Authors: Abigail Keam
In the thirties, Jean Harlow was one of the biggest stars at MGM, or in the world for that matter. Studio executives discovered her as she waited for a friend in a car. Harlow claimed that her platinum hair was real. It was that white hair that made her the screen’s first sex goddess – more so than Greta Garbo, Gloria Swanson or Mae West. Her film
Red-Headed Woman
created a furor over its plot in which a woman sleeps her way to success and suffers no retribution for it. She got clean away, enjoying the high life. The moral backlash was one more reason to force the studio heads to allow the Hays Commission to censor their films.
But instead of a boycott, Harlow’s next film made even more money. Go figure.
In the end it didn’t matter. She died at the age of 26 from renal failure. Her great love, William Powell, the elegant actor of
The Thin Man
series, left a note in her dead hand –
Goodnight, my dearest darling
.
The Jean Harlow that stood before me at the September yearling sales at Keeneland Race Track was not a blonde but a gleaming brunette with four white stocking legs. She was brought in by a Hispanic worker, who handed her over to an African-American handler wearing a green Keeneland sports coat. The white auctioneers presided like high priests over the event.
I sat in the back of the pavilion filled with international and local buyers with money to burn. They had one thing in common – they loved horses and the kingly sport of Thoroughbred racing. It was their passion. Their raison d’ĉtre.
The Keeneland sales have had many “interesting” spectators over the years. One was a Mrs. Emile Denemark, who was rumored to be Al Capone’s sister. She was remembered wearing an apricot lace dress with a Chihuahua thrust into her ample bosom. Whenever Mrs. Denemark took a deep breath, the Chihuahua’s eyes would bulge out of his head and then recede when she exhaled.
The reason I was at Keeneland was to watch Aspen Lancaster sell his own horse, Jean Harlow. The sire had been Arthur’s Dancing Ruby, which was unusual in itself. Horses still in their racing career are rarely used as stud horses, but apparently a special deal had been worked out between Arthur and Aspen – at least that’s what Aspen said.
And he did have the video, semen sample, and paperwork to prove it.
Aspen sat in the third row, his face blank. How did it feel to sell a possible Kentucky Derby winner – Aspen’s last chance at immortality? His face simply didn’t register. But everyone knew Aspen needed money – his creditors would swallow whatever the horse brought.
The bidding started. I trained my binoculars on Aspen’s face. I heard the auctioneer start at $10,000.
Bidder from Dubai raised a finger.
“Do I hear 20,000, 20, 20, bid it up, 20, 20?”
An Asian man nodded very discreetly. A spotter yelled what sounded like, “Yep!”
“Thank you. Now do I hear 30,000, 30, 30, 30? Bid it up here. Hear 30, 30, 30? Bid it up here.”
Spotters, standing on the floor, surveyed the room.
The bidding continued with four bidders until the amount reached $1 million. People started rushing into the sales pavilion from outside. There was a hush inside the room. I saw Aspen’s hand twitch.
“Bid it up here. Do I hear 1,250,000, 250, 250, 250, 250?”
Once again the bidder from Dubai raised his index finger. The spotter pointed.
The room’s excitement escalated.
“Thank you. Do I hear 1,350,000, bid it up here, 350, 350, 350? Bid it up here.”
The bidder for a sheikh nodded. People were now standing on chairs surveying the room. The bidding advanced as the man from Ireland rubbed his nose.
The sheikh and the Irishman went bid for bid until the sum reached two million.
“Thank you. Do I hear 2,100,000, 100, 100? Bid it up here.”
Spotters simultaneously raised their hands and yelled, “Yep!!!” Their color was flushed with excitement.
Up and up the sum crawled until it reached $3 million.
A spotter pointed and yelled.
“Thank you. Now do I hear 3,100,000, 100, 100?”
I swiveled my head to see who had just bid. There sat Lady Elsmere with a smug expression on her face. Beside her was Charles, who nodded.
A gasp arose from the crowd.
