Eyes in the Sky

by Debbie Burke

  Tawny tugged on her braid, not liking how the conversation had veered. “Why are you talking to me about this? It’s something you and Tillman need to work out.”

  He gazed at her, concern in his blue eyes. “We will. But you’re involved in this, too, because of your relationship. I kind of wanted to get a sense of how you’d like things to go.”

  What the hell was he talking about? “Steve, I’m just an employee. I don’t influence anything in your business and I don’t want to. This is between you and Tillman.”

  His expression hardened. “You influence more than you realize. When he started talking about moving the practice to Kalispell—”

  “What?” She stepped backward and almost stumbled. Tillman hadn’t mentioned a word to her. Could he really be considering that?

  Steve held up his hands. “Look, Kalispell’s a nice town but it’s hardly the center of the legal universe. But you know what he’s like when he fixates on something. I think it’s a very ill-advised idea for our type of practice.”

  What was going on? Tillman had said he wanted to spend more time with her…a vague, future promise that was turning more worrisome with each word out of Steve’s mouth. “God, no.”

  An odd little smile pulled the corner of Steve’s mouth.

  Damn! She shouldn’t have said that. Why was he smiling? Amused at her big mouth? Her problems with Tillman were none of his business. She should’ve shut up and listened, then discussed it later with Tillman.

  But when might that be?

  She shook her head. “Please forget I said anything. You and Tillman need to settle things when he gets back. I’m not a part of it and I don’t want to be.”

  Steve leaned toward her. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to upset you. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought any of this up right now with all the shit that’s hitting the fan. Look, this conversation didn’t happen, OK?”

  She studied him. If he really meant it, thank goodness. “OK.” Then a memory tripped in her mind. “Friday night, I saw someone on the third-story balcony of a house across the ravine from Tillman’s. Guy had a rifle with a scope. Seemed like surveillance. It has a pretty good view if they wanted to track comings and goings. Did he tell you about that?”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah, he mentioned it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s pissed off somebody. But everything’s OK. I verified there’s no law enforcement surveillance going on.”

  “Steve, someone is watching Tillman. We spotted a gray Ford several times as we’ve been driving around.”

  “I don’t doubt that. He’s got enemies. But, trust me, it isn’t cops.” He clasped his hands and flexed his wrists. “A lot of our clients are pretty rough around the edges. Tillman keeps you out of the real messy cases.” He spread his palms. “Retaliation sometimes goes with the territory. No hard feelings. We’re all big boys. But I can see why you got scared.”

  Tawny stiffened. Was he implying she was a wimp? “I got scared, Steve, because I’m responsible for Tillman’s children while he’s gone and someone pointed a rifle at his house.”

  Steve held up his hands. “No offense meant. You’re right to be concerned. But I went through that vacant house top to bottom. Empty.”

  That raised a new question in her mind. “How’d you get in?”

  He pulled keys from his trousers. “I do a little real estate work on the side. Got a broker’s lock box key that’ll get me into houses that are for sale. I checked it out and, I’m telling you, there was nothing there. No forced entry, no cigarette butts, no footprints. The place is clean.”

  ****

  Steve Zepruder rubbed his palm over the rump of the Wicked Pony displayed on the credenza in his office. He savored the coolness of the bronze statue and considered Tawny’s reaction to the mention of Rosenbaum moving the practice to Kalispell. He’d sent that up as a trial balloon, slanting the actual plan Tillman talked about, opening a branch office there.

  When Tawny sucked in a breath of surprise, he realized this was news to her, and not welcome news, at that. He’d suspected Rosenbaum was far more enamored of her than she with him. The expression in her eyes hadn’t been shock but close to it.

  Too bad. If Tawny was onboard with the idea, Rosenbaum would spend more time across the state. Rochelle would be much happier and able to stay in the mansion. Shared custody of the children could be worked out.

  And the financial pillaging of the firm could escalate without Rosenbaum’s constant oversight. A nearly perfect solution.

  But Tawny’s negative reaction shot that down.

  If only Rochelle weren’t so obsessed with staying at the estate. She reminded Steve of Scarlett O’Hara and her precious homestead, Tara.

