Shotgun Moon

by K. C. McRae

  nine

  Merry had floated back into the melted warmth of sleep after another one of Shirlene’s wake-up shakes when the jangling phone jerked her back to consciousness.

  Shirlene caught it on the second ring.

  The bedside clock glowed 2:37 in the dark. Couldn’t be good. No phone call in the middle of the night could be good. Merry struggled out of bed and stumbled through the living room to the dimly lit kitchen. The bulb over the stove washed half of Shirlene’s face in its yellow glow while casting the other half into shadow. Her aunt pressed the phone to her ear while her other hand gripped the back of a kitchen chair. Wearing only one of Merry’s T-shirts and a pair of startling purple underwear, she stared at nothing, intent on the caller’s words.

  “What is it?” Merry whispered.

  Shirlene flapped her hand at her in a be quiet gesture, while at the same time sending her a look of urgency. “I’ll be right over. Call Frank and get him and the kids over there, too—they’ll be able to help with the horses … Oh? … That was a good idea. Is their trailer still okay? He might have to take a couple back to his place.”

  Now Merry could hear a woman’s tinny voice from the receiver, talking loud and fast.

  “Okay, hon,” Shirlene said. “Thanks for calling.”

  She cradled the phone and rushed into Mama’s room, where the crumpled bedclothes said she’d at least tried to get some sleep. As she struggled with her jeans in the near dark, Merry followed and flipped on the overhead. They squinted at each other for a few seconds, Shirlene balanced on one leg like a bird, half in and half out of her pants.

  “That was Missy Ganner—she’s covering 911 dispatch tonight. There’s a fire at the Lamentes’. The horses are terrified, and they need help getting them into the far pasture or off the property altogether. The fire department is on its way, but they’re worried about the gas tanks. If those go, so will everything else, and the horses will go nuts. Plus, nobody wants this to turn into another wildfire.”

  “Shit. That’s just what we need.”

  “Frank’s already on his way. Missy called everyone she knew who lives out this way. I’ve got to get over there.”

  “Let’s go.” Merry turned from the doorway as Shirlene started lacing up a pair of tennis shoes. “There’s a pair of paddock boots in the mudroom that’d fit you. Better than those things.”

  Shirlene stood. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “The hell I’m not. My head feels fine.” Well, fine was a relative term. But she could function.

  “No, hon, you just stay …” Shirlene’s words trailed off as Merry went back into her bedroom and began getting dressed. Merry heard her mutter, “Well, hell. I guess I can’t stop you.”

  ———

  “Isn’t there a road straight through to their place?” Shirlene asked. She’d insisted on driving.

  “Used to be, just an old dirt track. No telling what kind of shape it’s in. Better take the county roads.”

  Shirlene nodded and turned onto the pavement, tromping on the accelerator. At least the Lamentes’ property wasn’t far. In fact, it had been the eastern tip of the McCoy ranch until Mama and Daddy had sold that sixty-acre parcel in 1985.

  The truck slewed a little on a curve, and her aunt slowed.

  Flashing lights painted the night as they crested a hill. A county sheriff’s deputy directed a tender truck loaded with water around the last corner before the Lamentes’. The truck had “Hazel Fire Department” emblazoned on the side. An ambulance waited by the side of the road. Shirlene waved to the deputy as he motioned them to follow the fire tender into the little valley below.

  The house and barn still burned, flames lapping at the ashes whirling upward from the structures. Two of the smaller outbuildings already slumped in dreary charcoal defeat to the ground, smoke burping out of black crevasses in the debris. None of the electricity seemed to be working; other than the firelight, the only illumination came from the ladder truck and water tanker, and from the headlights of a dozen vehicles parked strategically around the yard.

  Several had parked around the covered riding arena behind the barn. To one side, a beat-up Nova aimed light toward the propane tank. Bo Lamente had placed it far away from the buildings, common sense winning out over convenience. The diesel tank stood even farther out, on a concrete pad. White foam covered both, and four firefighters worked the house fire from that direction, pushing the flames away with streaming hoses connected to a portable tank that looked like an above-ground swimming pool. The fire tender they had followed into the ranch yard began backing up to the porta-tank to replenish the water supply. They seemed to have given up on saving the barn. The east side was fully engulfed in flames.

  As Shirlene maneuvered the truck through the other vehicles, Merry lowered the passenger window. The burning stink assaulted her nose and eyes. The homey smell of wood smoke rode above the stench, confusing her associations; this base note was meaner, with a chemical bite.

  The air shimmered with heat, even some seventy yards away from the fire. In the distance, two small sets of headlights jittered across the dark landscape; they were using four-wheeled ATVs to round up already skittish horses. She could hear the distant beehive buzz of the engines, and closer, the flapping sound of the fire, flames like medieval standards snapping in the wind.

  The horses must be used to their motorized replacements by now—ATVs and pickups were used for far more ranch work than horses. Of course, Bo and Olivia didn’t ranch—they ran a training stable. Most of those horses belonged to their clients.

  Frank Cain appeared in Lotta’s headlights, his arms full of halters and lead ropes. He motioned the pickup forward until they reached a pile of lumber on the far side of the burning house. Shirlene tumbled out and looked around for something to fix.

