Colts Crossing...Unsolved - Episode 9

Brittany Brinegar
Jun 18
10 min read

A Good Run of Bad Luck

Murder, Mystery & Mom Season 4

[INTRO MUSIC: A catchy, slightly eerie bluegrass fiddle track fades down under the dialogue]

MATTIE: Welcome back to Colts Crossing…Unsolved. If you’ve been following our coverage of the Freddy Darrow disappearance, you know that twenty-four hours ago, everything changed. We are no longer looking for a missing man, listeners. We are looking for a murderer.

PATSY: And let’s be honest, my bank account is also looking for a refund. Seven grand on a storage unit full of mint-condition Y2K Barbies, only for the prime suspect to go and change the plot on me. Talk about rude.

MATTIE: Patsy’s financial regrets aside, the discovery of Freddy Darrow’s body was not made at the glamorous Final Turn stables, nor was it down by the scenic Kentucky River. Instead, investigators were led across the state border into a sleepy, unassuming corner of Ohio.

PATSY: Where Freddy apparently possessed a second secret hoarder lair.

MATTIE: It turns out Freddy inherited a small, rural home from his late mother. Because the property deed was still legally registered under her name, it completely slipped past the initial FBI asset checks. It sits on one acre of heavily wooded land. And when our source at the Bureau, Agent West, breached the front door, he found a scene nearly identical to the storage unit.

PATSY: We’re talking stacked to the rafters, folks. Floor-to-ceiling boxes, towers of vintage comic books, crates of magazines, and enough plastic memorabilia to choke a landfill. I’m starting to wonder if Freddy didn’t just have a shopping addiction… but a financial self-destruction hobby.

MATTIE: Don’t go starting any crazy rumors, honey.

PATSY: That’s how all the best theories start. You just call them rumors until they’re right. But I’ll save my conspiracies for the end—mainly because I’m still not convinced I was wrong. Tell them what happened when Agent West went inside.

MATTIE: Tucked deep inside that overwhelming labyrinth of cardboard, the FBI team made a grim discovery. Freddy Darrow was slumped over a pile of collectible crates. Dead. The initial medical examiner’s report states the cause of death was a massive head injury. And found just a few feet away from the body was a heavy, iron horseshoe, coated in dried blood.

PATSY: Which is just a little too on-the-nose, if you ask me. A bloody horseshoe? It’s like the killer walked into a tack room, grabbed the most dramatic object available, and said, “Yes, this feels symbolic.”

MATTIE: The coroner estimates that by the time Agent West’s team found him, Freddy had already been dead for at least four days.

PATSY: For those of you keeping track at home, that puts his time of death right around when his family was wiring two million dollars to bring him back. By the time the FBI was called, Freddy was already dead.

MATTIE: Unfortunately, the deeper we dig, the more complicated this becomes. Out back, on that single acre of Ohio land, forensic teams found clear, unmistakable evidence that a horse had recently been corralled on the property.

PATSY: And not just any horse—all signs point to Double Jeopardy.

MATTIE: Which brings us to a massive fork in the road. Did a brutal kidnapper transport both Freddy and a multi-million-dollar racehorse across state lines to a house that Freddy secretly owned? Or did Freddy drive himself to Ohio with the horse in tow?

PATSY: Okay, look, I know what you’re all thinking. On last week’s episode, I laid out a brilliant, ironclad, entirely logical theory that Freddy faked his own kidnapping to extort two million bucks from his partners because he was drowning in debt. I know that theory now looks a little… far-fetched.

MATTIE: Well, clearly, Patsy, he didn’t murder himself with a blunt instrument.

PATSY: Clearly, Mama. But... I am not totally ruling out the Fake Kidnapping scheme. What if the extortion plot was totally his idea, he drove himself and Double Jeopardy to his secret Ohio stash house, and then a partner-in-crime decided they didn’t want to split the two-million-dollar ransom fifty-fifty? It happens in movies all the time!

MATTIE: We aren’t in a movie, Patsy. But the logistics do support the idea that Freddy went there willingly. In fact, we managed to get our hands on an official FBI psychological profile generated by our very own resident expert, my youngest daughter, Dr. Loretta Stanwyck.

PATSY: Oh, joy. Let’s hear what my dear sister has to say.

MATTIE: It’s actually quite fascinating. Dr. Stanwyck notes that a compulsive hoarder treats their secret stash spaces as an extension of their own psyche—a safe haven. She believes Freddy would only bring the stolen horse to a location where he felt entirely in control, which strongly implies he drove the trailer to Ohio himself. To quote the profile: “The subject was seeking refuge in his past comforts, entirely unaware that his secret sanctuary had been compromised.”

PATSY: Yeah, well, Loretta also accused my pink Bronco of ‘drawing too much attention,’ so forgive me if I don’t take her profiling as gospel.

