Colts Crossing...Unsolved - Episode 4

Lipstick Promises

Murder, Mystery & Mom Season 4

There’s no such thing as a reformed hoarder. You just get better at hiding.

That analysis played through my head on a loop as Loretta and I combed through Freddy Darrow’s neat and tidy office, searching for some clue to his secret obsession.

After two hours of searching through an oddly neat office and disturbingly through records, Loretta finally hit pay dirt. In Freddy’s financials, she found a payment to Forget It Storage going back at least fifteen years.

“You see? Just as I suspected.” I snapped my fingers. “Every hoarder has to have a secret lair—a cluttered garage, a creepy attic with things pressing down on the ceiling, practically falling through.”

Loretta ignored me and made a phone call to the storage company, and they—not so politely—told her that Mr. Darrow hadn’t been paying his bills, and that the unit was scheduled to go to auction in the next twenty-four hours. She even tried pulling the FBI card, but the guy didn’t budge.

“We’ll have to go back at him with a warrant.”

I nodded. “Well, while you work on that, Mama and I are going to pay a little visit to the racetrack and ask around.”

“Patsy, you’re not FBI. I don’t need you interviewing witnesses and messing up this case. A man’s life hangs in the balance.”

“Which is exactly why we need to stop bickering and work together. You know I can help. Stop fighting it.” I placed a hand on my hip. “Besides, Agent West already conducted preliminary interviews when y’all first arrived. We’ll just be following up.”

“Alright, fine.” She sighed. “Let me know if you find anything useful.”

Before Loretta could change her mind and go all prickly on me again, I hustled outside to find Mattie.

I pushed through the back door, the temperature shifting instantly as the cool, controlled air of the house gave way to open Kentucky spring. The hum of insects, the distant thud of hooves, the rustle of tall overgrown bluegrass—it all came rushing back.

Mama and Goldilocks stood at the fence, looking like something out of a western painting—a woman and her dog.

A horse ambled up on the other side of the fence, large enough to make Goldilocks look like a plush toy. She froze, then leaned forward with deep, spiritual interest. She stood on her back legs, front paws on the fence post, chin resting on top, tail in a slow wag. I snapped a picture before either of them could turn around and ruin the moment.

“Loretta wants us to go to the racetrack and ask a few questions,” I said as I approached.

Mattie twisted at the waist, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the sun. “Did she now?”

“Well, it was my idea, but she didn’t object.” I spread my arms. “It’s our best lead. It’s the last place Freddy was seen, and whoever took him also kidnapped Double Jeopardy… horse-napped?”

“Those guys down there aren’t going to talk to you. They get a little squirrely around strangers.”

I turned toward the voice of Ray Holt, the retired jockey and current business partner of Freddy Darrow. My heart thumped, and I resisted the urge to jump. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Yeah, I was hiding behind that blade of grass.” His deep voice crackled with something between grumpy irritation and amusement. “You think I haven’t heard every version of that joke since 1978?”

He was just about level with my shoulder.

I slouched on instinct. “That wasn’t a crack about your height, I simply didn’t realize…”

“Relax, kid. I’m not sensitive about being short.” He dropped a caddy filled with grooming supplies by the fencepost. “These stubby little legs made my career.”

Ray let out a low whistle that cut through the breeze. One of the younger thoroughbreds lifted her head from the field, ears flicking forward as she had been personally summoned.

He held a curry comb in one hand and a lead rope looped loosely in the other. He watched the horse approach with the kind of patience that said he’d done this a thousand times.

I grabbed Goldie by the harness before she got any bright ideas about causing another stampede. “Who’s this girl?”

“Lipstick Promises.” Ray gave her a pat. “The next star in the making. You’ll be seeing her at the Kentucky Oaks next year. That is, if Addison can get her focused. She’s as fast as lightning but lazy in practice.”

I stroked the top of her head. “So was Secretariat, and look how that turned out.”

“Any tips for us at the racetrack?” Mattie asked.

Lipstick Promises nudged Ray’s shoulder with her nose, impatient with being ignored, and he absently reached up to scratch along her jaw without breaking eye contact with Mama.

“Yeah. Don’t go in asking a bunch of accusatory questions like cops.” He softened the statement with a chuckle. “They’re good guys, mostly, but the people who work and hang around a track aren’t society’s most cooperative bunch. More of the quiet, loner, only-talk-to-horses types.”

I smiled. “Good thing I’m chatty enough to hold up two ends of a conversation.”

“And then some,” Mattie added.

“I’m sure you are.” His gaze narrowed as he curved wire-rimmed glasses behind his ears. “But how much do you know about horse racing?”

I tilted my head. “I know there was a point in my childhood where I wanted to be the most successful female jockey of all time.”

“She outgrew that dream by the time she was eight,” Mattie said.

