Going, Gone Read online

  Despite the fact that I knew he had other motives, Bret sounded kind and charming, even to me. That was the thing about Bret. He could, when he wanted, make others feel appreciated.

  Donna Wells was apparently not impervious to this charm. She smiled back.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m doing all right.”

  She and Bret regarded each other silently for a few moments. I could feel Bret waiting. Not pushing, just waiting.

  “I’m probably doing better than Lonny.” Donna shot a quick glance at me. “This must be really hard on him.”

  “It is,” I said quietly, feeling that I was meant to say something.

  “To be accused of killing Lorene...” Donna shook her head. “Poor guy.”

  “But you said you didn’t believe he did it.” I offered this tentatively.

  Donna responded with force. “No way did Lonny do this. I damn sure don’t believe it.”

  Bret’s voice came softly. “You said that Cole seemed worried about some business stuff. Do you have any idea what it was?”

  Donna’s shrewd eyes moved to Bret. I could tell she was weighing the question, considering her options, trying to decide what to do. In the end, with an almost audible click, she made a choice.

  “Is this off the record?”

  Bret’s shoulder twitched. “Donna, I’m off duty. I’m not investigating this when I’m on duty. John Green is. He’d have my butt if he thought I’d questioned you.”

  Donna sighed. “I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about. Maybe it will help Lonny. But I don’t want,” here she paused, “to do something that will make Cole look bad. He would have hated that.”

  Bret said nothing.

  Eventually Donna went on. “I don’t really know exactly what was worrying Cole. He said it was something to do with business. He’d talked about us getting married; he said it was time to make some changes. All this was just in the last month.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, since he was killed. I can’t help but wonder if there might be some connection. And the only thing that comes to mind is that file cabinet.”

  I saw Bret’s eyes narrow. “File cabinet?” he said. “At his house?”

  “Not here,” Donna said. “There was a black file cabinet in his house on the coast. Every time we went over there, he always had paperwork he’d put there. Sometimes he’d sit down at his desk and go through some of the files from that cabinet. I keep thinking that he’d asked me if I’d go with him to the coast next week.” She blinked. “It would have been this week. And I wonder if he wanted to get something from that cabinet. Or if the files had something to do with the business problems he mentioned. He was always kind of secretive about that cabinet.”

  “Didn’t he keep records on a computer?” Bret asked.

  “Not Cole.” Donna smiled sadly. “He did most things the old-fashioned way.”

  “Where was his house on the coast?” Bret asked.

  “Near a little town called Corralitos. The house was at the very end of a road called Richardson Ridge. Cole told me that his dad, Ron, was raised on the family ranch right there. The Richardson Ranch, it was called. The road was named after it. His dad sold the ranch off, but kept a small piece where the old family home was. Cole built a house on that piece.”

  I was taking this in with my mouth half-open. “But Richardson Ridge is only a few miles from my place,” I said. “I’ve ridden to the end of that road.”

  Donna met my eyes. “Cole and I rode through those hills all the time,” she said.

  “Cole kept horses there?” I asked.

  “Two,” she said. “Cole liked to ride. We always went on rides when we were over at the coast. There was a trail that took us to a high spot where we could see the whole Monterey Bay. It was beautiful.”

  “The Lookout,” I said, half to myself, half to her. “I ride there all the time. So is Cole’s house one of the group of houses at the end of Richardson Ridge?”

  “No.” Donna shook her head. “That’s a subdivision built on the land Cole’s dad sold. Cole’s house was a little further, on top of a hill, above the pond. You have to go up a gravel driveway to get there.”

  “I know that pond. I know where the driveway is. I always wondered what was up there. How did Cole keep horses there when he wasn’t around to take care of them?”

  “He had a caretaker,” Donna said. “José, his name was. His wife was Elena. José took care of the horses and the yard and Elena kept the house clean.”

  “So they live there?” Bret asked.

  “No. Cole didn’t want them living there. They live in a trailer park a few miles away. They came morning and evening. When we were there Elena brought us groceries and did the laundry. José fed the horses. He’d had horses in Mexico. He knew about them. He’d have the horseshoer out when it was time, and the vet if it was needed.”

  Donna gave a sad smile. “They’re nice people. And they took great care of the place. Even if we’d been gone for a month, it was always airy and clean, as if we’d been there yesterday. Elena would come every day while we were gone and open the windows and dust, and then close it up tight again every night. She kept it beautifully. And the horses were always slick and healthy, ready to ride.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “It was. And except for an hour in the morning and evening, when they came to take care of things, we had the place to ourselves. That was why Cole didn’t want anyone living there. He liked to feel it was our place, when we were there. Other people living on it would have ruined it for him.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. And I could. Suddenly I was curious about the dead Cole. But there didn’t seem to be any polite way to ask Donna about him.

  For her part, Donna’s face tightened up and she looked away. “I wonder if José and Elena even know that Cole’s dead,” she said, mostly to herself. “And I have no way to reach them.”

  “Could you call them when they were at the house?” I offered.

