Maple Dale (Maple Dale Series)

by MaryAnn Myers

  * * *

  Bethann had Persian Son almost cooled out when her father arrived. He was hoping to get there in time to watch some of her lesson and see how she was adjusting to a new stable and a horse of her own, but he'd been delayed in court. When she saw him she waved, signaling she'd only be a few minutes.

  "What?" he said, cupping his hand to his ear. "What did you say?"

  Bethann rolled her eyes and made a face. He always did things like this. "Dad..."

  "Yes? You were saying?"

  Bethann laughed. "Ten m-m-minutes."

  "Good." Richard nodded, smiling, and walked over to talk to her instructor while she finished up.

  If you were to ask Bethann, she'd say her dad was the best dad in the world. And she'd mean it. She idolized him, even if he did insist she speak when she'd rather wave, nod, smile, frown, or otherwise avoid having to say anything. In her eyes he could do no wrong, which made the fact that he was maybe the world's worst husband, such a puzzle to her.

  "I picked up the dog," Richard said, as they started outside.

  "Is he in t-t-the car?"

  "No, I took him home. I wasn't sure if he liked being in a car. He's probably confused and scared. I thought it would be better just to take him home."

  Bethann agreed and got in the front seat. "Think M-M-Mom'll like him?"

  Richard smiled. "I doubt it."

  "But he's a n-n-nice d-d-dog."

  Richard smiled again and started the car. "He seems like it. Who knows, maybe he'll grow on her. You want to stop for a milk shake?"

  Bethann nodded.

  "What's that? What did you say?" Richard poised an attentive ear and began singing, "Said the little shepherd boy to the mighty king, do you hear what I hear...?"

  Bethann laughed. "Oh, Dad!"

  "Yes...?"

  "Yes, I w-w-would like a m-m-milk shake."

  Richard gave her a gentle shove. "Me too."

  They stopped at Dairy Queen then headed for Maple Dale where for a good hour and a half, they combed the grounds for Leah's missing cat. It was nowhere to be found, and getting dark, so they left, picked up a pizza for dinner as planned, and arrived home just before Christine.

  Shad had sniffed and inspected every inch of the house and finally settled on the rag rug in the den, apparently claiming it as his own as he stretched out on his side and heaved a heavy sigh.

  "He'll probably leave hair everywhere," Christine said, scowling as she watched Richard pet him.

  Richard winked at Bethann with his head down, and nobody said anything for a moment.

  "Do you th-think he m-m-misses Leah?"

  Richard shrugged, still petting him. "Oh, I guess so. Dogs get pretty attached to people."

  "But he d-d-doesn't act l-like it. He doesn't even look when I s-s-say her name. L-L-Leah. L-L-Leah."

  Christine, using her fork, cringed with each anchovy she plucked from her pizza. "Maybe he's hard of hearing. He is old." She hated anchovies, and couldn't understand how Richard and Bethann could eat them. "Besides, if she lived alone like you said, he probably hasn't heard her name that often, if ever."

  Richard nodded, agreeing, and Bethann sat back and smiled. It made sense, and it made her feel better. She took a bite of her pizza, looking from her mother to her father, and for a moment, a fleeting moment, it was as if they were a family again. A real family.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Curiosity and greed sent Klaus out to Maple Dale before dawn to ransack through Leah's possessions like an amateur thief. Greed and determination. If she had a will, he was damned sure going to find it. And then he was going to destroy it.

  When his frantic search proved futile, he glared at his watch and decided he'd better leave, when suddenly it occurred to him to try one more place. Her tack trunk. "Yes!" Underneath all the neatly arranged bridles, bits, and girths, was an inlaid letter box wrapped in a chamois. He sat down at her desk to pour through the contents.

  He tossed the pictures aside and didn't seem to care that they were all of Maple Dale. He dropped a bundle of report cards to the floor and didn't notice that they were in chronological order and that Leah had never once failed to make the honor roll. He wasn't impressed with the numerous little slips of paper signifying all the times she'd donated blood. He got his hands on her legal documents and medical records, and that's all he wanted. "I was right! I knew it! No will!"

