Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [23]
I smiled at his calling it a riding hat.
“This ain’t funny in my book, friend.”
“No, it isn’t,” I concurred.
“How come when that guy tried to drown you, you were sure it had to do with those threats, but now, now that someone’s come close to taking you out twice, suddenly you don’t think it’s got anything to do with you?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. I didn’t want to think about it. And furthermore, Sal was starting to annoy me.
“Look,” I said finally, “I’m done riding for the day anyway. Henry’s the only trainer that I ride for that’s working any horses this morning. I’ll make the rounds and see if any of the others need me to hand walk a few for them. After that, I’m going to the gym, then on back to Ruby’s. I’m good. And I don’t want to keep you from what you need to be doing all day.”
By then, Sal had evidently had it with me. He didn’t say another word but I could read the anger and frustration on his face. He shrugged, turned, and walked away.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Sal meant well but I couldn’t focus with him around. Not that hand walking a half-dozen horses required much focus. Still, I just wanted to put the entire world out of my mind.
RUBY MURPHY
8.
Velocity
It’s not yet seven A.M. when I decide to give up on sleeping. Thinking about Attila out there at the track has made me jittery as hell. I should have gone with him. I might not be able to do much to protect him, but looking at and smelling horses probably would have soothed me. I don’t know what possessed me to stay home. Some vague notion of reclaiming my life, I guess.
The apartment is cold and I pull a sweater on over my nightgown. The floor is cold too. I can’t find my slippers so I slip my sneakers on instead. As I walk by, I catch my reflection in the closet mirror. My hair has gotten too long and is hanging in nests halfway down my back. My green sweater is dirty and my white nightgown has a coffee stain on it. The sneakers aren’t adding much to the look either. Theoretically, it’s fine to look like shit in the privacy of my own home, but one day I might forget myself and go out looking like this and it’ll be the beginning of the end. After that, I’ll talk to myself in public and stop bathing and be two steps shy of the hat factory.
I walk into the kitchen where I brew coffee, feed the cats, and then stare into the refrigerator’s innards, trying to will edible foodstuffs to appear there. It’s torturous to eat in front of Attila: I always feel like I’m taunting the guy by eating things he has to avoid. And I’m always afraid that the mere suggestion of food will make him feel obliged to vomit up the contents of his stomach. I don’t think Attila technically has an eating disorder. Most jockeys have to flip, as they call it, in order to maintain their riding weights. At five-foot-five, Attila’s on the tall side for a rider and a hundred and five is just not his natural weight. He struggles. Probably a lot more than he lets me know.
There isn’t much to look at in my fridge and my keeping the door open has convinced Stinky he’s in for a second feeding. I close the fridge door and reach for my box of Honey Nut Cheerios in its hiding place in the cupboard.
I pour myself a bowl and walk into the living room. As I sit spooning Cheerios into my mouth, I notice that the phone machine is blinking. I haven’t even glanced at the thing in the last five days. Apparently I missed a call though. I press the Play button and am surprised to hear a message from my mother. This is unusual. My mother likes me but it just doesn’t frequently occur to her to call me. It’s modest consolation that she calls my sister, Chloe, even less. In Chloe’s case though, my mother has a better excuse, since my sister is a nomad and hard to keep track of. My sister is ridiculously intelligent and earned a Ph.D. in applied physics at an absurdly young age. She dabbles in teaching but, after a few months, invariably grows restless, quits the job, and moves to a new state. If there’s no teaching work to be found, she’ll