  “No.” She shook her head. “There’s no land line there. Cole and I used our cell phones when we were at his house. Cole had a number for José and Elena at their trailer, but I have no idea where to find it. Cole was a private person,” she said and blinked and turned away.

  She began bridling her young sorrel horse, her back to us. Bret took the hint.

  “We’ll get going, Donna,” he said. “Hang in there.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. I’d said this to her before, I knew. I just didn’t know what else to say.

  Donna smiled faintly and slipped the snaffle bit into the colt’s mouth.

  I followed Bret back out to the Jeep.

  “What was Cole like?” I asked him, as we jolted from Donna’s driveway back onto the dirt road.

  Bret’s shoulder gave its characteristic twitch. “He was a good talker,” he said. “Most people seemed to like him. He had charm, I guess you’d say.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Bret took a minute to answer this. “Cole was a good-looking man. Medium height, dark hair with just a little gray, light blue eyes, like Blake’s. He was a lot more animated than Blake. More of a people person.”

  “And Lorene?”

  “She was quiet. Looked a lot like her brothers. Dark hair, blue eyes. She was well liked around here.”

  I sighed. “I feel like I’m getting to know them in this weird way. In retrospect.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Bret and I bounced down the road in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

  “I wish I could get a look in that black file cabinet in Cole’s house on the coast,” Bret said at last.

  “Do you think the answer to these murders is there?” I asked him.

  “Maybe. Or at least some information that would point us in the right direction.”

  “Away from Lonny, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” For once Bret sounded serious.

  Lonny’s gate was
ahead. As I opened it, I could see the five pasture horses shaded up under a big oak tree on a grassy flat. Gunner’s white blaze was easy to pick out; his tail switched lazily. It all looked idyllic, a swath of sunlight flickering across brilliant spring-green grass, the rounded olive-drab dome of the oak casting a cool blue shade over the red backs of the horses. I felt for a second as if I were stepping into an Impressionist landscape painting, an unreal, unchanging portrait of peace.

  This bucolic image was oddly dissonant with the dark undercurrent of the murders, and I shook my head as I climbed back in the Jeep with Bret.

  “I hope things get better,” was all I could find to say.

  But they didn’t.

  That night Kate’s house burned to the ground.

  Chapter 14

  Lonny gave me the news in the morning, motioning me out to the corrals, while Blue fed Mac breakfast in the camper.

  “They were both inside, Gail. Kate and her daughter.”

  “Oh my God.” I felt as if someone had punched me, hard, right in the solar plexus. I had trouble catching my breath. “That little girl? Oh my God. I heard the sirens. I just didn’t imagine.”

  “I saw the light from the fire around midnight and called 911 as I ran up there. But it was too late. The whole place was engulfed,” Lonny said.

  “Oh no.”

  “It was just an old shack of a house. Ancient wiring. God.” Lonny’s face looked as close to anguished as I could imagine that rugged, cheerful countenance looking. Apparently Kate’s tragedy had touched him more than all his previous misfortunes.

  “Jeez, Lonny,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Words seemed inadequate. I put one hand on his shoulder. “This is all being pretty hard on you. First Lorene, then being accused of murder, and now this.”

  Lonny shook his head vehemently. “It’s that little girl, Gail. I can’t stand to think about it.” He shook his head again and abruptly got back in his truck.

  Watching his strained face as he turned away, I felt the clenched fist in my gut twist tighter. I knew Lonny. Never articulate at the best of times, he held emotions, especially painful emotions, firmly inside, keeping them to himself. Wounded as he was, this additional injury was just too much. Lonny was seeking a solitary, private space to hole up and lick his wounds. I doubted that we would see him again today.

  I stared at the disappearing shape of Lonny’s truck. Blinking for a second, I tried to take in the enormity of this new tragedy. I could hardly bear to think about it either. And now I was going to have to tell Blue and Mac. There was no use hiding it or postponing it. Mac was bound to hear some adult mention the fire. I had to find a way to tell him.

  I did my best. I made the story simple, tried not to go into detail. Told Mac and Blue that Kate’s house had burned down and Kate and her daughter were killed. That we were all very sad about it.

  But Mac was not to be pacified with such a brief story. He had questions.

  “That little girl died, Mama?” he demanded. “She burned up in the fire? And her mama, too?”

  “Yes,” I admitted, too stunned myself to find anything more to say.

  “But she was just a little girl,” Mac said. “Most things die when they’re old.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed.

  “She was about the same as me.” Mac was clearly studying this and finding the parallels, damn it.

  “If our camper burned up, could you save me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I could. I would. Because I love you so much I would be strong and quick and clever. I would save us all.” I shot a glance at Blue when I said this, aware that he was being markedly silent.

  Blue raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged one shoulder back. Sure, I knew the reality, but what could I say? A little boy needs to believe his mama can keep him safe.

  Mac was not to be deterred. “But that little girl’s mama probably loved her, and they both died in the fire. Maybe that would happen to us.” Mac’s big blue-gray-green eyes stared into mine. “Mama, I’m scared to die.”

  I sighed. “Baby, we’re all a little scared to die. It’s a big change.”

  “What happens when we die?”

