October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  Instead, the words “emergency protective order,” “trespassing,” “credible threat,” and the most ludicrous one of all: “stalking.”

  She put Scarlet away in a daze, clutching the papers the entire time, as if that would help her understand them. As a sweaty Scarlet rolled, kicking up clouds of dirt and grunting with satisfaction, she sat next to her corral, looking out back over the stream that zigzagged through the chest-high yellow grass that covered the banks, down to the fringe of green along Hidden Creek, and the olive hillsides beyond, trying to breathe deep like in yoga, desperately ignoring the pain in her chest. She was three years younger than her dad had been for his first heart attack. She convinced herself it was heartburn.

  A few blocks before she got to the school that afternoon, she wiped away her tears, opened the window to let the hot wind dry her face, and took another swig of water to wash down the chalky Tums.

  Stalking, threats, harassment. That’s what Brian and Stephanie had accused her of, and somehow gotten a judge to sign off on between yesterday and this morning. But that wouldn’t be hard for the Bartleys. Judges grew like mushrooms in Rancho Alto. The paperwork listed Rancho Alto’s private security as the enforcement agency. Was that even legal?

  She slid the Bronco next to the curb, trying to hold back more tears.

  The emergency protective order lasted seven days. She wondered if they were filing for a permanent one, like Bartley had with Vivian. It wouldn’t be necessary. She wanted nothing more to do with those psychopaths, those lying, horse murdering psychopaths. But here she was anyway, officially forbidden from contacting them. And, she’d probably lost any credibility to oppose the road through Fairy Glen now.

  A peal of laughter ricocheted through the quad, startling her out of her rumination. She spotted Justin struggling with his overloaded backpack, and behind him an overlarge kid—what, was he actually pointing and laughing? She squinted and drilled her eyes into the bully, who finally lost the staring contest and looked at his feet. She wiped the last of her tears while Justin was slinging his backpack in and fumbling with his seatbelt.

  “Who was that? Was he laughing at you?”

  “I don’t know Mom.” He sounded so tired. She’d been depending on his usual chattiness to fill in the blanks on the drive home, but grew alarmed by how quiet he was.

  “How’s Brian?” she asked. She hoped Brian Jr. didn’t know what his parents were up to. She really liked the kid, despite everything.

  “He was absent again today.” She sensed there was more to the story, and waited, holding her breath. When he finally spoke up, Justin’s anger didn’t surprise her, but the direction it took did. “Why can’t we live in a normal place, like San Amaro, and drive a normal car?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. So he hadn’t heard anything yet. But then the second wave hit her. He thinks San Amaro is normal?

  “I don’t think you understand what normal is Justin.” Maybe if they moved to Texas they could afford a San Amaro-style house, but she recoiled as she imagined bouncing around inside one. “Those people all work 12 hour days, their kids get raised by nannies, and it’s all a house of cards Justin. The homes, the cars, they don’t own them. They make payments they can’t really afford, and they’re sinking, like quicksand. They could all be homeless in a few years.”

  “Like you’re some financial genius,” Justin said into his lap.

  In truth, she and her family could soon be homeless too, 59 days from now, and then she’d be eating her words. She ran a hand through her frazzled hair. God, she couldn’t wait for tomorrow. A relaxing trail ride followed by a frosty margarita at Gorda’s, enough to forget her troubles, at least for a day.

  Justin said, “Plus, do you know what it’s like to be a boy and have to say you’re from Fairy Glen? Especially when nobody’s even heard of it. It’s so…humiliating.”

  “Oh sweetheart.” She didn’t even know what to say to that. She reached out to touch the back of his head, but stopped herself.

  He’d find out sooner than later about the restraining order. And the eviction. Then he’d learn what true humiliation really was.

  * * *

  “HEY BECK.”

  Rebecca looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the restaurant. A girl was at the counter, the waifish girl that she’d thought was the White Lady. “Crystal?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Hi,” Rebecca said. “What’s up?”

  “I think Jeremy’s in trouble, but he won’t tell me what’s going on. So, I thought maybe you would know?” Crystal’s voice trembled a bit on the last part, a quivering question mark.

