Red Gold Bridge

by Sarath, Patrice

  Dressed, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. She wore her fawn-colored breeches, a white oxford shirt, and her paddock boots. As a concession to what she was doing, she let her dark hair down around her shoulders. As always, it startled her a little to see it down. It softened her face, making her less—intense. Proper, Joe had called her. He had teased her a little, and she smiled, remembering. You always wear your hair up, he had said, catching her in the barn where it was just the two of them and they had a quiet moment. You know it don’t matter; everyone still knows what you look like.

  Maybe, she thought, her smile fading. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that she had to be taken seriously to run the farm the way it needed to be run. She was Mrs. Hunt’s right-hand woman.

  When she went to see Howard Fleming that morning, she had to portray something else. She had to be disarming.

  When she pulled up to the vast Pennington Stables, Lynn was struck by the difference between the two barns. Hunter’s Chase under Mrs. Hunt had been no less meticulous, but it was smaller and more intimate than the huge Pennington. The drive up was white gravel that shone under the summer sky. Green fields with white fences ran alongside the long drive, and the red stables sat back behind them. There were plenty of riders and horses, a lot of expensive cars in the parking lot. There were grooms everywhere, leading sleek Thoroughbreds or warmbloods, the cream of the show world. The jumps in the training rings were brightly painted, the poles striped red and white, the barrels, the coops, and the hedges all perfectly trimmed. Man, Lynn thought, turning off her car. Who could stand it?

  The Fleming house sat on the hilltop, a pile of roofs and windows. It reminded her of Trieve, which made her think of Crae. I should have stayed. He fought for me; I should have stayed and fought by his side. Except he had sent her off with a kiss, and she had ridden away without looking back.

  With great deliberation she shrugged off the memory. It could do her no good right now. Lynn headed up to the barn. She would ask there for Howard.

  Geoff, the head groom Howard had imported from a British racing stable, turned at her approach. A young groom watched, holding an expensive Thoroughbred by the halter and lead rope. Geoff tilted back his farmer’s cap. With a flick of his eyes, he took in her appearance, and a faint smirk appeared on his face.

  “Looking for Howard?” he said, his accent thick.

  “Hi, Geoff,” Lynn said stiffly. “Yes, actually. Is he around?”

  He half hid a snort. “Up at the house.” He turned back to the horse and the young groom, continuing his lecture on the proper way to rub down a horse.

  Figured. She should have gone straight up. She didn’t like Geoff, he didn’t like her, and the way everyone talked about her, her visit with Howard was going to be all over the horse community in no time. Well, as if she could keep it secret. She only hoped she could keep the topic under wraps.

  Howard had guests. There were several people at the garden at the front of the house, all wearing civilian versions of Lynn’s riding outfit: breeches, yes, but not actual riding breeches, and white shirts that were much more expensive but not quite for riding, and boots with heels that were too high and had metal detailing that looked like spurs but weren’t quite. Well, Lynn thought, I tried. But she would never be mistaken for an owner or a client. Underneath it all, she was just a barn rat. That’s why Geoff had smirked. She smiled, trying to hide her discomfort.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Howard. Is he around?”

  The men and women eyed her. “He’s coming out in a moment,” a woman said finally. Her hair and makeup were impeccable. Lynn thought she might have seen her in a movie or on television. She felt dowdier and dowdier.

  “Lynn!”

  She turned. Howard came out, wearing his signature breeches and light blue polo, and she actually felt a wave of relief. He came over and took her hand. “What a surprise!”

  “I should have called, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had guests.” All of whom were watching intently. “But do you have a minute? Or, is there a time we could talk?”

  She hated feeling like a supplicant, that’s what it was. Howard cocked his head, looking at her. He nodded.

  “Yes, of course, of course. Come on in. Have you met everyone?”

  She was introduced as the owner of Hunter’s Chase to everyone, promptly forgot all the names, and with Howard’s hand at her back, was ushered into the house and his study.

