Flamethrower - Maggie Estep [50]
BETTER THAN AN EMPTY STALL had been the headline for the little story in the Form the next day.
RUBY STOOD IN THE spectator area of the paddock watching Violet and Henry struggling to tack up Half Mad. She was an opinionated filly, and her opinion was that the paddock was filled with too many scary things. Henry had to lead her out of the stall and walk her in a few circles before she finally let him tighten the girth. When the paddock judge called “Riders up,” Henry gave Aaron Gryder a leg up. The filly let out a small buck, nothing serious, just trying to establish that she was in charge. Gryder seemed completely unfazed.
As the horses headed to the track, Ruby walked into the grandstand and got in line to place a bet before going to meet Violet in her preferred spot at the rail.
As a stooped old man in the next line leered at Ruby, she glanced at the tote board and saw that Half Mad had climbed to 48—1. Ruby never bet races she hadn’t studied beforehand, but 48—1 on a horse that might have a chance wasn’t something to pass up. She snuck a few glances at the program the guy in front of her was holding. She noticed that the 8—5 morning-line favorite, Loudermilk, a gray who’d caught her eye in the paddock, was hovering at a generous 9—2 while Shake Rag, a horse Ruby had seen run a few weeks earlier, was at a decent 6—1. When Ruby reached the front of the line, she boxed Shake Rag, Loudermilk, and Half Mad in a two-dollar trifecta then put four dollars on Half Mad across the board. The betting clerk, a young girl with limp red hair, wished Ruby luck. Ruby always tried to curb any tendencies toward superstition, but she had noticed that her bets came in approximately 75 percent of the time when the teller wished her luck.
Ruby went to find Violet at the rail. Her friend was staring out at the track but looked calm, almost serene.
“There you are,” Violet said as Ruby came to stand next to her.
Ruby handed Violet the key to Elliott’s bungalow.
“I didn’t find anything incriminating.”
“Good,” said Violet.
“I put four dollars across the board on your filly.”
“Oh, I think she’ll run second.”
Ruby didn’t ask Violet why she hadn’t told her this earlier. Violet was prone to what could only be called genuine psychic moments. Ruby had been standing next to Violet once when, a few seconds before a race went off, Violet had calmly informed Ruby that a 93—1 shot was about to win. The horse had paid a hundred eighty-nine dollars to win. Not that it did Ruby any good.
The bell sounded, and Violet and Ruby watched Half Mad break alertly then find a spot at the rail. The race was a mile and a sixteenth, and Aaron Gryder was neither holding her back nor asking her to run. Both horse and rider seemed content with their position, at the rail with one horse, Shake Rag, ahead of them.
In its form, it was one of the least dramatic races Ruby had ever seen. Shake Rag stayed in the lead, Half Mad stayed right behind her, and, to Half Mad’s right, Loudermilk and the favorite kept bobbing noses for third. At the wire, it looked to Ruby as if Loudermilk’s nose got there first, but it seemed too improbable. The payout on her trifecta would be close to astronomical.
Ruby couldn’t feel her extremities.
‘Are you all right?”
Ruby realized Violet was talking to her.
“Who was third?”
“I don’t know.” Violet shrugged. “But Half Mad was second.”
“Yes.” Ruby stared at the tote board, waiting for the order of finish to be posted. “I may have hit the trifecta,” she said quietly.
“Oh?” Violet looked pleased. Then her face changed when she realized it was going to be a very substantial trifecta.
Ruby held her breath until Loudermilk’s number flashed in the show spot. Ruby screamed. And screamed