October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  The lights went down, and Morgan’s mellifluous voice filled the room.

  “This month’s moon is the Hunter’s moon, or Blood Moon. Night by night, it reveals more of its face to us, provides more and more light to guide us on the hunt. We might feel like either the prey or the hunter, depending on our current circumstances. But they are two sides of the same duality. One cannot exist without the other.”

  Morgan was practically pagan with all this moon stuff, but Deirdre listened more intently than usual, especially after last week when she’d had that vision of herself. Hunter or prey indeed. She remembered the barrel of the gun pointed at her.

  She sensed someone behind her, and turned to see Lina unrolling her mat.

  She was dying to ask her what she found, but now she had to sit through yoga first. Or rather, pose through it.

  * * *

  REBECCA HAD NO IDEA what happened to Jeremy after she left him at the quarry Sunday night, but he wasn’t at work all week. What had he said to that cop? And she’d told him not to go back to the apartment, but who knows? He probably went, like a dumbass, even after Crystal’s warning. And now she was stuck cooking.

  “Earth to Rebecca!” Billy called.

  “Yeah yeah, I’m here.”

  “Order up!”

  She’d tried calling Jeremy, but he was either ignoring her or too deep in shit to call her back. She’d texted him too, but nothing. Maybe he’d taken her advice and ditched his cellphone, although what good that would actually do, she didn’t really know. It was just something they did in the movies.

  Mr. Fariz walked in, back from the bank. She gave him a doleful look, and he nodded. Jeremy wasn’t late. He was absent, which meant that Mr. Fariz would have to fire him. He turned and walked back to his office with a heavy step.

  She wanted to tell Mr. Fariz not to feel so bad, because right now, getting fired wouldn’t even faze Jeremy, wouldn’t even be on his radar. He had bigger problems: a large quantity of an unknown and valuable drug someone had planted in his trunk, a weirdo stepmom with a scuzzy dead boyfriend who had been molesting his half-sister up until his untimely demise, a rich asshole dad who was financing and running a meth operation, he was an adult now and could be prosecuted as one, and what was this trap that Crystal had warned him about? Just thinking about it all put a heavy piece of uranium deep in the pit of her stomach, glowing and throbbing, like electric butterflies but a million times more sickening. She had to do something.

  She dropped the latest order into the plastic bag, slid it violently down the counter to Billy, and marched down the hallway into Mr. Fariz’s office. He was on the phone. He looked up at her and put a finger in the air. She waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet while he finished his phone call.

  “…we’ll have to let you go. Best of luck to you in the future Jeremy.” He put the receiver down, a deep frown marring his brow.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Fariz. I tried my best, I really did. I just wanted to tell you, don’t feel too bad about firing Jeremy. He’s got a lot going on, and this is the least of his problems.”

  “Sit down Rebecca. I know you gave it your best shot with Jeremy. At least you were able to get closer to him than the rest of us have. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Mr Fariz should’ve been a shrink—he was easy to talk to, comforting, nonjudgmental, a good listener. She was tempted to spill every sordid detail. Maybe if she did, she could put the whole dalliance behind her and just get on with her life.

  Get real Rebecca.

  “Nope. When do we review applications for a new cook?”

  * * *

  AFTER CLASS DEIRDRE POUNCED on Lina. “So, what was it?” she asked.

  “Very high levels of selenium,” Lina said.

  “Selenium? Is that a poison?”

  “You Americans are so obsessed with is something good or bad. No, it’s just what it is. It’s a mineral. Too little will kill you. Too much will kill you. Like a lot of other things.” Lina was super grumpy. She’d have to do her a big favor to make up for this.

  “I just can’t believe someone would do that,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. “God help him if I find out who it is.” Bonnie’s normally angelic demeanor flipped a 180 to avenging demon whenever she encountered animal cruelty.

  “Where would someone get selenium?” Deirdre asked.

  Lina frowned and thought. “Compounding pharmacy? Vitamin store?”

  Deirdre couldn’t believe her luck.

  Thursday, October 18

  DEIRDRE PARKED IN FRONT of Goodbody’s Nutrition Shack and got out. The heat was nauseating.

