by Laura Crum
"It's amazing, isn't it?"
Blue and I stared at the teeming stretch of seawater, awash with darting, swooping bird and animal life.
Beyond the turbulent blue-green bay the distant hills rose behind the town of Monterey. Gunner's black-tipped red ears flicked back and forth in front of me as he walked; I reached down and smoothed a long strand of his mane back in place. Then I smiled at Blue.
"We live in paradise," I repeated quietly.
We rode in silence for a while. Eventually Blue indicated the flat sheen of standing water ahead of us.
"Elkhorn Slough," he said. "We go inland here."
Reining Danny to the left, he led our little troop back through the soft sand and up and over the dunes. Once again I found myself on a dirt road rolling through fields of artichokes and strawberries. The roar of the ocean receded behind me. To my right I caught glimpses of a large body of quiet water reflecting the long slant of late afternoon light.
"So," I asked Blue, "where are we going?"
"Not too far," he said.
"Good," I said. I was getting tired. No two ways about it, I was out of shape. A three-hour ride wore me out. Too many long days at work; too few hours in the saddle. The dogs were tired, too. They padded along, tongues hanging low, no more racing about. Gunner's neck was wet with sweat.
The road ran endlessly between hilly cropland, or so it seemed. Eventually, I saw a tree-filled rift ahead of us. Blue guided Danny to a narrow trail that led down into the trees.
A minute later and I gasped.
"We're here," Blue said.
SIX
The old barn in front of me was about as picturesque a thing as could be imagined. Hidden from the road by its screen of trees, it was weathered and gray and appropriately frayed on the edges, but still standing sturdy, straight, and well-shingled. The large central doorway was wide open, as was the matching opening on the far side. Through the window thus created, I could see the glow of sunlight on water. The barn looked right out on Elkhorn Slough.
"This is great," I said to Blue as I climbed somewhat stiffly down from Gunner.
"Just wait," he said.
We tied the horses to the hitching rail out front. Blue put a hand under my elbow and led me inside.
The interior of the barn was dim and cool. A huge, old-fashioned wooden hayrack and manger ran along one wall, looking in good repair. A couple of bales of clean alfalfa hay sat in the comer nearby. The dirt floor was tidy and neat, no piles of boards or rusting equipment anywhere to be seen.
Gentle pressure from Blue's hand led me on, through the doorway on the far side of the barn.
"Oh," I gasped.
It was magical. The barn sat right on the bank of the slough; some thoughtful person had built a deck along its length, looking out over the clear, reed-fringed water. A small wooden pier extended out to an island about thirty feet offshore. Sparks of light clung to the ripples lapping the planks; a long-legged blue heron fished in the shallow water just off the island.
I looked at Blue. "This is wonderful."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes," I said. "The understatement of the century. How did you find it?"
"The guy who owns this place farms next door to the rose farm. He told me about it. His family uses it once a year for a big family picnic. He said I was welcome to come here."
"And the hay?"
"I brought it one day last week when I had some time. Thought it would come in handy if you wanted to take a little pack trip with me."
"And here we are." I smiled. "You really did think of everything."
"Maybe," he said. "Ready for a drink?"
"Sure. Let's get the horses unpacked."
Blue ran water from a rusty spigot to rinse and fill an old watering trough next to the hitching rack while I unsaddled and brushed Gunner and Danny. Then he unpacked Plumber as I watered the other two and tied them to the manger with flakes of hay in front of them. When Plumber was similarly provided for and the dogs had had both a drink and a dip in the trough, we began unpacking the gear.
"Wow, it's the deluxe trip." I grinned.
Blue had brought folding chairs and a cooler. He'd also brought big, comfortable quilted flannel sleeping bags and a thick air mattress to sleep on.
"No tent, though," he said. "I figured we'd sleep on the deck. If it rains, we can just move into the barn."
"You bet," I said. I was investigating the contents of the pack bags and finding that Blue had provided us with chips and salsa as well as margarita makings. And the cooler contained a bag of ice cubes, marinated skirt steak, and a green salad.
