Going, Gone

by Laura Crum

  Also the gravel road. I pulled Sunny up by the pond and stared at the driveway. Should I go up?

  That’s what you came for, Gail, my mind rebutted. But I didn’t feel the least bit confident.

  I thought of Lonny, and his weary voice. I thought of what Bret had told me. I reined Sunny to the left and headed up the hill.

  The drive wound up through the trees, first redwoods and then oaks. The wind blew. Sunny still marched steadily along, his ears forward, but I could sense a certain tension in his body. We both knew what was ahead.

  A sharp neigh as we rounded the next curve announced the horse barn. Both horses stood in the corral, haltered as before, ears forward, staring at the equine visitor. They trotted up to the fence and watched our approach. Sunny came to a halt and watched them. My eyes were on the hitching rail in front of the barn. This was where I planned to tie Sunny.

  I’d prepared for this by leaving Sunny’s halter on underneath his bridle and tying his lead rope around his neck. I figured he would be happy enough with the two barn horses for company and safe tied up to the very solid-looking hitching rail. Even if the caretakers, or someone else, happened along, there would be no reason for them to mess with my horse. They would just assume that some casual trail rider had stopped to visit a nearby bush. Or so I hoped.

  I sat on Sunny and looked around. As before there was no sign of any human activity. The door to the small barn was padlocked shut. The horses in the corral watched me alertly. Sunny watched the horses. The wind blew my hair off my forehead in a cold gust. That was it.

  I climbed off Sunny and approached the hitching rail and shook it. It felt solid as a rock. I untied Sunny’s lead rope, pulled his bridle off and hung it on the saddle horn, checked his cinch to make sure it was snug, and tied him to the rail. Sunny stood quietly, his trademark demeanor, and gazed at me calmly.

  I patted his shoulder. “Wait here,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Three pairs of equine eyes watched me trudge up the hill.

  Trees and bushes rustled and moved, leaves flickered. All the wind noise and motion was making me more nervous than I already felt. I looked up at the dark gray sky and decided it was stormy rather than foggy. Great. Just what I needed. I kept walking.

  Up the hill, around two more curves. I could feel the house up there, see the openness ahead and above me. I was out of breath from the climb, buffeted by the wind. I tried to stay calm and centered. My heart was thudding. Stay alert, I told myself. Pay attention.

  I walked around the last bend and came out into the open. The house was there, waiting for me. I stopped and stared. Other than the constant motion and noise of the wind, the house seemed completely still. Cold and implacable. Waiting, just waiting. No car in the drive. No sign of a human. But again, I sensed something there. The house didn’t seem empty.

  I swallowed. Reminded myself not to imagine things. This was not a haunted house. This was, as Blue had said, a big, empty mansion in the woods. Creepy enough, sure. But nothing more. I ran my eyes over it.

  The driveway led to the garage. Next to the garage was a door. This was obviously the main entrance and was the closest to where I stood. Across what seemed like acres of decking, I could see a sliding glass door. Once again, it stood half open, with the screen pulled across. Most of the many windows on this side of the house were open, as well. I took a deep breath.

  Now or never. I walked forward toward the deck. There were some stairs just to my right. I started up them. My heart was pounding hard.

  It’s about two o’clock, I reassured myself. The caretakers won’t be here until later. Even if they came, I could just say I was a friend of Cole’s and had ridden my horse over to see him. The door was open so I went inside. It would all be fine. And there wasn’t any reason for anyone else to come around.

  I was on the deck now. The wind swept by me. From my elevation, I could see the redwood tops bending and swaying above the brown expanse of Tucker Pond. I fixed my eyes on that screen door and walked toward it.

  White curtains behind the windows fluttered in the flying air. I flinched every time they moved, but kept on. It’s just the wind, I told myself. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I was at the door now. I stopped and dug the cotton gloves that I used for riding on cold days out of my pocket.

