No Way Home

by Annette Dashofy

  Zoe’s mind started clicking. “Still, it does make you wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  Zoe gave Windstar a light tap with her heels, urging him a few steps closer to the crime scene tape. “For starters, how did Scott know his father would be out here alone?”

  “Maybe he followed him. Maybe he’d been watching the house. You know. Waiting for an opportunity. Maybe he saw Dale leave that morning and followed him to the barn.”

  Zoe reined Windstar off the path where the crime scene tape blocked it. Hope and Domino trailed along behind. “Okay. So Scott followed his father to the barn. Then what? Dale had a horse. Scott didn’t.”

  “Scott’s an excellent rider. Maybe he took one of your boarders’ horses.”

  Except all the horses were present and accounted for.

  Including Domino.

  Perhaps Zoe’s unease was nothing but paranoia. “That’s possible.” She picked her way through the saplings, brambles, and grapevines, ducking branches until reaching the trail once more. After making room for Hope, Zoe pulled Windstar up, turning him to face Domino. “One thing I’d really like to know though.” She made a sweep with her arm. “Where was he when he fired the shot?”

  Hope scowled, her gaze following the same arc as Zoe had indicated. “I suppose we may never know. Unless Scott tells us. And I’m willing to bet he’ll never admit to killing his father. I’ve heard most murderers go to their graves insisting they’re innocent.”

  Especially when they are.

  Bodine sobbed into his hands. Pete gave him a minute to regain his composure before asking, “Do you want to tell me what happened? From the beginning.”

  Shoulders slumped, Bodine lowered his hands to his lap and nodded. “I met Hope a couple months ago. Like I said, I wanted to talk to her husband, only he wasn’t available and wasn’t returning my calls.”

  “Except this wasn’t last Sunday.”

  “No. And I was able to bring Hope around to my way of thinking. Although…” Bodine shook his head. “Maybe she was pro drilling the whole time and only let me think I’d swayed her. See, she wanted the money. She and Dale had bought all that property and could have made a tidy little sum—millions maybe—if they’d signed a lease with us. But Dale was staunchly opposed to gas exploration. I think it really pissed her off. But she kept playing along like the dutiful wife.” Bodine slouched even more. “And she played me for a fool. She kept flirting with me and coming on to me. And, well, she’s so damned sexy…”

  “You slept with her.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Bodine lowered his head and breathed a damp sigh. “Yeah. She had me hooked big time all right. Sold my soul to the devil. She kept saying if only Dale were dead. She’d be rich. We’d be rich.” The Texan shook his head. “I should have seen that she wasn’t just talking. But I was blind.”

  He fell silent. Pete waited. When Bodine didn’t continue, Pete acknowledged, “Hope Springfield is a beautiful woman.”

  “That she is,” Bodine drawled wistfully. He met Pete’s gaze, one man to another, and a beaten smile crossed his lips. “That woman had me right where she wanted me. I got this phone call from her last Sunday morning.”

  Pete set his pen to the notebook. “What time?”

  “About nine thirty. Or a few minutes after. She tells me to go over to her place and get her truck and trailer. Tells me where she hides the keys. And tells me to bring them to a spot up on this back road where there’s a graveled lot I should park at.”

  Pete thought about the spot where Allison had waited for him. Where he’d left his SUV a week ago to hike into the woods. “And did you?”

  “Sure I did. I thought I was in love with her. I’d have done anything she asked. Well, maybe.”

  “What time did you arrive at the lot?”

  “Probably a few minutes to ten. Hope was there with two horses. Dale’s Paint and her Appaloosa. She loaded the App onto the trailer and left me holding the Paint. She told me to wait there while she took her horse back to the barn. Said she’d be back for me as soon as she could.”

  “So you stayed there.”

  “With that damned goofy Paint. Yeah. Skittish as all get out.”

  “Did she tell you why she wanted you to do all this?”

  “You mean because she’d killed her husband? Hell no. At least not right at that moment.”

