“What are they doing with that one?” I asked.
“They always put the lead sheep to the center so that the others will run toward her when they’re set loose.”
The lead sheep was finally in position, and two cowboys led a second sheep from the trailer. They held it still while a third man lifted a skinny seven-year-old wearing pink cowboy boots and matching helmet onto its back. The girl lay flat, clutching with arms and legs like a spindly spider clinging to an overinflated woolly beach ball. The whistle blew, the cowboys let loose, and the sheep bolted across the arena. Within seconds, the girl on top began listing to one side, but she hung on gamely until she slipped almost underneath the round belly. A blast of a horn marked eight seconds, and the girl released her death grip and fell, tumbling through the dirt like Wile E. Coyote falling from an Acme rocket.
We couldn’t help laughing. Kid followed kid with varying levels of success. Not very many made it to the eight-second mark, but each hit the dirt with spectacular panache. At the end, the winner was presented with a shiny gold trophy almost as tall as herself, and the disgruntled sheep were led away.
This was the signal for the crowd to reshuffle itself, and at least a third of the spectators rose. A rodeo audience is in constant motion. Before, during, and after events, people walk back and forth carrying drinks and snacks, stopping to talk with friends. Sometimes it seemed as though the fast-paced and often dangerous events taking place in the ring were merely coincidental.
“I need a break, and I’ll get us a couple of beers on the way back,” I said. “Save our seats?”
“Sure thing,” he agreed.
I stood in a long line to get our beers and spent the time looking up and down the row of booths for a sight of Kyla. I’d half expected to see her in the bleachers, although I was not really surprised that she hadn’t caught up with us. Eventually, I reached the front of the line, paid and walked off carrying two cans of Shiner Bock, and on impulse decided to go the long way around the stands to look for her. Away from the lights of the arena and the commotion around the animal pens, the darkness seemed darker, and the shouts from the crowd and the amplified voice of the rodeo announcer seemed louder. I passed a drunken couple returning from what I guessed was a rendezvous behind the porta-potties. They were staggering and giggling, holding on to each other to keep upright. Ah, young love, I thought, somewhat revolted. How desperate—or horny—would you have to be to make out behind toilets? Beyond them, I could see no one and suddenly walking the long way around didn’t seem very smart. I hesitated beside one of the supports, trying to tell myself that this was Sand Creek, Texas, and I was perfectly safe on the fairgrounds. Somehow, though, my feet didn’t want to walk any farther.
I had just decided to go back, when I saw a movement.
Twenty feet away, someone else stood in the darkness beneath the bleachers. The sudden flare of a lighter was followed by a puff of smoke rising into the air, a wisp that floated against the lights streaming through the benches and then was gone. Probably some kid sneaking a cigarette away from the eyes of his parents, I thought, relaxing a little. But at that moment, another figure appeared around the corner. This time, I could see the silhouette of a cowboy hat and see the vague outline of a pale shirt. The second figure joined the first in the shadows.
My teacher instincts kicked into high gear and without thinking, I slipped a little closer, just to the empty space beside the next set of supports. Now I was near enough to see the newcomer pass something to the first man and receive something else in return. I stiffened in indignation. Not a kid sneaking a smoke after all but a drug deal. In Sand Creek. Colin had been right, and I felt outraged. As I watched, the second man looked over his shoulder furtively, then hurried away, leaving the first man to slip back into the shadows like the slimy little snake he was. I decided I would go and find Colin, who was going to be very interested in drug deals going on literally under his … well, under his nose.
However, as I was turning back, Carl Cress and his massive belly hove into view like an Exxon tanker on a rolling sea. I hesitated, then stepped behind the pillar again, partly because I didn’t want to talk to Carl and partly because I thought the drug dealer might take fright and set up elsewhere. I wanted to see where he would go before I tattled on him for all I was worth.
