October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  “What kind of job?” she asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.

  “You’re being nosy again.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  He laughed. “And you’re right, I wasn’t sick. But I did have a good excuse for missing work.”

  She raised her eyebrows in question, munching one of the cookies.

  “A friend of mine died,” he said.

  She processed that for a second. “Wow. Sorry."

  He broke open the cookie, stuffed both halves in his mouth and started chewing, unfolded the scrap of paper, and stared at it. She always ate half the cookie first, sealing her fate, before she read the fortune then ate the other half. Although nowadays they weren’t so much fortunes as vague compliments or advice, with lotto numbers.

  Jeremy stopped chewing with a mouthful of cookie.

  She peeked at the slip of paper. It said:

  Three can keep a secret, if you get rid of two

  09 17 18 25 22 34

  She looked at Jeremy. He started chewing again, crumpled the fortune and chucked it out the window. He turned the music up.

  “Well, sorry again about your friend,” she said, and got out of the car.

  “Hey, I guess you’ll need a ride home,” Jeremy called after her.

  She closed her eyes for a second to gather her patience and swallow her pride, then turned around. “Yeah, I’d appreciate it.”

  She went back to the locker room to get her apron, and saw her keyring lying in the corner under the bench. Too little too late.

  After work, she browsed in Footloose and Fancy Free, the expensive shoe store, then got bored and read Mr. Fariz’s book until Jeremy got off. Now they were driving back to Fairy Glen.

  “So, since I’m nosy, what happened to your friend?” she asked.

  “Oh, he ate it, big time.” Jeremy downshifted to take the corner at San Amaro Hills Road, almost clipping a sign twirler who was advertising ‘3BR Homes from the low $700s’.

  She waited for more.

  “He’s the guy on the news, the one at the quarry,” he said. “More of a business associate, really.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not. Wish I was.”

  “A business associate? From that job that you already have?” she asked.

  “Seriously?” He looked at her like she was an idiot. “I thought you already knew. Half the kids at your school call me when they need something.”

  “Need something?” She thought of the senior girls last night.

  “Drugs. Do I have to spell it out? Geez, you are a square. Or…are you a cop?” He grinned, then looked worried.

  “No, I’m definitely not a cop.” He relaxed again. She continued, “So, you deal to the kids in my school. What’s wrong with your school? Or do you even go to school?”

  “Yeah, of course. I go to Sunrise Continuation.” He sounded offended. “Shit, I got clients everywhere. I mean, all up and down the coast, in Rancho Alto, San Amaro…especially San Amaro.” He paused. “Even a few in Fairy Glen. I do deliveries. You know, party favors.” He grinned. “Sometimes pills for sad old ladies.”

  “So, the cops have identified your friend’s—I mean your business associate’s—body? I only saw it on the news last night, and they didn’t know who it was.”

  “They still don’t. We only know because we know Mitch was going up there.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Me and Chad. Chad’s my supplier.”

  Of course. “Billy says everyone’s blaming it on the White Lady.”

  “No. But that’s a good story, ‘specially with Halloween coming up. Think I’ll use that one.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Well, you’re obviously not broken up about it,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “So why’d you have to call in sick?”

  “Taking care of business, baby. My coworker called in dead.”

  “So you knew he was dead on, like, Thursday? And you didn’t report it?”

  “Hell no! You think we’re stupid? Besides, we didn’t know he was dead at first, just that he didn’t show up when he was supposed to, wasn’t answering his phone either. Thursday night we got tired of waiting, so we went up there to look around, and saw his car at the bottom. Then we knew.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “Our new distributor knocked him off. Thing is, I don’t know why.” He paused for a second. “I wish it was Chad, he’s a douchebag. I liked Mitch.”

  “Who’s your new distributor?”

  “Well, I never met him. Him and Chad met up in the middle of the night, all James Bond and shit. Then Chad asked me to go that night, but I couldn’t so I asked Mitch—” he stopped, as if he’d been hit on the head.

