by Joyce Lavene
I’d always thought how unfair it was that men weren’t up here pining for their women. There had been a few female pirates and ship captains, but not enough to tell stories of. It hadn’t sounded appealing to me—being gone for years from the people you loved. I was glad that didn’t happen anymore.
Something icy and white hit the top of Treasure’s head. He hissed at it before batting at the next one with his paws. Snow! I let him down so he could run back to the stairs. I couldn’t believe it was snowing.
Snow was an infrequent guest in Duck. The white stuff didn’t last long, but it was always welcome and exciting. Everyone stopped what they were doing to marvel at it. The snowflakes started coming down faster and harder, covering the widow’s walk and the rooftops below me.
I ran down the stairs after Treasure, who had curled up on the bed again to go back to sleep. “Don’t you want to go outside and see the snow? Who knows when we’ll have it again?”
He made it clear to me that he wasn’t interested in anything cold or wet. I threw an old shawl over my robe and went downstairs to the living room. I didn’t bother putting on real shoes, afraid the snow would stop before I could get outside. I ran out in my slippers and reveled in the sparkly white stuff that covered everything in the yard.
I tried to scrape enough snow from the golf cart to make a snowball—there wasn’t enough. I whirled around in it and caught snowflakes on my tongue. I grinned as my hair and shawl were covered in it. The snow catching in trees and bushes revealed hidden depths. It was thrilling, and exactly what my wounded heart needed to feel light again.
Skidding across the drive, I headed to Duck Road, glancing up and down. No cars had been through to mar the clean, white surface. But there was something large and dark in the middle of the road. Maybe it was a rug or something that had fallen off the back of a truck. Snowflakes were rapidly gathering on it.
I hoped no one had carelessly injured or killed a dog and left it there as I walked toward it. I walked down to the spot, slipping and sliding on the road, not knowing what I would find. When I reached the dark form I considered that it was too big to be a rug. Probably not a dog either.
It was then that I realized it was a man.
He was wearing dark dress pants and a dark suit coat. He was lying on his chest, his head turned to the right so I could see his face in the dim streetlight’s glow. Tom Watts.
Maybe he had passed out after drinking too much. Kevin’s party wasn’t the only one where people had been drinking. I needed to touch him, try to wake him. I didn’t dare do it without protection after going through the vision earlier.
I slipped my hand inside my shawl and bent close to him.
“Tom?” I pushed at him. He didn’t move. “It’s me, Dae O’Donnell. You have to get up. I don’t think I can move you by myself. Even in Duck, it’s dangerous to be in the middle of the road.”
A bad feeling was slowly overwhelming me. I beat it off with a reminder that things weren’t always the way they appeared. I had to move him before a vehicle came down Duck Road and hit him. “Tom—can you hear me? We have to get you out of the road.”
I thought his eyes were closed until I put my covered hand on his face and realized that they were wide open, staring into the snow-filled darkness. He was dead. The words whispered through the silent night.
“Tom.” I pushed away the tears that slid down my cheek as I knelt in the street beside him. “What happened? Why are you out here?”
I wanted to insist that he get up. He couldn’t be dead. He was a good man and a good friend to the wild horses. His work was so important. Who would step in to take his place? This couldn’t be happening.
Being the granddaughter of a retired sheriff, I noticed things about the scene that other people with grandfathers who were dentists and accountants wouldn’t have noticed. There was no blood. Blood would have been visible even in the dim light. His jacket was torn on the right side. One of his hands was stretched out. The other was tucked under him. He had an ugly mark on the side of his head. It was a deep gash, but it had some kind of shape.
I stood to go inside and get Gramps. He’d make the appropriate calls and verify what I already knew. There was a rush of icy air that swirled the newly fallen snow on the street. I heard the thunder of horse’s hooves and smelled the scent of them coming toward me.
Then I was engulfed in what felt like a stampede as hundreds of horses seemed to rush down Duck Road. I cringed and tried to protect myself from them as they raced by me. Their loud snorts and screams echoed through the night. I was afraid I would be crushed by their frantic pace.
But when I looked up, there were no horses. It was some kind of strange mirage, maybe part of the vision still lingering inside of me. And yet there were hoof prints up and down the street, marking the clean snow and covering Tom’s body, as though horses had run across him.
Spooked, I ran into the house and woke Gramps. I was surprised to find him sleeping in his bedroom. I hadn’t seen him use it in ten years. Usually he slept on the recliner in the living room, across from the TV. Who knew he’d make appropriate changes for our guest?
“What do you mean there’s a man in the road?” He stuffed his legs into worn pants and shoved his sockless feet into boots. “Why were you in the road, Dae?”
“It’s snowing.” I fought to find an explanation. “I went out to see the snow.”
He eyed me critically. “You’re a little old to run out in the middle of the night to look at the snow.”
“Maybe. But you’re missing the point.”
He put on his fishing hat and jacket. “Which is the man in the road. I get it. Do you know who it is?”
“It’s Tom Watts. I think he’s dead. We have to move him so no one hits him. I couldn’t do it by myself.”
“Well, of course not,” he complained. “Let’s go.”
