“How do I know you’re not the killer?’’ He pointed at me. “You made no secret of how much you hated all our ‘Hollywood crap.’ Maybe you wanted to sabotage the movie so we’d shut it down and just go away.’’
“Now you’re the psycho,’’ I said. “I don’t do the murders, I find the murderers. I’ve gotten kind of famous for it, actually.’’
“Really? Then how come you haven’t found this one?’’
I didn’t want to say, ‘Because my boyfriend dumped me, and I’ve been feeling really bad,’ so I just kept my mouth shut.
Tilton rested a hand on the big horse’s withers. “Well, we’ll all be out of your hair after today. You can have your heat and humidity, your mosquitoes and pounding rainstorms all to yourself again. God, I can’t wait to get back to LA.’’
Like a curtain descending, an awkward silence fell over us.
“I’m …’’ I finally blurted out.
“… Sorry,’’ he said at the same time, averting his eyes from mine. “I misread you again, and I’m sorry. I really do want to change, Mace. I just can’t seem to do it.’’
Studying his face, I saw some tiny dots of blood at the bridge of his nose where the comb broke the skin.
“I think you can change, if you want it bad enough. Get yourself some help,’’ I said. “Listen, I apologize for smacking you. The murder and all on this movie set has me as skittish as a weanling filly.’’
“Forget it. I was out of line. Again.’’ He gently touched his nose and winced. “I better get some ice on this.’’
I reached across the Percheron. Tilton jumped back. “Jeez, I wasn’t going to hit you,’’ I said. “I just wanted to shake hands and tell you goodbye.’’
“You mean good riddance, don’t you?’’
He offered his hand and a tiny smirk. We shook.
“See you in the movies,’’ I said.
Thunder growled, an angry rumble in the distance. The sky to the south was a sheet of black, a sure sign a storm was brewing over Lake Okeechobee. I climbed to the top rail of the horse corral, rotated my phone, and checked the signal. I wanted to call my tardy sisters, but I still couldn’t get anything. The movie carpenters had built the corrals at the lowest point in the pasture. If these had been real Florida cowmen, instead of a cast of Hollywood actors, they would have had to wade through standing water three months of the year to get to their stock.
There was still work to do with the horses. After my encounter with Tilton, though, I was too wound up, not to mention embarrassed, to enjoy the easy rhythm I had before. All I wanted now was to finish up, see my sisters arrive, and get the animals loaded and on their way. If the storm broke first, the movie company would just have to pay the rental fee to keep the horses another night. I wasn’t about to try to get storm-spooked creatures onto metal trailers as lightning flashed across a wide-open field.
Florida is the most dangerous spot in the country for lightning strikes. I didn’t feel like tempting fate; not with the way my luck had been running. I was about to review in my mind all the things I felt bad about—Carlos being at the top of that list—when the slam of a car door put a stop to my self-pity parade.
That had to be my sisters. Finally! A cheerful whistle pierced the muggy air. Neither of my sisters is a whistler.
Squinting across the pasture, I saw Savannah lean in to retrieve something from the back seat of a small SUV. That door slammed, too. She strolled the short distance toward me, holding a beribboned gift bag in one hand. Her bobbed hair swung with each step. A straw sunhat was pushed off her head, no longer needed in the fading afternoon light. It bounced against her back as she closed in on the corral.
There was one more reason I liked Savannah: Instead of mincing her way around cow chips and horse patties in girly-girl footwear, she strode confidently over the rough ground. Her feet were clad in well worn, ranch-style work boots.
“Hey you!’’ she shouted. “Need some help?’’
“Do I ever!’’ I called back. “C’mon in and grab a horse.’’
I quickly outlined for Savannah what needed to be done. We immediately set to work in the dwindling daylight. She didn’t waste a motion. When she went to the trailer to get horse feed, she came back with halters slung over one shoulder, lead ropes coiled in the crook of an arm.
“I can tell you’ve done this kind of work a time or two,’’ I said.
