October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  Next was Scarlet. The tension was palpable. She was staying within the confines of her stall, but wasn’t happy about it. Her delicate side preferred the shade, but her youthful vigor was almost winning out. She did an angry trot circle and tossed her head, then stood on the far side of the stall, looking across her paddock at the hills beyond.

  “Fine, I don’t wanna talk to you either.” Deirdre walked past the indignant mare to find her water full of hay and a pile of muck. “Slob.”

  She really ought to get Scarlet out and loosen up her muscles, she must be sore from that crazy ride on Saturday. But it was the wrong time of day now—way too hot. Maybe if the evening cooled down she could ditch dinner and go out on the trail. But only if Scarlet stopped being such a bitch. She’s uncomfortable and grumpy, just like you, she told herself as she dumped the water container out onto the ground, scrubbed it out with a brush, rinsed and refilled it.

  As she was filling it, Scarlet took a tender step into the sunlight, walked over, stuck her nose in the big barrel, and swished it around the turbulent water. Her muzzle looked almost like a puppet, like there was somebody’s hand inside it—prehensile, that’s what they call it. Then Scarlet splashed her, completely soaking her jeans. Deirdre sprayed her with a fine mist from the hose. Scarlet’s lips twisted into a goofy expression, and she screwed her eyes shut. Deirdre giggled with delight, and they spent a good fifteen minutes just playing with each other. Before she knew it, it was time to go pick up Justin.

  Walt called as she was backing out of the driveway.

  “Hi sweetie. I just got news,” he said. “I’m going on a business trip.”

  “Really? Where, when?”

  “Houston. I have to leave Thursday.”

  Her heart sank so fast she felt like she’d hit the drop on a rollercoaster. “Thursday? That’s…exciting?” And only three days away. Two and a half really.

  Walt laughed. “No, it sucks. We’re scoping out locations. I’m sorry hon. But, while I still have this job, I have to travel. Texas might not be so bad, you know?” His voice changed. She knew his pain at not being able to afford to rebuild their home. She felt it too. “We might be able to afford a house there. A big house with property and stables and big pastures…”

  She was silent. There was no place like Fairy Glen, she didn’t care how big the house was. But she didn’t want to start an argument.

  He said, “Anyway, gotta go. Love you, see you tonight. What’s for dinner?” His thought process was almost tangible.

  “Good question.” The phone vibrated in her ear as she was thinking. She’d whip something up, or pick something up. “It’ll be a surprise. I love you too.” She hung up.

  Goddamn Texas.

  She looked at the phone to see who’d buzzed her. There was a text from Stephanie:

  Need to talk to you

  Finally! She dialed Stephanie’s number, but it went to voicemail, again. “Steph, this is Deirdre. I’ve been calling and calling. I just got your text. Are you okay?”

  Damn! She wished she’d had the foresight to get Teresa’s phone number.

  It would make her late, but now it was unavoidable. She’d have to stop by the Bartley Estate on her way to pick up Justin.

  She took the shortcut into Rancho Alto. As she passed by Vivian’s house, she couldn’t help but notice the orange car again, above her on the driveway, but she was too frantic to get to Stephanie’s to worry about that right now.

  Stephanie answered the door at the house.

  “I’m sorry I made you get up. Where’s your mom?” Deirdre said, helping her hobble across the room on her crutches and get back on the sofa.

  She perched on the massive coffee table and looked into Stephanie’s eyes. “What is it you wanted to tell me Steph?”

  “Tell you?” Stephanie asked.

  Deirdre’s heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong, she could feel it. Teresa was nowhere to be seen. Under the fading smell of frijoles gone cold was another scent. Cigar.

  Stephanie seemed different somehow.

  “Well, well. Hello Deirdre.” Even though Bartley’s voice was smooth and friendly like an old movie star’s, her spine stiffened—she hoped not visibly. She turned and forced a smile to her lips.

  “Hi there! Haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. She decided, since she was at a loss for words, to lob the ball right back over the net into their court. “What’s up?” she asked, turning back to Stephanie. With her back to Bartley, she raised her eyebrows as far as they would go in silent question.

