October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  An uncomfortable looking middle-aged man with graying hair and a cowboy shirt was swarmed by reporters pushing microphones into his face.

  “When did the accident happen? Do you know who was inside the car?”

  The man answered in a slow, deep drawl. “We believe it was earlier in the week. But there’s no definite time frame right now. The deceased hasn’t even been identified yet.”

  “You’re a homicide detective aren’t you? Does that mean this is a murder?”

  “It’s being investigated. That’s all I’ll say for now. Excuse me.”

  The reporter came back. “So, why the car was up there at the quarry, we just don’t know at this point. And as you saw, the sheriffs think it happened earlier this week, but how much earlier we Just. Do. Not. Know. We’ll be sure to keep you updated on any developments, but right now I’m Aaron Sanford, live at the Sheriff’s Department North County Headquarters, with a bizarre and dramatic story. Back to you Steve.”

  “Thanks Aaron. Too bad we don’t have footage of the accident. That would be pretty dramatic huh?” Steve swiveled his chair and directed some vapid laughter towards his co-anchor.

  The female co-anchor had rolled her eyes far up into her head, too far to get back down by the time the camera switched over to her.

  Her mom muted the TV and she and Rebecca turned to face each other. “Weird,” said Rebecca.

  “You’re telling me. We went up there, before the news even got there. I saw the car. It was bad.” She shook her whole body, then turned to Rebecca and took her hands, looking into her eyes. “Honey, I don’t want you riding your bike home anymore, especially after dark. Okay?”

  “Don’t worry. I got a ride tonight.” Apparently her mom was totally fine with her riding in a too fast car with a rando teenage coworker, but not biking home safely on her own. “But I left my bike there. Can I get a ride in the morning?”

  “Oh, honey, I’ve got the horse show tomorrow,” her mom’s face drooped.

  “Right. No problem.”

  “You sure honey?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” she said, careful to keep her voice light.

  But it wasn’t fine. It meant she might have to take Jeremy up on his offer.

  Saturday, October 6

  REBECCA SAT ON THE front patio, sipping her coffee. It was 9:50, and her house was finally peaceful.

  Earlier that morning her mom was panicking trying to load Scarlet into the trailer. Bonnie was helping. Not so much with the horse, but by attempting to keep her mother calm with her soothing sweet voice. Lina stood by, arms crossed, looking like a bitchy supermodel in a ridiculous spangled Western get-up.

  When Scarlet had her front feet inside the trailer, she’d jerked away, backing clear across the corral. Back to square one.

  Walt, Justin and Clara had been leaving for the show too, but in a separate car, most likely so they could get pancakes first. She could’ve asked them for a ride, but she would’ve been like an hour early for work. “Have a good day Rebecca,” Walt had said, giving her a knowing look. They both knew to steer clear of her mom during moments like these.

  Her family didn’t have much money, so she knew her mom didn’t spend a lot on the horses, but geez, they took so much time and heartache, she wondered how it could be worth it. Rebecca preferred mechanical transport, it was way more reliable. As she checked again to make sure her extra bike lock key was in her pocket, she heard Jeremy’s car approaching, the deep throaty rumbling as it downshifted and came to a stop out on the main road. She shrugged. Here goes nothing. She tossed the rest of her coffee, put down the mug, and ran up the street to meet him.

  “How’d you sleep last night?” he asked when she got in. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she had lain awake till the wee hours, troubled by his bad boy act, trying not to fantasize about him? Not likely.

  “None of your business,” she said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Sleep is for losers.”

  They drove west on Fairy Glen in silence.

  “Gotta make a quick stop,” he said, and jerked the car left into the apartment complex.

  “Not again!” she said. “I don’t want Chad to see me! Just because he didn’t recognize me in the dark doesn’t mean he wouldn’t in the daylight.”

  “So, you’ll stay in the car. Believe me, you’re the last thing on his mind.”

  Jeremy parked by one of the buildings, grabbed his backpack, left the car running and sprinted up some stairs to an apartment on the third floor. Shit, he’s gonna make me late, she thought. She pulled her phone out and checked the time. 10:19.