  Rebecca frowned. “Why would I know? I haven’t seen him in almost a week. We had to fire him yesterday. Mr. Fariz told him on the phone…I think.” Or had it been a voicemail?

  Crystal’s eyes started to water, so she tried to soften herself. “Hey, I can take a break in about five minutes. Let me get you a Coke, and we can talk. Okay?” She found herself hoping for a smile, or at least no more tears, from Crystal. Wasn’t that the name of a baby shampoo?

  “Ok.” Crystal waited for the Coke and sat down.

  After Rebecca packaged a few drive-thru orders, she asked Billy to cover for her. She slid into the booth across from Crystal, whose glazed eyes reflected in the window through her long tangled bangs. She had the same haunted look as Jeremy. Heroin chic but lower rent. Her hands surrounded the soda cup, as if someone would try to snatch it from her.

  “Okay, wanna tell me what’s up?” Rebecca said.

  Crystal really welled up this time. Rebecca put a hand on hers. Hopefully it’d help her spit it out before her ten minute break was up.

  “I’ve been texting him all week, and he hasn’t answered. The cops were at the house last week after Chad died. I talked to one of them, a nice man, a detective. I think—I think I might have told him too much.” Her face crumpled. Okay, they weren’t going to get through this without tears.

  “Come on.” Rebecca took Crystal by the hand, through the back hallway to the semi-privacy of the employee smoking area. She leaned against the scratchy brick wall and waited.

  Crystal was breathing heavily and her face was red and blotchy. She fumbled in her white vinyl jacket and pulled out a skinny cigarette, sparked it up and took a drag; exaggerated inhaling, a funny fish mouth, and a loud exhale. She did this once more while tapping one of her white stilettos on the cement, flipping it off the back of her bare foot.

  Talking over the hum of the air-conditioning unit, Rebecca said “So, what did you tell the detective? Why was it too much?” Wind whipped the sago palm next to the dumpster, and blew Rebecca’s hair into her face. Annoyed, she brushed it away.

  “I think I might have ratted him out.” Crystal paused again, a forlorn look passing over her face.

  Rebecca couldn’t take it any more. She snapped her fingers twice in front of Crystal’s nose. Crystal’s brown eyes crossed. “Tell me everything,” Rebecca said. She eyed the lengthening drive-thru line. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine, into her polyester waistband. “And quickly please."

  Crystal started talking, fast. “Okay. So, that detective, Goodwin, I think. He came back a few days after Chad died. Just knocked on the door in the middle of the day. I opened it, like a dumbass. Anyway. I didn’t invite him in, but he started asking me if I had any siblings. I said yeah, I got two brothers, but I don’t live with either of ‘em.” She took another puff of her cigarette. “He asks me their names, and I told him. No big secrets there. But then he starts asking when I saw Jeremy last. If he was here any time close to when Chad died. If he was friends with Chad, that kind of thing.” Her eyes skittered to the side. Rebecca remembered Jeremy’s revelation about Chad molesting Crystal, and had a brief moment of sympathy.

  “So, I said, yeah, they were friendly. I think I used the word friendly. But I said it casual, like it was no big deal. Then he just looks at me for a second, like, I don’t know. Then my mom woke up a
nd called to me, and he splits real fast, real polite, saying he didn’t want to disturb us, and thanks for my time.”

  “So, why do you think Jeremy’s in trouble?” Rebecca asked.

  “I told you, he hasn’t answered my texts.”

  Maybe there was a good reason he hadn’t. The last time Rebecca saw him was with that cop, up at the quarry. “Did he come to the apartment Sunday night?”

  Crystal shook her head.

  “Have you called his mom and step-dad?”

  Crystal huffed. “He’s never there.”

  “You think the cop might’ve—I don’t know, arrested Jeremy?” Rebecca said. She’d left Jeremy alone up there, an unarmed man in a battle of wits.

  Crystal said, “No—I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Rebecca remembered Jeremy’s birthday, how he was trying to escape all this shit before he got busted as an adult. Maybe it was too late for that.

  Crystal slid her eyes up to meet Rebecca’s. “Maybe they think he killed Chad?”

