“Cassidy, you gotta get up. How late were you out there? Geez.” She shoved me again and I cried out from the pain. Her voice turned annoyed. “Oh I’m not pushing you that hard, don’t be such a baby.”
If I’d had strength left in my body I would have grabbed her leg and dropped her to the floor, but every muscle on my left side felt raw and movement wasn’t easy.
“Seriously, get up. You’re going to make me late.” Dixie bent down and yanked the blanket from my face. Her breath sucked in sharp. The damage had to be bad.
“Wha- wha- what happened to you?” she stammered.
I hadn’t taken the time to think of consequences or what I could or couldn’t tell. I had no lies ready. I had nothing but pain. I opted for advice my father had given me years before, If you can’t think of something safe to say, ask for a lawyer and say nothing. With no hope of a lawyer, no comment was definitely my only option.
“I need to get to my Uncle Tate’s place. Can you help me up?” I managed in my strained voice.
I could see her forehead wrinkled, eyebrows lifted high with fright. I tried to count everything I’d been slammed into the night before, the barn, the ground when that horse tossed me, the rock face when I was slammed against it like a rag doll, and then my collision with the river. It was a wonder I wasn’t shattered on impact.
When Dixie got me to my feet she looked around for my flip flops. “Your sandals are gone.”
With great effort I managed to brace my arm against the bunk bed for support. “I lost them last night. Near the tack shed.”
My mind flooded with memories of being dragged across the yard by rough hands, helpless and gasping for air. I closed my eyes to pinch out the memory and when I opened them I found Dixie’s nervous stare.
“Help me with my boots,” I said.
She helped me shove my boots on beneath my pajama pants and then she looped my arm across her shoulders. Being late had its benefits. The guests weren’t up yet and the staff were still gathered for the breakfast meeting. Dixie was quiet until we crossed the parking lot to Isabelle’s cabin. “Did that freak who’s been killing people do this to you?”
I knew I couldn’t answer her question. My investigation depended on careful compartmentalization of the evidence. Pounding footsteps in the gravel behind us saved me from an answer.
“Dixie!” Tate yelled as he jogged toward us, “What’s going on?”
My roommate unraveled like a knitting box. “I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t move and then,” tears fell over her rosy cheekbones and splattered against her top, “I pulled back the blanket and she’s all beat up. I don’t know anything. I swear, I don’t.”
I doubt Tate heard what she said. He drew in a sharp breath as he took in my face. Without a word he moved Dixie from my side and looped my arm around his broad shoulders. “Thanks for walking her. I’ll take it from here.”
“But—I can help,” Dixie called after us as Tate urged me up the stairs.
“Go to work,” Tate snapped the words at her as he kicked open the door, “this is a family matter.”
He left her standing in the pathway, sobbing like a fool. I tried to feel sympathy. I tried to feel anything but the pain.
Tate half walked, but mostly dragged me down the hallway. My hand gripped his, rough, like the skin had been torn over his knuckles. The strength of his arm was the only way I made it as far as I did.
“Belle, get down here!” he bellowed as he passed the staircase that led to the second floor. He lowered me to the couch, then turned and yelled again, “Isabelle, get down here now! Bring the first aid kit!”
Rapid footsteps padded above my head, a little mouse on an important mission. I almost giggled in my hysterical state at the mental picture.
“What happened to you?” Tate asked as he sat on the coffee table. His cheek was cut, an inch below the eye. A bit of darkening colored his cheek. What had happened to him?
Tate noticed my curious stare. “Wood splitter got away from me yesterday. I look a heck of a lot better than you.”
Isabelle’s footsteps tumbled down the stairs and she hurried to the living room. “What? What is it?”
Her ash blonde hair was long and flowing. She was still in a night dress; a pale pink robe had fallen off one shoulder. Somehow, it made her more human. I could imagine her as a mother who stayed up with a sick a child, someone who didn’t spend every second with coordinating jewelry and perfect makeup. Her mouth parted in surprise as she saw me before it pinched tight with lines of regret.