  Tapping her foot, she looked around. It looked really nice in the daytime. If this was low-income housing, it was for the luckiest low-incomers ever. Everything was clean, brand new, stylish in that everything-looks-the-same Southern California way. Dark brown stucco, stone accents, dark gray Spanish tile roofs. Plants and shrubs all nicely maintained. She wondered how they picked who got to live here. Some kind of lottery system, probably.

  She looked around the inside of the car. What kind of detritus does a loser like Jeremy leave behind? No evidence of schoolwork. In fact, he didn’t go to her school. Was he in private school? Or was he a dropout? Both seemed equally likely. Fast-food wrappers on the floor in the back. She peeked in the glove compartment. Bingo. A couple of tiny baggies with white residue and a drinking straw cut in half. No wonder he didn’t sleep. She slammed it shut.

  Jeremy was still upstairs. She contemplated honking the horn. Or driving off, since he’d left it running. She cranked down her window to get some air. A few kids glided past on razor scooters. Jeremy finally appeared, descending the stairs two at a time. Behind him at the door of the apartment, Chad emerged, then disappeared quickly, like an animal back into its hidey-hole. Jeremy put his backpack on the seat between them, got behind the wheel, and resumed his breakneck driving, back out to Fairy Glen Road, left on San Amaro Hills, left on Rancho Alto, and by 10:29 they were pulling into the parking lot at the mini-mall. She had to admit, not bad time.

  Mr. Fariz was unlocking the front door as they walked up. He opened it with a flourish. “Good morning! My wonderful new chef, Jeremy, and our new assistant manager, Rebecca!”

  “Good morning Mr. Fariz.” She beamed at him, her mood lightening for a moment. How could somebody stay so positive all the time?

  In the locker room, she turned to Jeremy. “Thanks for the ride, but I doubt I’ll be taking you up on any more.”

  “Oh, I’m so hurt.”

  “As you heard, I’ve been promoted to assistant manager.” She lowered her voice a bit. “I’m supposed to help you become a better worker. Personally, I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “BFD. Look at you, you’re a model employee? You look like Marilyn Manson.” He reached over and flipped her hair out of her eyes and she slapped his hand away. He laughed.

  “I’m reliable and conscientious,” she hissed, tying her apron a little too tight. “Nobody was fooled by you calling in sick. Your first week of work? That’s pitiful. Your dad should be ashamed of you, after pulling strings to get you this job.”

  Mottled red spots darkened across his cheekbones, and for the first time, he actually looked angry. “Leave my dad out of this.”

  She slunk to the front counter, squirming in her polyester uniform. First she’d snooped in Mr. Fariz’s office, which was a huge betrayal of his trust, and her punishment? A promotion. Then she’d used confidential information from Darius to take a jab at Jeremy. Okay, so he was kind of a scumbag and he used drugs, but who did she know who didn’t? Besides Darius of course. Half the kids at school either smoked, drank, smoked weed, or did harder drugs. The other half were medicated by Big Pharma.

  And now she was Jeremy’s supervisor. Great start. She’d have to repair relations between them, if she was going to have any hope.

  Billy sidled over to the register. “Hey, did you hear about the dead guy?”

  “What dead guy?”
she asked.

  “At the quarry.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I did. Weird huh? I used to ride around up there with my mom when I was little. Did they find out what happened? I just saw it on the news last night.”

  Billy said, “All I heard was there was a guy that drove his car off the cliff. All the way down, boom!” He made a pantomime of the action, complete with whistling as the car fell, and explosion noises at the end. Jeremy looked over, scowling, then turned back to his cooking.

  Billy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “They’re saying it was the White Lady.”

  “I highly doubt it Billy,” she scoffed.

  The White Lady. One of the many ghost stories of Fairy Glen. A mysterious lady in white who hovered about six inches above the ground, pointing and saying “Leave now!” as either a warning or a threat. Other stories had her pursuing unlucky travelers at night, driving them into panic, paralysis, and insanity. They’d drive off a cliff or into a ditch. Even the former FG fire chief attributed half the accidents on Fairy Glen Road to the White Lady. The current fire chief, Wilma, was way too smart for that.

