October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  Gatsby and Walker caught up, and they crossed the street. Past Vivian’s, where the houses petered out, they took a dirt trail through the open field. She looked up and saw the emergency vehicles on the edge of the near side of the quarry. She and Bonnie cantered the rest of the way up the snaky dirt road letting Lina walk behind.

  A firetruck and an ambulance were parked at the top. One of the firemen was pulling out a length of rope. He went to the cliff and looked over it. “Looks cold!” he yelled. Fairy Glen’s volunteer fire captain, Wilma Wagner, all 5’2” of her, slid down from the passenger side of the fire truck. She was a petite but scrappy woman, with medium-brown curly hair, cut ear length, about Bonnie’s age. She held her hand out to them to stop them from coming closer.

  Then to Deirdre’s surprise, Sally led her horse out from behind the ambulance, like a magic trick. “I’m fine. No really I’m fine,” Sally shooed away one of the EMTs. She had on her lightweight vented helmet and sunglasses, which made her look very official. Darkling, her brown-black MorAb, was decked out in synthetic endurance tack trimmed in red—breast collar, bridle, crupper, and an ergonomic endurance saddle that was invisible beneath its fuzzy cover of sheepskin. He looked relaxed among all the commotion of vehicles and people.

  “Sally! Are you okay? What happened?” Deirdre, Bonnie, and Lina all dismounted and surrounded her.

  “I’m totally fine. It’s the guy down there that has a problem,” Sally pointed backwards with her thumb.

  Deirdre had a bad feeling. She led Scarlet around the ambulance to the edge of the quarry cliff and looked down. A fireman had already rappelled down the broken chunky granite. Almost all the way to the rubble at the bottom, a charred car stood upright on its crushed front end. The fireman looked inside the broken window, then back up at Wilma, and shook his head.

  More sirens howled in the distance. Wilma pulled her radio off her belt. “Dispatch, tell your boys to kill the sirens. But we’ll need the coroner. And a recovery tow truck.” The radio squawked back.

  Wilma said, “Ok ladies, back it up, back it up…we’re gonna have heavy equipment, sheriffs, coroner’s office, all coming through here. Time to go back home. All except you Sally, you’ll need to stay and give a statement to the sheriff.”

  “You can only keep me here if there’s water for my horse,” Sally said, putting a hand on Darkling’s neck and scrunching her chin so it wrinkled like a walnut.

  “2000 gallons enough?” Wilma patted the side of the fire tanker. To the rest of them she said, “Come on guys, gimme some room to work here.”

  “Leaving!” Bonnie called, already walking back down the hill. “Dee, give me a leg up would you?”

  Deirdre laced her fingers for Bonnie to use as a step up to her bareback pad on the very tall Gatsby. Lina mounted, pulling terribly on the horn of Walker’s saddle. Deirdre mounted while Scarlet pranced in a circle around her. “Don’t let her do that Dee!” said Lina.

  At the street, sheriffs had arrived and were blocking off the scene. Scarlet shied and danced away from the waving yellow police tape. They rode around it, nodding at the sheriffs in their aviators and army green bulletproof vests, threading through their black and white SUVs. Deputy Harvey was there. He nodded and tipped his hat as they passed. “Ladies.”

  As they passed Vivian’s house, Deirdre said, “You know, I didn’t finish my story. When I was coming back from that ride, Vivian was watching me from above, and we both saw two men, standing on the other side of the quarry. They looked—I don’t know—frightening. Then her horse squealed, and Scarlet took off.” A chill went down the back of her neck.

  The men had been silhouetted, and the sun was in her eyes. Which means she was fully lit up, and they must have seen her, especially after Apache whinnied so damn loud. And now—it was very possible that one of them was dead at the bottom of the quarry.

  Vivian definitely knew something. She vowed to talk to her again the first chance she got.

  But first, she had to get home, give Scarlet a bath, go pick up the kids, make dinner, and get ready for the show tomorrow.

  * * *

  FRIDAY NIGHTS AT WOKCHIKABOK!Bok! were the worst.