  Inside was cooler, but not much. A sweaty smell permeated the humid air. She was greeted by a life-size cardboard cutout of a muscular tan woman in a red sports bra and spandex shorts, holding a huge jar of LipoCrush, a non-FDA regulated diet powder that had recently been linked to several deaths.

  Jim, the owner, wasn’t at the counter. The kid working the register greeted her, looking her up and down not so sneakily, judging whether she was a body builder or not. Obviously not.

  “What can I do for you ma’am?”

  “Is Jim here?”

  “No, he’s next door.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the gym that shared a huge glass wall with the store. That was new since the last time she’d been in.

  Jim, who was pumping iron, caught her eye, smiled, set his giant dumbbells down and grabbed a towel as he headed back to the store.

  She tried to sidestep but he gave her a big sweaty hug and a kiss on the cheek. She used to date him, before she found Walt. Since they’d broken up, he’d ballooned to Schwarzenegger proportions.

  “You look gorgeous as ever,” he said, finally releasing her. “Little Jimmy, you remember Auntie Deedee?”

  She was speechless for a second. Jimmy had been a five year old kid when they dated. How could 15 years pass so fast? “Wow, you’ve grown up!” she said.

  Little Jimmy smiled noncommittally. He’d probably had many more ‘aunties’ in the interim.

  “Remember, we used to ride horses with her,” Jim said. “Hey, how’s that horse of yours. Bowie?”

  “He died last spring.”

  “Aww, sorry about that,” Jim said. “What can I do you for darlin’?”

  “I’m wondering how someone would go about getting a huge amount of selenium.”

  “Hmm. Was there some kind of article? Sounds familiar. Pretty sure somebody bought a whole bunch the other day.”

  “Really? Do you have a record of that?”

  “Whatever you need sweetheart. Let’s go see.”

  She followed him behind the counter and into the office, closed the door behind her as he jiggled the mouse to wake up the computer. Amazed that he hadn’t even questioned her, she said, “In case this is some kind of privacy violation, I have a good reason—”

  “What privacy? These are my records. And I’m sure you have good reason. You always do.” He winked. At least he didn’t hold their breakup against her. “How’s Walt?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Walt had left for Texas this morning, and for some reason she didn’t want to say that, and anyway Jim had turned back to the computer, tapped a bunch of keys, frowned and tapped some more. “Yep, liquid selenium. Just recently too. 64 ounces. That’s a lot. Enough to kill a horse!”

  The wave of nausea hit her again.

  “Oops, wrong person to say that too!” He laughed and hit himself on the forehead. “Stupid!”

  “When was that?” she choked out.

  “Says here October first. I thought I remembered.” He tapped his temple. “See, the old noggin’s still working.”

  Yeah, despite all that testosterone. “Can we see who bought it?”

  “Maybe. We track all that stuff with the Goodbody’s Rewards Card.”

  But, if someone didn’t want to leave a trace they certainly wouldn’t whip out their rewards card. “What if they don’t have one, or didn’t use it?”

/>   “If they used a credit card, there’ll be a record, if not, then you’re out of luck.” He did some more searching. “Yep, here it is. And here’s the customer number.”

  So they were stupider than she thought. “Who is it?”

  “Uh…” He tapped a few keys. “Brian Bartley.”

  She couldn’t believe it. No, she could. She’d never trusted that guy. But she couldn’t believe he’d be that dumb. And if he bought it on the first of the month, that was before the accident at the show, which meant…She had to get a hold of Stephanie, let her know what her husband had done. She was sure if it was all premeditated, Stephanie must be in danger too.

  “Jimmy!” Jim yelled, so loud she jumped.

  Jimmy stuck his head in the door. “What Pops?”

  “You remember selling this liquid selenium?”

  Little Jimmy screwed up his face. “Um, yeah, yeah I do.”

  “Why’d you enter the card by hand? You know you can just type in their phone number…”

  Deirdre turned to go but she was temporarily trapped in this tiny room, sandwiched between these two big guys. Sweat pricked her forehead. She didn’t need to stick around for the father-son argument.