  But Stephanie’s eyes were one-way mirrors, betraying nothing. She laughed. “I was going to ask you that. What brings you over here Deirdre?” She reclined on the sofa.

  Deirdre clamped her lips together while she tried to figure out what was happening. “You know, I was just driving by, and I got a massive craving for your mom’s beans. Walt was asking me what’s for dinner and, as usual, I didn’t have anything planned, and I was wondering if she had any to spare…” She moved toward the kitchen. Where the hell was Teresa anyway?

  “Oh, bummer,” said Stephanie. “My mom went home. Brian’s not traveling anymore, and I’m on the mend, so we didn’t need her anymore.”

  Bartley had drifted from his place outside the study door to stand behind Stephanie, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Yep, we’ve got it covered here, Nurse Deirdre. Thank you,” he said, smiling with an almost imperceptible sneer. “Nice to see you again. Sweetheart, I’ve got work to do.” He leaned down and kissed Stephanie’s forehead. “Please excuse me.” He nodded at Deirdre and walked silently on his Tod’s back into his study and closed the door.

  Stephanie said, “This really isn’t a good time, I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit out of sorts. These pain pills…” she shook her head and looked down.

  “What about what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I’m sorry I even mentioned it. It’s just, Brian and I had a long talk, and we’re going to give it another shot. I guess I still love him.” This had a sickly sweet tinge, and Deirdre couldn’t help making a face. “And, about Biscuit, I think I couldn’t accept that…that the accident might’ve been my fault. So I looked for other explanations. I’m sorry.” Stephanie finally met her eyes, and a weak and guilty sideways smile quirked her mouth, while crystalline tears sparkled in her eyes.

  Deirdre couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So what about the water jump?”

  “Oh that. If I’d walked the course like I was supposed to I would’ve noticed it. I’m not interested in pursuing it. What good would it do?”

  “But…I’ve been trying to call you, to tell you,” she lowered her voice, looking to the den door to make sure it was closed. “I rode up to Paraiso Saturday night. A man—a man I saw here at the house, with your husband when he was supposed to be away on business—shot at me! I only got away because some lady on horseback knocked him down and I escaped to the bar over on Lake Hemingway.”

  Stephanie’s eyes fixed on hers as she continued. “I thought I’d call the police, but then I realized how crazy it sounded, and I wasn’t even sure…This old guy at the bar asked me if I’d seen a witch. I must’ve looked totally nuts. Like, why would this man shoot at me?”

  “Were you trespassing?”

  “Trespassing?”

  “There’s a lot of trade secrets in the way Brian is building those homes. If you just stay off private property, you should be fine.”

  “But shooting at me and my horse? Do you hear what you’re saying Stephanie? And what about Brian?” she whispered. “I saw him here, with—”

  “I told you, we’re giving it another shot. I’d appreciate…I’d appreciate if you gave us a chance to do that.”

  She felt like she’d been slapped. She rose slowly from the coffee table. “Well, if that’s really how you feel…”

  The study door opened behind her, and Bartley said, “Stephanie really needs to rest. Let me escort you to your car Mrs.
Boyd.”

  With one final glance at Stephanie, she stood to leave. “Stephanie,” she said, waiting till she looked up. “Call me later, ok?” She held eye contact until Stephanie nodded.

  Bartley followed her outside.

  “Really, I can find my way from here, Mr. Bartley.”

  “I wanted to have a word with you in private.”

  “Well that’s convenient, I wanted to have a word with you too,” she said, but he continued, raising his hands for emphasis.

  “Stephanie’s had a traumatic accident, and you’re not helping her by bringing it up all the time. She’s trying to heal, get over it, and you keep making her relive it.”

  Deirdre felt her mouth move as she formed a rebuttal. “She needs to know what happened or else she won’t be able to grieve. Have you ever lost a horse Mr. Bartley? It’s not an easy thing. Even when you do know why.”

