Hayburner (A Gail McCarthy Mystery) Page 14

  "It feels so right," Blue said, when we finally separated.

  It was right, I thought: This man and I together, our dogs at our heels, the shared collaboration on the colt, this place, this moment. It was right.

  "You could move your trailer out here if you wanted," I said. "I mean, when you need to move."

  For a long moment Blue regarded me steadily and said nothing. I couldn't read his face.

  With the thought, fear rushed in. What had I said? Maybe Blue didn't feel as I did. Maybe lust struggled with claustrophobia in his heart. I'd known many men who no sooner felt entangled with a woman than they had to run. Maybe my offer sounded like a snare.

  I waited. The silence went on.

  "You'd be my landlady?" he said finally.

  "I guess." Doubt made my voice rough. Instantly I added, "It's just an idea."

  "Where would we put the trailer?" Blue was looking around.

  I waved a hand. "There, by the vegetable garden, I thought."

  Blue followed my gaze. "That could work, I suppose." He looked at me again. "Really?"

  I nodded my head at him. "Yes. I guess."

  "You don't seem too sure," he said.

  "I don't know what to say." I looked at the ground.

  Then Blue's arms were around me. I could feel his hand tipping my chin up so my mouth met his. "Thank you," he said, "for even thinking of it."

  And suddenly the doubts went flying away like departing crows. Once again I sensed the rightness, knew it was worth trying.

  "Think about it," I said to Blue. "I'm sure we could work something out."

  "I will," he said. "Now let's put that horse away."

  * * *

  Two hours later we lay in my bed, wrapped in each other's arms, Blue's steady heartbeat against my chest. Pale, milky sunlight filtered through the window; I could see the big blue gum outside, standing sentinel on the ridge. Roey and Freckles lay sacked out next to the bed, side by side.

  I took a deep, happy breath. This, I thought, is what content feels like. I want nothing more.

  The tree on the ridge rippled gently, its slender leaves alive to the most delicate air currents. Creamy yellow blossoms-silky, tassel-like heads-mingled with blue-silver seedpods on the crowns of the eucalyptus, shining like snow in the sun. I lay in my bed, next to my lover, staring at the big tree. Thoughts filtered in and out of my mind.

  "My God," I said quietly. "I forgot to tell you. There was another fire last night."

  "Oh no."

  "Harkins Valley Stables. Where Lucy Kaplan trains. And it's possible a man died."

  "Oh no," Blue said again. "Who?"

  "A caretaker named Frank. That's all I heard."

  Suddenly I was restless. Slipping out of Blue's arms, I padded naked into the other room and picked up the phone. Rummaging through my address book, I found the number I was looking for. Jeri Ward's cell phone. She'd given it to me this last summer, when we'd collaborated on another matter.

  Jeri answered on the first ring. "Detective Ward."

  "It's Gail McCarthy," I said. "I was thinking about the fire last night. Was the caretaker killed?"

  "I'm afraid so," Jeri said. "Firefighters found him this morning. Found his bones, anyway. He must have been trying to get the horses out and got trapped in there. The fire burned most of his flesh away."

  "My God," I said. "Same m.o. for the fire?"

  "Walt says yes."

  "And Larry Rogers?"

  "We'll be taking him in for questioning this afternoon."

  "He's sticking by his story?"

  "So far. His wife confirms that he was home with her, watching TV. He admits to having set those barn fires in '85, but says he's been clean since. There's no evidence we can find to the contrary. "

  "Still, it's a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?"

  I could hear Jeri's sigh clearly. "You wouldn't believe how often we find these weird coincidences, Gail. It's really true what they say about life being stranger than fiction. No mystery writer could get away with the freaky stuff we turn up. Larry Rogers being at these fires could be just that, a freaky coincidence."

  "But you don't think so?" I asked her.

  "I don't know."

  "Why did he set the other fires?"

  "It was a really strange deal. He lived in a part of the Soquel Valley that had a lot of horses, just like Harkins Valley. He says he thought the horses stank. He never gave any other reason for burning the barns down."

  "Sounds pretty weird to me. How did he get caught that time?"