  I grimaced as I pulled the gloves on my hands. I had never, previous to this, seen myself as the sort of person who might need to bring gloves in order not to leave fingerprints at a crime scene. But here I was.

  Gloves on, I looked up and down the deck. I peered through the screen.

  “Hello,” I called. My voice sounded weak and quavering, barely audible above the wind.

  “Hello!” I yelled. That was better. “Anybody home?”

  No answer. I put my gloved hand on the screen door, slid it open, stepped into the room, and slid it shut behind me. Now I was in the house.

  I took a deep breath and looked around. A vast, almost empty room, with some sort of dark hardwood on the floor, white walls, and sparse, modern furniture, mostly black, spread in front of me. I could not see a file cabinet.

  I began to walk across the room to the door on the other side. My booted feet tapped loudly on the hard floor. My heart thumped in my ears.

  Focus, I told myself. Find the file cabinet. Keep looking.

  I walked through a sleek, echoing kitchen with shiny black granite counter tops and white cabinets. I followed a dark hall toward what appeared to be bedrooms and bathrooms. I found I was holding my breath and gasped for air. I felt as if the house was holding its breath, too.

  Eventually I found the master bedroom. A huge bed, a gray, patterned spread, a short gray carpet on the floor. Big windows looking out at the deck and the view. No file cabinet.

  I walked back down the hall. The third room I tried seemed to be a study of some sort. There was a small bar with a glass-fronted liquor cupboard full of bottles. A leather-covered couch. A desk. And a black file cabinet. Bingo.

  I hurried into the room, my hands almost shaking. I wanted to get this over with. I wanted out of this dark, silent, creepy house. This house that felt as if it was watching me and waiting. Like it had a surprise in store for me. Not a nice surprise, either.

  I had my gloved hands on the file cabinet now. It wasn’t locked, thank God. I opened the top drawer and pulled out a manila folder at random.

  Standing there, I opened it up and scanned the contents. Invoices, it looked like. Invoices from the Carson Valley saleyard. Dated last year. Indicating cattle sold. Number of cattle, amount they sold for by the pound, total amount of money. All perfectly routine. Exactly the paperwork you might expect the proprietor of an auction yard to have. Nothing mysterious. At the bottom of the invoice in my hand was a small notation in handwriting, “50% jr—$2400.” I stared.

  What did this mean? Was it Cole’s handwriting? I thumbed through some more invoices. They were all for cattle sold at the saleyard. Most of them had a similar notation in the same handwriting at the bottom.

  I had no idea what this meant. Hastily I shoved the folder back in the file cabinet and looked for another folder, one which held something that would give me a clue. But every folder I looked at was full of invoices for cattle sold. Most of the cattle appeared to be sold by “Carson Valley Land and Cattle.” I had no idea who or what Carson Valley Land and Cattle amounted to.

  A sudden gust of wind outside the window made me jump. I was getting edgier and edgier. I’d been here almost half an hour now by my reckoning, and hadn’t learned a thing. I needed to leave. I wanted out of here. I needed to check on Sunny.

  I took an invoice, typical of the ones I’d seen, and stuffed it in my pocket. Just as I shut the file cabinet drawer, I heard a sound outside.

  I froze.

  A growling, low-toned throb. It’s just the wind, I told myself. But it sounded more like engine noise.

  I stood perfectly still, listening with every fiber of my body. The noise got louder. The stro
ng, growling noise of a diesel engine coming up the drive. Discernible even over the coming storm. I had a diesel truck myself. I knew the sound.

  I flew to the window in time to catch a glimpse of a white dually pickup approaching the house. I could see nothing through its tinted windows.

  Shit, oh shit.

  I ran out of the room, down the hall, across the great room, to the screen door, as fast as I could propel my trembling legs. I slid the screen open, stepped out, and froze.

  The truck must have parked in front of the house. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see the driver. Was he still in the truck? Approaching the house? In the house? Would he see me if I ran across the deck? What to do?

