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datatime: 2022-11-30 14:53:45 Author:ymEeLlAQ

'But Lord knows, Kenny's had girlfriends before, and I don't always know about them,' Foster said, turning around in her chair to look back inside the ring. 'Unless you're right about Windsong, the horse Kenny's on now is the only one he has left. Black Opal. We call him Pal for short.'

'It may be that one horse survived the fire,' I told her.

Sparkes picked up speed and thundered toward us, and the guinea hens lifted up their feathery skirts to hurry out of the way.

'I don't know. I couldn't tell the gender.'

'It's a foal, I guess. Black,' I went on.

'Well, Kenny had a foal named Windsong,' Foster said. 'The mother, Wind, ran the Derby and came in last, but just being in it was enough. Plus the father had won a few big stake races. So Windsong was probably the most valuable horse in Kenny's stables.'

'Is there someplace we can talk to him?' I asked Foster.

'A lovely old guy with a very bad heart,' she said.

'What about a star-strip-snip?' she asked, referring to the white stripe on the horse's forehead.

'I wasn't that close,' I told her.

'I don't know. I couldn't tell the gender.'

'A filly or a colt?' she asked.

'Did you know anything about a lady maybe staying with him in Warrenton?' I asked as we headed back outside again. 'Did you ever see anyone when you went to work with his horses?'

'There are chairs outside.' She pointed. 'Or you can use my office.'

'Well, Windsong may have gotten out somehow,' I said again. 'And was spared.'

'I'd like to know more about the stable hand,' Marino said, taking notes.

'It's a foal, I guess. Black,' I went on.

'If he is, I doubt he will be for long. The police know about him.'

'What about a star-strip-snip?' she asked, referring to the white stripe on the horse's forehead.

'Well, Windsong may have gotten out somehow,' I said again. 'And was spared.'

Marino was not particularly interested in the surviving horse, and as we entered the indoor ring, we were greeted by the sound of hooves and the clucking of bantam roosters and guinea hens that wandered about freely. Marino coughed and squinted because red dust was thick in the air, kicked up by the cantering of a chestnut Morgan mare. Horses in their stalls neighed and whinnied as horse and rider went by, and although I recognized Kenneth Sparkes in his English saddle, I had never seen him in dirty denim and boots. He was an excellent equestrian, and when he met my eyes as he went by, .he showed no sign of recognition or relief. I knew right then he did not want us here.

'No,' Foster said.

'If he is, I doubt he will be for long. The police know about him.'

'And he has no stable hand?' I asked.

'And he has no stable hand?' I asked.

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