Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series)

by Laura Crum

  Somehow the picture of Paul Cassidy rising from the hay bales like some evil prehistoric monster out of the primordial slime wouldn't leave me. I shivered and my fingers tightened on the gun butt. I needed somebody, anybody; I needed help. Automatically, it seemed, my mind pictured Lonny.

  Lonny! I had told him to come looking for me in an hour. I grabbed the phone and dialed Amber St. Claire. Amber answered on the second ring, her voice sounding edgier than usual. “Yes?”

  "Amber, this is Gail."

  The voice verged on stridency. "Gail, where the hell are you? There's a man here, and he seems to think I know where you are, which I don't, and he's threatening me."

  "Put him on."

  Lonny's voice came on the line, sharp with urgency. "Gail, where are you? Are you all right?"

  "I'm all right, but I'm in trouble. Don't say anything to Amber, just come straight to Steve Shaw's place."

  "I'll be right there."

  There was a click as he hung up the phone, and I smiled, reassured, even at this moment, by the empathic certainty in his voice. Glancing up, I caught my smile in the mirror over Steve's hall table, and I almost dropped the phone.

  My God, was that me? I was unrecognizable, even to myself, some sort of battered human remnant dug out of a landslide. My whole body was covered with cobwebs, dirt, and bits of hay, my tweed coat was a mottled gray-brown, likewise my pants, which had several long, gaping tears. My face was smudged with dust and my hair was filthy and tangled-a cartoon witch. I raised a hand to wipe some of the grime off my chin, succeeded only in blackening my face still further, and felt sudden tears rise.

  Shit. Don't cry now. I sucked in a deep breath and took a firm grip on the gun. Cassidy might be out there, hunting me still. Don't weaken, Gail.

  To my relief, I heard the distant whine of a siren growing rapidly louder. Two minutes later it came down the driveway, proving to be a fire truck. It disgorged several people, some of whom identified themselves to me as paramedics. I warned them that the injured men had guns and could be dangerous, and they milled around uncertainly until a Highway Patrol car pulled in a moment later. After a quick conference, they all moved off in the direction of the barn, the cops with their guns drawn. I stayed where I was, thoughts and questions turning themselves over in my mind. I replayed the conversation between Cassidy and Steve, over and over.

  Eventually, a dark green sheriff's car pulled into the stable yard and Detective Ward and a younger male deputy got out. Jeri Ward's dark blue suit looked as pressed and immaculate as if it were nine in the morning rather than midnight, and her always-composed face wore a cool, aloof expression, but I virtually ran to meet her.

  "I need to talk to you. Alone." I was almost babbling in my urgency, and I felt her recoil; no doubt my appearance and expression were that of a lunatic. I tried to sound calmer. "There are two injured men in the barn. The paramedics and cops went after them. They both have guns."

  Detective Ward and her colleague turned in that direction, but I grabbed her arm. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

  A split second of indecision and then she nodded at the deputy. "Go on. I'll just be a minute." After he left, she looked back at me. "Make it quick, Gail."

  "What's Detective Reeder's first name?"

  Jeri's face went blank. "John."

  "I think he's involved in this."

  TWENTY-THREE

  The next half hour was one long confusion of cops and red lights and sirens and questions. I ended up in Steve's living room, huddled at one end of a leather-covered couch, guarded by a young deputy. Various people asked me things and I answered as best I could; shock and fatigue were beginning to catch up with me.

  I was feeling particularly lifeless when I heard Lonny's voice in the hall, raised in no uncertain tones against my guard. A minute later he was beside me on the couch, one arm around my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay. I'm dirty."

  My answer must have sounded as weak as I felt, because he took in my obviously drooping spirits and asked only a couple of questions, settling for a brief gist of the story. We sat together on the couch for what seemed a long time, until Detective Ward reappeared with an older, very senior-looking man she introduced as Lieutenant Delgado.

  "Would you please tell the lieutenant what happened this evening and explain what led you to make the statement you made to me earlier." Jeri's voice was impersonal, but I had the sense there was some sort of unspoken conflict going on between her and Lieutenant Delgado.

