“Dee. Wilma here. Good news. We were doing rounds, come across this old lady’s house in the trees—”
“Mrs. Fey!”
“Yep. Asked me nicely to let you know your horses are okay, just like she told you?” Wilma sounded skeptical on the last part. How Clara had known, Deirdre had no clue, but sure as rain (an expression that doesn’t quite work in Southern California) she was right.
And so was Kathleen. “That part of the valley never burns.” Deirdre’s eyes were full of tears as she said it. Before Wilma could start lecturing her about assumptions like that being deadly, she continued. “The other horse is Vivian’s. When can we come back home?”
“Tuesday at 8 a.m. Give us time to finish checking propane tanks. See you then, or at the very latest at the Halloween shindig slash fire debriefing.”
“Thanks Wilma, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Be careful, you and the guys.” Her voice started to crack.
“No problem.” Wilma hung up before Deirdre could get any mushier.
Monday, October 29
BLESSED COOL.
Rebecca woke up at 5 a.m. and snuck outside, tiptoeing over snoring bodies, and stepping out the sliding glass door into a damp, gray, coastal morning. Smoke still scented the air, but this low fog enveloped everything. Dew brushed her cheeks and she breathed in deep through her nose. The weather was changing. The fire would be quenched.
She hopped Bonnie’s ground-floor balcony and walked the two short blocks to the beach, breaking into a jog the closer she got to the ocean, feeling overcome.
The empty morning was disaster quiet, fog private. She ran past parking meters and onto the beach, down to the edge of the wet sand, pulled off her shoes, her jeans, her shirt, till all she had on was her bra and underwear, and sprinted, the hard wet sand slapping under her feet, to crash into the first welcoming wave that washed around her. She willed her lungs not to seize up as it tumbled her clean like a stone. So cold, so fiercely, perfectly cold.
She dunked her head and floated on her back, the fog engulfing her, closing her eyes against images of flames, the man falling. Against not knowing what happened to Jeremy and Crystal. Had they burned too?
When the helicopter had lifted up and away from the pool, she’d searched charred scene below her, and one thing was sure—the green car was gone. The man had fallen, burned, died. So who had his car?
The waves jostled her, and salt weeped between her lips and eyelids; stung her eyes. She tasted it, tasted Jeremy’s lips.
Even if he got away, his troubles were far from over. He was born into trouble.
She opened her eyes, and to the blank gray sky above her said, “Godspeed, Jeremy White.”
Tuesday, October 30
“PARADISE LOST!” THE NEWS anchor’s voice blared from the tiny TV in Walt and Deirdre’s bedroom. “A mother and daughter. One dead. One missing, presumed dead.” Deirdre breathed a guilty sigh of relief. She knew they were talking about Crystal and Tanya, but it could’ve easily been her and Rebecca. “The bizarre link to this North County developer—” a photo of Bartley flashed across the screen “—and his alleged crimes. Up next, on Channel 9 News at 10.”
It had been a long day of homecoming, and now Deirdre’s eyes drifted shut as she listened to the rest of the news. She’d never felt more grateful in her life—or more sorry for her fellow San Diegans. By the time all of the fires were contained and the damage assessed, a quarter million people had evacuated, more than during Hurricane Katrina two years before. 40,000 structures had burned. 135,000 folks lost their homes. And those were the luckier ones. Twenty people lost their lives.
But thanks to the grace of God—or whatever type of supernatural being was protecting them—the communities of Pleasant Hollow and Fairy Glen were undamaged. The fire had burned close, but no structures were damaged. Nobody even had a burned bush on their property, although pink fire retardant was plastered over the nearby vegetation and even some of the houses.
Mrs. Fey was unhurt and unburned, of course, her pastures just as green as ever, with Ginny, Scarlet, and Apache grazing happily. Deirdre would pick them up on Thursday. Or…maybe not. She had an idea. But, more about that later.
Now, the news was doing a story on Gorda y Flaco’s.
