Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle

by Candace Carrabus

  JJ’s smirk faded. “You kickin’ me off this land?”

  Malcolm’s nostrils flared, he took a deep, calming breath, and slowly unclenched his fists. “I’m asking you to leave. We can continue this conversation another time.”

  JJ shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Malcolm.”

  He fished something out of his back pocket. My stained and torn panties.

  Okay, it could get worse. Much worse.

  He twirled them on his index finger.

  “You and me got unfinished business, Vi.”

  As soon as JJ rounded the corner of the barn, I said, “Nothing happened.”

  Malcolm had stayed in the drive with me, watching JJ, hands twitching like he wanted to punch something.

  When he looked at me, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “That’s none of my business,” he said.

  “I want you to know,” I said. “I met him at Mel’s Monday night, and I did have too much to drink, and we went down to the river, but nothing happened.”

  Except for my panties going on an extended trip without me. Which was at odds with my assertion nothing had happened, even I could see that. Malcolm would believe what he wanted. JJ’s truck sputtered into view, going up the road past Hank’s. A flash of red flapped on the tip of his broken antenna. We watched until he was gone, then Malcolm’s eyes cut to me.

  “You interested in seeing him again?”

  “What? No. Definitely not.” Not him or the damn panties. I’d never wear red lace underwear again. “No.” I toed the dirt at my feet. “I made a mistake, okay?”

  “It would be in your best interests not to repeat it.”

  That made me mad. But since it coincided with my own feelings, I didn’t argue.

  “What you do on your own time is none of my business,” he said.

  It was obvious he was making a great effort to keep his voice even, but it had that hard edge to it I’d heard the first day when Norman let Smitty get hurt. It sliced into me as surely as a farrier’s blade carves hard hoof wall.

  “Your best interests,” he continued, “however, are my business.”

  “Maybe,” I said slowly. Where the hell was this going? He wasn’t the boss of me. Well, he was, but not of my personal life. Oh, hell, who was I kidding? Jesus, was I conflicted, or what?

  “JJ may be right about him and I being alike,” he said. “But he’s wrong about one thing.” He glanced in the direction JJ had gone. “I’ll want you sober.”

  - 17 -

  We didn’t go for a ride. But I wanted to. I needed to get away from the place, to think, to try and clear up all the contradictory emotions and information. Not that there was anything I could do to figure out what happened to poor Norman, or change whatever was between JJ and Malcolm. But I wanted to get on with my year, and this mess made it harder.

  He’d want me sober? Damn him. He sounded pretty sure about that.

  Maybe a horse ride wasn’t the answer. I wanted more distance. Like the nearest mall. I hated malls. They were all the same, and that’s what I wanted. I could pretend I was back on the Island. I could slip into my comfort zone of anonymity and forget Winterlight for a while.

  I couldn’t forget it. If there was anything I could do to help solve the murder…a clean slate going forward would be good. But where to start?

  There were five messages on voice mail. Lynette said Cali’s knee joint was fine. I sagged onto the tack room loveseat in relief. Henrietta had left her kittens, and she jumped into my lap. I petted her and listened to the rest. Dex One wanted to know if we needed anything, if I was available to join him for a ride in the morning, and he wanted me to call him. Dex Two wanted to know if he could bring me anything when he came out on Saturday, and would I have time for a ride, and he wanted me to call him. Sandy planned to swing by after work to help out and ride, and would I ride with her? Clara had pork chops cooking for dinner, they’d be ready at noon, bring Robert. That would be Malcolm.

  Fat chance.

  It was already past nine, and I still had three injured horses to look after, stalls to clean, and sound horses to exercise before I started over with the evening chores. Assuming Malcolm was not going to help, the mall was out for today, but if I worked without a break, maybe I could go later. That would be better than sitting alone in my apartment all night.

  Right at noon, my stomach reminded me about the pork chops. I didn’t want to have to face Clara and her carving knife and try to explain why I hadn’t come over, so I took a break and walked to their place.