He brought a flashlight, and I retraced my steps into the street. There were still no tire tracks, only hoof prints, visible in the snow. The hoof prints extended into the yard, almost up to the porch, and around the side.
“What the hell? There were horses out here?”
“I don’t think they were real horses.” I told him what had happened.
“Whatever they were, they left physical evidence. Go back and get your phone. Take some pictures before this snow is gone. We won’t be able to see the hoof prints after that. You’ll need to take some pictures of Tom too—just in case we need them.”
I ran inside to do as he said, leaving him to check Tom. I came back out with my phone. Gramps was setting up old wood sawhorses as roadblocks. I knew then that I was right about Tom.
Swallowing hard, I took dozens of pictures of Tom lying still and lifeless on the road. I took even more pictures of hoof prints. The hoof prints not only extended up into our driveway but into our neighbor’s drive and yard too. I’d never seen anything like it. The wild horses had never come this far into town.
Gramps lit flares that sparkled red in the darkness to alert anyone coming this way. Both sides of Duck Road were blocked from traffic. “You were right,” he said. “Tom’s dead. Looks like he took a bad blow to the head.”
“I noticed that.”
“He’s covered in hoof prints too. I think one of those may have been what caused the fatal blow to his head. Did you get pictures of it, Dae?”
“Yes. But I don’t see how it’s possible. I was standing in the middle of the road when the horses stampeded by. There weren’t any real horses.”
“Maybe not that time.” He took out his cell phone. “But that man is dead and the horses that don’t exist left their calling card.”
“Maybe it’s the demon horses I saw in the vision.”
“Shh. I don’t want to think about it. Let me get with Ronnie and Tuck. We can talk about it like normal people.”
It kind of hurt my feelings when he said that. I understood what he meant—it was one thing for me to hold his hand and tell him where he’d dropped h
is wallet. It was another to tell him that demon horses from the excavation in Corolla were running up and down Duck Road, possibly killing Tom.
“I’m sorry, honey.” He squeezed my hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. You know I didn’t mean it that way. I’d just like this to be something the police can take care of without your help. You’ve been through enough recently.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
Gramps went to find a tarp he could use to cover Tom. I went inside to get dressed and found Mary Catherine. She was waiting by the door with Baylor.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I found a dead man on the road.”
“I assume that’s not a normal thing.”
“No. I have to get dressed. We’re about to have a house full of law enforcement. I’d rather not be here talking to them in my robe.”
“Dae?” She stopped me. “Does this have anything to do with the horses? Baylor and I felt something . . . unusual. I can’t describe it, but the local animals were terrified. I think you’ll find many of them have run off. They don’t want to be here.”
In a hushed tone, I told her what I’d experienced. “I don’t know what to make of it. It felt like there were horses, but none were there—at least none that I could see.”
She put her hand on my arm. “I think you do know. Don’t be afraid to be certain of your gift. I know sometimes other people don’t understand, but it’s important for you to take hold of it. Make it your own.”
“Thanks.” I heard the distant sound of a siren coming our way. “I have to get dressed.”
“I’m going to hide upstairs. There aren’t many animals I dislike, but sheriffs, police chiefs, and officers make me nervous. Excuse me.”
I watched her go into my mother’s old room before I disappeared into mine. I quickly pulled on jeans and a red Duck Jazz Festival sweatshirt. I ran a comb through my hair and shoved my feet into boots.
It had been a strange and terrible night. I wanted to be prepared in case anything else came my way.
Chapter Six
Treasure didn’t move from the bed as I dressed. He didn’t even lift his head to see what I was doing. I closed the bedroom door and went downstairs, taking out the large coffee urn that we always kept around for these times.
I could remember dozens of these nights as a child, and as an adult. Sheriff Tuck Riley sitting around the old wood table in the kitchen drinking coffee and eating any pastry we had on hand. Duck Police Chief Ronnie Michaels would be there too, shaking a donut at Sheriff Riley and reminding him whose jurisdiction they were working in.
That was going to be a problem in this case. The crime happened in Duck, although Tom Watts lived in Corolla. That was another town and another county. I knew Sheriff Riley would jump on the chance to take the case. Our police chief would have to participate. But it seemed fair for the new Corolla police chief to take part in it too.
I cut up what was left of the strudel Gramps had made yesterday and put it on small plates so it would go further. There were some day-old cookies from the grocery store that I put on a plate. No one would care that they were stale. While they discussed a case, they’d eat anything and drink gallons of coffee.
Several other sirens got closer. I was glad Gramps had blocked off Duck Road to protect the crime scene.
Tuck Riley got there first. He had to come all the way from Manteo and should’ve been the last person there. He tipped his flat-brimmed hat to me as he came in the kitchen. His brown uniform was clean and pressed as always, but there was something slightly askew about his overall appearance. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was the button in the wrong hole or the collar not quite pressed down flat.
“I guess this is good morning, huh?” He poured himself a cup of coffee.
“For us,” I replied. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I was out and about when I got the call.” He cleared his throat and glanced away, pretending to take a sudden interest in the pastry. “Is this strudel homemade?”
