The Trojan Colt by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page B

foot or so above the top rail.
    A number of the farms had training tracks, but no one was out running on them as I drove past. What struck me was the size of the pastures. You could stick a hundred head of cattle into each enclosed pasture that housed from one to ten thoroughbreds. Then I thought about it and realized that it made sense, that based on some of the figures Tony had quoted, there was every likelihood that one top racehorse or stallion was worth more than a hundred cows.
    Finally I came to a sign telling me I’d reached Mill Creek Farm. I turned into the driveway, which was lined with fenced pastures on both sides, and started driving up to the house. There were a quartet of barns off to the left, and another to the right. Straight ahead was what I assumed was a typical horse country mansion, a large two-story white house with a quartet of huge white pillars holding up a portico in the front.
    There was actually a uniformed guy standing at the front door. He walked over when I pulled up and waited for me to open the window.
    â€œMay I help you, sir?” he asked.
    â€œI hope so,” I said. “My name’s Eli Paxton. I’d like to talk to the guy who does the hiring around here, or if he’s at the sale, then to Mr. Bigelow.”
    â€œI’m afraid we are not currently hiring,” said the man.
    I pulled out my wallet and flashed my license at him. “I’m not looking for work. I’m here about a missing groom.”
    He sighed deeply. “They come and go all the time, sir.”
    â€œJust the same, I’d like to talk to someone who knew him, and maybe take a look around.”
    He frowned. “Mr. Standish is the farm manager. I believe he’s in one of the barns. As for letting you ‘look around’”—I could almost hear the quote marks around it—“you will require Mr. Bigelow’s permission.”
    â€œIs he home?”
    â€œHe will be shortly. I believe he’s at the bank.”
    I couldn’t blame him. If I had a check for three and a quarter million in my pocket, I’d want to make sure it was good too.
    â€œWell, if you’ll point out where this Standish is, I can start by talking to him.”
    â€œI can’t leave my post, sir. I’ll summon someone to take you to him.”
    He pulled out a cell phone that made Star Trek’s communicators look like primitive kid stuff, spoke into it so softly I couldn’t hear him, and then tucked it away.
    â€œWell?” I asked.
    He pointed to a young man who was walking toward us from the nearest barn.
    â€œThis is Jeremy,” he said. “He will take you to Mr. Standish.”
    â€œHas he got a first name?”
    â€œI just told you.”
    â€œI mean Standish,” I said.
    â€œFrank.”
    â€œOkay, thanks,” I said, but he was already walking back to his station at the front door.
    I decided that since he hadn’t told me to move the car, I’d leave it right where it was so I could find it again when I was done. I got out, closed the door, wished I had one of those remote control locks—not that there was anything worth stealing, but just because I didn’t want anyone pushing the car out of the way—and began walking across the lush green field toward Jeremy.
    We met halfway between the barn and the house, introduced ourselves, and shook hands.
    â€œHector tells me you’re a cop?” he said.
    â€œHector?” I repeated. “No wonder he didn’t tell me his name.”
    Jeremy chuckled. “I read about a Hector in high school. Some Greek guy. Got himself killed by another Greek guy.” We began walking toward the farthest barn. “So what’s a cop doing here?”
    â€œI’m a private eye,” I said.
    â€œWow!” he said excitedly. “I’ve never met one of them before! You got an office and a sexy secretary and girls stashed all over the city like all those