Barnstorming (Gail Mccarthy Mysteries)

by Laura Crum

  Ten minutes later I’d told Blue and Mac where I was going and was walking down my driveway. Mac was playing fetch with Star and Blue was napping. I’d donned a denim jacket to combat the wind, which was steadily increasing. Storm coming, it felt like.

  It was roughly four o’clock when I strolled in the drive that led to the Red Barn. There were several people in the arena and lots more hanging around the barn and shedrow. Everyone seemed to be very busy talking. I looked about for someone I recognized.

  In a minute I spotted the woman with the blond/gray hair mucking out the paint mare’s pen. I drifted over in her direction and leaned on the rails of the pen. The woman stopped her shoveling and glanced at me curiously.

  “Hi. I’m Gail McCarthy,” I said. “I’m a neighbor. I talked to you yesterday after the big bust. Has anybody heard what happened to Ross and Tammi?”

  The woman pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and squinted at me. “I’m Riva,” she said. “And no, no one here seems to know where Ross and Tammi went or what their plans are.”

  “Do you think they’re hiding up in the woods?” I asked idly.

  “Seems unlikely to me,” Riva said. “Not those two. They liked their comforts.”

  “That was my impression, too,” I said. “Who’s doing the feeding?”

  “We’re all feeding our own,” Riva answered. “Thus the crowd.” And she gestured around. “A few people are starting to develop little cooperative groups, now that we all realize they might not be coming back. Apparently they didn’t want to be busted. Someone called the barn owner, who moved to town after she brought Tammi in to manage the place. Hopefully she’ll come up with a new manager.”

  “Did Tammi do all the feeding?”

  “Along with Ross. And we all clean our own stalls and pens. They didn’t have any regular barn help.”

  “Oh,” I said. The Red Barn had always been known as a “cheap” boarding stable.

  Riva had returned to shoveling poop and I watched her awhile. “Do you ride the trails much?” I asked at last.

  Riva paused and looked at me. “I used to,” she said. “I haven’t felt much like getting out there since Jane was killed.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I guess we’re all wondering how that happened,” I added, deciding not to mention Sheryl.

  Riva kept meeting my eyes. “Do you know who Bill is?” she asked.

  “Um, no, I don’t think so.” I was puzzled by the intensity in her voice.

  “Bill lives in a blue house near the trail in that direction.” Riva waved a hand. “And he owns a big white dog.”

  “Oh, that guy,” I said. “Yeah, I do know who you mean. He sics his dog on horse people.”

  “And he’s trying to block the trails,” Riva added fiercely.

  “He’s the one who’s doing that?” I asked. “I’ve seen those roadblocks. How do you know it was him?”

  “I saw him doing it one day. Blocking the ridge trail. Sat there on my horse and watched him for a while. Then I said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? This isn’t your land.’ And he gave me what I can only describe as an evil look. You know what he said? ‘I don’t like horses on that trail looking down at my house. We don’t need any horse people around here. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay off these trails.’”

  “He said that? Wow.”

  “It was creepy. I had the thought then and there that if that guy has a gun he’d be dangerous. I turned around and rode away from him right away. The next thing I hear, Jane has gone and called the sheriffs on him for siccing the white dog on people. And the next thing Jane gets shot. What would you think?”

  “I see what you mean,” I said. And the thought leaped into my mind. Someone shooting horse people not because they were simply nuts, as I had thought Buddy might be, but because they were irrationally anti-horse. And Sheryl had been shot very near this guy’s house. Damn. This was information I should share with Jeri.

  I shivered, as a gust of chilly wind blew through the yard, and drew my denim jacket more closely around me. Riva had gone back to raking and shoveling. “Thanks,” I told her bent head. “I guess I’ll get going.”

  “See you,” she said, and picked up the loaded wheelbarrow to heave it along.

  I walked down the aisle by the shedrow, headed in the direction of the road out. As I reached the gate I looked up the road to see a black horse coming down it. The coppery gold sheen of the rider’s hair was distinctive. I let myself out the gate and walked up the hill toward Trish O’Hara, who was riding down from the direction of the ridge trail.