  The older man took the Colorado Rockies cap off his head and wiped sweat away with his bare forearm. Merry caught a glimpse of the startling white forehead above the deep tan of Frank’s face before he put the cap back on.

  “Might as well try to keep this stuff from burning,” he said, gesturing at the pile of boards.

  “You got it,” Merry said.

  “I’m going back down to the horses.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Shirlene said, taking the tangle of halters from him and climbing on the back of his four-wheeler.

  “Where are Bo and Olivia?” Merry called.

  He shook his head. “Olivia’s with the horses. Haven’t seen Bo.” He revved the engine and they went bouncing back out to the pasture.

  She turned to the stack of lumber.

  Barbie Barnes stood with her hands on her hips. “Bo was going to use this stuff to build a new deck on the back of the house. Guess that’ll be kind of hard without a house to attach it to.” Bitterness edged her laugh.

  Merry turned to her. “Where is Bo?”

  “I haven’t seen him. Probably down with the horses already.”

  “I’m Merry McCoy, by the way.”

  “Figured you were, after seeing you with Shirlene at the clinic. And I imagine you know who I am.”

  Dipping her chin in acknowledgement, Merry said, “And I imagine you know a few things about me, too.”

  “A few.”

  They locked gazes. Barbie was the first to look away. “Guess I can’t really blame you for something your cousin did. And this wood isn’t going to move itself.”

  Together, they began loading lengths of two-by-six cedar onto the truck bed. They made several trips, unloading in a dirt paddock well away from the fire. Splinters slid into Merry’s hands, despite the calluses formed by working the prison garden. She swore when a particularly large bit of wood, more of a slab than a sliver, slipped deep into her left palm.

  Barbie ignored her.

  As they lifted the last of the lumber into the truck bed, a loud crea
king and groaning issued from the house, followed by a crash as the upper floor collapsed. No saving the structure, or anything still in it. A fresh stink rose on the air, a sourness riding on the smoke that stung Merry’s eyes anew and made her cough. Beside her, Barbie’s eyes watered, tears bleeding down her cheeks, her expression one of a bewildered child.

  The fire crew shifted their attention to the barn. “Move back!” shouted one of the firemen, and Merry and Barbie complied, climbing in the truck and hauling the last load of cedar to the pile they’d formed several hundred feet away.

  “I’ve got to find Ginger,” Barbie said when they finished.

  “Mare?”

  “Dog. Yellow Lab. Have you seen her?”

  Merry shook her head and watched her leave, then moved Lotta away from the fracas. The volunteer firefighters began to douse the west side of the barn.

  Why was Barbie here? She might have come in on the ambulance in her capacity as nurse. Or someone could have called her when they found out about the fire. After all, she’d know Bo and Olivia if she’d been dating their son. And Shirlene had said Olivia treated her like a daughter. Or—

  An explosion rocked the ground, sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere for a split second. The roof of the barn burst open with fire. Pain lanced like shrapnel through Merry’s skull. She shook her head, instantly regretting it as her vision doubled for a moment. She bent and threw up a stream of thin, acrid bile.

  As she stood and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her flannel shirt, a hand gripped her other arm.

  “What are you doing here?” Jamie pulled her away from the blaze. “You’ve got a concussion, for God’s sake!”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Shirlene told me. I just came from up in the pasture where they’ve taken all the horses.”

  As he said it, she made out the scream of a horse through the roar in her ears.

  “Are they hurt?”

  “Just panicked.”

  “We’ve got to get down there.” She moved toward Lotta.

  “No. I’ll go back. You get in your goddamned truck and stay there.”

  “Screw you, Gutierrez. What the hell do you know about horses?”

  “What you taught me.”

  “That’s not enough. They need me.”

  “You’re not fucking indispensable. Everybody got along just fine while you were gone.”

  She stared at him.

  “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Ginger!” Barbie’s terrified voice yanked their attention back to the barn.

  She stood in the barn’s double doorway, looking in. A firefighter yelled at her to move as he wrestled with the muscular arm of the hose, but she ignored him. Suddenly, she ducked and ran inside.

  “Jesus.” Merry took off at a run, Jamie on her heels. The firefighter continued to grapple with his hose, yelling at them to stay away.

  Peering through the smoke inside, she made out a figure bending over a lumpish form on the floor. The figure seemed to be pleading with the animal to stand up. Merry saw a leg move.

  A small piece of roof fell, glancing off Barbie’s shoulder, and she screamed. She kept screaming as she ran out of the barn, one side of her T-shirt and hair ablaze. She dropped to the ground and began rolling in the dirt. Together, Jamie and Merry helped to rapidly smother the flames.

  Jamie called for help, and the uniformed paramedic that had been in the ambulance with Merry that afternoon came loping up. He did a double-take when he saw Merry, and disapproval quickly replaced the surprise on his face.

  But Barbie demanded his immediate care, and he turned to her. Jamie stood back to give him room to work.

  “The dog’s still in there,” Merry said.