MATTIE: So, listeners, that leaves us with the ultimate golden question to kick off this week’s investigation: Did Freddy drive himself to the house in Ohio? And who else knew it existed?

PATSY: Because whoever knew about the secret hoarding lair... definitely knew how to swing the horseshoe.

[OUTRO MUSIC: The bluegrass track swells back up, tense and driving, before fading out]

The library at Final Turn Thoroughbreds was built to be a quiet retreat where one could go to lose themselves in a good book. The wonderfully air-conditioned room had the unique mix of expensive furniture polish, pulp, and generational wealth, but today it hosted the most awkward post-tragedy briefing in the history of the commonwealth.

Agent West didn’t waste time easing anyone into it. “The Ohio medical examiner has confirmed the identity,” he said, voice steady and unyielding. “We are officially treating Freddy Darrow’s death as a homicide.”

I didn’t look at West. I watched them.

Susannah Darrow sat perfectly upright, looking devastatingly beautiful in a crisp, cream-colored linen blazer that screamed country club chic. If anyone had expected her to be weeping into a lace handkerchief, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

She wasn’t falling apart.

She was holding herself together.

Everything about her was composed—hands folded neatly, posture flawless, expression controlled down to the smallest detail.

“He was found in Ohio?” She blinked a few times, as if not quite processing.

“Yes.” Agent West nodded. “In a home he inherited from his mother.”

“He had a second property,” she said after a moment, her voice smooth and perfectly measured, like we were discussing an inconvenient audit instead of a murdered husband. “In another state. Filled with…” She paused delicately, as if searching for a word that wouldn’t stain the upholstery. “…things.”

“It’s not unusual for people with obsessions to hide them from their families,” Loretta said.

Susannah let out a small breath and adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, the movement precise and practiced. “Do you have any idea what that looks like?” Her gaze lifted from Agent West to her partners. “From a business standpoint? From a family standpoint? It’s not just irresponsible—it’s humiliating. For all of us.”

Ray leaned back, hands shoved into the pockets of his tweed vest, his face a weathered mask of quiet stoicism. He had that unshakeable, old-school patriarch energy—like a man who had seen everything, buried most of it, and wasn’t about to let a couple of badges ruffle his feathers.

“You’re not the one who kept secrets.” He placed his hand on top of Susannah’s for a brief, steady pat. “That was on Freddy. Not you.”

Mattie shifted beside me, her eyes catching something I missed. “Mr. Holt, were you aware of the Ohio property?”

Ray’s lips curled, and he shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

No hesitation. No stumble. Just a clean answer.

I waited for him to follow up—a question, a reaction, even a flicker of surprise at the idea that Freddy had been living a second life in a house full of boxed-up memories.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Ray pushed off the chair and added, almost as an afterthought, “Man always had more going on than he let on.”

“So none of you noticed he was actively bleeding cash?” I asked. “Because it takes a lot of pocket change to fund a secret real estate portfolio in Ohio.”

Addison let out a sharp, irritated sound as she paced behind her chair, stopping every few feet like she’d hit an invisible fence.

The star trainer practically buzzed with defensive hostility. “This is ridiculous. Why are we being questioned like this? I’ve been at the track all week. I don’t know anything about Freddy’s… side projects.”

Side projects?

That was one way to describe a secret hoarding compound in another state.

“We have a schedule to keep,” she added, arms crossing tight across her chest, her energy vibrating just under the surface like a live wire.

“A schedule?” I frowned. “Your business partner has been found murdered, and we’re talking about… what exactly?”

Susannah’s gaze slid to me, cool and measured. “The Bluegrass Crown Stakes,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

I blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“The world doesn’t stop because Freddy made a mess of his life,” she said. “We have obligations. Investors. A stable to run.”

My brain tried to catch up and tripped halfway through. “What is the Bluegrass Crown Stakes?”

“It’s not the Derby,” Susannah said. “But to folks around here, it might as well be.”

“Is Double Jeopardy seriously ready for a two-minute sprint after he spent the last week fending for himself in a backyard corral in Ohio?”

Susannah let out a mocking, delicate laugh, adjusting the cuff of her blazer. “Good heavens, no. We pulled him from the field shortly after he went missing.”

“Fair Warning took his spot,” Addison said, pride breaking through the irritation. “Young. Fast. And his bloodline runs straight back to Secretariat. We’ve kept his qualification quiet to protect the odds, and he’s more than ready.”

I sat back, letting that settle in my brain in the way only Patsy logic could manage. My brain immediately took that information and did something wildly unhelpful with it. Lineage back to Big Red? The greatest racehorse to ever walk the earth?

“Secretariat?” I whispered, my eyes wide. “So what you’re telling me is this horse is basically royalty. Do you think he’ll win the race by twenty-seven and a half lengths? Because if we’re talking historic margins, I need to call my bookie immediately.”