"Wow," I said again.
"Sit down and relax." Blue indicated a chair he had set up in a patch of sunshine on the deck. "Let me bring you a drink."
"This is just too good for words." I accepted a clear tumbler filled with lime green liquid. Staring out over the quiet water of the lagoon, I asked, "What did I do to deserve it?"
"Oh, just being you is plenty, Stormy." Blue clinked his glass against mine.
"To us," I said.
We drank.
After a minute, Blue began collecting driftwood, margarita in hand. Piling it next to a simple stone firepit near the shore, he pointed at the little island at the end of the pier. "Hummingbird Island. Do you want a tour?"
"I sure do."
"Better leave the dogs behind."
We tethered Roey and Freckles to the posts of the porch and I followed Blue down the narrow, creaky pier.
"The rancher told me about this island," Blue said. "It's really fascinating."
The pier ended at a sandy spit of a beach, fortified at one end with piled rocks, which seemed to form a rudimentary seawall. The island itself looked to be less than an acre, mostly covered with native scrub--greasewood, ceanothus, manzanita.
"Come on." Blue took my hand. "Let me show you where the hermit lived."
"Hermit?"
"Yeah. Bob, that's my rancher friend, said that when he was a boy, an old man lived out on this island. A crazy old man, or that's how everyone thought of him. He had no particular right to be here; the island belonged to Bob's family, who own this ranch. But Bob's father let him stay."
As Blue talked, he led me down a narrow trail, really more of a tunnel through the brush; we both had to stoop and push branches out of our way. The path emerged into a clearing; with a wall of scrub on all sides, it was as private as if it were an enclosed villa.
"There's what's left of his hut." Blue gestured at what appeared to be no more than a pile of sticks; adjacent to it, and still standing, was a primitive arbor made of found wood. A wild cucumber vine still trailed over the trellis, wreathing it in bright green leaves and tiny cream-colored flowers.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing at a large hump in the center of the clearing.
Blue shrugged. "Sculpture? Religious icon?"
The hump was made of earth that looked as though it had been patted and stomped to a smooth clay texture. Embedded in it were thousands of shells, and fragments of shells, and pebbles, mosaiclike, arranged in strange, swirling patterns. At the top, an intricate geometric shape radiated outward.
As I stared, a tiny, iridescent green bullet dive-bombed my head, with a sharp, whirring shriek.
"Yikes." I ducked, already recognizing the culprit. "Hummingbird Island," I said to Blue with a smile.
"That's right. They're all over the place. They breed and nest out here."
"That one looks like an Anna's," I said. I was familiar with hummingbirds; they nested on my property, too.
"I think so," Blue said. "From what I've seen, there are both Anna's and Allen's Hummingbirds on this island."
I looked around the clearing in bemusement. "So this old man just lived out here alone with the hummingbirds, making weird sculpture?"
"That's right. When he first came, apparently he had a little boat, which he used to row to the town of Moss Landing for supplies. After he got older, Bob's family built the pier, so they could bring
him food."
I smiled. "Their own personal hermit."
"Yeah. They probably got lots of karma points for taking care of him."
I stared around some more. The clearing had an eerie resonance; it felt entirely apart from the modern world. I could almost sense the old man's presence, brooding over his strange mound. Not hostile, not frightening, just otherworldly.
Blue watched my face. "Can you feel it?"
"Yeah."
"That's what I thought, too. It's an odd spot."
I raised my eyebrows. "A sacred space?"
"Maybe." Blue sketched a small, formal bow in the direction of the mound. "We'll be going now."
"Thank you," I said, nodding my head in the same direction.
We both ducked back into the brush, emerging onto the sand spit by the pier. Startled, a mallard female herded her flock of fluffy babies back into the water with many alarmed quacks. Blue and 1 stood silently together, hand in hand, as the ducks sailed off in a tiny flotilla.
"That was neat," I said as we walked back along the pier. "Thank you for taking me there."
"My pleasure." Blue grinned. "How about another drink?"
"You're on."
