by Carolyn Hart
Serena remembered the clean sweet smell of new lumber. She and Will and Julie had loved the grandstand when they were little, so pleased at a giant toy.
“I’ll need to order enough food. Will you see to slaughtering the cows?”
“Yes, of course. Millie’s been planning for about 150. Don’t you think that’s about right, Serena?”
“I think so. Maybe we ought to have enough for 200. Don’t you remember? Last year, so many of the ranchers brought guests.”
They talked for a few minutes more, discussing the work that needed to be done in preparation, then, as Joe was turning to leave, Serena said, “Joe, there’s something important I need to talk to you about.”
He listened quietly as she told him about the Burnt Hill cowboy’s report of a plane taking off from Castle Rock.
“A big plane?”
“Yes. You know what that means.”
Joe nodded. “It’s happened on other ranches.” He frowned. “Sometimes, it’s the foreman who’s involved. You aren’t thinking—”
Serena reached out, touched his thin strong arm. “Lord no. I know it’s not you. I know that.” And she did. Some things you know beyond any possibility of doubt.
“It has to be somebody here on the ranch.”
“I know.”
“I’d swear by our men, Serena. I can’t believe any of them could be involved in something like that.”
“I know,” she said again.
“Then that would mean . . .” Joe’s voice trailed off. He didn’t go on to say the obvious. If it had been someone on the ranch a month ago and you excluded the cowhands, that left only Uncle Dan, Will, and Jed.
Uncle Dan was dead. That left Will—or Jed.
It could be Will. Serena hated the way her heart lifted. But it could be Will. He had not been himself all summer long. And it must have been before the plane came that he had all those long-distance calls to New York that made him so uncomfortable. If it were Will, he would have to have partners who would take the drugs and market them.
But Will hadn’t lied about where he went to school. Will hadn’t come to the ranch with a patently phony story.
“Serena.” Joe spoke her name softly.
“Yes?”
“Maybe . . . maybe it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie?”
So Joe, too, feared where the trail would lead.
“I don’t think it’s over, Joe.”
“What can we do then?”
“We can be alert for anything odd, anything out of the ordinary. You can watch Castle Rock. There have to be some preparations before a plane could land. Maybe a land rover hidden among the rocks to carry out the crates. I want you to go by Castle Rock at least once a day, but don’t tell anyone what you are doing. Will you promise me that?”
“Sure.”
She reached out, clasped his hand for a moment, then jumped to the ground, stood by him, forced herself to say evenly, “That includes Jed.”
He looked at her in surprise.
“It’s between you and me, Joe.”
He nodded.
Serena left him looking after her as she walked quickly toward the stables. As she saddled Hurricane, she wondered if she should have told Joe more. But she didn’t know anything for a certainty. It was all conjecture, and every surmise hung from the tiniest of threads. Still, she had been right to warn him against Jed.
It wasn’t until she and Hurricane were out of sight of the hacienda that she realized she had turned him toward Castle Rock.
Castle Rock glittered blood-red in the hard noon sunshine. Serena slowly circled the huge mass, not looking at the wind-and-rain carved cliff face, but at the cave mouths and tumbled boulders.
An army could hide here.
Even now someone could lie in the dark mouth of a cave and watch her circle and she would never know it.
Is that what happened to Uncle Dan? Someone in a jeep or on horseback could have arrived before him and waited in the shelter of the rock.
A shiver tingled her back.
It was a fancy, of course. She was all alone here in the noonday sun, she and Hurricane.
Then, patiently, she began to walk Hurricane, this time looking at the rock-strewn ground. She had gone only a hundred yards when she found it.
The huge rock-built X lay there unchanged from the day when she and Uncle Dan had ridden out with Jed to see it. That seemed a hundred years ago, that day when she had so lightheartedly and, admit it, daringly, ridden Hurricane down the mountain trail to try and impress Jed.
It was Jed who spotted the Xs from the Aerocommander and brought Uncle Dan and her to see them.