  “The dog’s dead.” Jamie’s response was flat.

  “I can hear it. It’s whining.”

  “You can’t hear shit with all this racket. If it’s not dead, it’s unconscious. There’s too much smoke in there.”

  She glared at him. He was being a real bastard. It meant he was worried, and knowing Jamie, he was worried about her. But she hated it when he got like this.

  And besides, he was wrong.

  Shrugging, she moved away. When she was far enough from him, she took off at a run.

  “Merry! No!”

  She ran as close as she could to the powerful stream of the fireman’s hose, letting the spray saturate her hair and shirt. Didn’t even pause at the door of the barn, jumping over a fallen beam still burning on the ground and slowing only when she couldn’t see in the choking, roiling smoke. She felt her way with her feet toward where she thought the dog lay.

  A tiny canine whimper came from below, and she realized she’d almost stepped on the Lab. Merry squatted and ran her fingers through fur, discerning the animal’s outline. Struggling not to pass out, she sipped shallow breaths and slipped her arms under the dog. With a loud grunt, she picked her up and turned toward where the door should be.

  Snaking steps, low to the ground, helped her avoid the scattered detritus, but did nothing for her speed. She didn’t dare stoop to avoid the smoke because she’d drop the dog, now a silent, motionless weight in her arms.

  A wall loomed in front of her. For a split second, her mind scrabbled in wild terror as she tried to decide which way to go.

  “Merry! Where the hell are you?”

  Jamie had followed her into the barn. She saw a shadow of movement beyond the wall, and realized she’d nearly trapped herself in a stall. Keeping one shoulder along the partition, she found the opening and reoriented herself.

  “I’m over here.” Speaking made her cough and gag.

  “Where?”

  “I can see you. Guide me out—I’m right behind you.”

  “Thank God.”

  The shadow moved away, and Merry followed. The smoke cleared as they approached the open door, and she found herself panting in the relatively sweet air. The flames had died down a little as water saturated the old building. She squinted at the dog in her aching arms, willing it to show some sign of life.

  A moaning above and to her left was the only warning before the charred section of wall fell. Instinct propelled her forward, toward the open doorway and the people gathered beyond it.

  She almost made it. The edge of something heavy hit her across the shoulders, sending her and her charge sprawling and trapping her right foot.

  The dog’s yelp shot an arrow of joy through her pain and weariness. Hands came out of nowhere, grabbing at her, easing the pressure on her foot, taking Ginger, pulling her to safety.

  “Well, this is a first. Twice in one day.” The paramedic squatted beside her and did that thing with his little flashlight. It made her eyes water more than the smoke did.

  She jerked her head to the side. “Quit it.”

  He gave her a look. “Does this hurt?” He moved her ankle.

  “Ow!”

  “Hmm. It’s not broken, but you’re going to want to stay off it for a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Let me rephrase that. You’re going to have to stay off it for a while. It won’t be as hard as you think. After snorting all that smoke on top of the concussion, you’re not going to be feeling too whippy for a day or two, anyway. Just go with it.” He began wrapping her ankle. “Keep it elevated. Put some ice on it. If it doesn’t feel better in a week, come in and get an x-ray.”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t broken.”

  The paramedic opened his mouth, then shook his head. “Get it x-rayed tomorrow, then. Can’t hurt.”

  Jamie’s ashen face replaced the paramedic’s. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

  His tone took Merry aback. She struggled to a sitting position. “Is the dog okay?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Someone
took it to the vet.”

  Something in his expression made Merry wonder if his red eyes were due entirely to the smoke and fire.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “if I scared you.”

  “Damn right.” His voice was rough. Of course, that could be from the smoke, too.

  “This wasn’t an accidental fire, was it?”

  “We don’t know yet. There’ll be an investigation and—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. How you people could think this disaster and Clay’s death are all a big coincidence is beyond me. Jamie, you know they’re related, and you know Lauri didn’t have anything to do with the fire.”

  “‘You people?’”

  “You police. You cops. You bastards who take other people’s lives in your hands and fuck them up as if we’re just—oh, God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Not you. I know it’s not you.”

  He blinked and glanced away, but not before she saw the look in his eyes.

  Shit.

  She sighed. “We’ve gone all haywire, haven’t we?” Was it her conviction, she wondered, or his wife? “You’re even avoiding my phone calls now.”

  “Phone calls?” His eyes still didn’t quite meet hers.

  “Last night. Well, I guess technically it was the night before. After I saw you in the hardware. You don’t usually avoid me like that. I mean, you get pissed, sure, but at least you’re up front about it.”

  He looked confused. “I didn’t even know you called.”

  Oh.

  Merry remembered the tone in his wife’s voice. So that’s the way it was.

  Jamie said, “What time—”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Shirlene stormed up to them, hair sticking up in all directions and a smear of horse manure down the side of her leg.

  Merry laughed.

  Which, by the looks on their faces, didn’t go over very well with either of them. But then, they couldn’t know how wonderful it was to be free to do what you wanted to, just because you wanted to or because it needed to be done. The glory of making choices, even bad choices, and acting on them.

  So she changed the subject. “Barbie okay?”