October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  This was very personal stuff, and Deirdre wondered if the morphine was doing the talking.

  “He’s got our son almost all the time now. I miss him so much.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She was suddenly flooded with sympathy. Brian Bartley seemed to get his way with just about everything, the jackass.

  “And now, instead of having a week to spend with my son while my husband is out of town, I’m stuck in the hospital, and Brian Jr. is staying with my mom.” Stephanie waved her hand as if none of it mattered. “But, now…now…I’m trying to remember more about the accident,” she said. “I can’t help thinking Biscuit tripped on something.” She turned straight ahead again and smoothed her sheets.

  “I did see her stumble,” Deirdre said.

  “You saw the accident?” She looked up sharply.

  “Yes, I was there.” Wow, Stephanie really didn’t remember anything. Even getting pulled out of the water.

  “What else did you see?” Stephanie’s eyes were beseeching.

  “Well…” Deirdre closed her eyes, the violent scene flashing like a movie on the back of her eyelids. “I saw you get launched forward, over the jump, after Biscuit hit the log with her chest.”

  “Before that!” She grabbed Deirdre’s hand.

  “I saw her stumble, like I said.”

  There was a taut moment, then tears filled Stephanie’s eyes. “I didn’t walk the course completely. I couldn’t find my rubber boots, so…so I didn’t walk through the water, just paced out the strides alongside it.”

  Oh my god. The boots she’d asked for. Deirdre had had them but was too disorganized to know it.

  “I should’ve just ruined a pair of shoes. Instead, my horse broke her neck.”

  Maybe if she didn’t remember anything after the jump, she wouldn’t remember anything before the jump, like way before, when she’d asked to borrow some rubber boots.

  Stephanie collected herself. “Thank you so much for bringing my stuff. They say I can wash my hair soon. It still has mud in it, from the accident. And thanks…thanks for just being here. I don’t have many friends.”

  Deirdre found that hard to believe. Despite her preconceptions of what a trophy wife should be, Stephanie emanated the kindness, humility, and propriety of a Catholic Saint. In fact, looking down the long blue-sheeted hospital bed, she looked like the Virgin Mary.

  “Well, now you have me.” She hugged Stephanie and launched into a few bars of a certain Beatles song before Stephanie laughed and begged her to stop.

  That evening around 7:15, the upright citizens of Fairy Glen—or about three dozen of them anyway—gathered outside the fire department. The town council started at 7:30, and the meeting room wasn’t open yet, so everyone milled around outside. The beige walls of the firehouse glowed pink in the light of the sunset.

  Deirdre and Bonnie walked over together after horse chores. Rebecca was working, and Walt and Justin had picked up Clara from ballet and were eating at their favorite taco shop in Vista Mar.

  It was Taco Tuesday after all, but Deirdre had been falling down on the job lately, neglecting meal planning. Hey, it happens. She was getting behind on work, so after she got home from the hospital she had stayed inside all day catching up. It felt good to be outdoors now. Dry wind brushed through the pines overhead, reminding her of summers spent camping in the Sierras, and the smell of hotdogs on a campfire. She hadn’t eaten any dinner, and hoped there would be refreshments to tide her over.

  She had told Bonnie all about seeing the man again, and despite Bonnie having a reasonable explanation, “Personal bodyguard, maybe?” even she looked worried, especially after learning Mr. Bartley didn’t seem to know who it was. “Let’s tell Deputy Harvey at the town council,” Bonnie said. As if that would solve it all.

  The air was sweet and warm, the scent of sage from the nearby native plant garden wafting by on a tepid breeze. The group was abuzz with talk of the quarry accident. Gossip, correct or incorrect as it may be, traveled faster than brushfire through Fairy Glen. Exciting things didn’t happen that often, so when they did, it was always the first thing out of a neighbor’s mouth, whether they bumped into each other at the big supermarket in San Amaro, or while out walking their dogs, or meeting up on horseback out on the trail. It was a conversation starter, better than talking about the weather. Or the Chargers. They were just hopeless.

