“You too Deputy,” Bonnie said sweetly, and guided Deirdre back toward the fire station.
Deirdre was fuming. “He thinks I’m a lunatic.”
“What’s this about a gunman in your yard?” Bonnie asked, sounding concerned and a touch skeptical.
“What gunman?” Wilma was locking up, and made no bones about eavesdropping.
“It wasn’t a gunman. It was a surveyor,” she said.
“Thank God,” breathed Bonnie. “But, there’s a different guy with a gun, right?” she said, like she was trying to get the stories straight. “The one at the Bartleys? Why didn’t you tell the deputy you’d seen him there too?”
“What good would that do?” Deirdre said. Besides make her look like even more of a nosy over-reactor.
A firefighter came out from the garage and addressed Wilma. “So, cliff-rescue training?”
“Yep, 9 a.m. sharp,” said Wilma. “Get the rappelling gear ready.” He gave a little nod, turned, and walked back into the garage. All three women took a moment to appreciate the view.
“Damn, you’re lucky,” Deirdre said when he was out of earshot. Wilma gave them a sideways smile. “I didn’t hear that. How about I give you guys a ride home and you tell me about this gun-toting surveyor?”
They all squeezed into the bench seat of her old truck, which was covered in a faded Mexican blanket. On the drive home, Deirdre explained what she’d seen on the hill. After Wilma dropped Bonnie off, they made the turn onto Deirdre’s street and she glimpsed Vivian’s tall Victorian in the distance, a single light on in an upstairs room.
“Vivian knows something about all of this. I can feel it,” Deirdre said as she got out of the truck.
“Don’t forget to call the Bartleys about that road,” was all Wilma said before she drove into the night.
* * *
REBECCA WAITED AT THE back door for Darius to finish the money count. “Come on, Darius,” she muttered, looking at her watch. They’d have to stop and make a cash drop at the bank before he could take her home.
Jeremy had left partway through his shift without saying anything to anyone, which is why it had taken them so long already to close up. His car was still here.
She texted him:
Walking out in the middle of a shift is NOT acceptable
Finally, Darius locked up and they drove to the bank, then out into the darkness of Fairy Glen. Now was as good a time as any. “Can we finally have our manager’s meeting?”
“Assistant managers, remember?”
“Yeah yeah yeah. What’s been bugging you, is it just that I’m getting rides with Jeremy? Cuz, last time I checked, you don’t have any say in what I do outside of work.”
“You do know he’s a drug dealer right?”
“Of course I know that,” she said, even though she’d only found out last Saturday.
“So you don’t see any problem with that? Or is that just an added benefit to you?”
She let out a guttural sound of disbelief. “Is that what you think of me Darius? How long have we known each other? If I was doing drugs, wouldn’t I just tell you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “would you?” He looked at her, then back at the road. He was hurt. It irritated her. “I saw you take some pills last week, so I was just—concerned.”
She gave him a withering look. “For your information, that was Advil. I can tell you’re a real drug expert. Wanna start tracking my periods now? That way you’ll know whether I’m doing meth or anti-inflammatories.”
He looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry Rebecca, I’m—I feel…” He trailed off. “Jeremy’s just bad news. I don’t know what you see in him. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
“You know Darius…you’re not my boss. Even if your dad is, you’re not. Got that?” She threw herself back in the seat. And crossed her arms for emphasis.
“You know what?” Darius sputtered. “I’m not your personal chauffeur either. Despite what you think, I do have some self respect.” She was shocked—he sounded angry. He pulled into her driveway and said, “I’ll stop looking out for you if it irritates you so much.”
As she got out, she had the sinking feeling this was the last ride she’d be getting from Darius.
Wednesday, October 10
DEIRDRE WORKED UNTIL NOON, with her commitment to call Stephanie intruding on her concentration. Finally, when she was all caught up and couldn’t pretend she had any more numbers to crunch, she ate lunch and went down to the barn.