She began filling twenty-quart buckets with feed, big enough for the horses to poke in their heads and eat when the buckets are hung on the fence. “Yep, we’ve got a dozen horses on the Jackson ranch,’’ she said. “I love to ride, and I’ve never been afraid of hard work.’’
Within fifteen minutes, we were in pretty good shape. The small herd was groomed, tied at the corral, and munching away happily at a late afternoon supper. Savannah had been a godsend.
“Hey, would you mind if we saddle up one of the horses for me to get in a quick ride before the light goes? I’ve got a long drive ahead of me, and I could really use some exercise first.’’
I glanced at the sky. “Looks like it’s going to storm.’’
She looked up, too. “Nah, it should hold off long enough for a quick ride. Besides, these are Florida horses, right? I know they’re used to the rain!’’
What could I say? I didn’t really want to drag the saddle and tack out of the trailer again. But the woman had helped me out. Not to mention, her director husband was the “king’’ on the movie set, and I was still looking for a paycheck.
“Sure thing,’’ I said, and went to get the gear for the even-tempered Appaloosa.
In no time, the horse was ready. More relaxed now, I leaned against the fence and took a look around. Across the way, Jeb’s cattle were herded together in a corner of their pen. No sign of him, and still no sign of my sisters. I was sure Maddie and Marty had tried to call, but couldn’t get through. I scanned the sky. Savannah may have been right. The clouds seemed to be stalled over the lake. I noticed the colorful gift bag she’d brought, sitting on a fender of one of the horse trailers.
“What’s in the sack?’’ I asked.
She grinned. “Just a few little things for you and your mama; sweets, mainly. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. You’re good people, Mace.’’
“The feeling’s mutual,’’ I said.
“We’re going to have so much fun when you come out to Jackson to visit. You have to bring your mama, too. She is something!’’
“Yeah, something or other,’’ I said dryly.
“Speaking of somebody who’s a something or other … I saw Greg hightailing it away from here as I was driving in. Was he giving you trouble again?’’
I thought about telling Savannah what happened, how I’d accused Greg Tilton of being the murderer. The story made me look like an idiot, though, so I decided against it.
“Nah,’’ I said. “Tilton was fine. I think he just wanted to come say goodbye to the horses. I’m glad I got the chance to say goodbye to you, though. Weren’t you all packed up and supposed to leave this morning?’’
“I had to stick around and help Paul with some business problems.’’ She hesitated for a moment, seemed to be weighing whether to tell me more. “Anyway,’’ she said, “I’ll be on the road real soon.’’
“Back to Jacksonville?’’
“Jacksonville?’’ She cocked her head, puzzled. “There’s nothing for me in Jacksonville. I’ve got a flight from Orlando tonight, connecting through Denver to Wyoming.’’
“Who looks after your cattle for you?’’
A strange look played across Savannah’s face. Then she slapped a hand against her forehead, as dramatic as an actress in community theater. “Cattle!’’ She glanced toward Jeb’s herd, penned across the pasture. “Is that cowboy of yours around?’’
“Haven’t seen him all day. And he’s not my cowboy.’’
“Whatever. I came over here earlier, looking for you. I noticed one of his heifers has a bad open
sore on a hind leg. It looks like she might have gotten tangled up in some fencing. I wanted to make sure Jed knew about it, before an infection sets in.’’
“Jeb,’’ I corrected her.
“Right,’’ Savannah nodded. “Want to take a look-see, make sure the poor gal hasn’t gotten any worse?’’
At the cow pen, coiled ropes still hung from several of the cypress-wood fence posts, along with an old-fashioned leather cow whip. A replica of a McClellan saddle straddled the fence’s top rail. At least the moviemakers got that detail right: The military saddle was popular with Florida cowmen after the Civil War. A shiny new shovel, which Jeb’s ranch hand probably used to dig a trench to drain off rain water, was a jarring modern touch next to the old-timey whip and saddle.
I clambered onto the fence and peered over the top at the cows. They moved, of course, trotting away from us to the far side of the enclosure. “Which one is it now?” I asked Savannah.
She peered between the lower railings, trying to get a look at their legs.
