Night of Shadows

by Marilyn Haddrill

  Seeing that Connie was eyeing her uncertainly, Melinda kept her expression carefully neutral. "Go on. It's okay."

  Connie took a deep breath. "Mac made it pretty clear from the beginning he thought Joan was after Preston for the money. It happened so fast, you see. Mac didn't exactly hide what he thought of her, so that put a strain on the marriage from the very start. And then Joannie ended up out there in the middle of nowhere. Trapped, kind of. It was impossible for her to go to school, because it was too far away to drive every day to classes."

  "So Joannie was bored." Melinda knew her sister well enough to understand that kind of situation would never be a good fit for Joan's restless spirit.

  "Yeah. That's it. No place to go. Nothing to do. Not even an Internet connection way out there. She couldn't stay in touch with her friends. Or with you. It was driving her nuts. So Joannie started inviting friends out for the weekend for a little partying, just to keep things interesting. Even that wasn't enough. So pretty soon, it got to the point that the highlight of her whole life was getting away from the ranch for weekends at the race track. Or to 'Vegas. You know how Joan is. She loves excitement. Gambling was sort of like — an escape for her."

  "Yeah, but Preston was in on it, too," Debbie added. "He was just as bad — if not worse."

  Even though Melinda was getting no clues about Joan's whereabouts, she was still glad she had come here. At least she had a different perspective now about what was going on between Joan and Preston.

  They chatted a while longer. And then seeing that an hour had almost passed, Melinda reached for her purse in preparation to go.

  "So anyhow," Debbie suddenly spoke up in a sulky, hungover voice. "I think you need to know that Roy was part of all this, too."

  Melinda carefully put the purse back down on the floor beside her. "Roy Finch?"

  Did Melinda imagine that she saw a warning look flash from Connie to Debbie? Debbie stared at Connie a few seconds.

  "Uh — yeah," she said, not volunteering anything else.

  "How do you know about Roy Finch?" Connie asked, sounding vaguely alarmed.

  "I know he owns the property next to the McClure ranch. That's about it."

  Connie paused, considering the statement. "Preston helped him buy it. They're old army buddies, you know."

  "Then they must be very good friends." Melinda tried to sound casual, to lure one of them into giving her more information.

  "Not any more, they aren't," Debbie mumbled.

  "Why?" Melinda asked. "What happened?"

  "Joannie didn't much like having Roy Finch hanging around," Debbie said, oblivious to the open glare now being beamed her way from Connie. "She thought he was a — bad influence. Imagine that. Coming from Joannie."

  For some reason, Debbie thought her own comment was hilarious. She threw back her head and laughed. No one else joined her.

  "Shut up, Debbie," Connie said. "Don't pay any attention, Melinda. Preston and Roy aren't friends any more, but no one really knows what happened between them. And before you ask, I'll tell you right now — it has nothing to do with Joannie."

  "How can you be sure?" Melinda asked.

  "I just am, okay? Leave it alone."

  "So how well do you know Roy Finch?" Melinda directed the question to Connie.

  "Well enough."

  "So you must be aware he has a criminal record."

  Connie looked stunned. Debbie simply seemed amused.

  "Look," Connie said at last. "Roy's no angel. Everyone knows that. Just drop it, okay? Stop asking questions or you're going to end up hurting some innocent people."

  "But no one is really that innocent, eh, Connie?" Debbie asked. She began her grating laughter again, leaving Melinda and Connie to stare at each other.

  "It's time for you to go," Connie said coldly.

  The session was over.

  ***

  Preston seemed distracted and thankfully asked no questions when he picked up Melinda and dropped her off at the cabin. Explaining he needed to return to the track to rejoin Mac, he drove away.

  That evening as Melinda awaited the return of the McClure brothers, she tired of watching television in the den. So she decided to take a walk to clear her head. Once outdoors, she savored the fragrant scent of pine and the sparkling night stars as she tried to plan what her next move would be.