  “Hey, Gail,” Trish said in her friendly way as she saw me. “What’s going on?”

  “Lots,” I said, not sure how to answer this question. “What are you up to?”

  “Well, looking for Sheryl Silverman, partly. Jonah said he found her saddled horse outside the gate, but nobody’s seen her. Everyone is worried that she got dumped and is hurt. So I went out for a ride, hoping I’d find her. But I haven’t.”

  I shook my head. “Jeez, Trish. I guess I ought to tell you. I found Sheryl this morning when I was out riding.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “No. She’s dead.”

  “Oh no.” Trish’s well-meaning face reflected the shock she was undoubtedly feeling. I didn’t see any reason to keep her in the dark.

  “She’d been shot,” I said. “Just like Jane.”

  “Oh no,” Trish said again. “That’s terrible. I should get back to Lazy Valley and tell them.”

  “They’ll know by now,” I said. “That detective I was riding with yesterday, Jeri Ward, has gone over there to ask questions. Everyone is going to know pretty soon.”

  “Oh my God.” Trish was obviously trying to process this news. “I can’t believe it. What is happening here? Is there some crazy person out there shooting horse people?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but the thought crossed my mind. Have you run into that guy who lives in the house near the trail over there,” I pointed, “and has a white dog?”

  “Oh, the dog that chases horses.” Trish shrugged. “I don’t know anything about the owner.”

  I recounted the story Riva had told me and said, “So now I’m wondering.” Another thought struck me. “You were out riding yesterday, weren’t you? Did you ride long?”

  “About three hours, I guess,” Trish said, sounding puzzled.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Well, you guys. And right as I was headed back I saw Ross Hart and Tammi Martinez, riding up the swingset trail at the high lope. I got out of their way and they barreled on by me, didn’t even stop. It was weird.”

  Bingo, I thought. “Up the swingset trail, huh? Where did you see them?”

  “Right where the swingset trail takes off from the logging road. I was headed up the logging road.”

  “Did you see the camper?”

  “Yeah, there was a camper parked by the side of the road. An old beat-up one.”

  “Did you see the guy?”

  “Nope. No guy was around the camper. Not that I saw.”

  “Do you know about what time this would be?”

  Trish gave me an odd look, but glanced at her wrist and said, “I got back from my ride around two. I checked my watch. So I suppose I saw Ross and Tammi and the camper sometime between one and two.”

  That made sense. Jeri and I had arrived at the scene of the bust around one, I thought. And Tammi and Ross had ridden away shortly before then. The question was, where were they going? From the swingset trail they could take the trail that led to Tucker Pond and on to the old orchard. From there they could ride to White Road. And from there on to Harkins Valley. They could also ride down to Moon Valley and to Lazy Valley Stable. From there they could reach Highway 1. If they had their cell phones with them, it would be a simple matter to call a friend with a horse trailer to come pick them up at any of these main roads. Tammi and Ross might right now be hidden out at any number of horse place
s in the county. If they did not return to their home or the Red Barn, it could prove very difficult for the sheriffs to find them. Tammi and Ross could just possibly have managed a very effective disappearance.

  Trish was watching my face. “So what were Ross and Tammi up to, galloping through the woods? I can tell you know something.”

  I told her the story of the bust and the horseback getaway, and Trish laughed. “I don’t blame them,” she said. “Busting people for growing pot is ridiculous. Let those stupid sheriffs work on who’s killing people on the trails.”

  “I agree,” I said. “But it also makes me wonder. Running away like that is a pretty extreme reaction. And Jane Kelly called in the tip that got Ross and Tammi busted.”

  “Oh,” Trish said. “I see what you mean. Where did you find Sheryl?”

  “Down by that old reservoir.”

  “Oh yeah,” Trish said. “I know where that is. Poor Sheryl. I may not have liked her but I didn’t wish her any harm.”