We drank margaritas while Blue made a fire and grilled the meat; he'd brought red wine to drink with the steak and salad for dinner. The sun went down over the lagoon as we ate; afterward Blue emerged from the barn carrying two oil lamps.
"I stashed these here when I brought the hay," he said, as he lit and hung the lamps off the deck. "Watch. There's something 1 want to show you."
The lanterns cast a flickering illumination over the slough. As it grew darker, I found that by cocking my head so I got the angle just right, I could see into the inky water.
Blue smiled and pointed with his eyes. "Hold still," he said.
A flap of wings alerted me to a black bird with a white crest descending out of the night sky to perch on one of the posts that formed the porch railing. Two others arrived right behind him.
"Night fishing herons," Blue whispered softly.
This was a type of bird I'd never seen before. As I watched, the three birds studied the water below them intently. Suddenly one plunged, as neatly and precisely as a high diver; he entered the water headfirst and appeared to swim under the surface briefly. His head popped up a second later, a silvery fish in his beak.
I smiled at Blue and reached for his hand. Together we watched the birds fish for what seemed like a long time; it might have been only ten minutes. I was lost in the magic of the scene, the old barn at our backs, the slough before us, the fitful light of the lanterns on the water. The diving herons, with their long, trailing white crests, like plumes, lent just the right note of exotic splendor.
"This has been the perfect vacation," I whispered in Blue's ear.
He smiled and reached in his pocket. Before I could see what he was doing, my hand was in his hand. "Stormy, will you marry me?"
"Will I what?" I looked down in amazement. Blue was gently
pressing a ring into my palm. My fingers closed around it and I held it up as I met Blue's eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, as I saw his expression. "I wasn't expecting this."
I looked at the ring. A simple band, it was set with a heart-shaped stone that flashed in the dim light. It didn't appear to be a diamond.
"It's a sapphire," Blue said. "It was my mother's. I had it set in a ring for you."
I swallowed.
"Sapphires were always my favorite stone." Blue looked down.
I took his hand. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for asking me. I honestly hadn't been thinking about us getting married."
"Will you think about it?"
"Of course. Tell me, why do you want to get married? Don't you like things the way they are?"
Blue gave me a hesitant glance. "I thought," he said diffidently, "if we wanted to have a child, it might be better if we were married."
"A child?" Now I was really reeling. "You want to have a child?"
"Haven't you thought about it?"
I was silent for a moment. "Yes," I admitted, "I have."
"Me, too," Blue said simply.
"Is that what you want, then?" I asked him.
"Maybe. If you do. Either way, I'd like to marry you. I love you, you know."
I smiled. "I love you, too. No matter what."
"So you'll think about it?"
"Yes. I promise."
"Good. I'll save the ring until you decide." Blue pulled me towards him and gave me a long kiss.
"Maybe," I said, when we broke apart, "we should just skip straight to the honeymoon."
"Those sleeping bags look awfully good," he agreed.
I kissed him one more time and began to unbutton my shirt.
Blue grinned. "I can't wait to see what you look like by lamplight," he said.
SEVEN
I arrived home the following afternoon to a reality check of truly dismal proportions. Crime scene tape still swathed my barnyard, Detective Johnson had left three messages on my answering machine, and Gunner was lame. Despite the EZ Boot and the soft ground, the trip had really been too much for him.
"Damn." I watched my good horse limp off across his corral and wanted to kick myself. "I should have got the shoe back on him right away."
"Why don't you call the shoer now while I feed," Blue suggested.
"All right." I headed back up to the house, mentally composing what I would say to Tommie Harper. It wasn't exactly a typical request. Please finish the shoeing job your competition started. And Tommie was a very forthright person. I'd just have to see what she made of it.
Tommie laughed. "So Dominic managed to get shot in the middle of shoeing your horse?"
"Is that what people are saying?"
"That's what I heard."
"Well," I said feebly. "Would you mind putting the last shoe on? It's the foot the horse has got navicular in, actually, and he's already sore."
"No problem."
"I've been using an egg bar shoe with a wedge pad," I added.
