Dressed in Pink

by Diana Stone

  But I haven’t been hit… I’m miraculously alive.

  He turns away from the stall, toward the lighter aisle. He hunches over, fiddling with something. I recognize the metallic sound as the magazine is released from the grip of his weapon. The empty one is sliding out. Oh no, he’s reloading!

  I use every ounce of strength I have to pull myself up with my left hand. I insist that my legs work, if only for a few seconds. In my right hand, I’m grasping my precious revolver. I have one chance to live. I’m not playing games with my last bullet. I point it directly at his head and pull the trigger. The gun goes off, and he slumps to the ground.

  I can’t ease off. I have to get out of here in case he comes to. I’ll never stop fighting, I’ll never give up. He’s lying flat on the ground, blocking my escape. He isn’t moving, so I quickly step on his back and hope he doesn’t grab my leg. Then I hobble toward the back of the barn and into the hills where I can hide. He may not be dead, and I’m concerned he may have a partner coming to help him. I wish I could make sure he really can’t follow me, but I can’t risk confronting another killer with my empty .38. My legs are trying to obey me, but it’s slow-going. Once outside, I keep my eyes focused on the gully. I know it leads up toward a patch of scrub oak where I can hide.

  I see headlights bouncing off the dark hillside. Are they the police? Should I take a chance? No. I keep dragging myself up the rutted gully to the top of the hill. Too many times the victim thinks she’s safe—but she isn’t.

  At the top of the little rise I crawl into the thicket to rest. I can see down below. It’s a police car, after all. I’m too tired to move or shout. I’m lying here in a haze, watching the horses trotting down the driveway and into the vineyard. They’re stressed and afraid. They need the peace of their pasture, but the open gate is too inviting for them to pass up.

  Another patrol car is speeding up the long driveway. The first deputy found Pickett’s car smashed into the row of vines, with a bullet through the back window. I see more police cars coming fast along the main road. Good, the cavalry has arrived. I’ll just stay here for a moment or two, then begin my descent down the gully. Or not. I’m getting close to passing out. My window of consciousness is shutting down like a black hole, swallowing me.

  I think I’m coming around again, I wonder how long it’s been. A minute, or longer? The incessant barking of a dog is annoying. For goodness’ sake, shut up, I have to go to school in the morning. Wow, that was an old thought from the past!

  I hear bushes snapping, it sounds like a lot of people are coming. My mind clears. A deep voice commands the dog to stop. Yikes, don’t bite me. The K9 is told to back off. The glare of their flashlights makes me wince. Yes, the troops have arrived at last.

  “Jessica?”

  “Yeah, that’s me, barely.” I keep my sanity by showing a little humor.

  “Come on let’s get you out of there.” A uniformed arm reaches down to help me out of the bushes.

  Since my limbs aren’t working, it takes a bit of tugging to get me out. My legs have gone to sleep and my arms feel like lead. Once I’m out of the prickly bushes, I go back to sitting. Someone holding an intense flashlight flicks it over me to get an idea as to my injuries. I’m sure the light doesn’t do justice to my pale skin. I look down and see blood smeared on my shirt and bare legs.

  “Holy Moses, look at you.” He immediately calls dispatch requesting an ambulance for unknown injuries. “Let’s keep you sitting down until the paramedics can look you over,” the voice kindly suggests. He unzips his shirt and places it over my legs, badge and all. “There’s a guy in the barn, do you know him?”

  “You mean a dead one?” I need to know if he is dead.

  “Right.”

  “Is he dead?” Please say yes!

  “I’d say so. Is anyone else involved?” he asks.

  “Good, he needed to die. I think he was alone, or I’d still be fighting.” I have to be careful what I say, they are the police, after all.

  “I’ll get the detectives rolling, you can speak with them. Were you with LAPD?”

  “Yes. And I had a hell of a fight down there,” I slowly lift my finger and point toward the barn.

  “I’m Deputy Ken Branson. You want to tell me what happened?”

