Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle

by Candace Carrabus

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I went upstairs. After a quick call to check on Sandy—condition unchanged—I flopped on the bed looking forward to an undisturbed rest, but didn’t fall asleep right away. There were too many unresolved questions. I was making most of them up, true, but they struck me as valid.

  What if Brooke had been conspiring with Malcolm senior so she would benefit from the sale of the farm? She was the type to play a father and son against each other. She would use Nicky, too, if she could—threaten Malcolm with taking her away from him—the bitch.

  Could she have killed Malcolm senior? And if so, why? Did he renege on their deal? Or did she go there to talk to him and scare him to death by waving an old bone at him? No, she couldn’t have been there today, because I’d just talked to Nicky that morning.

  Of course, there was no telling when Malcolm senior died. It wasn’t necessarily today, or even yesterday.

  Whether or not Brooke was part of this, she and JJ were two peas in a pod—lazy, grasping, manipulative, cold.

  If Malcolm owned the farm, that changed the equation. As if I knew what the equation was. I’d never been good at solving for the unknown.

  My last thought before falling asleep was a selfish one. If Malcolm owned the farm, what did he need me for?

  - 38 -

  “Vi!”

  I swear to God, if a man yelling my name one more time roughly shook me from sleep, I would hit someone. I mumbled something incoherent and resisted consciousness with all my being.

  “Vi, wake up.”

  I tried to roll over and pull the covers over my head, but Dex had me by both shoulders. I was confused because he was calling me Vi instead of Miss Parker. He pulled me to a sitting position and shook so hard my head rolled around.

  “Uh-uh,” I said.

  He tapped my cheek. “Vi, honey, come on.”

  I opened my eyes and gave him what I hoped was a murderous look.

  “What?” I said.

  “Christ. You had me scared a minute.” He released me and stood abruptly. “Don’t do that.”

  I drooped back to the mattress.

  “Don’t do what, sleep for a while? Are you kidding?”

  “No, sleep for over thirteen hours then not respond when I try to wake you.” He pressed his thumbs into his eyes. “I thought—”

  “Thirteen hours? I’ve been sleeping for thirteen hours? That can’t be.” The clock next to my bed said four o’clock. I looked out the window. Dark. “You rousted me from sleep at four o’clock in the morning to tell me I’d overslept?”

  He eased himself to the bed again. I realized he looked whipped, haggard. It sunk in that he’d been calling me by my first name, and that could only mean something was wrong. Something even worse than Malcolm finding his father dead. My insides squeezed. I touched his hand.

  “What’s happened?”

  He took my hand in both of his. His skin was smooth, his touch gentle, but he was cold, and there was a slight tremor. “It’s Nicky.”

  Jesus. This could not be happening. I didn’t trust my voice, so just waited. But I had to blink away hot tears.

  “She’s been taken. Kidnapped. Brooke called Malcolm a little over an hour ago. JJ showed up at her door. She let him in. He pointed a gun at her and pulled Nicky from her bed. Had her call Malcolm and tell him if he wanted to see his family alive again, to come get them.”

  I pressed both fists against my mouth until it hurt.

  “Half an hour later, JJ changed his mind, hit Brooke with the gun, took Nicky and left. She couldn’t get Malcolm because his phone is out. She called me. I’m flying up there and taking my men. When you’re done with the morning work, go to Hank and Clara’s and wait until you hear from one of us. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t understand anything, but I nodded.

  “They won’t be home most of the morning. They went to see Clara’s mother. She’s ailing. Renee is visiting her sister in Kansas City. But Hank and Clara will be back later. You’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I repeated without enthusiasm.

  “Take this.”

  He gave me a handgun in a black nylon holster. I pushed it away. His lips thinned into a determined smile.

  “He said you’d be stubborn about this. You probably won’t need it, but you’re taking it whether you like it or not.” He took it out and folded my hands around it. “This is a Glock nine millimeter. No safety. The magazine has seventeen bullets.”

