Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries)

by Laura Crum

  I sighed. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that I'm not sure these accidents you're telling me about add up to a stalker."

  "Well, one thing I can prove."

  "What's that?"

  "That horse you had to put down today, the stalker killed him." Lisa stood up out of her chair and fumbled in the back pocket of her jeans.

  "What do you mean?" I asked her.

  Lisa dug the thing she was looking for out of her pocket and flung it on the table. "Look at that," she said.

  FIVE

  It was a piece of cardboard, folded up. I picked it up and unfolded it. Some sand fell out on the table. A piece of cardboard about a foot square, that was it.

  "I don't get it," I said.

  "I found this in the arena," Lisa said. "Right about where Streak stumbled. I found something else, too. A hole. A pretty deep hole. I'm sure somebody dug it."

  I poked at the piece of cardboard with my finger. It had been cut on two sides with what might have been scissors. The other two sides were neat and straight, machine-finished. It looked like it might once have been part of a cardboard box.

  "Explain, Lisa. What do you think happened?"

  "I think someone dug that hole, dug it deep, right down into the clay. The sand layer's only about six inches deep, you know."

  I knew. I'd heard Glen talk about how he built the arena often enough. The natural soil here was heavy black clay, what the locals called dobe mud. It had taken many trucks' worth of sand to create a suitable surface to rope on.

  "So, anyway," Lisa went on, "here's this hole, about eight inches in diameter, going down into the clay a foot or so. I think once it was dug, the person put this piece of cardboard over the top and then covered it up with sand. No way anyone could spot it. The hole was right in the path of the head horses coming out of the box. It was only a matter of time until one of them stepped in it."

  A million objections jumped into my mind. I started with the first one: "How do you know this piece of cardboard and the hole have anything to do with each other?"

  "I saw it fly up when Streak stumbled. Like a dirt clod, only it didn't look right."

  We both stared at the piece of cardboard. It was dirt-colored, all right. But it was square and would glide rather than hurtle as a dirt clod would if thrown. I could see that Lisa might have spotted it.

  Lisa went on. "I'm already paranoid about accidents. I wondered what in the hell it was and went over to pick it up. It seemed strange. Then I was just scuffing around with my boots to see if there was anything that might trip a horse and I felt the ground give under my foot in this one spot. The sand had caved into it some, but the hole was still there. I cleared it out and looked at it."

  "Then what did you do?"

  "I filled the hole up with sand and stomped it down so it was solid. "

  "That's it? You didn't tell Glen?"

  Lisa shook her head miserably. "No. I didn't know what to do. Dad and Tim are both so upset with me. Tim's pissed off; he says I'm crazy, but Dad is worried, I think. He just doesn't want to believe it's true. I didn't want to tell them. But I was afraid there might be more holes."

  "Is that what happened to Pistol?" I was aghast.

  "I don't think so. I didn't find a hole, or any cardboard. I think he just took a bad step."

  "So that's what you were looking for in the dirt?"

  "Uh-huh. And when old Susan Slater started in on stopping the roping, I took my chance and begged Dad to go along with it."

  "What'd you tell him?"

  "That I was afraid more accidents might happen and I'd explain later. Dad trusts me, you know, at heart. And Susan was getting ready to make a big stink. Said she was going to lie down in the arena and we'd have to rope over her. Dad just gave up. He's pretty unhappy about it, though. Tim went off the deep end."

  Lisa got up and picked up her beer. "Come sit out on the porch," she said. "It's cooler out there. This house doesn't have any air-conditioning."

  I'd been noticing this. I followed Lisa out the back door, and the dogs came trotting behind us. The back porch was shady, with a view of the cottonwood trees and the creek. A pleasant breeze blew across it. I settled myself into a solid wooden rocker with a sigh of relief.

  A big orange cat jumped into my lap. I looked down at him, startled, and the cat looked up at me, his large yellow-green eyes unworried, and gave a small meow. "Pet me," he said clearly.

  "Dammit, Zip." Lisa glanced at me apologetically. "Push him out of your lap if you don't want him there. He likes visitors."