  I begin my explanation beginning from tonight when I was minding my own business, snacking on chips. I end it with me sitting right here in a heap. The four deputies look astonished and are making complimentary murmurs at certain points.

  “You had that run in with the rattlesnake, right?”

  “Yup, that was me. I think the dead guy put them in my truck.”

  “I was there that night, watching it go down. You sure are cool under fire,” he compliments me.

  “Thanks, I try to be. It’s all these years of training young horses that like to buck. It taught me to handle myself under adverse conditions.” I’m absolutely serious about this.

  “Well, whatever. You’re a shit-magnet,” he insists and looks at the other guys for confirmation.

  “It’s been years since I’ve been called that. Yes, I guess I am. All I wanted to do was lead trail rides, but look what happened.”

  I’d love to have more chit-chat camaraderie but I’m too tired. Though, it’s good to be talking with the guys again.

  The ambulance arrives and the paramedics trudge up the hill with their medical bags. They begin their examination. I get to look at their penlight, which hurts my eyes. I have my blood pressure taken, and I visually track his finger to my nose—making me cross-eyed. After a few more tests they tell me I should go to the hospital since it looks like I have a concussion. Oh, that would explain my vertigo and nystagmus. I have health insurance, but the deductible is $4500. Prior to this evening, I was as healthy as a horse. I took a chance with a high deductible, but now it’s coming back to haunt me.

  “What will they do at the hospital—watch me and keep me awake? How about if I do that on my own?”

  “Let’s see you walk down the gully and we’ll think about it,” someone tactfully replies.

  I get to my feet with a little help from Ken, whose uniform shirt I’m wearing as an apron. I go to hand his shirt back, and look down... eek, where are my shorts? I’m only wearing my magenta thong underwear.

  He quickly drapes it across me again. What a gentleman! Everyone else is just standing there looking. Oh well, at least a thong is a kind of bikini, in the front at least. Thankfully, no one is behind me. If I feel embarrassed, then I can’t be too close to death. One paramedic pulls a white gurney sheet out of their gear and helps me make a toga wrap.

  I slowly make it down the hill. Every part of my body aches, but I’m moving. I walk past my shorts twisted around a broken stick on the ground. I slowly bend down to pick them up. “Leave them. They’re evidence you were running from the suspect,” Branson advises.

  “Oh yeah, you’re right, what was I thinking?” I guess I really am a little foggy.

  “You’re not, remember you have a concussion,” he warns.

  “Oh shut up, I’m not going to the hospital,” I good-naturedly retort.

  “Since you’re not going anywhere, what do you want to do about these loose horses?” he points to the milling herd.

  “Damn it. I need to find a bucket and fill it with carrots. If you rattle it, I’ll call them.” It’s an old technique.

  We venture out to the horses. Some are stressed, but others are snacking on the rose bushes next to their pasture. Wait a minute who got stabbed?!

  “We have to count horses and see who was stabbed,” I panic. “There’s a pile of halters here at the gate, I’m going to start haltering and looking them over.” I have to roll my toga dress around my waist like a skirt so I can move a little better.

  It takes some time to get everyone haltered and tied up at the round pen. I have to stay out of the barn because of the evidence and the dead man. The spotlight is turned on and the wound examination begins. Tequila and Cory have pu
nctures and slashes. Everyone else is fine. I place my fingers on the wounds and lightly push. Blood and plasma gush out. They look bad. I can’t fix these with simple washing, and I have to know how deep they are. They need to immediately see the vet…. Where’s my phone?

  During our horse capturing and examining experience, the barn has been cordoned off with crime scene tape. It’s like old times. I’m glad I’m keeping busy with the horses, and not thinking about what happened, or what could have happened.

  “I think I need to sit down soon. Now, I mean,” I lean against the pipe corral and slide to the ground.

  Ken rushes over and squats down next to me. “I sent the medics away. I’m calling them back,” he touches my shoulder and tilts my chin up to look at me in the eyes. It’s kind of nice to have someone who cares.