  Wilma finally pulled up in her beat-up Ford truck. Everyone crowded around her asking questions while she tried to unlock the meeting hall. After a second, she turned to the crowd. “Hey hey hey! Everyone! Back off and let me open the door!”

  They all did. Wilma wasn’t a woman to be pushed around, and when she got the door open, they entered single-file, like obedient kindergartners, and took their seats. Wilma remained impassive, not smiling at either Bonnie or Deirdre as they walked in. Could be a real bad mood, or an act to keep everyone in line. There were no teacher’s pets here, even though Wilma enjoyed wine nights at Bonnie’s house whenever her schedule allowed.

  Deirdre took a seat next to Bonnie in a cold metal chair, crossed her arms and looked around at her neighbors with disgust. How many times had she brought cookies, doughnuts, mini-quiches, and there wasn’t even a pack of stale crackers? Oh well. She took a swig of water to appease the gnawing in her stomach.

  Vivian wasn’t here either, even though she’d called to remind her to come. She wanted someone else to back her up, and she knew Vivian had seen those men. What else had she been looking at through those binoculars? Sure as hell not hawks.

  The crowd noise picked up, and now people were talking loudly to be heard over the other voices. If the meeting didn’t start soon, they’d be yelling. Wilma broke away from her conversation with the deputy. By the time she got to the front of the room, the crowd was silent, and with a satisfied look, she began.

  “October is spooky, and not just because of the ghosts and goblins that supposedly haunt these fairy woods.” Laughter ricocheted through the assembled townsfolk. “It’s because it’s the deadliest month in California’s fire season, and if we can make it through without a major conflagration taking our hills and homes, we’ll be lucky. And now there’s a new threat to our fire safety. That’s second on the agenda. But first, as many of you have heard, there was an accident at the quarry last week. As always, Deputy Harvey is here with our Public Safety Report.”

  “Hi folks.” Deputy Harvey walked to the front and looked at his papers. “On Friday October 5th, a car was spotted at the bottom of the old Ferguson rock quarry by a Fairy Glen resident.” Deirdre noticed Sally, near the front, sit up straighter. “The car had either been driven or rolled off the cliff and was badly crushed. It was burned, and there was a body inside.”

  Despite everyone knowing this, there was a hushed gasp.

  The deputy went on in his staccato monotone. “The car was a 1999 red Ford Focus hatchback, registered to a Mitchell Houseman, 23, of Encantadino. We haven’t positively ID’d the body, so can’t say for sure it was Mr. Houseman inside, and we haven’t found any next of kin. Anyone with any knowledge relating to this vehicle or the registered owner, or any knowledge of events leading to the crash, should contact the Sheriff’s department immediately.” He looked up from his paper. “Any questions?”

  “Was it the White Lady?” someone called from the back of the room, and the crowd erupted in boos and groans.

  “I repeat, any questions? That don’t have to do with the supernatural? Cuz I gotta tell you, I’m not qualified to answer those. You need to see the psychics up the road for that one.” That got a laugh from the crowd.

  Bonnie was elbowing Deirdre, encouraging her to speak up. She almost raised her hand to tell them about the men she’d seen, but remembered her embarrassing encounter with the surveyors, and then Wilma was back at the podium, and the meeting was moving on. About half the people slowly trickled out, trying not to look like they’d only come to hear about the sensational car crash.

  “I’ll tell him
after the meeting,” she whispered to Bonnie, who rolled her eyes, but nodded.

  * * *

  REBECCA WAS ON THE schedule every night this week, and, she noticed with mixed feelings, so was Jeremy. Tonight Mr. Fariz wasn’t there, and Darius was on drive-thru, she was on register, and Jeremy was on wok.

  “Dude, have you started your English paper yet?” she asked Darius.

  “Yes, I have.” Darius said. “It’s not inspired, but it’ll do. How about you?”

  “Not yet. I work best under a deadline.” She smiled at Darius, who looked away. He’d been a bit distant, but then again, they’d both been busy. “I stay up late, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” she added.

  “Mmhmm.” Darius was definitely giving her attitude. About what though?