  Once again, I told my story as well as I could and finished up with, "The only John I could think of that had had anything to do with this whole thing was Detective Reeder. I remembered his first name was John. And it made sense that an organized coke racket might have police connections. The idea that I would 'make trouble for John' fit into that context, too. And Detective Reeder was way too anxious to arrest Terry White. So I told Detective Ward here, whom I trust, my suspicions. That's all."

  Lieutenant Delgado and Jeri Ward faced me with equally blank faces, betraying not the slightest reaction to what I'd said. Yet I had a feeling there was a lot going on behind those wooden expressions.

  When they didn't speak, I asked, "What happened to the two men?"

  There was a long silence, but Jeri finally answered me. "The one you called Paul Cassidy is dead. His neck was broken, presumably by a hay bale.”

  "He killed Ed and Cindy; I'm sure of it."

  "We'll be checking to see if the bullets from his gun match."

  "What about Steve?"

  "They took him off to the hospital. He's lost some blood

  and his shoulder's shattered, but he'll heal."

  Now it was my turn to be silent. That almost inaudible shout I'd heard, that had been the last sound Paul Cassidy ever made. The sound of life going out of him. And Steve's shattered shoulder-I had broken that shoulder with my bullet. I felt dazed, but not guilty or remorseful. Not yet, anyway. Mostly, I felt tired.

  "We'll need you to come down to the department and answer some more questions and sign a statement," Jeri Ward was saying.

  "I need to go home." My words were almost drowned out by Lonny's firm,

  "She needs to rest."

  "Tomorrow morning will be fine," Lieutenant Delgado said calmly. "You can go now."

  I remember nothing of the drive home. Lonny must have put me in my own bed, because that's where I woke up the next morning. The clock on the table said 10:30. I stared at the footboard of my bed and tried to remember what had happened. Lonny had slept with me, I knew that, but he was gone now. He must have left without waking me.

  Sounds of footsteps upstairs stirred me further, so I got up and threw some jeans and a sweatshirt on and went to investigate. Bret was making coffee in the kitchen.

  He grinned when he saw me. "How's the heroine?"

  I shook my head. Bret's hair was sun-streaked, his brown skin tanned, his green eyes laughing. Next to him, I felt like a faded, pallid ghost of a human being.

  "The heroine's ready for a cup of coffee," I told him.

  Walking into the living room, I collapsed on one end of the couch. Blue was curled up on the seat of my good armchair. He got down stiffly when he saw me, wagged his stump of a tail ferociously, put his chin on my knee, and licked my hand. I patted his rough hair and breathed his smelly old-dog breath and was glad to see him, too.

  Lonny'd left a note on the big wooden power company spool I used for a coffee table. In his usual hasty scrawl, it said merely that he'd gone down to the sheriff's department and would tell them not to bother me, that I'd be in later. "Come by my place around six, I'll cook you dinner," it closed.

  "So how'd you get here?" I asked Bret.

  "I went down to Steve Shaw's place this morning to finish shoeing the last couple of horses he had for me. There were cops everywhere and the horses hadn't been fed. Your boyfriend was there"-Bret gave me a grin-"and he was talking the cops into letting him feed. I helped him and he told
me the story and sent me up here to see how you were doing. So here I am."

  He fixed me with a solemn stare, solemn for Bret, anyway. "So how the hell did you get involved in that shit?"

  "Beats me," I said wearily. "As far as I knew, I was just doing my job when I stumbled on two dead bodies. Then I get shot at and warned off. But the funny thing is, I had no idea Steve was behind it all. I dropped by his place last night entirely by accident; I was going to tell him about Plumber. I didn't even figure it out when I first saw the bute bottles in his barn." I shook my head, feeling stupid.

  "Steve." Bret looked as confused as I felt. "I mean, I never liked the guy and I've got no problems believing he was dealing coke and having Ed sell it for him, but ... killing Ed and Cindy? That's hard to believe."

  "I'm pretty sure he didn't actually murder them. He just basically set it up for that hit man to do. Told Ed he was coming over to discuss things." I looked at Bret. "That's why Ed wanted you out of there that evening."