If Jed were a smuggler, waiting for a cargo plane to land at Castle Rock, would he show the ranch owner the two big Xs marking either end of an improvised runway? For surely that had to be the meaning of those carefully arranged rocks, to point the way to a pilot unfamiliar with his destination. Of course he wouldn’t. For an instant, Serena felt a thrill of hope, then she sighed. It could be a kind of double bluff, the earnest new young cowhand showing ahead of time his lack of complicity should a landing be observed in the future.
“Hell.” Serena said it aloud. She didn’t know. No matter what she learned, she kept coming back to Jed’s presence on the ranch when the Burnt Hill hand saw the plane taking off.
Serena looked up at Castle Rock, at the honeycomb of caves and crevices.
Jed had been on the ranch. Jed and Will.
That’s who it came down to.
Serena sighed. That made sense, lots of it, but it didn’t explain her uneasy feelings about the Minters or the two professors. She could see the Minters as drug smugglers. They would think of it as a good business deal, never even considering the kind of evil it created.
But Howard Minter hadn’t been at Castle Rock a month ago.
Serena flicked the reins and Hurricane began to move.
Still, he could be part of a smuggling plan, coming perhaps to oversee the arrival of a very big shipment. That could be. That could very well be, she thought with a surge of excitement. Minter might want to oversee the unloading in person, not trusting his conspirator on the ranch. Minter might want to make sure that absolutely all the drugs were being sent to him and not a tidy extra amount stashed away in the caves for the sole benefit of his partner. The same reasoning applied to the professors, the professors who were tanned and ruddy and who spent so little apparent time working on that famous physics text. They were charming men, kindly men, but the prospect of huge amounts of cash had been known to corrupt a great many charming people.
When she reached the jumbled mound of rocks where Uncle Dan’s body had been wedged, Serena reined in Hurricane and stared down at the silent stones. She shivered. Uncle Dan had been in his own country, the world he knew and trusted. He’d started to dismount and, somehow, Serena was coldly certain of it, Senator had been startled, made to bolt.
It took a special viciousness, a terribly overweening callousness, to destroy another human being. Somewhere on the ranch, behind a smile she knew, a hand she had touched, this malignant being existed—and only she knew it.
It wasn’t going to be easy to search the Minters’ cabin because Lou Minter spent most of the day lying on her bed, pillows fluffed behind her, watching TV and eating chocolates.
The next day Serena waited impatiently until midmorning, then she walked down to the garage. She went into a supply shed, picked up a couple of fuses, a flashlight, and a screwdriver. She took time to walk up beyond the stables and look out toward the driving range. Satisfied that Howard Minter and Peter were there, she turned and walked briskly to the Minters’ cabin.
At her knock, a sulky voice called, “Come on in.”
Serena stepped into dimness, the only light the flickering sheen of the TV screen.
“Mrs. Minter, I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re having some electrical problems and I need to check the fuse box in your closet.”
Lou Minter looked disappointed
. “I thought maybe you’d come to talk. I’m so sick of watching this stupid TV I could scream.”
For a minute, Serena almost felt sorry for her. If ever someone had been thrown out of their own milieu into a strange and alien environment, it was Lou Minter. Serena felt at a loss because what could she offer? She was busy throughout the day, working in the office or out riding. Julie was . . . What was Julie doing with her days? Probably riding out with Peter or talking to Will. That left Will and the two professors. Ostensibly, the professors were busy. So, with a little pang of guilt, Serena offered up Will.
“Have you been to visit Will’s studio?”
Lou flicked off the TV and sat up straighter against her pillows. Her sheer lacy nightgown gaped. “Will. That’s the big redheaded guy?”
“Yes. He’s a painter.”
Lou tossed her head and her thick wavy blonde hair cascaded like molten gold. “Come on and sit down.”
Serena hesitated then accepted the invitation.
“What’s he paint?”
“Still-lifes mostly and country scenes, mountains and desert.”
