Mickey pointed across the aisle. “You know who that is?”
A black horse stuck his entire neck out the window of his stall. If it was the horse I thought it was, I’d only seen him in the dark before. I walked Jarhead closer to him. The two horses protested at each other’s nearness, and Mickey held out his hand. I gave him Jarhead’s reins and walked the rest of the way to the black horse on my own.
“Thunder?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Hey, Thunder, remember me?” I rubbed his neck briskly as he sniffed to catch my scent. “Good to see you. You landed in high cotton here, didn’t you?” I reached in my jacket pocket for my phone and snapped a selfie with him. For Betsy, later. I stroked his face one last time then moved on. I poked my head through the window of the next stall. A black mare and her knobby-kneed foal. “Is this little Hay-SEUSS?” I asked, pronouncing Jesus in my best Spanish.
The mare moved between the foal and me, blocking my view and pointing her hindquarters in my direction.
Mickey shook his head. “Yeah, and I’m afraid we’re going to Hell over that one. But he sure is cute, and it made the kids happy to name him.”
He was probably right about the Hell part. Mickey walked Jarhead and me to the door, and I grabbed the horn and reins in my left hand, put my left foot in the stirrup, and swung up and over, settling into the cold, hard saddle. It was a good fit.
“Thanks, Mickey. See you in two hours or so.”
He shook his head. “One more thing. Do you have a weapon? The big coyotes get pretty crafty and hungry this time of year.”
Under my jacket, I had worn a long purse strap across my chest for exactly this reason. I had money, ID, and my baby Glock tucked inside the little bag at the end of the strap. I even had coffee in the interior pocket of my coat, in a flask I’d found in Jack’s kitchen.
I patted my stomach. “My father taught me well.”
“About your dad.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay.”
It was, even though I wasn’t, and I sure didn’t want to talk about it. I spent most of the night before tossing and turning, my thoughts back and forth between Dad, Betsy, Jack, Greg, and Farrah, with disturbing memories of Ivanka’s bloodless face and the bloodied figure of the truck driver at Love’s for good measure. I fretted over good cops and bad and how to know the difference. I obsessed about the potential trouble I was facing with CPS. And I worried about Alan spending Christmas in prison, when I was pretty sure he hadn’t done what he was accused of doing. It had been easy to rise early for the ride, because I’d never really gone to sleep.
Jarhead hotfooted in place, eager to be off.
“Your father’s a good guy. He talked about you a lot. I hope . . .” Mickey trailed off.
“Really, it’s okay.”
He nodded and lifted his hand in salute.
I held Jarhead to a walk through the grounds and first gate, then let him warm up in a fretful trot. Patience wasn’t his strong suit. By the second gate, he was loping. And by the fourth gate, I gave him his head and let him race his imaginary opponents all the way to the highway.
We crossed over the pavement and onto Johnson’s Ranch. As Judith had said, the gate was padlocked. I trotted Jarhead along the front fence line to the east. In about 150 yards, we found a wire loop gate like the ones we’d ridden through on Jack’s place. Mickey was right, these things were tight in the cold. But I managed to work the loop up and over the post, and we were in. From there it wasn’t that long a ride up to the house and the outbuildings. By the time we reached them, I needed to walk Jarhead for a cool down and find him some water, which I found in an automatic watering tub by the barn. A pump ran continuously, circulating the water, so there was no ice. Jarhead slurped noisily, and water dripped from his muzzle to the cold ground, melting the snow. My phone made a noise so I pulled it out.
There was a text from Nadine to Wallace and me: The dancer who was being harassed is MISSING. Everyone freaked.
I replied to my friend: Oh no, be careful, Nadine. Scary!
Another dancer, after cops harassed her. Missing. Maybe dead. What was happening to my safe, sleepy hometown? I had worried Ivanka’s death was connected to Love’s, but was it something else, something worse?
I put the phone away. “Now what?” I asked Jarhead.
“I guess you could start by explaining what the hell you’re doing here,” a man’s voice answered.
