October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  They could’ve been twins—both were wiry, dressed in riding breeches, skin burnished to an ageless leather. Timothy’s bald pate was ringed by a fringe of medium brown hair lending him the air of a monk. Sylvia wore a baseball cap and a sun-blond ponytail.

  Deirdre stopped and they got out of the car. Timothy smiled. “Bonnie Carver, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “Hello Timothy. We came to pick up Stephanie Bartley’s trailer.”

  Sylvia said, “Ah, yes. We have reining championships tomorrow, we needed the parking lot cleared. So, how is she doing?”

  Bonnie and Deirdre looked at each other. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Bonnie said, “There’s bad news. Her horse died yesterday.”

  Timothy’s face blanched. Sylvia’s froze.

  “And she’s still in the hospital with a broken leg,” Deirdre added, looking directly at Sylvia. “Which is why we’re here. To clear the parking lot.” Puta.

  Timothy stammered, and Bonnie continued, “She made it through surgery on Monday, and she was doing well. But apparently she colicked. She died at Emerson's yesterday morning.”

  Timothy looked at the ground. “I—I blame myself.”

  “No Timothy. It was an accident,” Bonnie put a hand on his arm.

  Sylvia took a sideways step and looked at him. “Any horse can fall Timothy,” she said, less comforting than Bonnie’s tone. More like shirking responsibility. Probably afraid of a lawsuit, Deirdre thought.

  “You’re right,” Timothy said to Sylvia, with a polite smile. “Excuse me ladies.”

  “He’s very sensitive,” Sylvia said as Timothy walked away, back down to the cross country course. “Please give Miss Bartley my condolences. Nice to see you Bonnie.” She walked back toward the barns, tucking her clipboard under her arm, and disappeared into the office door.

  Deirdre blew out an angry breath. “What a—”

  “I’ll drive, right?” Bonnie interrupted.

  “Sure,” Deirdre sighed, handing her Stephanie’s keys. She’d wanted to see what a Land Rover was like, but Bonnie was a more experienced driver.

  She followed behind in her car. Almost at the gate to the street, Bonnie suddenly braked, then accelerated, then braked harder, then stopped. Deirdre leaned out to see what was going on.

  “Adjusting the trailer brakes!” Bonnie called cheerily. “See ya back at the Bartley’s!”

  They pulled out onto the street that led back to Del Diablo Highway. The fence blinked by, and the cross country course came into view.

  Deirdre heard Stephanie’s words. I can’t help thinking she tripped on something.

  She jerked the car to the side of the road, next the the gate the ambulance had driven through to get Stephanie.

  I should’ve just ruined a pair of shoes. Instead, my horse broke her neck.

  Ok, she thought. I wanted to walk in your shoes, Stephanie. Now I will. I’ll even ruin mine for you. Again.

  Hopping the locked gate was easy. She jogged to the water jump. Splashing in, she took the same course, the same footsteps, that Swift Justice took that day. Pushing against the water, she approached the jump. The log looked as tall as her. She gained a new respect for the courage of sport horses.

  Halfway between the beginning of the water and the log, Deirdre fell on her hands and knees, splashing dirty water into her mouth. She spat it out. Her foot had gone in a deep pit.

  She stood and felt around more with her feet, almost losing her balance. That could explain why Timothy felt so guilty. Simple negligence…but it had cost the life of a horse, severely injured her owner. No wonder Sylvia tried to shut him up.

  She waded over to get out, arms pumping. Almost to the side, she stumbled again, and fell on her knees in the muck.

  “Ow!” something had cut her knee, gone through her pants. She fished around, felt hard metal. What was it, a pipe? No, angular, not round. She grasped it with both hands, wrenched it back and forth, and pulled up, hard.

  In her hands was a construction stake. She’d seen enough of them to recognize it—her ex-husband worked in construction. And tied to the end was a fragment of rope. It had been pounded solidly into the dirt under the water.

  Had someone, a competitor, sabotaged the jump, staked some sort of rope across, underwater where it couldn’t be seen, to purposely trip the horse?

