Hayburner (A Gail McCarthy Mystery)

by Laura Crum

  Kelly was too upset to be very coherent, but I got the picture. "I'm on my way."

  I drove as fast as the law allowed, headed north of Santa Cruz, on Highway 1. My own fears forgotten, I prayed my usual prayer. Please let this not be too bad. Protect these horses and people from suffering.

  I was never sure exactly whom I was praying to. I only knew that the words came-a plea to that which is, a longing for compassion.

  Well before I reached the scene of the wreck, I both heard and saw it. Sirens wailed, traffic stopped, up ahead lights flashed red, blue, and yellow. After an indecisive moment, I pulled my truck onto the shoulder and made my way forward. In another minute, I reached a police car.

  "I'm a vet," I said. "They called me."

  He waved me through.

  For a second I had a hard time sorting out the disaster. Cars scattered here and there, twisted and smashed, interspersed with flashing emergency vehicles and uniformed cops, firefighters, and paramedics. Then my eyes caught the sorrel bulk of a horse in the roadway.

  The carcass of a horse, my mind corrected. The body lay flat on its side, unnaturally still. And then I saw the other horse.

  He was on the shoulder, another sorrel, lying on his belly, with his head up. At a glance, he looked undamaged, but I knew immediately that something was wrong. If he were all right, the horse would be on his feet. It goes against a horse's every instinct to be down in a scene of danger.

  A little knot of people stood by the horse. I made my way over. "I'm a vet," I said. "Dr. McCarthy."

  "Right," a very young-looking Highway Patrolman answered. "We think this horse was hurt in the crash. He won't get up."

  "Is the owner here?"

  "We're not sure who the owner is. No one seems to know. These neighbors say they don't recognize the horses. They don't know where they came from. They were loose on the highway apparently."

  I looked from face to face. Two older men, three women, several young men. No one said anything. The twisted cars on the road, surrounded by emergency personnel, told their own story. Big-time lawsuits. If one of the people gathered here owned these horses, he or she was keeping quiet. Horses loose on a public roadway made the owner liable.

  "Right," I said. "Let's have a look at him."

  The sorrel horse lay there quietly, but his gums were pale and there was sweat on his neck. His pulse and respiration were very elevated. Not good.

  "Let's get him up," I said.

  "He doesn't want to," the young cop replied.

  "We'll lift him." I got a halter from my truck and put it on the horse's head.

  Several more cops came forward. I pulled on the lead rope and clucked to the horse; the young men set their shoulders against him and pushed. In another minute he was standing.

  His right hind leg dangled, swinging freely. I palpitated it gently, though I knew what the outcome would be. "It's broken up high," I said. "I'm afraid he needs to be euthanized." I stroked the horse's neck.

  The young cop who had spoken to me first stepped forward and took hold of the lead rope. "Go ahead and do it."

  "All right."

  I went to my truck, got the syringe, and filled it. Strange, disjointed thoughts floated through my mind. I seemed to be doing this so much lately. Was this all my life was about, killing horses?

  Come on, I chided. Relieving this horse's suffering is a good thing to do. You didn't cause his injury.

  But I still felt responsible somehow as I carried the kill shot toward the animal. Along with the rest of humanity, I had created this world of hurtling steel, so alien to horses.

  Even as I injected the shot and felt the horse slowly settle, I longed to undo the damage, unmake the world, create a space of peace and harmony where a horse would not come to such an end. As I stood blinking back tears, I saw the stretcher with an ominously covered figure being loaded into the ambulance.

  Or a person, I thought. Why must so much suffering be?

  For a second the young cop met my eyes and I knew we were reading each other's minds. "It's too bad," he said.

  I felt a cold wind riffle through the gray clouds above us. "Yeah," I said. I didn't have any words to offer him.

  "Thanks," he added.

  "No problem."

  I walked to my truck and got in, shut the door, started the engine, and drove away, all without a clue as to how I was doing it. I could feel my head throb; I could hear my ears making a tinny whine.

  "I am so tired," I said out loud.

  Tired or not, more calls waited for me. The horse with the lump turned out to have pigeon fever. I had to flunk the prospective jumper. Though sound, his X rays showed incipient ringbone. Neither the buyer nor the seller was happy with me.

