Ghostwriters In The Sky

by Anne R. Allen

  “Mr. Fowler, what happened?” I said as my wine-fuddled brain tried to make sense of things. “Did Santiago do that to you?”

  Duncan shook his head.

  “No. It was Walker.” His eyes were glazed and his face and hands sticky with blood.

  “Where is Walker?” Marva said.

  “Gone. But not before I got off a few rounds.” Duncan gave a surreal chuckle. “I ought to be able to shoot out the lights of my own my car. He was stealing it. Let him try to avoid the cops driving with one headlight.”

  Marva grabbed a dishtowel and ran it under the kitchen tap.

  “Duncan, how many times have I told you? That man has no conscience. He’d shoot your grandmother in her bed and call it upholding the Second Amendment.”

  She examined Duncan’s face and turned to Donna.

  “Could you ask your guy to drop the cutlery? Duncan’s not going to hurt anybody now.” She dabbed at Duncan’s wound with the towel. “Camilla, why don’t you look for a working phone to call the Sheriff?””

  “No!” said Santiago, “No policia!”

  Duncan groaned as Santiago tightened his grip on his arm.

  “The land line is out. Walker cut the cable. Took my cell. He didn’t want me calling for help.”

  Marva sighed.

  “Donna, tell Pancho Villa here that the crisis is over, okay? He can let Duncan go, for goodness’ sake. He’s not going to hurt anybody else tonight. Look at him.”

  Duncan whimpered as Marva tried to clean his face.

  “No!” Santiago threatened Marva with the knife.

  “What the hell is wrong with this guy?” Marva said.

  Santiago spoke to Donna in short, whispery bursts.

  Her face went pale. “No, Santiago. No…”

  The boy let go of Duncan, who ran to the sink to wash the blood from his hands.

  But Donna looked as if she might cry as Santiago continued to brandish the knife and murmur to her. She answered him in hesitant Spanish, then turned to Duncan.

  “I hope you can fly that helicopter. He wants us to go to Mexico.”

  “Mexico? Why does he want to go to Mexico?” Marva looked up from tending to Duncan’s injury. “Is this a new trend? Reverse wetbacks?”

  My elation at being rescued was fading fast.

  Donna turned pale as she listened to the young man’s broken Spanish.

  “He doesn’t want to go to prison,” she said in a wavery, childish voice. “He…like, killed Toby. He thought Miguel would let him join the Viboras if he did.”

  Her face regained her jaded-teenager pose for a moment as she listened to Santiago’s hesitant words.

  “He thought that since Miguel was my cousin, Miguel would, like, make me hook up with him if he was in the gang.”

  She gave a sarcastic eye roll before a grunt from Santiago brought the fear back.

  “Santiago killed Toby?” I tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. That must have been the news Silas heard before he left. The boy must have confessed to Rick—then escaped somehow.

  Santiago spoke with Donna again, his tone agitated and intense. Whatever he was saying seemed to upset Donna even more.

  Finally she looked at me, her voice shaky.

  “I guess Rick figured out he did it. But obviously, he didn’t want Rick to call the Sheriff, so he pulled out his knife and threatened to commit suicide if they didn't make me go to Mexico with him. He tried to get on Jonathan Kahn’s show to—I don’t know—propose to me or something.”

  Her eyes filled with horror as Santiago spoke some more.

  “Oh my God, then I guess I totally messed everything up by calling the Rancho for help after Marva rescued me. Because then he knew where I was…”

  She stopped and took a deep breath.

  “Look, I’m drunk and his Spanish sucks, but I think maybe he, like, set the Hacienda on fire. He says he locked them all in something he calls a hole in the wall: Rick, Alberto and Miguel. And started a fire in the kitchen…”

  The Hole in the Wall room was right across from the kitchen. I sure hoped she’d understood wrong.

  Santiago grunted something at Donna and grabbed her wrist. He picked up the knife again and pointed it at Duncan.

  Donna’s voice was squeaky now.

  “Come on, Duncan, we have to do what he says or he’ll kill us, too. You do know how to fly that thing, don’t you?”

  Duncan nodded slowly.