***
I slipped my hand into my jacket and into my open purse, closing my fingers around the Glock’s grip, then swiveled my head to see who was speaking. A tall, unsmiling man with pock-marked brown skin faced me. He was dressed in jeans with a heavy brown work jacket and cowboy boots. Like Mickey had been wearing that morning. Like practically every man in this part of the world.
His expression changed when he saw my face. “Ma’am.” He dipped his head at me. “Nice horse. Sorry if I startled you.”
“Thank you. I didn’t think anyone was here.”
I took my fingers off the gun and slid my hand out. The feel of the baby Glock’s grip had grown mighty familiar in the last week. It made me think of my dad, and I didn’t want to think about him.
“Only me. Edward Brown, Alamogordo Police. And you are?”
I shook off the thoughts of my father. I’d met this man, although at the time he was dressed in his Sunday best.
“Emily Bernal. Did I meet you at St. Joseph’s last weekend? I was there with the Begays and Jack Holden.”
He smiled. “Yes, I recognize you now. You look a little different.” He pointed at his head.
My head and hair were entirely covered by my cap. My purple scarf obscured my chin. “It’s pretty chilly out.”
He raised his eyebrows, stretching and flattening the pits in his face. “It is. And early, on the day after Christmas. What brings you out here?”
“Mostly trying to shake demons. I had a bad experience here.”
His gaze didn’t flicker. “I’m aware of that, of course. I’m sorry about what you went through.”
“It’s okay. I’m recovering. And a lot of good has come from that night.”
“It certainly has. You will be forever revered as a merciful angel by the people Johnson held here.”
I swallowed. I hadn’t ever really thought of it that way. “I hope you guys find them all. The women and children, I mean.” The authorities surmised that Johnson had sold them to the highest bidders, to the kind of people that liked their play things disposable and anonymous. I shivered. Thank God Betsy had avoided that fate.
Brown shook his head. “Me, too.”
Brown seemed nice, and helpful, and I decided to take a chance on him with the truth. “The little girl who escaped with me, Betsy—”
“Elizabet Perez.”
It warmed me that he knew the case so well. And with so many victims, he remembered Betsy’s name. That was good. “Yes. She lost her backpack, and she’s been quite upset about it. The last place she saw it was here. I was hoping that I could look in some windows, see if I can find it.”
“I’d be happy to take you through the place, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Why?”
“Most of the stuff here ended up in evidence or with Johnson’s daughter.”
“Stella?”
“Yes. And then some of it disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?” I rubbed my arms. Now that neither Jarhead nor I were exerting ourselves, it really was getting cold. The horse snorted and stamped, and I knew he felt it, too.
“I mean it looks like the place got picked over. It’s been empty for the last six weeks, and sometimes that happens. I like to drop by occasionally for that reason. Keep an eye on things, keep away the thieves, vandals, or squatters.”
Like Wrong Turn Ranch across the road. So the thieves had hit more than one ranch in the area. Mickey and Jack hadn’t reported it, though, so I kept it to myself. “That’s awful.”
“It is. So, you w
ant to look around?”
“If you honestly don’t mind, I would. And maybe I could let my horse warm up inside while we do it?”
He nodded and pulled out a ring of keys. I followed him into the barn. I’d been inside it once before, unfortunately. We passed the open door to the room where I’d been held against my will, where I first met Betsy. In my memory it was a dark room filled with clutter. Today it was bare except for the swath of dim light across the floor from the high, narrow window. Chill bumps rose on my arms under my layers of clothing.
“You can tie him up here,” Brown said, indicating a fat post in the center of the open area that extended all the way to the roof.
All I had on Jarhead was a bridle. Flat leather reins didn’t tie well, and they tied short at that. I had on a stylin’ web belt though, with a double ring in lieu of a buckle. I looped the belt around the post, then tied the reins to the end of it. That gave Jarhead enough room to move his head.
I patted his flanks. “Back soon, boy.”