  It was a luxurious, impressive, architectural edifice but still only a collection of wood and stone and concrete, nothing more. But if that’s what Rochelle wanted, Steve had to find a way for her to keep it.

  Without the encumbrance of Tillman Rosenbaum’s sole ownership.

  Chapter 10 – Horse Sense

  Inside the office, Tawny greeted Esther, the office manager. She was a sturdy woman in her late fifties with knowing eyes that had seen too much trouble. Tillman had given her a job after her drug-dealing husband went to prison. Like Tawny, she was grateful for the opportunity and more loyal to Tillman than a rescued pit bull.

  Esther’s voice rasped from decades of cigarettes. “I thought you guys were going to Yellowstone.”

  “Didn’t work out.” Tawny sank in the chair beside Esther’s desk. “Tillman’s gone for several weeks but I’ll be around. Are there any projects you need help with?”

  Esther didn’t ask the questions hovering in her shrewd eyes. She picked up a pink message slip. “The boss’s housekeeper has been calling. She tried his cell but can’t reach him.”

  Uh-oh. Tawny hoped it wasn’t worse news about Fausto. “Did she tell you what happened to her husband?”

  Esther nodded. “That’s why she was calling. I guess he came out of surgery OK but he woke up frantic about the horses. With him in the hospital, no one’s fed or watered them in a few days.”

  Tawny remembered Consuelo had mentioned that Fausto took care of the Rosenbaums’ horses. “Where are they?”

  “Some barn near the boss’s house.”

  Tawny took the note with Consuelo’s phone number. “I’ll call her and find out.”

  “I understand you’re babysitting Arielle and Judah.”

  Tawny let Esther’s implied question hang in the air. “Yeah. I better take care of the horses now because I have to pick up the kids from school at three.” She waved and left through the back door. She didn’t want to explain the recent events to Esther even though she knew the woman was concerned. It wasn’t her place to share Tillman’s family problems.

  In the Mercedes, she tapped Consuelo’s number.

  “Ah, señora, thank you for calling me. Fausto worry about Señor Tillman’s horses. They don’t have food or water.”

  “How is your husband?”

  “Alive. Many broken bones. But he says horses are hungry and thirsty.”

  “I’ll take care of them. Just tell me where they are.”

  Away from the phone, Consuelo spoke a few Spanish words. “Fausto draws a map for you. Not hard to find.”

  “Are you still at Deaconess?”

  “Sí.” She gave the room number.

  Ten minutes later, Tawny knocked on the door of the hospital room and entered.

  A tiny, wiry Hispanic man reclined in the partly-raised bed. A metal halo surrounded his head, with supports that rested on his shoulders. Two bolts were drilled into his skull at his temples to fasten the halo in place.

  Tawny hoped he didn’t see the shudder than quivered through her.

  Consuelo jumped up from a chair in the corner of the room. “Señora!” She embraced Tawny like a long-lost sister. “This is my husband, Fausto.”

  Both his eyes were blackened. When he smiled at her, bloody sockets showed in hi
s gums where some teeth must have been knocked out. His face looked as if it were normally gaunt, matching his lean jockey’s build, but swelling puffed his jaw.

  “I’m sorry about your accident.” She held out her hand.

  He grasped it. “Mucho gusto, señora.” The lines across his forehead deepened and his grip tightened. “The horses, they wait for me, but I don’t come.”

  He seemed more concerned about the animals than his own horrible injuries. Tawny instantly liked him for that. “I promise I’ll take care of them. You just rest and get better.”

  “Do you know horses, señora?”

  She offered a rueful smile. “Not much.”

  He frowned. “Mimi work best with them but Consuelo says she’s gone. Judah don’t want to get near them. Arielle, maybe she help you?”

  “She can show me what to do after school. In the meantime, I’ll make sure they have water and hay.”

  He gestured to Consuelo who handed him a paper. He placed the hand-drawn map on the tray table over his legs and pointed. “See, here is Señor Tillman house.” He dragged his index finger along a line. “This is Highway 3. Across and up a little way, there are mailboxes.” He tapped where he’d drawn XXX. “You turn on a dirt road here. Go one mile. There is a fork. You go left. Here is the stable.”