“Thank you. Now do I hear 3,200,000, 200, 200?”
The buyer for the sheikh looked at his boss for approval and nodded.
“Thank you. Now do I hear 3,300,000, 300, 300?”
The Irish buyer raised his hand, giving the sheikh a nasty look.
“Thank you. Bid it up here. Do I hear 3,400,000, 400, 400?”
The sheikh shook his head, but a spotter yelled, “Yep.”
We all stretched our necks to see who else had bid. The Irish buyer looked smug.
“Do I hear 3,500,000, 500, 500, 500?”
Charles nodded.
“Thank you. Do I hear 3,600,000, 600, 600, 600? Last bid. No?”
The Irish buyer swirled his head to glare at Lady Elsmere, who returned a sweet smile.
Everyone stared from under their programs at the Irish buyer including Aspen. Some people, like myself, craned their necks to get a better look. The Irishman slumped back in his chair while shaking his head.
“HIP 56 goes for $3,500,000. Congratulations to the buyer.” The auctioneer banged his gavel.
Lady Elsmere stood and waved to a cheering crowd.
People were slapping Aspen’s back. In response he shook off their enthusiasm and strode off after giving his filly one last look.
After the crowd around Lady Elsmere dissipated, I made my way towards her and Charles.
I spoke just one word. “Why?”
June looked like a cat that had just licked up all the cream in the pitcher. “Arthur was beholden to Aspen. I knew he would want me to take care of him. This is Aspen’s last chance for a Derby winner and mine as well.”
“What about My Lady Elizabeth’s foal?”
“Maybe I’ll have two Derby winners before I die. Anyway time is running out for me. I’m taking a shortcut in case Liz’s foal doesn’t take.”
“Who is going to train Jean Harlow? Only a few fillies have ever won the Kentucky Derby.”
June’s eyes shone with excitement. “Look at her, Josiah. Look at her chest. Her thighs. She’s a born winner. She’s got the fire in her eyes to win.”
I glanced at Charles.
“She knows horses, Miss Josiah. If Lady Elsmere says this horse is a winner, then she’s a winner. She’s rarely wrong.”
“Let’s not talk about the fact that you paid three million too much for that horse and you have set a record for horseflesh – you didn’t answer my question, who is going to train Jean Harlow?”
“Aspen, of course.”
“Aspen?”
“Yes, why not.”
“Because he might have been the one who killed Arthur.”
“Tosh, he has an airtight alibi which no one has been able to break. He was at the party next door until he went home. He’s got dozens of witnesses.”
“But that party took place right next door to the Royal Blue Stables. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Aspen didn’t do it,” June countered emphatically. “He didn’t do it. He’s an old man. He would not have had the strength to hoist Arthur up to the rafters. He’s got terrible arthritis. He couldn’t physically have committed that murder.”
“Why do you say that? Do you know who did? Why was Arthur beholden to Aspen?”
“Josiah, don’t spoil my glorious day. I’ve got an offspring from Arthur’s Dancing Ruby and his best friend is going to train Jean Harlow to win the Derby for me. It is the last thing I can do for my darling Arthur.”
Some well wishers came over. June turned and joyfully greeted them. I knew I had been dismissed. That was okay. I needed to think. June was right on one thing. Aspen was too weak to have killed Arthur by strangulation and then have hoisted him to the rafters unless he had had help. Perhaps I should be looking for a younger, stronger man.
Comanche was safely ensconced in a stall along with Shaneika, the vet, and myself waiting for Mike Connor’s witchy-woman, Velvet Maddox. Finally we saw dust stirring on the gravel road and soon a beat-up farm truck emerged from a brown cloud to abruptly stop in front of the barn. A spry little elf of a woman, who was no bigger than a worn-out piece of soap, hopped out of the dusty cab carrying a carpetbag. She strode up to the vet. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got beans to pick.”
The vet, startled by this introduction, opened his mouth but no sound came out. He just looked confused.
