Going, Gone Read online

  “Goddamn secondary brands all over the place,” said Joe Evans, seeming to be at the end of a tirade.

  Blake spoke in a quiet tone. “That was never my department. I don’t know what my brother would have done. And I can’t ask him now.” There was a heavy note of finality in the voice, and something else, something I couldn’t place. Anger, maybe.

  “Don’t worry about it, Blake,” Joe sounded apologetic. “I know you’ve got enough on your plate.”

  “Damn right.” Kevin Moore’s voice. I could hear a shuffling, as if he were standing up. “If there’s anything I can do to help, buddy, let me know. I got to go fix a hole in my south pasture fence. That damn black bull went through it the other day.”

  In another moment the man was edging past our booth, pausing, in the way of locals everywhere, to glance curiously at the table of strangers. I saw his eyes narrow as they rested on my face.

  “Well, howdy, ma’am.” The drawl became more pronounced. “Didn’t I meet you with Bret Boncantini yesterday?”

  “You did,” I agreed. I debated whether I should add some polite formalities and introduce my husband and son, and decided the hell with it. I didn’t like this guy. I looked down at my glass of water and willed him to move on.

  Blue, never particularly nosy, met Kevin’s eyes with a quiet, noncommital gaze, and Mac, in the way of children, stared openly. After a minute Kevin nodded and walked past us. I could feel the silence at the table behind me. They’d all heard Kevin’s words.

  Fortunately the waitress brought our meal at this point and Blue and Mac were absorbed immediately into the delights of a café lunch. I kept my back to the men in the booth behind me and ate my salad. If they did any further talking, it wasn’t audible to me.

  When we’d finished our lunch, Blue and I yielded to Mac’s request to check out the playground. I glanced over my shoulder as I stepped out the café door and saw three pairs of eyes resting on me very speculatively. The men in the booth were definitely aware of my departure.

  Once outside, I stared up a narrow graveled drive to the red barn that was the auction building. A restless spring wind blew the grass along the drive in great bending swells, rippling green to silver. Bright, puffy white clouds raced across the sharp blue sky. Mac tugged at Blue’s hand.

  “Can you take him to the playground?” I asked Blue. “I want to walk up and see the auction yard.”

  “Sure,” Blue said.

  The two of them crossed the street hand in hand. I wandered up the hill toward the saleyard. No one seemed to be around. The wind blew my hair across my face in chilly little flurries. I could see cattle standing in pens behind the auction barn. I walked in that direction.

  Heads down, eyes half-closed, some white-faced steers drowsed behind the metal bars of a corral fence, their tails switching at flies. I stared at the cattle, half seeing them, half remembering the last time I’d been to a livestock auction. The crowding pens full of animals, the cowboys hollering as they moved critters in and out of the sale ring, the horses charging and excited, the cattle milling. Unlike this quiet moment, that scene had been so full of action that it had been hard to follow everything.

  I walked slowly down the alley that led to the sale ring, picking my way between piles of manure, passing the large scales on the left. This was the way the cattle and horses would travel, pushed by the ring men, on their way to be sold. The sale ring was empty now, the auction barn quiet, the bleachers deserted, but on sale day the place would be full of people. I remembered watching the horses sell at the auction I’d visited—for the first and last time in my life.

  The sight of the poor animals, many old and crippled, some young and obviously unbroken, being run through the sale only to be bought by the kill buyers, who would ship them to Mexico or Canada to be slaughtered for pet food, made me feel sick. The old horses, particularly, broke my heart. Some had been good animals, had worked hard for many people, only to be thrown away at the end of their lives like used-up sporting equipment.

  I thought of Gunner and Danny and Twister, who all would have been sent to the sale by an owner who had no feelings for horses who were no longer sound and useful, and quick tears welled up in my eyes. All the many, many horses in the world who were just as kind, willing, and deserving as my geldings and had no one to take care of them-—it didn’t bear thinking of.