“Oh my—” her breath caught on her words and she covered her mouth with her free hand.
“Belle, stop being dramatic and hand me that. Then call your boyfriend and get him over here, no cop cars though.”
She lingered a moment more, and the regret deepened. I knew it didn’t mean much, but she understood bruises and pain. My condition brought back too many memories.
Tate gained my attention again. “Tell me what happened.”
I related the story uninterrupted as he cleaned the cuts around my face that I didn’t know I had. His face remained stoic and unchanged throughout, and I wondered if Tate was the one who taught Ryder to control his emotions. “That woman,” I finished, “she is somewhere and we have to find the body.”
“Was she cut up? Did she have injuries?” he asked.
I brought the picture to my mind, terrified eyes, a gagged mouth and bound hands. Pale skin, but her cheeks were rosy from the cold air.
“I didn’t see any,” I said after a moment.
Tate set his hand over mine to stop the trembling I hadn’t felt. “Belle!” he called and she emerged from the hall, cordless phone pressed to her ear. He didn’t bother to wait for a break in her conversation. “Tell Spencer to search the river, there should be a woman’s body, maybe after the lower falls, but in that break—”
Isabelle interrupted him. “They found her. Dallas alerted them last night. They found her early this morning. She’s at the hospital in surgery.”
Her last words jolted me upward. “She’s alive?”
“Yes. She’s unconscious, but she’s alive.”
“She’s alive?” Tate’s voice echoed my surprise and he quickly recovered. “I mean, that’s good news, right? She’ll be able to identify our guy.”
I wanted to add that I was almost positive that it was Tumbleweed Tim, but I knew Tate suspected it before I did.
Isabelle ignored the detective as she read our unspoken silence. “It couldn’t have been Tim. He’s gone away hunting. He won’t be back for days.”
“Long enough for the bruises to fade,” Tate said. His palm wrapped around his other hand, but not before I noticed the reddened skin and puffy swelling.
“You know he isn’t involved. He’s a good man, Tate.” Isabelle didn’t bother to hold the phone near her ear as she scolded her brother.
Nothing mattered until I could find a chance to talk to the woman. “I need to get to the hospital. I need to talk to her,” I said.
“She’s in surgery,” Isabelle reminded me. “Besides, you’re in no condition to move anywhere. You need to rest.”
Again I heard the mother behind her voice and found it oddly comforting.
Tate shook his head and stood. “You’re sure you didn’t see his face?”
His voice itched at my subconscious, clues I couldn’t force into daylight. “He stayed in the shadows,” I said, “I never saw him. He could’ve been wearing a mask. I’m not sure.”
“I have to get into the yard,” Tate said, “Without Cassidy the whole day is shot.”
Isabelle corrected him. “You mean Lindy, right?”
His face registered confusion and then he nodded, “Yes, of course.”
I heard the door shut a moment later, and Isabelle disappeared with her phone again. Finally alone, I let my head fall back on the plush pillow. If I positioned myself right, the pain was bearable and I drifted off.
♦ ♦ ♦
&nb
sp; “No, you don’t need to come.”
Isabelle’s voice jarred me from a hazy sleep. I groaned as my stiff muscles yelled in protest to my slight movement.
Her voice came from the hallway, and then moved away as if she were concerned that I might hear. “She’ll be fine. It’s mostly bruises.” There was a pause. “Ryder, it’s bad enough she’s in the middle of it, I couldn’t live with myself if you were too.” There was another pause as she listened to her son’s argument. “No, I told you, I won’t leave. You sound like your Uncle, trying to edge me out of here. It’s my home and no one can take that from me.” The pause was shorter and I knew she’d interrupted him. “I refuse to step foot in the manor ever again, Ryder. Please stop asking.” Her voice drifted as she walked away from me. I pushed up from my resting spot so that I could try to hear her again.