  “Walker’s going to pay for this.” He dabbed at his wound. “He just left me here alone with the mess. Just because I wanted to call the Sheriff. And we had reservations for Tosca at the Sydney Opera on Wednesday!”

  Santiago waved the knife as he spoke to Donna again, pulling her toward the outside door.

  “Don’t call the Sheriff or he’ll kill both of us!” Donna said. “He’s all, ‘if he can’t have me, nobody can.’ So stand where he can see you.” I heard her whimper as Santiago shoved her on the path that led to the helipad.

  Marva and I stood in silence at the open door, watching the three of them parade down the path.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Marva said. “Damn. Maybe the kid did set the old place on fire. The Rancho Grande is only over on the next hill.”

  I smelled fire all right.

  “We’ve got to figure out how to get help. If they’re locked in the Hole in the Wall—nobody will find them! It has a hidden door.” I couldn't bear to think of how helpless the men would be in there.

  “I know where the key to that room is hidden.” Marva said in a matter of fact voice. “I’m going to the Rancho.”

  “In your car? That will take forever with punctured tires, if it makes it at all. They’ll be dead by then…” I stopped as my voice was drowned out by the roar of the helicopter engine starting up.

  “Like I said, Duncan has horses,” Marva shouted. “Cross-country is the fastest route, anyway.” She reached in her bag and tossed me her car keys. “Here, good luck trying to get that car to move.”

  “A horse?” I stared at the grinning Marva with shock. “You’re going to ride a strange horse over the mountains in the dark? Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Wise? Of course it’s not wise. Especially since the place is bound to be full of Sheriff’s deputies, and I’ve got twenty thousand dollars in ill-gotten cash on me, but I’m pie-faced drunk, so I’m not likely to do anything wise, am I?”

  I watched Marva run out into the night. I could see a plume of dark smoke coming from across the canyon.

  On the helipad, the chopper began to rise, a dark shadow on the moonlit sky.

  I said a little prayer for them all.

  And for myself.

  Chapter 58—The Good, the Bad, and the Dentally-Challenged

  I managed to get Marva's car’s motor running after a few tries. It lurched a few feet and died again.

  I realized I was going to have to walk all the way down the mountain.

  In the dark.

  In clown shoes.

  I set out along the dirt road, flanked by scrub oak and chaparral. With every step, I prayed that Marva would make it to the Rancho Grande on time.

  I couldn’t read my watch in the dark, but I estimated I’d been walking more than two hours when I finally saw a beam of light through the gnarled old oaks. My feet felt as if they were encased in cement and my whole body ached, but I trudged toward it, praying I was seeing headlights shining from the main road.

  The light quickly grew brighter, and I realized it was coming toward me: a vehicle with one light. My head started to pound. Walker Montgomery. In the Lexus with a shot-out headlight. Probably coming back to pick up Duncan after having punished him with temporary abandonment.

  I ran back to a stand of oaks I’d just passed. Probably covered with poison oak, but it would be a place to hide. But as I ran, the toe of one of the huge Nikes caught on something: a big tree root. I almost regained my balance for a moment as the car roared closer. r />
  Then I fell forward—into dusty, rocky dark.

  ~

  I have no idea how long I lay unconscious, face down in the dirt.

  The first thing that made its way into my consciousness was an unpleasant smell coming from somewhere above my right cheek. My left cheek, pressing against the dust, felt raw and sore.

  “She’s breathing!” said a familiar voice.

  I managed to get an eyelid open, and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a familiar, gap-toothed smile.

  My dentally-challenged biker friend.

  His face was illuminated by the blue light from the cell phone he held to his ear.

  “How soon can you get an ambulance up here?” he said into the phone. “Looks like she took a bad fall.”

  My palms hurt. So did my head. I tried to roll over. Something covered me—heavy and smelling like leather.

  “I’m okay,” I tried to say. “The Rancho Grande. There are people locked in there. It’s on fire.”

  “She’s wasted or something,” the biker said into the phone. “She don’t remember nuthin'.” He clicked off the phone and laughed. “County Fire has everything under control now. What did you do, fall off that horse?” He leaned down and peered into my eyes.

  “I’m okay. I just tripped. These stupid shoes…”

  I tried to turn over again.