  I dithered, unsure. But there was no cover here. I had to take the chance. I started off across the deck at a fast walk, trying to look nonchalant and not guilty, like a friend of Cole’s who had hoped to find him home and failed to, and who was now going on her way.

  That’s my story, I told myself. I did not look over my shoulder. I pretended I had not heard the pickup, that I didn’t know it was there.

  I’m just walking back to my horse now, since Cole isn’t home. I repeated the words in my mind.

  My horse. Shit. The pickup had driven right by my horse. Whoever was in the pickup, probably the caretaker, knew that someone was around. He would have seen the horse.

  I broke into a run, desperate to see Sunny and know he was all right. All right and still standing there waiting to take me home.

  The wind whipped around me; the oak trees tossed and groaned above me. A few scattered drops blew through the air as I pelted down the hill. I slowed as I neared the turn above the barn.

  It would not work to approach a horse, any horse, even Sunny, at the dead run. The last thing I needed was to spook him into pulling back. I forced myself to walk around the bend in the drive, my eyes searching anxiously.

  The bright gold shape of the little horse still stood tethered to the hitching rail where I had left him. Still saddled, still standing quietly, apparently undisturbed. I heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  “Hey, Sunny,” I said softly.

  Both Sunny and the corralled horses had already spotted me. Both the loose horses nickered.

  Damn.

  “Be quiet,” I hissed, knowing it would do no good. Those shrill nickers would carry above the storm. Whoever had arrived in the pickup could hear them, if he was anywhere about. And if he knew horses, he would know that they had just announced my location.

  I walked up to Sunny, trying to convey a calm and confidence I did not feel. I reached the hitching rail, stepped up to the horse, patted his shoulder, untied the lead rope, pulled his head toward me, put my foot in the left stirrup, and slung myself up in the saddle. The voice cut across my motion like a knife.

  “Hold on a minute.”

  Chapter 22

  Calm, civil, in charge, if a little out of breath, the man stood in the bend of the drive that led up to the house. He wore Wrangler jeans, a dark jacket, and a black ball cap. There was a half smile on his fleshy face. I recognized him instantly. Justin Roberts.

  Justin Roberts. And suddenly a lot of things became obvious.

  I could tell that Justin Roberts recognized me, too, and it wasn’t making him happy. His tone stayed civil, but there was an edge to it.

  “Haven’t I met you?” he asked.

  I wondered frantically what to say. There didn’t seem to be much point in denying it; the man had clearly recognized me. He’d figure out from where soon enough.

  “I think we’ve met,” I said, trying not to give anything I didn’t have to give.

  “In Carson Valley,” Justin Roberts said slowly. “At the auction yard. You were with Bret Boncantini. That deputy.”

  I said nothing. I wondered if I could just turn and gallop away.

  Justin Roberts was watching me closely. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name,” he said. Very polite.

  “I’m Gail McCarthy,” I said. This was the place for me to make up some story about why I was here at Cole’s house, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that would make sense. I wondered if Justin had seen me leaving the house. I decided to go with attack.

  “So, what brings you over here?” I asked.

  Justin studied me meditatively. His hands were in the pockets of his coat, which looked warmer than mine. He didn’t seem to notice the wind rocking the trees and the scattered raindrops spattering us. He just studied me as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle.

  At last he spoke. “Cole Richardson was a friend of mine,” he said. “I came over to see if his caretaker is keeping the house up. Offer to pay them until the estate gets straightened out.”

  “I see, “ I said. “That’s nice of you.” I tried a smile. “I was just out for a ride and came up here out of curiosity. Donna Wells told me that Cole had a house up here. Lovely spot.” I forced another smile, trying to meet his eyes, trying to look bland and sincere. “I’d be better be going now, if I don’t want to get rained on.” And I used the halter rope to rein Sunny in a downhill direction.

  “Just a minute,” Justin said, and there was authority in his voice. “What were you doing in the house?”

  I looked back. Justin’s hands were in his pockets and he looked ever so slightly edgy. My nerves tingled.

