by Carolyn Hart
Serena pushed back her chair. She felt stifled and oppressed in the closed office. She needed air and space and freedom. But freedom was no longer really hers, she thought, as she went by the kitchen to tell Millie where she was going.
“Will you be back for lunch, Serena?”
Serena hesitated.
“I’ll pack you a lunch,” Millie said quickly.
Serena smiled gratefully. “I’d like that, Millie.”
Millie wrapped a fried chicken breast in foil, added a dill pickle, chips, crisp carrots, and two oatmeal cookies. “It’s good for you to get out for a while, Serena.”
“Do you think it’s all right if I miss lunch here, Millie?”
“Sure. I’ll tell Julie. It won’t do her any harm to help out.”
When Serena and Hurricane cantered out of sight of the hacienda, she felt a sweep of joy at getting away.
Getting away. She had never felt that way before on Castle Rock. Why did she want to get away? Impatiently, she urged Hurricane to go faster.
As they climbed, the path threaded beneath huge pines. The spicy aromatic scent and deep cool shadows delighted Serena. The path forked at Lightning Ridge. To the left, it continued to climb, a rugged sharp ascent, leading ultimately to the Anasazi cliff dwellings. The path to the right angled up, then down to Lynx Lake, where trout glided in deep, clear pools and the icy water tasted as sweet and sharp as champagne.
Sunlight dappled the ground. The high, still air rang with a quail’s call and the sharp squawk of a raven. Hurricane, warm and strong, moved restlessly beneath her. She reached down, gently ruffled his mane and he made a soft sound in his throat. Hurricane loved to step carefully on the stony shore of Lynx Lake and dip his muzzle into the icy water.
Serena smiled and turned to the path on the right. She hummed as Hurricane carefully managed a steep descent. This was Castle Rock, this communion with nature. Soon the lake water glittered through the trees. She dismounted at the east end of the lake. Hurricane dropped his head and began to drink.
Serena settled on a sun-splashed rock to enjoy her lunch. Full and content, she stretched out and stared at the pale blue sky arching over the lake and the slender spruce crowding down to water’s edge. This was what Castle Rock should be, infinite peace and beauty. Not a voice or footstep marred the silence. No alien presence disturbed the woods. But even this perfect Eden could not still the stirrings in Serena’s mind. Sighing, she sat up and curved her arms about her knees and looked somberly at the still blue water.
Something was wrong at Castle Rock and she couldn’t rest until she knew where the serpent lay.
Perhaps, she thought hopefully, her unease grew out of some unimportant imbalance. If she could trace the source of her fear, it might prove to be nothing that mattered.
What had been wrong at Castle Rock this summer?
Will, of course.
But who knew what tortured fancies drove Will? Even so, even allowing for an artist’s burdened mind, Will’s behavior had been extraordinary. There was his odd reaction when Uncle Dan mentioned the telephone calls from New York. Then Will’s distress when he learned Julie and Peter were coming to Castle Rock. Will had always been close to Julie. Julie was the stronger of the two, making the decisions, but, if there had been any break between them, Serena didn’t know about it. So Will’s unhappiness at Julie’s arrival was strange.
Strangest of all, of course, was Will’s drunkenness the night before Uncle Dan died. That didn’t make any sense. If Will often drank too much, that would be one thing. But he didn’t. Some new, overwhelming, almost catastrophic pressure must be pushing on Will.
All right. Her job was clear enough. She must talk to Will as soon as possible and try to discover whether his unhappiness was partly responsible for her uncomfortable sense of something wrong at Castle Rock.
Serena took a loose rock, threw the stone high into the air, watched as it plummeted into the lake with scarcely any splash or sound. That was as much effect as the summer visitors usually had on Castle Rock. But this summer, perhaps they contributed to her sense of unease.
Take the Minters. Howard and Lou Minter.