  Bret nodded blankly, no doubt thinking about what might have happened if he hadn't left in time.

  "Steve probably had a nice little alibi." I had to smile. "In fact, I bet he stayed with Amber. I wouldn't be surprised if that's what all her hoopla was about."

  "What hoopla?"

  "Oh, Amber called me up to her place last night to warn me off Steve. Said they were engaged or had an understanding or something. I imagine he spent that one night with her and she was trying to build it into a lifetime commitment."

  Amber. Amber would find out about Steve today, through the papers, if no other way. For a minute I felt sorry for her. All her fantasies would be torn to shreds. Because of me.

  I put my coffee cup down and got up abruptly. "Guess I'd better get dressed and get down to the sheriff's department."

  "Okay." Bret grinned again, irrepressible as always. "Hope you don't mind riding in Big Red. Your truck's still down at Steve's place; Lonny drove you home last night. I'll take you down there if you want."

  "Let's go."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At six o'clock that evening, I was on my way to Lonny's. I'd signed my statement at the sheriff's office and learned that the bullets recovered from Ed and Cindy Whitney's bodies had undoubtedly come from Paul Cassidy's gun. I'd also heard that Steve Shaw was still in the hospital, saying nothing to anyone except his lawyer. That was the extent of the information Jeri Ward would give me.

  When I asked about Detective Reeder, her face closed up. "We're investigating," and "He's on a paid leave right now," was all she would say. Still, I had the notion there was satisfaction in her voice. She would probably never tell me a thing, but I felt sure that Jeri had been unhappy with John Reeder's conduct for a long time and was resolutely pushing this investigation into his dealings, possibly against the lieutenant's wishes.

  At any rate, I'd learned nothing more from her, merely spent an hour rehashing the story I'd told them last night. After that, I'd paid a couple of visits.

  The summer afternoon had been in its full glory when I'd driven down toward the harbor. Blue-green water glittered in front of me, sparkling with little points of dancing white light. A soft breeze came off the bay, smelling of seaweed and wet sand, and a sailboat moved through the channel, brightly colored sails billowing in the sunshine like a scene off a Santa Cruz postcard.

  Glenda Thorne met me at the door of the Start house, wearing another swirling skirt, her frizzy hair hidden by an ethnic-looking bandanna. Her eyes were friendly this time, though, and she remembered my name. "Gail, isn't it? Detective Ward called this morning to let us know that Terry was cleared."

  I smiled back at her. "I just wanted to find out how he was doing."

  "I'm not sure how much he's really taken in yet. Come say hi to him."

  I followed her up the stairs to Terry's room. He was sitting in the same chair he'd been in before, but it faced the window this time, and the window was open. The warm salt smell of the beach filled the room; I could see the boats down at their docks, hear the screech of the seagulls. Terry turned to look at me as I walked in his door.

  "Hi." I still found it difficult to talk to him. "I'm Gail. I saw you in Cindy's garage, remember?"

  Terry mumbled some words, none of them intelligible to me.

  "I just wanted you to know it's okay. We caught the man who killed Cindy. Everybody knows it wasn't you."

  Another mumble, and then he looked straight in my eyes and gave me a sudden surprisingly sweet smile. "I miss her." Another mumble. "She was nice."

  "She was nice." A picture of Cindy had emerged, it struck me, since I'd been involved with her death, that was much more complete than the one I'd had of her when she was alive. In some ways her life must have been very difficult, yet she remained the friendly, happy extrovert I'd known, the woman who'd loved Plumber and had taken the time and energy to befriend Terry. A woman, I thought, with a positive attitude.

  "Is the horse okay?" The words were barely articulated.

  "Yeah. He's hurt himself, but he'll be all right."

  Terry looked down, talking to his private voices, his stores of concentration apparently running out, and Glenda touched my arm. As we left, she said, "Things are much better, as you can see. I think he'll recover."

  "I hope so."

  We said our good-byes and I'd paid my second call. On Plumber.

