Saltwater in the Bluegrass (37 page)

Charlie set the stack down to get a better grip on the box. This is when Kristina saw it.

“Stop,” she shouted

The three of them froze in their tracks.

It was so clear.

In the reflection of the dresser mirror, history had, once again, come to life.

Sevil Ylime had come to life.

In the clear refection of the large mirror the words Sevil Ylime shot back at them from the paperwork.

The words they saw were “emilY liveS.” The words jumped out at them, sending shivers up their backs. All these years as an adult, Emily, masquerading as Katherine, had been playing the same games she had played as a child on the Ingram estate: Catch me if you can. In her mind, she thought that anyone she knew would never be as smart as she was or smart enough to catch her if they tried. Even now she didn’t believe it.

As for, Charlie, he continued to hold small portions of his memories in check. He would live with the thoughts and the memories he had seen as a little boy for still years and years to come as an adult, at least until one day when he finally received help from a psychiatrist and was able to totally recall his past and the images he had repressed.

No one in the family had ever known that Charlie had been at a friend’s house down the hill on a sleepover that night. He had returned home in the middle of the night, walking through the woods behind the stables, then up the driveway to the back of the garage to get his one-burner hiking stove to cook supper on.

He had witnessed what Emily had done to Katherine. No one had been living on the estate except Katherine, and this is when the pool was suddenly filled in with dirt. The reasons given by Katherine were that there were large cracks in the walls of the pool from a small tremor. Katherine had papers showing contractors had come to the house to give estimates, but the pool was beyond repair. At Charlie’s age and the time of his life, he was always so intimidated by his older sister that when he saw what had taken place, he withdrew from the family and suppressed the image of that night deep into his mind. From that point on, he continued to run from this house and from his family for years and years.

It was only now that Charlie understood why this was, why he always had to live so far away from the home and so far away from Louisville. He now understood the reasons. Even now, even as a grown up, he could only visit for short periods of time. Then he would have to leave and not come home again for years. It was a sadness he had struggled with for so much of his life. Now, even with the truth finally coming out, he still had trouble trying to rectify his emotions.

Both Patrick Lane
and his accomplice, Owen Hensley, were charged and convicted for the murders of Buddy Stringer and Russell Metszer. Each received double life sentences with no chance of parole.

Beth Ann was given a governor’s pardon after spending all those years behind bars. With the insurmountable evidence that was out in the public eye about child abuse and the testimony Elizabeth Browning Ingram gave before the legislator and state representatives, the sentence was reduced to the time served, and Beth Ann was released.

Beth Ann and her mother Elizabeth would never again live on the Ingram estate, but they lived very comfortable with the twenty percent of Ingram Enterprises that had continued to grow all these years in Beth Ann’s name.

Two hundred and thirty-nine million dollars worth of comfort was waiting for Beth Ann when she got out.

Time had not yet healed all wounds. Years that had gone by were still gone. There was no time to reflect and remember. There was only time to move on and forget, and with that much money, if Beth Ann decided to move every three years, now it was of her own accord. Elizabeth lived with her daughter Beth Ann the remaining years of her life, seeing Lamar Jr. at least once a week and Charlie once or twice a year.

Milford Langston moved out of the Ingram Mansion and returned to his former home in Simpsonville, Kentucky, near his farm, where he lived until his death.

The I & L Horse Racing Syndicate, which owned the rights to Cost Me Plenty, was found to be corrupt. The Kentucky Racing Commission found through further investigations to have sufficient evidence to deem the I & L Syndicate connected to organized crime and controlled by illegal means, all set up by a Mrs. Katherine Ingram.

The holding company Emily had used to buy her stock in the I & L

had bought the rights to Cost Me Plenty. She had purposely undermined Lamar and Milford at every turn. Through investigation, it was brought out how Emily had managed the paperwork in all these transactions.

The syndicate owned ninety-two thoroughbred horses when it was dispersed.

In August of that same year, the Kentucky Racing Commission was finally able to tie the syndicate back to the gambling establishment in Cincinnati, Ohio. The Federal Racing Commission had deemed the I

& L illegal, causing the rights of Cost Me Plenty to be sold at auction. The proceeds, including all the three purses from all three Triple Crown Races that Cost Me Plenty had won, and the enormous stud fees that would follow, were dispersed to the owners of Churchill Downs, the Jockey’s Club, and the Racing Commission for future prevention of illegal activities.

Steve Terry and Dennis Raggert were both sentenced to five to ten years on felony racketeering charges. They spent their time at Lagrange State Prison setting up betting lines on just about anything there was to bet on. Simply, stated, it was to pass the time until they were both found dead in the laundry room of the prison. As for Kristina, she ended up marrying Lamar Jr. after five years of silent auctions. She made sure to have his will updated to include her in every faction of the business. She also made sure there was no language in his will like that contained in his father’s, Lamar Sr., about remarriage after death and so on.

They lived up on the Ingram estate in the Mansion. Kristina is now living out her dreams and playing out her days as the first lady of the Ingram Mansion. She found her fortune. She had her dream, and with Lamar Sr. out of the picture she now had it written in her name, her own portfolio. With Kristina only having to service Jr. once or twice a week, it gave her plenty of time to do whatever and see whomever she pleased, and with that, there were still plenty of people playing that game.

