Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis

by Maria Grazia Swan

  I quickened my pace and headed for the far side of the ranch where new stables and stalls had been built. I could see the horse trailer. It wasn’t hooked to anything, just sitting there close to the fence separating blacktop from grass. In the same parking area I noticed a few pickup trucks, dusty and very plain looking. Now I understood Tristan’s comment about the ride back in the truck not being very comfortable.

  I took a bite of the apple. It tasted crispier and sweeter than any apple I ever bought at Fry’s.

  Damn, not a soul around. Did all the workers go to town after work? Yet the pickups had windows rolled down, and one even had a few bales of hay in the bed. Weird. Then it hit me—it was Saturday night. I guess they had all earned the right to let their hair down. I loved that American expression, let your hair down. What about the bald-headed ones? I mean, this place was for retired folks, sort of.

  I was still snickering to myself when I heard barking. Dior must have spotted me. He ran toward me, crossing the large expanse of grass that didn’t seem so green up close and personal. Lots of brown patches dotted the pasture, a sure sign of neglect.

  From inside a few of the stalls there was movement, a horse head bobbing, checking out the action from the half-open Dutch barn door. The gate on the largest stall at the very end was wide open, and just as Dior got closer, I heard a nicker, and Tache, with her unmistakable spotted coat, appeared. Her head shot up. Her neck tensed as if listening for a voice, a call. Looking for Tristan maybe? Poor baby.

  She pawed her front hooves, and then simply walked out of the stall and gingerly trotted over to where I stood fighting off Dior’s enthusiastic wet kisses.

  “Stop it, Dior.” I giggled. “You’ll knock me down, you silly pooch.”

  He stopped. Wow. That was a first. Maybe my voice got stronger? More decisive? Or maybe it wasn’t about my voice at all because Tache had also stopped in her tracks, and both Dior and the mare looked toward the stalls.

  A man pushing a wheelbarrow emerged. Either the man was old and weak or the wheelbarrow carried a few tons of something. Because even as he pushed, the thing only moved by inches. Should I offer to help? Really, Monica? Help? You can’t even carry a twenty-five-pound sack of dog food from the car to the house. Regardless, it was the polite thing to do.

  I headed his way, unsure the dude had noticed me, us. What a trio we made. Dior stayed close to me, but Tache wasn’t interested. She snorted and pawed again as she had earlier.

  “Okay then, you stay put, girl. Your dad will be here to get you any minute now.”

  I quickened my pace, and so did Dior. Suddenly the lights came on, startling me for a moment. I called out to the poor man. “Hello, hello there, can I help?”

  He seemed to notice me for the first time but didn’t answer and increased his efforts. Now the wheelbarrow moved faster, but as he reached the end of the raised concrete path the wheel went over. He lost control and the thing slid sideways. Stuff fell out. Well I could sure help with that. Luckily it all happened right under a lamp. Dior had suddenly become sluggish, as if he decided he didn’t want any part of my mercy mission.

  “Hi, I can give you a hand. Where do you need to take all this?” I glanced at the items scattered on the ground, two horse saddles and other equine-related items I had seen before but didn’t know what they were called. One of the saddles looked familiar and according to the book I’d read about saddles while researching a gift for Tristan, expensive. Familiar and expensive?

  Suddenly I noticed something else standing next to the spilled goods, a pair of work boots, filled by the wheelbarrow pusher’s feet. I looked up with my friendliest smile and pointed to the horse stuff. “Are you taking these to the trailer for Tristan?”

  The bright light cast strange shadows on the man’s face. His beard seemed as unkempt as the grass, and he wasn’t smiling. Our eyes met, and I froze. Those light eyes, pale blue, maybe gray? The same shiver I experienced at the police station found its way up my spine. Oh my God! That was him... the half-brother.

  I’m sure he read the fear on my face because he straightened up, towering over me. I stepped back, nearly stomping on Dior. My lips opened and closed, but no sound came. He moved forward, oblivious of the goods on the ground.