  Three girls from Rebecca’s school came in, probably fresh from their pedicures next door. She recognized them, but they were seniors, so they didn’t recognize her. She took their order.

  Jeremy was cooking, and one of the girls called “Hi Jeremy!” in a Minnie Mouse voice and fluttered her fingers at him. He just waved back, one wave, like a brush off.

  Since he’d started his shift, he’d pretty much kept to himself, not throwing out his usual insults, lame jokes, come-ons, or inappropriate remarks. Hey, maybe he actually had been sick, or he was just behaving himself because Mr. Fariz was here.

  “Order!” she called to him.

  “Got it.” He sounded annoyed.

  “Dearest Rebecca.” It was Mr. Fariz at her shoulder. “Could I trouble you to join me in my office for a minute or so?”

  “Of course.” She followed him down the hallway, suddenly sweating. Maybe he found out about her snooping in his files. God, maybe he had a nanny cam in there or something. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Now Rebecca,” he said, and sat in his naugahyde chair. “Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across the desk from him. “As you probably know, you are coming up on six months employment here.”

  Her face got cold.

  “We like to reward our best employees. But…” His dark eyes fixated on her, his round face losing its pleasant expression, the brows drawing in toward each other. Oh god, here it comes. She pictured herself begging for forgiveness, trying to explain why she’d done it. He continued, “Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a cash poor situation right now. You should by rights be getting a 50 cent per hour raise. But, and I’m so sorry about this, I cannot give it to you right now.” He looked down at his hands.

  She expelled a huge amount of air. “Oh, Mr. Fariz, actually, don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’m—I’m just happy you gave me this job, and I get to work with you and Darius, and—” She broke off, surprised at the tears itching her eyeballs. “I’m grateful. I’m really grateful to you.” She stopped before she choked up.

  “Oh dear, don’t cry dear. While I can’t offer you a pay increase at this time, I would like to offer you something perhaps more valuable?” He ended it as a question. “I rely on you. I know you’ll show up, I know I can leave you in charge, and with Darius getting busier with school and college prep, I need another assistant manager around. I would like to offer you the position of Assistant Manager of WokChikaBok!Bok!” He raised both arms to the side, like a magician posing after a trick, and his smile returned. “You can put it on your resume and everything. Once we get past this temporary setback, I’ll give you an even bigger raise, to make up for your patience. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she put her hand to her heart. “I’m flattered, and, and, yes! I’ll take it!”

  “That’s my girl!” He stood up and extended a hand to shake hers. She started crying for real now. “Okay, don’t get too overwhelmed, it’s not all wine and roses! As a manager, your biggest problem is not chicken, or…mushrooms…”—she broke out in a giggle at that—“it’s people! And, some of our people are not quite as…dedicated as you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “So, I’d like you to take Jeremy under your wing. Show him—gently—how to be a good employee. Think you can do that?”

  “Eww. Sorry, Mr. Fariz, it’s just that—why don’t you fire him? I think he’s beyond repair.”

  That got a huge laugh. “Oh, Rebecca, you young people are so definite, so white and black. It doesn’t really work that way in business. Sometimes it’s more costly to fire someone than to keep them. And besides, he cooks okay. Mostly his problem is attendance. Or lack of it.”

  “Well, okay. I’ll think of it as a challenge then. Any tips?”

  He slid a book a
cross the table to her. “Read this first. I’ll also give you my wealth of life experience here and there—but right now, let’s get back out front. Half hour till closing!”

  As she followed him out she looked down at the title of the book in her hand.

  How to Win Friends and Influence People. Hmm. She’d give it a shot, sure, why not. She was a fast reader.

  After work she grabbed her stuff from her tiny locker and headed out back to where her bike was chained up to the gas pipes. Jeremy walked out as she was digging through the bottom of her bag for her keyring. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He noticed Rebecca. “Congrats on the promotion,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said simply, not knowing how to begin her ‘mentorship’ or whatever it was. That could wait. They were both off the clock. Jeremy seemed to hover, but she ignored him, and he drifted over to his car and started it. The senior girls from earlier came to his car and gathered around the window.