  "He can stay." I stroked the cat's wide orange-striped forehead. He had a big, heavy head, like an old tom. He sniffed my fingers delicately, then butted his head against my hand and purred.

  "Zip?" I queried.

  "Zipper. When he was a kitten, he just zipped around everywhere he went, full blast. He's old and fat now."

  "He's a tom?"

  "No, he's neutered. His dad was a huge old tabby tom I had, and I guess Zip got a lot of his genes."

  The big cat rubbed his head on me some more, then nipped my arm lightly. "You do that again, buddy, and you're on the ground," I warned him.

  Lisa shook her head. "He likes to bite. He never bites hard, though."

  "Great." I ignored the cat and after a minute he settled into my lap purposefully and began purring. I took a sip of beer. The breeze fanned me, flickering green and silver in the cottonwood leaves. I could hear a faint sound of running water from the creek.

  "Just what is it you want me to do?" I asked Lisa.

  "Find out who's behind all this, I guess."

  "Why me?"

  "I don't know who else to ask. Dad and Tim won't help, and I'm not getting anywhere. I've been gone a long time-almost ten years. I don't have a lot of friends here anymore."

  "How about the cops or a private detective?"

  "Dad would kill me. I did suggest it, and he swore if I did anything like that he'd boot me off the ranch. I believe him, too. He said it was one thing for me to be worrying about this foolishness and another thing altogether to make him the laughingstock of the neighborhood."

  "Hmm." Glen had a point. People would talk. You couldn't keep anything a secret in a little place like Lone Oak.

  "Besides," Lisa went on, "you're a vet and a vet is a doctor, and in the old days people turned to their doctor for advice on everything. Family squabbles, murders, you name it."

  "Hmm," I said again. "I hope you don't think this is going to turn into a murder. Because if you do, we should report it to the police right away, no matter what Glen says."

  "I don't know what I think." Lisa sounded confused. "I just know I'm afraid."

  "All right," I said, "tell me if I've got this right. You think someone is setting up these 'accidents' for the purpose of harassing Glen. Some of them are nuisance things, but some of them are dangerous. And," I went on, "this person doesn't care if other people are injured along the way. Or animals. This person appears willing for Glen's tractor to kill him. Or Tim," I added. "And they couldn't possibly know which horse would step in that hole, who might be injured or killed."

  "They knew it would be a head horse," Lisa pointed out. "And Dad heads."

  "So do a lot of other people. Anyway, your point is the stalker is setting up all these bizarre, dangerous accidents to get at Glen. So who has a motive to do that?"

  "I don't know." But Lisa looked down at her boots as she said it.

  "Come on, Lisa; what do you think? I can't help you if you won't tell me what you know."

  "I don't know what to think. I keep telling you."

  "But something's on your mind. So what is it?"

  Lisa scuffed the porch with the toe of her boot. "Susan Slater lives in Lone Oak now. In that house with the tin roof just across from the bar. She moved here right about when I did, six months ago. And that's when the accidents started to happen."

  "You don't think Susan did all these things?"

  "I told you. I don't kno
w what to think. But Susan's been a royal pain in the ass. She pickets every time we have a roping, and she's always up here complaining about something we're doing. Using hotshots on the cattle or pesticides on the hay field or whatever. It seems like she's up here every day. She could have done it. She lives not a mile from here. And it's the sort of thing she might do."

  I thought about it. It seemed bizarre to me. But then, bizarre was a word you might apply to Susan. "It just doesn't seem like enough of a motive," I said.

  Lisa was quiet. She stroked the red dog's muzzle, where it lay in her lap.

  "Come on, Lisa; give," I said. "What bothering you, really?"

  More silence. Lisa finally met my eyes. "I'm afraid it's Sonny."

  "Your ex-husband? Sonny Santos?"

  "Yeah, him." Lisa's voice was grim.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?" This was obviously a tricky subject.

  "Well, actually, I never want to think about the son of a bitch again, much less see him or mention his name, but I guess I have to."

  "It was a nasty divorce then?"