  Leah didn't know how the arena surface had gotten into the condition it was in, but something definitely had to be done with it before she could set up jumps for the day's class. As she was going for a rake she heard a noise and turned, her hands clutched tightly to her chest as she watched Klaus walk toward the exit. Then she went to work.

  * * *

  Walter and Christine were meeting Bill for breakfast, and as usual, Christine was early, Bill was on time, and Walter was late. The trio when assembled looked somewhat out of place with one another. Walter, tanned and in a pair of faded Levis, gray wool sweater, tweed blazer, elbow patches, and pipe. Christine, pale and blonde, in a gray linen three-piece suit. And Bill, black, and dressed in a crisp, khaki work uniform.

  Bill Forbes's charismatic nature hadn't captivated Christine as Walter had promised, his good looks aside. If anything, she was a little afraid of him. He was polite enough and never said anything directly, but right from the start, she got the impression he resented her being on the project with them, and couldn't decide if it was because she was white or because she was a woman. Whatever the reason, he seemed to be deliberately excluding her from most discussions, and at times, acted as if she weren't even there.

  Bill was born and raised in a tract of falling-down shacks on the Mississippi River side of the projects in New Orleans where the white people lived, and had worked hard to distance himself from there. An all-around athlete, he was educated by way of scholarships awarded him for the lean, muscular legs of a basketball center, the arms and shoulders of a football tackle, and the drive of a Mack truck. He smiled easily, a broad smile taking over his entire face, and he was slow to anger. But once riled, paths were cleared.

  The Maple Dale project was the largest he and Walter had undertaken since they'd formed their partnership. The one that was going to put them on the map, so to speak. But from the onset, the contract they had with Klaus bothered Bill. If they'd had the funds to buy the property outright, it wouldn't have been a consideration. As it was, Klaus was an active voice.

  Walter on the other hand, accepted the arrangement without reservation. He loved his work; he lived for it. Whatever he was doing, whether it be eating, driving, or watching television, he never stopped planning, dreaming. He'd jot down ideas on napkins, receipts, his clothing, his hands, anything, and every last detail so he wouldn't forget. Jumping at any new concept or angle that would set his work off from another builder, something as basic as the sign at the entrance to one of his developments became a challenge, and subject to numerous drive-by's from both directions, car first, then a van, and finally a truck, to be sure it was perfect from every angle.

  Christine listened with enthusiasm as Walter went over yet another change, allowing for even more of the natural landscape to remain untouched, but Bill grew impatient. He was a doer, not a planner. Give him the sketch and let him go.

  "This is all fine," he said, when Walter had finally run down. "But what I'd like to know is, what are we going to do about the vandalism?"

  "More?" Walter asked.

  Bill nodded. "I stopped by on my way here to check on the crew. The two tractors we left up on the site at the north end wouldn't start."

  "Maybe they're just damp," Walter suggested.

  "Damp...? You got that right. Someone put water in the gas tanks."

  Walter leaned forward. "Are you sure?"

  Bill's expression answered that.

  "Was there anything else?"

  "A few things."

  "Could it be somebody on the crew?"

  "No." Bill shook his head. "These are strange
things, things no one in their right mind would do."

  "Could it be kids, fooling around?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so."

  "What do you mean strange?" Christine asked, making her presence known. "Like weird strange?"

  Bill glanced at her, stared at her actually, for a second or two, then shrugged, and Christine clammed up. He was doing it again, ignoring her. But what Bill was really thinking had nothing to do with her, and probably couldn't have been explained anyway. It stemmed from years and years of watching his mother knock on wood and throw salt over her shoulder. Bill was as superstitious as they came. Strange only meant one thing to him. Strange.

  * * *

  Richard was scheduled to be in court within the hour and was busy scanning briefs when the intercom buzzed. "Mrs. Morrison to see you."

