fingers and hanging from her ears seemed out of place in the warmup arena. Her dark hair was lacquered in stiff waves that prohibited any sort of disorder, and she stared up at Casey with formidably angry eyes.
"If you think you can kill my horse and just walk away from it, you're wrong," she announced. "I'll ruin you, I swear I will."
"Looks like you're working on it," Casey snapped back. After his initial surprise, his face had fixed itself into a controlled mask; only his darting, restless eyes gave a clue to his feelings. He reached down and, rather gently, removed his rein from the woman's hand. "I didn't kill your horse, Martha; it's the last thing I wanted to happen." Casey's tone wasn't conciliatory, merely matter-of-fact.
"You didn't ride him, either." Martha Welch was still on some track of her own. "Just let him stand in the barn and charged me training fees."
"I rode your horse, just like I rode the others. I can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." Casey was firm. "I've got to get ready to show; I'll talk to you later. Alone." And he kicked his horse up into a lope, leaving Martha staring after him.
"I'll sue you, you bastard." She said it plainly; thirty people must have heard her. Then she stalked back out the gate.
"The bitch," Melissa hissed.
"Who was that?" I asked. Bret's eyes looked amused.
"Martha Welch," Melissa repeated, unnecessarily. "She owned Reno. The horse you had to put down," she added, to me.
"Oh."
"That's not why she's mad, though, the lying old bitch." Melissa sounded furious. "Casey called her last night to tell her the horse had died, and he said he'd swear she sounded relieved. She had that colt insured up the ying yang, and she'll collect more for him that way than she could ever have sold him for. He was a real mediocre horse."
"Maybe she liked him," I said mildly.
"Not her," Melissa snorted. "She barely ever saw him. She paid a bunch of money for him as an unbroken two-year-old-a hot Futurity prospect, or so she thought. He didn't really pan out-he wasn't that talented-which is mostly how it goes. But Martha couldn't buy that. No way could the great Martha Welch have simply picked a dud. It had to be Casey's fault. She blamed him, said he didn't ride the horse enough. She's just a bitch."
Melissa gave Bret and me a small, angry smile. "She doesn't care that the horse is dead. I was the only one who liked that colt; he was real sweet, even if he wasn't a world-beater. She's just trying to make Casey look bad, because she's mad at him. I wouldn't be surprised if she collects the insurance money on that horse, makes a profit, and then sues Casey for more money."
With a toss of her fluffy golden curls, Melissa stomped off toward Casey, and we could see her talking animatedly up at him as he sat on Shiloh. Casey said little and
Melissa had returned, carrying two cups of coffee, and was standing next to me. "Casey took off, as usual," she muttered. "Anybody want this coffee?" Her eyes moved to Casey as she spoke, and I saw her face stiffen suddenly. "Oh, no," she breathed, "Martha Welch."
I looked where she was looking and saw a middle-aged woman march into the ring and step directly in Shiloh's path. Without any hesitation she grabbed at the roan mare's bridle, caught it, and jerked the horse to a stop.
The mare's head flew up in the air, Casey, startled, yelled, "What the hell?" and the woman snapped, loud enough that most people in the ring could hear, "God dammit, Casey Brooks, you've gone too far."
Chapter SEVEN
Martha Welch was tall and fit and aggressively made-up, with fire-engine red lips and the type of foundation that hides any clue to the skin beneath it. The tautness in the line of her jaw and the hollows in her cheeks looked unnatural, and the many carats of diamonds on her fingers and hanging from her ears seemed out of place in the warmup arena. Her dark hair was lacquered in stiff waves that prohibited any sort of disorder, and she stared up at Casey with formidably angry eyes.
"If you think you can kill my horse and just walk away from it, you're wrong," she announced. "I'll ruin you, I swear I will."
"Looks like you're working on it," Casey snapped back. After his initial surprise, his face had fixed itself into a controlled mask; only his darting, restless eyes gave a clue to his feelings. He reached down and, rather gently, removed his rein from the woman's hand. "I didn't kill your horse, Martha; it's the last thing I wanted to happen." Casey's tone wasn't conciliatory, merely matter-of-fact.
"You didn't ride him, either." Martha Welch was still on some track of her own. "Just let him stand in the barn and charged me training fees."
"I rode your horse, just like I rode the others. I can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." Casey was firm. "I've got to get ready to show; I'll talk to you later. Alone." And he kicked his horse up into a lope, leaving Martha staring after him.
"I'll sue you, you bastard." She said it plainly; thirty people must have heard her. Then she stalked back out the gate.
"The bitch," Melissa hissed.
"Who was that?" I asked. Bret's eyes looked amused.
"Martha Welch," Melissa repeated, unnecessarily. "She owned Reno. The horse you had to put down," she added, to me.
"Oh."
"That's not why she's mad, though, the lying old bitch." Melissa sounded furious. "Casey called her last night to tell her the horse had died, and he said he'd swear she sounded relieved. She had that colt insured up the ying yang, and she'll collect more for him that way than she could ever have sold him for. He was a real mediocre horse."
"Maybe she liked him," I said mildly.
"Not her," Melissa snorted. "She barely ever saw him. She paid a bunch of money for him as an unbroken two-year-old-a hot Futurity prospect, or so she thought. He didn't really pan out-he wasn't that talented-which is mostly how it goes. But Martha couldn't buy that. No way could the great Martha Welch have simply picked a dud. It had to be Casey's fault. She blamed him, said he didn't ride the horse enough. She's just a bitch."
Melissa gave Bret and me a small, angry smile. "She doesn't care that the horse is dead. I was the only one who liked that colt; he was real sweet, even if he wasn't a world-beater. She's just trying to make Casey look bad, because she's mad at him. I wouldn't be surprised if she collects the insurance money on that horse, makes a profit, and then sues Casey for more money."
With a toss of her fluffy golden curls, Melissa stomped off toward Casey, and we could see her talking animatedly up at him as he sat on Shiloh. Casey said little and
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