To my surprise, Carl walked purposely toward the dealer and made a demanding gesture. After a brief hesitation, the dealer reluctantly stepped forward into the light, and I gave a gasp. I couldn’t see his face clearly but I recognized the skinny shoulders and the slouch. Eddy Cranny, wife beater and drug dealer. That son of a …
I wasn’t the only one who was furious at Eddy. Carl pounced on him like a dog owner who’d caught his least favorite mutt killing a chicken. I wished I could hear what they were saying but the crowd and the announcer were sufficient to drown out even a shouting match. Deciding to inch a little closer, I moved from one pillar to the next until I was close enough to see the light reflecting off Carl’s belt buckle. Which wasn’t as close as it sounds since, on a clear night, that buckle was large enough to be visible from space. Still, I was close enough to know that Carl and Eddy were having a major argument. Eddy crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head, refusing something or other. Carl puffed up like an angry rooster and threw his arms wide, then waved one long finger in front of Eddy’s nose. Eddy shook his head stubbornly, and without warning Carl punched him in the face.
Eddy’s head snapped back, and he went over backward, falling heavily onto the turf, both hands clutching his nose. Even from my hiding place, I could see blood running between his fingers. Carl reached after him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. He slapped Eddy twice, the second time hard enough to knock the smaller man off his feet again. Eddy moved his arms protectively over his head while Carl shook him like a terrier shaking a rat.
All this happened in a matter of seconds, leaving me frozen and unable to process what I was seeing. In the next instant, I found myself running forward, a beer can clutched in each hand, and not at all sure what I thought I was going to do. There was no way I was big enough or stupid enough to try to break up a fight, but on the other hand I could hardly let Carl beat Eddy to a pulp, whether he deserved it or not.
“Hey! Stop!” I shouted, always eloquent under pressure.
Between the roar of the crowd and the amplified patter from the announcers, my voice was hardly audible. Nevertheless, Carl froze in mid-slap, head whipping from side to side looking for but not seeing where my voice had come from. As I drew closer, he spotted me and visibly relaxed. He also did not let go of Eddy, who was more or less hanging limply between his giant meaty hands. It was not exactly flattering.
“This is none of your business,” he informed me. “It’s between me and Eddy. Now git!”
I held my ground. “It’s between you, Eddy, and Eddy’s attorney if Eddy decides to press assault charges. I’d be called as a witness, and as far as I can tell, not only did you hit him first, Eddy hasn’t even defended himself. I think you’re looking at jail time, Carl.”
I didn’t know if this was true or not, but I was pretty sure Carl’s already florid face was turning the color of Rudolph’s nose. He released Eddy’s shirtfront, but kept an iron grip on Eddy’s shoulder, sausage-size fingers digging into the meager muscle. Eddy winced under the pressure, eyes darting from Carl to me as though not sure who posed the biggest threat, an attitude that puzzled me. I’d broken up fights between testosterone poisoned boys at school before and had encountered something similar. Usually the smaller boy was worried that the bully would wreak vengeance on him later for any official punishment, a fear that outweighed the pain of whatever abuse he was getting at the moment. Seeing the same thing in supposedly grown men was disturbing and kind of pathetic. And a little scary. I’m tall, which I use to great advantage when dealing with the undesirable element at school, but Carl Cress topped me by at least six inches and probably a hundred pounds. Ther
e was no way I was going to be able to intimidate him.
Nevertheless, I lifted my eyebrow and used my best teacher voice, the voice that had once quelled a dozen cheerleaders in a full-out Justin Bieber frenzy. “Let him go, Carl, or I’ll call the police.”
I saw his lips curl into a cruel sneer and remembered too late that he was pals with Sheriff Bob. So I added, “And I’ll scream.”
He dropped Eddy like a used tissue. “This is none of your business,” he repeated.
I stared coldly at Carl, reminded strongly of the black malevolent stares of the Brahman bulls Kyla and I had seen earlier in the day. “For better or worse, Eddy’s a Shore now, which makes it my business. And I’m telling you to leave him alone.”
Hopefully Eddy wouldn’t be a Shore for long, I thought to myself, but as long as he was married to Ruby June we could hardly let someone like Carl Cress beat the snot out of him.