  "Caught in the act while he was lighting his fifth fire. By the guy that owned the barn. I guess Larry put up something of a fight, but the owner was a tough old rodeo cowboy named Brown who beat our boy Larry up pretty thoroughly and then called 911."

  "Wow," I said slowly. "Quite the story."

  "Yeah, it is. Anyway, I have to go. I'm on my way to pick Larry up and take him downtown."

  "Good luck," I told her.

  Hanging up the phone, I returned to bed and Blue. He'd heard my half of the conversation; I filled him in on the rest.

  "Damn," he said when I was done. "Sounds like they've caught the guy."

  "It does," I agreed. "It sure does."

  EIGHTEEN

  The next night I had a date with Clay Bishop. I'd made my excuses to Blue, saying merely that I had a commitment, then called Clay and asked him out to dinner. The net result was that I was now feeling guilty for having misled both men.

  It was time, I argued with myself, to straighten this out. I needed to talk to Clay, let him know I was committed to someone else, let him say what he had to say. We both needed some closure. Tomorrow I would tell Blue what I had done and that would be that.

  Clay and I had agreed to meet at the old Bayview Hotel, one of my favorite dinner spots. Seated on the enclosed veranda, across a white-skirted table from a handsome, apparently self-possessed, and very quiet Clay, I found myself at a complete loss for words.

  I just didn't know how to lead into it. Facing this man, I was struck by how much I genuinely liked him. From his long-lashed eyes to his understated competence and intelligence, I found him very appealing. Without Blue Winter's presence in my life, I would have been very happy to go out with Clay indefinitely.

  But Blue's presence was a tangible thing, and Clay's appeal just wasn't in the same league. I needed to find the right words.

  I opened my mouth to speak. What I heard coming out was, "I haven't seen you since Lucy Kaplan's fire."

  "Yeah," Clay said heavily. "Poor Frank."

  "Did you know him?"

  "Not really. I'd met him once or twice, down at the store. He seemed like a nice old man." Clay's face looked strained. "I guess they've caught the guy who did it."

  News travels fast in a small community. "Sounds like they might have," I agreed.

  Clay picked somewhat gingerly at the food on his plate. "It would sure be a big relief for everyone."

  "It would."

  "Next Friday everybody in Harkins Valley with a boarding stable is going to be scared to death."

  "They were all boarding stables, weren't they?"

  "Yeah, they were. Ours first," Clay said. "Then Christy's, then Lucy's."

  "You're right." I hadn't been struck by the boarding stable aspect before and wondered what it might mean. Perhaps Larry Rogers felt that there were too many big horse barns in the area. If he was true to form, maybe he thought they smelled.

  I watched Clay eat his steak and tried to get myself back on track. Somehow or other, I needed to find the right words. I really did not want to hurt this man.

  As if on cue, Clay met my eyes. "So what's on your mind?" he asked.

  I sighed. "This isn't easy for me to say, but I need to tell you. I'm dating someone else." There. It was out. I felt a huge sense of relief.

  Clay was quiet for a long moment. "I understand. We're not committed to each other yet. I was hoping you were going to tell me that you're ready to be
more involved, but I can wait. I'm a patient man."

  My relief evaporated at his words. "Clay, I don't think you understand. I am involved. With the other person."

  Clay met my eyes steadily. "For how long?" he asked.

  "A couple of weeks."

  "It may not last."

  "That's true. Then again, it might."

  I was puzzled by Clay's reaction. Outwardly he was as calm and cool as ever, but I had the sense there was a lot going on underneath that smooth surface.

  "I just wanted you to understand why I won't be dating you anymore," I went on. "It's not that I don't like you, because I do, I really do. I want you to know that."

  Once again Clay's eyes held mine. "Then maybe, in the end, you'll choose me. I won't give up on you, Gail."

  Now what was that supposed to mean? I stared at Clay, feeling flattered and unnerved at the same time. No one that I had dated as casually as I had Clay had ever seemed this determined. I wouldn't have said I was the type to inspire such a feeling.

  But here I was, finishing my sauteed salmon over rice in front of a quiet man who had just announced his intention to keep pursuing me despite the fact that I had chosen his rival.