  Standing in the pen with him, I rubbed the light brown neck, straightened his mane so it hung neatly on the left side, and pulled his forelock gently. Plumber bumped me with his nose, his eyes bright and friendly despite the fact that he was keeping his weight off his right front leg. The injured ankle was still neatly wrapped and I patted his shoulder gently.

  "You'll be all right, fella," I told him. "I'll take care of you."

  Jim was at the office, busying himself with some paperwork, and I made arrangements with him to help me operate on Plumber the next morning and talked him into taking my appointments for that afternoon-no mean feat. Nothing less than a shoot-out with a killer would have convinced him.

  Now, driving up the road toward Lonny's, my heart lifted a little, for the first time in what seemed like years, but was really only days. Glancing down at my legs, I smiled. They were light brown, sticking out of fashionably faded and cuffed denim shorts. I hoped Lonny would admire them. Hoped the evening would stay warm and the fog would remain out on the ocean where it belonged.

  Lonny's house looked as cheerfully iconoclastic as ever. Lonny himself was sitting in a chair on the small brick patio outside the kitchen. There was a fire in the barbecue pit in front of him and a bottle of chardonnay in a bucket of ice on the table next to him. He smiled when he saw me.

  "Hey, Gail." He gestured at an empty chair. "Have a seat. How about a glass of wine?"

  "That would be great." I settled myself into the chair and watched Lonny open the wine. His garden rambled around us, loose and colorful, blue pansies rioting over and through bright red geraniums, salmon-colored climbing roses festooning the brick walls.

  Sam was chasing Lonny's young gray cat, Gandalf, around the patio, their two tails fluffed out like bottlebrushes, their eyes big and black. Suddenly Sam stopped, leapt up in the air, and reversed, letting Gandalf chase him. I laughed out loud.

  "I like your shorts." Lonny smiled at my legs approvingly as he handed me a glass of wine.

  "Nothing like a bottled tan."

  His mouth twitched. "Save yourself the skin cancer."

  "That's right."

  His eyes looked into mine, suddenly serious. "So, how are you doing?"

  I looked back at him and we studied each other assessingly. "I'm okay," I said.

  "That's good."

  "I still feel a little lost, like I don't understand how this all happened to happen to me, if you know what I mean. I didn't suspect Steve of anything; I never thought he had any possible reason to want Ed and Cindy dead. I'm still in shock, I guess."

  "He was dealing cocaine in a big way," Lonny said reflectively
. "Making lots of money. He probably couldn't stand to see that threatened."

  "And it wasn't as if he had to kill anybody himself," I added. "He just turned the problem over to his 'supplier.' He could always pretend that he had no idea they'd be murdered."

  "So why the hell did he ball things up by shooting at you?"

  "Stupidity. Panic, maybe. Steve might have been comfortable selling cocaine, but he was out of his league when it came to killing people, I think. I remember he brought up the subject of the bute in Cindy's barn in this roundabout way-that night he called me out to see a horse that he knew was no emergency. When he found out I'd seen the bute bottles, wondered about them, even, he panicked. If he'd just sat tight, everything would have been fine-for him, anyhow. Poor Terry White would have been in jail."

  "Thanks to your buddy, old Detective Reeder."

  "I suppose so. I couldn't imagine any other John that Cassidy could have meant. I never liked Reeder, anyway. I think he was trying to pin those murders on Terry, and the reason Cassidy didn't want me to look like a murder victim was because the connection between my finding the bodies and my being killed would be too obvious. That would make trouble for John. But Cassidy did have to kill me, at that point, because I'd made the connection between him and Steve."

  Lonny was quiet for a minute. "You know, there's one thing I don't understand. Why did they kill the woman, too?"

  "Cindy." I sighed. "I think because she knew all about what was going on. From what I picked up, she was upset during the last few days before they were killed. Maybe Ed told her that Steve was threatening them. At any rate, she called Gina Gianelli and told her that she might have to back out of showing Plumber at Salinas. I'd guess that was because she didn't want to be around Steve. And apparently she went to see her parents and told them she was in trouble and needed help. She just knew too much."