  "As nasty as it gets. The only good part is we were flat broke, so there wasn't anything to split up."

  "So what happened?"

  "The usual. Did you ever meet Sonny?"

  I shook my head no.

  "Well, he was and is damn good-looking, and when I met him he was the world's champion team roper, and he was rich and charming and everything a girl could ask for. I fell for him like a ton of bricks. He could have had any little wanna-be barrel racer in the whole country and he picked me. Lucky me.

  "Dad never liked him, but I went ahead and married him and we moved to Arizona, where Sonny was going to train rope horses and we were going to be rich and live happily ever after." Lisa was hurrying now, wanting to get the story over with. "He started running around on me right from day one, almost, and I figured it out pretty quick, but I just kept putting up with it; I don't know why. I'm stubborn. I don't quit easily, and I hate to admit I've made a mistake. I was determined to make a go of it with Sonny. But it just got worse and worse.

  "He spent all our money, we were always broke, and he always had a girlfriend. We fought all the time, and pretty soon he started to hit me."

  "He hit you?" This was hard to believe. Lisa Bennett had allowed some dumb team roper to hit her?

  "I know. How could I have put up with that? I don't know how, but I did. By then I was threatening to leave him if he didn't clean up his act, and Sonny didn't go for that. It was all right for him to run around on me, but it wasn't all right for me to leave him. As far as he was concerned, I was his property; he owned me.

  "Finally, I had enough. I left one night when he was off with some seventeen-year-old. Just took the dogs and cat and left. I didn't dare take any of the horses; he would have killed me for that. I drove straight from Arizona to here and told Dad I needed help."

  "What happened?" Though I could guess.

  "He came after me. Came to get me back. Dad refused to let him see me. I was living in the big house while we remodeled this place. Sonny showed up one night, and Dad ran him off at gunpoint. It was ugly. I heard every word from where I was standing in the garage. Sonny swore he would make Dad pay."

  "So you think Sonny's behind all this?"

  "I don't know. I'm afraid, though. I've heard Sonny lives around here now. Tim's seen him occasionally."

  "Have you?"

  Lisa looked at me with bleak, miserable eyes. "No. But I don't leave the ranch much. Lone Oak is as far as I'll go. I'm afraid Sonny will kidnap me, I guess. And now I'm afraid here, too. I'm afraid all the time, Gail."

  SIX

  I was digesting this when both dogs leaped up from the porch and ran around the house, trailing shrill, excited barks behind them. Lisa got up and followed, yelling, "Joey, Rita, get back here!" I followed the commotion.

  A white pickup was parked by Lisa's front gate, and Glen and Tim were walking toward us. The dogs broiled around them, yapping furiously.

  "Joey, Rita, shut up!" Lisa shouted.

  No response from the dogs. They kept barking and feinting, nipping at convenient heels. Lisa picked a boot off her front porch where it sat by the door and flung it at the tangle of dogs. She scored a direct hit on the blue one. He yipped and slunk over to her, looking guilty. Without support, the red dog yielded to another yell of, "Hush!"

  "They don't like men." Lisa sighed. "I'm sure you can guess why. They know that's Dad's pickup and they shouldn't bark at him, but they do it anyway."

  "Queenslands are like that," I said.

  "But I feel safe with them, you know." Lisa smiled.

  Glen and Tim had made it to the front porch by now, and Lisa ushered them into the house. The big orange cat wove in and out between them, greeting the newcomers. The Queenslands ignored the cat, except when they thought no one was looking and aimed quick, soft snaps in his direction.

  Glen paid no attention to Lisa's menagerie, wading through them to sit down at the table and take the beer Lisa gave him. Tim cussed the dogs and cats impartially as he walked into the kitchen. "Worthless no-good sons of bitches."

  "You always were a dog hater," Lisa shot at him.

  "For God's sake, Lisa, every dog you own wants to bite me." Tim took the beer Lisa handed him and sat down at the table.

  Lisa gestured gently at one of the two empty chairs, and I sat down, too. Lisa took the last chair. We were gathered.

