Read Online Lead a Horse to Murder by Cynthia Baxter - Free Book Online Page B

“Being ranked a ten-goal player means you’ve been given the highest possible rating. At the beginning of every year, the United States Polo Association rates every polo player with a handicap from minus two to ten. The scores are supposedly based on a number of factors, like horsemanship and sportsmanship and even the quality of his horses. But when you come right down to it, the bottom line is how well someone actually plays.
    “Often, especially in higher-goal games, a polo team is formed by someone like me who’s enthralled with the game and has the means to hire three other players. They’re usually Argies—Argentines—because they happen to be the best polo players in the world. There are exceptions, of course, a few Americans and the occasional South African who sneaks into the ranks of the ten-goal players. I have an American playing for me right now. Scott Mooney. Helluva guy—and a seven-goal player. To rank the team, you add up rankings of all four players.
    “The patrons,” he continued, “those men of means I mentioned, pay their teammates an annual salary, just like any employee. I suppose you’ve already heard the rumor that I paid Eduardo a million dollars a year.”
    I gasped, then immediately tried to hide my astonishment. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”
    “It’s one of the few rumors floating around that happens to be true. That wasn’t always the case, of course. When I first brought him up here from Argentina, he was still pretty green.”
    “So you’re the one who discovered him.”
    “Exactly right.” MacKinnon paused to take a sip of whiskey. The sip turned into four or five. “I still remember the first time I laid eyes on him. In fact, it seems like yesterday.” His voice had become soft, and his eyes had a faraway look. I couldn’t tell if he was reacting to the memory—or the whiskey in his glass.
    “It was a cool morning in April, so early that the sun was barely up. I was visiting a horse farm outside of Buenos Aires, trying to decide whether or not to buy a particular horse. The Argies are the best horse breeders in the world, as far as I’m concerned. The best horse trainers, too. Eduardo was still a kid—fifteen, sixteen. But I saw him out in a field, riding the horse I was interested in. He was just playing around, stick-and-balling with some of his buddies. But what a sight!” He chuckled. “To this day, the guy who ran the farm swears he didn’t set the whole thing up. And to this day I don’t believe him.
    “I bought the horse, of course. I wasn’t about to let Eduardo go, either. I could see he was a natural. His power in handling that animal, the graceful way he moved, that rare combination of strength and coordination that makes the whole thing look so easy . . .”
    I remained silent, not mentioning that I’d had the same impression the first and only time I’d seen Eduardo Garcia on a horse, just a few days earlier. MacKinnon appeared to have gone into a sort of trance.
    “At that moment,” he went on, “it was as if I had the ability to look into the future. I could actually see the polo player Eduardo was going to be. And I was right on. Three years after I brought him up here, he was rated a ten-goal player.
    “In the simplest terms,” MacKinnon went on, “Eduardo was one of the best polo players in the world. And the man won a lot of games for me. But that was only part of it. The chance to play with someone of that caliber, to watch his mastery of the game so closely, out on the polo field amidst all the excitement, the speed, the power . . . well, I feel privileged that I was able to have an experience like that.
    “As for Eduardo,” he continued, “when he agreed to come to this country, he left behind everything and everyone he’d ever cared about. His village, his family, his childhood friends . . . Sure, he was dirt poor. Still, he abandoned the old Eduardo to become someone new. A new place, new friends, a new career . .