Barnstorming (Gail Mccarthy Mysteries) (22 page)

“I think you’d better do that.”

“Why’s that?” Jeri’s eyes shot to mine.

“Well, do you want to hear what I saw up in the woods?”

“Sure.”

“Ross and Tammi for one thing.” And I recounted what I had seen and heard.

“Now that is very interesting,” Jeri said. “What else did you see?”

“Well, a bobcat and a buck. Also Brandon Carter and that hiker with the yellow Lab. And the bearded guy that rides the dirt bike. Len something. And Buddy.”

“Buddy?” Jeri’s spine stiffened. “The guy with the camper?”

“Yeah, him. He was on a bike. I didn’t see the camper, though I went right past the spot where it used to be parked.”

Jeri gave me a funny look, but said nothing.

“Have you thought about the way pot just keeps coming into this?” I asked her. “First Ross and his pot growing scheme and Jane turning him in, then Jane gets shot, and Juli supposedly buys pot from Ross and is now hiding him, and that dirt bike guy sat down and smoked a joint.”

“You saw this?” Jeri asked.

“More or less,” I said. “Just don’t ask.”

“All right,” Jeri said slowly, “but don’t you do anything dumb.”

“Right,” I said.

“I think I will get a warrant and go search Lazy Valley,” Jeri said, getting to her feet. “I need to talk to Ross Hart. Thanks for the info.” And she walked to the door. With her thumb on the handle, she looked back at me. “Be careful, Gail. I mean it.”

“Right,” I said again. “I will.” I thought, but didn’t say, that I didn’t plan on falling out of the blind and I ought to be just fine. I was pretty sure Jeri would not have seen it the way I did.

At ten the next morning I was on my way to the blind. Blue had taken Mac to the homeschool group, which met on Tuesdays and Fridays. After that Blue was going to a bagpipe lesson and then picking Mac up again. No one would wonder where I was until midafternoon. I had plenty of time for some observation on the ridge.

I did not question why I was so determined to do this. I already knew that Jeri, and no doubt Blue, would think it qualified as dumb. But yesterday had convinced me that I might, indeed, see some things that would provide useful information towards solving this mystery. And I was determined that it would be solved. I wanted to ride my yellow horse on many more pleasant trail rides. I did not want to be forever afraid to be out in the woods.

I drove slowly up the logging road under gray skies, reflecting that I would, indeed, be afraid if I were riding my horse right now. The feeling that someone might be watching me, sighting a gun on me, was causing me to tense up, even in the truck. I would feel a thousand times more vulnerable on my horse.

This thought brought another to mind. Was this shooter targeting equestrians just because they were on horses? Was he specifically targeting women on horses? And if so, why? An irrational distaste for horse traffic? Or something more bizarre? Or was this your typical love triangle with Doug Martin in the center? Somehow I had a hard time believing that.

My instincts shouted that this mystery had to do with the ridge; from the beginning I had felt what seemed like a dark shadow hanging over my beloved trails. It was this that lay at the root of my determination. I wanted to clear the stain on the hills of my home. And the only way to make that happen was to bring the murderer to justice.

I was surprised at the sudden rush of pure fury that seethed through my veins at the thought of a murderer haunting these hills. My jaw clenched and fear almost disappeared in the rush of burning rage. Damn it, this evil beast WAS going to be hunted down as he deserved, and the trails would be free and beautiful again. For fucking sure.

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of the anger. I needed to pay attention to my surroundings, not get lost in fantasies of revenge. But I was aware of the powerful current that coursed through my body, even as I did my best to pilot the truck carefully up the rough road.

Potholes caused the vehicle to bounce awkwardly; we were crossing the pampas grass meadow now. I looked idly to my right, across the open sandy terrain, dotted with big, rustling clumps of the invasive grass, and suddenly slammed on the brakes. Over in the far corner, half hidden under a tree, I could see something white. It was completely screened from the road, except when seen from this one spot. But I was pretty sure that it was Buddy’s camper.

After a minute I let the truck creep forward. I did not feel up to accosting Buddy on my own, nor was I sure that there was much point to it. I had no evidence that Buddy was the culprit. But I would darn sure tell Jeri Ward where that camper was parked.

Up the road I jounced, trying to stay out of the bigger ruts and holes. I went slowly, peering through the windshield, making an effort to be aware of as much as I could despite the loud noise of the diesel engine. But I saw nothing worth noting.

Eventually I reached the logging deck where I had parked yesterday and stopped the truck in the same spot. With a sigh of relief I turned off the noisy engine.

As soon as I got out of the truck the wind smacked me, fresh and sharp. There was a cool edge to it that said rain was not far away. The fringed tops of the redwoods ahead of me waved briskly as I started up the road, shouldering my pack on my back.

I kept my head down, as strands of my hair brushed across my eyes. Flicking them away with my hand, I kept walking, almost trotting. I was eager to reach the blind and concealment. I felt uncomfortably vulnerable out in the open.