  "So, what's the problem?" Glen's face was drawn tight, fine lines of tension around his eyes. He looked old and tired, I thought. It was not something I was used to thinking of Glen.

  Lisa produced the piece of cardboard and began the story; I hardly listened. I was watching Glen as circumspectly as I could, thinking about what he'd meant to me over the years, trying to sort out my feelings.

  I didn't want to think of Glen as old and tired, I realized. He represented something that I was loath to let go of completely-a childhood memory of a time when I could safely look up to the adults around me, counting on them for help and guidance. That time was long past, but Glen remained, a remnant of my youth. I'd invested him with heroic properties, and I wasn't about to allow him to assume the guise of a mere mortal.

  Lisa finished her story, "Now you can't say that was an accident."

  Glen didn't say anything.

  Tim looked up from his beer. "You're being stupid, Lisa."

  Lisa flashed at him, snapping like one of her dogs, "Well, how the hell do you think it happened, then?"

  Tim shrugged. "I don't know. But what in the world would be the point of somebody doing that on purpose? They couldn't possibly know which horse would step in that hole."

  Lisa fired right back at him. "They knew whatever happened, it would happen in Dad's arena. Somebody is trying to get at Dad."

  Tim shook his head at her. "It still doesn't make sense, Lisa. If someone wants to get at Dad bad enough to risk killing somebody, why don't they take potshots at Dad himself? These things that happened are accidents; they don't fit a pattern. There isn't any motive that would explain them."

  Glen spoke for the first time. "The hole Lisa saw wasn't dug by accident."

  Tim gave him an easy look, almost indifferent. "Kids," he said, "fooling around. Trying to cause trouble."

  Glen shrugged.

  Lisa bristled. "Tim, that's ridiculous. Nobody, not even a kid as dumb as you were, could be stupid enough to do that and think it was just fun and games."

  Tim grinned at her. Glen looked at me. "So what do you think, Gail?"

  The ball was in my court. I cleared my throat. "I don't know, Glen. It does seem a little odd to me. Lisa's been telling me about it. I guess I'd have to say that I reserve judgment until I've got a few more facts."

  Weak, weak, I told myself. But the natural outcome of my veterinary training. We veterinarians, like doctors, are loath to stick our necks out there on a long shot. Instead we run a few more tests, gather our facts.

  Glen finish
ed his beer in a long swallow and met my eyes. "Will you keep this to yourself?" he asked.

  "Of course," I answered without thinking.

  "Thank you." He stood up.

  "Do you want to go down to the Saddlerack?" Lisa asked him. "I'm taking Gail out."

  "No thanks," Glen said. "I need to get home." Glen's eyes were empty. What he was thinking God only knew.

  "I'll go with you." Tim grinned at his sister.

  Lisa gave him a dirty look, but it was too late. Glen turned and headed toward the door while Tim cocked his chair back a little more comfortably. "You might need some protection," he told Lisa.

  I tried to decide if he was serious or not. It was hard to tell. Tim said everything, or almost everything, in a lazy, amused drawl. His brown eyes stayed sleepy and quiet. It was, I had to admit, a sexy expression. Tim looked as though he was thinking of rolling into the sack any moment.

  Lisa sighed. "I'm going to change my shirt," she said. "I'm filthy." She disappeared into the back of her house.

  Tim and I sat at her table and looked at each other. I'd known Tim ever since high school, too. He was some four or five years younger than I, the same age as my longtime friend Bret Boncantini. Bret and Tim had been buddies, which had created a bond, fragile but tenuous, between me and Tim.

  "So, how's Bret doing?" he asked me.

  "OK, I guess; I haven't heard from him in a while. I guess you know Deb's pregnant?"

  "Yeah, I heard." Tim and I raised our eyebrows at each other in mutual amazement. To those who had known Bret's irreverent, irresponsible lifestyle, his announced decision a year ago to marry his off-again, on-again girlfriend, Deb, and retire to the Sierra Nevada foothills to raise cattle and children had come as something of a shock. Nobody had believed he meant it. Apparently, though, we were wrong.