  “Where’s Robert?” Clara asked.

  “Haven’t seen him,” I said.

  She gave me a curious look and called him at the house, but evidently he was too busy to join us. Good. I ate quickly. Clara packed leftovers and pie for me, and Hank gave me directions to the mall. It was an hour away, but that was even better as far as I was concerned. The drive would be good, too.

  I took the leftovers to my apartment and returned Dex One’s call. I got an answering machine so left a message saying I could ride between ten and eleven if that would work for him. Dex Two had a secretary. She put me through.

  “Miss Parker, how delightful to hear your voice. Thank you for returning my call.”

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for offering to bring something, but I’m pretty well set. What time will you be here?”

  “Will you be able to join me for a ride?”

  “If you can come in the late morning, yes.”

  “Perfect. In the meantime, what are you doing Friday night?”

  Crap. Was he asking me on a date? I was done with men for a while. Going on trail rides didn’t count.

  “My partner is out of town, and I have an extra ticket to the symphony.”

  Now, was that his law partner, his way of referring to his girlfriend, or was he gay? Didn’t matter, I decided. He had a partner, that was the important thing.

  “Do you like the symphony, Miss Parker?”

  “Yes, I do. What are they playing?”

  I heard papers shuffling. “Ah, here we are. They are opening with Rossini, then performing Beethoven’s Ninth. The concert begins at eight. Can you get away in time for dinner?”

  “The Ode to Joy?” I didn’t know much classical music, but I’d loved this one since childhood, especially the singing.

  “You know it?”

  “It’s my favorite.” At that point, I would have said anything to get away from the farm for a while.

  “Then you will come? I can pick you up.”

  “No need to drive all the way out here.” Just in case. That made it too date-like. “I’ll meet you someplace for dinner. ”

  We decided on a restaurant—Indian—and he gave me directions.

  ~~~

  When Sandy showed up at four, Malcolm still had not appeared. Guess he was too pissed to even come down and help, like he’d said he would, or maybe it was something else altogether, like his work. Penny was fond of saying not everything had to do with me. But I had my doubts.

  I’d finished work except for the evening feeding, so Sandy groomed and saddled Fawn, and I decided to try out Captain.

  We went down the road past Hank and Clara’s rather than up past Malcolm’s house. Sandy wanted to show me some trails the paying customers didn’t know about. I’d assumed she was a paying customer, but she came and went as she pleased and appeared to ride Fawn whenever she wanted, even though I knew Winterlight owned the mare.

  True to his upright shoulder and short-necked conformation, Captain’s gait was as bone-jarring as sliding down a flight of stairs on your butt—a favorite pastime of mine and Pen’s when we were kids, one that guaranteed a scolding from Aunt Trudy. That never stopped us, though.

  Sandy exchanged work for riding privileges, she explained, including acting as guide to the trail riders on the weekends, so she knew the land well. We rode for over an hour, and though not the deluxe tour with boxed lunch I’d been anticipating that morning, the scenery was pleasant,
the company tolerable, and the gallops satisfying. I felt more relaxed than I had in days by the time we returned. She helped me feed, and while I topped off the water buckets, she swept the aisle.

  When we were done, we sat on the tack-room steps to watch the sun set. She brought a couple of beers from a cooler in her car, and I had one.

  Just one.

  The sky went from golden to orange to crimson to purple. The farm sat on a ridge and was higher than much of the surrounding land providing a good view.

  Sandy was quiet for a change. I sensed she had something she wanted to ask me, or tell me, maybe. In the light I noticed a bruise on her forehead, right at her hairline. It looked fresh; there was a bump, too. She’d been wearing a baseball cap when we rode, but had taken it off when we sat.

  “What happened to you?” I asked. “Walk into a door?” I chuckled.

  Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her head. “Dang it. Forgot about that.” She touched the spot with her fingertips. “No…” she gave her head a little shake. “It don’t matter.”

  “Are you okay?” I knocked back the rest of my beer.

  She laughed, but it had a bitter sound. “Truth is, my boyfriend gets a little rough sometimes.”

  I froze with my head tilted back, the bottle still to my lips, then slowly lowered it and looked at her. Boyfriends being a little rough are forbidden.

  “You don’t have to put up with that, you know.”

  It grew dark. The light from inside played over her face, and I noticed the same high color and watery eyes she’d had the day we found Norman. She didn’t say anything for some time, but her breathing quickened.

  Finally, she blurted, “I miss Norman,” dropped her beer and sobbed into her hands.

  Jesus.

  This was not a good area for me. Emotions, that is. They left me feeling helpless—I’d no idea what to say, no way of knowing she and Norman had been friends. It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to lecture her about why it’s wrong for a man to hit a woman. So, I put my arm around her, and for a change, said nothing.

  My muscles slackened with fatigue, and I abandoned the plan for going to the mall. I’d have my chance to get out of Dodge the next night.

  We sat like that till she got herself under control. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, mumbled thanks and goodbye, and left without a backward glance.

  I tossed the beer bottles, took a shower, ate leftover mashed potatoes, and went to bed.