  Once again Clay spoke as if he could intuit my thought. "You don't need to worry. I won't bother you. Or your new boyfriend. I just want you to know I'll be there. If you ever change your mind."

  "All right," I said.

  Something about his tone was disturbing me. The words were reasonable enough, but his face was so calm, his voice so even. It just didn't feel right. I wanted a change of subject, and quickly.

  "So how are things at home?" I asked him. "How's your mom? Is Bart going to be able to rebuild the big barn?" I knew I was babbling, but Clay took my questions as smoothly as he had taken my earlier statement.

  "Mom's been tired lately. It's hard on Bart. But it does look like the insurance company is going to come through, so Bart ought to be able to build some kind of a barn."

  "That's good. They'll pay in a case of arson, then."

  "Apparently. As long as you're not the arsonist."

  "Makes sense."

  I took the last bite of my salmon just as my cell phone rang. I'd warned Clay I was on call; he nodded in understanding as I excused myself and answered the phone.

  It was the answering service, naturally. A colic, of course. Up in the wilds of the San Lorenzo Valley, a good hour away. I found I was actually delighted.

  Saying a hasty good-bye to Clay, and leaving a fifty-dollar bill to cover the meal, I went out and got in my truck. Alone in the dark parking lot, behind the steering wheel, I heaved a deep sigh of relief.

  I never would have imagined that I'd prefer a colic call to a dinner date, but Clay's reaction had been unsettling. I started the truck with an odd little frisson along my nerves. I was glad to be getting away.

  Monday morning Jim was back at work. Closeted in his office an hour before anyone else was due in, I was relieved, exasperated, and apologetic, all in turns.

  "The thing is," I said, "nothing I do seems to help. The guy is determined to hate me."

  I was overstating the case, probably. But then, I'd had a month of John Romero's sulkiness to deal with on my own. Who could blame me for dramatizing the situation a little?

  Jim, apparently. "We need him, Gail. Can't you just manage to get along with him?"

  This was a predictable reaction. Jim wasn't interested in dealing with emotional issues on the part of his employees. However, I was no longer merely an employee.

  "Maybe we could find someone else. Someone I could get along with. Or maybe Hans Schmidt is going to steal enough of our business that we won't need a third vet."

  "I don't think so." Jim gave me a hard-edged glance. "Hans Schmidt won't be stealing our business for long."

  "Why's that?"

  "I know Hans from way back and he's no horse vet. He doesn't know jack about horses."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope. Hans is strictly a small animal vet. Practiced for years up in San Francisco. His daughter's the one who's into horses. She got him down here, encouraged him to expand his business into large animals, too. But he's really afraid of horses. People will notice after awhile. Horse owners aren't dumb." Jim laughed, a short, sharp bark. "Once the women get over being charmed by him, anyway."

  "You really think he's afraid of horses?"

  "Hell, yes. He practically knocks one out just to float its teeth. He won't do any sort of work on any horse, no matter how gentle, without sedating it until it's staggering."

  "Is that right?"

  I was surprised, but I knew better than to disbelieve. Jim might be a hard-driving dynamo of a boss, with very little sympathy for his employees' personal problems, but he was a deeply knowledgeable vet, and his harsh assessment of another veterinarian was likely to be accurate. I'd known Jim for many years now; he was seldom wrong. Often rude, perhaps, but usually right.

  "Hans Schmidt will be lucky to stay out of jail, anyway," Jim added grimly. "That'll take care of our problem."

  "What do you mean?"

  "All that animal rights stuff he's involved in. It landed him in jail before. A few years ago. I forget exactly why. Ask him; he'll probably tell you. He's proud of it." Jim rubbed his close-shaven jaw with its deep dimple, his short, stubby fingers clean and callused. "I think he burned a barn down or something."

  "What?" I must have sounded as shocked as I felt, because Jim's eyes whipped to my face.

  "Yeah, a barn, or maybe it was a laboratory. I can't remember. Somewhere that animals were 'held captive,' anyway. You know the rhetoric."

  "I sure do. Hans has spouted it at me himself, many a time. But Jim, I guess you don't know, since you've been gone." And I told him about the arsonist in Harkins Valley.