  By the end of the day, I was more tired than ever. At six thirty, as I was headed home, my cell phone rang. The voice of the answering service operator was brisk.

  "A Jeri Ward says ET is colicked."

  "Damn. I'll be right there."

  "He's at the upper barn, the client says."

  "Right."

  Shit. I'd forgotten I was on call this evening. I peered through my window at the darkening sky. Great gusts of wind swept across the landscape, bending the trees and beating the thin brown grass flat. It looked as if it were about to start pouring any minute.

  Poor Jeri. ET was her first horse, and she was very fond of him, I knew. I stepped on the gas. It would take me at least twenty minutes to reach the Bishop Ranch.

  The sky grew colder, grayer, and darker as I drove; the wind rattled against the truck. Occasional drops hit my windshield, but it wasn't really raining yet. Soon, though.

  I hoped ET's colic wasn't too bad. I hoped I would get a chance to talk to Jeri about the arson investigation. It had been awhile since we spoke.

  More rain splattered against the windshield as I pulled into the Bishop Ranch. Dusk was verging on dark. I could see no one around. Rolling the window down, I shivered as a blast of chilly rain whipped against my face. Simultaneously, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance.

  I peered out my window at the empty barnyard. The upper barn, the operator had said. I remembered the place. Above the ranch house.

  My headlights cut a path through the gathering rain. Their beams showed me the ranch house, and then farther on, the narrow road that led past the pasture and the upper barn. I reached the driveway, pulled in, parked my truck, and got out. Lights were on in the barn; I walked forward through a tunnel of arching branches that whipped and tossed in the cold wind.

  Peering through the darkness, I looked for the forms of Jeri and ET. Next to me a twig snapped. I turned sharply and my head exploded.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I came to in darkness. Blinking my eyes, I was aware of myself as a presence, nothing more. My head hurt. Slowly pain in blackness evolved into dawning consciousness.

  I remembered myself. I knew who I was; I knew what had happened. And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who had hit me.

  Not that I had seen him. Not this time. But something had jolted free in my brain, and I remembered his face, arm raised to strike, in Judith's barn.

  I turned my head. I was lying flat on my back with my hands together on my belly. I tried to separate my wrists and couldn't do it. Eventually I realized they were tied together. As were my feet. I turned my face from side to side. The prickly feel and sweet green smell of alfalfa were unmistakable. I was lying on hay.

  The darkness, which had initially seemed absolute, was lighter when I turned my face to the right. After a minute, I made out the shape of an open doorway, with a disturbed milky light filtering through it. Moonlight.

  There was noise, too. A steady drumming sound. Rain. Rain on the roof. And loud squeaks and creaks. Something rattled overhead.

  I was in a barn, I thought. It was storming outside. As if in confirmation, I caught a greenish flash of lightning in the corner of my eye. A few seconds later, thunder boomed out.

  I was pretty sure what barn I was in.
But I wondered why I was alive. My assailant meant to kill me; I was sure of it. Why had I been left here?

  At the thought, the hairs on the back of my neck lifted in primitive dread. Time to do something.

  Slowly and carefully, I explored the material that tied my wrists together. Baling twine, it felt like. Not terribly tight, either. As if my hands had been hastily bound.

  Why, I wondered again.

  But even as my mind indulged itself in speculation, my hands fumbled restlessly, intuitively. I touched the edge of my right hand jeans pocket with one finger. There was a knife in that pocket.

  Could I do it? I moved my bound arms to the right, shifted and twisted my wrists to put as much slack as possible into the twine. The fingers of my right hand burrowed into the pocket. I could feel the smooth metal surface of the knife. Delicately, gently, I curled my index and middle fingers around it and worked it up. No room for error, here.

  I tried not to think about it, tried not to imagine what a fumble would cost me. Letting my fingers move, I kept my mind away from the what-ifs.

  The knife was out of the pocket and in my right hand. I thanked God from the bottom of my heart that I had thought to buy a one-handed knife.