  Who would go to that much trouble? If it was a competitor, how could they justify hurting a horse?

  She waded around, feeling with her hands, kicking with her feet, looking for more stakes. Maybe this just a random item, something from a maintenance project that happened to fall in—another reason for Timothy to feel so guilty. But no, it had been pounded, hammered into the muck. Someone wanted to hurt Stephanie, on purpose. Hurt—or kill.

  But it seemed like a haphazard way to do it. Who would go to that much trouble on the off chance of a fatality, human or equine? And was the horse the target? Or Stephanie?

  A flash of memory. The shape on the other side of Stephanie’s Land Rover, whatever had spooked Scarlet at the show—was it someone sabotaging the vehicle?

  The same vehicle that Bonnie was driving down the curvy dam road, right this minute?

  She sloshed out of the water and sprinted back to her car, wet pants almost tripping her. As she got in the car she looked across the field at the jump again. There, against the far bank, where she had been standing when she witnessed the accident, was a figure in breeches and boots. Then it was gone.

  She gunned it to Del Diablo Highway, all the while fumbling for her phone. She finally grabbed it, dialed Bonnie with one eye on the road as she pulled onto the highway. Too late, she saw a suicidal squirrel dart under her tire. A sick feeling washed over her. “Cm’on cm’on pick up!” she said, but it went to voicemail. She accelerated through the curves. How much time had she wasted at the jump? How far ahead was Bonnie?

  She was getting closer to the dam with each second. Once Bonnie passed the dam, the road would get steeper, the sharp drop-off into the deep gorge looming on the left. There would be nowhere to pull over until the bottom.

  There was the trailer up ahead, just going through the new intersection. Deirdre stepped on the gas, blowing through the stale yellow.

  She flashed her lights, honked her horn, pulling out into the oncoming lane and waving her arm out the window to try to signal Bonnie to pull over. The trailer was going incredibly slow, even for a conservative driver like Bonnie, and then the hazard lights came on and it pulled over near a fruit stand at the wide spot in the road, in the shadow of the massive granite hills, the Land Rover limping on a wobbling left front wheel.

  “I’ll call triple A,” Bonnie was saying as she stepped out, then she looked at Deirdre. “What happened to you Dee? You’re all muddy. And you’re bleeding!”

  “I found something at the jump, and then I remembered, someone might’ve been messing with her tire! Get in my car, we need to go to the hospital. Stephanie could be in danger right now.”

  On the drive to Paloma General, Deirdre told Bonnie what she’d found.

  “Who would do something like that?” Bonnie said, shocked at her theory.

  “I don’t know, but I think the Bartleys have enemies.” She told her the story of the construction workers demanding their back pay.

  When they got to the hospital, Deirdre was first up the stairs after skipping the slow elevator, with Bonnie puffing behind her. She burst into Stephanie’s room.

  The bed was empty, and perfectly made. Stephanie was neat, but not that neat. The flowers were gone too.

  “She’s gone!” she said to Bonnie, panic climbing her throat.

  “Maybe she changed rooms,” Bonnie said.

  Deirdre dug in her purse for her phone.

  A passing nurse put her head into the room. “Ms. Bartley was discharged earlier today.” She gave Deirdre an extra look up and down, stopping on her bloody knee. “Do you need treatment?”

  Deirdre let Bonnie drive back to
the Bartleys, while she tried calling Stephanie, with no answer. Bonnie took the dirt road shortcut through Fairy Glen.

  “So who would do that?” Bonnie asked again.

  “And why would they do it that way? That’s what I’m wondering. After all, didn’t other riders take that jump?”

  “The water jump was only for the upper-level eventers,” Bonnie said, tapping her chin. “Stephanie was the only upper-level rider there."

  “So. Somebody did their homework.”

  “But I just can’t believe someone would do something like that on purpose Dee.” Bonnie always thought the best of people. Deirdre wasn’t so charitable.

  They drove southwest on Suerte del Gitano, then onto the dirt road, where her phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hi Deirdre? It’s Stephanie. I got your message. I’m home now. My mom said something about you driving my trailer home?”