  She swiveled in her seat. “Jeremy. Go to the police and tell them what you know. It coulda been you.”

  “Awww, don’t worry about me baby, I got it all under control.” He laughed, a hyena cackle.

  “You’re psychotic.”

  She didn’t speak to him the rest of the way home. Good news, Chad had bigger fish to fry then tracking down a badass chick that threw rotten eggs. Bad news, she was out of the frying pan into the fire. Even though nobody wanted to kill her, apparently Jeremy had a target on his back, and he was possibly too dumb to realize it.

  Did she just attract trouble naturally? She’d come back to her mom’s to get away from trouble. So why was she wasting so much time thinking about this?

  Probably because, she had to admit, it was way more exciting than anything else happening in Fairy Glen.

  Sunday, October 7

  DEIRDRE PARKED AT PALOMA General, a ten-story hospital on a hill with the air of a castle tower. She had been so upset by the accident that Walt convinced her to come here instead of church. Probably just a ploy so he and Justin could go out for waffles. Rebecca didn’t work on Sundays, and was home with Clara.

  In the lobby, she asked for the room number, and got in the elevator for the third floor. Looking around for the room, she passed the nurse’s station. “Is it okay to visit Stephanie Bartley?” she asked.

  “Immediate family only,” said the nurse.

  “It’s okay,” a woman’s voice called. Across from the nurse’s station, a figure bathed in a holy backlight from the window at the end of the hall beckoned to her. She got closer, and saw a petite, attractive Latina of indeterminate age in a pale lavender suit and matching heels.

  The woman said, “I’m Stephanie’s mom, Teresa.” She had long glossy dark hair, so thick it made her body look even smaller than it was. Now she knew where Stephanie got her glamour, if not her height.

  “Hi. I’m—” Deirdre was unsure how to refer to herself. “I just brought some flowers. I’m Deirdre Boyd.”

  “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”

  The hospital door was not quite closed, and Teresa seemed to be waiting. Muffled talking emanated from behind the closed door.

  “I was at the show yesterday when the accident happened,” Deirdre said. “How is she doing?”

  “She had surgery late last night. Put a titanium rod in her leg,” Teresa lowered her voice and grimaced. Ouch. “She’s been awake about an hour now. She’s making phone calls.”

  From the hospital room, a raised voice spoke. “Do everything you can. No, I don’t care about that. I don’t care if she’s a pasture pet for the rest of her life. Do what you can. Please.”

  “Horses.” Teresa shook her head. “She’s always been horse crazy, don’t know who she got it from. Our family owns a ranch, but not an animal ranch. Avocados. Can’t ride ‘em, can’t pet ‘em…boring right? When she was about, oh, eight or nine I think, she set up an avocado stand down the road. After a summer, she had saved enough to build a corral. But she was patient enough to wait until the next summer to save for the horse. She was like a bird building a nest, waiting for her egg to come.” Teresa laughed and shook her head. “She always knew what she wanted, even at that age.
”

  Well, well. Little Ms. Stephanie had always had a nose for money. But even though Deirdre was a bookkeeper, she couldn’t imagine being that disciplined. She liked instant gratification too much.

  Teresa turned to her. “Were you the same way? Always horse crazy?”

  “Well, the crazy part at least,” Deirdre said. Teresa laughed. “But yes, to answer your question. As far back as I can remember.”

  The voice from the room took on a tone of finality, then there was a beat or two of silence. Teresa pushed the door open and stuck her head in. “Sweetie, I’m going down to get some coffee. You have a visitor.”

  “Okay Mom.”

  Teresa left, saying, “Go on in!”

  Stephanie’s leg was in a sling. The bed faced away from the door so she couldn’t see her expression. Deirdre knocked softly on the open door and Stephanie turned. She was a little worse for the wear, but still stunning, even in the hospital gown, IV tubes snaking away from both arms and oxygen in her nose.

  “Hi,” said Deirdre carefully. She ventured into the room, and put her blue mason jar full of orange Gerber daisies next to a giant bouquet of red roses. “How are you?”