First she’d ride, then call Stephanie. When was the best time to call someone at the hospital anyway? She’d been feeling so poorly yesterday—and there were always nurses and physical therapists coming in and out, then lunch…anyway, she would do it when she got back.
She brushed the dust off Scarlet’s fine red coat, put her old barrel saddle on, and headed out the back gate, down the little streambed that ran behind her house. Rounded rocks stuck up out of the dry sandy bed. The grass grew high and yellow on the banks so that they had to push through, sending up smells of anise and mustard.
Up ahead, the streambed traveled across a wide meadow before finally joining up with Hidden Creek.
Today was hot, upper 80s, and riding midday, she realized, had not been her brightest idea. But, procrastination was a big motivator. Besides, she could go check out that orange fencing she’d cut down, see how far it went up the hill. Was it related to the road they were trying to build?
They passed Sally’s house which sat above the stalls and turnouts that were terraced into her eastern facing sloped property, all of it shaded by clusters of oaks. Sally’s boarder’s horses peeked out of their rustic shelters as she and Scarlet rode down into the meadow. In springtime riding through this field was like bathing in a cup of chamomile tea, the scent of the manzanilla daisies overpowering, but now it was dead yellow. Instead of following the main trail into the trees by the creek, she took a left rein, onto a narrower path to the eastern edge of the meadow, and into the shade again.
This was where the fire had come through last time. It was October, Clara’s birthday. Her literal birth day. Deirdre had been home with a toddler aged Justin, and Rebecca, only eight, Clara’s age now.
They emerged from the forest’s regrowth onto a desolate, gravel paved cul-de-sac. 577 Fairwell Place, her former address. The Boyd family’s two acres.
And there was Deirdre’s destroyed house. The concrete foundation a testament to all of her memories, still there but too damaged from the fire to rebuild on. The living room, where Clara was born. Weeds growing up through the cracks, nature reclaiming it.
She hadn’t come this way in a long time. Something had pulled her here today. But as her throat grew tight she realized it was a mistake. The other times she’d come back here she’d been on Bowie, who had lived on this land, who had escaped the fire with her. Being with him made it ok, like war buddies revisiting the battle field.
Scarlet had no connection to this place. She danced along the edge of the property, eyeballing the fence posts with their spiky, burnt matchstick tops. Deirdre put her heels into her flanks and turned back the way they came. Through the sunny meadow again and under the dense trees, down to the path that ran along Hidden Creek.
They entered under the tall oaks, sycamores, and maples with leaves turning flaming red. They soared overhead, giving shade so dark it felt like you were in a cathedral, cool air rushing off the surface of the creek despite the day’s heat.
The quickest way to get back to where they were building that road was to cross the creek here and go east again. Scarlet had done okay with Ginny under the bridge last time. But instead of deep, still and sandy, here the creek was wide and fast, granite rocks the size of basketballs shining slate blue, rust, and green under the glassy braided currents.
Scarlet weaved back and forth, setting one hoof in and then pulling it out. Deirdre kept her facing the stream with an exhausting dance of leg and rein. Finally, common sense won out. She dismounte
d and led Scarlet through, getting wet past her knees in the icy water. But, it was better than having Scarlet slip on the unstable rocks, and besides it was kinder to let her navigate this the first time without the weight of a rider.
The natural environment was all new to Scarlet. All she’d ever known was manicured arenas, raked stalls, mechanical horse walkers. She’d probably never ridden up or down hill in her whole life before Deirdre got her. Maybe that’s why she’d lit up in the dressage arena at the show, she was more comfortable in a big manmade rectangle than out in unpredictable, freeform nature. It was like taking a city person and expecting them to climb Half Dome with no training.
But she had done pretty well chasing after Ginny the other day.
On the other side of the creek, Deirdre looked in Scarlet’s face, her big eyes, dished nose, and flared nostrils, and stroked her neck. The mare did have some natural acrobatic ability.