Lou grimaced. “Mountains and desert, you’ve got too much of both of them. God, I hate this place.” Then she said quickly, obviously not wanting to lose her audience, “Hey, I don’t mean to insult you. It’s just . . . I’m not used to all this space,” and she waved her hand.
Serena thought Lou wasn’t being overwhelmed by space so long as she clung to this cluttered, closed room with its heavy scent of cigarette smoke and chocolates. She managed a smile, “I think I know how you feel. A city crowds me, closes me in, so I suppose it’s all in what you are used to.”
“That’s it exactly,” Lou agreed.
“So you haven’t spent much time in the country?” Serena probed gently.
“First time. Last time if I have anything to say about it.”
“What prompted you to come to Castle Rock, feeling that way?”
Abruptly, a cautious, careful look came over Lou’s face. “Oh, we thought it would be fun, something different,” she said carefully.
“Has it met your expectations?” Serena asked lightly.
At Lou’s blank look, Serena said gently, “I mean, has it turned out to be what you expected?”
Lou shrugged. “I guess I didn’t know what it would be like. I didn’t know it would be so . . . so big.”
Serena leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Where do you live in Los Angeles?”
“Brentwood.” Uncharacteristically, Lou didn’t add another word.
“What does Mr. Minter do?”
“Do?”
Serena decided to continue as gracelessly as she had begun. “What is his work?”
“His work? Oh, he owns things, runs businesses and things like that.”
“That must be very interesting.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Do you help him?”
“Me?” Lou laughed, and it was the first time Serena had detected genuine amusement. “Oh no, honey, I don’t work. I just . . . help him play.”
And that, Serena thought, is as far as I want to go into that. Briskly, she got up. “Well, I’d better check those fuses.”
“The fuses. Oh, sure.” Lou looked blankly around the room.
“I believe they are back here in one of the closets,” Serena explained blandly as she walked across the room, trying to see as much as possible in the few seconds she had.
All the cabins were generally the same, a square good-sized room with two double beds, a fireplace, TV, and several comfortable chairs. A little kitchenette was tucked in an alcove past the fireplace.
The room was cluttered, magazines spread over the coffee table, an open suitcase propped on one chair with a mound of clothing peeping over the sides. Soiled dishes, some with the sticky residue of ice cream, sat next to overflowing ashtrays and empty drink glasses.
Nothing different from a thousand motel rooms.
Serena opened the closet door, chattering all the while. “I’m pretty sure the fuse boxes are tucked back here somewhere. I’ll be careful among your things.” Now she was out of Lou’s view. Serena snapped on her flashlight, ran the beam over Lou’s dresses, totally unsuitable clothing for a ranch vacation, and among his suits. He did at least have slacks and polo shirts to wear. The flashlight beam stopped, wavered, and held. Serena’s heart thudded. The shiny leather of the holster glistened in the light, emphasizing the dark blue of the gun. Serena didn’t have any idea what kind of firearm it was, but she knew it was a handgun, and it looked big and deadly. Then she dropped the beam to the floor and swept it back and forth. There, at the very back of the closet, just beneath the fuse box sat two walkie talkies. Serena stepped closer to them.
“Oh, Howard, I didn’t know you were coming back this early. I’m not dressed yet.”
“Yeah.”
“Serena’s fixing a fuse or something.”
Serena heard his explosive, “What?” and the heavy sound of his footsteps. Quickly, she stepped forward, opened the fuse box and flipped the switch that controlled the outside lighting to OFF.
“Here’s the problem . . .”
The door was yanked wide. She looked around. “Oh, Mr. Minter, how are you? You did startle me. But I’ve found the problem,” and she reached up and flipped the switch to ON.
He looked at her, his heavy red face alert and suspicious.
Serena smiled. “Everything’s fine now,” and she closed the fuse box door and started out.
For a moment, he stood unmoving, blocking the way, looming over her, then, slowly, he stepped back.