  “He didn’t kill Chad,” Rebecca said, so forcefully she surprised herself.

  “How do you know?” Crystal asked, her face sharpening, fox-like.

  “Because. I just know.” Rebecca paused. “Wait, do you think he might have?”

  “No. I know he didn’t kill Chad.” Crystal sounded almost mournful. She knew her brother wasn’t violent, as sure as Rebecca did.

  “Besides, he was at work with me that night,” Rebecca said.

  “But maybe the cops don’t know that,” Crystal said. “Will you tell them? Give Jeremy an alibi, or something? Because this other detective was watching me too, probably hoping I’d lead him to Jeremy. Look, I gotta go, John’s waiting.” She turned to leave but Rebecca grabbed her arm.

  “Wait. Where was this other detective? At your house again?”

  “No, at the gas station. I was buying cigarettes, I saw him watching, so I left real fast.”

  “What did this guy look like?”

  “Middle-eastern or something. Dressed nice, dark suit.” Crystal threw her cigarette down, ground it out with her stiletto. That seemed to pump up her bravado again, because she straightened up, flipped her hair back, and said, “You know, I thought you might know something about where Jeremy is, since you guys are…you know.” Crystal looked her up and down. “I don’t need the third degree. You don’t know anything, so thanks. For nothing!”

  Defending her virginity, or at the very least her good taste and judgment, Rebecca said, “We’re not!” but Crystal was already clicking away from her, looking as steady as a newborn colt on those ridiculous shoes. She turned back briefly, and then laughed, a high strange fake laugh, that made Rebecca feel sadder than anything else so far.

  At the front of the restaurant, a car started, and Crystal got in. Rebecca caught a look at the driver. What kind of driving-age guy dates a 14-year-old? Granted, the 14-year-old looked a lot more like a woman than Rebecca did, towered over her by a good six inches, even without the heels. What were they feeding kids these days, and why hadn’t she gotten any?

  The guy backed his tiny round econo-car out of the space, and they took off. Rebecca memorized his license plate number, because on second look, this guy wasn’t even school age—at all…like not even college. Not even college for a late bloomer.

  Was this that “John” guy that had gotten Jeremy so enraged the night they’d seen Crystal on the side of the road? She knew Crystal had a boyfriend but this guy was more like a middle-aged man friend.

  She pulled out her phone and sent Jeremy another text:

  CALL ME!

  Shit. She’d promised herself that she was done with Jeremy. But where was he? And who was this ‘other detective’ casing his sister?

  One thing she knew for sure, he probably wasn’t a detective.

  Saturday, October 20

  HECTOR TUMBLED IN HIS sheets and kicked them violently. The sweat stuck to him, even though the air conditioner by the window was going full blast, and the thermostat’s glowing green numbers said the room was a chilly 64 degrees. He threw off the staticky polyester blanket and toilet paper thin sheet and sat up. The stiff comforter that could be of no comfort to anybody he’d long abandoned, folded neatly and stuffed into the closet. This place was getting old.

  But, he’d stay, until it was over. Bland little man-boys in cheap business suits checked in and out in endless interchangeable rotation, never noticing him. Even the hotel staff were like blind robots. The glow of the security lights, a constant presence that spilled through his third-story window, was comforting proof of his anonymity, the hum of the freeway within arms reach, the cars that streamed endlessly by. Faceless, nameless souls incarcerated within those metal cages, a drone of night music; white noise that lulled him to sleep.

  But not tonight. He’d dreamt of the woman, the redhead. She was transformed into an avenging demon, chasing him through the dark streets of his childhood city. On horseback, no less. The ringing of hooves on cobblestone still ricocheted through his foggy mind. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets and let the air conditioner vent flow over his skin, while he willed his heartbeat to slow to a normal pace.

  He had to think of the task at hand. He had less than two weeks to finish, and complications had arisen, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Bartley was an arrogant man, a man who’d bet more than he could lose, who’d put it all on the line thinking that nothing could touch him, but of course he was wrong. Hector had been sent here to set Bartley straight, by men more powerful than that fool could ever dream of being, to recoup the losses, clean up the mess.