  I smiled again. “I wasn’t in the house. I walked up on the deck to look at the view. Donna said it was pretty.” My heart was pounding harder now. The wind whipped my hair across my face. “Good to see you again.” And I kicked Sunny forward a step. But I kept my eyes fixed on Justin.

  “Sorry,” he said affably, “but I saw you walk out of the house.” And he smiled. “What were you doing in there?”

  My heart thumped loudly. I tried to return the smile. “Okay, you caught me.” Make it light, Gail. “I was curious. The screen door was open. I just went inside to see what it looked like. I’m always curious about other people’s houses. I’m sorry. I didn’t touch anything. Do you mind if I go now? It’s about to storm.”

  And I asked my horse for another step down the hill, my eyes still on the man.

  He watched me with a thoughtful look, very like a chess player contemplating his next move. “Just a minute,” he said again.

  Now or never. “Sorry,” I said, “Got to go.” And I asked Sunny to walk down the hill, keeping my eyes on Justin.

  “Stop,” he said in a quiet voice.

  I saw his hand move. I knew what was coming and got ready to run.

  The gloved hand came out of the pocket with a pistol in it. “Stop,” he said again, and this time his voice was cold. The pistol was pointed straight at me.

  I stopped.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I tried to put a lot of righteous outrage into my voice.

  “Asking you some questions. I’m the one that caught you breaking and entering.”

  “I told you why I went in the house. I did no harm. You can’t pull a gun on me, for God’s sake.”

  Justin Roberts seemed to have made up his mind. “I think you went into the house to snoop around,” he said. “I think you went looking for Cole’s files. I think that damn Bret Boncantini sicced you on it. And you know what, you’re not going to tell him anything.”

  “Tell him what?” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do,” he said.

  My mind spun. Rain spattered again, and the branches above us creaked and groaned. Should I run? He was only a hundred feet away and aiming right at me. I needed to distract him.

  “All right,” I said, “maybe I did look in the file cabinet. What do you think I found?”

  This got his interest.

  “What did you find?” he asked, and the affable, civilized tone was back in place. The gun hand never wavered, though.

  “Invoices for cattle sold,” I said. “Sold by the Carson Valley Land and Cattle Company. Sold through the Carson Valley saleyard. Not very exciting stuff. Bret isn�
��t going to be very interested in that.”

  “Maybe.” He smiled again. “Do you know the name of my ranch?”

  “No,” I said. “Roberts Ranch?”

  “Carson Valley Land and Cattle Company,” he said. “Those invoices were for cattle I sold. And if you looked closely, you’ll find a little note, in Cole’s handwriting, telling what percent of the money went to me.”

  “If you sold the cattle,” I said, “wouldn’t all the money go to you?”

  “Not in this case. Because Cole and I were partners on those cattle. He took half and I took half.”

  Partners. Of course. Cole had needed a partner. A partner to buy cattle low. A partner to help rustle a few steers out of pastures at night. A partner to warehouse stolen cattle where no one would see them. I had imagined that Blake might have been the partner, but Justin Roberts was perfect. His next-door ranch could be a clearing ground for stolen cattle, out of the public eye.

  “You killed them,” I said. The words just seem to come out of my mouth. I felt as if the storm whipped them away, but he heard them. And he smiled.

  “Cole was going to ruin me,” he said. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  I stared at him. For a second I almost forgot the danger I was in. Instead of watching the evil little black hole at the end of the pistol’s barrel, I looked blankly at the face of a man who had just admitted to murder in the same tone of voice one might use when acknowledging that he had bested a friend in a chess game.

  “Why was he going to ruin you?” I asked at last.

  “He wanted to break up our partnership. He wanted out. Our business was my only source of income. I couldn’t let him back out.” Justin’s voice sounded absurdly placid as he said the words. I could barely hear him over the wind and squeaking branches above us.

  “What about Lorene?” I said at last. “What had she done?”