No longer is there a picture of old man Ingram hanging in the living room. No longer is there any sign of the past; out with the old and in with the new. Kristina totally gutted the house and is now learning how to spend her money the old fashioned way: everyday. There is now a new pool and bathhouse out back. And, yes, this time it is filled with water, not dirt. Horse stables are on the property, and new servants are in the kitchen. The past is now buried for good. Charlie pays off his debts a lot sooner these days with the percentage of the company he owns and with the stock he now has after Lamar Sr.’s death. He is still doing his best to stay away from the Ingram estate, but with Katherine gone, he finds time to visit more often, normally around Derby time.

Thomas and his wife Elle have moved back to Louisville. Thomas is president of the company and runs all aspects of Ingram Enterprises for Lamar Jr. He also sits with Douglas, Elizabeth, and Kristina on the board of directors for the company.

Gossip still reigns high on the social calendar around these parts. Life goes on; rich people die just as often as poor people, but the rich are still sent out in prettier coffins.

Young people grow up, and now they hear the same stories and rumors that their parents’ parents told, generation to generation to generation. Stories grow and stories told, all with there own little subtleties. Other than that, not much has changed. Some people continue to talk, and some people continue to listen.

I returned to Florida
and continue to live on my sailboat,
The
Brenda Kay II
. On good days I still manage, with the help of Texi Conover, to run my private investigation service. Of course it still happens conveniently from my office right above the T-shirt and seashell shops.

Most days I work as much as is humanly possible. Well, on most days.

Living this close to the beach can find a person changing their plans real often, or at least more often than they should. Then again, that’s just one of the many curses of living and working next to the beach.

Remember, I work only fourteen steps from the sand. In the late afternoons and early evenings I still find time to fish out in one of the many bays or flats Florida has to offer. Sometimes, when I have time, I cross the state and fish along the mangrove hedged inlets that open into the Gulf. With the contacts I now have in the cricket business, well, I’m always in good supply of fishing bait. As for Jenny Jenkins, she finds her way down to these parts once or twice a year. I’m finding that she enjoys it more and more with each visit. I’m always glad to see her.

We still see things eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe when it comes to being together. That is, when we’re relaxing in the stateroom or on deck getting a tan.

It didn’t take long to get that old feeling back once I unpacked. I settled back in pretty quick, throwing on a pair of shorts and heading down along the coconut palms to the water for a long swim. I still love it down here. Always have. I still love the feel of salt in my veins, the beach in my soul, the music in my ear, and the coastal view in my heart. And to tell you the truth, I guess I always will. Texi continues to ask me every year, around the middle of April, if I am going to head up north with her to Kentucky for the Derby, and my usual response is the same almost every year: “Sure thing, Texi, when there’s saltwater in the bluegrass.”

From the author of the bestselling Adventures of J.C. Stringer Series CLIFF KICE’S Island of the Prosecution TURN THE PAGE FOR A RIVETING LOOK AT BOOK # 2 For more information visit: www.beachbumbooks.com Or Email: [email protected]

Island of the Prosecution

Book # 2

Cliff Kice, author of last year’s best selling novel in the J.C. Stringer series
SALT WATER IN THE BLUEGRASS
does it once again.

In the fashion of excitement, high spirit, and out-of-luck anticipation, J. C. Stringer, local private investigator, is brought back off his sailboat, the
Brenda Kay II
, and within minutes you find yourself deeply involved in another case.

Stringer still resides at the Pompano Beach Harbor Club and is still in search of clear, calm waters and passion-fed inlets, but this time he finds himself caught up between the wishes of a new client and the sense of doing what he knows is morally right. This time the case involves deceit, anger, a childhood past, and a beautiful woman packaged with a bad attitude.

Through the loss of a close friend, the reconstruction of his office, and barely escaping the near-death experience of the fury of another long hurricane season, Jimmy Chase Stringer becomes involved with Rachel Chambers, Miami-Dade County’s leading prosecutor. The verdict is in.

Rachel Chambers has just won her case against four local businessmen found guilty of the murderous slaying of three black students from the neighboring county. Soon after the four men are sent to prison, when Rachel Chambers begins to think that she can now move on with her life, members of her immediate family start to die.

For some unforeseen reason, the local newspaper seems to be one step ahead of each move.

Is the past now catching up with Rachel? Is revenge and twenty years of anguished memories going to cost her everything she has worked for all these years?

Enjoy the ride through the twists and turns as Stringer helps his new client unravel her past and solve the questions of why innocent people from the local area have been going to prison for crimes they haven’t committed.

Sit back now and enjoy the adventure in
ISLAND OF THE PROSECUTION

August – 1992

“All rise. The Miami–Dade County Superior Court of Florida shall now come to order. The Honorable Judge Lawrence B. Hillbrook, presiding. You may all be seated.”

With this, Bailiff Gilbert Wesley turned the courtroom over to Judge Hillbrook and the proceedings commenced.

“Order. Order in the courtroom.”

The gavel came down twice, striking the top of the bench in a capricious blow, the sound instantly letting the two hundred plus spectators know that it was time to quiet down, time for everyone to terminate their conversations and to stop moving about the room.

This included family members, friends, well-wishers, local politicians, city organizers, reporters, and court staff, all in attendance, all trying to be the first in a small handful of people from the Miami area to actually hear the verdict as it was being read.

Tension was widespread.

The search for justice evident, coming in a variety of stages and junctures, played back and forth, inside and outside, throughout the limits of the district courthouse, the judicial boundaries, and its territorial restrictions. Judge Hillbrook took his place at the bench. He arranged his notes and then quickly gazed over the crowded courtroom, looking for anyone who might be out of line or suddenly planning a disturbance. There were none.