  He hesitated. Christine? Here? "Uh, send her in." He stood up, straightening his tie and smoothing the front of his shirt, and just as quickly felt foolish for doing so. Christine was his wife. Why was he fussing like this? To make an impression?

  And why did he suddenly feel so giddy? More importantly, why had she come to the office, the first time in over a year?

  When Christine entered, smiling faintly, Richard didn't know whether to embrace her, kiss her on the cheek, or shake her hand. He found himself motioning to the chair across from his desk instead.

  "Do you have a minute?" she asked.

  Richard glanced at his watch. "A few. Why?"

  "I want to tell you about the meeting this morning with Walter and Bill." Christine sat down, folded her hands on her lap, and crossed her legs at the ankles. "It seems there are some quirky things going on at Maple Dale." She lowered her already soft voice. "Vandalism."

  "Vandalism?"

  "Yes. Nobody's there after the work shift, so I guess it was to be expected in one form or another. It's just..." She leaned her head back and sighed. "It's just that I don't want

  anything else to spoil this. It means so much to me."

  Richard nodded. No one knew more than him how much it meant, and also how much she needed it, especially now. Matt said the best thing for both of them at this stage was to keep busy. "What would you like me to do, Christine? How can I help?"

  Help? "Um..." Christine stood up, feeling very foolish all of sudden. What had she come for? "I just thought I'd tell you what was going on. I uh, I'd better go."

  Before Richard could even get up from his chair, she walked out, leaving him to stare at the closed door and wishing just once that he'd say the right thing. His first impulse was to chase after her. Tell me what to say, Christine, and I'll say it. Please. But he knew better. He walked to the window instead, and watched her as she got into her car and drove away.

  It was times like these when he wanted a drink the most. Just one. That's all it would take. Just one to prove to himself that he could walk away from it. Because if he could do that, wouldn't it prove to Christine that he would never make the same mistakes again?

  He gathered his things, threw them into his briefcase, and left. The courthouse was only two blocks away with more than enough time to get there, yet he practically jogged. Today however, on time, early, or late, made no difference.

  Law school professors take great pains to prepare their

  students for the bureaucratic procedural let down. Nonetheless, it was aggravating. After weeks of preparation, sometimes months of hours logged researching and building a case, an empty feeling was all that came with the sound of the gavel and dismissal. Even when you've won.

  Richard walked down the hall, stopped at the water fountain, and looked up when he heard someone call his name. It was James Howell.

  "Your secretary said I'd catch you here." He shook Richard's hand warmly. "I've got to meet with you right away. There's a new twist in my client's will."

  "You want the dog back?" Richard teased.

  James Howell laughed. "No, not hardly." He motioned for Richard to walk with him. "I'm meeting with John Smith in about an hour on it."

  Richard wondered what John Smith, semi-retired, but still one of the most prominent attorneys in the area, had to do with the case. "Do you want to share any of this with me?"

  James Howell waved over his shoulder and boarded the elevator. "I'll get with you later."

  Richard blocked the door from closing. "My daughter'll fight you for the dog," he warned. And they both laughed.

  * * *

  Bill believed in working right along with his crew and had a reputation for being fair, but equally demanding. He hated distractions, delays, or obstacles interfering with his schedule, and wasn't at all pleased with having to drive the equipment back to the arena at the end of the day. But it beat leaving it out in the open and easy prey for the vandals.

  He had his men knock off a little before four to allow time for the trip back and manned the largest of the tractors himself. Every so often, an obscenity rose above the diesel engines as they were jostled, rocked, bounced, and at times, almost unseated. The first tractor stopped abruptly just inside the arena, causing a chain reaction.

  Bill stood up. "What the hell?"

  When the driver motioned inside, Bill got down, grumbling as he came to take a look. There before him were jumps, beautifully arranged sets of red, white, and blue fence posts and standards.

  If this was someone's idea of a joke, he wasn't laughing. Adding to this, were the two vandalized tractors behind him, running rough, and vibrating the ground as they spit and

  sputtered.

  "Kill the engines!" he barked, and headed straight for the office. "What the hell's going on?"