Shaneika had the presence of mind to say, “This way, please. Comanche is rather feisty today.”
“He won’t be,” assured the little elf. “Animals take to me.”
I followed, sharply observing Velvet Maddox decked out in polyester pants and cheap blouse purchased from a discount store. On her hand, though, was a fabulous emerald ring. Also her white hair was smartly done and her toenails, sticking out from her expensive sandals, were professionally painted. Hmmm, no boots. No boots around a horse? Not a good thing.
Velvet Maddox thought certain items about her life warranted getting the best. Clothes did not fall into that category.
Shaneika opened Comanche’s stall. The black brute came towards his owner, nudging her shoulder for peppermints. Shaneika’s face softened as she gave him some and rubbed his neck.
“Can you walk him up and down for me?” requested Miss Velvet. She watched intently as the horse moved before her.
“I can’t find anything wrong with this horse,” whined the vet. “It is beyond me why he won’t do his best. He just doesn’t have it in him.”
Shaneika shot the vet a dark look. “Shush, he can hear you.”
Miss Velvet sighed. Reaching into her carpetbag, she pulled out two dowsing rods that looked like they had been cut from wire coat hangers. She quickly said a prayer and asked the rods to look for sickness in the horse.
Comanche neighed, looking suspiciously at rods.
“Now hold him tight,” commanded Miss Velvet. She pointed her dowsing rods at the horse in her tiny hands with firm conviction. Starting at the back end, she moved slowly around Comanche’s legs, then his sides, and his middle, underneath his belly. Nothing. The dowsing rods did not move.
The vet smirked.
Then she moved towards his head on the right side. Nothing.
Shaneika looked downcast as she moved under the horse’s neck so Miss Velvet could move on the left side.
With tightened lips, Miss Velvet moved on the left side of the horse’s face. Suddenly the dowsing rods converged at Comanche’s left eye. “Hmmmm,” was all Miss Velvet commented as she moved down the left side again. The rods immediately uncrossed, standing straight out before her. Miss Velvet went around the horse again until she came to the left side of Comanche’s face. Again, the rods converged at the horse’s left eye.
Clucking, Miss Velvet wiped off her dowsing rods before placing them back in her carpetbag satchel.
Shaneika put Comanche back into his stall.
Waving a crooked, wrinkled finger at the vet, Miss Velvet beckoned him to her. Towering over her, he stood like a little boy about to be whipped for stealing his mother’s cigarettes . . . or maybe her lipstick.
Shaneika stood beside him, looking expectantly.
“That horse has got pus around the left eye. Get rid of the pus and he will do what you want him to.”
“There is no sign of any eye infection,” retorted the vet.
“I didn’t say the eye was infected. I said pus was around the eye. Now don’t use any antibiotics. Just give him warm water and salt. Go up through the nose several times. That ought to break the pus ball. Let him snort it out. Make sure he drains real good. If that ball won’t break, then you’re going to have to punch it.” She picked up her bag and made way for the car. “Good day” was all she said before she drove away.
Shaneika looked at me.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It couldn’t hurt,” I suggested. “Warm water and salt.” All the time I was wondering if Miss Velvet used her rods on people. I could use some help in that area myself.
“It’s stupid,” admonished the vet.
“Let’s do it. We’ve got nothing to lose,” replied Shaneika.
The vet got out some saline solution and warmed it on his SUV’s hood five minutes. Then he inserted a tube up Comanche’s nose and forced the saline solution into the nose cavity. This is not an easy task – if you want to stay alive. Each time Comanche got meaner.
Third time’s a charm. Something broke. Comanche waved his head widely and yellow water drained out of his nostril.
After another two hours and two more treatments, both horse and humans were exhausted but Comanche’s nose drippings were running clear. The vet left looking like a chastised dog caught chomping the family’s dinner pork roast. Shaneika bedded down in the barn to keep an eye on her beloved stallion, which was munching contently from his bucket of oats.