  Opulent was the only word. Impeccable, gleaming terazzo floors, light streaming perfectly into the room, books and art carefully placed. He gestured her to a leather chair, and he took the other one.

  “What can I help you with?” he said. “Is everything going all right? I should have stopped by sooner, made you feel welcome. All the owners are hoping things go well.”

  “Everything is fine; the farm is great,” she said with as sprightly an air as possible. She set herself up for the first fence. “This is a little strange, I know, but I need to know about Mrs. Hunt. You were friends. What did you know about her?”

  He looked taken aback at her forthrightness. Lynn sat back, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and crossed her leg.

  “She was a good woman. I was very sad to see her go.”

  “Was she in any kind of trouble?”

  His mouth dropped. “I don’t know what you mean.” His eyes flickered away.

  Be careful, she told herself. She kept her eyes on him, said nothing.

  “I don’t know,” he said again. “She, well, she had lots of friends, or rather a lot of people I didn’t know anything about, although I tried to guide her as best I could. There was an innocence about her, I thought. I felt I could help.”

  “Were you concerned about her?”

  “Well, she was a very competent person,” he blustered. “I don’t know that concern is the right—”

  “Did you know her before she owned Hunter’s Chase?”

  “Lynn, what are you after?”

  With an effort, she kept her mind off the chest in the attic. She said softly, “I think she might have been involved with something and gotten in over her head.”

  He grew very still.

  “Well?”

  He stared at her, mouth agape. A part of Lynn wondered where she had gotten her resolve. The rest of her just focused on Howard.

  “I heard—rumors,” he said finally. “We just thought she had been—set up by someone.”

  Lynn had heard the rumors, too, from the rest of the stable workers. Sometimes people said it was a horse-mad sheikh, other times this or that politician. Could she have bankrolled herself?

  Crae said Tharp used most of her dowry to finance his war. Tharp paid Ballard, and Ballard paid Garson.

  “Was it Mike Garson?”

  She knew by his expression that it was a direct hit and something more. As if he knew he had given it away, he said, “Interesting fellow, Garson. Did you know he shot most of those trophy animals at the restaurant?”

  “Did you try to warn her away from Garson?”

  Howard sat back, staring at her, his light blue eyes rimmed with red. He wasn’t a handsome man, and he was arrogant and dismissive. The house was ridiculous, too, screaming too much! the way it did. When he spoke next, he lost his arrogance, and he was just a middle-aged man. He almost sounded as if he was as much aware of that as she was.

  “I did. It was after a dinner one night at his restaurant. Garson cornered her on the way to the ladies’ room. I watched as they argued, and it looked as if he threatened her. I went over to put a stop to it, but she said it was nothing. She didn’t tell me anything. I nosed around and toyed with the idea of engaging a private investigator.”

  Oh man. Can you imagine what one could have found out?

  “But in the end, I didn’t think I should interfere.” His gaze sharpened. “Should I have?”

  Lynn hesitated. She didn’t like him, but he could be an ally in other ways. She didn’t think he liked G
arson, for one thing. “Mike Garson came to Hunter’s Chase the other day, and he offered to buy the place. He said it was too expensive to maintain, and I should just give it up. Some of the things that he said, well, he sounded threatening, like he would make it hard for me to run the place. I thought, if he had approached Mrs. Hunt the same way, maybe it led to her disappearance.”

  She lied the same way Dungiven took a fence: big and bold.

  The effect was instantaneous. Howard was furious. “Charming individual,” he said, his voice dry. “What did you tell him?”

  “No. Or words to that effect.”

  He laughed, and for that moment they were equals, owners not just of expensive land but of a piece of a disappearing life. “Lynn, why did you come to me?”

  “Because I think she was in trouble, and you were her only friend.” Mrs. Hunt or Lady Sarita, whoever she was, she didn’t have friends. Not really. But that didn’t matter. Whether Lady Sarita knew it or not, this man had been the best friend he knew how to be.