Brown gestured around the barn. “Do you want to look in here?”
I surveyed the mostly empty space. The only things left in the room were rejects: a flat tire, half a long-handled rake, a pile of mulch, a broken syringe. Whoever had burglarized this place had done a very thorough job. It was disheartening, in light of my search, and more than a little eerie. But I was accompanied by a police officer, one who went way back with Jack and Mickey, and I would be fine. I couldn’t give up before I’d even started. I owed it to Betsy.
“Lead the way,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Four hours later, I was showered, safe, warm, and piloting Jack’s Suburban toward Alamogordo in sunlight made twice as bright by its reflection off the snow. Jack and Collin had vanished, so I had left Jack a note back at the house.
I borrowed the Suburban. Ava’s with me. I’m showing her around and taking her to eat. We’ll be back by midafternoon, unless I hear from you that you need us or the vehicle sooner. ~ E
Ava had stayed glued to my side since my return from Johnson’s Ranch, pumping me for information on the intrigue going on around her. Over donuts and coffee at Yum-Yum’s in Tularosa, I had finally gotten her up-to-date on almost everything: Betsy, Alan, the hush-hush situation with Greg and Farrah, dead people, my arrest, and even my now-ex-husband and Jack. Ava actively participated in stories, so it took a long time, even the short version. I had made it all the way in my narrative to my early morning excursion across the highway, which I was telling her about as I drove and she drank her second cup of coffee.
“Turn left to merge onto US 70 South,” Siri’s robotic voice commanded.
I obeyed. “Okay, so you know I went for a ride this morning?”
“Yah, mon.”
I smiled over at Ava. A wide zebra-print headband held her hair back from her lovely face. She’d tamed her curls into long waves, but it still had the volume of lion’s mane, and she hadn’t skimped on the eyeliner and lipstick. She dressed in her version of conservative wear for our excursion, which meant fabric covered all her skin, even if it was still fuchsia Lycra. Her spike-heeled, zippered black leather boots were the final detail to an ensemble that guaranteed she would not blend in the crowd today.
“I love hearing that accent,” I said.
“Well, we don’t want to Yank and sound flat and nasal like everyone else, do we?” she said, in a perfect parody of a Midwestern accent. The Virgin Islanders called stateside accents “Yank” talk, and Ava could switch in and out of her accents in mid-sentence.
“Even my Texas accent sounds foreign in these parts,” I drawled.
She switched back to her normal speaking voice. “So, lady, tell me ’bout you ride this morning.”
“I took Jarhead across the road to the ranch where Betsy was held hostage. I wanted to see if I could find a backpack that means a lot to her. The place was locked up, but one of the Alamogordo cops that’s working the case was out there.”
“At god-awful early in the morning? Why?”
“Checking up on the place, I think. Anyway, he took me through all the buildings to search for it.”
I set the cruise to seventy-five miles per hour and glanced in the rearview mirror at the lonely road behind me. Almost lonely. A big, dark blue sedan of some type had kept pace a few hundred yards back since we turned onto 70. It was still there. Odd. Would anyone have reason to follow us? And then I remembered Byron’s call. It wasn’t out of the question.
“You go in a deserted house with a strange man? Girl, you crazy.”
“He was a police officer.” Which didn’t necessarily mean much. “He was nice.”
“Nice? He probably looking at your bana then.”
“No! He wasn’t like that.”
She chuptzed. “All men like that. Some just more sneaky.”
I laughed.
“Hey, what that thing rolling by the side of the road?” She pointed at a tumbling mass of leafless bush.
“That’s a tumbleweed.”
“Those things real? And it moving fast. Even in the winter?”
“Year round. The wind out here is fierce.”
I hadn’t even noticed the tumbleweed until she mentioned it. Some things became part of the landscape after a while. Ava did have a way of making me smile.
She stared out the window, shaking her head. “This a strange place.” She looked back at me. “Go on with you story.”
“Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah, the cop let me search, but the place—the ranch house and outbuildings—had been picked clean.”