I drove home in my golf cart. As was my habit, I checked the security system monitors after I let myself in. The cop car was still at the entrance of the driveway, but I knew it was a matter of time before it was pulled off duty.
Mrs. Todd was snoring in an easy chair with the local newspaper collapsing in disarray from her lap to the floor. Lincoln was also on the floor in his room cuddling with Baby, who opened his good eye when I peeked into the room. I quietly put a blanket on both of them. Baby yawned and went back to sleep. I thought everyone had the right idea. So I went to sleep too after I checked all the doors and windows . . . not that I was paranoid.
I awoke to a tapping sound. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and gave my room a confused look around.
My eyes rested on the patio door where Larry Bingham was standing. He had a weird smile on his face, one that I had never seen before.
I gasped.
He mouthed for me to open the door.
I groggily shook my head while stumbling into the bathroom until I splashed my face with cold water, shaking out the cobwebs.
Had I been dreaming? Just in case I got out a stun gun from a shoebox. Then I heard a padding of paws and a low growl. I limped back into my bedroom.
I hadn’t been dreaming.
Larry was standing at my patio glass door looking very amused at Baby who was warning him not to try the door.
“Let me in,” mouthed Larry.
I shook my head again, pointing to my cell phone. I held the stun gun right at him. I knew if he had a gun, the bullet could not penetrate the thick glass especially installed.
Larry got out his phone and dialed.
I answered at the first ring.
Larry gave me that creepy smile again. “Josiah, do you have a postcard that belongs to me?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I answered, never taking my eyes off him.
Neither did Baby.
“I think you do, toots. After you came to see me the other day, I found the top of my desk different from what I had left it and a postcard from under the desk calendar was missing.”
I said nothing.
“And from the suspicious way you are treating an old friend, I can guess you have put some pieces of the puzzle together.” He smiled again.
That smile scared the crap out of me. I had to sit on the bed as my legs were shaking. “Are you a friend?” I asked.
“Actually I am,” replied Larry, his very blue eyes never blinking. “I just didn’t realize how much Fred hated you. That was my mistake. I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.”
“But not about killing Richard Pidgeon.”
Larry’s eyes blinked. He smiled again but his eyes did not look friendly. “Now, you know that has been declared an accidental death. No proof of foul play whatsoever and his body has been cremated.” He switched the phone to his other ear. “Nothing can be tied to me. Forget it, Jake, it’s Chinatown.”
I continued. “Tellie confessed to me that she killed Richard by injecting adrenaline into his neck and using the bee stings to cover up the marks. I have a signed confession and a recording.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m going to have to have those too, Josiah.”
I shook my head. “I let her go because she was a battered woman fighting for her life. But she also told me that she gave her friend Joyce a false story that she had met a man. Now I’m thinking that maybe the story was true. She had met someone and it is this someone who planned Richard’s death to gain both Tellie and the money that would eventually come to her.”
“I always told you that you were smart, Josiah. That sharp brain of yours is going to cut your nose off.” He rattled the door angrily.
Baby immediately started barking and reared up on the glass. I pulled him down and away from the window. Baby leaned against me, lowly growling at Larry.
“Why did you sic Fred O’nan on me?”
“Did I?”
“You just said you didn’t realize how much O’nan hated me, but he went too far, didn’t he? You were just trying to throw the police off your track. You knew O’nan for many years, played on the same softball team together. He must have told you about our past history.”
“Fantastical story.”
“I think you and Tellie fell in love . . . or she fell in love with you. Maybe you did love her. Anyway you wanted Richard dead so you planned the murder and you carried it out. Not Tellie. She lied for you.”
He shook his head.
“You gave her a note at Richard’s funeral telling her to leave town . . . that I was getting too close. And you sent Fred to the funeral to scare me off the case. He would have done anything for you. He looked up to you. Was it your idea to have my house ransacked?”
“What is going on in here?”
I turned to see Mrs. Todd in the doorway staring at me.
I turned back to the window.
Larry was gone.