  As she squeezed past, Jimmy said peevishly, “I know that Pops, but that’s a lot of rewards points, so I looked up the number and put it in after she left.”

  Deirdre stopped. “She?”

  “Yeah. She said she didn’t have a card, but I know they do. It was Mrs. Bartley.”

  Deirdre’s knees buckled. Jim steadied her before she fell, then got her a cold drink from the fridge by the counter, which he made her finish before he’d let her leave.

  When she’d recovered, and convinced Jim she was okay to drive, she headed straight to the Bartley estate. She could barely see the road. A wash of red overlaid her vision, and her heart was pounding so fast she briefly wondered what was in that energy drink from Jim.

  She remembered Stephanie’s chipper mood during lunch at her house, her words: once they stop winning, they’re just a money pit.

  What if the accident had been just that, an accident? But then someone—specifically Stephanie—had decided to finish the job?

  Brian Jr. answered the door. “Hi Mrs. Boyd! Come on in!” he said cheerily. Damn. She wasn’t thinking about the kid when she’d envisioned this confrontation. Her knees felt weak again.

  “Thanks Brian.” Deirdre followed him into the living room. “Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I’m home sick,” he said.

  Stephanie looked up, startled. She lay on the couch with her leg propped on a pillow.

  Brian plopped down on the opposite couch, picked up his iPhone, and stuck the headphones in his ears. He submerged behind his schoolbook, music so loud she could hear it from here.

  “What are you doing back here?” Stephanie asked.

  Her spine hardened. “Damn it Stephanie!” Hot tears spilled from her eyes and she choked out, “Why did you kill Biscuit?”

  “What?” Stephanie sounded truly appalled.

  “I know you bought that selenium at Goodbody’s, I have proof. I know you planned all of this! Even before the accident.”

  Stephanie’s face was a mask of horror. “It’s not true!”

  The room tilted. How could Stephanie lie like that? How could she be so fake? She was exactly what Deirdre had thought at first—a spoiled trophy wife—and apparently a complete sociopath to boot.

  Fire rose from Deirdre’s feet up through her legs, forcing her into motion. She paced, clenching her fists, propelled towards the study door. “Is he in here?”

  “Deirdre! Don’t!” Stephanie’s voice held true alarm, but Deirdre flung the door open and marched in. Bartley’s head jerked up, but by that time she was leaning over his desk, her face in his.

  “Your goon shot at me,” she spat. “What are you hiding up there?”

  Bartley tried to stand, stumbled and fell back against the credenza, tipping his chair over. “What? What the hell are you talking about?” He recovered his balance and stood up.

  “Your man. The man with the shovel face? Yeah, he shot at me and my horse last Saturday, at Paraiso!”

  She heard a soft laugh behind her. Stephanie stood in the doorway, leaning on her crutches. “You also told me you saw a witch that night Deirdre. Was that before or after your visit to the bar?” She chuckled, like it was all a big joke.

  They were in cahoots. She was covering for him, and vice versa.

  “Shut up, you…horse killer.” The words seethed like hot lava, burning on their way out.

  Bartley was speaking into the phone. “Yes, we have a disturbance. Yes. At the Bartley Estate.”

  Stephanie came face to face with her. “Just leave Deirdre. I mean it,” she said, smooth and controlled. But her jaw was tight and her eyes were ablaze. A little vein twitched at her temple.

  “You guys are psychos.” She fled past Stephanie, unable to look at her. Maybe Brian Jr. looked up and saw her, she didn’t know. She was already out the door. Safe in her car, her humiliation and anger overflowed, and tears streamed down her face.

  She screamed as a thump landed on her window.

  Between Bartley’s splayed hands, his face was totally, deadly calm. “Are you some kind of ambulance chasing weirdo? My wife is injured, grieving, on opiates, and you’re latching onto her, feeding her suspicions. Just like your son latched onto mine. And now you accuse her of killing her horse? Who’s the psycho?”