  “Did you see anyone when you were out riding today?”

  “Not really. I saw that street guy’s camp, but he wasn’t around.”

  “What guy is that?”

  “He’s got long blond hair and keeps a chicken for a pet. He lives in a tent that’s just near the spot where the long flat trail heads up the hill to the water tank. It’s pretty well hidden from the trail.”

  “I’ve never seen that guy or his camp,” I said, “but I know the spot you mean.”

  I reflected that those of us who rode and hiked these trails knew them pretty well. A little thought flickered through my mind and then disappeared again as a blast of wind whistled around me.

  “This guy’s been living there awhile,” Trish said. “I think he’s harmless. He hitchhikes into town and makes spare change playing his flute.”

  “Sounds harmless,” I agreed.

  Trish shook her head. “I guess we can’t assume anything anymore.”

  For a second we were both silent. A draft of cold air swirled the fallen leaves around us and I shivered.

  “Brrr,” I said. “I think I’m going home. It looks like it’s going to storm.”

  Trish glanced at the sky. “Right,” she said, “Me, too. Gail, I’m going up the ridge trail straight to the Lookout and dropping down to Moon Valley from there. It should take me an hour. Can you do me a big favor?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Call me on my cell phone in an hour and make sure I made it back to Lazy Valley.” Reaching into her pocket, she handed me her card. “It’s on there,” she said.

  “Will do,” I said. “And I know all the trails you’re talking about, so if I can’t reach you I’ll come after you.”

  “Thanks,” Trish said, and reined Coal off up the hill.

  I watched her receding figure for a moment—a lone red-headed woman on a black horse, with the wind whipping at dark mane and tail and bright coppery hair. Behind them the ridge loomed, stormy gusts tossing the eucalyptus trees. Trish looked solitary and forlorn, and I didn’t envy her. Alone on the trails was not an appealing prospect in this moment.

  Gathering the folds of my jacket around me, I hurried towards the main road and home. I needed to call Jeri Ward.

  Chapter 16

  I reached home to find Mac wrestling with his new puppy in the hall and Blue making stew for dinner. My attempt to call Jeri reached only her answering machine. I accepted a margarita from Blue and settled into the armchair by the fire. For the first time I let myself feel how tired I was, both emotionally and physically. The horses and other critters were fed, the wind was swirling through the trees and around the house. Inside, the rich, aromatic smell of the stew and the crackle of the fire in the woodstove spoke strongly of comfort. This was a night for an early dinner and bedtime—at least for me.

  But I had one more chore to do. I glanced at the clock and then dialed Trish’s cell phone number. She answered on the first ring, sounding out of breath. “Hi Gail. I just got Coal put away. You won’t believe what’s going on around here.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Apparently that detective showed up out here at Lazy Valley while Doug Martin was working on his horse and told him about Sheryl. And by all accounts, and I guess there were a lot of folks hanging around, Doug just lost it. He got really upset, almost distraught, someone said. Before the detective said much of anything, he was protesting that he didn’t kill either one of them. And the whole story came out. It turns out that Sheryl was pregnant. Doug had wanted her to get an abortion and she wouldn’t. She wanted to get married. Doug broke up with Sheryl, and went back to Jane, and Sheryl was just furious. After Jane was shot, Sheryl was trying to get Doug interested again but he wanted nothing to do with fatherhood.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. This explained what Doug and Sheryl had been so intense about when Jeri and I rode through Lazy Valley Stable on Tuesday.

  “There’s more,” Trish said. “Doug told that detective that Sheryl always rode with a twenty-two pistol in her saddlebags. And that he had wondered if maybe Sheryl shot Jane.”

  “Oh my God,” I said again and carried the phone into the bedroom so that Mac could not overhear me.

  “Someone said that the detective took Doug in for more questioning. There’s talk that maybe Sheryl shot Jane and Doug shot Sheryl. Me, I can’t picture Doug shooting anyone.”

  “Me either,” I said.

  “But there’s another thing,” Trish said. “Guess what I saw as I rode in?”