She found a convenient rock and mounted again. Her jeans were wet, dragging on her legs, her socks squishy inside her shoes. She used to ride in a halter top and cutoffs, barefoot, bareback and helmetless. What freedom. She laughed at the memory. But that was a different era, with fewer restrictions. Three kids later and she wouldn’t dare do that, for a couple of different reasons.
They walked peacefully along the wide meandering trail.
The path bent away from the creek for a ways, and off to the left, between the trail and the creek was the old vacation park. Back in the forties, someone had turned this into a campground, complete with a small manmade lake formed by diverting the creek. Now all that was left was the foundations of the outbuildings, pipes sticking up through them, and concrete slabs for the RV camping spots. A decaying cement bridge over the creek. The dried lake bed was beyond that, wooden fishing boats rotting upside down in it.
Maybe they were just doing road maintenance, maybe the orange fencing was nothing more than that. She saw it up ahead—it had been repaired since she slashed through it on Monday. She didn’t want to commit another crime, so she turned right to follow a deer trail that paralleled the road as it climbed the mountain.
Excitement filled her as she remembered her days of exploring trails on Bowie, from the widest dirt roads, to busting through brush on the skinniest deer trails, finding which ones went through, which ones were dead ends. Mapping them all in her mind, long before Google satellite.
Something was familiar about this…she remembered where she was now. Over the next rise would be the little bowl-shaped depression bathed in sun and ringed by old oaks, scattered with oven-sized boulders with holes ground into them—Indian morteros, the ones Clara had wanted to see on Monday. An idyllic hollow where she could picture the women of past millennia grinding their acorns while shooting the shit, catching up on all the local gossip.
But she was soon filled with unease. Manzanita on either side of the trail were like blood-red arms encircling them. There was no room to turn around even if she wanted to. Claustrophobia gripped her, and Scarlet sensed it, craning her neck to see ahead, looking askance at the branches protruding into their tunnel.
She started to doubt her memory. The further they went, the narrower it got, until they could barely squeeze through. Branches scratched her legs and arms, and she had to duck to keep from getting one in the face. Scarlet picked her way on the uneven trail, over tree roots and step-like rocks. But finally, they broke free of the twisted tunnel and crested the rise.
And instead of the grassy meadow of morteros spread out below, there was fresh, dark red earth, scratched with the patterns of bulldozer teeth and imprinted with giant tire tracks. A clearing the size of a baseball field, where two bulldozers sat.
Was she really that lost, or had they actually destroyed the evidence of some of the first human inhabitants of this valley?
This was the exact reason construction companies were required to do archaeological surveys. She had to ask Sally about this at yoga tonight. Her ire was up.
Back at the meadow, instead of going up the stream towards home, she went out onto the neighborhood streets. She had something to get off her chest. She followed Suerte del Gitano as it wandered, curved and twisted back on itself.
While Vivian’s house was still hidden behind the rising embankment, she dismounted to stretch her legs and get her gimpy knee working again. She wanted to be at her best when she confronted her about being a no-show at the town council.
A throaty engine—the sound of tires starting to skid—and a shiny fire-colored sports car with blinding chrome hurled around the corner. It almost skidded, then oversteered, heading straight for her. She stumbled on the curb as she pushed her horse off the asphalt onto the dirt. The driver barely slowed, missing her by what felt like inches. She turned her head and screamed, “Hey!”
But the car was long gone.
* * *
REBECCA WAS ABOUT TO start her shift, sweaty from having walked to work after school.
She tied her apron and started to leave the locker room when Jeremy blocked the doorway.
“So, have you noticed anything?” he said. He stood with his legs spread, holding his hands out and wiggling his fingers. His stringy hair hung over his face, and was doing something weird with his tongue reminiscent of a jester. Ewww.
She put her hand on her hip and looked him up and down. “You’re late again?”