The three of us stared at one another for a long moment. Above us, the stands had grown relatively quiet, the rodeo obviously between events, patrons moving about more than usual to stock up on beer and peanuts and fried things on sticks. Eddy met my eyes with a look I would be unable to forget, an odd pathetic gaze, half grateful, half pleading. Then he darted off, leaving me alone with a very large and very angry Carl Cress.
I lifted the beer cans I still clutched in a death grip and announced, “I’ll be getting back to my friends.”
I walked forward, moving within a couple of feet of the belly with its gleaming buckle and feeling Carl’s angry eyes on the back of my neck as I passed. I suppressed a shiver and managed to keep a sedate and hopefully nonchalant pace until I rounded the corner. Then, I allowed myself to bolt back to the stands where Colin waited. I’d never been so glad to see anyone, I thought, taking in his broad shoulders and lean hard muscles. Even Carl Cress would hesitate before taking on Colin. I slid very close to him on the bench, feeling much safer.
Colin took the beer I handed him with a word of thanks and a questioning look.
“Long line?” he asked, popping the top.
Beer spewed like a geyser at Yellowstone, catching him in the chin and frothing over his hand in an icy golden flow. With a yelp, he leaped to his feet trying to stop it from drenching his clothes.
I jumped up, too, clapping a hand over my mouth. It hadn’t occurred to me that breaking up a fight while holding a can of beer was likely to shake it up a bit. My mind worked quickly and decided there was no way for him to know it was my fault. After all, the vendor might have handed it to me like that. I went for a look of appalled innocence, although I wasn’t entirely successful at preventing my shoulders from shaking.
Colin just stared at me and then shook his head. “I know you’re laughing, and I know this is somehow your fault, so you might as well tell,” he said.
It was hell dating a detective.
“You know, the smell of beer is really sexy,” I said in my best sultry voice.
“And trust me, I’ll be reminding you that you said that a little later on. Now, what did you do?” He was trying to look stern but not pulling it off very well. His lips kept wanting to twitch into a grin.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, snuggling up to his dry side. Actually, on him the smell of beer-soaked denim wasn’t at all bad, I thought. I held out my can. “Would you open my beer for me?” I asked.
The low rumble in his throat would have made a Doberman proud. In the ring below, another bull exploded from the pen and hurled its rider through the air in one graceful arc. The rodeo clowns ran to distract it before it could complete its mission of stomping the prone figure to death, and the cowboy leaped to safety with an impressive burst of speed. The portion of the crowd that was actually watching erupted into wild cheers, and Colin put his damp arm around my shoulders. Without thinking, I lifted my face for a kiss and instantly forgot about Eddy and Carl. And Alan.
* * *
We returned alone to the ranch house after the last bull riding event, having seen no sign of Kyla. My phone, which showed a single flickering signal bar, contained a text message from her saying she had gone dancing. I did not need to ask with whom, although I wondered what effect it would have on Uncle Kel’s blood pressure if and when he found out.
As we walked in the door, shouts of “About time!” and “It’s Stinkalyn!” greeted us, a dead giveaway that my brothers had arrived while we were gone.
Two years younger than I and apparently incapable of maturing beyond the age of fourteen, Sam and Will were fraternal twins, their only identical feature being the ability to yank my chain. Sam, the older by about six minutes, had the Shore looks through and through—tall, rangy, and dark haired. Will, on the other hand, most unfairly took after our petite French mother, from his short compact frame to his auburn hair, cropped close to hide the curls. If there was any justice in the world, those looks should have been mine. Both brothers had grown up to be surprisingly successful, something I would never have predicted for them when we were kids. In fact, back then I would have said that their reaching adulthood was something of a long shot. However, Sam was now an architect living in San Jose, married to his high school sweetheart who was expecting their first child, and earning recognition and awards in his field. Will was some sort of international investment banker who spent part of his time traveling back and forth to Europe and the other part raking up the enormous piles of cash his employers heaved at him.