  She stabbed blindly a few times before the key stuck in the ignition, then twisted it hard. The Bronco roared to life. She flicked the power locks closed and shouted back at him. “My son isn’t allowed to play with your son anymore!” Her words bounced off the window and right back in her face, as weak as they sounded.

  “Just stay away. This is your last warning,” he said.

  As she accelerated away, sirens wailed in the distance.

  Friday, October 19

  DEIRDRE WAS SWEATING IN Bonnie’s arena, working Scarlet.

  She’d already told Bonnie all about Stephanie and the Bartley house, and was worrying it to death like a dog with a bone. “I am so pissed off!” The dry wind wasn’t helping her temper. “She was just using me, the bitch.” Not only had Stephanie totally thrown her under the bus, but Deirdre had ended up running from security, driving out the back roads of Rancho Alto like Mario Andretti. “I can’t believe I fell for it. Killing your own horse! Who does that?”

  “Are you sure?” Bonnie said. “I just can’t believe—”

  “Yes, I’m sure. She’s the one that bought the selenium. Before she even went to the show! She probably engineered the whole tripping thing too.”

  “I just don’t—I still can’t believe it. She could’ve been killed herself. Why would she risk that, Dee?”

  “I don’t know but I don’t care anymore. Fuck those Rancho Alto people.”

  “Ok, good,” Bonnie said. “I’m glad you’re not wasting any more energy on this. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the end of the month. Let’s just focus on the lesson, shall we?” A couple beats passed. “And stop hauling on your poor mare’s mouth, fer Chrissakes!!”

  “Sorry,” Deirdre said, both to Bonnie and to Scarlet. She relaxed her death grip on the reins, eased off the driving calves in Scarlet’s side. The mare practically sighed with relief, putting her head down and blowing out a loud snort.

  She pulled over to the gazebo, halted, and let the reins hang loose, dropped her feet out of the stirrups, and patted Scarlet’s neck. “The thing is, I probably ruined the evidence! I don’t know what to do now. Can I go to the cops with what I know? Will they even listen to me?” She realized even Bonnie was tired of listening to her, but she couldn’t help herself. “I’m a nervous wreck. Walt left for Texas yesterday, and I’m so scared they’re gonna move the company there. What if they offer him a big promotion and a raise?”

  “Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow.” Bonnie put one hand on her leg, t
he other on Scarlet’s side. Deirdre hadn’t even told Bonnie about the whole eviction thing. It was like if she didn’t speak it out loud, maybe it would disappear. She still hadn’t gotten a letter or anything. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing.

  “Hey,” she said, getting an idea. “Let’s all ride over to Gorda’s tomorrow—you, me, and Lina. I want to celebrate my real girlfriends. You can’t take anything for granted, you don’t know how long your friends will be around, how long your horses will be around, how long you’ll have your good health—” she took a deep breath. “We just need to ride.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” Bonnie laughed. “Sounds fun. I’ll call Lina.”

  Just then, a familiar looking blue Honda slid down the street, and parked in Deirdre’s driveway. “Sorry Bonnie, I’ve gotta go.” She had the sick feeling she knew exactly what that process server was here for. She trotted stirrupless down the street and got to her driveway just as the woman exited the car, brushing crumbs off her polyester pantsuit.

  “Getting a lot of work around here lately, aren’t you?” Deirdre said bitterly. Buck and Granger started barking in the side yard—only after they’d heard Deirdre’s voice. Great guard dogs, those two.

  “Oh!” The process server put a hand on her heart and stumbled back against the car, intimidated by Scarlet’s height. She was younger than Deirdre had originally thought. She recovered, and said, “Yeah, especially in San Amaro Hills, boy, lots and lots of foreclosures over there…” She straightened up, seeming to remember her official role. “Are you Deirdre Boyd?”

  “Yes.” Feeling sorry for this girl now, she slid off Scarlet, hand out to accept her papers. Don’t shoot the messenger.

  “You’ve been served.”

  As the car drove away, she opened the envelope. Words squiggled before her eyes, and not the ones she’d been expecting. No eviction. Nothing about Bob’s property boundaries, or tearing down her barn.