  Oh, good. I could shoot off all my toes and most of my fingers without reloading.

  He shifted to get behind me, aligned his arms with mine, and made me point it out the window. Nausea rolled up from my stomach.

  “You have to pull the slide back once to chamber the first round.” He demonstrated without actually doing it. “Are you right or left handed?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, hold it like this.” He pressed the grip into my right palm. “Don’t put your finger near the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Left hand here. Lock your right elbow.” He pushed that arm straight. “Use the sights to aim if you have time, otherwise, just point, and pull the trigger. Hold it tight. You’re strong, but it’s got a pretty good kick.”

  It was smaller and heavier than I expected. The grip was rough and solid and its cold menace felt oddly reassuring. That scared me even more than holding it.

  He let go. My arms sagged down. He lifted them again.

  “Do you want to go outside and fire it before I leave?”

  “No. I’m sure I won’t need it.”

  “It doesn’t have a safety.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  He took the gun, put it back in the holster, and laid it in my lap. He tucked a spare magazine into a pouch on the holster. I stared at the rig, trying to fit its dull weight and all the implications that went with it into my life view. There didn’t seem to be a place for it.

  “Keep it with you,” he said.

  Willy felt more solid and alive and, well, the bat was bigger than the gun. Willy made me feel safe. “I’ve got a baseball bat.”

  “I’ve heard. But an assailant has to get too close for you to use it. Don’t let him get that close. Understand?”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Anyone who threatens you.”

  I swallowed hard. He stood.

  “Here’s the deal. Malcolm had to take his dad’s Jeep because the radiator blew out in the Jag, and he left his phone charger behind in the rush. He called me after Brooke called him, but the battery went dead while we were talking. He’s out of touch until he gets to Chicago. He doesn’t know JJ took Nicky. I’ll be off line while I’m in flight.”

  “How long does it take to get to Chicago by car?”

  “From St. Louis, about five hours, but at the rate he’s driving…”

  “And how long until you get there?”

  “I’m booked on a six-thirty-five flight. I’ll get there at about the same time as him, and I’ll turn on my phone the moment I land—at seven thirty-five. Now, I have to go, or I’m going to miss the flight.”

  I held up the gun. “Are you going unarmed?”

  “Not on your life. I have plenty more where that came from.”

  Figures.

  “I have a message for you from Malcolm,” he said. “Be careful.”

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  “Wait,” I said. I slid out of bed and found my purse, dug through it until I had the tape. “Do you have a recorder that plays one of these?”

  He took the tape. “At home, why?”

  “I found it under the manure spreader.”

  He gave me a “so what” look.

  “Another dream. Not about the tape, but about looking for something, kind of like with the bones. And that’s what I found. I think Norman might have had it on him. It could be what JJ was looking for when he broke in here.”

  “Why didn’t you say so
mething sooner?”

  “I don’t know. It could be nothing. The dreams are jumbled and confusing. I tried to find something to listen to it with. I’m only just beginning to understand.” Understand being an overstatement. “I never had any before I came here.”

  “You never dreamed?”

  “If I did, I never remembered them.”

  “Never?”

  “Do we have time for this conversation?”

  He shoved the tape in his shirt pocket. “No.” He turned.

  “Dex?”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “You’ll tell him what?”

  “What I see in your eyes.”

  Holy crap. The moment he left, I ran in the bathroom to see, but all that peered back at me was worry. Next stop, the refrigerator for a generous dose of chocolate whipped cream. Only one can left. It wouldn’t be enough. I kept it with me.

  I tidied the apartment, did a load of wash, took care of the horses. The sun came up, but the sky was gloomy and the air heavy—just like my mood—and it remained dim and uninviting outside. The kind of day that would frizz my hair into a rat’s nest. A wind came up with the sun, and it tore at the trees. The horses turned their tails to it.