Gorda had kept her bar and restaurant open throughout the worst firestorm in California’s history, despite evacuation orders. Anyway, the firemen weren’t overly-eager to enforce them since she was provided them with nonstop food, cerveza, and booths turned into beds. Gorda told the reporter that she was taking applications for her next Flaco. What had happened to the last one, Deirdre wondered? She opened her eyes in time to see a still photo of a trio of firefighters—the same photo she’d seen on the altar at the bar, but this time the man in the middle looked strikingly familiar. She looked again, but the photo was gone, and the next story segued in—a story about the Marine base to the north, where Lina’s husband, Mike, worked. Deirdre laid her head back down.
Mike had been shaken up by the fires—poor guy—and had come back home from his girlfriend’s house. Deirdre wasn’t sure how long that would last, but she was glad, for now, that Lina had her man back. And not just because Single Lina was hard to tolerate. If he made Lina happy, even temporarily, she would try to bite her tongue.
And, after missing out on the “big show” at Del Rio, she realized that it was more of a relief than a disappointment. Her adventures on Scarlet had opened a new door of interest. While she planned to continue dressage lessons with Bonnie, she wanted to start training for endurance with Sally.
For now, she was exhausted, but relieved that the fire was finally under control, her children were safe in their beds, her animals were accounted for, and last but certainly not least, Walt was snoring softly by her side. She clicked off the TV, rolled closer and snuggled into him. After the heat of October, there was finally a chill in the air, and his warm body felt good.
She closed her eyes, and dreaming about what she’d bake for the Halloween dance tomorrow, drifted off to sleep.
Wednesday, October 31
ALL HALLOW'S EVE
“I’d like to thank everyone for their cooperation this past week.” Wilma was addressing the crowd as Rebecca slinked into the darkened firehouse.
“Monster Mash” played faintly in the background. Some Fairy Glenners wore costumes, some didn’t, but everyone stood hushed, plates of (mostly storebought) cookies and punch cups in hand, watching Wilma with bright, glassy eyes that made Rebecca wonder if the punch was spiked.
“You showed us what community is all about.” Applause broke out as Wilma, always of few words, stepped away from the microphone, but then Bonnie rushed up to it, and in her breathy feminine pitch said, “Wilma, we all want to thank you and the entire Fairy Glen Fire crew! You are the heart of this little place that we love so much, and you risked your lives to protect it. Thank you!” She kissed Wilma on the cheek, and the crowd erupted. Wilma looked mortified. Then Bonnie went down the line of firemen and kissed each of their faces, like they were newborn babies. The opening strains of “Thriller” filled the auditorium, and everyone cheered and started dancing or mingling. The firemen—who obviously had way too much time on their hands in between fighting fires—busted out the synchronized monster moves of Thriller with skill that would put any middle-school dance troupe to shame.
Sally’s daughter Emily, dressed as a cardboard robot, was talking to Justin, who was wearing a Dracula costume. Both wore serious faces despite their goofy costumes. Rebecca had overheard her mom earlier, telling Justin to be a good friend to Brian Bartley Jr. He’d need it, poor little guy. He’d been kidnapped, his mom was murdered, and his dad was a fugitive. His sister and half-brother were missing. It was all over the news.
At least he had his step-mom and step-grandma, who apparently loved him very much. Sometimes the best family isn’t related to you at all.
For example, Walt. She located him, in his half-hearted werewolf get-up, under the exit si
gn talking to Sally and Tom.
Rebecca’s own father hadn’t even bothered to call and check if she was okay. But Walt, when he was unable to get a flight due to the entire state of California being on fire, had rented a car in Texas and drove non-stop across four states to get home to them.
She left her dark corner to get some punch, steering clear of Tom. He was a nice guy and all, but one interview was enough. She’d told him everything she knew, about Jeremy, Crystal, Tanya, Chad, Mitch, and Green Beans, aka Hector. She stirred the punch and ladled it into a paper cup. Yep, she’d told Tom everything. Except, in the trauma of her kidnapping, she’d “conveniently” forgotten the make, model, and license plate number of the green car, so they only had her mom’s vague description of it to add to Crystal’s Amber Alert.