  ~~~

  Wastrel galloped up behind me, slid to a stop, and punched the center of my back with his nose, nearly knocking me to my knees. It had been dark and quiet and he’d come out of nowhere. It startled me awake, my hands thrust forward to break my fall. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling wondering what in the world that meant. Not that I’d gleaned any meaning from the previous dreams, not at least, until after the fact. But I hadn’t tried to analyze them ahead of time.

  Alive, he’d been a gentle horse. Until now, death hadn’t changed this. Good God. A dead horse was communicating with me. No. It was just weird dreams. I was under a lot of stress. Weird dreams and stress go together, right?

  Yes. But. Was it only a coincidence that Wastrel had been digging at the manure pile where a dead body lay buried? Or that I’d dreamed of running, frightened horses the night before Winterlight’s entire herd got loose? Why the recurring dream of the manure pile? Could there be something there—something the police had missed?

  If I could help solve Norman’s murder, things would settle down. Maybe the dreams would stop. Much as I hated the idea, I would look in the manure pile. But for what?

  I was missing something, that much was sure, and it wasn’t just a peaceful night’s rest. Did this latest vision mean I should pay closer attention, or was it a warning to watch my back?

  - 18 -

  “Lose your way?”

  The voice belonged to Dex One. He stood on the other side of the police tape, mirrored glasses reflecting the morning sun.

  He’d caught me standing in the middle of the old manure pile, hands on hips, peering into the decaying mass of straw and dung. I didn’t know what I was looking for but hadn’t been able to concentrate on work.

  “Yeah,” I said, “looks like that, doesn’t it?”

  “Looks to me like you’re knee-deep in shit, but that’s just my opinion.”

  More like up to my neck. “Truer words were never spoken.”

  I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about my dreams. If Wastrel wanted to pass along a little postmortem equine intel to Dex—well, Dex slept, too, though no better than I did, from the look of him. He probably had his own demons setting him to ponder his sanity.

  I kicked the debris at my feet in frustration. Maybe I needed to walk the field where I’d been driving the tractor before poor Norman got stuck. If I hadn’t decided to dispose of the manure heap, he’d still be in it. I shuddered at the thought. Whoever buried him must have thought he’d stay there until he was gone, or there was too little of him left to notice.

  A big pile of manure and straw like this got awfully hot on the inside. Warmth seeped through the soles of my boots now. The heat broke things down quickly. Whoever disposed of Norman’s body knew about the pile, knew it had been there for some time, and expected it to stay there even longer.

  They hadn’t anticipated a clean freak from New York showing up.

  “I said, do you need help?”