  She fumbled through her bag again. Damn it. Where were they? The only key she really needed was to her bike lock. Of course she had a house key, but people in the country never lock their doors.

  “Something wrong?” he yelled over the engine noise.

  She looked up. The girls were gone. “Uh, yeah.” she called, and ran to the car. “I can’t find my keys. Think I could get a ride again?” She was trying hard to be polite, stuffing down her revulsion for the guy. Besides, no matter how bad a driver he might be, it was safer than biking.

  “Sure. Why not?” he said. She got in.

  On the drive, she asked, “Going to any parties tonight?”

  “Nope. Not really in the party mood.”

  “Are you feeling any better?” she tried a new tack.

  He looked at her sideways, through his dirty blond forelock. “Better than what?”

  “You were out sick yesterday, remember?” Haha! Despite the fact that he was doing her another favor, she felt the urge to nail him to the wall for his truth discrepancies.

  “Oh. You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” He turned off Rancho Alto Road and onto San Amaro Hills Road, barely slowing.

  “I guess I’m a curious person,” she said.

  “You can say that again.”

  That pissed her off. “Why’d you give me a ride then, if you don’t even like me?” She dropped any pretense of trying to gain his friendship.

  He started to laugh, stepping on the accelerator. The streetlights flashed by, walls of beige cinderblock becoming a blur. “Who said I didn’t like you? Besides, don’t you still have someone out to kill you?”

  She sat in silence, until he said, “Let’s make a quick stop.”

  He pulled into the low-income apartments on the outskirts of San Amaro Hills, before it turned into the countryside of Fairy Glen. The apartments had been part of the deal with building this place, a concession to the poor, unfortunate have-nots. He drove around back of all of the buildings.

  Against a backdrop of chain link and dry grass hillside, Jeremy’s headlights lit up a lifted black pickup, with a guy leaning against it.

  She almost bailed out of the still moving car. “What are you doing?” she asked, her heart squeezing up her throat.

  “Trust me,” Jeremy said. “He told me he didn’t see who did it. I’m just making sure.”

  “Fuck you. I’m outta here.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. But before she could do anything, he had stopped and rolled down his window and the guy, a beefy white dude who looked like he knew the inside of a jail cell intimately—thick tattooed neck, dead eyes—stuck his head in.

  “What’s up?” he said. Rebecca put her hand on the door latch, trembling. His shark eyes moved over her, but nothing registered.

  Jeremy got out of the car, leaving the big engine rumbling.

  “What are we gonna do?” she heard the guy said to Jeremy.

  “Find out who did it,” Jeremy said. “Get revenge.” She couldn’t see their heads, just their torsos.

  “Hell yeah. Hell fucking yeah.” The dude fist bumped Jeremy and swaggered back to his pick-up bed. Lit up by Jeremy’s headlights, she took in his full ape-like posture in his black sleeveless t-shirt, a baseball cap on backwards and perched high on his head. His jeans, wet and frayed and dirty on the bottom, rode his hips, the crotch almost at his knees. Her blood bounded as she recognized him. He was the guy that had yelled at her.

  Jeremy leaned in his window. “Stay here.” He followed the guy, who reached into the truck bed and pulled out a backpack. As he handed it to Jeremy, a shovel got caught in the strap and clattered when it fell. She flinched, and slumped in her seat. She could see the egg smear still on his back window. A warmth spread through her chest, knowing she’d hit her intended target.

  Jeremy got in. “See, told you. Chad has no clue it was you,” he said, as they drove out onto Fairy Glen Road again. “You’re safe.”

  By the time they got to the woods, her heart was almost back to normal speed.

  “I can’t fucking believe you,” she said.

  “What? I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. Believe me, I don’t need another excuse to bash his skull in.”

  “Ugh. Just, don’t. And, it sounded like he still wants to find out who it was and get revenge? So how does that help me?”

  “Oh, that. No, that was something—something else. Completely different.”

