Weekend Reading Line-Up!

5/22/2026

“How could someone steal a racehorse?” Wyatt asked as they drove back to the farm.

Val shrugged. “I’m not sure the real question is how, but what the hell do you do with one after you steal it? It’s a horse. A big horse. They average twelve hundred pounds. It’s not like you can stash one in a safety deposit box or under your bed. And you sure as hell can’t stuff it in a bag to walk out with it. You’d not only need somewhere to keep it, but a way to get it there. They need food and water—it’s like kidnapping a person.”

“Another question is why steal a racehorse at all?” Wyatt asked.

“What would all that have to do with people who deal art?” Val asked. “The art is probably easier to steal.”

“Art can also be forged,” Wyatt said.

“Well, Thoroughbred racehorses are under a lot of security. Not just where they live, but at any racetrack they go to. They’re worth a lot of money and some of them are hard to handle. You’d need someone who is familiar with horses and knows how to treat them. There are restrictions on the medications they can have, too. Lots of testing goes on.”

“Okay,” Wyatt said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “You couldn’t drug a horse and then have them race under another name until the drug clears their system?”

“You couldn’t do that at all. Most of them are microchipped and don’t forget the extensive pedigree information. It’s not just the markings—breeders can use DNA testing to match mares and stallions for the best foals. I don’t know how in-depth that is, or if an individual horse’s DNA is used to identify them, but—”

“So, I’m not going to steal Secretariat to race under another name,” Wyatt began.

“No one is. He’s been dead for about twenty years. I doubt he’ll run fast enough to win a race now.”

Wyatt arched an eyebrow and glanced at Val. “Smart-ass. Fine, no one is going to steal Fire and Spice and race him under another name.”

“Horses are individuals. If you tried, someone would recognize him and question his identity,” Val said. “And they have these little patches on their legs called chestnuts. Those are like fingerprints on a person, no two are alike and they don’t change as a foal grows. They’re part of the horse’s identifying marks. The cowlicks in their coats are used that way too. All those things are extensively recorded in a separate document listing all the physical characteristics of a horse. Those are public records.”

“Good point. We’re going to steal him and do what? What else can I get from a racehorse? Sperm if he’s a stallion. But what if the horse is a mare, like the one Janelle’s car hit?”

Val shook his head. “I don’t know about other countries, but in the United States, artificial insemination isn’t allowed. Mom and Dad have to actually do the deed.”

“Which I’m sure the horses are extremely grateful for.”

“Besides, to be allowed to race, a horse has to be registered. For that you need the pedigree. Got to prove both sire and dam were Thoroughbreds, and their ancestors, too. Switching one horse for another to race used to be a huge problem, but the racing industry has done a lot to put a stop to that kind of activity. If you do it and get caught, which I think is pretty likely, you’re out of the sport.” Val stopped and collected his thoughts. “You have to understand, to these people, those aren’t just horses, and racing isn’t just a fun sport. It’s everything to them, their whole lives. Without racing, they’d rather die. Reputation is everything. Why are you asking about stealing a horse?”

“Marcus Paulle was an art dealer, a high-powered one, who was being watched by—or at least attracted the interest of—someone at ICE. He also owned racehorses. He’s found dead, along with three other people, not too long after a missing horse’s remains are found.” Wyatt pulled up to the farm’s main office and parked the car. As he shut it off, he turned to Val and asked, “What do you want to bet they were all connected?”

“Does that mean there’s a killer on the loose? Would they go after Janelle?”

“I don’t think so, or she’d have been killed by now. My theory is, whoever is behind this is going to try to frame her for it. Those people weren’t killed by professionals, and the rehab has decent security, but I’ll call and warn her,” Wyatt said.

“Professionals? How do you even know that?” Val asked.

“Professionals don’t bash people’s heads in—and they make murders look as if they’re not murder.” Wyatt stopped suddenly and twisted to look at Val. “Whoever is responsible might not go after Janelle, but you, on the other hand, might be a different story.”

“Me?”

“Weren’t you following Janelle’s car the night of the crash?”

“Yeah, but no one has tried to kill me,” Val said.

“No, but the cops have kept that pretty quiet. It’s possible no one other than the cops realize you were there and saw everything.”