  Stephanie groaned as she tried to sit more upright. “Horrible.” A look of loss flashed over her features. “What was your name again?”

  “Deirdre. I was at the show yesterday. You caught my horse after she dumped me. I’m the one with the chestnut Arab. That should’ve been a reiner?” She was hoping something would ring a bell, starting to feel foolish.

  “Oh yeah.” A smile slid over Stephanie’s face, then disappeared. “Wow. Thanks for coming. Nice flowers.” Deirdre couldn’t be sure, but the compliment sounded genuine, not sarcastic.

  “They seem kinda plain next to these,” she gestured to the rose bouquet, and smiled.

  “My husband’s away on business,” Stephanie said. “Roses were the best he could do."

  Whatever that meant.

  “I see. I’ve been wanting to meet you anyway, since Brian and Justin are golfing buddies now. But then…” Deirdre gestured to the hospital bed. Stephanie’s eyebrows raised, at the mention of their sons, but then her face pinched. “So…um…” Deirdre was about to make her exit, but Stephanie started talking, looking down and to the right at nothing in particular, her gaze unfocused.

  “I don’t know what happened. The whole course was breezing by, we were having so much fun! Right up until — she hit the fence and I got thrown over, she steamrolled over me and that’s all I remember. FUCK!” She scrunched the bedsheets in her fists and screwed her eyes shut.

  A passing nurse shot Deirdre an accusatory look, but moved on when Stephanie, in a more controlled voice, said, “Sorry.” She readjusted her sheets, smoothing them out. “I just talked to McAllister. She’s got cervical fractures, but she’s standing and eating. They’ll operate tomorrow at Emerson's.”

  Deirdre’s hands clenched then too.

  Emerson Equine Hospital was one of the best, but the only time Deirdre had been there had been a traumatic one. She’d lost Bowie to colic. By the time they’d gotten him to the hospital, the colic had been really bad. They operated in an attempt to save him, but it was futile. His intestines were twisted beyond repair and he had to be put down. Her beautiful boy, lying there with his guts opened up and his tongue hanging out of his mouth, when the day before he’d been trotting proudly around the pasture. She knew the frailty of horses all too well. And yet they gave and gave, stoic till the end.

  Thankfully, Teresa returned with her coffee, breaking the sad spell.

  “So um, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” Deirdre talked faster, trying to outrun the emotion. “My schedule is flexible.” She fumbled in her bag. “Here’s my card. Call if you need anything. I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  “Thanks.” Stephanie’s voice sounded small and far away. She was looking straight ahead, out the window at the golden hillsides folding away into distant blue mountains. Farther to the east, forming over the deserts of East County, a thunderhead towered high in the hot turquoise sky.

  Teresa took the card. “Yes, thanks for coming.” She reached up and gave Deirdre a quick hug. “We might take you up on it.”

  The elevator was just a cage of bad memories, and Deirdre burst out of it and rushed through the lobby, into the baking heat of the parking lot.

  She looked to the east again while she rustled up her car keys, knowing that the gathering thunderhead wouldn’t make it over the mountains to quench the coast. The drought of the last several years would continue. It was supposed to be a La Niña year, the opposite of the El Niño downpours.

  She started the Bronco. Sitting in the weak air-conditioning, she called Bonnie. Grief for Bowie had snuck up on her, and now in the confines of her car, with the cell already ringing Bonnie’s number, her throat tightened and big tears fell onto her jeans. She let them come. Nobody looks twice at you when you’re crying in a hospital parking lot. They mind their own damn business.

  “Hello Deedee!” Bonnie answered, as hot air blew on Deirdre’s wet cheeks.

  At the sound of her friend’s cheerful voice she started to sob, but was able to sputter a few words of explanation.

  “Just come over tonight, sweetie,” Bonnie said. “You need wine.”

  After a thrown-together dinner, Deirdre took Buck and Granger and walked to Bonnie’s for weekly wine night. Bonnie greeted her at the kitchen door with a big hug, then poured a glass of Cabernet.