  So, it was all JJ, not Brooke. I had a hard time believing she wasn’t involved, but I couldn’t imagine what it had been like to have her daughter kidnapped before her eyes. She must be beyond frantic. Malcolm would comfort her.

  Stop it, Parker.

  But what did JJ want? He wanted to ruin Malcolm. Was there some way for JJ to get the farm? Or did he simply think, in his small, angry brain, there was some way he could get the farm?

  No, he didn’t want to ruin Malcolm. He wanted him dead. JJ probably cut the brake lines on the SUV. Hank had said he was a fair mechanic.

  I went from one task to another, never completing what was in front of me before moving on. Both downstairs and upstairs bathrooms gleamed, and it was barely six-o‘clock. Dex called right before he boarded his plane to say he’d heard nothing on the tape so far, but he was only halfway through one side. He’d keep listening and let me know if anything turned up.

  To say I was at loose ends didn’t begin to touch what I felt. I’d gone numb, just like after we’d found Norman.

  I sat, but every time I did, my leg started jouncing. I tried reading, keeping the book firmly pressed against my restless knee, but kept reading the same paragraph without seeing it. I looked at the clock. It never moved more than a minute. I stole a peek at the gun, then darted an apologetic glance to Willy. I’d said I’d go to Hank and Clara’s, but it promised to be a long day, and I didn’t want to go over there any earlier than necessary. I decided to call Penny. She was an early riser, and it was an hour later there.

  My phone was still plugged into the charger. When I turned it on, it beeped and said I had three missed calls and three new messages. I sat at the kitchen table with my whipped cream and pressed the preset for voice mail.

  The first was Malcolm from the night before. “Vi?” he said. “Sorry I ran off and left you this morning. I know Dex filled you in on what’s happening here. I’ll talk to you later.” The second was him again at three something that morning. First, there was a moment of silence, like he was trying to decide what to say. “Vi. I…just wanted to hear your voice.”

  In the first message, he sounded tired. But in the second, the strain and worry in his tone was almost too much to bear.

  The number of the third call looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I’d just filled my mouth with creamy chocolate when Nicky’s voice spilled out of my phone.

  - 39 -

  “I’m scared. No one’s answering the phone. It’s dark. I need help.” She sniffed and hung up.

  I went to the sink and spit out the whipped cream, then sat and stared at the phone. The time on the call was no more than twenty minutes earlier, but it was still over an hour before I could get Dex. More than that for Malcolm, because he’d have to charge his phone before he could receive a call.

  Maybe he’d picked up a charger. Unlikely at that time of night. Less likely he’d take the time. I dialed his number anyway. His phone wasn’t available. Dex, same thing.

  With the volume on maximum, I forced myself to listen to Nicky’s message again. There was no background noise. Nothing to place her in a car or near a busy street. Just quiet.

  I figured out how to put on the gun holster, went downstairs, and paced around the tack room for a few minutes, flexing my shoulders against the unfamiliar restraint and weight of the gun. Should I call her? Was someone with her? Did she still have her phone? Would she be able to answer? If I could figure out where she was… She must be so afraid. My head felt like it might explode trying to figure out what to do.

  When Dex had wakened me, he’d brought me out of a deep sleep. I’d been so rattled by what he’d said, I’d forgotten my dreams. Wastrel and I had been on Long Island in familiar fields and stables. Malcolm was there, and maybe Dex. Hard to say. The images came and went like a slide show on high speed. JJ’s trailer might have been in the mix. But mostly, it was Wastrel and Malcolm and Long Island. That, I supposed, was the right place for Wastrel, but why would Malcolm be there? Was he supposed to be in New York? That didn’t make sense.

  Circling the loveseat in the tack room with Noire’s eyes following my every move was doing nothing to clarify the situation, so I went to the field, haltered Gaston, brought him in, and began grooming him.