Serena smiled wryly. Nothing about them suited the rugged and dangerous land. She pictured Howard’s fleshy face and wary darting eyes, Lou’s voluptuous figure and pouting mouth. They hadn’t ridden a horse since their arrival. They seemed to spend their mornings sleeping and their afternoons and evenings watching TV, although he occasionally hit balls from the golf tee. Why should they have paid the stiff price it took to visit Castle Rock? If by some wild mistake, they came to vacation, surely it hadn’t taken them long to realize how unsuitable it was for them. Why hadn’t they left? Why did they stay on after Uncle Dan died? Surely not because they were having such a wonderful time.
Life is, of course, full of unreason, and perhaps the Minters were only a finite example of this law.
Serena pushed up from the flat boulder and stood for a moment to survey the entire purple-blue lake. She couldn’t imagine the Minters up here. Now, that certainly didn’t hold true for the other dudes, George VanZandt and John Morris, the coauthors of a physics text. Both of them looked as if they would be quite at home around a campfire or climbing a steep rock face. Serena wasn’t sure what made her so confident of it, but she was. The only puzzle about them was the fact that they stayed on after Uncle Dan’s death—and the reason might be as simple as VanZandt said, they had a deadline. Funny, though, how tanned they were to have spent hours closeted in their cabin, working on their text. Perhaps that claim was an exaggeration. As sensitive men, they wouldn’t want to dwell on good times out in the sun while the family mourned.
It would be interesting, Serena thought, to look in their cabin, see the evidence of their work.
As she walked slowly toward Hurricane, Serena forced herself to consider another anomaly at Castle Rock this summer.
Would it be fair to say that nothing had been the same since he came? Jed had arrived two months ago, standing at the hacienda door, a duffel bag over his shoulder, an apologetic smile on his face. Lost, he’d said. Car trouble. Funny how well he had fitted in, how soon he became a new hand. Jed kissed her then turned and followed Julie. Jed warned her not to return to Castle Rock and, when she did, told her to be careful.
If Jed was not what he seemed, what was he?
She remembered the feel of his mouth against hers, the wild and lovely rush of desire.
Serena jumped down from the boulder. Hurricane waited for her. She gave one last longing look at the lake but she had found no peace today. She carried unease with her as a leper carries disease. Now she must go back down the mountain and whatever threat waited, face it down.
As Hurricane stepped carefully along a narrow ledge with a thirty-foot fall beneath them, Serena thought of that last lovely day when she had ridden out with Uncle Dan and Jed to Castle Rock. She and Hurricane had thundered down the trail. That reckless dash made Jed notice her. And Uncle Dan had cautioned her, not knowing he would ride to his death the next day.
Oh, Uncle Dan, she thought, if you were here you would know what to do.
There was no answer to her silent cry, just the click of Hurricane’s hooves on the rocky trail, the rustle of rabbits or ‘possums in the underbrush, the cheerful summer chatter of the birds.
Then, abruptly, Serena reined in Hurricane and sat, her face wrinkled in thought.
How could she have forgotten?
She had tried to figure who might be part of this summer’s strangeness at Castle Rock and she had thought of everyone but Uncle Dan himself.
The night before he died, Uncle Dan was furious.
The next day, Uncle Dan died.
Her heart began to thud as though she had ridden a hard race.
The idea was monstrous, unbelievable.
Anything that the mind of man can conceive can happen. Serena understood that, but this time she didn’t want to accept that reality.
“No.” She said th
e word with force aloud, to herself and Hurricane.
Her mind wouldn’t be deflected. Accidents can be caused. Accidents can be arranged. Uncle Dan rode out to Castle Rock. If, when he started to dismount, something had startled Senator at just the right instant, Uncle Dan was vulnerable. It could have been done. Easily. A sharp rock thrown at Senator’s flank. A gun shot nearby into the air. Once the horse bolted, Uncle Dan wouldn’t have had a chance.
Dead, Dan McIntire couldn’t stop whatever had infuriated him the night before, and, if there was one thing Serena knew for certain, he had intended to stop it.
Serena nudged Hurricane with her knee and he began to trot. They were nearing the point where this trail diverged from the one that led up to the Anasazi ruins. Serena urged Hurricane to go faster. She felt a compelling need to get back to the ranch as fast as possible. She must make an attempt to find out what had made Dan McIntire so angry his last night alive.