  In truth, she now felt more stymied than ever. She knew only that Roy Finch provided a shadowy link between Preston, Joan, Connie, and Debbie. He had even touched Mac's life, too, in some sinister way. That was obvious by the scene of rage Melinda had witnessed between the two of them when the van had invaded the ranch.

  Melinda wondered if she should go to the police. But what would she say? That Roy Finch had a record? So what? He wasn't a fugitive. He had served his time. She knew she didn’t have enough information to motivate the authorities to take any kind of action. And if she started spreading rumors about a possible connection between Joan's disappearance and Sammy's death, she would be thrown off the ranch and never invited back.

  No, it was best to stay with the McClures as long as she could and keep her eyes and ears open.

  When Melinda absently stepped off a curb to cross a street, she was only vaguely aware of the bright lights beaming at her from a vehicle parked on a side street. Then she heard the roar of an engine and the screeching of tires. A vehicle obscured behind the brightest beam of the headlights screamed directly toward her. As the car swerved toward her and grazed her leg, she barely managed to jump backwards in time to take refuge behind a tree.

  Melinda expected the driver to stop and offer apologies. Instead, the car sped away so quickly that she never got a good look at who was inside. She stood for a moment, feeling shaken and angry. Then, outrage turned to terror.

  Had this action been deliberate? If so, did someone want her dead or merely scared out of her wits?

  Though her leg was now throbbing, it didn't slow Melinda down when she sprinted in the direction of the cabin. Every headlight she saw spurred her to move even faster. She hadn't realized she had wandered so far. So it was at least fifteen minutes before she finally burst inside. Both Preston and Mac were already there, seated in front of the fireplace. Each nurtured a cup of hot coffee. Mac immediately put down his cup at the sight of her face, stood, and walked to Melinda's side.

  "What's wrong?" he demanded.

  Her first impulse was to fling herself into his comforting arms and tell him the whole story. But, somehow, in the cheery lights of the cabin, she began doubting herself. And she didn't want to sound like a babbling idiot especially after Mac had accused her of being hysterical when Sammy was gored by the bull.

  Melinda brought herself under control with slow, deliberate breaths.

  "I was — jogging," she said brightly.

  "Jogging?" Mac asked. "I've never seen you jog before."

  "That's — why — I'm out of breath."

  Melinda knew by Mac's expression she was in for a good grilling if she didn't make her escape now.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen," she said in her best Southern belle voice. "I feel a little tired. So I think I'll turn in early tonight. I want to be ready for the big day tomorrow. We get started early, don't we?"

  "We need to get going by eight," Preston volunteered.

  "Sure enough? Well, I'd better get to bed." She stretched and yawned. "See you in the morning."

  She was aware of Mac's eyes boring holes through her back as she hurried up the stairs and to her room.

  ***

  The next morning, Melinda sat at the reserved McClure table in a covered portion of the stands as a parade of horses being led around the track signaled that the first race was about to begin. She kept her eye on a spirited chestnut that danced behind its lead horse at a diagonal. The animal's enthusiasm was contagious.

  "That's the one I want to bet on," she said, pointing.

  Preston, who was seated on her right, looked up from a deep perusal of his racing program.
No McClure animals were entered in this event.

  "Number nine? That's Gadfly. You don't want him. He's a 20-to-1 long shot!" Preston said.

  "But he looks like a winner."

  Melinda heard a groan from Mac on her left. "The track counts on people like you. That's how they stay in business."

  Melinda made a face at him, then signalled for an attendant to come over. She handed him four one-dollar bills.

  "Two dollars on number nine to win, and two dollars on numbers nine and two to place," Melinda said.

  "Ooooh," Preston said, as the attendant printed out the tickets on a portable machine. "Big spender."

  Mac and Preston already had engaged in a discussion involving an intricate betting strategy that used geometric terms like trifectas and boxes. Melinda didn't bother to learn what they were talking about. She wanted to keep her enjoyment of the sport simple, at least for starters. She knew only about win, place, or show.