“I’m not sure,’’ she said. “The light’s really getting dim. And they’re mostly black, so the blood doesn’t show up well. I need to get a little closer.’’
I climbed off the fence and unwound the rusty gate chain the movie people had insisted upon. I opened just one side, in case any of the cows had a mind to make a break for freedom. I motioned to Savannah to step through. She did, and then pointed across the pen. “I think it’s that one. I remember her ears were kind of droopy.’’
I closed the gate. Even though I moved slowly, calmly, toward the cattle, they still scattered this way and that. Luckily, Droopy Ears headed in my direction. I leaned down low to try to get a glimpse of her hindquarters as she darted past. I didn’t see anything. I wanted to check her out on the opposite side, though. I walked toward her, trying to shift my position to be in the right spot when she ran past me again.
We repeated our dance a couple more times. I’d advance; she’d retreat.
I finally stood still and watched her, waiting to see which route she’d pick. The heifer stared me down, taking her time. While I waited, I happened to glance out across the pasture. Still looking for my sisters, I guess. The wind had picked up a bit, blowing from the south. Now, it seemed likely those storm clouds would be on their way.
Low in the sky, the sun spread out last rays like feeble fingers. They reflected off the windshield of Savannah’s vehicle. Her white vehicle. Suddenly, an image popped into my head of Savannah coming across the pasture, her oversized straw hat bouncing against her back. Almost instantaneously, I recalled Toby’s voice, as clear as if he were sitting right in front of me again, describing his near-miss with the car in the parking lot:
Big hat. Sun glinting off the windshield. I couldn’t tell who was behind the wheel …
That thought was the last one I had before something hard and solid smacked me in the back of the head. Then the whole world went dark.
My legs wouldn’t move. As I returned to consciousness, fear registered. What was wrong with my legs?
Other impressions came to me in disjointed pieces. Something tight cut into the flesh near my feet and hands. I smelled hay and manure and imminent rain. Gritty sand lodged in the crevices of my teeth. A calf bleated.
Slowly, I realized I was lying on my side, hogtied; wrists to ankles. I tried to lift my head, and felt a searing pain arrow up from where I’d been hit. My cheek in the dirt, I looked out over the ground. I could see the shovel twenty feet away, blade side up. Ranch boots moved toward me, splashing through mud and manure. Savannah’s boots. They stopped, right next to my nose. They smelled of wet leather and cow dung.
“You awake?’’
I closed my eyes and lay there, holding my breath. I tried not to move a muscle, even as my mind raced to figure out how I’d gotten in this jam.
Savannah prodded me with the toe of her boot, jabbing it into my shoulder.
“Your head’s probably hurting pretty bad right now.’’ She stooped down, put her face close to mine. I could smell her breath, disconcertingly sweet, like milk chocolate and pralines. “The first hit stunned you, but I had to whack you a couple more times with the shovel before you went down. Won’t matter. Those bruises will just blend into all the others after the cattle stampede.’’
I squeezed my eyes shut. If this was a nightmare, I really, really wished I would wake up. Maybe I’d find myself in my bed beside Carlos. Maybe the last week—the movie shoot, our breakup, all of it—would turn out to be a dream. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I saw the curve of Savannah’s cheek; the swing of her chestnut-colored hair. She gave me a friendly smile. Her eyes looked crazy.
Crap.
I looked across the ground. The tip of that leather cow whip that had been on the fence now trailed in the dirt by Savannah’s boot. I could see the legs and hooves of the cows, all gathered together in a corner of the corral. I scooted backwards, trying to get away from Savannah. The ropes restricted my movement, but I could go no farther anyway. The rough wood of the fence came up hard and unyielding behind me. Scrabbling my fingers out over the dirt, I felt the tail end of the rusty chain that secured the gate.
Double crap. I was on the ground, outside the gate—right between the penned-up cattle and greener pastures.
I strained against the ropes, even while knowing they’d just pull tighter if I struggled. They did. I lay still again.
“Why?’’ The word came out in a hoarse whisper. I wasn’t even sure she heard me.