  I’d forgotten Dex was there. “Oh. Um—no. It was just an old hoof pick. No big deal.” He lifted the yellow strip of plastic for me to duck under. With his eyes hidden, I couldn’t tell whether he believed me or not.

  “I pulled in a favor with the medical examiner,” he said.

  I shortened my stride to keep pace with his limp, wondering when I’d find time to walk the field, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing.

  He waved a hand in front of my face. “Where are you?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Lost in thought. What did you say?”

  “Must’ve been a hell of a hoof pick.”

  I focused on him. “You know how it is. It was a gift.”

  We entered the barn, and he shoved the dark glasses in his breast pocket. “They’re going to have a look at Norman today. Should know something by Monday.”

  “Good. I’m sure his family will be relieved.”

  “His family’s not who I’m worried about.” He pointed his chin in the direction of Malcolm’s house. “Looks kind of bad for him, don’t you think?”

  “But he was out of town. Surely people don’t think—”

  “People think all kinds of crazy stuff. The sooner it gets cleared up the better, that’s all.”

  “Do you have any idea who—”

  “I’m trying to figure out why, Miss Parker. When I know that, the who will be easy.”

  He limped along to his mare, Ciqala. He wore jeans and short boots, zipped on chaps before mounting, and strapped a helmet over his blonde crew cut, too, I was glad to see. Sandy hadn’t worn one, and I knew I would be posting a sign and enforcing the rule to always wear a helmet when riding.

  I shook off all thoughts of dead bodies turning to compost and decided to try out Honey. The two mares were well matched in size, and I anticipated a more comfortable ride on the palomino’s broad back than I’d had the day before on Captain. I wasn’t disappointed.

  We jogged past Malcolm’s house. Almost no energy made it from Honey’s legs to the saddle, which made her easy to sit. I kicked free of the stirrups and let my legs hang, using my rear end and hips to follow the minimal movement. She’d have a rocking-chair canter, I was sure, the kind you could ride all day, and be terrific bareback. She’d never cut it in my world as a show horse, but for a hack, one couldn’t go wrong riding her type. With more-whoa-than-go, Honey suited me perfectly that morning.

  The white farmhouse receded from view, but I’d no doubt we were being watched, and I couldn’t help a quick glance over my shoulder to see if I woul
d catch him looking out a window. Unfortunately, Dex saw me looking.

  “He’s not pissed at you.”

  I jerked my head to look at him. “Who?”

  “Malcolm.”

  He’d read my mind too easily. I’m sure he could tell by the look on my face that he’d hit the mark.

  “More like upset with himself for bringing you here right when all this erupted.”

  “What, exactly, is all this?”

  “Exactly what I’m trying to find out.”

  “And?”

  “I have some leads. Norman had a history, and some not-so-great associates. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “I’m not worried.” The neon sign on my forehead started flashing.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d be surprised at anything. My first week at Winterlight was coming to a close, and I’d already been hit upside the head more times than I could count.

  Dex smiled. “You’re twenty-nine years old and have had eighteen different jobs since you were fifteen—those are just the ones on the books. You’ve used only two addresses your whole life up until this week, but I suspect you’ve laid your head in more than a few others.”

  “Hey,” I groaned in protest.

  “I mean that in the nicest way.”

  Yeah, right. Why did I keep forgetting he was an ex-cop-sometime-PI?

  We rode past the wheat field toward the creek. Whatever it was that caused him to limp when walking scarcely registered with him in the saddle. His left foot rested in the stirrup, as if he couldn’t put weight in it. His seat was solid, though, his balance strong. He was an efficient rider, no finesse, but he stayed out of his horse’s way.

  “In addition to your training at a British Horse Society school,” he continued, “you’ve completed seventy-two hours toward a bachelor’s degree of nothing in particular, never owned real estate, never been arrested or in drug rehab, never even had a utility bill in your name, let alone a loan. No credit cards.”