  “Hold it! My brother says you’re not supposed to move. You got a head injury, so we gotta wait for the paramedics. Falling off a horse can mess you up bigtime. You gotta lay still.”

  There was dirt in my mouth. I felt like throwing up. I searched my brain for words.

  “How did you find me here?”

  “That crazy old lady, Mitzi—she called my brother Daryl earlier tonight from the Saloon, talking about how Walker Montgomery and some airhead took your car keys. Daryl found Mitzi, but not you, and he didn’t have the manpower, so I volunteered to check out the Fowler ranch. It’s kind of an open secret around here that Duncan Fowler and Walker Montgomery are a twosome.”

  He adjusted the leather jacket that covered me, and patted my back as if he were soothing an infant. My head felt wooly and his voice seemed to drift away. I almost could have gone to sleep if it weren’t for the sound of that siren…

  Chapter 59—A Hearty ‘Hi-Yo Silver! ’

  I woke on a hard bed in a noisy room that smelled of medicine and flowers.

  “Hello, darling.” Plantagenet stood above me with a huge bouquet of roses. Silas loomed behind him.

  “Our cowgirl is awake,” said Silas.

  I could see Gabriella Moore and Mitzi Boggs Bailey next to him. Mrs. Boggs Bailey was carrying a bouquet, too.

  “Are you all right?” she said, giving me a big smile.

  But I couldn’t answer—or even smile back. My head felt unattached to my body and my mouth wouldn’t move right.

  “Don’t try to talk. You’re on some heavy-duty meds,” said Plantagenet

  “Daryl Sorengaard sent his brother Dirk to get you on his motorcycle, because I called 911,” said Mrs. Boggs Bailey. “Daryl answers the phone when I push the button for 911. But only when I use my cell phone.”

  “A little system we worked out with Officer Sorengaard to keep the 911 line from getting jammed,” Gabriella said with a grin. “I set up a button on her phone that goes to the sheriff’s substation in Solvang instead of the County 911 dispatch number.”

  “Alberto—and the others? They’re okay?” I tried to sit up.

  “Don’t.” Plant put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got a mild concussion. But they say you’re in amazing shape considering you fell off that horse.”

  “I didn’t fall off a horse. I tripped...”

  Then I realized—Marva must have made it. She got to the ranch on her borrowed horse and saved people from the fire. They thought it was me.

  “Nobody’s upset you stole that mare,” said Gabriella. “They found her in a pasture near Duncan’s ranch—she’s just fine.”

  “The Rancho. The fire…”

  “Don’t worry about my old place,” Gabriella gave a resigned laugh. “The kitchen’s in bad shape, and there’s a lot of smoke damage in the rest of the service wing, but the Rancho has survived worse. The insurance will cover it. The important thing is that nobody got hurt.”

  “Nobody?”

  Gabriella squeezed my hand.

  “Don’t worry hon. Your sweetie is just fine. Rick’s quite the hero, you know—getting Santiago to confess to killing Toby, then keeping the kid from killing himself.”

  So if Rick escaped, where was he?

  “I rode a horse, too,” said Mrs. Boggs Bailey. “Jonathan Kahn and me got arrested by the Indians.”

  “Jonathan? Is he here? Don’t let him take any pictures…”

  I pushed through my semi-conscious fog and tried to reach up to my bandaged face. I felt something on my cheek, and something else on my forehead.

  “Darling—” Plant looked pained. “I’m afraid Jonathan did get some video. He was on his way back to the Rancho early this morning when you were riding off after rescuing everybody.”

  Marva. When Marva was rescuing everybody. She did it.

  “It’s brilliant footage, actually.” Plant grinned. “You look fantastic against the background of the fire. We could practically hear the ‘hearty hi-yo Silver.’ It made all the morning news shows. You looked so fabulous in that black satin trench with all that décolletage, and those adorable jeweled flats. Dr. Manners is a national heroine. Should translate into a lot more readers for the column.”

  I tried to explain. “The Doctor was Marva.”

  Plant squeezed my hand. “Yes, marvelous, darling.”

  I’d have to explain when my mind was working better. Now it was jammed with images: Walker with his wounded arm, and all those guns. Duncan, Donna and Santiago on their way to Mexico in the helicopter.

