by Elaine Viets
“I hope I don’t,” Angela said.
“We all do. But you’ll be fine. Remember, keep left, and hold the halter with your right hand, and whatever you do, don’t get backed into a corner in the stall or in the barn. A panicked horse can kill you with one kick. Fire is their greatest fear.”
“I should know more about the barn,” Monty said. “Does Bud store hay in the stables?”
“I don’t know,” Angela said.
“He doesn’t,” Katie said. “The hay and feed are in a tin shed about a hundred yards away.”
“Good. Hay will add fuel to the fire.”
“Bud keeps a clean barn and a safe one,” Katie said. “It has less dust than my house and no cobwebs, trash, oily tack, hoof-cleaning rags, or dirty paper towels. He’s a fanatic about smoking. Visitors have to put out their cigarettes in a sand bucket.”
They heard a rumble outside. “What’s that?” Monty asked. A battered SUV passed on the road in front of Angela’s house.
She looked out the window. “Just a Range Rover. It’s heading toward his house. We should eat this pizza while we wait. If there is a fire, we’ll need fuel.”
After they polished off the pizza, Angela asked, “What time is it?”
“Eleven fifteen,” Katie said.
Angela felt hope blooming in her chest. “They’re not coming. I was wrong. Big Al was wrong—there won’t be a fire tonight.”
“Don’t pack it in yet,” Katie said. “Those two birds are drunk and high and at a party. They said ‘after eleven.’ In junkie time that could mean anything from now until daylight.”
They sat in silence for a while longer. “What happens if we see someone heading for the barn?” Angela asked.
“Call the Du Pres security and then call 911,” Monty said. “If it’s a false alarm, that’s the least of our problems.”
“There’s a car coming up the road with no lights,” Katie said.
“It’s a red Beemer,” Angela said. “I think Kip has a Beemer.”
“How’d they get through security?” Monty asked.
“The night guard isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, according to Bud,” Angela said. “And the boys know Reggie. The first families get a free pass.”
“The Beemer’s not going toward Reggie’s house,” Katie said. “It’s taking the road to the stables.”
“Do I call security or 911?” Angela asked.
“Not yet,” Katie said. “The boys can say they stopped to pet the horses. They’re parked by the hay shed. They’re getting out of the car . . .”
“Now what?” Monty asked.
“They’ve got bags of something. Yellow bags.”
“Cheap and Easy bags,” Angela said. “We’d better go.”
“Get in the truck,” Monty said. “If we see them starting a fire on the drive there, we’ll make the calls.”
They ran outside and squeezed into the front seat of Katie’s truck. She roared out of Angela’s drive, lights off, gravel spraying and pinging against the truck’s body. When they got to the top of the hill, Katie said, “What the fuck! The shed’s on fire, and there are burning bales piled at the entrance to the barn.”
Angela hit 9-1-1 and punched “Send.” The operator answered, “9-1-1. What’s your—”
Angela interrupted her. “Fire! Help! The Du Pres stables!”
Katie slammed on the brakes, and the three leaped out. Angela could hear the horses screaming and the goat’s frantic, rusty bleat. “Angela! You put out that bale,” Monty shouted. “We’ll go around back and get the horses out that way.”
Angela grabbed two fire extinguishers from the back of the truck, pulled the pin on one, and squeezed the handle.
Nothing happened.
Black smoke stung her eyes. The orange-red flames were almost as tall as she was. She squeezed the handle again, and white foam spurted out. Angela aimed her extinguisher at the crackling, swirling fire. The foam smothered most of the hay bale, but now flames were dancing on the stable doorway. Angela pulled the pin on the second fire extinguisher, and the bale was a smoking, blackened mess. Behind her, geysers of flame shot up from the hay shed, and sparks exploded.
Where were Monty and Katie? Why weren’t the horses in the paddock? Angela could hear a horse’s hooves thudding and a terrible, almost human screaming. She ran to the back entrance and saw Eecie rearing up on her back legs, white showing around her eyes, foam streaming from her mouth. Monty could barely hang onto her lead and avoid getting trampled.
