Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [4]
The owner, Jeffery Jardin, lived most of the time in southern California, where he owned a high-tech manufacturing business with major defense and military contracts. But his passion was racehorses, and the ranch showed that he pursued it seriously. Kerney guessed the size of the spread at about five hundred acres. He wondered what the value of the land was on the pricey California market.
Hilt told Kerney that in the morning he’d meet Ken Wheeler, a former jockey who oversaw the operation and culled the horses that weren’t suitable for racing. Kerney hoped he’d find what he was looking for: two riding horses for personal use, one stud to service Jack Burke’s mares, and some two- or three-year-old geldings Riley Burke could train as cutting horses.
Tucked into a separate part of the valley, away from the road, stood the training track and a set of fenced pastures that held good-looking colts and two-year-olds. Open-air covered stalls and a barn stood adjacent to the track. At one end of the stalls a circular pen contained a hot walker. Driven by an electrical motor, the device had four arms that looked like oversized propeller blades mounted on a triangular-shaped base. After training runs, the horses were hitched to the arms and mechanically walked to cool them down.
On a hill overlooking the track were three houses, one a two-story Victorian with a low-pitched hipped roof and spindlework porch railings. It was flanked by two modest, single-story houses built with wood cladding and brick. All were nicely landscaped and sheltered by oak trees.
As Hilt pulled to a stop in front of the barn, he pointed at a smaller Victorian house on the far side of the track. “That’s where Ken lives,” he said. “He’ll meet you at the office tomorrow at seven. Want to look at some pretty horses?”
“You bet,” Kerney said as he climbed out of the truck.
Hilt spent the better part of an hour walking Kerney through the barn and stalls and into several nearby pastures. The horses were slick and well cared for, and the grounds, barns, and stalls were clean and tidy. Kerney learned that the ranch employed a full-time veterinarian, two tech assistants, two trainers, and a variety of stable hands, groomers, exercise riders, and laborers—many of them Mexican. Low-cost housing was provided for a dozen key employees.
The two men entered a pasture, and several colts came trotting over to greet them. Hilt recited their bloodlines while Kerney gave them the once-over. He found himself enjoying Hilt’s company and the talk of horses. He stroked a chestnut colt’s neck and ran a hand over its withers, thinking it was decidedly refreshing to get away by himself and forget about being a cop.
Back at the guest cottage, Kerney found an overnight bag and briefcase on the floor of the largest bedroom, but no sign of the man who was sharing the accommodations with him. He dumped his stuff in another bedroom and looked around the cottage. Whoever decorated the place had a penchant for green and an obsession with frogs. The carpet, wallpaper, tile work, and even the kitchen ceiling were all various shades of green. Ceramic, glass, and pottery figurines of frogs sat on every table, dresser, and countertop, and framed prints of jumping frogs, singing frogs, and comical-looking standing frogs hung on the walls of each room. It seemed like a big silly joke that had gotten slightly out of hand. Still, it made him smile.
The kitchen was fully equipped and stocked. But Kerney decided to take himself out to dinner and do a little sightseeing before it got dark. Hilt had told him of a good restaurant in a nearby village and given him directions.
Kerney changed into a fresh shirt, fired up the rental car, and drove away, pleased with how the day had gone.
Always an early riser, Kerney was up at five. He showered, dressed, and sat on the porch of the guest cottage in the cool predawn air drinking a glass of juice and enjoying the sounds of whinnying mares in a nearby pasture.