Murder In The Bluegrass: The Janet Simpson Cozy Mysteries, #4

By Sasscer Hill

Janet is invited to stay with the billionaire O'Sullivan family in Lexington, KY, for Keeneland's spring racing meet. Shipping her horses to the track, she arrives at the O'Sullivan estate only to discover it resembles a castle in a horror movie, complete with a dark and eerie tower.

Jealousy, rage, and sadness reside in this mansion. Sudden death and unraveling secrets leave Janet fearing for her life. Can she save herself or will a killer destroy her?

Sasscer Hill's horse racing mysteries and thrillers have won multiple awards, including the $10,00 Ryan Award for Best Book in Horseracing Literature. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wild Spirit Press
• Release date: Jun 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223519218

Sasscer Hill

Sasscer Hill, who was involved in horse racing as an amateur jockey and racehorse breeder for most of her life, sets her suspense and mystery novels against a background of horse racing, and the people and horses in the industry who dig deep into their hearts to find the courage and will to win against all odds. Her novels have won a Carrie McCray award and nominations for Agatha, Macavity, Claymore, and The Dr. Tony Ryan Best in Racing Literature awards.  

Book preview

Murder in the Bluegrass

Chapter One

It was late afternoon when the small plane bucked violently before plunging what must have been a hundred feet. My breath sucked in, and my fingernails dug into the armrest.

Coming into Lexington with treacherous air currents and looming thunderheads on the far horizon wasn’t what I’d counted on when I’d booked my first trip to Kentucky.

I exhaled a breath when the plane’s approach grew smoother. Beneath me, mares and foals dotted lush fields of blue grass. It was an amazing sight. I could clearly see them as we dropped lower. But if we were flying over a farm, where in God’s name was Bluegrass Airport?

Suddenly, the tarmac rolled smoothly beneath us. Seconds later, we touched down as easily as a feather floating to the ground. I rolled my shoulders to ease the tension and rubbed at a crick in my neck. At sixty-one, I seemed to get more of those every day.

Two racehorses I owned had been shipped to Keeneland Racetrack for the spring meet. I’d decided to fly in a couple of days early, eager to see that they’d arrived safely and my trainer, Leonard Cushman, had them comfortably settled.

First, I needed to see about my own accommodations at Stone Castle Farm owned by Conor and Grace O’Sullivan. They were cousins of a man named Tom Ryan, whom my friend Kate Perkins had been dating for a while. Grace O’Sullivan’s maiden name was Ryan, and Tom had finagled an invitation for us to stay with the family during Keeneland’s April meet.

I had no idea what these Kentucky O’Sullivans were like or what our living arrangements would be. Kate, of course, had insisted it would be terrific.

They’re very wealthy, she’d said. They own an amazing stud farm and a huge shipping company, started by Conor’s grandfather or great-grandfather. They have a box at Keeneland and are members of the track’s clubhouse. Very chic, very elite.

I’d restrained myself from asking, But are they nice people?

When I passed through the security gates into the main airport, a man in uniform with Stone Castle Farm printed on his shirt, held a sign that read, Janet Simpson. I’d planned to get an Uber and was surprised by this unexpected perk. After greeting me, he walked me to baggage claim, picked up my bags, and led me to a white Mercedes van with the farm’s name imprinted on the side panel in bright green and red.

Twenty minutes later we drove up an endless driveway with double fences and pastures of emerald-green grass on either side. As the van sped along, mares and foals galloped beside us, exuberantly bucking and kicking at the air. Even though the sky was black in the distance, late afternoon sunshine still gilded the horses nearby.

The view changed to hedges and gardens, and as we kept driving, a massive stone house rose to block the skyline. Dark, crushed rock paved the road as it widened into a large circular drive before the house.

The O’Sullivan home looked more like a castle, with high-reaching round towers at either end. The van stopped before three steps that led to massive, double wooden doors. Windows were tall and numerous, and I was glad, realizing the home would be filled with light rather than the chill gloom I’d begun to fear.

As I climbed from the van, one of the doors opened. A small woman with worried eyes walked onto the granite pavers at the top of the steps. Small and delicate, she had chin-length brown hair and introduced herself as Grace O’Sullivan. I was relieved to see my friend, Kate, right behind her.

They whisked me inside the house into a large hallway with a floor of polished stone. At the far end, a double staircase formed parentheses around an extremely tall window that was decorated with red curtains braided with gold fringe.

It was all a bit overdone for me, but each to his own.

Phillip, will you take Mrs. Simpson’s bags to the green room?

My driver nodded and as he headed for the dual stairs, Kate whispered in my ear. You’re just down the hall from the suite I’m sharing with Tom.

Of course, these people had suites. Probably solid gold fixtures in the bathrooms too.

Grace interrupted my thoughts. "Janet, if you’d like to freshen up, I’ll show you your room. Or you can go ahead and join the family. We’re gathering in the drawing room for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

I wouldn’t mind a cocktail, I said. Our landing was a bit bumpy.

Yes, she said. Kentucky is known for its wild spring weather. It can be seventy-five one day and forty the next. Snow, thunderstorms, and tornadoes aren’t unusual in the spring.

As Grace turned away to lead us to a large room off the hallway, Kate whispered, Aren’t you glad you’re in a big stone house?

With those black clouds in the distance, I certainly am.

Like the hall, the room I entered had soaring twelve-foot ceilings. The waning light poured in through three windows on my left. Ahead, a massive stone fireplace crackled and danced with flames. To my right, oil paintings of racehorses embellished the wall. They hung in large, beautifully carved gold-leafed frames.

A big man rose from an armchair near the fireplace. He shook my hand. Conor O’Sullivan, he said. Welcome to Stone Castle Farm.

As we exchanged small talk, I studied the man. His hair was light brown and thinning. He had once been handsome, but judging from his expansive belly and red nose I thought he might have enjoyed the good life too much, for too long.

Kate had planted herself on a green loveseat next to Tom Ryan. It was good to see his familiar face. I had met him several times and considered him a good man. I had finally figured out what Irish actor he reminded me of with his blue eyes, dark salt and pepper hair and good looks. He had the looks of Pierce Brosnan, only not so handsome. He was six feet tall and very fit. No wonder Kate had fallen for him.

Unlike Conor O’Sullivan, though Kate sucked up the good life, and drank a bit too much, she’d kept her good looks. She liked to dress her slim figure in pink. Today it was a magenta and cream knit suit. A magenta feathered hat perched on her head, and her little poodle, Princess, was sitting in Tom’s lap. The dog wore a collar decorated with pink crystals.

After choosing a red armchair near Kate and Tom, I looked about for see the rest of the family Grace had mentioned. There was no one.

Our son Liam should be along shortly, Grace said. He was going to take the boat out on our lake, but I’m sure he’s decided against it with the incoming storm.

Fool boy, Conor said, his voice edged with contempt. ‘He should know better than to do something so stupid.

Grace winced. A flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks. But she didn’t say anything.

The strained moment was interrupted by