  I felt a flash of admiration and respect for Kate, who seemed to be trying to do something about this sad state of affairs. Sunny, my new little horse, had been rescued from this same saleyard. And here Cole the auctioneer and his sister, Lorene, had met their end. I walked across the ring, out the gate on the far side, and peered in the window of the office part of the building.

  I could see the yellow crime-scene tape, also the dark stain in the middle of the room. I closed my eyes and turned back to the ring. For a second I stared blankly. Somehow the place looked familiar. But I was sure I had never been here before.

  For a moment the memory eluded me, and then I recalled the dream I’d had the night before we’d left home to come up here. The dream about an auction. This was the same place. I was sure of it. Had I dreamed of Cole?

  All I could picture was a slim, dark man behind a microphone. In this building. I took a sudden breath. I had dreamed of this place the night Cole was murdered. What could it mean?

  I did not see myself as psychic. But I was completely certain I had seen this saleyard in my dream before I had ever seen it in life. Lost in this thought, I failed to notice the man until he was right in front of me.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Blake Richardson looked half-angry and half-suspicious. Yesterday I had thought I would like to face this man again and see what my intuition told me. Suddenly I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Blake’s light blue eyes, startling in the olive-skinned face, were fixed on me, and his tense expression demanded an answer.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re staying with Lonny Peterson, and he’s accused of these murders. I was curious.”

  It was the truth, more or less. I could hardly tell this man that I thought I’d seen the place in a dream. He’d think he had a lunatic on his hands.

  Blake Richardson didn’t seem to think much of my explanation. “The people who were killed were my brother and sister,” he said flatly.

  “Do you believe Lonny killed them?” The words just popped out of my mouth; I hadn’t meant to say them.

  Blake stared at me. “Why do you say that?”

  “Lonny’s my friend. I’ve known him a long time. I don’t believe he’d kill anyone. Not like that.”

  Blake shrugged slightly. “The evidence points to him. The cops think he did it. What else am I supposed to think?”

  For a moment we stared at each other.

  And then he said, “You are trespassing.” The tone was quiet and calm, but I could feel something—anger, turmoil, resentment...something strong—underlying the words.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’ll be going.”

  And he took a step toward me.

  For a second a visceral fear surged up my thoat. I stumbled quickly backward and toward the nearest gate.

  Blake Richardson stopped and watched me go. I had the notion he was amused.

  I didn’t hesitate or try to figure him out any further. I didn’t know if I’d been facing a killer or someone who was angry because his family had been murdered. I could feel the anger but I didn’t know what to make of it, and I had the sense I wasn’t likely to find out. I’d had enough. I wanted out of there.

  In another two minutes I was down the hill collecting Blue and Mac from the playground, and we were all on our way back to camp, where we passed a peaceful afternoon at the swimming hole.

  But I couldn’t forget Blake’s face. Or my dream.

  * * *

  That night I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The coyotes sang and the moon shone white on the quiet hills. I peered out the window, but no mysterious horsem
an appeared. The pasture herd, including Gunner, was elsewhere. Only the quiet, resting shapes of the saddle horses were visible in the corrals, light-colored Sunny easiest to spot. Nothing else. But still I rolled from side to side, restless and wakeful, listening to Mac’s and Blue’s gentle breathing. Sleep was a long time in coming.

  Chapter 11

  Early the next morning, we got a visit from Kate. I was out feeding the horses when an older, light blue pickup drove in the ranch road. I recognized the slim, auburn-haired woman who got out of the driver’s side as Kate. Her brown-haired daughter, who appeared to be about ten, climbed out of the passenger-side door and stood behind her mother. Both of them stared at Sunny.

  After a moment, Kate turned to face me. “I noticed Sunny wasn’t with the pasture horses and came to see what was up.” As before, her tone sounded faintly belligerent.

  “Looks like I’m keeping him,” I said. “That is, if he’s mine to keep.”