  He jingled the keys in his pocket and looked past her. “I just have to ask. Why are you so interested?”

  “Because she’s my friend.”

  He paused. “I don’t know if she sees it that way.” His voice took on a darker tone. “Stephanie doesn’t need friends—”

  “That’s not true!”

  “—Stephanie doesn’t need friends,” he repeated, slower, “like you. If anything, since she met you, we’ve had nothing but chaos in our lives.”

  Her vision went red. “Oh yeah? You don’t think that has anything to do with you? I don’t know what kind of schemes and…affairs you’re involved in, but I think that might have something to do with the chaos. What’s really going on at Paraiso? Why do you need armed men protecting it? I know about the unpaid construction workers, and I don’t know how you got county approval, but you’re going to have a fight on your hands.” Her voice was shaking and her breath was rough, so it sounded like she was crying, but she didn’t care. “And that road you’re trying to build? We’ll fight that too. The extra traffic, blocking our riding trails, damaging the watershed, not to mention clogging fire evacuation routes—”

  “I assume you’re referring to the road through the Dos Olivos Water District property?” he interrupted.

  Her mouth moved again like a fish. Who cared who it belonged to, as long as it stayed wild?

  “I hate to break it to you, but if you and your friends have been riding on that property, you’ve been trespassing.” He laughed. “Seems you might have trouble observing boundaries?” He smiled, as if all was forgiven. “Have a good day Mrs. Boyd. I have to go pick up Brian.” He hit the garage remote, and the door lifted to reveal a white Porsche alongside the black Mercedes. He got in the Porsche, started it, and the convertible top peeled back while he revved the engine. When she stood there, not moving, he launched it out of the garage, swerving to a halt so close to her toes that she jumped back.

  “After you,” he said, and gestured for her to leave. She got in and drove out, hands shaking, watching him behind her all the way to school.

  In a horrible mood, Deirdre took a ride after dinner. It was finally cooling down. She wasn’t.

  The sun was a glowing orange ball on the horizon. As she rode towards Vivian’s house, it blinded her.

  Everyone needs friends, Deirdre thought, as she turned Scarlet out into Apache’s corral.

  Vivian reluctantly welcomed her at the kitchen door. “This is getting to be a regular thing.” She looked pointedly at the two horses, then tsked under her breath and followed Deirdre inside.

  “I need to talk to you. Look, I know you won’t tell me why you had that restraining order, but he tried to gaslight me today at his house, saying I’m the cause of all of his wife’s troubles—”

  “Whoa whoa whoa. Slow down.”

  Deirdre took a breath, and they both sat at the kitchen table. “I went riding up to Paraiso Saturday night, and I think—I got shot at up there.

  “Shot at? By who?”

  “By that guy we both saw. That guy must’ve called Bartley, and he was there in minutes.”

  Vivian blew out a breath. “You’ve done it now. You don’t want to be on Brian’s shit list. Believe me.”

  “What is your history with him anyway?”

  Vivian stood up as if to get a drink, but then just stood there at a loss. “I went to business school with him. USC. I was roommates with his first wife.” She scoffed. “In fact I introduced them.” She fiddled with the plants on her windowsill.

  “But what is he up to now I wonder?” Deirdre said. “He can’t pay his construction workers, he’s got gangsters hanging around…”

  Vivian’s eyes sparked. “Well. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten in hot water. People like him are risk-takers. They can make and lose millions without blinking an eye. Speaking of losing millions, San Amaro Hills is tanking. This is not the time to get a mortgage. The whole market is going bust, any day now. They say it’s just a correction? No. It’s a bubble. It’s gonna burst and we’ll all go down, way down, before this is all over. Homeowners in San Amaro are foreclosing. It’s not even fifty percent sold out. And now, he’s building another development?” She shook her head. “Don’t know how that works.”

  “They say the rich are always rich. If you can afford a home in Paraiso, you probably aren’t worried about a little ‘correction’,” Deirdre said with air quotes, not hiding the bitterness in her voice. “Maybe that’s his strategy for pulling out of this. Super-rich buyers for the custom homes.”

