Barnstorming (Gail Mccarthy Mysteries) (17 page)

The trail continued on through the forest. Sunny walked out, ears forward, looking around. I thought I knew about where we were—but I wasn’t sure. Somewhere on the west side of the ridge. Somewhere I’d never been before.

The trail made a bend and started steadily upward. I looked ahead and checked Sunny abruptly. Now this I did not like. Not fifty feet ahead of me the route became very steep indeed, and in the middle of the most vertical bit, the path made a sharp right-angle turn to dodge a huge redwood stump, and in the midst of the turn was a two foot step up over the root. A slip and a scramble here could have dire results.

Well, damn. I could see daylight shining through the trees above—it looked as though I would be out of the forest if I could get past the steep part. I was dying to know exactly where this trail was taking me. And turning back now would involve going up the equally steep place with the deep ground that Sunny had slithered down. I was not anxious to try scrambling up through the loose dirt. But I was not keen on what I saw ahead either.

Sunny relaxed and cocked a hind leg as I stared at the trail, wondering what I ought to do. My steady mount was willing to sit here all day, while I pondered, for which I was profoundly grateful.

Thick tangles of blackberry vines banked either side of the trail, but after a minute I noticed that the vegetation was trampled and beaten down to my left. I studied this for a moment. It looked as though some horses had gone this way. In another moment I was sure that other horsemen had elected an alternate route up the hill, which avoided the right-angle turn and the step up. There wasn’t much of a trail, just the battered streak through the foliage, but I was instantly sure that was the way to go.

“Come on, Sunny.” I clucked, and reined my little yellow horse to the left. He obediently plowed through the brambles and we followed the route up and over the crest with no trouble. In a minute we emerged through the shrubbery onto an old roadbed. Aha. Now I knew where we were.

I reined Sunny to the right. “This is that old road that runs behind the high school,” I said out loud. “It’ll take us right where we need to go.”

Somehow the sound of my voice did not seem cheering, as I had imagined it would. I felt quite cheerful, having solved my current dilemma, but the words echoed oddly in the empty woods. I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly reminded of the shooter. Nothing to be seen, just sunlight laying a golden swath across the yellow dried grass of autumn, which choked the roadbed. Tangles of poison oak, coyote brush, and blackberry brambles fringed the verges.

I followed the roadbed along the base of the ridge, headed in the direction of home. Ahead of me a row of ancient cypress trees marked some old human doings. The trees would not have grown in a row like this naturally. The cypress had a dark and somber look.

I had never been this way before, though I had noticed the roadbed in the past and wondered where it went. It suddenly struck me that the bowl-like depression ahead of me, skirted by the row of cypress on one side, was an old reservoir. It lay at the base of the ridge, and when riding the ridge trail in the spring, I always heard frogs peeping down here and had wondered where the water was. Voilà. Now I knew.

This pleased me in a small way; I remained constantly interested in the little details of the ridge and its flora, fauna, and topography. Sunny paced quietly through the late morning sunshine into the shadows of the cypress trees, following the road which led past the base of the trees and along what was once the dike of a reservoir. I peered down at a small pond of dark water at the bottom of the deep hollow. Still some water there, even in October. It must have been an important water source, long ago. There seemed to be a little trail leading down to the pool. I looked harder. Someone was there. Someone in jeans and a denim jacket, apparently taking a nap down near the water.

The person lay face down in a patch of dried grass. My first thought was that it was one of the many street people who ranged Santa Cruz County. I halted Sunny and stared. There was something odd about this. My impulse was to ride on by and stay out of trouble, but I stifled it. I started Sunny down the faint trail that led to the pond.

Sunny walked very slowly; he would have preferred to keep on in the direction of home. After we had gone halfway down the trail I halted him again. The figure hadn’t moved. But surely it was female, with a long blond braid.

And a dozen thoughts went crashing through my mind. Sheryl. Sheryl’s horse found riderless, wearing a saddle; the shooter. Oh my God. This was Sheryl; I was sure of it.