  The motion was as familiar as breathing; I used the knife every time I had to cut the twine on a bale of hay. Sweetly, easily, the blade folded out. Gingerly I maneuvered it until the sharp edge was against the twine that encircled my wrists. Taking as firm a grip on the handle as I could manage with the fingers of my right hand, I moved my left wrist to saw the twine against the blade.

  The knife was sharp. In less than a minute I could feel the twine begin to give. In another second it snapped; I pulled my hands apart. Instantly I sat up.

  For a second my head spun, but I blinked and things seemed to settle. I bent forward and cut the twine that bound my feet.

  Time to go. I could hear rain battering the walls of the barn; great gusts of wind made the boards creak. A clap of thunder boomed in the distance.

  I got to my feet. My head spun again and I swayed. Putting a hand out to steady myself, I touched the rough wood of the wall, then made my way toward the doorway.

  As I neared it, I could feel the wind blowing in, spattering my face with raindrops. I shivered. My shirt was damp. No time for that now. I peered out. Despite the rain and clouds, moonlight illuminated the scene with a faint glow. A full moon, I remembered, though I couldn't see it.

  I stared at the blowing rain in front of me. Tree branches tossed and flung themselves above a dirt road. I blinked. So where was my truck?

  I'd parked it right there. I stared. There was nothing. Just the dark road, the rain, the blowing, black trees. The truck was white; I should see it.

  It was gone. He'd moved it, I realized. Moved the so-incriminating evidence of my presence. That was why I'd been left in the barn, to be dealt with later. He needed to move the truck.

  Once again, fear rose up. He'd be back. He'd be back to kill me.

  I took a deep breath. Putting my head down, I ducked out into the rain and started running down the hill. I'd go to the boarding stable, find someone, find help. Rain blew into me, soaking through my shirt, through my hair. I raised my head, trying to see, and came to a dead stop.

  A figure was coming up the road toward me. Completely clad in a slicker and rain hat, his features were invisible in the pouring rain and darkness. But I knew who he was. In every atom of my body I recognized my enemy.

  I turned and ran back the way I had come. As I neared the barn, I saw what I hadn't seen from inside the doorway. Two horses were tied under a lean-to roof on one side. A saddled horse and one with a pack rig. Freddy and Blackjack.

  I didn't think, just went with my first instincts. Slowing to a walk, I stepped toward Freddy. His eyes were big, but he held his ground. Untying him, I pulled the reins over his head with one hand and swung up.

  In another second I whirled the horse to face my assailant. Through a haze of rain, I could see the slicker-clad figure lift his arm in the classic pose of a man sighting along the barrel of a pistol. Moonlight gleamed on metal. In the split second it took me to assimilate this, I dug my heels into Freddy's ribs; the horse leaped forward just as the shot cracked out.

  I kicked the horse again as he bounded; startled by the noise, he needed little encouragement to run. Grabbing the saddle horn and a handful of mane, I clung on as he lunged up the hill.

  Downhill was the direction of people and help, but that slicker-clad figure stood between me and safety. I ducked low over Freddy's neck as another shot rang out. Almost instantly it was swallowed up in a clap of thunder.

  Freddy was bolting in earnest now. I twined my fingers in his mane; my feet fumbled for the stirrups. Rain lashed my face, ran down my cheeks, dripped off my hair. Blinded and gasping, I could barely stay with the stampeding animal. But the alternative was a good deal worse.

  On we went. Upward, ever upward. Uphill, as far as I remembered, was only empty woods. Wind whipped my ears and roared in the trees around me. I tried a tentative pull on the reins and felt Freddy respond. My feet found the stirrups; thanking God they were roughly the right length, I sat up a little straighter and took a good hold of the reins. Freddy slowed. I pulled again and he came down to a trot.

  Even as I checked him to a halt, a great gust of wind and rain broadsided us like an openhanded slap. Freddy flung his head and switched his tail; I tried to shake my wet bangs out of my eyes. Turning the horse around, I looked back down the hill.

  Between the darkness and the storm, I could see little, only dark trees in a noisy, blowing tangle. I stared. Freddy's ears came up and he stared, too.