  Vivian shook her head. “I know him. Building is part of his identity, his ego. He wants to build Paraiso, he’ll do anything to get what he needs.” She looked at the ceiling. “Another thing about people like him—they don’t see the law as a fixed thing. It’s all about what you can get away with. You know how money laundering works? Did they teach you that in college?”

  “I didn’t go to college,” Deirdre said, sitting straighter.

  “Oh. I thought you were an accountant.” Vivian looked her up and down.

  “I’m a bookkeeper, self-taught. But to answer your question, no, I never understood money laundering.”

  “Real estate is one of the prime ways of doing it.”

  “Why would Brian need to launder money?”

  “He’s the one providing the service. Using his real estate as a vehicle. Charging a fee.”

  “You know this for sure?”

  Vivian laughed, throwing her head back like a haughty silver screen dame. “If you’re asking if I have proof, then no. I’m just telling you how it works.”

  “Well, thanks for the education.”

  “I may not have proof, but I know. I’ve known for a while, that’s what he’s doing. And I have a feeling it’s not working out, so he might just be desperate enough to…diversify.”

  Outside, Scarlet squealed, and Vivian stood up and opened the kitchen door. “Take care of your mare.”

  “What do you mean, diversify?”

  But Vivian was done talking. “Don’t forget you owe me a fence board,” she said before she closed the door in Deirdre’s face.

  Tuesday, October 16

  THE WIND PICKED UP before dawn, twisting around the dusty hill. Flaring his nostrils, Apache inhaled deeply, picking up currents of sandstone, granite, and clay. He sniffed for the source of the churning water that split mountains on its long slide down the continental divide, the life-giving river that had quenched his thirst back in his wild days.

  There was no water in the air now, just this hard, snapping wind.

  Tossing his head, he ran two complete circles around his pen, then stopped. Arching his neck, he struck the ground with his front hoof, stirring up the dirt, adding it to the mixture of scents. He glanced at the house. No movement. It was first light. Dawn would be another hour or so. He called out softly, then a little louder. He trotted in a smaller circle, then stopped, lifted his head, and let out a full high-pitched whinny. Another few seconds, and he heard an answering call from across the hills, to the north, then another from down the street to the east.<
br />
  Satisfied with this emergency communications test, he settled down to a walk, pacing around the pen to spend his extra energy. It would be another hour before she woke up and brought his breakfast. He circled and circled, then stopped, lifted his nose, and continued his sentinel.

  * * *

  DEIRDRE WASN’T SURE WHAT to think about the ‘education’ she’d gotten from Vivian. Money laundering, diversification…it all seemed so abstract.

  But, she still needed to deliver Clara’s party invitation to Peter, and since Mrs. Mapplethorpe had told her with a confused look that there was no Peter Fey in Clara’s class, she thought she’d just drive it over.

  Not knowing how to get there by car, she got on the internet and studied Google satellite. Richardson Peak had many folds and valleys, the biggest of which looked like a crooked arm, and nestled in that nook like a breastfeeding baby was—she was sure—the Fey property. On the satellite view, the roads were invisible because of all the trees, but the mapping software overlaid ghostly lines, and branching off of Old Dairy Road was an unnamed street that seemed to lead partway there.

  Driving there, she negotiated many twists and turns, all the while eyeing her trip odometer. The road was so bendy and the trees so dense overhead that her internal compass was completely flummoxed. She’d gone five miles already, but probably only half a mile as the crow flies.

  But, now there was a small blue Honda trailing her. She hadn’t seen any houses for the last couple of miles, but the car gave her confidence that she was still on the right track and she sped up a little.

  Until she got to a split in the road. One way went downhill and one way was flat. Figuring the house was near the creek, she went downhill.

  At last, she could see the side of Richardson Peak through the thinning trees. And finally, the ramshackle fence came into view at the end of the road.

  Mrs. Fey was in the front yard, kneeling next to some flowers, wearing gloves and holding a tiny shovel.