  “And you didn’t wonder?”

  “Of course I wondered. But I told you. I’d have done anything she asked.”

  “Then what?”

  “She came back like she said she would. But she had a rifle with her.”

  Pete looked at him. “What kind of rifle?”

  “Deer rifle. I have to admit, for a minute I thought she was gonna shoot me with it. But she just told me to let go of the horse. Then I thought she was gonna shoot it. Instead, she shot in the air. And the Paint took off.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “Quarter after eleven. I checked my watch.”

  Which explained why Dale had been dead long before his horse had returned to the barn. “When did you find out what was really going on?”

  “When she was driving me to my house, she told me we needed to get our stories straight. That if the cops asked, I should say…well…what I did say. Except she didn’t tell me she’d murdered Dale. Not right then. She said it was an accident, but that it would look bad if the law found out. Especially with us having an affair and all.”

  “And you bought that?”

  Bodine gave a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. No. I wanted to believe it. I had to. But then she came to me and said you cops were looking at Scott as the killer. Told me I should help point you in his direction. Look, I really didn’t know he was Dale’s son at first. I only told you about seeing him with Wesley Johnson because Hope insisted I make him look guilty. For the cops’ sake. Anyhow, then I knew. She was just using me. But I was already in too deep.”

  Pete pocketed his pen and closed the notebook. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you under arrest.”

  “I know,” Bodine said with a defeated grin. “It’s all for the best, I suppose.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I do believe you’re saving my life, putting me in jail. I have no doubt that woman would eventually have murdered me too. She’s as cold blooded as I’ve ever seen. And she’ll kill anyone who gets in her way.”

  Thirty-four

  Zoe watched Hope stare at the spot where Dale’s body had lain. She thought she’d imagined it before when Hope had looked over there. But this time, Zoe knew for certain. “You’re right,” she said. “We’ll likely never know exactly how it happened. We might as well head back to the barn.”

  “Oh? Why?” Hope appeared disappointed. “I know you said you had plans, but we haven’t been out that long. Let’s ride a little farther.”

  Alone. In the woods. With a woman Zoe now believed to be a killer. Not her idea of a good way to spend a Sunday morning. Yet revealing her suspicions wasn’t a smart option either. She moved Windstar off the trail and gestured for Hope to pass. “All right. Lead on.”

  “After you,” Hope said brightly. “I insist.”

  They sat there smiling at each other. Zoe knew her own grin was a fake. She wished it was as convincing as Hope’s. Sensing that an argument would get her nowhere, Zoe urged her gelding forward. Was this how Dale had gotten it? A bullet in the back of his skull leading the way down this same trail a week ago?

  Her cell phone—Detective Morales had kindly returned it and its battery to her before she left New Mexico—sang out “I Fought the Law.” Did Hope know about the ringtone Zoe had assigned to Pete? She hoped not.

  “I hate cell phones out on the trail,” Hope called from behind her. “Why don’t you ignore it.”

  It sounded more like a
demand than a request. Zoe pulled the phone from her pocket and looked at Pete’s photo on the screen. “It’s Allison out in New Mexico. Maybe she has news about her brother.” Zoe skimmed a thumb across the answer key. “Hey, Allison. What’s up?”

  There was a momentary silence on the other end of the call. Then Pete’s cautious voice replied, “Where are you?”

  Zoe hesitated. Allison wouldn’t have asked that question, so answering it might trigger Hope’s suspicions. “How’s Logan?”

  Another pause. “Hope Springfield killed her husband.”

  “I know,” Zoe said with feigned enthusiasm. “That’s great news. So you’ll be home soon? We might get another ride in before the weather gets really bad.”

  Pete’s voice deepened. “You’re out on the trail with her?”

  Good. He got it. “Yep.”

  From behind her, Hope said, “Hang up the phone” in a voice completely different than the lighthearted tone she’d been using.