“Sheryl!” I shouted, hoping against hope that she was just taking a nap.

The figure did not move, and I kicked Sunny forward. We half walked, half trotted down the slope to the pool, and I heaved myself off the horse and wrapped his reins around a branch.

“Sheryl!” I said again as I approached her.

No doubt in my mind that this was Sheryl. The form, the clothes, the long blond braid. Even as I reached her and put a hand on the denim of her jacket, a part of my mind noted that the fabric was damp and cold. I shook her gently and my hand jerked back in shock. The body was stiff. She had been dead awhile.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to wrestle the cold, stiff form over enough to see the face, to be sure. It was Sheryl, all right. I shivered and lowered her back into her original position. My head swam and I sat down on the ground. No need to check to be sure if she was dead. I still could not see what had caused her demise, but I wasn’t game to look. This dark little hollow, with its pool of black, brackish water, struck me as ominous and full of shadows that I did not like. I could not help Sheryl. I was getting out of here.

Shoving myself to my feet, I ignored my whirling brain and stepped quickly up to Sunny, untied him, and climbed back on. I did not care if my cell phone would work from here or not. I was going home first. Then I’d call. No damn way was I waiting here in this spot beside that body for help, I didn’t care what protocol demanded. I could not help Sheryl and I wanted out of this place.

Kicking Sunny up to the trot, I zipped up the little trail and onto the roadbed. Here I let him take the lope. We checked briefly to clamber over a few downed tree trunks and then loped the rest of the way through the lower skirts of the Five Thousand Eucalyptus Forest, until we reached the trail that led past the house of the white dog. The dog did not appear today and I loped through the acacia trees and on over the hill to the back lot of Red Barn Stable. I didn’t spare a glance to see who was or wasn’t visible there. I was going home.

I slowed Sunny to the walk as we approached the road, and tried to focus through my seething thoughts. My God. Sheryl was dead. I could not escape the dread that she had been shot, just like Jane. What in the hell was happening here?

The traffic cleared and we crossed; I let Sunny trot up the last hill and through my gate. A quick glance told me that Blue and Mac weren’t back yet; I gave thanks for that. I took the time to unsaddle Sunny and turn him back out in his corral before I went up to the house and picked up the phone. Taking a deep breath, I dialed Jeri Ward’s cell.

Jeri answered on the second ring, sounding somewhat frazzled—for Jeri. “Ward here.”

“Jeri, it’s Gail. I found another body in the woods. It’s Sheryl Silverman.”

“What? Where? Are you there now?” Intensity fairly crackled in Jeri’s voice.

“No, I’m home.”

“What? Are you sure she’s dead? Where is she?”

“She’s dead. I’m pretty sure she’s been dead all night.” I swallowed. “I can show you where she is. You know the guy with the white dog that chased us yesterday? Meet me at the end of his driveway.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I hung up the phone and walked out to my truck. Blue and Mac were still not back. Good. That made things easier. I got in the truck and headed off down the drive. It didn’t take me five minutes to reach the driveway of the white dog, but Jeri was there before me.

I parked my truck and climbed into her car. Neither of us wasted any words.

“Drive up here, until you get to the place where the trail crosses the driveway,” I told her.

“Okay. How far do we have to walk after that?”

“Not far. About a quarter mile. The body is down by an old reservoir.”

“How did you happen to find it?”

“Riding in the woods. I took a new trail. Well, new to me. I’d never been that way before. Never seen this pond in my life. But that’s where I found her.”

“Shot?” Jeri’s tone was terse.

“I don’t know. She was face down, stiff and cold. I think she’d been there all night. I only moved her enough to be sure about that. I didn’t roll her over. I don’t know what killed her. It wasn’t obvious.”

By this time we’d reached the trail, and Jeri parked the sheriff’s sedan on the side of the driveway. “Hope this makes him worry,” she snapped as we climbed out of the car, looking over her shoulder at the light blue house that was clearly visible at the end of the drive.