  She decided to just ask him, and went over to the drive-thru window. “What’s up with you?” she asked, and of course it sounded way more confrontational than she’d intended.

  “Nothing.” He turned to her. “Do you need a ride home tonight?” Now she knew what was bugging him. God, jealousy was so boring. He continued. “You probably already have one.” He looked really peeved, shooting a glance past her shoulder at Jeremy’s back. “And you didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “And?” How dare he get all up in her business?

  “And, well—maybe we should discuss this some other time,” he said, lowering his voice and turning away.

  “Fine. How about a manager’s meeting, your dad’s office, in,” she looked at the clock, “fifteen minutes?”

  “Sorry, but there’s nobody to cover the front. And besides…we’re only assistant managers.” He turned to her, and she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. Thank god. “Seriously, let me drive you home tonight. We can talk in the car,” he said.

  “Sure,” she said, with casual breeziness that let him know she wasn’t going to let it go.

  She went out back to take her break and cool her temper. As she sat in the shadows, none other than the jacked-up black pickup pulled into the parking spot next to Jeremy’s hot rod. “Oh god,” she said. She wasn’t relishing seeing Chad again.

  But instead of Chad, a very skinny woman in spangly jeans and high heels descended from the truck. She was talking on her cellphone. She looked around. Rebecca slipped further back in the shadows.

  The woman continued her phone conversation, talking angrily now. “Listen, I know everything. I can either tell someone, or you can pay me.”

  There was a pause. Rebecca thought she better make herself known, so she stood up, pretending to be on the phone herself. The woman caught the movement, and stared blankly at Rebecca. She obviously didn’t care who heard. She hissed savagely, “Listen, I’m practically handing you the answer. I did all the homework. And the shopping. So I deserve a bigger cut.” Oh, that explains it, thought Rebecca. She’s arguing with an ex about the kids. Why here though? Hands Down, the mani-pedi-waxing salon, was closed. She glanced at the woman’s shoes. Sure enough, open toes with long shiny nails. She shuddered. How could someone stand to have long toenails?

  “Dummy, I already took care of it! Your guy is gonna do it. He’s so much more professional than Chad.” Pause. “Your guy? The guy that works for you?” She spun on her heel. “Well, I don’t really care who he works for, he’s gonna do it. Yeah, I already talked to him. All you have to do is sign off on it,” the woman said loudly, and snapped her phone shut.

  Jeremy stumbled out the back door, did a double take at Rebecca, who put her head down and said something into her phone like, “Mmhmm…yeah…”

  Jeremy walked quickly to the woman, who grabbed his face and kissed his lips. Was that his mom? He pushed her away and looked around, then said, “You can’t be here.”

  “I’ve come to tell you, all of our problems are soon over,” she announced, all grandiose. “We need to talk.”

  They got into the truck together. Rebecca closed her phone and went back inside, not looking at them.

  * * *

  THE FINAL ITEM ON the town council agenda was the housing on Richardson Peak. The residents that stayed for that were the hardcore ones, waiting for the official word about the houses on the ridge. Most of them moved to the chairs at the front of the room, closing ranks.

  Wilma’s news was worse than they thought. “They’re trying to get approval for a road through Fairy Glen. The county is requiring two exits. And the road from Del Diablo is a nightmare. This may become the main road to get into Paraiso.”

  Deirdre had a sinking feeling. The surveyors, at her back fence. The orange fencing yesterday.

  “Why weren’t we notified about any of this?” Sally asked.

  “When San Amaro was being built, we got notified of all the hearings,” said Mrs. Fitz-Spaden.

  “Didn’t do us any good.” This was from the back and sounded like the wah-wah of a sad trumpet.

  “At least we were able to say our piece,” came a fiery retort.

  “I’m trying to find out.” Wilma said. “This is another Bartley development. They may not have had to notify us because there’s no shared boundaries on this project. Unless, that is, they build the road.”

  “I thought it was only nine homes?” Deirdre said.

  “That’s just phase one. There’s a whole plan for everything from the luxury estates on down to townhomes and everything in between. Clubhouses, retail…pretty much a whole new San Amaro Hills up there on the mountain.”