  “Don’t bother, I’m not going, you can’t make me.”

  “I should choke you out, so can’t say no,” he threatens.

  “I’m just exhausted. I need food and to drop into bed.” I slur, “Will you see if you can get hold of our vet, Dr. Simon?” I lean my head back and close my eyes for a few moments of peace.

  “Sure, hold on, I’ll get him for you.” He uses his cell phone to look up the number and leaves a message with the emergency service.

  “Thank you for helping. Taking off your shirt was very chivalrous and you’re good with horses too.”

  “You’re welcome.” He pauses, “Is there someone I can call—your husband?”

  “I don’t have a husband, but I’m somewhat involved.” With two men, but not the way I want. This one is a definite hunk if I were looking. When it rains it pours.

  “Of course you have someone. You’re a catch, if you want my opinion.”

  “Thank you, that’s always nice to hear.” I can’t handle another man too.

  An unmarked car drives up. I assume he’s the homicide detective from Santa Barbara. With the way he looks, he can’t be anyone but a detective. He’s dressed in an old suit, he’s middle-aged and paunchy. He’s met by the deputy in charge of the crime scene log. He notes the detective’s time of arrival and speaks with him for a few moments. Then he points to me sitting over here on the ground.

  “Detective Kay,” he states and looks down at me with a condescending expression. “Don’t you want to go somewhere more comfortable?” He gives me the once over as I’m slumped here on the ground in my filthy sheet.

  “Well I’d love to, but I’m waiting for the vet and I’m too tired to move,” I dig in like a mule. He’s already rubbing me the wrong way. I’m the victim here, but it feels like he’s acting superior. Don’t even think you can play that game with me! Well good for me, I seem to be waking up. It’s amazing what the power of male chauvinism can do to rile me up.

  He begins with some kind of speech about how he’s just doing his job and needs information from me. That this is his homicide scene and it will be treated as such. And additionally, these two horses have to be moved away from the barn because it’s a crime scene and the body is in the barn. It’s all a bunch of crap to me. It sounds like he’s trying to follow the book, but this didn’t go by the book.

  He looks at Ken and snaps, “Why are those horses up here? This area needs to be cordoned off.”

  I growl back at him. “Nothing happened here. The crime scenes are the pasture and the barn.” I point to the two areas. “These horses were stabbed, I’m waiting for the vet. And I’m not moving them!”

  “Excuse me,” Ken places a calming hand on my shoulder. Then he turns to the detective and asks for a word with him.

  They step several paces away and engage in police conversation for a few minutes.

  The detective returns with a different attitude. Thank you, Ken! I flash him a weak smile. He returns it. I then give my attention to the detective. He carefully suggests we find a more comfortable place to sit, like his car.

  Ken says he will stay with the horses and wait for Dr. Simon.

  From the passenger seat, I tell him the long, chilling version. He is taking notes as I speak. He asks a few questions to clarify, but he doesn’t interrupt much. I’m very good at explaining in sequence. He makes a notation for the location of various pieces of evidence. Such as proof that I was in the house, eating. Then he needs to find the knife somewhere in the dirt in the pasture, find my .38, my shorts on the broken root, and whatever else I’ve forgotten. Oh yes, my cell phone, and the suspect’s car somewhere in the vineyard.

  Finally, he tells me he’s never seen a woman as tough as me. I’m feeling more comfortable with him now. But he’s old school and thinks women are only good for the kitchen and maybe something else. Well, buddy, you’ve been sitting behind your desk too long. Wake up to reality… Women can vote these days.

  He asks me to walk with him while he has a look around. The coroner’s van arrives, along with the photographer and the rest of the crime scene regulars. Each has to wait their turn or work in an orderly manner.

  Dr. Simon arrived a while ago, but I somehow missed that. I must have been engrossed in my reenactment. I tell Detective Kay to hold on, I need to see the vet. The horses are evidence, so they also need to be photographed. That stops him from getting testy with me.