  He’d done so many assignments, and his methodology remained the same. Find the weak spot. Usually it was easy. But the wife’s accident hadn’t fazed Bartley at all, in fact, he’d turned it around, used it as an opportunity, and like a true capitalist, asked him to finish the job. Bartley actually thought he was the boss. Hector had never dealt with someone so clearly detached from reality. Annoyance flitted through his brain. He’d killed a beautiful creature, for the slight possibility of a small payout. He thought of the terrible woman who’d put him up to it, the one who’d unknowingly saved Bartley’s wife in the first place by rigging an ill-conceived accident, thwarting Hector’s own, more fool-proof plan to hurt her.

  The vision of the redhead returned, and he welcomed it. Filtered by the light outside his window, veiled by the curtains waving in the forced air, hair flowing around her, face in shadow. Tears slid down his cheeks, and he let them come. He tried to make out her face, tried to seek acknowledgment, a symbol, a gesture, anything that would let him know he was forgiven. He lay back on the bed, and she surrounded him.

  * * *

  A DRY BREEZE CARESSED Deirdre’s face, and rustled the fiery-hued maple leaves next to the creek, making them dance in the autumn sun.

  She, Bonnie and Lina had already dropped off Bonnie’s three-horse trailer at Gorda’s. The plan was to ride over there, have appetizers and a few margaritas, then load up the horses and be home in time for primetime TV.

  “Are we going to see this scary man and get shot at?” Lina had asked, looking worried and excited at the same time.

  “Beats me. You are bringing your pepper spray right?” Deirdre had said, just to annoy her.

  Bonnie butted in. “Pepper spray? What good will that do against a gun Dee? I don’t know if this is such a good idea after all.” She had looked stern and skeptical, the sensible older sister figure.

  “I was just kidding, jeez! We won’t go that way. Believe me, you think I want to go back there? We’ll go over the Richardson Reservoir, and come out by the north side of Lake Hemingway.”

  She told them about Sheffie, how she hoped he’d show up at the bar. She wanted more details of the distant past, when Fairy Glen was full of gypsies, sheepherders, Indians, and gold panners. Anything to put the memory of the Bartleys and their messed up family, criminal activity, horse murdering, whatever it was, behind her.

  “It’s hot!” Lina
complained from her spot at the end of the line. Deirdre turned to say something smart-alecky back, when she noticed a spot of color speeding along the trail down by the creek. Flashes of navy blue and bright red moved in and out of the oak branches like a flickering film reel.

  “Horse and rider, down there,” she called out. Scarlet noticed the movement and scooted forward a few bounding strides, right up onto Gatsby’s butt.

  Lina yelped, and Deirdre turned to make sure she was okay. Walker was still plodding along, the same patient expression as always. “What?” Deirdre said. “I’m the one whose horse spooked.”

  “Oh, I was just scared for you Dee. Why do you put up with that? I think she needs more training.”

  She clenched her teeth. Before she could think of an answer, gracious or otherwise, Lina was making noise again. “Oh, I think that’s Sally!”

  If they hurried, they’d catch up to her when the uphill part of her trail intersected with their road.

  “Wanna trot?” Bonnie asked over her shoulder.

  “Yep.” Deirdre said, and not waiting for Lina’s response, she urged Scarlet forward.

  The three made good time, trotting for a few minutes through the shady part of the trail where it turned slightly north, while the winds picked up and shook the trees high above, then out into the sun again, with rolling hills of sparkling golden grass ascending on their right, leading to the higher craggy peaks of the preserve.

  Shaggy horsetails tinged a peachy pink waved in the breeze. Puffy little white things that looked like baby’s breath and sage brush lined the trail. The perfect autumn bouquet for a dried flower arranger.

  A dirt devil rose from the trail, as Sally crested the bank. Darkling gleamed with sweat from the uphill climb and the hard trotting he had no doubt been doing since he left home, his dark bay coat glistening, white frothy sweat gathered around his breastcollar and girth. Sally’s cheeks were pink, a big smile on her face. The rest of her countenance was hidden by helmet and sunglasses.