“Where’s Katie?” she shouted over the roar of the fire.
“Her ankle’s broken!” he yelled over Eecie’s screams. The horse thudded back down on all fours. Monty tried to pat the Thoroughbred’s neck, and she snapped at him with big yellow teeth. “Easy, girl,” he said. She screamed again.
Monty regained control of the lead, wrapping it around his hand. “The bastards put a rope across the rear entrance, then opened the stall doors, hoping to break the horses’ legs if they ran out. Katie ran into the rope first and fell over it. She can’t walk, but she’s safe under a tree. The goat’s outside now, and so’s the pony. You’re going to have to get Hero out. He’s still in there. His stable door is open, but he won’t leave.”
Eecie rose up on her back legs again, and Monty fought to hold onto her, muscles bulging in his arms.
Angela couldn’t see into the smoky stable, but she could hear Hero’s screams. She ripped off her shirt and dunked it in the horse trough, then wrapped it around her mouth and nose. There would be more oxygen at floor level. Her father had taught her that. She dropped down to the stable floor and felt her way along the walls, trying not to breathe in the smoke. Her lungs burned. Kip and Duke must have scattered straw through the stable. It burst like fireworks.
Hero’s kicks and thuds were louder. She was almost at his stall. The smoke cleared and she saw him—eyes wide, foam flying, teeth showing. “Easy, boy. It’s me, Hero. You know me.” She stood up, and the heat slammed her body.
Try not to show fear, Katie had said. Angela unclipped the halter and lead from her belt and approached Hero on the left. She held out her hand with the peppermint. Hero sniffed it. He had no interest in the treat, but he seemed to recognize it—and her. She crooned soft words as she slipped the halter over his head, buckled the crown piece, and grabbed the lead.
Hero calmed slightly, and she kept crooning nonsense and pulling him out of the stall. She found another peppermint. He took that one. Now they were in the smoky barn. She moved as quickly as she could, patting and talking to the horse. She was choking on the smoke, but it parted for a moment. She could see the exit up ahead and flashing emergency lights. The fire department was here.
“Almost free,” she said to Hero. The smoke seared her lungs. The horse tried to turn around, but she wrapped the lead around her hand and pulled him toward her. She’d be dragged into the fire with him he if he didn’t follow her out of the barn.
But he did. She crooned and talked, though her lungs burned and her throat was on fire. She emerged from that fiery barn with Hero and felt strong hands grab her and unwrap the lead from her hand.
“He’s safe,” she said, though those two words scorched her tortured lungs. Someone mercifully clapped an oxygen mask over her face, and the world went black.
CHAPTER 38
Day fourteen
“What the fuck do you mean, I have to stay another day for observation?” Was that Katie? Angela thought she recognized her friend’s voice but couldn’t see her. Angela was in a fog—or maybe it was smoke—and heard Katie in her room. Weird. Why was Katie at her house?
Angela’s head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She heard a man say, “I’ll take care of her. She can go home with me.” Angela recognized Monty’s voice.
Then she saw the bandages on her right hand and the IV line stuck in her left. Some machine was clipped onto her finger. She had a cannula stuck in her nostrils, and it felt uncomfortable. Why am I wearing this?
<
br /> Oxygen, her slow brain told her. I got oxygen last night, and now I’m in the hospital getting more. She shifted in the lumpy bed and coughed. It hurt her chest to breathe.
Now she was awake enough to figure out that the woman on the other side of the privacy curtain was Katie, her hospital roommate. Angela heard Katie telling someone—a nurse?—“I’m fine. My vitals are fine. I was here for observation. You’ve seen me. I’ve seen you. We’ve both seen enough of each other. I need to go.” Katie sounded angry and impatient.
“Doctors make the worst patients,” the nurse said.
“This one does. I’ve seen what happens to patients who spend too long in the hospital. They wind up being my patients!”
“Katie!” Monty said. “I know you don’t feel good with a broken ankle, but you owe the nurse an apology.”
Silence. Then Katie said, “I’m sorry. I really am. I’m worried about my roommate, Angela. She still hasn’t come to.”