Underneath the table, Goldilocks apparently decided the shift in my energy required her active participation. She let out a massive, room-shaking yawn, rolled entirely onto her back, and dropped her heavy paws against Agent West’s polished dress shoes with a dull thud, her tongue lolling out in a display of pure, unbothered bliss.

Agent West slowly looked down at his scuffed shoes, then back up at me, his eye twitching slightly.

Loretta cleared her throat, shooting me a lethal side-eye that told me my horse-racing commentary was officially interfering with federal business.

The room had settled, but not in a way that felt resolved.

Freddy was dead. The horse was back. And sitting across from us were three people who had just heard the same news—and somehow managed to react three completely different ways.

I smoothed the hem of my shirt. “Right. Sorry. Federal investigation. Carry on, Agent West.”

The mahogany doors of the library hadn’t even fully clicked shut behind us before the family unity dissolved. Susannah and Ray marched toward the front entrance of the main house like they were leading a military retreat, leaving Addison to storm off down the long, portrait-lined hallway toward the side exit.

“Come on, Mama,” I whispered, tapping my hip for Goldilocks to follow. “Let’s head her off before she hits the stables.”

Mattie and I caught up to her just as she reached the heavy oak door leading out to the courtyard.

“Addison, hold up a second,” Mattie called, her voice perfectly striking that tone of polite authority that usually makes people freeze in their tracks.

Addison spun around, her face twisted in a scowl, but as her eyes locked onto Mattie, the hostility momentarily gave way to a sharp, calculating squint. Her gaze traveled from Mattie’s face down to her sensible shoes, and then back up again.

“Wait a minute. I thought I recognized you in the library,” Addison said, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “You’re Mad Dog Jill Briscoe.”

Mattie didn’t skip a beat. She offered up a slow, satisfied grin. “One of my many aliases, honey.”

“We want to talk to you about Freddy’s murder,” I said, stepping up to flank my mother.

Addison’s defensive shield slammed right back down. “You already did. I told the guy with the badge back there everything I knew. Freddy’s dead, it’s a tragedy, hooray for his secret house. Can I go back to work now?”

I sidestepped into her path before she could get the door open. Goldilocks dropped into position beside me like she’d been trained by a club bouncer, providing a solid fifty pounds of furry reinforcement.

“Have you told Susannah that you’re planning to leave Final Turn Thoroughbreds to join up with Conley Boatwright?” I asked, letting the question hang in the foyer’s humid air.

For a split second, Addison looked like she’d swallowed a bee. Then, her jaw clenched, and she swung her boot out, kicking the heavy wooden door frame with a dull, angry thud.

“That little weasel never could keep a secret,” she muttered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low hiss.

“So it’s true?” Mattie asked, her eyes glittering with the thrill of a confirmed lead.

“It was something I was considering,” Addison said, crossing her arms tight against her chest and glaring at the wall.

I arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Does that mean you’ve reconsidered now that the situation has changed?”

Addison’s head snapped toward me, her face flushing a deep, irritated red. “Yeah, you know what? Fine. I’ve got absolutely nothing to hide from you two. I was planning to leave for one reason. Freddy. The man was running this entire business straight into the ground, and Susannah and Ray just sat back and let him for old times’ sake.”

She took a step closer, her voice vibrating with arrogance. “With my talent, there is absolutely no way I should be losing money in the horse racing business. I produce consistent winners.”

“Your skills as a trainer would be an asset to wherever you went,” Mattie said.

“Exactly.” Addison edged forward. “And I wasn’t going to let Freddy Darrow drag my reputation into a financial sinkhole.”

Mattie watched her closely, letting the silence stretch for a beat before dropping a total bombshell right into the middle of the foyer.

“Well, I guess a person would get tired of the drama,” Mattie said, shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, it’s one thing to deal with a partner running a business into the ground. It’s another when he’s recycling the exact same fake kidnapping trick he pulled fifteen years ago.”

A chaotic kaleidoscope of emotions flashed across Addison’s face—shock, panic, a brief flicker of genuine terror—before her features hardened into a mask.

“If you have any other questions for me,” Addison hissed, her voice trembling with a terrifying amount of restraint, “I highly suggest you direct them to my lawyer.”

She shoved past my shoulder, nearly tripping over Goldilocks, as she slammed the heavy oak door behind her.

“Mama? How mad would you be if you found out you paid a million dollars for a fake kidnapping fifteen years ago, only to have history repeat itself?”

“Pretty mad.”

“Murder-with-a-horseshoe mad?” I tilted my head.

“That wouldn’t be my weapon of choice.”

“Because that reaction?” I glanced at the door Addison had slammed behind her. “That wasn’t the first time Addison heard Freddy faked the whole thing.”

Mattie nodded slowly. “No, I don't believe it was.”