  Tequila has a nasty puncture and a laceration 18 inches long across her hindquarters. He must have slashed her while she was running past. Cory has a deep puncture in his chest. Some wounds need to be sutured, and Dr. Simon is starting the long process. He slowly makes little sutures across Tequila’s haunch, and adds crazy glue for additional strength. The gaping punctures are flushed and left with a small drain pushed in. This way, the outside of the wound won’t heal shut while the inside is still mending. He gives injections of antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, and a tetanus antitoxin.

  “My poor darlings,” I coo.

  Ken comes over holding out a cup of steaming coffee and a sandwich. Where did he get these?

  “You’re scoring big points.” Mmm, the coffee smells wonderful. I take a sip. “You added sugar, thank you.”

  “I’m doing my best,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively.

  The temperature is dropping, and I realize my teeth are chattering. I give Ken a pleading look and ask if it’s possible for him to get my coat out of the horse trailer. He returns with my heavy coat and a blanket. He’s my hero. As I begin to get a tiny bit warmer, I start on the sandwich and it vanishes in no time. It has been perfect for picking me up with real energy. The caffeine is giving me a quick drug high, and the heat is warming me. I’m feeling somewhat human again.

  Dr. Simon walks back from his truck with instructions for their wound care. He hands me bottles, gauze, needles, and syringes. After telling me the treatment regimen, he helps me bed two stalls with fresh pine shavings.

  “I suggest you make a trip to the vortex with the two horses. Based on how you look, you could do with a little help as well.”

  “It would be a good test case. The three of us, before, and after.”

  “Give it a thought,” he suggests. “I’ve done all I can for now. Call me if the wounds get hot and swollen, or start to drain pus.”

  “Thanks for coming. I think I’ll make that trip, it’s a great suggestion!” I feel like I could sleep for a week.

  He steps in and gives me a gentle hug. “Take care of yourself, go get some rest,” he gives me a caring smile, then turns to go.

  Detective Kay returns now that I’m finished with the vet. He has a little finishing up to do, but the body has been taken away. He tells me they counted 14 bullet holes in the stall.

  “They’re in three walls, the ceiling, and even the floor. I don’t know how you escaped. Someone was looking over you tonight,” he suggests.

  “I used my head and kept calm, but I guess I should give credit to the Universal Good, if it’s due.”

  “I would do that, just in case… you don’t want to piss him off,” he cautions. It sounds like the grump has a streak of spirituality. “I’ll call you tomorrow for more
follow up. Get some rest,” he gives me a slight smile and walks to his car.

  Ken answers his radio, then looks at me. “I have to go keep the streets safe.”

  “Thank you for everything,” I say with gratitude.

  “Let me know if you become unattached,” he places both his hands on my shoulders and gives a slight squeeze. “I’ll be around the area tonight if you have any problems.” He walks down the driveway to his patrol car.

  The other deputies have already gone, the forensic guys have gone, and I’m left standing under the barn light with two damaged horses. And no one else, just me.

  35

  The Next Day

  This morning I come to life only slightly later than my usual time of 7:00. I ache all over and it hurts to move. I slept curled up under the electric blanket on high and a mountain of down comforters. First thing on my agenda is a trip to the barn to feed and check on the two.

  They look as haggard as I feel. Even after a night of rest, they are still wide-eyed and stressed. Their wounds are swollen and are dripping clear plasma fluid. I need to get them out of the stalls and moving around. I’m supposed to walk each one for ten minutes. I use an old technique; I lead one in each hand. Now I don’t have to walk for twenty minutes. I can do the walk in ten. They’re tense, and I get dragged all over the yard. It would have been easier to walk for twenty minutes.

  I also need to get a fill-in ride boss. Scott is always good for spur-of-the-moment help. His number is posted on the board in the barn. I give him a quick text and he replies that he’ll be happy to work today. “Perhaps tomorrow too,”I ask?

  “Not a problem,” he replies.