“Katie!” Angela called. “I’m behind the curtain. I’m awake. I’m fine.” She erupted into a series of raspy coughs. The nurse came running over. “Good morning.”
“This is Sisters of Sorrow Hospital,” Angela said. “I was admitted last night after the fire at the Du Pres stables.”
“That’s right.” The nurse sounded as if Angela were an unusually bright third grader. “Let me check your vitals.” She stuck a thermometer in Angela’s ear and a blood-pressure cuff on her arm.
“Very good. Would you like breakfast?”
“I guess so,” Angela said. “Everything tastes like smoke.”
The nurse bustled out. Monty, who looked and smelled like he’d spent the night in a fireplace, pulled back the privacy curtain. “Morning, Angela.” He smiled at her. “Glad to see you awake. You had us worried last night. Now that you’re okay, I badly need some coffee and breakfast. Then I have to make some phone calls. I’m going to the cafeteria. You and Katie can talk.”
Katie’s hair was flat and matted, and she had dark circles under her smoke-reddened eyes. Her face was chalk white and her splinted, swollen ankle was propped on a pillow. Even her foot looked resentful.
“How did we get in the same room?” Angela said. “Why aren’t you in the orthopedic ward?”
“No room. After the ER X-rayed my ankle and determined I had a hairline fracture, they put me in this splint and told me to keep the weight off it until it was pain-free. Two freaking weeks at least. I asked for one of those knee walkers so I can get around and go to work. Still two weeks, but after that I get a walking boot for another freakin’ month. Meanwhile, it’s rest, ice, compression, and elevation. They kept me overnight in the telemetry ward for observation, where they observed I’m a pain in the ass.”
“The telemetry ward? Isn’t that the ward where the Angel of Death killed all those people?”
“Now you know why I want the hell out of here. Do those blisters on your hand hurt?”
Angela looked at her wrapped paw. “Not really. I just noticed them. Are the horses safe?”
“Yes, thanks to you and Monty. The fire department put the fire out before it did too much damage. The investigator thinks the old stables can be repaired. The horses are safe but spooked and skittish—even the goat’s off its feed. They’re all at Monty’s stables for R & R. Bud’s bringing the new racehorse to board there until the Du Pres stables are repaired.”
“Bud must be beside himself,” Angela said.
“Monty said he’s never heard the man so upset. Bud wanted to leave the racehorse in Kentucky and fly straight home, but Old Reggie insisted he drive the horse home ASAP.”
“How did you break your ankle?”
“Fracture,” Katie corrected. “It’s only a hairline fracture. That was thanks to Kip and Duke, those boys from so-called good families. They decided to make their own movie, and they had a plan to make it more exciting. They put a burning bale of hay at one entrance to the stables.”
“That’s the fire I put out.”
“The little shits also strung a rope across the other entrance. They started the fire and opened the stall doors, hoping the horses would run full tilt at the rope and break a leg.”
“Except the horses panicked and didn’t leave their stalls.”
“Right. And I ran full tilt into the fucking rope and fractured my ankle. Glad I wore lace-up boots. Otherwise, the ER would have had to cut off the boot. When I fell, it hurt so bad I couldn’t stand up.”
“I can imagine what you must have said.”
“I guess I was pretty bad. But cussing saved my life. Monty followed the trail of F-bombs into the smoke, carried me out, and set me under a tree away from the fire.”
“Rescued by a handsome prince, Snow White,” Angela said.
Katie snorted. “Yeah, I’m Snow White—except I drifted. I hated sitting on my ass while Monty went back inside the barn to rescue Eecie and the other animals. He swatted the goat, and it ran through the barn and outside. He shooed the pony out of the stable. Then he put a halter on Eecie to lead her out, and she went nuts.”
“I saw.”
“So did I. And I couldn’t do a fucking thing. Not even stand up. I found my cell phone in my pocket and called 911 again. Then I called Old Reggie. He got the staff up there and directed the fire department. Told them where they could find the fire hydrants. He’d spared no expense installing hydrants up near that barn, and it paid off. His stables were saved.”
“Did they catch Duke and Kip?”