Sheriff Riley never asked questions like that. It was easy to tell he was up to something. But what?
I continued my assessment of his appearance. His dark brown hair wasn’t perfectly combed and in place like always. His brown eyes flitted restlessly instead of his usual inquisitive stare.
“Yeah, I made the strudel yesterday.” Gramps came out of his room and down the stairs. He’d changed clothes into dry cargo pants and a blue flannel shirt. “Sorry to drag you out so early. You made good time getting here. You must’ve flown.”
Sheriff Riley’s face turned red. I couldn’t believe it. He was embarrassed about something!
“Good coffee, Dae,” he finally gruffly muttered. “Now, what the hell happened out there on the road?”
Gramps filled him in as he poured a cup of coffee and winked at me to say thanks for making it. “I don’t know where Chief Michaels is. It seems like he should’ve been here first. I did what I could to preserve the crime scene and protect Tom Watt from getting hit by a car.”
“Don’t you mean another car?” Sheriff Riley asked. “Looks like one of your partygoers from the mayor’s celebration last night had too much to drink and mowed him down. Hit and run. You have another theory?”
“Nope. Not right now. You can’t even see the crime scene clearly yet. Let’s wait until it gets light.”
“What about that gash on his head?” I asked.
“I suppose you found him.” Sheriff Riley showed his even white teeth in a sardonic smile. “Leave it to Dae. What were you doing out on the street at that time of night?”
“I went out to look at the snow.”
“Of course you did.” He nodded and shrugged at Gramps. “What else?”
There was a knock at the door. I went to answer, hoping it was Chief Michaels. They’d probably only want me to write a statement about what happened. They could share it.
But it was the new Corolla police chief, Heidi Palo. I’d only met her once before. There was a meeting of several mayors from local towns in Corolla a few months back. She’d been the deputy police chief then. With the arrest of her boss on murder charges, she’d stepped in to take his job.
“Hello.” She coughed and tugged at her gray uniform. “Is this where everyone is meeting to discuss what happened to Tom Watts?”
“Yes. Come in.”
“Heidi! Let me get you some coffee,” Gramps said. “This is my granddaughter, the mayor of Duck, Dae O’Donnell. I suppose you know Sheriff Riley. We’re waiting on the EMS people and Chief Michaels. Come on in and warm up.”
Heidi Palo was at least six-feet tall, very blond, with startling blue eyes and high cheek bones. She was about my age, mid-thirties, and handsome, not pretty. “Hello, Mr. O’Donnell. You used to be the county sheriff. It’s nice to see you again.”
I shook her hand and gave her my big mayor’s smile. “It’s a bad night to be out. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
She took my hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am. I’ve seen you around, just haven’t had the opportunity to introduce myself. I’m sorry it has to be during this circumstance.”
“Please call me Dae. We aren’t too formal around here.”
“Thank you. I hope you’ll call me Heidi.”
As I grabbed a mug of coffee that Gramps had poured, I caught a sneaky, sidelong glance between her and Tuck Riley. His face turned red again, and he quickly looked away.
So that’s how it is.
“You must’ve been monitoring your police scanner, Chief Palo,” Sheriff Riley said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have known about this since it’s not in your county, right?”
She nodded quickly. “Uh-that’s right, sir. I picked up the message on the scanner. I came right down when I heard one of my people was involved.”
Gramps scratched his head. “I don’t remember saying who was involved when I called it in.”
Chief Palo faltered—her expression stricken.
“Oh, it must have been my call that you picked up on.” I stood close to her. “I called the Corolla police. I thought they should be involved.”
Sheriff Riley brought his hand down hard on the wood table, one of his funny habits. “I understand this happened right outside your door, Mayor, but you had no right to call in someone outside this jurisdiction.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged.
“Thank you, Dae.” Chief Palo gave Sheriff Riley an angry glance. “I appreciate you thinking about me.”
I almost laughed out loud. Sheriff Riley had been alone for a while after his wife had divorced him. Heidi Palo was much younger, but I could see where the two of them could be good together. They just needed to acknowledge their relationship before everyone else noticed it. Either way it would be fodder for the small town grapevine that ran up and down the highway.
“Whatever.” Sheriff Riley took a big swig of coffee. “Where’s Ronnie? How long does it take to get here from his house? He must be driving a golf cart.”
Chief Michaels came in with a blast of cold air still filled with snowflakes. “Sorry I’m late. It’s been the weirdest night.”
“Weirder than having a dead man in the middle of Duck Road?” Sheriff Riley asked with his usual sarcastic tone.
“As a matter of fact—” Chief Michaels took off his heavy coat. He was shorter than Tuck Riley and older, in his sixties. He and Gramps had been deputy sheriffs together.
Ronnie Michaels reminded me of a drill sergeant with his curt tone and immaculate uniform. His patent leather shoes were always shiny. “We’ve been run ragged by phone calls about horses running through the streets and trampling people’s yards. Ever hear of such a thing?”
Gramps glanced at me. He buried his words in a stale cookie.
But it had to be said. They were going to see the hoof prints anyway. “When I was on the street, I heard horses run by me. It was more like a stampede, with hundreds of horses.”