  Rogelio Avondo, Angelique’s lover, stared back at me. I heard a click and without looking I sensed he had a blade in his hand. “So, you’re the bimbo lover boy is balling. Let me rearrange your smile a little.” He sneered and took another step. Dior growled. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. He was only feet away and didn’t seem in any hurry. Tache let out a sound, more a squeal than any usual sound I’d ever heard a horse make. I turned and started running toward the parking lot.

  He came stamping behind me, cursing and gaining ground, and then a miracle happened. Headlights appeared from the corner of the new building as a truck headed for the same parking area I was running toward. And as the vehicle advanced, security lights, high on eaves of the roof came on, and I screamed louder. “Help, help...”

  The pickup came to a screeching stop, its headlights angled on me.

  The driver’s door opened.

  I kept running, Dior and Tache joined me, joyously prancing as if this was just a new game. The man from the truck caught up to us, and suddenly voices sounded, other people appeared. I stopped and turned around.

  Rogelio Avondo had changed direction. Before I could catch my breath, he was getting into the truck the good Samaritan had left running, and to my dismay, he drove off. The driver of the truck went running after it, but to no avail. We watched the taillights of the truck head toward the road to Interstate 10.

  My whole body shook. I couldn’t breathe.

  The man who’d come to my rescue said, “Damn, it wasn’t even my truck.”

  Brenda, and Bob, must have heard the commotion as they came rushing up. Bob had drawn his gun and pointed it in the direction the truck had gone. But both the truck and the thief driving it had disappeared in a cloud of Arizona dust.

  FIFTEEN

  THE FOUR OF us stood on the spot where the pickup had been stolen. Stunned. The good Samaritan with no name kept his litany of swear words going, and from time to time I would hear a “...going to kill the son of a bitch.” While Dior, blissfully obvious to the situation, was greeting Bob with tail wags and sniffing galore.

  I finally gathered enough breath to say the name. “Rogelio Avondo.”

  “Rogelio who?” Brenda asked.

  I beat Bob to the answer. “The dead woman’s half-brother. He’s wanted by the police, and he just stole this poor man’s pickup truck.”

  “Hell no he didn’t. That son of a bitch who stole the pickup was Leo, the idiot who claims to know horses, but doesn’t know diddle shit,” Good Samaritan said.

  “Who?” Bob and I could make a nice duet.

  “Some newcomer. Angelique Dumont brought him to the ranch and insisted he be hired as a farrier. Said her husband vouched for the man.”

  Yeah, I bet.

  “I need to make some calls.” Officer Bob Clarke could hardly contain his excitement, he took off toward his car. Waddling more than running due to his noticeable pouch. Maybe the widow did cook after all.

  Just then, Tristan and an old man I assumed to be the caretaker, Ernie Lopez, walked up. Neither seemed in a hurry. The whole scene felt weird to the max, like a low-budget film noir.

  No special effects.

  The motion-activated lights clicked off so that the dark sky and remaining sparse lights gave the illusion of a black-and-white movie in need of some serious editing. But Tristan and the old man had no clue about the latest events.

  Good Samaritan took care of that. “Ernie, that f**king bastard stole Walter’s truck.” He nervously kicked dirt and gravel around with the toe of his cowboy boot. And these were the real thing. Even in the dark they looked old and worn.

  “What? What are you talking about? Where is Walter?” Ernie Lopez asked.

  Tristan wasn’t paying any
attention to the conversation or to me. He made a beeline to where Tache waited impatiently for his attention. She paced and snorted in the enclosed area. Tristan actually hopped over the fence, and even from where I stood I could feel the bond between the man and his horse. He spoke softly to the mare, never once glancing my way. Still, the sight made me feel all warm inside.

  The two men began to argue heatedly about the stolen truck. Bob was heading back our way, and then—Brenda lost it.

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” The tone of her voice was so shrill, I bet no horse would sleep tonight. Then she retrieved a pack of smokes from her denim jacket and lit a cigarette. I think that simple gesture shocked the men more than her yelling. Well, she wanted attention, she got it.

  “No one touches anything,” Bob Clarke announced.

  “What’s there to touch? All my stuff is in Walter’s truck. I drove back here to make sure everything was locked down for the night. Everyone else is at the bar to celebrate Walter’s birthday. Goddamn... some birthday all right.” Samaritan kicked dirt with more determination.