  Personally, Rebecca thought the most likely explanation was that it was one of the neighbor ladies in a bathrobe, telling the stupid joyriding teenagers to get the hell out of her neighborhood.

  * * *

  “MAYBE THE WHITE LADY chased that car off the cliff!” Lina said, a fiendish pleasure in her voice.

  “Oh please,” Deirdre said. She was driving them to the show, and kept her eyes on the road. “Whatever you do, don’t say that in front of Clara. More likely it was one of those two guys I told you about. And the thing is, I know Vivian saw them. But she pretended she had no clue what I was talking about! I don’t get her.”

  “Well, you know what they say, the only visitors she ever gets are the UPS man and the delivery boy, wink wink,” Lina said, then closed one nostril and sniffed a couple of times.

  “Oh, is that what they say?” Deirdre was amazed how vicious Fairy Glen gossip could be. But really, what was the deal with Vivian?

  They were in the outskirts of Encantadino now, pulling into the small local showgrounds. Deirdre’s butterflies went nuts as she guided the trailer through the gates and down the dirt driveway, past horses and riders warming up in the practice ring, and performing in the show rings beyond that.

  The parking lot was crammed. Among the normal two and three-horse trailers were a few gigantic ten-horse trailers with hay racks on top and names of prestigious show barns emblazoned on the sides.

  The truck bumped as the horses shifted weight in the trailer, then a pounding kick and a squeal—no doubt Scarlet throwing a fit. At the far edge of the lot was Bonnie’s big blue Chevy and trailer. Bless her for parking far away from the crowd. There was only one other trailer out there in the boonies, a lightweight one-horse model hooked up to a white Land Rover.

  “I’ll unload Scarlet if you get the hay nets ready,” she said to Lina, throwing the truck into park.

  Back at home they’d had one hell of a time convincing Scarlet to get in the trailer, even with the patient Walker waiting inside for her. Bonnie finally had to leave so she wouldn’t be late for her own dressage test. Now, as Deirdre opened the back door just a peep, Scarlet’s eye rolled back at her, showing the white. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door all the way, and in a few swift motions untied the slip knot on the lead rope, and guided Scarlet in a circle around her so she was facing out. She walked forward, stepped down, and Scarlet followed, but instead of stepping down, she launched herself out of the trailer and whirled around, tail in the air, nostrils flared, and eyes big as eight-balls.

  “Yeehaw!” came the sunny voice of Bonnie, riding up on Gatsby, decked out in breeches, high boots, black jacket and velvet helmet. To Bonnie, this scary trailer exit was just a harmless display of horsey spirit, but Deirdre’s mouth was dry and her pulse was pounding.

  “I knew she’d get in eventually. She just needed to decide on her own,” Bonnie said. It was true. After Deirdre had worked her in circles, trying not to get worked up herself, Scarlet had sniffed the floor of the trailer, delicately raised a front hoof, and calmly walked on, as if it was no big deal after all.

  “It’s such a beautiful morning isn’t it?” Bonnie said, gazing up at the blue sky, a faint smile on her lips.

  “I thought this was a rinky-dink local show,” Deirdre said. “What are these big barns doing here?”

  “They come for practice.” Bonnie was circling Gatsby, whose big warmblood muscles were rippling under his shiny bay coat. “The tests are running a few minutes behind. I’m trying to keep Gatz occupied. When we stand in one place for too long he gets bored.”

  “I wish she was bored,” Deirdre said. Scarlet had her neck jacked up, looking around with wild eyes. She let out a few loud snorts, as Lina unloaded Walker. Walker’s white areas—the “chrome” on a paint horse—were blinding in the sun, his brown patches gleaming. Lina had done a good—almost obsessive—job grooming him. Scarlet squealed, and tried to aim her butt at him but Deirdre led her away. “I guess she really is in heat. This is gonna be a nightmare.”

  Bonnie said, “Well, get her tacked up and give her a workout to calm her down. Lina, I’ll be back after Dee’s test to help you. Okay, it’s probably time for my test…gotta go!” Bonnie trotted off towards the dressage arena.