  Almost at once the old Howard was back. “You’re a sweet girl,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand. With an effort, she kept a grimace off her face as she pulled her hand away. “Is that all you needed? Just reassurance that Katherine had my good feelings? Because my guests are waiting. But yes, I warned her about Garson. I was jealous—a pretty girl like you might think that’s funny about a man like me, but I was. And I thought there was something about his attention for her that was—menacing, as if he had some secret or knew something about her. But if it was just pressure to sell, well, you’ll have to get used to that. We all get it; even I do.”

  But Lynn wasn’t finished.

  “Howard, when you warned her, what did she say?”

  “That it was all right, that Garson held no danger for her, and if necessary she could always disappear.” Then he frowned. “Well, she actually said, she could always disappear again.”

  Garson, Lynn thought on the drive home. She had the windows down, letting the cool air in to clear her head and put her thoughts in order. That’s why he came by the farm and wanted to buy it; he knew there was a fortune somewhere on the property. He knew it was there because Mark had brought it over from Aeritan as payment for the guns he was getting from Garson. So how had Lady Sarita retrieved it?

  If she went to Garson and demanded answers, he would know she found the dowry and the gun. And if he knew it was somewhere at Hunter’s Chase, he would never rest till he got it back. He wouldn’t give up so easily, even though she had kicked him out on his last visit. He’d keep trying.

  And Mrs. Felz was there alone. Lynn sped up, taking the narrow country lanes as fast as she could. Damn Garson, she thought. If Mark was right and there was oil in Aeritan, he wasn’t about to just let all that go away. He was probably trying to open the gordath again. But Joe and Arrim were there to stop it.

  Except there was the case of Red Bird. Why hadn’t Joe and Arrim stopped the horse from coming through the woods? What if they couldn’t? Maybe something prevented them from keeping the gordath closed. Was Lord Tharp up to his old tricks again? But Lady Sarita wouldn’t let him. She wanted the gordath to stay closed. That’s why she went back. Unless—what if she were regretting her decision to go home?

  The tires squealed as Lynn took the turn to Hunter’s Chase too fast, and her little car fishtailed. As she fought for control of the car, out of the corner of her eye she caught the odd sight of several men walking along the side of the road. They were bearded and scruffy, clothes and faces showing they had seen better days. They were definitely not from around here. She toyed for a moment with the idea of calling the police, but the thought was distasteful. Poor or not, scruffy or not, these guys had the right to walk along a public road.

  She had bigger problems, anyway. There might not be any earthquakes this time, but it looked like the gordath was open, and Mike Garson was nosing around after Lady Sarita’s dowry. She wasn’t sure what she could do about either situation.

  To her vast relief, Hunter’s Chase looked unchanged when she pulled up. She parked in front of the house and got out, her sweaty shirt sticking to her back. She looked around. A few clients rode in the ring, and the rest of the horses grazed in the fields. Mrs. Felz was nowhere to be found, and her car was gone. Lynn went into the house, expecting a note.

  Sure enough, there it was, on the kitchen table, held down with a glass full of wildflowers.

  Lynn. Mr. Garson from the Continental called. Would like you to call ASAP. Isabella. PS. Went into town for groceries.

  He called, eh? And found out she was out? Lynn dropped the note and looked up at the ceiling. She ran for the hall. With shaking hands she pulled down the trapdoor and unfolded the attic ladder, scrambling up as soon as it touched the floor. A wan light came in from the vents at the corner of the eaves, and the air was hot and humid, the heat collecting up here almost visible, it was so thick.

  The chest was still there, and she felt a wave of relief. Then suspicion touched her again, and she went to take a look, bent over awkwardly in the cramped space. Sure enough the bounty was untouched, the gun still wrapped where she had placed it, tucked in a corner of the chest. She breathed out hard in the dusty, humid space. She should move the chest. Garson suspected that it was somewhere on the farm, and he would do his best to find it. The problem was, where could she move it to?

