High Stakes Read Online Free Page A

Caldwell?”
    â€œHe’s the fella that’s the chart caller here for Racing Daily. Pretty colorful guy,” Tenuta answered. “But he does a great job, right Ingrid?”
    Ingrid said, “As far as I know he does. You watch the races and read his descriptions of them more than I do.” She looked at her watch. “Gotta hustle on, guys. Buck Norman’s got a new two-year-old filly in his barn that won’t settle down. Wants me to find out what the troubled youngster is thinking. If I hear anything about the horse killings, I’ll give you a call, Jack.”
    The men watched appreciatively as the tall, assured, attractive woman walked toward her truck. “She going out with anybody now?” Doyle said.
    â€œI hear she’s been dating Bobby Bork, that assistant racing secretary here. What,” Tenuta smiled, “you interested?”
    â€œNaw. Just curious. We’re just friends. I know Ingrid had a tough stretch of life with that alcoholic vet partner of hers before he died driving into a moving train last year. I just felt sorry for her, the trouble he’d been giving her.”
    Tenuta said, “Same with me. She deserved better than that bastard.”
    They walked up the shed row. Tenuta paused to pat an inquisitive two-year-old colt named Mr. Rhinelander who had poked his head out above his stall webbing. “This one’s going to make his first start pretty soon, Jack. I think he’s going to be damn good.”
    Doyle didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking about what Tenuta had just said about Ingrid McGuire’s new romantic interest. “This Bobby Bork,” he said disgustedly, “I had a lot of dealing with him when I was entering your horses for you a couple of years ago. You know what they call him over at the racing secretary’s office? ‘BM Bork.’ Which stands for Big Mouth. He’s evidently a smart enough guy, but he’s not too high up on anyone’s list of favorite people. Especially my list.
    â€œWeird, isn’t it,” Doyle continued, “that Ingrid would link up with another asshole following in the sorry wake of the late vet? I mean, this is an intelligent, likeable woman. Hard to figure that she should be so stupid on the social side of her life.”
    At Tenuta’s office door, Doyle said, “You hear anything about these horse killings, you’ll let me know, right?”
    â€œSure. You’re in a kind of a hurry on this, aren’t you Jack?”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I be? It’s a damn shame what’s been going on.”

Chapter Six
    Minutes after Doyle had tipped the Fab Rib Guys delivery man and deposited the brown bag with its aromatically enticing contents on his kitchen table, his phone rang.
    â€œJack, sorry to call this late,” said Karen Engel. “But we were wondering if you’d discovered anything about those deaths?”
    â€œBy ‘we’ you mean dour Damon and your demanding boss, right?”
    â€œPlease, Jack. Cut the sarcasm for a change. I wouldn’t be bothering you like this if it wasn’t a pressing matter.”
    Doyle started to open the large Styrofoam container. He looked down appreciatively at the sauce-dripping slab of baby back ribs that was surrounded by a bag of French fries and containers of collard greens and sweet potato pie. He relented.
    â€œKaren, nothing’s come up yet. I only went out to the track today to start inquiring.” He paused to extract a couple of fries from their package. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll set up a meeting with Ingrid McGuire. You remember her?”
    Karen said, “Sure. Your pal the horse whisperer.”
    â€œHorse communicator,” he corrected. “I’ll phone her in a few minutes. After I have my dinner. Okay?”
    â€œWe’d all appreciate that, Jack.”
    He turned on jazz station WDCB to hear announcer Barry Winograd