She sat down in the dirt, the whip curling across her lap. “Because you wouldn’t leave it alone, Mace. You would have kept wondering and asking questions. Sooner or later, the answers would have led you to me.’’
I remembered the flash of images that played in my mind right before she hit me. Savannah’s hat. The slant of sunlight. Her white SUV.
“So the murder … and everything else. That was you?’’
“And Paul. He did what I told him to, used the skills he had, to throw the production into chaos. Like sabotaging that light. We wanted it to blow up. It was a stroke of luck it happened right over your head.’’ She shook a finger in front of my face. “You should have quit right then; taken it as a sign.’’
She leaned down and looked me in the eye. “You know, like in the cartoons? How a light bulb always goes off over the character’s head?’’
She chuckled, like we were having a friendly chat. “Funny, right?’’
“Sorry, I don’t really get the joke,’’ I said. “I think lying, hogtied, in a pile of cow shit might be affecting my sense of humor.’’
I could hear the wind beginning to gust, rattling the fronds on the cabbage palms. The smell of approaching rain was stronger now. The cattle surged nervously around the enclosure. A horse nickered from the corral across the pasture. Was it Rebel, I wondered? Did he somehow sense I was in danger? Of course, even if he did, it wasn’t like Rebel could run and get help like the collie always used to do in those old episodes of Lassie.
The daylight was almost gone. An owl hooted—ominous, considering my circumstances. Didn’t an owl’s call always portend death in those old movie Westerns?
I wanted to keep Savannah talking. Maybe Jeb would finally come to take care of his cattle, or my sisters would show up. They’d arrive in the nick of time to save me, just like in the movies.
“I meant why to all of it, Savannah. Why murder Norman? Why stage all the other ‘accidents’ and near-misses?’’
“So is this that scene in a movie where the villain spills all her secrets?’’
“Indulge me,’’ I said. “It’s the least you can do since you so enjoyed getting to know me. I’m ‘good people.’ Isn’t that what you told me?’’
“Honey, I’m a murderer. Do you really think it bothers me that I’m a liar, too?’’
Suddenly, I thought about lies. Something Savannah said about Jacksonville ran through my brain. “You weren’t in your car on your way to Jacksonville the morn
ing Norman was murdered, were you?’’
She lowered her face next to mine and grinned. Before, that grin had seemed friendly and full of fun. Now, it just looked cruel.
“No, duh, Mace. ‘There’s nothing for me in Jacksonville.’ As soon as that phrase was out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. I forgot I’d made Jacksonville my alibi, and then lied about growing up there. You didn’t catch my screw-up then.’’
“I didn’t,’’ I said.
“Yeah, some detective. Your sorry love life was too distracting. I knew you would catch it, though; and you did.’’
Too late, I thought.
She lifted the whip, waved it to the corners of the cow pen. “I had to think on my feet, come up with a plan. I saw the shovel. The ropes. The cattle. Everything fell into place, really fast.’’
Her face glowed with pride. Did she want me to compliment her on her clever plan to kill me?
I closed my eyes and thought about Carlos. An image of his face replaced Savannah’s, in front of me. Would I ever see him again? Would I see my family? Maybe the cattle wouldn’t kill me. But if those pounding hooves struck over and over at my head, my brain would be so scrambled I probably wouldn’t recognize those I loved. With that kind of head trauma, I may as well be dead.
I strained against the ropes. They seemed to pull tighter. Hair fell into my face, brushing my nose and making me want to sneeze. I wriggled my nose, but the hair didn’t move.
“Don’t struggle, honey. It’ll just make it worse. There is one little bone I can throw you. A parting gift, as it were.’’ She reached down, and almost tenderly pushed away the hair from my itchy nose. “That cop is crazy about you. I could see it in his eyes the other night at the bar. While you were moping over your beer, he was watching you, even when he was dancing with Kelly. Whenever you weren’t looking at him, he was looking at you.’’
I wouldn’t think my heart, already racing with adrenaline, could feel a flutter, but it did. If I ever got out of this, I was going to throw myself into Carlos’s arms and never leave.
Mama Sees Stars: A Mace Bauer Mystery Page 24