  “Yes, and the wheel almost came off—”

  “Really? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, we’re okay but—”

  “Tell me where it is, I’ll have Luis come look at it. Are you stranded?”

  “No, we’re fine, we have my car—the trailer is on Del Diablo Highway—look, I was really worried when I got to the hospital today and you were gone.”

  “Yep, they let me out, finally.” There was a note of sadness, then she bounced back into a cheerful voice. “Mom’s cooking a big lunch tomorrow, and she wants you and Justin to come.” There was happy yelling in the background, it sounded like Teresa and Brian Jr. “Oh, they say bring swimsuits. Can you make it?”

  “I found something at the show park Stephanie, I need to tell you about it.”

  “Well, tell me tomorrow! I really hope you’ll come. It’s very—important to me.” There was more interjection in the background, and Stephanie laughed. “I have to go. We’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Around noon.” She hung up.

  Deirdre looked at her phone for a second. “I guess we can turn around,” she said, and snapped it closed.

  “I’m sure it’s all perfectly harmless Deedee,” Bonnie said, doing a three point turn towards home. Deirdre glanced up the hill at Vivian’s house on the way by. Peeking over the embankment, a glint of shiny orange metal reflected in the sunshine.

  After a shower and dinner, she walked the dogs to Vivian’s house. Her list of things to get off her chest was growing longer, and now included the fact that the owner of the orange car that had run her down the other day—the skanky woman from the Bartley house—was apparently a regular visitor at Vivian’s.

  The driveway was empty now, fortunately or unfortunately, she wasn’t sure. She was angry enough she wouldn’t trust herself in a confrontation.

  Several minutes after Deirdre had given up pounding on the front door and sat down on the brick steps, contemplating the tiny potted orange trees, Vivian peered out a small crack in the front door.

  “What is it now?” She sounded tired.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Vivian’s red rimmed eyes opened wide. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You stood me up at the town council meeting. We were supposed to talk to the deputy. Together.” She stared her down. “I’ve called you, I’ve come by…” She threw her hands in the air, then exhaled.

  Vivian just stared at her, immobile as stone.

  “So? What’s the deal? What’s going on with you?” Deirdre pushed.

  “It’s not any of your damn business, is it?” As Vivian spoke, Deirdre realized that she was drunk as a skunk. The slur, the aggression, she recognized it all.

  “I think it is. You tell me why the same damn car I saw at Brian Bartley’s house almost ran me and Scarlet over coming from your place, huh? Tell me. Your friend’s lucky she’s not here right now. Tell that slut if she does that again I’ll break her neck. We’ve had enough horses dying around here. She drives like a maniac.”

  Vivian looked startled, then actually started to laugh.

  “It’s not funny.”

  Vivian stopped laughing, her face going completely slack. “Okay, it’s not.”

  “I’m coming in.” She pushed past Vivian, then stopped, shocked.

  “I don’t usually use this door,” Vivian mumbled. Piles of boxes crowded the dim living room. Was she still packing up the folks’ stuff? She followed Vivian, weaving through the stacks. Shipping boxes, brand new. Hence the UPS gossip. Maybe Vivian was selling on eBay.

  In the kitchen, which was the picture of order except for an open bottle of red wine and a half full glass, Deirdre sat down and tried to catch her breath, but couldn’t. The living room had left her claustrophobic.

  Vivian poured more wine. She lifted the bottle to Deirdre in question.

  Deirdre heaved herself to her feet. “Got anything stronger than that?” Vivian stared for a second, turned and went back into the dark jumbled living room. In the wall beneath the staircase, she opened a small liquor cabinet and pulled out a cut crystal decanter and two old-fashioned glasses. Deirdre waited in the passageway while Vivian poured. “This was my dad’s,” she said, and handed her one.

  It was whiskey. Good whiskey. It burned going down.

  “Whew. Thanks.” She had to just put it all out there. “Listen Vivian, shit is getting weird. Stephanie Bartley’s horse was killed. There was an accident at the show last weekend, and she broke her leg, and her horse was hurt too. The horse made it through surgery on Monday, completely fine, but she died yesterday morning. Bonnie and I went to get her trailer from the showgrounds today and found what looks like sabotage in the water jump. And then the wheel on Stephanie’s Land Rover almost fell off.”