“Thieves like rob Jack’s place?”
“Just like. Although I’m sure some things went with the daughter and others into evidence first.”
Her accent thickened and her voice rose in pitch. “You tell Collin and he ’bout robbers dem across the way?” Dem after a noun was a form of island pluralization, although redundant in some cases, like this one.
“They were gone when I got back.”
“You best call.”
She was right. “When we stop.”
“Where we going, anyway?”
“The police say they don’t have Betsy’s backpack. I couldn’t find it at the ranch. And since I can’t ask the robbers, that leaves the daughter, Stella, as the next person to ask about it.” I turned to her. “So that’s where we’re headed. To visit Stella.”
“She know we coming?”
“She does. I found her on Facebook and messaged her.”
Ava drained her coffee and set the empty cup in the holder in the console. She dug in her purse and came out with a lipstick, then applied fresh fuchsia and pressed her lips together several times.
“I ready,” she announced.
Siri directed us the rest of the way to Stella’s new abode, with me checking the rearview frequently for a tail. I saw the blue sedan behind me a few more times, but when we made the last turn toward Stella’s, it went straight, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt safer to be in a residential neighborhood, with people all around. Not that it was the best neighborhood in town. It was mostly inexpensive apartments, although a few complexes were fairly new.
I parked at the curb and texted Jack: I ran into Edward Brown this morning. I left out the details. He said Paul Johnson’s ranch got robbed. Thought you should know.
As if texting him had summoned messages from the heavens, another came in. Byron.
I turned my phone over as if the sight of it would blind me. “Spit.”
Ava looked up from her own phone, where her fingers had been flying. “Did you just say ‘spit’?”
I ignored the question. “That CPS investigator that thinks I took the teenage kids is texting me again.”
She arched her brows. “Well, you did, right?”
I ignored her again and read the text aloud. “Thanks for your voice mail. I would still like to talk. Please call when you can.” Well, I couldn’t possibly until Monday at the earliest, could I? That would be my sto
ry, anyway, and I’d stick to it. “Doesn’t sound like they’re sending the po-po after me yet. Ready?”
“Born that way.”
We got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk. Stella had lived the high life with her father, but her maternal grandmother, it appeared, didn’t provide the same standard of living. These apartments were okay—nice for the neighborhood, anyway—but still low rent compared to Stella’s old lifestyle. We walked through rock and cactus landscaping to the security panel. I pressed the buzzer for Unit 1222, which Stella had sent me via text. Someone buzzed us in without checking to see who we were. We scurried through the gate. No surprise, stucco covered the walls of the complex for an adobe look, here and on the outside, too. Inside, the apartments ringed an oval pool, which had a winter cover and a layer of snow on it. It looked barren with the large apron of concrete around it empty. Stella’s unit faced one of the narrow ends of the pool.
I rang the doorbell.
From inside, a female voice answered. “It’s open.”
***
Stella was prone on a leather sofa in front of the boob tube and didn’t rise to greet us. The length of her body and the way it draped across the couch hinted at her height. The scent of patchouli hinted at weed, but I didn’t notice any other evidence of pot. She wore a gray hoodie and drawstring sweat pants that had stains across the front, and her hip bones jutted above the fabric. She’d tucked her hair inside the hoodie, which held it away from her head, but it still poked out the sides of the front, covering some of her blanket of freckles. I remembered that hair, that improbable and amazing afro of hair.
“Sit anywhere,” she said.
“Hi, Stella. Is your grandmother here?”
“No. She’s addicted to bingo.” Her eyes cut to Ava then back to me. “Who’s she?”
“This is Ava, my friend from the Virgin Islands.”
Stella’s eyes narrowed. “For real? The Virgin Islands?”
“Yah, mon. I visiting New Mexico. Albuquerque next week. Hoping to make it up to Santa Fe and Taos after that.” Santa Fe and Taos were news to me.
Stella nodded. “That’s pretty cool.”
Earth to Emily Page 23