“Who? The white dog guy?”

“Yeah, him. Bill Waters.” Jeri was behind me as I led off along the trail, headed uphill. I could hear her voice clearly. “I went to talk to him yesterday. He was pretty belligerent. Full of crap about how the horses had no right to be coming through here. The trail is actually on the neighbor’s property, and that neighbor is fine with it, but this guy is just really hostile. I’m not sure why.”

“Well,” I said, huffing a little as I marched steadily uphill as quickly as I could. “That house is the closest dwelling to where this body is located. And I’m willing to bet she was riding a horse when she arrived at the pond. Maybe you should call on the guy again, seeing as how he’s so hostile to horse people. See if he has a twenty-two pistol or rifle.”

“Why are you sure she was horseback?”

“She was a rider, not a hiker, as far as I know. And I saw Jonah Wakefield this morning. He told me he’d found her mare grazing outside the back gate. He was leading the mare around, said he was looking for Sheryl.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Yeah. Brandon Carter and the hiker with the yellow Lab. Brandon says that guy hikes up here a lot.”

“Brandon, huh?” Jeri sounded out of breath, too.

We half jogged on up the hill, keeping a brisk pace. Both of us were quiet now, conserving our breath for hiking. We were in the skirts of the eucalyptus forest. I turned right off the trail onto the old roadbed. Ahead of me I could see the dark tops of the cypress trees that lined the lower edge of the reservoir.

“It’s there,” I said, pointing the trees out to Jeri.

She nodded; we both kept marching on. It was almost noon and sunlight dappled the ground around us; the air was warm. I was starting to sweat. Still, I shivered as we reached the row of cypress. The depression that held the pond was on our left. I clambered over a couple of downed tree trunks, almost trotting, and reached the faint path that led down to the brackish pool of water. The denim-clad figure was there, lying as I had left her. I halted.

Jeri moved past me instantly, scrambling quickly down the hill, ignoring the brambles and poison oak that choked the trail. I stayed where I was. I wanted no more close-up views of dead bodies.

Jeri reached the corpse and surveyed it carefully. She touched the hand for a second and then, very carefully, and with some effort, rolled the body halfway over and peered at it. Then she lowered it again. For a second she stayed frozen, her eyes sweeping the area, and then she headed back up the hill to me.

“Did you ride your horse down here?” she asked me.

“Yes. I tied him to that tree.” And I pointed. “I looked at the body very much as you did, but I didn’t roll her over that far. Was she shot?” I asked.

“Just like the other one,” Jeri said tersely. “We’ve got a problem. I’m calling the crime-scene guys now.” She was digging her cell phone out of her pocket as she spoke.

“I need to go home,” I said, turning around. “You can find me later, all right?”

Jeri nodded; I was already moving swiftly up the trail. I had no wish to meet up with the crime-scene guys. I wanted to go home.

Fifteen minutes later I was there, unimpeded. I shut my front gate behind me, hoping against hope that it might keep trouble from my door. But I knew better. Jeri would be back, wanting my statement. And there was no way around it, we already had trouble, here in my little part of the hills. These two shootings were almost certainly connected. One woman shot out riding might have been an accident. Two women, shot in exactly the same way, riding in the same area, could not possibly be by chance. Someone had wanted them dead.

I shivered as I drove up the hill. Blue’s truck was parked in its familiar place; I wondered how exactly to explain this new development to Mac. As it turned out, I didn’t have to.

Mac and Blue were out in the yard, playing with a very small black dog that I had never seen before. Mac turned a joyful face to me as I climbed out of my pickup.

“Look, Mama, we got a new dog!”

“So I see,” I said, staring at the leaping little creature. “Um, what is it?”

“We don’t know,” Mac said proudly. “Someone was giving them away at the grocery store. They said she’s part Chihuahua, part terrier, part who knows.”