  "Wow," he said. "That's hard to believe. But you say they've caught the guy."

  "They've got a guy, yeah. And he seems like an obvious candidate. He's been at all these fires; I've seen him, just staring like he was completely enthralled. It's creepy. But hell, Hans has been at all these fires, too. And I'm pretty sure the fire investigator and the detective don't know he has a record of arson."

  "Well, he wouldn't advertise it under the circumstances, would he?"

  "No," I agreed.

  "Unfortunately, I don't think this sounds like Hans and his buddies. Wouldn't they leave large notices that the barns were burned in order to free the animals? Much as I'd enjoy seeing him behind bars," Jim added.

  "I don't know," I said. "Hans is getting some benefit out of these fires, himself. Or his daughter is. Some of the horses in the barns that burned have been moved to Quail Run Ranch."

  "Oh-ho," Jim grinned his brief, triangular grin.

  "Right," I said. "I wonder."

  We stared at each other for a moment. Jim shrugged. "Try to get along with John," was all he said. Then he was out the door.

  "Right," I said again to the empty air.

  NINETEEN

  My week progressed as my weeks usually did. Busy. Damn busy. I found no opportunities to talk to John, not that it would necessarily have helped if I had, judging by my last attempt. The man was clearly avoiding me, anyway.

  Neither did I find an opportunity to see Blue. We were both working hard and getting in late-no time or energy for dinner dates or their aftermath. Most nights he called me, though. We talked about the weekend.

  I thought about the weekend-a lot. And I thought about Friday night. I had the urge to call Jeri and ask how the investigation was progressing, but I resisted.

  Reminding myself that it wasn't my business, and I did have plenty of business of my own, I kept my curious fingers off the phone. But I wondered. I wondered a lot. I listed the other boarding stables in Harkins Valley off in my mind. There were at least half a dozen of them. I wondered if Jeri would consider mounting some kind of guard.

  If I could think of this sort of thing, so would she, I reminded myself. It was hardly rocket science, more
like adding two plus two and getting four.

  Friday morning did not begin auspiciously, at least for me.

  My first call was to a jumping horse that was suffering from a mysterious lameness, "somewhere high in the rear end." Oh no, I thought, when Nancy gave me the word. These were always the hardest sorts of lameness to diagnose.

  This case didn't turn out to be any easier than I'd expected. The horse was a ten-year-old chestnut gelding named Reddy, a good and useful hunter over fences. His owner, a woman in her twenties, reported that the horse had seemed to her to be "moving funny behind," but she could detect no obvious lameness. Then, yesterday, he'd fallen with her while jumping a two-and-a-half-foot fence.

  "I'm all right," she said, wincing and rubbing her left shoulder. "But there's definitely something wrong with him. He's never fallen before, and he can jump twice that height. Easily."

  "All right," I said. "Let's jog him in a few circles."

  Reddy knew how to longe and he trotted freely around us in both directions at the end of a long line. As his owner had said, he had no easily detectable lameness, but he did seem to be moving his hind legs stiffly.

  I watched him for several minutes and then sighed. "This is a hard one," I told the woman frankly. "I'll do the spavin test on him, just to make sure, but I think his hocks are fine. He's not stifled, and he doesn't appear to have a dropped hip. Other possibilities are his back, particularly the sacroiliac joint, or some kind of pulled muscle in his rump. Or it could be a disease called EPM that's caused by a parasite."

  The woman shook her head, looking as baffled as I felt. "So, where do we start?"

  "Spavin test and some blood work, to see if it's EPM," I said. "Confine him in a small pen or stall and give him complete rest for a couple of weeks, in case it's a muscle or a back thing. By the way," I asked her, "is there any possibility it's the result of a traumatic injury?"

  She shook her head. "Not that I know of. He fell with me after he started doing this."

  "Does he pull back?" I asked.

  "Yeah, he does from time to time." We looked at each other, and I saw the proverbial light bulb click on behind her eyes. "You know, he pulled back real hard, less than a month ago. He was tied to the trailer when I was at a show and something scared him, I'm not sure what. I saw him pull back, though. He was tied solid and he sat back on the lead rope as hard as he could for a full minute."