  The horses were at the gate. And they were off. Forgetting her decorum, Melinda was on her feet when she saw Gadfly take an early lead — only to immediately begin fading behind. The race was over in seconds, leaving Preston to reach across the table to give his brother a high-five with a slap of palm to palm.

  "Do we know our horse flesh, or what?" Preston asked.

  Melinda squinted at the official results now flashing on the board. "What are you talking about? The horses that placed have the best odds."

  "Yeah. That, too," Preston said.

  "Then where's the mystery?" Melinda asked. "If you want to win, you just bet on the horses with the best odds."

  "Not necessarily," Preston said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Now this race coming up. That's a different matter entirely. I'm going to take pity on you, Melinda. I'm going to give you a tip. Bet on number five."

  "But five is a 32-to-1 long shot."

  "That's right. But do it anyway. What's two bucks, eh? Put two bucks on number five — to win."

  Melinda saw the worry lines crease Mac's forehead as he watched his brother.

  "Oh, Mac," Melinda said, misunderstanding. "It's okay. I can afford to throw away two dollars."

  Preston joined her with a hundred dollar bet on the five horse. And Mac sat this one out. Minutes later, Preston and Melinda both were screaming at the top of their lungs as they watched their underdog streak into the front and beat the field by a good five lengths.

  Melinda turned to Mac, delighted. "Can you believe it? Your brother must be psychic!"

  "He's got a knack, all right." Mac's tone was neutral. "He does this sort of thing all the time. Lately, that is."

  Melinda was too excited to dwell on Mac's change of mood from upbeat to somber. She studied her program for the next race.

  "Hey, Preston!" she said. "Here's one called Intuition. What do you think?"

  When Melinda didn't get an answer, she looked up in time to see Preston's stricken expression. He stared at an area next to the track where a number of people were gathered by the fence.

  "Preston?" she asked anxiously. "What's wrong?"

  She felt Mac stiffen beside her as he followed Preston's gaze. Preston shoved his tip sheet into Melinda's hand.

  "Here," he said grimly. "You go ahead without me."

  Without explanation, Preston got up and left. She and Mac watched in silence as Preston made his way up to the restaurant area above them and moved out of sight. She and Mac exchanged a silent look. The older McClure brother merely shrugged and shook his head in dismay.

  A few minutes later, they caught sight of Preston again as he pushed his way through the crowd along the track sidelines below them.

  First, Melinda spotted Debbie and Connie — in the company of Roy Finch and two other well-dressed men. As Preston reached the group, Finch took him to the side and immediately engaged him in deep conversation. Apparently Finch had wanted to be spotted by Preston, which was why he took up a position directly below the McClure box.

  When the next race started, Melinda and Mac paid no attention. They tuned out the noise of the crowd, and kept watching the scene below. While everyone around them was absorbed with the race, Preston and Finch stood out by being oblivious to everything around them. Their private exchange was punctuated with animated gestures.

  Then, in the midst of all the commotion, Roy Finch turned and stared straight up at Melinda momentarily with a look filled with an ominous promise. An icy chill pierced her. Preston followed the direction of Roy's gaze, then grabbed his arm as though to distract him.

  Finally, Preston made his way through the crowd and out of sight. In a few minutes, he was back at the table. His face was flaming red, and his expression ghastly as he sat back down.

  "I'm staying in Ruidoso a few more days," he announced. "You two go on home without me."

  Mac shook his head in denial. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on with that creep."

  Preston looked squarely at Mac. "Trust me on this one, Mac. I know what I'm doing. I promise I'm going to take care of everything. Now listen to me carefully. It's very important that you take Melinda — and the two of you get on out of here."

  Preston's emphasis on Melinda's name seemed somehow to reach Mac. Both brothers turned and regarded her in unison.

  "Now just a minute," Melinda said. "I have every right to be told what's happening here."