  She heard the kitchen door creak open and Mrs. Felz call out, “Lynn? I’m home.”

  Lynn shut the chest and went back down. When she descended, Mrs. Felz was standing there with an expression of surprise.

  “Oh. Another leak?”

  “No. I mean, yes, well, not sure, actually.” Feeling she said enough, Lynn concentrated on folding up the trapdoor. With her back to Mrs. Felz she said, “So, what did Mr. Garson have to say?”

  “Nothing much. Still as full of himself as he was when he came to visit.” Her voice made it plain she was not impressed.

  “You should go home,” Lynn said abruptly. She hadn’t known she intended to say it.

  Mrs. Felz looked at her, confusion and surprise warring with each other. Tears started to well, and she turned away. “Of course, I—I never meant to . . . Of course. I will.”

  Lynn felt hugely, monumentally, wretchedly guilty. She’s in danger, and she’s endangering me, she tried to tell herself.

  She didn’t believe it for a minute.

  Mrs. Felz didn’t say anything else, just went back into the kitchen and continued to unload the groceries. Lynn followed her back in, wishing she could take the words and stuff them back into her mouth.

  “Isabella,” she started. Mrs. Felz didn’t reply, but she banged the cupboards a bit more than necessary.

  “Look—”

  “No!” Mrs. Felz said. “You are absolutely right. I’ve overstayed my welcome, and it’s time to go home. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She stopped and turned around. Her face was tired and careworn, the brightness faded.

  She’s not that old, Lynn thought. She’s younger than my mom. She must have been very young when she had Joe.

  “Listen,” Lynn said as gently as she could. “I’m in a whole lot of trouble, and you could be in trouble, too. I think you should go, because I’m worried things are going to get dangerous around here.”

  Mrs. Felz didn’t answer right away.

  “It’s that Mr. Garson, isn’t it?” she said finally.

  Lynn nodded.

  “Can you call the police, tell them he’s harassing you?”

  The police suspected that she faked her disappearance last year so she could somehow end up owning Hunter’s Chase. She doubted they would be sympathetic to any unfounded—and unfoundable—accusations against a pillar of society like Mike Garson. All that was too hard to explain though, so she just shook her head.

  “And if you are here alone, what good is that? Don’t you see how foolish you are to keep to yourself?” Mrs. Felz’s eyes sharpened. “Does this have to do with Joe?”<
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  Lynn stayed silent for a second too long, and Mrs. Felz sat down at the kitchen table. She began playing with the note that she had left. She spoke very quietly. “Are you ever planning on telling me what happened to my son?”

  Sure. He went through a gateway between worlds to find me, and you know what? He stayed behind there because it turned out he knew how to control it and there aren’t too many people with that talent. Now the gateway is open again, and I am worried that it means something happened to him.

  She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she said, “I don’t know what happened to your son. But I plan to find out.”

  The morrim nestled against the side of a rocky draw, supported on several small boulders and tangled with deadwood and papery vines. Green thornbushes and brush curtained over it, and the rock was covered with moss. It looked like an ancient rockslide. Only the energy emanating from the rock indicated what it was. Joe could feel it from where they stood, about thirty paces away and looking up. He glanced over at Arrim, and the man met his eyes briefly and looked away.

  Back in Gordath Wood, the ancient morrim was matched with Balanced Rock, its mate in North Salem. Where was this morrim’s twin, and where did the gordath between them lead? Joe remembered what Mark had spilled, that Brythern had tried to control the gordath out here with disastrous results. Hare’s men all stood back nervously now, behind him and Arrim. He almost laughed. At last, the Brytherners were starting to get scared, as if finally catching on that they were out of their league. Well, maybe he and Arrim could use that to get out of this fix.

  “Guardians,” Hare said. “Get over there and tell me what you know.”