1800 RSVP
“I feel like a dam penguin!” Dr. Robert Harris muttered.
His elegant black dinner jacket fit his athletic frame snugly, outlining shoulders broadened by years of working with large, sometimes uncooperative, horses.
Standing at the entrance to the Turf Club Roses Lounge, in the grandstands of Churchill Downs, Robert tried to remember to smile at each of the arriving owners and trainers with their families and guests.
“Welcome, welcome, glad you could make it,” he said, clearing his throat repeatedly.
Our Friends Farm Trust was holding their annual fundraiser at the historic racetrack as part of the run-up to the Kentucky Derby. Robert was a senior board member of the charity for retired racehorses and had reluctantly agreed to greet guests.
His head felt like it was attached to a string. It bobbed up and down, nodding awkwardly at each person. The new dress shoes, purchased earlier today, had his feet in a death grip. Saying they were too tight was an understatement. Everyone might stare, but his scruffy old boots would feel like heaven now.
Many of the arriving guests looked entirely different in their formal evening attire, but Robert knew most of them. From some of the looks directed his way, it seemed quite a few people were having trouble placing him. Most owners and trainers had to take a second or third look before recognizing their veterinarian, absent his usual worn jeans and a shirt covered in unidentifiable stains.
His smile grew warmer at the sight of Leslie Campbell. A rising star among thoroughbred horse trainers, Leslie barely resembled the gawky teen that had haunted her Dad’s training stables many years ago. She had blossomed into a lovely young woman. He quickly reached up one hand to smooth back the grey hair at his temples.
“Hey, Doc!” Leslie greeted him with a grin but didn’t offer her hand as it was firmly tucked into the crook of Jonathan Grant’s arm. If the wide smile Jonathan flashed at Robert was any indication, the owner of Nile Ruler, the top horse in Leslie’s training stable, seemed to be enjoying the evening. Rumors were flying that his colt could win the Derby this year.
Behind the young people, Mary Beth Winchester, the owner of Spring Away, the current favorite for the Derby, strode in on the arm of her husband, Dr.Gerald Blackstone. Her elaborate gown and bejeweled presence dominated the area like some majestic ocean liner leading an escorting tugboat.
“Dr. Harris,” Dr. Blackstone said, slowing upon reaching Robert. Although a colonel and the head of surgery at the Naval Medical Center in Portsmouth, his short stature led many to dismiss him unless they became the subject of his penetrating gaze.
Mary Beth, lips compressed, urged her husband forward, even as he tried to stop and shake Robert’s hand.
“Just a minute, Mary Beth,” Dr. Blackstone said, a frown flashing across his face. Taking no notice, she abandoned her husband and sailed on into the lounge, completely ignoring Robert.
Robert’s smile faded under the snub, and his eyes narrowed as Blackstone shrugged his shoulders as if apologizing and followed his wife. An obscenity tried to force its way past his clenched teeth but failed.
“Hello Doc,” Donald Reagan said, recalling Robert’s attention to the guests waiting to enter the lounge. Leaning slightly to his right to keep an eye on Mary Beth’s progress, Reagan vigorously pumped Robert’s hand, while never quite coming to a complete stop. Although a well-known trainer with a large clientele, it was clear that Mary Beth, the owner of the best horse in his training stable, had monopolized his attention.
Robert had started to reply but realized he was speaking to the trainer’s back. He recovered his smile and decided to ignore Mary Beth.
“Good evening Robert.” This greeting came from John Pelham, a true member of Kentucky’s horse racing elite. His Calliope Stables was the breeder of three of the colts that would be competing in the Derby, but they had only retained ownership in one, Sable Star. The early betting had made this colt the second favorite after Spring Away.
“John,” Robert said, smiling. “Great to see you getting out for these events.”
“Please, I’m not that old yet,” Pelham said, “and I now have Duncan here to pick me up if I fall on my face.” He gestured at the tall man standing at his elbow.
“That’s great, John,” Robert said, “Does Duncan have a brother? I need someone to pick me up when your ornery horses don’t like what I’m doing to them.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow and glanced at his boss.
“Never mind him, Duncan, this rude fellow and I have known each other too long,’ Pelham said, “let’s head for the bar. I’m in need of refreshment. See you later, Robert.”
“Here you go. You look like you could really use this.”
That familiar baritone voice caused Robert to smile even before he turned around to face the speaker. Detective James Fitzsimmons, until recently with the Louisville Metro Police Department, held out a heavy whiskey glass etched with the Churchill Downs logo which contained a satisfactory measure of a golden brown nectar.
“God, Thanks, Fitz. I’m parched.” Robert said, accepting the glass and taking a hurried sip. “Sorry I’ve been ignoring you. Looks like almost everyone is here. Why don’t you find us a couple of seats at the bar? I’ll be over to join you right after our esteemed Board President gives his little welcome speech. One of our donors laid on some expensive whiskey for this affair and we can do some serious drinking and catch up on things.
“Sure Robert.” Don’t feel you have to rush. I promise not to run off on police business tonight,” Fitz said, but the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.
Un Oh, Robert thought, Fitz sounds in need of some serious cheering up.
He walked back toward the entrance. There was no one in sight except the two security guards and the maître’d waiting by the door and Robert walked up behind them.
Had all the guests arrived, he wondered?
A quick glance back at the lounge, revealed Fitz sitting at the bar watching him. Fitz raised his glass in a salute. Everyone else seemed to be happily sipping cocktails and chatting about the upcoming Derby. Sighing, Robert turned back and leaned forward to stare up the hallway. It wouldn’t do to ignore any late arriving stragglers.
1900 Uninvited Guest
A short heavy-set man in a tuxedo loomed into view, slightly swaying back and forth as he walked ponderously toward the Lounge. A tall man dressed in street clothes stalked along behind him.
“Crap!” Robert swore under his breath, “What’s he doing here?”
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