  Deirdre tied Scarlet on the opposite side of the trailer from Walker, put the dressage saddle on, but when she dug through her trailer’s tack compartment, realized she’d forgotten her longe line. She was already wearing her show clothes, so she wouldn’t have to worry about changing on top of everything else. She slipped the bit in Scarlet’s mouth, the bridle over her ears, and with trepidation, she mounted, and aimed Scarlet away from all the trailers and show commotion.

  “We’ll just stretch our legs. No worries baby.” Scarlet started a jig. “Whoa, easy girl.” Deirdre tried to gather her back into a walk and breathe deeply, but Scarlet was tense as a bowstring, head in the air, prancing. This was a mistake. She knew better, but she was so rushed, she hadn’t thought it through.

  She aimed for the grassy patch under the tree, just beyond the Land Rover and its weird looking one-horse trailer. Almost past the trailer, Scarlet veered away from it, jumped forward a few strides then stopped, launching Deirdre up onto her neck with her feet, still in the stirrups, sticking out behind her.

  Scarlet didn’t like that. She backed a few steps then began a counterclockwise whirl on her hindquarters. The centrifugal force kept Deirde plastered up on Scarlet’s neck, but quickly sliding off the side. In that split second before she fell, while she still had a choice, she decided to vault off, throwing her leg up and over Scarlet’s back.

  When both feet hit the ground she had a sense of victory. It was short lived. She couldn’t stick the landing, the momentum kept pushing her and she fell onto the hard packed dirt. Scarlet, unbound, trotted toward the patch of grass.

  “Nice ejection seat on that one. Are you alright?” a woman’s voice said. She was right next to her, holding out a hand.

  “Yeah,” she groaned, “I’m fine,” and took the woman’s hand to hoist herself up. “Thanks,” she said, but the woman, dressed in her finest dressage gear, was already jogging toward Scarlet, leading her own horse behind her.

  Deirdre’s wrist hurt from breaking the fall, specks of tiny gravel were embedded in her palm, and her hip hurt. But she’d had worse. She checked her breeches for dirt or tears.

  “She could be a reining horse with spins like that,” said the woman, back now with Scarlet. She handed the reins over.

  Deirdre laughed. “You’re telling me! Maybe I should change disciplines.” She stopped wiping down her breeches and looked at the woman.

  She had a perfectly oval face, smooth tan skin, and liquid hazel eyes under the brim of an expensive helmet, one she’d been eyeing herself at Mariah’s Tack. Wowza. She could be a model. Maybe she was—one of those beautiful, impossibly lo
ng-legged people that modeled the $400 riding pants in the catalogs.

  “She spooked at something—” Deirdre wasn’t sure why she was explaining herself. “Anyway, thanks for catching her.”

  “No problem.” The woman turned and led her horse, a light yellowish bay, tall and leggy like its owner, to the one-horse trailer where it dipped its soft dark nose in the water bucket and drank, then raised its head. Streams of water dripped from its muzzle, and it blinked large, liquid eyes at Deirdre.

  “Wow, he’s beautiful,” she said, awe-struck for a moment. Scarlet never had that kind, calm expression. She looked at Scarlet, who was giving her massive side-eye right now.

  The woman shrugged off her dressage jacket, then pulled the saddle off the horse. “She. She’s my baby girl.” She looked like she was in a hurry, but paused to stroke the horse’s neck. The horse turned her finely tapered face to nuzzle her, smearing water and horse spit on her white blouse, which didn’t seem to bother her.

  “Wish my horse was like her.” Deirdre said. “She’s kind of a nutcase—like a lot of Arabs.”

  “Well, it took a while to get the racetrack out of mine. She used to be strung tight as a piano wire. But now, she’s an angel. Aren’t you biscuit? Goes to show you that breed stereotypes aren’t always correct.” She stroked the horse’s neck again, then turned to look at Deirdre, a serious expression on her face. “Are you sure you’re alright? Not hurt?” This woman was not fake smiley like a lot of beautiful Californians, but Deirdre could sense a deep kindness and concern in her…much the same vibe that emanated from her gentle, caramel-colored horse.

  “I’m fine, really. I fall but I usually pop right back up. Thanks again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” the woman said. She grabbed some sport boots and bent down to wrap them around her horse’s legs. Then she stood again. “Oh, wait! You look like you might be my size.”