  Walter and Christine looked up from their desks with puzzled expressions. Bill filled the doorway with his size, and the room with his voice.

  "What do you mean?" Walter asked.

  "What do I mean?" Bill walked to the window and pointed out. "Who set the jumps up?"

  Walter and Christine turned, all the more puzzled now. "I don't know," Walter said.

  Bill looked at Christine. "Were they like that when you came?"

  She shook her head. "I honestly didn't notice."

  Bill threw his hands up, glanced at the clock on the arena wall, swung around, and threw his hands up again. "Shit!"

  Bethann came in behind them and sat down quietly on the edge of the bleachers.

  "I'm not about to pay time and a half for this! This is ridiculous!"

  When Walter nodded, Christine noticed Bethann. "Did you find the cat?" she whispered.

  Bethann shook her head.

  "What cat?" Bill turned, eyes wide.

  "A gray tabby," Christine said, answering for Bethann and going over and putting her arm around her.

  "A tiger cat, you mean?" Bill said, indicating its size with his hands. "A little scruffy thing?"

  Bethann nodded. "Have you s-s-seen him?"

  "Yes," Bill said. He did. But before he could say where, Bethann glanced past him into the arena and got a strange look on her face, one that made Bill's stomach drop. This was the third time today he'd had the same uneasy feeling.

  Bethann walked to the window, stared out in disbelief, and turned to her mother. "That's L-L-Leah's course. It's h-h-her schooling c-c-course."

  That was enough for Bill, more than enough. He sat down on the bleachers with a sigh, buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and started mumbling to himself.

  Christine's voice seemed far away. "Honey, that's not Leah's course."

  "Y-Y-Yes it is!" Bethann insisted.

  "Want us to move everything out?" one of the workers called from the arena.

  Bill looked up and seeing the time, waved and shouted back. "No, go ahead and knock off. I'll park 'em." He managed a smile, but it was an effort. He'd seen something earlier in the day on top of everything else that made it impossible for him to toss this off lightly. He got up and started to walk out, but stopped then and looked at Bethann.

  "Do you know the distance between those first two jumps?"<
br />
  She nodded. "Nine and a h-h-half feet."

  Bill pulled a tape measure out of his pocket and went to check. He knew she'd be right, doing it more out of hope than doubt, and with that, he climbed aboard the first tractor, gunned the engine starting it, and jerked it forward.

  Later that evening over dinner, Bethann told her father all about what had happened. He listened carefully, trying to appear as if he were being told an amusing story, and turned to Christine, fully expecting her to scoff and say Bethann had been exaggerating. But she didn't.

  Quite the contrary. "I don't know what to make of it. She says no one knew that course but Leah. That it was a special one."

  Richard smiled, watching Christine as she blotted the sides of her mouth with her linen napkin, always the lady, and turned to Bethann. "Now that's silly. If you knew the course, then someone else could have."

  Bethann shook her head, not the least convinced, and Christine had to agree. "I've tried every possible explanation I can think of. But frankly, Rich, it is weird. I mean, think about it. Why would anyone want to set them up anyway? What for? And when?" She folded her hands upon saying this and now waited for Richard to come up with a logical summation, so typical of her.

  He remained quiet. She'd called him Rich, something she hadn't done since before they were married. Richard, she told him, was more appropriate for success, and had called him that ever since. He wondered if she had any idea how much pressure it was for a kid called Rich to all of a sudden be looked up to as a man named Richard.

  "Dad, are y-y-you listening?"

  "Yes, I am, honey," he said, with a smile. "Only I'm going to have to think about this for a while." He motioned to the dog. "Take Shad for a walk, he acts like he has to go."

  After they'd gone, he turned to Christine. "What do really make of it?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know," she said, and paused. "But I'll tell you this, Bill didn't like it. I think he believes her. And you know, I think he's a bit strange himself. He wouldn't let his men move the jumps. He left them as they were and parked the tractors all around them. He said something about leaving them taking the fun away for whoever set them up in the first place, but I don't know."