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class of society. But for the wealthy, such as the Coovers, doing this was a lasting tribute to what he loved most. These horses were loved and they were the pride of Reggie Coover’s extravagant lifestyle,” Francisco replied.
    This puzzled me. And I could only wonder why Rory, as a ghost, would seek me out. Was Rory acting as a spokesman for all the horses in this room? I looked at Josh and then to Francisco. “Could there be some other reason why I’ve been put in a position to speak to the past?”
    Francisco’s eyebrows shot up. “Given the history of Reggie Coover, I believe there is more to him than what meets the eye and more than what was ever reported in the newspapers of the day. Oh sure, he contributed to a long list of charities that were popular, but he also had business exchanges that were behind the scenes and potentially questionable.”
    “And, by questionable, do you mean Reggie Coover was involved in horse racing down in Mexico, where it was legal?” I asked.
    “Yes, the horse racing in Mexico and there could be more. It’s too early to tell. So, I’d rather not say until we have more information to go on. Some solid leads, so to speak,” Francisco answered.
    I nodded my understanding, knowing all too well that it would do no good to push Francisco to reveal his suspicions. As a retired police detective, he would always be cautious about disclosing information before it could be proven with hard evidence.
    “Grandpa, sounds like you did a lot of snooping last night. Did you come by all this information in conversation with Pasadena residents?” Josh asked.
    “Most of it came from conversations. But I also visited with a local historian earlier this morning. Josh, when you called me from the restaurant, I was with a man who has a mystery in his own family that could be related to Reggie Coover. He’s indirectly related to a young starlet named Marla Devereux, who, by all accounts of the period in the 1920s, was wined and dined by Reggie Coover, until she went missing.”
    I looked to Josh, who was lost in thought and then to Francisco. “Do you think that the starlet, Marla Devereux, ever had anything to do with Coover’s horses?”
    “The one right there, hitched up to the hansom cab. By all accounts that horse is named Rory. He was the horse trained to pull Miss Devereux in that very cab, for the Rose Parade of January of 1926. She was reported missing a few days after the parade. Odd occurrence is that the horse died that same week. According to gossip, Reggie Coover was so distraught about Marla Devereux’s disappearance that after the horse died, he had it stuffed and preserved here on display, in her memory.”
    “Did the horse die of natural causes?” I asked and it got a knee jerk reaction from Josh.
    “A lady goes missing without a trace, never to be heard or seen again and you’re wondering about how a horse died?” Josh asked, suggesting I lacked empathy for Marla Devereux.
    “Wait a moment,” Francisco interceded, “Shannon has a valid query.” He turned to me and said, “Rarely ever would a horse’s health or death have been questioned in that era. I doubt if it was reported at all. Essentially we have no way of knowing if this horse, or any of them, died from natural causes.”
    Keeping my thoughts to myself, I knew I had a way of knowing. It would take a lot of patience on my part and earning Rory’s trust.
    “I’ve had enough of this.” Josh was anxious to move on to a different topic and to get out of the room. “Let’s go. I’ve some work to do.”
    “Wait,” I interrupted him. “Francisco, before we leave, does the phrase, a horse of a different color mean anything to you?”
    “It’s a popular idiom. Simply stated it means that something is of a different manner than what it appears to be or of a separate use altogether.” He studied me and asked, “What does it mean to you?”
    “I’m not sure. But I intend to find out.”
    Out of view from