French Twist: A Detective Luc Moncrief Mystery by James Patterson & Richard Dilallo

Author:James Patterson & Richard Dilallo [Patterson, James & DiLallo, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01LXCII8R
Publisher: BookShots
Published: 2017-02-07T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Thirty seconds later an announcement comes from the loudspeakers: “Horses and jockeys will now proceed to the track!”

We walk a few yards with Armand Joscoe and Garçon. After a few minutes the horse and rider turn. They walk toward the water-drenched track, and the rest of us find our places in the owners’ circle.

The parade is magnificent, a combination of beauty and strength. Marguerite is seated to my right. She holds my hand. Katherine Burke sits to my left. She holds a pair of high-powered binoculars. Me? I occasionally glance at the equine parade, but mostly I keep a keen eye on the many people seated near us. Who might be watching us? Who might want to harm the Savatiers?

I would like to report that the sun broke out before the race began. It did not. The rain keeps on raining, but it seems a little more cooperative. It seems to fall in a softer, more peaceful rhythm. We wait for the race to start.

I say, “You will recall, K. Burke, that during the plane ride down here you insisted that I was not to place a bet for you on Garçon?”

“Of course I do. It was just a sudden superstition on my part. I didn’t think he’d win this time if we placed a bet.”

“Well, I disobeyed and did so anyway,” I say. “But I bet only a hundred dollars.”

She’s pissed. She turns away from me and mutters, “Damn it. Do you ever listen?”

I say nothing. So she speaks again.

“When I specifically asked you not to? It’s bad karma, Moncrief. You’re pushing your luck…my luck…our luck.”

“But, K. Burke, we are trying to do everything in the same way as we did in Kentucky, n’est-ce pas?” I say.

“N’est-ce pas, my foot. I think it feels selfish to bet, to feel so smug about winning. If Garçon loses, I’m blaming it on you.”

“We shall see. And please, not to worry. This time cannot be exactly like last time. At the Derby Garçon was a long shot. Today he is the favorite. Today his odds are a measly two-to-one. Even if he wins you will only…”

But my attention is suddenly elsewhere. A few yards away from K. Burke I see Detective Kwame Clarke taking a seat. Clarke watches us. Our eyes meet. He tips his umbrella handle in my direction. We both nod to one another.

Marguerite speaks to me.

“I am scared, Luc. Very scared,” she says.

“There is no reason…”

“Yes. Yes. I know that you have the private guards watching us. And I know Detective Clarke is nearby. But I am nonetheless frightened.”

“You have no need to be,” I say. “All is secure.”

But I am wise enough to know that, like me, Marguerite is thinking about that dark and threatening note.

Win the Preakness. Or you will suffer the consequences.

“What if Garçon does not win?” she says.

I don’t have time to answer. We hear the sound of a bell. Marguerite grabs my hand.

The race begins.

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