  “So? What does that have to do with me?”

  “Why don’t you tell me? Someone’s trying to hurt Stephanie Bartley. I’m starting to connect the dots, and some of those dots lead right to your door, just like that orange car. The car that belongs to Brian’s mistress, am I right? Who is she? What was she doing here?”

  Vivian swirled her glass, raising one eyebrow. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  In a leap of intuition, Deirdre knew. “It was Bartley on the hill that day. With that guy with the gun. And you’re somehow involved in all this, which is why you won’t say anything.”

  “Oh no. I’m not involved with him at all. Or at least I try not be.” Vivian smirked. She hadn’t denied that it was him though. “I’m sorry I didn’t run off to tattle to the sheriff with you, but I don’t think the cops would believe me if I told stories about Brian Bartley. We have a history.”

  History. God, had Vivian and Bartley had an affair? “Why would the sheriff know anything about that?” Deirdre asked. “They don’t know everyone’s personal business—”

  “They do if it’s public record,” Vivian interrupted. She shoved a pile of boxes off the couch, willy nilly, and plopped down, putting her feet up on an empty corner of coffee table. Taking another sip, she swirled her glass again. She wouldn’t meet Deirdre’s gaze, just stared angrily at a spot beyond her shoulder.

  Taking unspoken permission from Vivian’s actions, Deirdre took small pleasure in shoving some boxes off the coffee table, making room to sit down in front of Vivian, facing her in the gloom. “Why is it public record?” Deirdre let the silence hang in the air. She was getting better at that. Learning from the master herself.

  Vivian took a deep breath. “He had a restraining order on me,” she said quietly.

  “What for?”

  Vivian slammed her heavy glass down on the coffee table next to Deirdre’s leg. “Isn’t it time for your Neighborhood Watch meeting, Deirdre?” Vivian said, her voice all sing-song.

  Before she could react, Vivian hustled her by the elbow out the front door, where Buck and Granger stood up to greet her, one happily unaware, the other looking suitably ashamed that his mistress had gotten the boot.

  Saturday, October 13

  DEIRDRE HAD SLEPT FITFULLY last night, dreaming of horses running through dark forest. W
hite horses running free, bodies glowing in moonlight as they slipped in and out of the trees.

  Then the horses began to stumble. Their legs morphed and twisted, merging with the gnarled tree trunks. Blackness seeped up their alabaster legs like blood poisoning. The horses strained, trying to uproot their own limbs. Trapped.

  She woke up in a sweat, but fell asleep again and again, dreaming the same dream.

  Finally she couldn’t stand it and had stayed awake, trying not to disturb Walt, staring at the looming shadowy shapes of their bedroom furniture.

  On the drive to Ranch Alto, the dream receded, but what she’d found in the water jump loomed. She steered through the sweeping curves, chewing her lip as her mind worked. Poor Steph had just lost her horse, and now this news…and should she have called the cops yesterday at the show grounds? What would they have said? She needed to tell Stephanie. She had tried calling her back last night after talking to Vivian, but there was no answer.

  Meanwhile Justin was chattering about the Halloween dance at his school on Friday the 26th. That gave him less than two weeks to figure out his costume, and whether he would go with a group of friends or ask a girl to go with him. He was thinking of asking Emily, Sally’s daughter.

  “Justin, you don’t have to decide. No dating till you’re 16.”

  “But Mom, everyone else is going as a couple.”

  She let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Too bad.” She hated to shut down the communication, but there was no leeway on this one, and he knew it. He folded his arms and looked out the window.

  Friday the 26th. That meant his dance was the night before her Del Rio show. Bonnie was right, she’d gotten a decent score last Saturday, but she’d need to buckle down and do some work with Scarlet before the big show. The Stephanie situation had been taking up a lot of her time. Maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing.

  As they turned onto the driveway, Justin forgot his silent treatment. “Wow, it’s like a mansion!” he said, his face lighting up.