“I’m afraid the wiring is pretty old,” Serena said with a disarming smile. “We have lines hooked up to fuse boxes in the oddest places.”
“Yeah,” he said heavily, with no answering smile.
She stopped at the door to thank them again, then plunged out into the bright sunshine, grateful to be free of that dim, closed room and him. She had had a moment of real fear when he blocked her exit from the closet. She didn’t breathe easily until she was out of sight of the Minters’ cabin.
Serena felt just as she had the day several years ago when she rode up to a spring and disturbed a brown bear with her cub. The mother bear had turned toward her with the same malevolence that she had seen in Minter’s eyes. Wild beasts are dangerous, dangerous and deadly, and Serena knew that reality as well as any rancher. You do not disturb dangerous animals. If it happens, you move slowly and carefully and quietly.
She didn’t know exactly what her visit to the Minters’ cabin proved. It made clear only one thing in her mind, Howard Minter wasn’t a man to trifle with. Ordinary vacationers carried neither guns nor walkie talkies. That didn’t mean she could definitely link him to smuggling or murder, but it made him a suspect.
Serena reached the point where the path diverged, the down trail leading back to the ranch, the up trail to Desperado Point and the professors’ cabin.
She had checked on the Minters. Now was the time to check on the professors.
The ride up to the cabin was so much a part of a perfect summer morning that it made her suspicions seem incredible. But when she knocked on the cabin door, there wasn’t any answer. Those hardworking professors weren’t in.
Fishing her keys out of her pocket, Serena opened the door. She took a last long careful look then stepped inside. After a moment’s thought, she left the door open behind her. If they should return unexpectedly, she could always use her fuse story again.
This cabin sparkled with cleanliness. No clutter marred the tables. Each bed was made with military precision. Serena walked over to the wooden table in the kitchenette. This was the only surface that would be suitable for spreading out a manuscript. It was clean and bare. She walked quickly around the room. Nothing on top of the bookcases, nothing on the low coffee table.
Did they bundle up the manuscript, carry it with them on their daily rides? Or was the manuscript as imaginary as their professorships?
&nb
sp; Sunlight slanted through the two east windows, spilling cheerfully on the clean bare emptiness of the room. Suddenly the very bareness seemed sinister to Serena.
Who were these men and why had they come to Castle Rock?
She whirled around and hurried to the closet. A trunk absorbed most of the space in the narrow closet. There was nothing especially remarkable about the trunk except for the shiny new padlock through the hasps.
Serena stared at the padlocked trunk for a long time. It could, of course, hold the famous manuscript. It must certainly be a fantastic physics text to warrant such security.
She gave the lock a yank, not expecting anything. It didn’t budge.
The rest of the closet didn’t do much to allay her suspicions. The Levis and work shirts she would expect, but several pairs of hiking boots lined the closet floor. Hiking boots make all kind of sense in rattlesnake country, but weren’t these men here to closet themselves in their cabin to revise a manuscript? Why should they need a couple of pair of hiking boots apiece?
Serena knelt, picked up one boot, and brushed powdery gray dust from it. She knew that kind of dust, fine silty gray dust that hung smokily in caves and inches deep in tumbledown ruins. When disturbed, the dust stirred and clung. Serena replaced the boot. She left the closet after a final look at the trunk.
As she closed the cabin door behind her and remounted Hurricane, she tried to assess her discoveries, but her mind was a whirl of conjecture.
After lunch, which the professors didn’t attend, she settled down to work at repair jobs in the tack room. She was determined to be there when Morris and VanZandt returned.
Danny joined her about three.
She put down a halter she was working on. “Hi, Danny. Are you going to take Buster out for a ride?”
Danny nodded. “In a little while.” But he leaned against the workbench and made no move to get his saddle.
After a minute, Serena looked up. “Want me to help you saddle up?”
“No.”
Dark smudges under his eyes emphasized the paleness of his face. He was so little, Serena thought, to be alone.