“Duke, the judge’s son, is dead. They found him in the tack room. He was badly burned.”
“Oh. Those horses never hurt him.” Some small part of Angela felt sorry for Duke. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Doug Hachette, the fire investigator, thinks Duke went back to get a trophy or something that belonged to one of Reggie’s horses,” Katie said. “He died with his cell phone in his hand. Doug thinks Kip, the hedge funder’s kid, was either helping his friend steal something or trying to save him. They found Kip passed out on the threshold of the tack room. He’s here in SOS with smoke inhalation and burns on thirty percent of his body. He’ll probably make it, but he’ll need skin grafts. His ass is cooked.”
“So he’s going to jail,” Angela said.
“I hope so, but I mean his rear end really is cooked. He fell on his face, and his pants were on fire—liar, liar.”
“You don’t have much sympathy for him.”
“I’d like to autopsy him while he’s alive. Those two planned a cruel, senseless death for those gorgeous animals.”
“Did Kip confess?”
“Hell, no. He went into a coma after he passed out. The firefighters found him and loaded him into an ambulance. His rich daddy’s lawyer got to the hospital before Mummy and Daddy arrived from Vail and camped out next to the kid. Greiman and Hachette actually figured this part out: They impounded Kip’s Beemer at the scene and got a warrant for it. Inside, they found a Cheap and Easy receipt for potato chips, shortening, nylon rope, and five gallons of gasoline.”
“The same fire starters used for the other fires,” Angela said.
“Right. The gasoline container was tossed in the trunk—empty. They also found two cell phones. One belongs to Kip.”
“Did they find Zander’s phone?” Angela asked.
“They’re not sure, but they’re pretty sure they’ll get both Kip and Duke for the rope in the stables. The busted ends were wrapped in black electrical tape to keep them from unraveling.”
“That tape is sticky,” Angela said.
“Sticky enough—I think they can make those animal-abuse charges stick. Greiman’s having the lab test the rope for prints with some process using Super Glue fumes. He’s hoping it has both sets. They’re also testing the rope for DNA. The morons videoed each other buying everything at Cheap and Easy and also their stable prep and fire starting. Video with running commentary. Definitely on Kip’s cell phone. Duke’s may be too fire damaged.”
“
But they’ve got them,” Angela said.
“Fucked themselves good and proper.” Angela heard her friend’s satisfaction. “Duke’s going to have to answer to a higher court, but Kip’s facing the music down here—along with the wrath of Reggie Du Pres. Personally, I think Duke gets off easy dealing with God. Reggie’s going to make Kip’s life hell on earth.”
“And now Kendra and Jose will go free.”
There was an awkward silence.
“What? They’re not free?”
“Old Reggie and his puppet, the county prosecutor, still say the Salvatos set the other three fires.”
“No!” Angela was shocked.
“Wait, wait. It’s not over. One reason Monty was so eager to start making calls is Butch said he was coming back to work today. And KJ, the private investigator, left Monty a message late last night that he’d located Maria Garcia, Jose’s alibi and old girlfriend, in Chicago. Monty didn’t get a chance to call either one back. So we may still be able to get them off the hook.”
“How’s the Forest reacting to the scandal?”
“Shattered.” Katie grinned. “All their precious assumptions are as shattered as if someone dropped them off a skyscraper. Two sons of first families set fire to the Du Pres stables—blue-blood crime. Once again, it’s a media circus here. Reporters are rolling in from all over the country—no, the world. Even the BBC News is covering this.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I shit you not. Saw it this morning. Let’s see what’s on now.”
While Katie turned on her TV, an aide arrived with Angela’s breakfast tray. Angela examined the prefab pancakes, lumps of scrambled eggs, and gluey oatmeal and wondered which one would taste best with the smoke flavor in her mouth and nose. She opted for the eggs.
On the TV screen over Katie’s bed, Angela saw a bubble-haired blonde reporter interviewing Ollie Champlain, Luther’s crusty hanger-on. Ollie looked like he’d been left outdoors in a bad rain this morning, as he pontificated on the two boys who burned the Du Pres stables.