"No problem," she said again. "I'll be there tomorrow evening when I'm done with my appointments. Say, five-thirty."
"Great," I said. "I appreciate it." I hung up the phone noting that Tommie had quite distinctly failed to say that she was sorry about Dominic. Of course, it was no secret that she'd detested the man.
On the thought, I dialed another number.
"Hello." Jeri Ward's crisp tone was unmistakable.
"Jeri, it's Gail McCarthy. Are you busy?"
"No. I'm home, I'm off duty, I'm not even on call. How are you doing?"
"Fine, more or less. I was just wondering what the story was on Dominic."
"It's a strange one. And your part is the strangest. Old Dominic's last words."
"I know," I said. "But that's what he said. I heard him."
"Well," Jeri said. There was a long silence. Then, "Most of my info is just hearsay that's going around the department, since Matt Johnson doesn't exactly confide in me. In fact, he doesn't speak to me unless he has to. We don't get along. But I have heard that he may be pursuing the line that Dominic was murdered and that either Dominic or you is covering up for the murderer."
"Why does he think that Dominic was murdered?"
"Crime scene investigators found some discrepancies in the position of the gun, the spent shell casing, and the gunpowder residue. It seems unlikely that the gun was in Dominic's hand when it was fired."
"Oh," I said.
"The gun did belong to him, though. Along with a good two dozen others."
"What?"
"That's right." Jeri sounded amused. "Apparently he was a gun collector. Pistols. That's what his girlfriend said. Do you know her?"
"Barbara. Yeah. She's a team roper; I'm also her vet."
"She said he kept a loaded gun in the glove compartment of his truck. She also said that everyone who knew him well knew that."
"I didn't," I said.
"I take it you didn't know
him well."
"True enough," I agreed.
"Neither did I." Jeri sighed. "From what I could tell, he was a right bastard."
"A good shoer, though." I hesitated. "Am I a suspect?" I asked her.
"Hard to say what Matt's thinking," she answered crisply. "But you don't have any obvious motive. If you'd been involved with Dominic or if you stood to gain in any way by his death, that would be different."
"Who does?"
"Gain? The way I heard it was that his not inconsiderable estate and a hefty life insurance policy were made out to Dominic Castillo Jr., Sophia Castillo, and Carlos Castillo."
"Dom and Sophy are his two kids with Lee," I said slowly. "I don't know who Carlos is."
"As for people who've been involved with him," I could hear Jeri grimace over the wires, "the sky's the limit."
"Ain't that the truth. Detective Johnson was trying to pry the current gossip out of me, but I stonewalled him. For God's sake, where was I going to begin? Or end?"
"I'd be careful stonewalling Matt," Jeri warned. "He's very tenacious; he can make your life miserable."
"How much more grilling can I expect?" I asked.
"Who knows? As much as he wants to do. If I were working this case, I'd be very interested in the timeline. Where exactly everybody was at what time. It's got to be a pretty narrow window. Dominic arrives at your place and someone drives in and shoots him and leaves before you arrive? See what I mean?"
"I do," I said.
"So I imagine old Matt's liable to grill you a little more."
"I'm picturing myself as a well-done steak. Thanks, Jeri."
"You're welcome. But if I were you, I wouldn't mention my name or let on that you know anything about the investigation. It'll just piss him off."
"I get you," I said. "Thanks again,"
Setting the phone down in its cradle, I frowned at the blinking light on the answering machine. If Jeri was right, which she surely was, I was liable to spend a good deal more time closeted with Detective Johnson. Not an appealing prospect. Maybe I could stave it off a bit.
Erasing all the messages, I went back down to the barn.
Blue had just finished feeding the horses and was pouring some crumble into the barn cats' bowl. I could see the moleskin-colored Mama Cat lurking up in the brush; the tip of black Jiji's nose was just visible behind the haystack. Baxter sat in plain sight in the driveway and mewed plaintively; he was definitely the friendliest one of the family. Familiarity made me glance up into a nearby oak tree for Woodrow. Sure enough, there he was, perched on a branch. My tree-dwelling cat.