Now, Sam gave me a hug while Will slapped me lightly on the back of my head. With a sigh, I introduced them to Colin, watching with some concern while they did the manly handshaking thing, everybody squeezing just a little too hard. I also took note of the narrowed glances they gave Colin, looking him over with suspicion. Neither of my brothers had liked my ex-husband, and being right about that made them insufferable. I hadn’t told them that I had started dating again, and no one except Aunt Elaine had known in advance that I was bringing Colin to the reunion. Now Will sniffed a little too audibly to make sure I knew he could smell beer on my boyfriend, while Sam began asking the kind of questions usually uttered by overprotective Victorian fathers or particularly zealous members of the paparazzi. I glared at them from behind Colin’s shoulder.
Some of my relatives gathered to watch, Aunt Gladys joining us with a bowl of popcorn and holding it out so the idle bystanders could grab a handful. And why not? As entertainment, it didn’t get much better than this. Hardened criminals wanted for heinous acts of violence hardly got this type of grilling. What did Colin do for a living? Where did he grow up? Where did he go to school? Colin, however, just smiled pleasantly and answered in a light amused tone.
Uncle Kel stiffened. “Detective? I didn’t hear that earlier. Maybe you can answer this, then. Why aren’t the cops interested in helping me find my daughter?”
Colin blinked. “I was under the impression that she’s only been gone a few hours, sir, and that she’s an adult.”
“What difference does that make? You think giving a kidnapper a head start is a good idea?”
We all looked at Kel with some concern. Color was already rising in his face, a deep anger obvious just below the barely controlled words. What in the world was going on with him?
Colin chose to address the issue with logic. “Do you have any reason to think that she’s been kidnapped?”
“Goddamn it, I know she has! That son of a bitch she’s married to has taken her somewhere.”
“But Kel,” I protested. “I saw Eddy at the rodeo. Ruby June wasn’t with him.”
He whipped around on me, eyes wild. “Where? Where was he? Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
At the sound of her husband’s rising voice, Aunt Elaine materialized from somewhere in the back of the house. She laid a hand on his arm. “Honey, the rodeo is over, Eddy’s not there anymore, and Ruby June is going to walk back in here tomorrow for Thanksgiving supper and wonder what you were fussing about. Now, come on. You said you’d play Hearts with Scotty and Gladys and me. Let’s go
and let the kids have a chance to catch up with each other.”
We watched as she herded him into the kitchen, followed closely and somewhat reluctantly by Gladys and Scotty.
Scotty was already protesting. “Hearts? I can’t even remember how to play that. What about poker?”
“Hearts,” answered Gladys firmly.
The rest of us stood silent, processing what had just happened. My mind raced. Why in the world was Kel so worried about Ruby June, and what else was going on to make him so volatile? This was not the steady, reasonable, and almost placid man that I remembered from my teenage summers on this ranch. Maybe Colin was right to be concerned about his mental state.
After a moment, Will turned to Colin and asked, “So you’re a cop, huh? You ever shoot anyone?”
“Not yet,” answered Colin with a pointed look at him.
This produced a burst of appreciative laughter, and I gave a sigh of relief. The mysterious man-grilling was over, and Colin had passed.
Sam grinned. “It’s still early. Who wants to go varmint hunting?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the red ranch truck bounced over uneven roads, outraged shock absorbers squeaking in protest, wheels throwing a plume of white dust into the darkness behind us. Overhead, the stars were brilliant crystals in the vast black pool of the sky, and the moon, almost full, cast its silvery light over the rolling fields, so bright that the single live oak in the center of a field cast a perfect shadow onto the surrounding grass. The white caliche turned the road into a pale ribbon undulating through mysterious turns and twists, appearing on hillcrest, then vanishing over a ridge. The breeze in our faces was cold and smelled of dry grass, cattle, and cedar. Standing in the bed of the truck, I clung to the metal bars of the rear window guard, alternately laughing and pounding on the roof of the cab for the driver, my brother Sam, to slow down. Beside me, Colin gripped the guard with one hand, but gamely held a spotlight high with the other, sweeping the brilliant light back and forth in front of the truck. From inside the truck, Sam, his wife Christy, and my other brother Will shouted conflicting suggestions about where to shine the beam.
Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) Page 6