  Zoe turned in the saddle. Her focus landed on Hope’s face for a moment before snapping to her hand. And the pistol in it. Aimed at Zoe.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Hang up,” Hope repeated.

  “I gotta go,” Zoe told Pete. She moved her thumb as if ending the call, but intentionally missed the button. Left the line open. It may not keep her alive, but it might help Pete catch her killer. She started to slide the phone into her jacket pocket.

  “No,” Hope said. “Toss it.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Throw it into the woods. Nice and far.”

  Zoe tugged the phone back out. Voice low, she quickly said, “Dale’s trail, headed toward Moore’s farm,” before flinging it. The device hit a small tree trunk and split open. She cursed under her breath. Not that it would have helped her any, lying on the cold, mushy woodlands floor.

  “Tell me something,” Hope said. “How did you figure out it was me?”

  Zoe wanted to ask how Hope had figured out that she’d figured it out, but decided against aggravating the woman with the gun. “You knew where I found Dale’s body. I didn’t tell you.”

  “I followed you from the barn. And the area had police tape around it.”

  “I had too much of a head start for you to have followed me. It wasn’t a coincidence. You suspected where I was going and knew how to get there. Not to mention there was a large area roped off. You looked right at the spot where Dale’s body had been. The only way you’d have known was if you’d seen him there.”

  Hope swore. “Yes, I definitely slipped up. And you’re too observant for your own good.”

  A few yards ahead, Zoe spotted a low branch reaching across the trail. She sneaked a glance back. The pistol was still aimed at her. “What makes you think you can kill me and have it look like an accident?”

  “I’ll come up with something. I always do. And you won’t be around, so you don’t need to worry about trying to solve the case this time.”

  The tone of Hope’s voice had changed ever-so subtly, and Zoe had a feeling any chance to buy time had passed. But she’d reached the branch, high enough that the horses cleared it, but chest-high on the riders. She caught it. Drew it forward with her. And then flipped it up, ducked under the recoil, and booted Windstar.

  The branch swished through the air, but Zoe didn’t risk looking back. “Git-up,” she hissed into her gelding’s ear.

  Behind her, Hope yelped. A string of curses filled the woods.

  Zoe hung low on Windstar’s neck as he galloped down the trail. Other branches swiped at her, but she dodged them. She thumped the horse with her heels with every stride, urging him on. Keep moving. Fast. The trees along the trail a blur. The pounding of hoofs matching that of her heart.

  At the end of a straight stretch, Zoe risked a glance behind her. And saw the white Appaloosa, like a ghost, charging hard, pushed by his rider.

  Was Domino faster than Windstar? Maybe. Was Windstar faster than a bullet?

  Definitely not.

  “Git git git,” Zoe called into his ear.

  His churning strides ate up the ground. The cold air stung her eyes, raising tears. The trail bent to the right. Zoe leaned into it. Moving too fast for the slick mud. But no choice. She prayed Windstar kept his footing.

  The trail straightened again. If she hadn’t completely lost track of where they were, there should be one more turn and one more straight stretch before they’d clear the woods into a wide-open expanse. A slope down to Leroy Moore’s house. No cover. But perhaps Leroy would be outside to witness the chase.

  Or to die along with her.

  Another glance back. Domino was definitely closer.

  The last bend. A sweeping turn to the left.

  “Git git git!”

  Windstar stumbled. Zoe gasped. Gave him his head. He recovered. Regained his balance and galloped on. She still clung to the saddle, clutching the reins, fingers entwined in his mane.

  They came out of the turn, and she expected to see the clearing ahead. Instead, a large downed tree blocked her path.

  Could Windstar jump it? Of course he could. Would he jump it? Another matter entirely.

  If she pushed him hard enough—drove him fast enough—he’d have to jump.

  “Git git git!”

  She thumped him with her heels. For the first time, she heard the rhythmic rasp of his breath. Would he be too winded to attempt the leap?

  She had no choice. They had no choice. A bullet from Hope’s gun could kill the horse as handily as it could kill his rider.