  Kate studied the horses in the corrals and then looked back at me. “Lonny said that he would give him to a good home, that you gave all your horses the best. He told me about Twister and Danny, how you took care of them after they got hurt. I trust Lonny. So I said he could give Sunny to you.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “I usually have people sign a contract saying that they’ll return the horse to me if they don’t want him anymore, but Lonny said I could trust you.”

  “You can, but I don’t expect you to know that.”

  “Are these your horses?” Kate asked, looking at Plumber and Henry.

  “Yes,” I said. “Also Twister and Danny and that blaze-faced bay gelding who’s out with the herd now. His name’s Gunner.”

  She nodded. “I’m not worried about Sunny.”

  But I noticed she still looked tense. “I hear Lonny gets charged today,” she said.

  “That’s what I understand.”

  “Lonny didn’t kill those people.” Kate sounded almost too emphatic.

  “I agree.” I watched her carefully. “Any particular reason you say that?”

  Kate met my eyes. After a while she spoke. “It’s complicated,” she said slowly. “I was at the saleyard on Saturday. Right after the sale. I was out back, looking at the horses in the pens. I sort of sneaked back there. The Richardsons don’t like me. They don’t want me looking around, seeing what they’re up to. If they caught me, I’d be barred from the auction for sure. And I need to be able to go to the sale.” Her fierce eyes were still holding steady on mine.

  “But you were there,” I prodded. I felt a little shiver of anticipation. Kate knew something. I was sure of it.

  “Yeah, I was there. Nobody was around. I was looking at this poor skinny black mare, wondering how I could get enough money to buy her from the kill buyer. Then I saw Blake coming from the direction of the cattle pens and decided I’d better leave. I headed back out by the office. And then...” She hesitated. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But now I wonder.”

  “What?” I demanded.

  Kate shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Tell the cops, whatever it is,” I advised.

  “It won’t help.” Kate jerked her chin to one side. “I didn’t really see anything. I’m not going to talk about it. Not until I understand it better.”

  “I still think you’d be better off if you told the cops everything you know or even suspect. At least tell them you were there about the time Cole and Lorene were killed.”

  “And have them suspect me?” Kate gave me a dark look. “I’m not real popular around here. I don’t know why I’m telling you. But I know Lonny didn’t do it.”

  I stared at Kate. Her daughter had wandered over to the horse corrals and was petting Sunny, who nuzzled her in a friendly way. Looking in the direction of the camper, I could see Mac puttering in our direction, clearly curious about the little girl. Kate followed my eyes and seemed to make a snap decision.

  “Come on, Ruth,” she said. “Time to go to school. Take good care of Sunny,” she added to me. “I know you will.”

  “I will. Take care of yourself,” I returned, a little guardedly.

  And Kate and her daughter climbed into the old truck and drove away.

  * * *

  The rest of the day I kept an eye out for Bret, but it wasn’t until evening, when dinner was done and Mac was roasting marshmallows, that the sheriff’s sedan pulled up in front of our camp and Bret got out of it.

  “Where’s Lonny?” I asked, as soon as Freckles had settled down and Bret had been greeted.

  “I took him home.” Bret said. “He said he’d see you tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” I took a breath. “Of course. He must be tired.”

  “He probably needs some time,” Blue said, in his quiet way.

  “There was no problem with the bail?” I asked Bret.

  “Nope. It was set at one million. Lonny got it done.”

  “Now what?” I asked, as Bret sat down in a chair by the fire.

  “Now Lonny’s lawyer works on his defense.”

  We all were quiet, watching the flames. After a minute, I recounted my visit from Kate and what she’d said. Bret’s eyes narrowed as he listened.

  “So what do you think?” I asked him. “Did she see someone? I think that’s what she was implying.”

  Bret twitched his shoulder, in that one-sided shrug I was getting to know. “Hard to say. She didn’t really tell you much of anything except that she was there.”

  “And that she saw something.” I repeated. “Don’t you guys want to ask her some questions?”