  “OK, I’ll find it.” She took the map. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Fausto looked up at her from under the metal scaffolding around his head. “My old truck. Bad brakes. I was going to fix, but not have the chance. Now my truck, it goes to the junk yard.” His gap-toothed smile was closer to a grimace. “Maybe I should go to the junk yard too. Lots of parts broken.”

  “Tillman said a boulder rolled down.”

  “Sí. But brakes go bad first. If brakes work, I stop before big rock hits. No brakes, no stop.” He tried to shrug but the hardware prevented the movement. “My cousin, he have the same truck, one year later. I tell him go to the junk yard and salvage good parts for his truck.”

  “I met Florentino this morning.”

  An idea lit his eyes. “Florentino will help you with horses. He’s not so good as me, but he’ll help.”

  “That’d be great. When he comes to work on Tillman’s yard tomorrow. I’ll ask him.”

  An imploring look came over Fausto’s leathery face. “Señora?”

  “Yes?”

  “The horses, they like apples.”

  Tawny winked. “I’ll bring some.”

  Consuelo walked Tawny out into the hall and asked, “How are Judah and Arielle?”

  “They’re fine. Judah tried to convince me there was no school today. He made up some holiday.”

  Consuelo grinned. “He’s very smart but very bad boy.” Her expression grew serious. “Mimi, will she be OK?”

  Tawny pressed her lips together. “She’s unhappy. It’s hard to know how to help her.”

  Consuelo’s brown eyes gazed far beyond the hallway. “Mimi is sad for a long time. Even when she’s a little girl, very small. Sometimes I hold her because she cry and cry. I say, ‘Mimi, are you hurt?’ She says no but she still cries. Beautiful, smart, much talent. Why is she so sad?”

  “Depression, I guess.” Tawny remembered Tillman’s description of his own mother who’d tried to commit suicide numerous times until she finally succeeded. “Did you know Tillman’s mom?”

  Consuelo shook her head. “No, she died before I come to work for the family.”

  “Maybe the doctors can find the right medicine to help Mimi.”

  The woman peered around, checking for anyone within earshot. “Señora, I don’t say nothing but Mimi, she didn’t have period for two months.”

  Uh-oh. “Has she ever skipped periods before?”

  Consuelo’s head wagged. “Never, always the same. Twenty-six days.”

  Tawny wondered if the ER had done a pregnancy test when the girl was brought in. Surely that would be routine. “Do you know if she has a boyfriend?”

  “No one comes to see her. She don’t talk about a boyfriend.”

  In fact, when Tawny had asked, Mimi sounded dismissive, even contemptuous of boys. Could she have been raped? Could that trauma have made her overdose?

  Consuelo grasped Tawny’s upper arm. “Señora, I’m glad you’re with Judah and Arielle. Now I don’t worry about them. I only worry about Fausto.”

  “Gracías.” Tawny hugged the woman. “I hope your husband will be better soon.”

  ****

  Tawny left a message for Tillman on the satellite number then drove toward the Rimrocks, pondering what Consuelo had confided. The housekeeper probably knew more intimate details about the lives of the Rosenbaums than anyone else.

  Fausto’s map led her directly to the stable. She parked and grabbed two apples from the bag she’d picked up at a market on the way. As soon as she got out, she heard the whinny of horses inside. She unlatched the barn door and entered. The smell of manure was fresh and strong. Stalls hadn’t been mucked out for a few days.

  In one stall, a dappled gray with a white mane tossed its head and snorted. In the adjoining stall, an Appaloosa stretched its neck over the metal bars and whinnied.

  “Hi, guys. I’m your substitute waitress for today.” She showed them an apple in each hand. Both horses leaned as far out of their enclosures as they could reach. She moved a step closer. “You’re not going to bite the hand that feeds you, are you?”

  The Appy’s lips drew back, displaying large yellow teeth. Tawny held the apple in her open palm. The horse took it with surprising gentleness then crunched loudly.

