Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [87]
It was just the office calling. I was pleasantly surprised when they told me I was needed up there and should find someone to look after my horses while I came to New York for an indefinite period of time. I’d rushed back to the track, found Roderick, and offered him an overly generous amount of money to feed, muck out, and walk my horses. It didn’t seem to strike him as odd that I was suddenly abandoning my string. Maybe this was customary behavior for inexperienced claimer trainers with too many irons in the fire.
I stood for a few minutes with each of my horses, feeling shitty about leaving them, particularly since Karma Police was supposed to run two days later. But I didn’t guess he’d mind. As long as the horses got fed and walked a little they’d be okay. Not fit, but okay.
I went back to my place and booked a flight for Cat and me for early the next morning, then packed up my laptop and some clothing. I soaked in the tub for a while, mulling over the whole Ruby situation, wondering what would happen once we were face-to-face again. I kept thinking I should call her but something prevented me. I’d wait till I landed at JFK.
I tried to get to bed early but found myself tossing and turning. Got up and watched three back-to-back reruns of Law and Order, a bit disgusted to find that two of them were newer episodes and featured the unappealing blond assistant DA as opposed to one of the tough brunettes. Eventually, I slept. A little fitfully. Waking up earlier than I needed to. I got to the airport well ahead of schedule and sat in a brightly lit doughnut shop, sipping coffee that tasted like old tires.
There’s nothing but blue sky and ocean outside the plane window and I feel better than I have in many weeks. Since there’s no one in the seat next to me, I reach down and pull out Cat’s Sherpa bag, bringing it to my lap. I open the bag a few inches and look in. She shoots me a withering glance. I stick my hand in and scratch her neck until I finally get a purr out of her. Satisfied, I put the bag back under the seat and start to tangentially think of the racehorse Sherpa Guide, a cocky little bay gelding that Ruby’s been obsessed with since watching him break his maiden a few years ago at Belmont. The horse caught her eye in the paddock that day and she bet him. And won. She followed his career and was probably the only one who had ten bucks on him to win in an undercard race on Belmont Stakes day a while back. Sherpa went off at 34-1 and ran four wide to come on like gangbusters in the last furlong of the race, winning by a length and a half over a horse named Personable Pete. Ruby has tried to be there for every one of Sherpa’s races. She takes his losses personally and frets during his layoffs. Once, she was cheering him so vigorously during a race that a stranger standing nearby asked her if she owned an interest in the horse. I grin to myself as I think of the little picture of Sherpa Guide that Ruby has taped to her fridge. This soothing thought helps me doze off and I wake as the plane begins its descent into the homeland.
AS I STEP out onto the curb to catch a shuttle over to the car rental place, the wind hits me and my breath catches in my chest. I feel a wave of anger—at the cold gray sky, at the vicious wind, at the bleakness that is New York City in late winter.
I rent a nondescript compact car and head toward Long Island. I get myself a room at the less-than-lovely Boulevard Motel just a few blocks away from the track. Cat is pretty upset with me when I finally open the Sherpa bag and invite her into the garishness of the motel room. She seems to scowl as she looks around, taking in the pressed-wood dresser, the fluorescent lighting, and the bedspread printed with pink flowers. Eventually, she deigns to hop out of the bag and go sniff at the food and water I’ve put down for her. I stare at her as I take my phone out and dial Ruby’s number.