“Nawwwww! Sheez. I’ve been here every day this week! No sick time!” He did an air guitar maneuver.
She frowned and tilted her head back and forth as if weighing his vices and virtues. It was true. She had been reading Mr. Fariz’s book, and she needed to start rewarding good behavior.
“Okay. Yeah. That’s good. Keep up the good work. Now try being on time and staying through an entire shift.” She patted him on the shoulder as she walked past.
“Hey Beck,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She half turned. “Hey, wanna make a bet?”
She turned all the way and faced him. “What kind?”
“If I miss work this week, I’ll buy you a new bike so you don’t have to put up with me anymore. If I don’t miss any work this week…you let me take you out—like on a date.”
“You’re joking.”
“Naw. Really.”
“You’ll buy me a bike?”
“You’ll go on a date with me.”
She was faintly aware of Darius watching them from the kitchen.
“There’s only two days left this week—it’s too easy. Make it the end of the month, and you’re on.” She went out front, feeling pretty safe that she wouldn’t have to make good on the bet.
* * *
DEIRDRE LIMPED TO YOGA that night, fuming.
She’d twisted her ankle on the curb. Luckily nothing serious, which is why she was walking it off, but still. The destruction of the morteros was now a close second to that car almost running her down.
This was an equestrian community, a rural community, full of kids and animals. It was not the goddamned Autobahn. Whoever it was had come from inside the neighborhood—who would drive a car like that in through the back roads? Was it possible that Bartley’s mistress lived here? She needed to find out who that woman was before she killed someone with her reckless driving.
But there was still something she had to take care of, and it was now or never. She pulled out her phone and dialed Stephanie. She’d promised to ask her about the road, and Wilma, Sally, and everyone else would be looking at her expectantly at yoga.
When Stephanie picked up she asked, “How is Biscuit?”
“She’s doing really well, they said.” Stephanie sounded pleased, almost excited.
Deirdre’s heart soared, thinking of that gentle mare and the terrible ordeal she’d gone through. “That’s great, Steph. You sound a lot better too.” But she was almost at Morgan’s now, she had to get to the point. “I know this isn’t a good time for this. I’m sorry, I’m just very upset about this road being built through our neighborhood.” She told her about the council meeting, an
d how she’d promised to find out more.
Stephanie said, “I had no idea. A road? Through Fairy Glen?”
“Yes.” Deirdre sagged. Stephanie was a trophy wife. Of course she didn’t know anything. “Do you think you could talk to your husband for me? Maybe…maybe he could come to our Town Council and explain the plan.” And get eaten alive, she added to herself.
Stephanie sounded doubtful, but assured her she would try. She was at Morgan’s now and ended the call on what she hoped was a friendly note, telling Stephanie to call if she needed anything, and that she’d come visit her in the next few days.
Morgan’s living room was fuller than usual. Deirdre looked around and saw some new faces, like the lady from the young couple next door, and old George seemed to have a date with him! A nice looking and surprisingly limber woman about his age, with short dark hair streaked with gray. Deirdre smiled at Lina, who had noticed the same thing. Love always finds love, somehow.
Wilma hobbled in, and groaned as she rolled out her mat.
“Cliff training?” Deirdre asked.
Wilma nodded, her lips pressed together. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Bonnie came in and sat down in Lotus. “Where’s Sally?” she asked.
“Well…” Lina smiled and paused. “You didn’t hear it from me, but…Sally had a date!” Lina was showing more excitement than usual, clapping silently and then putting her hands to her face, almost like she was praying.
“She didn’t mention it to me,” Bonnie said. “With who?”
“With the sheriff that questioned her about the dead guy!” Lina said. “But don’t say anything! Promise. She didn’t tell Emily, and she doesn’t want people to know,” Lina stage-whispered.
“Mum’s the word!” Deirdre mimed zipping her lips. She looked around for Vivian again, with no luck. What was that woman hiding from?
October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1) Page 14