  There’s nothing like the rhythm of grooming to settle my nerves. He was still shedding his winter coat, so the job was especially satisfying. I started behind one of his ears with the currycomb and made small, firm circles to loosen dirt and sweat, then used the brush in the direction the coat grew to flick away dust and hair and smooth everything down. Three circles, three sweeps of the brush, move to the next section. Curry, curry, curry, brush, brush, brush.

  Halfway along his near side, it hit me.

  Malcolm was in the wrong place.

  It was not quite seven. I tried both Malcolm and Dex, anyway. Neither phones available, couldn’t even leave a message.

  Had to chance it. I dialed Nicky and held my breath.

  I was about to hang up, when, “Hello?” she whispered.

  With my voice low, too, I said, “It’s Vi. Thank God you’re all right. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” She started to cry.

  “Nicky. Nicky. Listen. You’ve got to help me find you. Your father is going to be there soon, I promise. Everything will be all right, but you’ve got to calm down, sweetie. Okay?”

  She sniffed. “Okay.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “There’s nobody in this room with me.”

  “Good. Just hang up if you hear someone coming. We’re going to play a little game, okay? It’s called Detective.” I was completely out of my league and winging it. But I had to get information out of her.

  “Detective?”

  “Yeah, that’s where I ask you a bunch of questions, and you try to answer as many as you can. And you get…whipped cream. A squirt for each right answer. I’ll keep track.”

  “Okay.” She sounded a little more cheerful.

  “Can you tell me where you are?”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  Crap. “Are you blindfolded?”

  “No, but it’s dark. And it smells.”

  Jesus. What sort of nasty place had he put her? I paced a short and edgy path back and forth behind Gaston. What could I ask that would help? Think. “Nicky, are you in a room?”

  “Um-hm. On a bed.”

  “Okay. Good. That’s great. Has anyone hurt you?”

  “No. He…”

  “Is it JJ?”

  “Yes. He gave me some medicine. He said it would help me. We were in a car. I think I slept. I woke up here. My foot is tied to something so I can’t get up.”

  Double crap. She could have been asleep for hours. They could be anywhere. “That’s okay. You
already have…um…half a can of whipped cream. Is there anyone else there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “You haven’t seen anyone or heard JJ talking to anyone?”

  “I can’t see anything.” Her voice rose. “I told you. It’s dark.”

  “Okay, it’s okay,” I said in the tone I used to soothe upset horses. “I know. You’re very brave. Do you think he’s nearby now? I don’t want him to hear us talk.”

  “I don’t think so. I heard a car. I think he left.” She started to cry again.

  If she could hear him drive away, but it was otherwise quiet, then she must be in a house, not an apartment in a city.

  “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re going to be okay.” I tried to think what made me feel better when I was scared. “Remember the kittens? Imagine they’re with you. All purry and soft. They need you to pet them. They miss you. Can you imagine petting them?”

  “Yeah.” She almost giggled. “They’re licking my face.”

  “Great. That’s great. Now, listen. Look around and tell me if you can see even the tiniest bit of light, like a crack under the door or maybe a window. Sit up, if that helps, and put the phone down. Can you do that for me?”

  The more information I could give Malcolm and Dex, the better. If all I accomplished was to keep her distracted for a while, that was something.

  She said to hold on. My heart forced the blood through my head so hard, it hurt my ears. I could hear the bed squeak as she moved around.

  “There’s a door and two windows. But the windows have something over them. Like wood, or something.”

  “Good. Oh, that’s really good, Nicky. Now you have a whole can of whipped cream all to yourself. You think you want plain or chocolate?”

  “Both.”

  “We can do that. By any chance, can you reach one of the windows?”

  “Maybe. Yeah. I can reach the one over the bed.”

  “See if you can pull at the wood, okay? Use both hands. Pull the wood away and tell me what you see.”

  Again, the bed creaked. A bit of scrabbling and a few little-girl grunts, then a loud crack and a startled, “Ow!”