If she could find the man he had been talking to . . .
She had barely heard the other voice speaking to Uncle Dan. The voice was lower, softer. A man’s voice? Yes. She was almost sure of that. But it could have been anyone, a member of the family, a dude, a guest.
Or Jed, she thought unhappily. It could have been Jed. It could have been anyone at all.
Serena slowed Hurricane when they reached a narrow wooden bridge that spanned a stream. His hooves clopped hollowly on the wooden spans. The water beneath hissed and gurgled. Somewhere ahead, she heard a rattle of falling stone. Someone must be coming down the Anasazi trail.
“Hello,” she called out. She reined in and waited for an answering call.
None came.
Again, distinctly, unmistakably, she heard the click of a horse’s hooves.
“Hello.” She leaned forward in the saddle, listening.
The hiss of water, the vague rustlings of the undergrowth, the sharp wail of a raven, all these she heard, and nothing more.
Pine trees crowded close to the trail here. A prickle of unease touched Serena, the first faint stirrings of fear.
“Hello there. Who’s coming?”
Hurricane moved uneasily beneath her. Did he sense her fear? Serena patted his shoulder.
Now, listen though she might, she heard no sound of another horse, nothing but the rushing of the water and Hurricane’s measured breaths and the rustlings among the pines.
If anyone had been coming, they too had stopped.
Abruptly, Serena flicked her reins and Hurricane started forward. The path here ran deep among the pines. They pressed toward her, their thick resiny scent almost suffocating.
When they reached the fork, where the other path angled up toward the ruins, Serena stopped again. She looked up the path. If she had heard another horse, if her ears hadn’t tricked her, the rider must have been on this trail. Someone could have reached this point in the trail, heard her shout, and within a few yards been able to move off the trail and disappear into the pines.
She scanned the woods. A white-tail deer looked warily at her.
Twenty riders could be hidden among the pines and she would never be able to see them.
Why would anyone ignore her call and plunge off the trail to hide?
The answer was obvious, of course. The rider didn’t want to be seen, was determined not to be seen.
Serena sat stiffly in her saddle. Were eyes watching her at this very moment? Waiting for her to go?
Her face set and grim, she turned Hurricane down the trail back to the hacienda.
She felt a grim resolve. Something was very wrong indeed at Castle Rock, but she wasn’t going to be intimidated or fooled or deflected. She was going to get to the bottom of it. The trail led past Will’s studio. She would start with him.
Serena had always enjoyed entering Will’s studio. The entire southern exposure was a plate glass window. More light streamed in from two skylights. The studio always seemed to hold the gold of the sun within its whitewashed walls.
Today the sunlight glistened as it always did, but Will wasn’t painting. He sat slumped in a leather chair, a brush loose in his hand, staring at a canvas on an easel. When she opened the door, his big head moved slowly.
When he saw her, his face brightened, and he jumped to his feet, dropping the brush on a table. “Serena, come right in.” He started to move a stack of canvases from another chair.
“Don’t bother, Will. I can’t stay long.”
He beamed at her. “It’s been a long time since you’ve come to my studio.”
“I know.” She looked away from his eager face, walked to the easel, and felt a quiver of shock.
Will was painting Castle Rock, the huge mound of red rock with its thousands of fantastic shapes, but, instead of sandstone glistening in the bright sunlight, this immense rock was dark, bleached of color, a somber, twisted, tortured fretwork of pinnacles and caves under a dark and foreboding sky.
Serena’s breath caught in her throat. She whirled to look at him. “You think so too, don’t you? You think Uncle Dan was killed.”
“No.” He almost shouted it. “No.” But his shoulders hunched.
She looked back at the painting, then at Will.
“No.” His voice was empty now, dry as winter leaves. “I painted it that way because that’s where he died.” He didn’t look at her. He began to fumble with his paints.
Serena moved around until they were again face to face. “Did you talk to Uncle Dan the night before he died?”
