Dead on Course: A Contemporary Horse Racing Mystery (Harry Radcliffe Mystery, 2, Band 2) - Softcover

Wilson, Glenis

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1847516467 ISBN 13: 9781847516466

Verlag: Severn House, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

A fast-paced mystery set in the cut-throat world of horse-racing: second in the new Harry Radcliffe series.

Back in the saddle and race riding again after weeks recuperating from a serious accident, champion jockey Harry Radcliffe reckons his life is back on course. That’s before local gangster Jake Smith, newly released from gaol, makes contact. Knowing of Harry’s success in finding out who killed his brother, Jake now wants him to discover who murdered his sister, Jo-Jo. Refusing to accept the official verdict of accidental death, Jake is prepared to use whatever violence necessary to uncover the truth. He’s determined that somebody pays the price for his sister’s death – and if Harry doesn’t find out who’s responsible, it’ll be him.

Once again forced to turn detective, Harry is about to enter a world of greed, corruption and treachery in order to unmask a ruthless killer.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Glenis Wilson was born in Radcliffe-on-Trent, Nottinghamshire, where she lives to this day. She has been a member of the Nottingham Writers' Club for thirty-five years, and is the author of seven previous novels, published in large print.

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Dead on Course

By Glenis Wilson

Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2015 Glenis Wilson
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-84751-646-6

CHAPTER 1

I knew I was a target when I opened the cottage door that morning and found, sitting on the doorstep, a pair of false teeth. I stared down at them, they grinned back at me. A twinge of guilt, unexpected, unpleasant and unwarranted, made itself felt. They weren't real, as in made of porcelain; these were plaster. But they were real enough to me and I knew the message they conveyed.

A finger of apprehension ran down my spine. I was prepared to bet Harlequin Cottage they were replicas of the original false teeth belonging to Carl Smith, jump jockey. Now deceased. Or – more accurately – murdered. We shared unpleasant history.

The whole business was over in physical terms, but obviously not emotionally and mentally with some other person – or persons.

Picking up my morning bottle of milk – and the teeth – I backed into the cottage and nudged the door closed behind me. Leo, my ginger tomcat, fired up his personal pneumatic drill at the sight of the milk and purred loudly. I poured him out a generous saucer before tipping some into my waiting mug of tea. Then I hooked a foot around the chair leg and sat down at the kitchen table.

Placing the teeth on the tabletop, I scrutinized them at close quarters. Lifting the upper set, I delicately placed it squarely above the bottom one. Carl had used a good dentist. The dentures fitted together perfectly. But the reason he had needed to visit the dentist was entirely my fault. However, Carl didn't need them any more; he was dead.

So, the question remained: who had benefited from his demise and inherited his estate, after payments out, of course, of all outstanding debts and testamentary expenses?

I had no idea and I was going to have to find out. Before whoever it was found me. I sighed deeply. Too late, mate, I told myself – they already had me pegged and in their sights. The very act of leaving the teeth on my doorstep said, in clear tones, all your fault. And, undoubtedly, repercussions would be coming my way very soon.

So, what was new?

For the last three or four months, trouble and personal danger had dogged me. Unfortunate accidents, occasioning actual bodily harm, had befallen me with sickening frequency. But they hadn't been accidents. I'd been a target. However, I'd thought that at last the hellish time was behind me. Now, I was being targeted again.

Sudden anger blazed high inside me. This time I was going to stamp down on whoever was threatening me – very hard.

A ginger paw, complete with grappling irons for claws, reached across the table, batted the dentures and sent them clattering. That was what Leo thought of them. My anger died instantly. He had a very balancing effect on tense situations. I grinned and tickled him behind the ears to deflect him whilst I rescued the teeth from further indignity.

Scooping them up into a plastic freezer bag, I took them through to the office and slid them into one of my desk drawers. I needed them perfect and unbroken. They were crucial to discovering just who was gunning for me.

Leaving them on the cottage doorstep may have been a declaration of war, but as far as I was concerned, the dentures were going to lead me right into the enemy camp.

CHAPTER 2

I left the dimness of the weighing room and walked across to the parade ring, bathed in late-summer sunshine, to meet two friends. One, longstanding – Mike Grantley, racehorse trainer – and one, very recent – Samuel Simpson, racehorse owner. The man whose racing silks – purple and green – I was wearing, and whose horse – Online – I was about to ride in a three-mile steeplechase over the course at Market Rasen.

I hoped like hell I didn't make a complete horlicks of it and betray their trust. Today was the first time in six months I was race riding. It wasn't my first time in the saddle, of course. Riding out every morning for the last five or six weeks, for Mike on his gallops situated on the Leicestershire/Nottinghamshire border had, thankfully, put paid to my fear. Prior to this, yes, I had doubted myself, felt I'd never ride again.

But gentle hacking, followed by riding out in the morning string and finally riding work, akin to simulated race riding, had sheered up my very real insecurity and wobbly self-belief.

A shattered patella, following a fall over a brushwood jump whilst travelling at possibly thirty miles an hour, was not guaranteed to give any jump jockey confidence in a comeback to race riding.

'Hello, Mike, Samuel,' I greeted them.

Samuel stepped forward and clapped me on the shoulder. 'Good to see you, lad.'

His hand landed on my left shoulder and I was relieved to find it gave me no pain. For one disloyal moment, I wondered if he had deliberately chosen the left one to see if I felt any resulting discomfort. Well, after all, I was riding his horse and he was paying Mike for its upkeep. Samuel needed a jockey who was fully fit.

He knew, only too well, I'd suffered a smashing blow to that shoulder from a criminal intent upon murder and, just days later, taken a bullet in the same place. It could have left my shoulder significantly weakened. Thankfully, it hadn't.

And on a very personal level, it was also entirely my fault that his daughter was struggling to cope with overwhelming heartache and the shame associated with it.

But looking at his open smiling face, I chided myself for the uncharitable thought.

It was a good job I was getting back to normal, going back to work racing. I was in danger of getting paranoid.

I hated to admit it, but finding the false teeth waiting on my doorstep had brought back all the unpleasant and deeply hurtful memories of the last few months. I had found it necessary, then, to be deeply suspicious of just about everybody, with the exception of Mike. And, of course, Annabel.

Annabel, my darling wife. My darling, estranged wife who I still desperately wanted back. At that point, I reined in my thoughts. It did no good whatsoever letting myself think of her. I found it deeply enervating.

I needed to concentrate on the imminent race.

'Leg you up?' Mike's enquiry was what I needed. He was smiling and nodding. He knew better than anyone my anguished soul-searching regarding my racing future. Mike was a glass-half-full type of chap. His belief in me had never wavered. I was very lucky I could call him a friend – had been doing for the last twenty-five years or more since we were kids at school together.

Now, he was my boss, and a very successful racehorse trainer – amongst the top ten in the country. Before the ride on Gold Sovereign earlier in the year that resulted in the smashing fall, literally, I'd been his retained jockey. It was a satisfying partnership for both of us, financially and as friends. When you found your back against the wall, there was no finer person to have on your side. I'd trust him with my life. Of course, the reverse was also true, as he knew very well.

I bent a knee and Mike flipped me up into the saddle.

He gave me a light, friendly punch on the thigh. 'No instructions. Ride like you always do.'

'And I've every confidence in you, too, lad.'

'Thanks, Samuel. Glad you could make it today,' I said and meant it. 'Do my best.'

He beamed widely. 'I know you will. And it's not just me, Harry; Chloe's arrived – look.' He nodded towards the crowd packed tightly against the parade...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Severn House
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1847516467
• ISBN 13: 9781847516466
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 198
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar