A Horsetale Trilogy

By Thomas Wilshaw

A system that picks only winners, a woman who can read horses' minds and a man bent on gaining control over his wife's trust fund. Not the typical end to a typical Pony Bay Racecourse season.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387084036

Book preview

A Horsetale Trilogy

A HORSETALE TRILOGY

By  Thomas Wilshaw

A

The people, places and events depicted in this work are fictional, any similarity to existing people, places or events is completely coincidental.

copyright @2017

ISBN #: 978-1-387-08403-6

A HORSETALE TRILOGY

A

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

XXXII

XXXIII

XXXlV

XXXV

XXXVI

XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XL

XLI

XLII

XLIII

XLIV

XLV

XLVI

XLVII

XLVIII

XLIX

L

LI

LII

LIII

LIV

RAILBIRD

I

Grey clouds raced after the setting sun casting an early nightfall on the barren trees that lined the lane.  A fine mist began to coat the leafless branches and the street beneath grew dark with moisture as the daylight dimmed.

The branches came together in nature’s rhythm as a light breeze became a steady wind and the vail of mist joined in to sing the chorus as drops of rain.

Jack sat patiently on the counter top, watching Mother Nature conduct her orchestra.  He squinted as lightning streaked across the horizon.  Jack’s grey fur stood slightly as Mother Nature’s percussion section accentuated the now driving rhythm of the storm.  Rain cascaded down the window pane and he watched as trees so solid, so sturdy, were now breathing and moving with each gust of wind and gush water.

Jack’s ears folded back, and as there came another clap of thunder, he decided the only place for him to be was behind the sofa bed.  He leapt from his countertop perch and strode across the floor, quickly ducking behind the furniture.

Around the corner and a block away a bus came to a halt, the brakes squealing in resentment.  A barrage of white caps crossed the large puddle that was the bus stop.

A solitary figure emerged, hopping from the buses lower step to the puddles edge, where the waves lapped at his heals.  He stood for a moment, tucking a newspaper, The Daily Racing Form,  under his sport coat and fixing his fedora so it would deflect the rain from his face.

It was a moment too long, the bus proceeded and before he was ready to move the wheels pressed another rush of waves toward the sidewalk.  The water swallowed the man’s loafers drowning his feet.  The cold water sent a chill from his legs upward and seemed to flow to his arm, which was now raised in a half hearted middle finger salutation to the bus driver.

As John Tomes began his walk home his mind turned from his cold soaked feet to his dry studio apartment, and his faithful furry companion.

The bus dropped John off on Main Street, a block away from Oak Road where he lived.  Main Street was almost completely devoid of any activity on this Sunday evening, the small town was winding down early, the bad weather spurring it along.  The stores that lined the street for the four blocks prior and the one block on which he now walked were all closed, with the exception of the diner on the corner of Main and Seventh, four blocks away, and the 24/7 Convenience he would pass on his way home.

He turned and entered the 24/7, an old fashioned bell on top of the jamb jingling as the door swung open then closed.  He took a step further away from the door. 

It was early fall and even with the storm the temperature was lukewarm in the low sixties but the heat was on in the store and it felt good to shake the shiver of the dampness off.

Some days John felt older than his sixty-seven years and this was one of them.  It felt like every inch of his slightly hunched five foot eight frame was soaked through to the bone, and the fact that he was rather thin didn’t help.  He didn’t have any of, what he called, insulation.

He noticed that a tall young man had taken a position behind the counter by the register and he gave him a nod as he started up the aisle.  He collected a few items as he went up one aisle and down the next, his feet making all manner of squishy burp and fart noises as he walked. 

So how’d you do today Mr. Tomes? the clerk asked as John approached the counter.

John put two cans of tuna fish and a small jar of instant coffee on the counter so the clerk could ring them up and bag them.

Better than yesterday, but not as good as tomorrow, John replied, nudging his fedora up to reveal a slight grin.

The clerk handed John the small bag.  Got any hot tips? he asked.

Not me, John replied, but that blonde waitress at the diner down on Seventh sure does. He chuckled as he made his way to the door.

Tips, on horses to bet, not.. The clerk was speaking loudly but John was already through the door, the bell jingle signifying the end of the round.

John knew that the clerk had meant a tip on a horse to bet on, John had occasionally given them out in the past.  But for those who did’t understand that it’s a numbers game and that fifty percent doesn’t mean you wont lose fifty in a row before a winner, there can be resentment when they lose their money.  He might as well just keep them to himself and maintain his cordial acquaintances.

The rain had stopped and the street lights were now on.  A thin fog was settling in and John could hear the hum of a telephone pole transformer off in the distance. He thought about how lucky he was to have been able to retire in the small town, where people who lived there year round knew of each other even if they weren't friends.  Where the large stores that sucked in the customers through their gaping electronic mouths and then crapped them out through their gaping electronic butts hadn’t gotten to, yet.

John had no illusions, the town wouldn’t remain the northeast coastal jewel that it was for too much longer.  The racetrack had applied for two additional meets,  which meant that there would be racing nine months out of the year instead of the current three.

John hoped that would be a few years away. The meet was ending in two weeks and then all of the out-of-towners would be gone and only those who boarded and trained their horses at the track would remain.  The towns economy depended on the annual three month meet, but he felt that the town also needed the down time to recover each year.

The influx of all the new money would mean the lose of the towns personality.  Money changes everything.

John rounded the corner and headed down Oak Road.  His studio apartment was a little less than a block away in a converted garage.

It was small, a one car garage that had an entrance on the side and the roll up car door disabled.  He had a private bathroom with a shower stall that took up one corner, a kitchenette area along one wall and his living area / bedroom comprising the rest of the space.

Leading up to his entrance was ten by twelve foot fenced in area where he could sit out on the nicer days.  The fence was only four foot high so it seemed less about privacy and more about boundaries on the landlords part.  But the place suited John’s needs perfectly and he was quite content there.

Jack’s ears perked up as he heard the outside gate swing open  and then latch closed with a clank.  He poked his head from behind the sofa bed and watched the door in anticipation.

John came through the door, which he never locked,