She took a sip of punch. Definitely not spiked. Unfortunately. She snaked one of her mom’s pumpkin walnut cookies just as her mom’s voice caught her attention. “I’m picking up the horses tomorrow morning. Wanna ride and check out the fire damage?”
“I’ve got time. Let’s do it,” Sally said.
“What about your cast?” Lina whined.
“I think I can ride with one arm. After what I’ve been through? Piece of cake,” her mom bragged. As if on cue, several neighbors flocked around and began asking questions about their ordeal on the mountain. They ignored Rebecca. She was just a prop in the story, the princess to be rescued, which was fine with her. She didn’t want swarms of gossipy women fawning over her. But her mom was reveling in her newfound hero status. That’s okay, she kind of deserved it.
Suppressing a smile, Rebecca drifted away from the snack table and back to her dark corner. She checked her phone, a replacement she’d picked up today at the cell phone store in the mini-mall. WokChikaBok!Bok! was still closed, so she had texted Darius an invitation to the dance. But he hadn’t responded yet.
The next song came on, and Rebecca was mildly shocked to see Bonnie in the arms of one of the beefier firemen, dancing and laughing with her head thrown back.
All the sweaty bodies were turning the firehouse into an inferno. She escaped outside, found a spot along the wall and leaned against it, gazing at the open sky above the packed parking lot. The breeze here was damp, smelled of the ocean, and cooled her face.
There was a buzz in her jeans pocket. That would be Darius texting back. But would he forgive her or not?
He had warned her about Jeremy. But she was stubborn, had to get kidnapped and shot at instead of just listening to him. She knew for sure she wouldn’t forgive herself, if the roles were reversed.
She opened her phone, but it wasn’t Darius. Her heart tripped painfully as she recognized the number in the ‘From’ field, even without a name to go with it.
October 28, 8:25 p.m. beck-sorry I dragged you into this-me and crystal had to bounce…sorry cant tell you where cuz what happens here stays here LOL! Imma ditch this phone, so check ya later. <3 <3 <3
She had to purposely close her jaw.
This text must’ve been floating around in the ethersphere while her old phone was burned, or lost, or whatever it was, and it had come through exactly when she was steps away from the investigator that had put out an arrest warrant for Jeremy. She glanced at the firehouse door, saw Tom’s outline against the colorful disco lights.
She breathed in and closed her eyes, then looked at the text again while her mind raced.
So, Crystal and Jeremy had escaped.
Tom still suspected Jeremy of Tanya’s murder, even though she’d told him it was Hector. But there was no Hector, not anymore. He was incinerated, so it was hard to charge him with murder. Jeremy made a good scapegoat. And, as he’d pointed out that night on top of the skeleton house, he was 18 now, so technically running away with Crystal was kidnapping, on top of everything else.
At least he wasn’t a suspect in Chad’s murder. When she’d asked Tom about that one, he brushed her off. “There was an autopsy. It was just a heroin overdose.” But she knew better.
Chad didn’t do heroin.
Movement in her peripheral vision, someone coming out the door. It was Tom. She slapped the phone shut, her heart thumping. But he was on his own phone, barely acknowledging her with a nod. He walked long-legged across the parking lot and down the steep driveway to the street, just as a black SUV pulled over and came to a stop. Rebecca watched closely as he leaned down and spoke to someone on the passenger side. Then he opened the back door and got in. But as the passenger window rolled up, she recognized the face looking out, and that person saw her too.
Vivian.
She ran to the street as the car pulled away. The license plate glowed white between the two red taillights as it receded into the night. A Federal Government plate.
A hand on her shoulder made her jump. “Jesus!” She swung around and looked up, up, and up, into dark liquid eyes rimmed with the most beautiful black lashes she would ever see, thick brows drawn together.
“Rebecca? Are you okay?” Darius asked.
She threw her arms around him and almost started sobbing before she pulled herself together, took his hand and dragged him inside the firehouse.
“Come on, let’s dance.”
* * *
CRYSTAL LOOKED OUT THE window of the trashy motel at the lights of the Vegas strip flashing in the distance.