  Then, simultaneously, lightning flashed and the horse neighed. In the brief eerie light, I saw what Freddy's more accurate senses had already registered-a horse, galloping up the hill after us.

  A horse and rider, I realized. Even as thunder clapped out, I spun Freddy and kicked him back into a gallop. I recognized the pursuing horse's blaze face. Blackjack. The slicker-clad horseman was clinging to the pack rig, desperate to catch us. I already knew he carried a gun.

  Freddy drove forward, propelled by his own adrenaline as much as my cue. I leaned forward over his neck, thanked God he was surefooted and bold. Despite the wild storm buffeting us up the steep hill, the horse charged as if in the front line of a battle.

  I rode. Now we were in the eucalyptus grove, the tall trees groaning and creaking as they swayed over us. Lightning flashed on the ridge, showing me the forest of pale trunks and branches, writhing and twisting. I gripped the saddle horn in one hand and the reins in the other and thumped my heels into Freddy's sides.

  Rain blew in my face; wind dinned in my ears. The whole world was a dark, noisy kaleidoscope. Desperately, I tried to think. What to do? As far as I knew, this dirt road led only to the clearing on top of the ridge. And if I reached it-what then? Go back, of course. By the trail. Back to civilization, to help and safety.

  Swiping the water out of my eyes with one hand, I gasped as the horse stumbled. Automatically I grabbed at the horn; Freddy recovered himself in one stride and galloped on. I didn't dare risk a look back. I kept my attention forward; I rode for all I was worth. I knew he was back there, but I knew also that I could go faster than he could. Riding on a pack rig would be difficult at the best of times and an all-out gallop in a rainstorm was hardly the best of times.

  It seemed to take forever. I twined my fingers in the wet, dark strands of Freddy's mane, tried to stay balanced and forward over the horse's shoulders, where he could most easily carry me. Clucking to him rhythmically, I tried to encourage him in this strange pandemonium we'd both been thrown into. Once again I thanked God he was tough.

  Soon, I thought, soon we'd be there. Lightning crackled on the ridge again; I could see we were nearing the top. In another minute we crested the hill; the clearing opened up around me. In the corner of one eye, I saw the dark bulk of the huge blue gum tree. I pulled Freddy to a jerky, prancing stop
.

  Back, I thought, go back. But which way? Down the trail? I didn't know which route the killer had taken. I had spotted him before the trail branched off. Or at least I thought so.

  If I went the wrong way, I'd meet him point blank. And he was carrying a gun.

  Freddy threw his head and danced impatiently as I dithered. Eucalyptus trees moaned and squealed as the storm flung their branches above me. I blinked more water out of my eyes and tried desperately to think.

  Which way to go? I stared at the wildly tossing crown of the big blue gum, barely visible in the darkness. Which way to go?

  Another crackle of greenish light flashed around me, with a strange sizzling noise. The hair on my arms stood up. Instantaneously thunder boomed, deafening me. Freddy reared.

  "That was too close," I gasped.

  As if somehow cued, the wind increased its fury and the rain, already icy, began to sting. Hail. My God. I could hear it rattling on the eucalyptus leaves. Freddy jumped forward, tossing his head and fighting the bit. I heard another loud crack.

  Not thunder. I looked up and saw him, right where the road opened into the clearing. Blackjack's white blaze gleamed in the faint light, not twenty feet from me. The horseman was shooting from his back.

  Freddy plunged toward his stable mate, bulling through the bridle, ignoring my tugs. I saw the slicker-clad form on the horse point the pistol right at me. I closed my eyes.

  Please help me, I prayed. And everything exploded in an overwhelming crash.

  Was I hit? I was still clinging to a wildly whirling Freddy as a huge thud shook the ground. Shit. For a second I could see nothing but waving leaves and twigs. The big blue gum had dropped a branch right between me and Blackjack.

  Had he fired at me again? He had, I thought. But the branch had fallen at the same time. And suddenly I knew what to do.

  Wrenching Freddy around by main force, I rode around the branch. There he was. Blocking my path again. I took a deep breath and kicked Freddy right at him.

  His hand came up; I prayed. He flung the gun right at my head. I ducked and the gun missed me. I was right, I thought, I was right.