  She turned to the gray and tried the same offering. The horse bumped the fruit with its nose, knocking it to the ground. Tawny picked it up and tried again. Again, the bump and the apple bounced on the hay-strewn floor. “OK, you like to play games.” She kicked it under the fence into the stall. The horse jolted back then leaned down to chomp the fruit.

  Rear doors of the stable opened to a small dirt corral with pasture beyond. Tawny went around behind the building, swung the gate wide between the corral and pasture then opened the stall doors. “Come on, guys, have some spring grass.”

  Both horses trotted out, eager to be free after being cooped up in tight quarters for several days. The gray immediately broke into a gallop, surging past Tawny, hooves pounding the dirt, mane and tail fluttering in its wake. It raced in a wide circle around the field.

  The Appaloosa clopped over to a patch of new, light green grass and grazed.

  Tawny entered the stalls, trying to avoid clumps of manure, wishing she’d worn boots instead of sneakers. Scattered hay floated on the few remaining inches of muddy water in five-gallon buckets. She dumped them, rinsed them with a hose, and refilled them to the brim.

  Shovels and hand tools hung on the wall. She chose a shovel with a wide scoop and started to work cleaning the stalls. After fifteen minutes of piling used hay outside, perspiration poured down her face. Her hands were filthy but her sleeves were still fairly clean. She ran her arm across her forehead and stared up at the blue sky. “Tillman, I can’t believe what I do for you.”

  Her cell rang. She wiped a hand on her jeans then fished in her pocket for the phone. Tillman. “Hi, you must have heard me talking to you.”

  “What’s going on?” His deep voice still sounded husky with exhaustion.

  “I’m mucking out your barn.”

  “What?”

  “Fausto was worried about the horses, so I came over to feed and water them.”

  “Are you angling for a superior performance bonus?”

  She leaned on the shovel, glad he felt good enough to tease her. “A company car would be nice. I’m liking your Mercedes at lot.”

  A snort on the other end. “To earn that, you gotta clean stalls for at least a year.”

  She laughed. “It’s a nice rig but not that nice.” A fresh breeze cooled her face and carried the scent of alfalfa. “How are you?”

  “Sick of this woo-woo shit. Group sess
ions, sharing, role playing, centering oneself, breathing in the moment. Like I time-warped back to the self-enlightened Sixties. Why’d you call?”

  She hesitated, wondering how much to tell him. “Not good news, I’m afraid. Kemp Withers is in hospice.”

  “Yeah, I knew that was going to happen before I left. I said goodbye to him at the hospital while you were with Mimi.”

  So that’s where he’d been for the missing half hour. “I’m sorry. I know you think a lot of him.”

  “At this point, the sooner he dies, the better.”

  Even though his words sounded harsh, she knew the truth of them. While watching Dwight suffer, she’d learned there were worse things than death. She swallowed her sorrow and cleared her throat. “Something else. Did the hospital give Mimi a pregnancy test?”

  “Aw, fuck me. Not that too.”

  “I’m not sure, but Consuelo told me Mimi skipped her last two periods.”

  “Is she seeing a guy? She never said anything. But I’d probably be the last to know.”

  “I asked her. She didn’t sound like there was anyone serious. Could be a casual thing.”

  “A screw buddy?”

  “Maybe. Or…”

  “Or?”

  Tawny pressed her lips together before speaking. “Maybe it wasn’t her idea.”

  “You think she was raped?”

  “That might make her want to kill herself.”

  Through the phone, she heard a crash as if he’d thrown something across the room.

  “Tillman, I’m just tossing out possibilities. Don’t go crazy before you know what happened. Could just be an irregular period.”

  “What do you think?”

  Why was he asking her? “I barely know Mimi. I don’t have any idea.”

  “So far, you’re the only one she’s talked to. She ignored the hospital shrink. Didn’t say a word on the drive here. She just sits in the mandatory sessions like somebody stapled her mouth closed. Won’t talk to the counselors. Three different ones tried to get her to open up. Bupkis.”

  “I wasn’t exactly a hit either. When I shot my big mouth off, she shut herself in the bathroom.” She sighed, thinking of her own daughter, Emma, who often pulled emotional blackmail out of her bag of tricks. “Do you think Mimi’s silence is a way to gain attention? Or to punish you and Rochelle?”