  Jeremy was silent until they got to her corner and pulled over. Then he asked, “Do you really live out here? I mean in a house, or are you like a witch of the woods or something?” He was smirking, the bastard.

  “Funny. I could ask you the same thing. Do you live out here? I mean in a house, not a pumpkin, or a shoe? Or a crappy apartment in San Amaro Hills?”

  “Unfortunately, yes I do. Down near Pleasant Hollow.”

  So. But then why had he gone to Vivian’s the other night, and who the hell was that loser at the apartment complex? “Prove it.” She didn’t know why she said that. She knew his address. She could look it up.

  “What, you want a utility bill, like I’m applying for a library card or something? Nope, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  She stepped out of the car, slammed the door a little too hard.

  He called after her, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m a dumbass. I really was trying to help you stop worrying about Chad. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a ride to work tomorrow.”

  “No thanks,” she said.

  “Goodnight, witch of the woods,” he called after her, “I’ll be here tomorrow at ten,” and took off in a squeal of dirt and rubber.

  “And I won’t,” she said to his retreating taillights.

  She felt naked without her bike. It was weird walking instead of rolling, down the street and around the corner, through the quiet Fairy Glen night. It was like she was in slow motion. Crickets chirped around her. The air cooled her hot face. Chad’s dead eyes haunted her, but if she admitted it to herself, she was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about him anymore. Still, she was pissed at Jeremy for taking away her control of the situation.

  Once she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, she heard strange noises coming from the family room.

  “Mom, are you okay?” She rushed through the kitchen with its too-bright fluorescent lights. The dogs lifted their heads and wagged their tails in greeting, then went back to snoozing on their beds.

  Her mother was alone, cross-legged on the floor, talking to the TV. Old bath towels surrounded her, laid out with bridle, reins, girth and other unidentifiable bits of tack disassembled for cleaning. The fresh smell of saddle soap filled the room.

  “Rebecca, c’mere, c’mere!” Her mom patted the couch. Rebecca perched next to her. News music came on. “Watch, watch!” said her mom, then the announcer said, “Up next on Channel 9 News at 10! What we all do every day that could cause cancer! How long will the heat wave last? But first, a car at the bottom o
f a quarry, a man dead inside. What investigators think might have caused the accident.”

  “Whoa!” she said, and her mom nodded and pointed.

  The footage switched between video of the quarry and the male reporter live in front of the sheriff’s station.

  “What we know at this point,” said the reporter in his oh-so-serious Reporter Voice, “is that this quarry, that you see in this video we shot earlier, this quarry in North County, east of Karlsberg, west of Encantadino, close to the San Amaro…”

  “Come on! Get on with it!” her mom yelled at the television, flinging her hands in the air.

  “…Hills development, was the site of a fatal accident. This afternoon, a horseback rider from a neighboring community—”

  “What community! Do we have a name?” her mom yelled, then turned to Rebecca, “It was Sally!” she said, with a scary glint in her eyes.

  “—was riding around the perimeter that you see here,” the video switched to the shots of the quarry, “and, looking down, she actually saw a car at the bottom. Now I gotta tell you Steve, I went to that quarry, and it is a loooooong way down.”

  “For crying out loud!” Her mom grabbed fistfuls of hair and mimed pulling it out before realizing there was saddle soap all over her hands.

  “Now, unfortunately, there was a body inside, who at this point is unidentified, and it appears that the car burned or exploded upon impact. No word yet on who this man is, no idea of the cause of the accident, if it was a suicide, if alcohol was involved. Was it a stolen car? Had the guy just had a bad day at work…”

  “Jesus, they call this journalism?” Rebecca was disgusted by the quality of the local news, yet fascinated by the story. She knew that quarry as well as her mom did. Jittery helicopter footage zoomed in on the car wreck at the bottom. Her mom wiped her hands and sat next to her on the couch.

  “Now, I spoke with Detective…” the reporter looked down at his notes, “Thomas Goodwin from the Sheriff’s department, and here’s what he said.”