  “No one really knows for sure. I believe our spirits will go on. They leave our bodies and fly free.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “Sweetheart, no one knows.”

  “Some day I’ll die.”

  “Yes, that’s right. But it will probably be a long time from now, when you’re very old.”

  “But if I get old, then you’ll die,” Mac pointed out, with inescapable logic.

  “That’s true,” I admitted.

  “I’ll be so sad when you die.” Mac’s long-lashed eyes were full of unshed tears. “I’ll miss you so much. And when I get old, I’ll die. I’m afraid to die.”

  I put my arms out and Mac snuggled into them, burying his face in my body. I wondered what the hell to say. Mac was asking the most fundamental question of human existence, and like every other human that ever lived, I didn’t know the answer. I could only produce my own beliefs.

  “I will always love you,” I murmured to Mac, tears filling my own eyes. “Our spirits will still love each other when we die. When your time comes to die my spirit will walk with your spirit, hand in hand. And all your animals will come to be with you, Roey and Baxter and Toby. Toby will carry you on his back and we will all go together to the new place.”

  “Do spirits have hands?” Mac demanded, somewhat muffled by my shirt.

  “Well...” I began.

  “Then how can they hold hands?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just know that I love you and I always will. I believe we are part of the Love that created this world, that people call God, and that you and I, when we die, will be part of that love and you will be with it and with me. We will still know and love each other, maybe in a different way than we do in these bodies.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Mac said from my arms. “I want to stay in my body forever.”

  “I know,” I said. “Most people feel that way. Death is a big change. Everybody’s scared of it.”

  Blue smiled gently at the two of us. “Birth is a big change, too. Once you swam inside Mama’s belly like a fish. And then you had to squeeze out and take your first breath of air and become a living human. Probably that little fish that you were, that we call a fetus, was scared to be born. It was a big change. But now that you’re alive, it’s not so bad.”

  “No,” Mac agreed. And looked at me. “Will death be like that?”

  “I think so. A big change and then we begin a new life.”

  “Do we get reborn as someone else?”

  “Maybe,” I said. I was getting to the end of my resources. I wasn’t sure how many times I could say, “I don’t know.” Another mother might have told her child that we’d all live happily ever after in heaven, but I had to speak the truth as I understood it. I owed it to Mac. And the truth was, I didn’t know. Neither did any one else, particularly the ones who were sure that they did. But there was no way to explain this to a little boy.

  “If we do, then I want to have another life with you as my mama.” And Mac smiled.

  “I want that, too,” I agreed.

  “And maybe Toby can be my pony again. I miss Toby.”

  “Maybe he can,” I said.

  And suddenly Mac was skipping back and forth under the oak trees, clearly imagining another life in which Toby was returned to him, along with, judging by snatches of his monologue, all the toys he’d ever wanted. At least he was smiling again.

  I turned to Blue. “It’s horrendous,” I said quietly. “No one seems to know what caused it, or at least Lonny didn’t seem to know. Maybe Bret will come tell us. I know one thing. I’m not going near the place.”

  “I agree,” said Blue. “It’s hard enough on Mac as it is. I wouldn’t want him to see the house.”

  The two of us watched our sweet, ethereal little boy sk
ip back and forth in the liveoak grove, making up stories in his mind. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. How much we loved Mac, and how unbearable it would be if we lost him. I thought of this other mother, who no doubt had loved her daughter, too, and perhaps died trying to save her. To no avail. And silent tears ran down my face.

  Chapter 15

  Bret showed up that evening, just as we sat down around the campfire, margaritas in hand. Freckles barely woofed; she was getting accustomed to Lonny and Bret, and their arrivals and departures. Mac was up on the bed of the camper, reading a book, and peered out the window but didn’t join us.

  Blue offered Bret a margarita.

  “Thanks,” Bret said. “I’m off.” His dirt-smudged face looked lined and weary. “It’s been a long day. I could use a drink.”

  “Was it arson?” I asked, voicing the thought that had been on my mind.

  Bret took a swallow of margarita before he spoke. “Fire captain says it’s clear there was accelerant around the outside of the house.”

  “So it was set on purpose?”

  “Yep. It’s a double homicide.”

  “Was it intended to kill them?” I shivered.

  “We don’t know yet,” Bret said. “But I think so. And whether the guy intended to kill them or not, when people die in an arson fire it becomes a homicide.”

  “Why do you think it was an intentional murder?” Blue asked in his quiet way.

  Bret met his eyes. “I’ve been doing a little investigating,” he said. “On my own. I’d like this to stay between the three of us.”

  “All right,” Blue said.

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “You remember that I told you that Kate was a well-known blogger?” Bret began.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “She had this blog about rescuing horses that were headed for slaughter, just like she rescued Sunny.”

  I nodded.

  “This morning I checked her last blog post, that she wrote yesterday, and read through all two hundred and fifty comments. At one point she mentioned that she’d been at the auction the night of the murders, looking at the horses in the pens. Just like she told you. And then she said she saw someone. Just a glimpse. As the person went into the office. She only saw the back. She wasn’t really sure who it was. She wondered what to do.”