  “Deirdre, aren’t you friends with the Bartleys?” Sally asked. Gossip travels fast.

  “No. God no,” she denied, feeling like her reputation depended on it.

  “Ask them what the hell is going on!” old man Peterson yelled, sounding like he was having major artery constriction.

  Wilma gave a look that quieted the crowd again. She spun an empty chair around, straddled it and sat down, looking each of them in the eye as she spoke. “What I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt is this: we need to oppose this project. It’s pure folly building homes up there. The fire danger from more development deeper into the urban-wildland interface, homes built on the ridgetop, steep canyons on either side—whole crews of men have died in terrain like that.”

  The group hushed. They knew Wilma had fought some legendary fires back in her day, and that she’d probably lost comrades herself. She had a personal reason to be angry. “And I don’t have to tell you the negative effect of a major new road cutting through our valley.” The seconds ticked by. Wilma was looking directly at her now.

  Finally Deirdre couldn’t stand the pressure. “Okay, okay. I’ll call Stephanie Bartley tomorrow and ask her if she knows anything.” The tension vanished, as if they’d all let out their breath at once.

  The usual warnings about pranksters and ghost hunters in the lead up to Halloween was the final item on the agenda. “Keep your cats indoors folks,” Wilma reminded everyone. “There’s some sick freaks out there. And remember, party at the firehouse Halloween night.”

  The deputy got up to make his exit. Bonnie got up and pulled Deirdre with her. They caught up to him in the parking lot, near his patrol car.

  “Excuse me, Deputy Harvey?” Bonnie took the lead, her honey-dipped voice working its magic.

  The deputy turned around, his plain face looking unusually boyish. “What can I do for you gals?” He spread his feet and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  Deirdre cleared her throat. “I think I have some information about the crash. Last Tuesday when I was out riding, I saw two men. And they were standing right where the car went off the cliff.”

  He took out a small notebook and flipped it open. “What did they look like?”

  “I don’t know…the sun was behind them. But I’d seen the first guy earlier, out by the canyon. He, well, he looked like a fighter—like, he was powerful, you know, but he was dressed in this nice silk suit—”

  “Mrs. Boyd, usually we start with height, weight, hair color, etc.”

  “Well, dark hair, maybe six feet…I don’t
know, 200 pounds? Muscle weighs more than fat, so maybe—”

  “Race?”

  “White—or. I’m not sure. Mediterranean? Oh, his eyes, were kind of…golden. And he had an accent.”

  “So you talked to him?”

  “Briefly, I told him to be careful with his cigar, and he said something to me, he said ‘I’m always careful.’” She tried to imitate his accent but ended up sounding like Arnold Schwarzenegger, the ‘Governator’. Who also happened to have a home in Rancho Alto.

  “What kind of gun did he have?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t even see it, but then I saw the two men up by the quarry, in silhouette, and they just looked—dangerous. Vivian Johnson saw them too.”

  “How do you know they were dangerous?”

  Deirdre thought for a second. “Body language?” She heard in real time how ridiculous this all sounded.

  “Well I gotta tell you, that’s not much to go on."

  “Oh, he had an old green sedan. Listen, Harvey, Deputy, Harvey,” Crap, she’d forgotten whether Harvey was his first or last name. “Look. The reason I thought there was a gunman in my backyard was because of the first man I saw. I’m positive he was wearing a shoulder holster—like for a gun? My dad was a policeman, he wore one all the time. And now, with someone getting killed at the quarry, it must be connected…”

  “Now hold on there Mrs. Boyd. There’s no reason to think it was murder—”

  “Yeah, guys just drive their cars off cliffs all the time.” She bit her tongue, too late. “I said someone was killed. And it sure as hell wasn’t the White Lady that did it. Look, do you want to split hairs or do you want to take my statement?”

  The deputy flipped his notebook closed. He hadn’t written anything in it.

  “Okay ladies. I’ll keep an eye out when I’m on patrol for any…dangerous looking men. Here’s my card. Call me if you see anything else suspicious. Have a good evening.” He turned and heaved himself into the patrol car.