“Stay there. You’ll only distract her.” I couldn’t tell if she’d stopped talking or if she was out of range. After the long pause, I heard, “I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I let my body fall back into the pillows, hopeful that I could cover my eavesdropping, but even the impact with the soft pillows jerked a cry from my throat. Isabelle rushed into the room. The pale pink robe and night shirt had been replaced by dress slacks and a flowing blouse. Her bracelets jangled as she set her hands on her hips.
“How much did you hear?”
I’d obviously exhausted her good graces, but I figured she valued honesty. “Most of it.” Using the palms of my hands I pushed myself back up to sitting. “Did you have to tell him?”
“He’s your employer. I figured he had the right to know.” She lowered herself onto the single chair on the other side of the table. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you have feelings for my son?”
It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Blood in a fridge? Sure. A near drowning? Absolutely. But the open wound in my heart that refused to heal? No, thank you.
“I don’t know what happened with Ryder and me,” I said, not wanting to dive into the details.
Her head shook once. “Not what I asked.”
My stare turned to a glare without my permission. She was worse than Dr. Rawlings. “Yes,” the words were harder than I wanted to admit, “I had very strong feelings for Ryder, but I screwed it up.”
Isabelle chewed on the words for a moment and I felt the need to explain further. “It’s better this way. My life is dangerous, as you can see, and Ryder could get hurt. Vanessa is good for him. She’s stable.” I borrowed Ryder’s words. “She shows up.”
Ryder’s mother didn’t say anything; she stared at me as if she could see past my words. Finally, she pushed herself to her feet and strode from the room. Before she left she turned back and said, “For the record, I don’t like either you or Vanessa.” The words didn’t surprise me, but she wasn’t done. “But, I like you far better than her.”
Chapter 18
Around five, Detective Dayton called and let us know that the woman was conscious and out of surgery. Isabelle refused to let me drive in my condition, and Tate said he was busy picking up the slack, so we took her car once I changed into clean clothes. It was an hour drive to the hospital, with no choice but to endure the uncomfortable silence. I wanted to ask her why she hated Vanessa. Beyond my own bitter jealousy, I had to admit there was nothing wrong with Ryder’s girlfriend. Even more curious was why she felt I was superior in some way. I lacked the nerve to ask, so the car remained silent.
Detective Spencer Dayton greeted Isabelle with a quick kiss to her cheek as we arrived at the hospital. He led the way to the room where a cop stood guard. Dayton assured us it was only a precaution for the woman, Mallory Kingsley, while she was in a weakened state. As we entered the room, I recognized her immediately. The brown hair, the pale skin, and the dark eyes that had begged for my help in the water was all attached to the horrible memories. From behind the oxygen mask she wore, I saw that she recognized me as well.
She pulled the plastic mask from her face and said in a hoarse voice, “It’s you, the girl from the river.”
I thought of the moment that I’d witnessed her terrified scream under the water. I thought of the exact moment the current had caught her to sling shot her away from me. Shame for my inability to rescue her swept over me and settled in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—” I let my voice fall away into nothing.
She had no words for me. I didn’t know if it was because she was mad at me for not reaching out to her, or if there was simply nothing to say for such a situation. The detective rescued us from our awkward standoff.
“I’m Detective Dayton. Ms. Kingsley, can you tell me what happened last night?”
Her eyes were downcast for a moment as she thought about it. “I can’t remember very much. The doctor said that’s normal for trauma.” The muscles on her face twitched as if she was picking through a mess of thoughts within her brain. “I was camping a couple miles from the falls. I’m a geologist, and my partner and I were studying some erosion in a canyon nearby. We met someone at a bar in town from a local ranch. He gave me a good tip about a place in the river that would work for collecting samples. My partner was called away on a family emergency, so I was working the site alone.” The words became more difficult as she spoke. “I was getting ready for bed, dousing the fire and such. It was early, the sun had gone down, but only recently. I needed to get some rest because…” she let her voice trail off as she realized we didn’t need the particulars.