  “Donna,” I managed to say. “She’s in danger. Santiago took her…”

  Chapter 60—A Cowgirl Hero

  “Santiago isn’t a danger to anybody anymore,” Gabriella said, giving my hand a squeeze.

  “The boy is in custody. He did kidnap Donna—along with Duncan Fowler. Apparently Santiago tried to make Duncan fly the two of them to Mexico in his private helicopter. But Duncan kept circling this area until they ran out of fuel. He made an emergency landing in the parking lot of the Pea Soup Andersen’s. Then he confessed Ernesto’s murder to a whole busload of Japanese tourists. Real dramatic. Kahn and his crew got that on tape, too.”

  “A cowgirl hero, a kidnapping and a celebrity confessing to murder. That should put Kahn’s ratings through the roof,” someone said in a gravely voice.

  The curtains that surrounded my bed parted and Rick appeared.

  “You’re all right!” I tried to reach for him with my bandaged arms.

  “Yes. Captain Rick’s all right,” Mrs. Boggs Bailey said. “Handsome, too.”

  Rick laughed. “I’m fine except for this sandpapery throat from breathing smoke. They’re keeping Alberto for observation, but Miguel and me, we checked out okay.”

  He sat down on the edge of my hospital bed.

  “I can’t say the same for Walker Montgomery. He’s being treated for a gunshot wound. And Fiscalini just told me Luci Silverberg has filed kidnapping charges against Montgomery. Seems he kidnapped her from her hotel room and kept her in the trunk of his car for hours, until she finally jimmied the lock open with one of her boot heels.”

  “I’m sure there’s a great book in it for her.” Gabriella said. “Now we’ve got to check on Donna. When she came in she seemed pretty delirious—talking about being locked in a wine vault with two Manners Doctors.”

  “We need to go, too, darling,” Plant said. “Silas has a memorial service planned for Ernesto this afternoon.”

  Mrs. Boggs Bailey’s phone rang from her tote bag.

  “Sorry, I gotta get this,” she said as she bustled out the do
or after Gabriella. “It might be Jonathan Kahn. He’s gonna put me on his show.”

  Rick shook his head as Mrs. Boggs Bailey left, eagerly talking into her phone.

  “I still hate those things,” he said.

  There was something I had to ask. I fought the drug fog and managed to make the words.

  “Did you really stomp on that man’s iPhone, the way it looked in that video?”

  Rick shrugged.

  “I admit to prying it out of his hand. The stomping was an accident.”

  He gave me an enigmatic look.

  “Did you really let an outlaw biker think he was going to get an evening of “discipline” from you as a reward for your rescue last night?”

  “Not on purpose.” I laughed. “He’s a nice man, actually.” I reached for Rick’s hand. “You’re not hurt? Really?”

  “I’m fine.” He squeezed my hand and leaned down to kiss my good cheek. “The docs say you will be, too. They’re all amazed at how minor your injuries are after falling off a horse.”

  He looked into my eyes.

  “But that wasn’t you, was it? On that horse? The hallway at the Rancho was smoky, but I got a pretty good look at the person who unlocked the door for us. No way are your, um…feet that big.”

  I laughed, looking down at my chest.

  “Right. That was… somebody else. Somebody very brave. But me, I just tripped. An ordinary fall. That’s what I am. Ordinary. A wimp. Not some superhero cowperson.”

  “If cowboys were superheroes, Mexicans would rule the world.” Rick gave me his goofy grin. “We kind of dominate the stoic, itinerant agricultural worker market these days.”

  I thought of poor Santiago, trying to be some kind of cowboy hero, but getting it so wrong.

  “Well, it’s good you could speak his dialect. They say you got Santiago to confess. How did you know it was him?”

  “A bunch of little things he dropped in his conversation—like gang signals that he didn’t get quite right—started me thinking he could have done that graffiti in the bar. It looked like the work of a wannabe. Then when he started asking if I had ‘permission to court’ you, and he told me about trying to get Miguel’s permission to court Donna, I put together what might have been his motive. I didn’t count on him pulling a knife and threatening suicide, though. Things got a little hairy.”