  “What’s going on? Who are you?” Lopez asked Bob. Tristan turned to look and seemed to realize for the first time that something wasn’t right. He spoke from the fenced corral. “That’s Officer Bob Clarke, the one I was telling you about, Ernie. He gave us a ride down here. What did I miss?”

  Good Samaritan took center stage once again and told how he arrived driving Walter’s truck when he noticed the girl—he pointed to me—screaming and running with Leo chasing after her. He skipped mentioning the dog and the horse, probably in a hurry to get to the good part where he rushed to my rescue and Leo jumped into the idling pickup and drove off.

  “Except” —it was my turn to speak— “Leo is not Leo, he’s Rogelio Avondo. I swear.”

  Even in the dim light I could see Tristan’s face change. Bob already knew and Brenda, Lopez and the good Samaritan appeared to have no clue as to who Rogelio Avondo was.

  Then Lopez said, “Hmm, makes sense. Roge-lio. Lio in Spanish is pronounced like Leo in English. He told me his name was Leo Rogue. He had social security and everything else with that name.”

  “Detectives Ross and Reid are on their way here.” Bob cleared his throat. “And other detectives from the Tucson office are joining them because we are in Pima County. You’ll be able to file a stolen truck report soon,” he said to Good Samaritan. “This place is about to be taken over by squad cars and detectives. They are investigating a murder, and I guess a vehicular theft.”

  “He was stealing a bunch of other stuff. I didn’t know, and I offered to help him push the wheelbarrow and...”

  “Monica, you did what?” Brenda puffed smoke and paced.

  “Hey, I didn’t know, ok? I thought he was a barn worker or something. If I hadn’t, he would be gone with the loot by now, and we wouldn’t have known that Rogelio Avondo was here. By the way, how long has he been living here? This is crazy.” I totally expected Tristan to rush over and hug me and ask if I was all right. I could have used a warm arm around my shoulders, the weather was pretty chilly, and I only had on the light clothing I wore to the Phoenix police headquarters. Instead, I heard a loud swish and sprinklers shot off all over the grassy pasture.

  Bob came unglued. “No, no, stop that . Stop it. All the evidence will be washed away.”

  Good Samaritan took off without hesitation, and in moments he had reached the timer by the side of the barn and turned everything off. Only a few fat drops hit my hair. Again I looked at Tristan, still on the inside of the fence. But he kept patting his mare.

  “Where is Lois?” he asked. “Maybe she can shed some light into this nightmare.”

  Lois, heh? He was avoiding any mention of Angelique. I bet she was the mastermind.

  Brenda was the one who answered. “Haven’t seen Lois in...I don’t know... a week? I assumed she quit. She and Angelique had been at each other’s throat ever since that L eo showed up. I thought maybe Lois wasn’t happy with—you know... the Angelique-Leo—oh, what the hell, everyone knew they were having an affair.” She paused then mumbled, “Sorry, Tristan.”

  “Who was having an affair?” Ernie Lopez, the one in charge of everyday operations, asked. How could he not know? Probably because he ran the ranch from inside his living room instead of being hands on?

  And who was I to judge? This was the closest I had ever gotten to a real ranch with horses and cowboys. Oh, and thieves and murderers, let’s not forget that. Yes, this was no Little House on The Prairie, but our cast was quite interesting if you ask me.

  “Has anyone checked her room?” Bob asked. Brenda and Ernie shook their heads.

  Maybe it was the sprinklers or the word affair, whatever it was, Tristan decided to join us, on the parking side of the fence. “Ernie, I intended to take my horse home. I’d like to take a look at the trailer in case it needs emptying or something.”

  “Sure, sure, this way.”

  I figured this was my chance to get up close and personal with Tristan without being too obvious, so I tagged along after the two men; make it three because suddenly Bob joined us. The horse trailer was on the other side of the barn building, just a skip from where Avondo stole the truck. The motion lights came on as we walked by. There was only one-horse trailer, and it was full to the brim with stuff. And then it hit me.

  “Oh, I bet this is where Avondo was headed with the wheelbarrow. And I bet everything in the trailer is stolen goods.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s all evidence,” Bob declared. He pulled a flashlight from somewhere, a pocket? And pointed to some of the items that had spilled out of the trailer.