“He hit me with something and knocked me out cold. When I came to, we were in a room somewhere. He asked some questions and then he clubbed me again. I woke up strapped to the back of a running horse. I screamed and begged for mercy, but he didn’t listen. He pulled me up the rock face of the cliff and stashed me in the corner of a crevice. Then he stood there and waited.” Her eyes caught mine. “I didn’t understand until she came along. He was waiting for her.”
My own breathing rate increased as I thought of the hands that had gripped me in the night and flung me back against the granite rock wall.
“He threw her over the edge and then grabbed me and told me I was a waste. He pushed me back and I fell into the river.” I could feel her stare, but I couldn’t meet it. “I tried to grab onto her for safety. The water was too strong and I was swept downstream.” The tension that had plagued her voice lessened. “I’ve had years of wilderness survival training. I think even with my hands bound, that’s what kept me alive.”
“Did you see his face?” Detective Dayton asked.
“No,” Mallory said. “It was so dark I couldn’t make out his features.”
“Was he tall, or short, thick or thin?”
Her agitation increased with his questions. “I don’t know, big, muscular. Strong enough to whip me around. I don’t know, it could be all in my imagination. It’s really fuzzy. I can’t remember the cabin.”
I spoke up. “Did he talk about blood at all?”
Something must have clicked in her mind because she was quick to answer. “Yes. He had a knife and he cut my arm to let the blood run out. He asked if I was sick, or if I had ever had any chronic diseases.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Do you?”
Mallory didn’t want to answer, but she sensed the importance. “I’m HIV positive. I have been for five years.”
Detective Dayton looked sympathetic, but I’d found a missing piece to my puzzle and I couldn’t let it go. “How did he react when you told him?”
Mallory looked down into her blanket to try to pull the memory free. “He got angry, really angry. Something about dirty blood and that it could never work. He wrapped something around my cut and then knocked me out again.” She looked at me. “Was that important?”
I nodded. The blood was what he needed, and it had to be pure. But why? What was he doing with it?
With exhaustion pulling at her body, we let Mallory get some sleep. Detective Dayton left her with his card an
d instructed her to call if something came up. Once we were out in the hall Dayton pulled me aside.
“He rejected her when he found out she had a disease that was communicable by blood.”
I was glad we were on the same page. “So what is he doing with the blood? Drinking it?”
Isabelle paled at my words and Dayton’s arm went around her to pull her close. My own iron stomach felt raw.
“I checked the schedules, and very few were at the ranch for all the murders, except Tumbleweed. He had opportunity every time.”
Isabelle’s head snapped up. “He’s in the back country hunting. He couldn’t have done this. Half the staff frequents the bars in town though. Tate has a running tab for heaven’s sake.”
Dayton chose his next words with caution. “Belle, Mallory was camping in the back country. It would have been easy for Tim to track her fire and—”
“But he’s mute.” I hated to say it, but it was true and it gave him an alibi after talking with our victim. Dayton didn’t seem to care so I added, “Look, until he comes back, there’s no point in arguing. If he’s got bruises, then we’ll know he’s involved. Until then, we keep our options open.”
It nagged at me that Tumbleweed was in the back country. It felt more probable that someone would have come from the ranch if they had used the horses. That left Phoenix, Curly, and Two-Bit. My mind added one more muscular man—Tate. I brushed it back. He was Ryder’s uncle. I couldn’t go accusing Ryder’s uncle of murder without some stellar evidence.
Dayton held his frustration at bay, but recognized that she needed distance. “I’m going back to the station. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He hesitated, but placed a hasty kiss on Isabelle’s forehead before he strode away.
I followed Isabelle to the car, eager to get our long ride over with.
We drove through the streets in silence as I replayed the details of the night. One question continued to burn into me until I could hold it no longer.
“Why can’t you believe Tumbleweed could be the killer?”
She’d seen it coming and was ready with her counter question.
Saddles & Sabotage Page 17