  Long strides closed the gap between them and the log. Beneath her, she felt his muscular body wanting to zig or zag. She held her legs against him, keeping him on target.

  She’d never been a hunt seat rider. Never rode a jumper. Never felt a desire to hunt foxes. Right now, she hoped that wasn’t a fatal flaw in her horsemanship.

  Behind her, Zoe heard Hope and Domino closing in.

  With any luck, Zoe and Windstar would clear the log. Domino would not.

  Windstar hesitated. His haunches dropped, hind legs sliding under. His head came up. His feet churned.

  No. Jump! Zoe booted him. Hard.

  Unlike the beautiful flowing leaps she’d seen grand prix jumpers make on TV, Windstar slid almost to a stop. She thumped him hard with her heels. He did a slow, awkward rear, hind legs planted, front end rising. Zoe held on, knowing she was about to be airborne.

  He launched. More like a Lipizzaner doing airs above the ground than a Thoroughbred clearing an oxer.

  A loud pop echoed inside her head. A gunshot.

  Windstar lurched. His less-than-graceful leap disrupted. Beneath her, Zoe felt his body twist. Instead of on top, she was sideways. So was he. Branches, twigs snapped. Horse and rider plummeted forward. Down. Down. The jolt of hitting the ground knocked the wind out of her. The screaming pain of a thousand pounds of horseflesh landing on and crushing her leg nearly drove her into unconsciousness. The terror of a second horse—the big spotted white one—blasting over the log above her, convinced her this was one mess she wasn’t going to survive.

  Thirty-five

  Windstar scrambled, grinding Zoe’s leg deeper into the mud. But he was trying to get to his feet. He was alive.

  And so was she.

  With a groan, the gelding heaved himself up. Zoe stayed on the ground, grateful he hadn’t stepped on her in the process. He gave a saddle-rattling shake, like a dog coming out of a lake. Then he bolted, galloping after Domino, who was loping down the hill toward Leroy Moore’s barn.

  Around her, the woods fell quiet, a nice contrast to the whirling going on inside her head. She pushed up to sit. Everything seemed to work in spite of being coated in mud.

  “You okay?”

  She looked around.

  Leroy, a rifle tucked in t
he crook of his elbow, stood where the trail opened into his field.

  Zoe looked the other way. Back at the downed tree. “Where’s Hope?”

  Leroy strode toward her. “I blasted her out of the saddle as she was coming over that log.” He stepped carefully around Zoe and peered over the tree. “Yep. Got her. Dammit. I hated to have to do that.”

  Zoe’s leg throbbed. So did her head. “But how did you…?”

  Sirens keened in the distance.

  Leroy patted his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “You were lucky. I was in my barn down there when Chief Adams called. Said you were on your horse headed this way and that Dale Springfield’s wife was probably out to kill you. I had my varmint rifle leaning in the corner, so I grabbed it and started up the hill. Good thing, huh?”

  “Yeah. Good thing.” Zoe fought the fear- and pain-induced fog. Leroy had shot Hope. She might not be dead. Paramedic mode kicked in. Zoe tried to bend the bad leg. It bent. But when she tried to push up to her knees, starbursts exploded across the inside of her skull. She tumbled back into the mud.

  “Whoa. Hey there. You need to stay put. I hear help coming.”

  “Hope might need an ambulance,” Zoe said through clenched teeth.

  Leroy’s expression turned grim. “No ambulance can help her now. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

  Considering she couldn’t get up, she decided he was right on that trust issue.

  “So she’s the one who killed her husband?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh. I never would have guessed that.”

  “Me neither.” Zoe pushed up to one elbow and slid a hand down her leg, palpating for any obvious breaks—didn’t find any—and for tender spots. The entire leg from the knee down qualified. “That ambulance? Hope might not need it. But I think I do.”

  Tuesday evening, Pete let himself into his kitchen after a long shift. From the other room the blaring television fell silent. He smiled.