  “I can’t imagine.” I was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland.

  “It was just getting dark and I noticed a light in the window of this little employee house at the back of the ranch that’s been empty for a week. The barn help guy quit and moved out. So I glance that way as I ride by and guess who I saw?”

  “Who?”

  “Ross and Tammi,” Trish said triumphantly. “Sitting at the table eating something.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. I knew I was getting repetitive. “What in the world would they be doing there? Did they see you?”

  “I doubt it,” Trish said. “It was pretty dark and I’m on a black horse. The house sits about fifty feet from the ranch road. We didn’t make any noise. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me. But I do have an idea what they might be doing there.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been at Lazy Valley almost five years,” Trish said. “And Juli has gone through quite a few trainers during that time. Ross used to work for her, you know.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do kind of remember that,” I said.

  “Juli smokes a lot of pot,” Trish said bluntly. “And I’m pretty sure she bought it from Ross. He used to show up out here from time to time, even after he quit working for her. I’ve seen him out here in the last few months. He was always talking to Juli. I have the feeling she might be pretty sympathetic to him getting busted for growing pot.”

  “I see,” I said. And I did. Lots of people in Santa Cruz County were very much on the side of the pot growers. “So you think Juli might have decided to hide them out?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me,” Trish said. “There’s so many horses out here, and so many coming and going, nobody would notice a couple more. And Ross and Tammi were headed in this direction when I saw them.”

  “It makes sense,” I said. “Though I can’t imagine what their plan is. They can’t hide there forever.”

  “Maybe they don’t have a plan,” Trish said. “I don’t recall either one of them being real bright.”

  “Not the sharpest knives in the drawer,” I agreed.

  “I’ve got to go,” Trish said. “Thanks for checking on me.”

  “You’re welcome. Any time.” I hung up with a sigh. Now I had a lot more information that I should probably tell Jeri. Who was probably grilling Doug Martin at this very moment.

  I glanced at the dark outside the window. Windy slaps of rain were spattering the pane. I took a sip of ma
rgarita and an appreciative sniff of the stew-laden air. And I turned off the phone. This could all wait until tomorrow morning. I’d had enough for one day. I was taking a break.

  Chapter 17

  Jeri Ward pulled in my driveway at eight the next morning, right as I was feeding my horses. The storm had blown through overnight and the sky was washed and blue. I dumped the last flake of hay into Sunny’s feeder, and waved at Jeri to come on up to the little house.

  “I’ve got lots to tell you,” I said, as we crossed the porch.

  Jeri was holding a paper cup of coffee and had the resolutely awake look of the very tired and highly caffeinated.

  “Were you out late?” I asked sympathetically.

  “Uh-huh. This second homicide makes this case a big, big deal. We questioned Doug Martin for several hours. He hasn’t got an alibi for the time of either murder, as close as we can pinpoint it. We think Sheryl Silverman was killed sometime Tuesday afternoon. She left on her trail ride about two o’clock. That’s the last anyone admits to seeing her. Doug Martin says he went back to Jane Kelly’s house and took care of her dogs and ate a solitary dinner. He was only slightly surprised at not hearing from Sheryl, he says. He figured she just went home to her own place. The first he knew she might be missing was yesterday morning when he got to the stable.”

  “What does he say about her being pregnant?”

  “How do you know that?” Jeri asked me sharply.

  “News travels fast around a boarding stable. As far as I can tell, a lot of people overheard Doug getting upset when you showed up out there.”

  “Yeah, there were a lot of spectators,” Jeri said. “I tried to get him out of there, but he didn’t want to go.”

  “So the news traveled,” I said. “At least among horse people. It sounds to me like Doug really spilled the beans.”

  “He was pretty upset,” Jeri said. “I think he thought we were going to arrest him.”

  “Did he seem surprised when you told him Sheryl was dead?”

  “He did. Shocked.”

  “But he would have to act shocked, even if he killed her.” I sighed. “So he admitted that she was pregnant?”