Jeremy was out there somewhere right now, selling the drugs, having all the fun, leaving her here to spend Halloween night alone.
She would be better at it, smarter. But he said no, and she knew deep down he was right. She would attract too much attention. A 14 year old girl can’t make deals with men.
She hoped he wasn’t screwing it up.
Maybe when he got back she could talk him into going to a club or something, work the guilt angle. She did save his life, after all.
It was a miracle Jeremy had survived that overdose, but she guessed that was one thing they had in common, a massive tolerance. It was the reason she’d been able to drink Chad under the table that night, while her mom was passed out in the other room, and once he blacked out, inject him with his own product.
She laid back on the pillow, took a drag of her cigarette, and smiled.
Chad, that fucker. She was so glad he was dead.
Epilogue
ALL SAINTS’ DAY
FAIRY FAX 11/01/07 Fire in chaparral country is the great cleanser…opening seeds, clearing ground, burning out the old and leaving room for the new. So let’s all grab those new opportunities Fairy Glenners! Happy November!
Deirdre was up early and driving to Pleasant Hollow. Walt had stayed late at the party to take the kids home. She had come home first and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Walt had also taken the kids to school, their first day back, just so she could get out early and ride.
But even though it was early, she was still running late to meet Sally. They were planning to ride up and over the dam and back down the other side, maybe stop at Gorda’s. On the way back, she could stop at Mrs. Fey’s again and pony Ginny home with her. She couldn’t wait to see the horses.
But when she got to the Fey house, it was empty and quiet. Out back in the huge pastures, she found Scarlet, alone, chowing down on grass.
Scarlet lifted her head and Deirdre thought she saw a flicker of softness in the mare’s eyes. She took a step towards Deirdre, but then a fly landed on her muzzle, and she shook her head, snorted, and plunged her head down into the grass again. Same old Scarlet. Deirdre wiped away a few tears, then ran her hands all over Scarlet’s body checking for injuries, even though she knew, because Mrs. Fey had said so, that the horses were unharmed.
Her barrel saddle was leaning against a fencepost, and her bridle was hanging from it. Neither were damaged, just heavily scuffed. Where was Ginny? She must be around somewhere, maybe inside the garden fence at the back of the house, or in another pasture on the other side of the line of trees. She didn’t want to wake the Feys, and she didn’t want to be late to meet Sally—she�
��d never hear the end of it—so she saddled Scarlet awkwardly because of the cast on her arm, mounted up, and headed into the forest.
Scarlet tried to refuse crossing the creek. Deirdre wasn’t buying into it. She sat deep and relaxed, put her calves firmly against Scarlet’s flanks, and watched the mare’s quick breath, shooting fog into the cool morning air like smoke out of a dragon’s nose. Sure enough, her breathing slowed, she dropped her head, and as if she had decided all on her own, crossed the creek calmly and sure-footedly.
The horse-rider mindmeld was ongoing. Whereas she and Bowie had been a team, what Scarlet wanted—or rather, what she needed—was a confident leader. Instead of comparing her to her old horse, she would try to honor Scarlet as an individual, try to see her behavior through clear lenses instead of ones colored by past experience.
As the first hint of a weak, pink sun showed through the still smoky sky over Richardson Peak, she reached the meeting spot. Sally waited there on Giselle.
“Taking the old mare today huh?” Deirdre said.
“Yep. I didn’t want you to eat my dust the first time out, especially with your broken arm.”
Oh please. Deirdre had survived the worst fire in San Diego County history, rescued her kidnapped daughter, been shot at by a drug cartel enforcer, and thought her horses were dead. Keeping up with Sally couldn’t be any harder than that. Could it? She took a swig from her water bottle to ease her suddenly dry throat.
Sally laughed as she cued Giselle forward. “Kidding! I’m not gonna work her hard, not with this bad air quality. Just a leisurely ride to keep ‘em loose. Plus, she’ll teach her some manners.” Sally looked pointedly over the top of her sunglasses at Scarlet.
“So, what’s our route?” Deirdre asked, somewhat relieved.
October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1) Page 39