  "Not yet, Melinda," Preston said. "In time. Trust me. I'll be back in a couple of days. Until then, I want you to stop asking questions. Got that? Don't ask anyone any more questions."

  "This is about my meeting with Connie and Debbie yesterday, isn't it? They're involved with Finch somehow. You're clearly involved with Finch. And for all I know, Joan is, too."

  Preston began looking around desperately, as though expecting to be overheard. Taking the cue, Mac reached over and gently covered Melinda's arm with his hand.

  "Don't say anything else, Melinda," Mac said quietly. "Let's just do what Preston asked and get out of here."

  "Good." Preston nodded his approval. "And hurry. I'll stop and check with Bates, make sure he takes care of everything before we finish up at the track. I'll get him to loan me his car. He can ride back to the ranch in the truck pulling the horse trailer."

  Soon she and Mac were in the SUV, heading back to the cabin to pick up their clothes. That's when Melinda quietly told Mac about the vehicle that tried to run her down the previous night.

  "Why did you wait until now to tell me something like this?" Mac's voice was almost a whisper.

  "After the way you treated me when Sammy was killed? I was afraid you would think it was all my imagination. The truth is I thought it was all my imagination."

  Mac's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Sammy. My God. I was so positive it was an accident…"

  "You're not so positive now, are you?"

  Mac stared straight ahead at the road for several minutes before he finally answered.

  "All I know for sure is that this thing, whatever it is, has gone far enough."

  7

  Three uneventful days later, Preston finally reappeared at the ranch.

  He was accompanied by a man he introduced to Melinda only as Scott Bradford, a supposed horse buyer who would be spending some time there as a guest. Short, sandy-haired, and humorless, Bradford treated Melinda as though she had all the importance of a bug.

  She soon observed that he and the two McClure brothers spent considerable time sequestered together in the library, engaged in low conversations she was unable to overhear even when she tried covertly eavesdropping on several occasions. And from her bird's eye view from the balcony of her room, Melinda saw that the three men often drove off together to explore dim ranch roads seemingly leading nowhere.

  The most notable change was the amiable relationship now shared between Mac and Preston. They pleasantly answered any question she might have, using equal skill to sidestep issues of any real substance.

  At the very first meal they all had sh
ared together after Preston's return, she had tried — and failed — to find out what had so bothered him that day at the track.

  "Just a misunderstanding," Preston said as he crunched a pickle. "I got it straightened out. Isn't that right, Mac?"

  "That's right," Mac agreed stiffly.

  Scott Bradford merely scowled and opened up the two slices of his sandwich bread to carefully inspect the sliced beef and lettuce inside. He acted as though he expected something unsavory to lurk there.

  "So did you find out anything more about Joan?" Melinda asked impatiently.

  Both brothers fixed their attention on Scott, as he carefully reassembled the sandwich, making sure that each curve of the two bread slices precisely matched. He gave each of the McClures a cool look that clearly said Melinda was to be excluded from their exclusive little club.

  "We're working on it," Mac said finally.

  "So would you care to let me in on your plans?"

  "Uh — no," Mac answered apologetically.

  "Fine." Melinda laid her sandwich down. "Then I'll tell you what my plans are. I'm driving into the nearest large city, and I'm going to hire my own private detective to help me look for Joan. So would you be so kind as to loan me a vehicle?"

  "No," Mac said. "Not for a few days. They're all — being used right now."

  "So I'm a prisoner?"

  "That's being a little melodramatic, don't you think?" Mac smiled, this time with real amusement.

  Scott took a tiny, meticulous bite from the corner of his sandwich, then wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin. Melinda stood, threw her napkin to the side, and pointed at him accusingly.

  "And you," she said. "You're no horse buyer."

  The man looked right through her as though she didn't exist.

  After a few exasperating days of being ignored by Scott and being treated with cloying kindness by the McClures, Melinda began to suspect that she also was being very closely watched. When she stood on the veranda, one of the three of the men always was there somewhere within sight below.