  “Oh great. You know red wine makes me weepy,” she said.

  “That’s exactly what you need,” said her friend. “It’s called catharsis.” They moved into the living room, which was a bit of a seventies throwback, a conversation pit filled with massive sofas arranged around a pot-bellied stove. Deirdre loved this place. The dogs made themselves comfortable while she and Bonnie continued out onto the deck, settling into a couple of Adirondack chairs overlooking the barn and the arena, with the eucalyptus filtering the sunset light. Bonnie had the life.

  “So, how’s Stephanie?” Bonnie asked.

  “They put a titanium rod in her leg. And, her mare has neck fractures, surgery’s scheduled for tomorrow. At Emerson's.”

  Bonnie grimaced.

  “I talked to her a bit, but she seems like she’s still traumatized. She doesn’t remember anything, except getting steamrolled and going underwater.”

  Bonnie pursed her lips in sympathy pain.

  “Hey, but guess what? Dr. Mac is her vet.”

  “So?” Bonnie asked.

  “I thought she’d have some uppity Rancho Alto vet. I can’t really tell, but she’s not like I imagined her at all. Sally said she was a druggie and Lina said she wouldn’t even talk to her. I mean she doesn’t look strung out to me. Even with tubes coming out of her arms.”

  Bonnie looked skeptical. “Have you ever seen Lina at a party? She’s not exactly approachable herself. And I don’t know where Sally got her info.” She took a sip of wine. “Sometimes you have to form your own opinion Dee, not just go along with the crowd. I’ve talked to a couple other trainers since yesterday. She has a good reputation.”

  “Hi guys!” Lina called through the empty house. The dogs barked and ran to the kitchen. “Don’t you have any white, Bonnie?”

  “Yes, it’s in a box on the counter. Sorry I didn’t chill it!” Bonnie called through the open sliding glass door.

  “Maybe I should add some ice cubes, for the perfect white trash touch,” Lina called back.

  “Now who’s stuck up?” Deirdre said under her breath. Bonnie smirked.

  Lina walked out onto the deck, tinkling the ice cubes in her glass.

  “I went to visit Stephanie in the hospital today,” Deirdre told her.

  The cocky facade fell from Lina’s face. “That accident was horrible. How is she?” She sat down with her iced wine, and Deirdre filled her in. The air hung peaceful around them, skin temperature and silky. While they talked, gold turned to or
ange, then dusky purple.

  Sunset. Silhouettes.

  Dee jerked, like she’d woken up late for a final exam. “Hey, did ya hear any more news about the quarry?”

  “No. Have you Dee?”

  “Oh, that’s why Sally’s not coming tonight,” said Lina, “She has to be interrogated.”

  “I think you mean interviewed, honey,” Bonnie said on her way to the kitchen. “Sally’s not a suspect.”

  “Not that we know of, anyway,” Deirdre joked. She went inside, grabbed the remote and began flipping through the local channels, searching for news.

  “I doubt they’ll have anything. They always say they’ll follow up on a story, but they never do,” Lina said, flopping on the couch.

  Bonnie came back with a platter of cheese and crackers. “I’m sure we’ll find out more at the town council on Tuesday.”

  After watching local news for as long as they could stand, they gave up. “Well, they’re no help,” said Deirdre. She clunked the remote down on the coffee table, and grabbed a handful of crackers to soak up the wine before it turned any more acidic in her belly.

  Had it been those two men she’d seen? Was one of them dead now?

  Bonnie pointed the remote and brought up the DVR screen. “Ladies, I think some mindless escapism is in order. What will it be tonight, Mad Men or Weeds?”

  Deirdre was just trying to decide which was worse—sexists in suits, or someone slurping an empty Starbucks for an entire season, when her cell phone jangled and she pulled it out of her pocket. “Hello?”

  “Hi, uh, Deirdre?” A faint, uncertain voice said. “It’s Stephanie Bartley.”