  “We should,” Bret agreed. “She’s right about one thing. No one around here feels real friendly toward her.”

  “What about you?” I said. “You could ask her what she saw.”

  Bret looked at me. “You don’t get it, do you? If I go around asking people questions, like I’m investigating behind his back, John Green will have my butt. I’ll be out of a job.”

  “Oh.” I said. “So you’d have to tell John Green that you heard she was there and then hope he’d question her?”

  “Right. And he wouldn’t be real friendly to her.”

  I shook my head. “I bet she’d sull up and refuse to even admit she was there.” I sighed. “What do you think?” I asked Bret in frustration. “I know you don’t think Lonny did it. But if he didn’t, who did? And why?”

  Bret took a while to consider this. His eyes went to Blue, who was watching Mac. Mac was browning his marshmallow and seemed uninterested in our talk.

  At last Bret turned his face in my direction. “Between you and me,” he said, with a questioning note in his voice.

  “We won’t repeat it,” I agreed.

  “I think it has something to do with what Cole was up to.”

  “What Donna was talking about?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why Lorene, then?” Blue asked quietly.

  “Hard to say. Maybe she knew what was going on. Maybe because the guy planned to set Lonny up for a jealousy motive and wanted to make Cole look incidental. So nobody would investigate Cole and his doings.”

  We took that in.

  “If it’s true, “ I said, “that’s wicked.”

  “What’s wicked, Mama?”

  All our eyes shot to Mac, who had eaten his marshmallow and was quite obviously paying attention.

  Stymied, I floundered, “Some people are wicked, sweetheart.”

  “Is this about Lonny?” Mac demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “And why he’s not here?”

  “Yes. But he’s back now. We’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Mac smiled and seemed distracted from the subject at hand. “Can I have another marshmallow?”

  “Sure.”

  The adults sat silently while Mac put a fresh marshmallow on his toasting fork and poised it over the fire.

  “I’m off tomorrow,” Bret said at last. “I’ll try to swing by h
ere. Maybe in the early afternoon. And maybe we can go for another little drive.”

  “To the saleyard?” I asked.

  “Sure, if you want. And to visit Donna.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Mac and I will go swimming.” Blue grinned.

  “All right then.” Bret stood up, scratched Freckles behind the ears, and said his good-byes.

  The night passed peacefully. The coyotes sang, as usual, but no mystery horseman disturbed my sleep. I woke once to see the quiet shapes of the pasture horses, cropping grass in the moonlight. Picking Gunner out by his white blaze, I watched him awhile and then drifted off to sleep, feeling content. Morning showed our three saddle horses waiting for breakfast in the corrals, little bright gold Sunny seeming a settled part of the group when I distributed flakes of hay.

  The desire to go to Lonny’s house and see how he was doing plagued me, but I resisted it. Lonny had been through a lot; he probably needed some space. Visitors might not be what he wanted right now.

  But about midmorning a beige four-wheel-drive pickup came down the ranch road and parked by our camp. Freckles woofed and Mac came scrambling down the camper steps in excitement.

  “That looks like Lonny!” he said.

  Blue was out gathering firewood; I raised my head from my book, aware of a knot of dread in my stomach. Somehow the thought of a cowed, beaten, grief-struck Lonny was beyond bearing.

  To my relief, though he looked old and tired, Lonny was matter-of-fact and steady, very much his old self, though the sparkle in his green eyes was dimmed.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, hoping my anxiety didn’t show too much.

  “I’m okay,” Lonny said simply. “How are you guys?” And he smiled at Mac.

  Faced with this awe-inspiring figure that he had so looked forward to seeing, Mac went suddenly shy and hid behind my back.

  “We’re doing good,” I said. “We’ve been swimming and riding a lot. I’m enjoying Sunny. And I turned Gunner out with the other horses. Everybody seems fine.”

  “Good,” Lonny said. “Will you take Sunny back to the coast?”