He looked surprised. “No.” This answer came easily with no hesitation. She heard relief in his voice. Then, wearily, he said, “Don’t you remember? I was drunk.” He jammed his brush into a water jar. “Dammit, I wish I had talked to him. I wish I had.”
The sadness in his voice, the genuine sorrow was more convincing than any denial. So it hadn’t been Will in the office with Uncle Dan.
“Will,” and she asked gently, “why did you get drunk that night?”
He avoided her eyes, picking up a rag to dry the brush. He shrugged. “How should I know? I mean, you don’t set out to get drunk. It just happens.”
“Will, I’ve known you for a long time.” She waited, and finally, reluctantly, he met her gaze. “I know you, Will.”
“Do you? Can anyone ever really know someone else?”
“Yes. You aren’t a drinker. Something must be terribly wrong.”
His blue eyes turned toward the window. He stared out at undulating brown country with delicate shadings from burnt sienna to russet to gold. “Sure,” he said abruptly, “there’s something terribly wrong. Sometimes when I start drinking, I can’t stop.” He looked back at her, his face drawn. “You didn’t know until now. I’m sorry, Serena. Damn sorry.”
Again his eyes wouldn’t meet hers—and she didn’t believe him.
“Will, won’t you tell me?”
“There isn’t anything to tell,” he said harshly.
She could scarcely push out the words. “I can’t believe you could have had anything to do with . . . hurting Uncle Dan . . .”
That jolted him. “Oh God, Serena. No. That’s not possible. Nobody killed Uncle Dan. It was Senator. You know Senator’s a bad horse.”
“If someone startled Senator when Uncle Dan was dismounting, he would have fallen, his boot catching in the stirrup.”
She saw horror in Will’s eyes and something more. Fear? Knowledge? Suspicion? But he shook his head. “No,” he said violently, “it can’t be.” He looked at Serena broodingly. “Why do you think so, Serena? You have to tell me.”
She didn’t know how to put her unease into words, it was all so vague and formless. She spoke slowly. “Something’s wrong this summer at Castle Rock.”
“Wrong?”
“Wrong,” she said determinedly. “And that last night, Uncle Dan was furious.”
Will looked shocked.
Serena told him of the scrap of conversation she had overheard.
“Don’t you see? Something bad was happening on
the ranch and Uncle Dan was determined to put a stop to it. And the next day he’s killed—in an accident.”
Will shook his head back and forth. “It can’t be that,” he said violently.
Serena couldn’t understand why the idea upset him so much. Was it because the idea of someone having engineered Uncle Dan’s accident was so horrible he couldn’t face it? Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to devil Will any longer.
“You’re just imagining things, Serena, don’t you see?”
“I suppose so, Will. I’d like to think that’s true.”
“It’s having to stay here,” he said jerkily, “being trapped.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“If we could get away . . .” He looked imploringly at Serena, “Serry, why don’t we get married? We could live in Santa Fe. I could set up a gallery. We could find a house, a low adobe house . . .”
“Will, why should we want to leave Castle Rock?”
“If we could be together . . .”
“Will, we can’t.”
“Serry, there isn’t anybody else for you so why . . . you and I, we’ve known each other so long. I’ve loved you for so long.”
He held her shoulders, his big hands so gentle.
Serena felt tears welling in her eyes. He was handsome and she had loved him for so long as a part of her life, a good part. But not the way she should love a man to marry him.
“Will, you’re so good to me. But I can’t leave Castle Rock. I have to take care of Danny. And the ranch.”
Will’s face darkened. His hands dropped away from her. He turned and slammed a hand against a bookcase. “Damn Castle Rock,” he said bitterly.
That was the picture she carried with her back to the hacienda, Will’s face dark with anger and behind him the easel with that tortured painting.
That scene with Will cast a dark spell over the rest of her day. Dinner was uncomfortable, Will taciturn, Peter aloof, Julie nervous, the Minters bored, the two professors politely talkative. The conversation ranged from a discussion of Minoan art to futures trading, and Serena had trouble keeping any of it in mind. Directly after dinner, she excused herself, saying she had work to do in the office.