  “That bastard.” Ernie Lopez reached for... a gun case? I couldn’t tell. “So this is where the missing Winchester 1873 is. It disappeared five days ago. Been in my family for generations. What else did he steal?”

  Bob Clarke rushed to the open back of the trailer. “All this is evidence. We can’t touch anything. Not a single item until the detectives are able to sift through it and...”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “This is where he was taking the stuff in the wheelbarrow. Tristan, one of the saddles looked just like Tache’s.”

  “He took her saddle? Where is it?”

  “Up there,” I pointed at the spot where the wheelbarrow had tipped over. “No one touched it as far as I know.”

  “And no one will until the detectives get here. Please, people, I’m here officially as an officer of the law. Sorry, Tristan, you won’t be able to use the trailer, it will very likely be impounded.” And Bob’s phone went off.

  He turned his back to answer and moved a few steps away. I had no idea who he was speaking to, but I would have loved to dig through the horse trailer. Man, that crook had been busy.

  “Tristan, Mr. Dumont.” Mr. Dumont? Suddenly Bob got formal? Was everyone nuts?

  “Can you please take this call? It’s the Phoenix Fire Department. They said you are not answering your phone.” Tristan walked over to where Bob waited, he pulled out his own phone and checked.

  “Dead,” he said, as Bob handled him his cell. I felt like a snoop, so I pretended great interest in the exterior shell of the horse trailer, the only sounds coming from a tree somewhere, an owl? That and quick steps on the gravel. Brenda had joined us.

  “I need to go home immediately.” Tristan’s voice sounded like it came from an echo chamber, in fading waves of pain. “I need the truck.” He spoke to Ernie Lopez “Where is it?”

  “The truck for the trailer? The men drove it to the bar,” Good Samaritan said. “Our truck still has hay in the back so we drove that one, we had no idea it would be needed.” Silence resounded loud. “What can I borrow? I need to go NOW.” Tristan’s hands were fisted, and his face, washed by the strange artificial light, seemed locked in a frozen expression.

  “Here, take my keys,” Brenda said. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be going anywhere outside the ranch tonight. Take them. Go. We’ll be fine.” His eyes
volleyed from Brenda’s face to mine, and the pain I saw in his was overwhelming. He reached out for the keys. Brenda pointed to the kitchen building. “It’s the Honda Pilot. It’s unlocked. Drive safely Tristan, there is a port for charging your phone where the cigarette lighter is located. Go. Now.”

  He once again turned to look at me. Neither of us spoke. Then he said to Ernie Lopez. “You’re in charge of my mare. Don’t let anyone or anything hurt her. I hold you responsible.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He left, breaking into a run. A few minutes later, the Honda zoomed by us. He didn’t turn his head to look, didn’t wave. And just like that, Brenda’s Honda disappeared down the same road where Rogelio Avondo had driven off with the stolen truck.

  “What happened? Is it Angelique?” I swallowed anger as I spoke.

  Bob sighed. “That poor guy, he can’t catch a break. It’s his house. When the investigators went back to the house for a second search there wasn’t anyone there, and they smelled smoke. Apparently, someone set fire to the section of the house where Tristan’s rooms are. That’s all I know.”

  “You think it was Avondo?” I asked.

  “How? He was here when we got here, and by then the fire had already been set.”

  No one said the name we all thought. Bob must have picked up the vibration. “Let’s not speculate. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  As a validation of his words, a Sheriff’s vehicle with blazing strobe lights rounded the corner of the entrance to the No Name Ranch.

  SIXTEEN

  WE HUDDLED AROUND the sleek, but cold-looking industrial kitchen counter where I’m sure many of Brenda’s recipes had come to life and her dreams of Gourmet Meal Delivery for seniors met their fate. Poor Aunt Brenda. Her own utensils and books must have been packed in her Honda because I didn’t recognize anything in sight. She had however managed to make me a wonderful peanut butter and sliced apples sandwich. Not that I felt very hungry at this point. I couldn’t wash away Tristan’s look of defeat in the brief flash that our eyes met. Poor, poor Tristan.