“She means that literally.” I rolled my eyes. “You know that old cartoon where kids stand on each other’s shoulders under a trench coat to pretend they’re an adult? Well, that was me in grade school—without the extra kids standing on my shoulders.”

The filly shifted her weight, one long leg stepping awkwardly over the other like she hadn’t quite figured out where all of it was supposed to go yet. Gangly. All promise and no coordination. I knew the feeling.

Ray rolled the sleeves of his work shirt. “Freddy’s a good guy, and I want to see him returned home safely.”

“With Double Jeopardy,” Mattie said. “That horse is worth a lot.”

Ray let out a quiet breath. “More than most people around here make in ten years.”

Or a lifetime.

Lipstick Promises flicked her tail and stomped once, like she had an opinion about that number and found it insufficient. Goldilocks tugged against her leash, taking everything twitch as an invitation to play.

Ray rubbed his jaw. “That’s why I didn’t want to pay the ransom.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t?”

“I figured Susannah told you.”

Mattie shook her head. “She didn’t.”

The brush stilled in Ray’s hand. “I realize this makes me look selfish and cold-hearted, but in our business, if you show weakness…” He trailed off. “I wanted to get the police involved the moment we received that note.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because these things always end badly,” he said. “Once the kidnappers get their dough, what’s the incentive to hold up their end of the bargain? Freddy becomes a liability. A loose end.”

I glanced out at the paddock, at the empty stretch where Double Jeopardy should have been, and for the first time, the space felt wrong.

“The FBI is trained to deal with this stuff,” Ray continued. “I’ve seen the movies. They put trackers on the money and follow the bear back to his den.”

“You think Freddy’s dead,” Mattie said.

The filly let out a soft, uncertain snort, ears flicking back and forth like she was trying to decide whether to bolt or stay.

“Your Agent West does.” Ray shifted his weight. “We all know it’s not a good sign that he wasn’t returned. I just hope we’re all wrong. Especially for Susannah’s sake.”

I reached down and buried my fingers in the thick, soft fur of Goldilocks’ neck. Sensing the shift in mood, Goldie leaned her full weight against my shin, a warm, furry anchor in the middle of a cold conversation.

Ray’s words—liability, loose end—rattled around my brain like marbles in a tin can. On the podcast, those were just tropes, the structural beats that made for a must-listen season finale. But standing here in the Kentucky sun, looking at the paddock where Double Jeopardy should be, the words felt heavier. If Freddy was a liability, then Susannah wasn’t just a character in a drama; she was a woman waiting for a man who might never walk through that columned front door again.

I looked at Mama. She didn't offer a comforting smile. She just watched Ray with that steady, tactical gaze, already calculating the odds he’d just laid out.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you ladies, you just holler.”

“Actually, Mr. Holt, we could use you down at the track,” Mattie said. “It might help if we have a friendly face with us.”

“Sure thing.” He glanced back at Lipstick Promises, gave her one last slow pass with the brush, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave her yet, then handed off the lead rope to a waiting hand. “Let me just drop this stuff back at the stables.”

“You do a lot of manual labor for a business partner, Mr. Holt,” I said.

He grinned. “These days, I act as more of a stable hand than a jock.” He patted the rump of a horse. “Took that for granted back when I was the athlete, now I realize how important that day-to-day care is for a horse.”

“Who takes care of Double Jeopardy?” I asked.

“A college kid down at the track. She’s studying to be a vet. She’s real broken up about D.J.”  Ray regripped the bucket. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Mattie shifted her weight and leaned across the fence post. “Someone at that racetrack must have seen something. You can’t just walk out of there with a thoroughbred, no questions asked.”

“Unless you’re one of his owners,” I mumbled.

The random comment sparked something in my brain. The theory slipped in—quiet at first, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to be heard.

What if nobody took Freddy?

What if all of this—the note, the ransom, even the horse—wasn’t a kidnapping at all?

What if it was just… accounting?

I didn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Even I wasn’t sure I believed it.

But once the idea showed up, it didn’t leave.

I lowered my voice. “What do you think of Ray Holt?”

Mattie watched him a moment before answering. “He had a pretty successful career, but he sank a lot of his winnings into Final Turn Thoroughbreds with Freddy and Susannah.

“A volatile business that’s only as good as your last victory.”

Mattie nodded. “And in Double Jeopardy’s last two races, he finished last and second to last.”

“So the kidnapping of Freddy could be a way for a partner to recoup some of those losses.”

“Which makes Ray Holt a suspect, along with the trainer, Addison O'Duggan-MacQuillan.”

“And the wife,” I added.

Mattie gathered her hair over her shoulder and stared off toward the barn. “With the ransom being paid from the corporate funds, it could be any of them.”

Which meant the person who took Freddy Darrow didn’t need to break in. It was an inside job.

Or something a whole lot stranger.

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