Covering the ground as quickly as I could, I made my way towards the tree with the ladder. I glanced from side to side, but did not pause to reconnoiter and check in with the woods. That could wait until I was hidden. The knife edge of the harsh breeze was making me shiver, even through the thick sweatshirt I wore. I was looking forward to the shelter of the blind.

When I reached the big oak tree, I shook the ladder once to make sure it seemed solid, and reached up for the rungs. The chains swung out awkwardly as I climbed, but I was prepared for this after yesterday, and just kept hauling myself up, hand over hand. Once I got to the platform, I heaved myself over the edge and rolled onto the floor. Right on top of a pair of boots.

What the hell? I looked upward and met the blue, blue eyes of Brandon Carter.

Oh shit. My heart dropped as if it were in a falling elevator. I could hardly catch my breath. From my completely vulnerable position on the floor of the blind I croaked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Brandon smiled. “Just what you were doing yesterday, or so I assume. Watching the woods. Seeing what there is to see.”

I sat up and stared at him. “How do you know I was here yesterday?”

“I saw your truck and tracked you up here. I knew you’d gone to this blind; that’s where your tracks went. I hid in the brush over there and watched you climb down after the camper dude rode off on his bicycle.”

“Oh you did.” I could think of nothing appropriate to say. There was no earthly reason for me to protest against Brandon’s presence here. I had no claim to the blind. I had seen him yesterday and had wondered if he was tracking me. Brandon’s woods skills were clearly a bit superior to mine. I had certainly not realized that he’d watched me climb down from the blind. Nor had I looked carefully at the ground before I’d climbed the ladder a minute ago. If I had, no doubt I would have noticed his bootprints on the dusty ground.

Should I leave? Would he let me?

Brandon watched the thoughts cross my mind.

“You can stay or go. It’s no matter to me,” he said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Watch. Just like you did. I thought you had a pretty good idea. What did you see?”

I stared at him. Was I going to throw in here? Did I have any reason to trust this guy?

Well, Jeri had said that his gun had not killed Jane, so presumably not Sheryl either. That was one thing. And for some reason I liked him. I wasn’t sure what that meant. But still, why would he hide in this blind to catch the murderer if he WAS the murderer?

Of course, he could be hiding in the blind in order to shoot someone. I could see his rifle resting on the floor. But in that case, why not shoot me as I strolled across the clearing, oblivious to his presence? No, I did not think Brandon was the murderer. Was he then an ally? I still wasn’t sure.

“I saw Buddy, the camper guy, and you,” I said dubiously, knowing he already knew that.

“And you saw that guy with the beard on his dirt bike,” Brandon remarked, his arms crossed over his chest, his very blue eyes meeting my gaze steadily. “I watched him ride away from here.”

“Yeah,” I said, still dubious. Brandon’s crossed arms and slightly cocked head looked defensive but not hostile. I still wasn’t sure where he was coming from.

“Did you see the guy with the yellow Lab?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said again. “And Ross and Tammi,” I added. “On horseback.”

There was a moment of silence while Brandon assimilated this. “That trainer and his girlfriend from the boarding stable,” he said at last. “The ones who got busted for growing pot.”

“That would be them.”

“I heard the sheriffs were looking for them.”

“They are.”

“And you’re friends with Sergeant Jeri Ward. Did you mention you’d seen those two?”

“Yep.”

Brandon was quiet a long moment. “Wonder if she picked them up.”

“That I don’t know. I think they’re hiding out at Lazy Valley.”

“The rich girl’s boarding stable.”

“You mean Juli?”

“Juli’s got a lot of money,” Brandon said quietly. “I know her from way back.”

I found this interesting. Brandon, the tough, twentyish poacher, knew Juli Barnes, the wealthy, fortyish owner of Lazy Valley Stable. I wondered exactly how he knew her, but didn’t want to ask.

Taking a deep breath, I realized I was starting to relax a little. I hadn’t exactly made a conscious decision, but somehow I was beginning to trust that Brandon and I were on the same side. I scooted back until my spine rested against the wall of the blind opposite the side where he sat. Maybe I wouldn’t leave immediately.

Brandon watched my shift; then looked from me to the outside world and back again at me.

“So who do you think did it?” I asked him.

“You mean shot those women?”

“Yes.”

“If I knew, do you think I’d be sitting here?”

“But do you have any thoughts?”

Brandon met my eyes and for the first time, I thought I could read his emotion. Confused.

“Not really,” he said at last. “I know it wasn’t me. And I damn sure plan to catch whoever it is and get them stopped. Permanently.”

“I feel more or less the same way,” I said. “Do you think this is about horses? Women on horses in particular.”

Now Brandon looked curious. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve had the thought. Some kook who doesn’t like women on horses. Or obsesses on them. Or something like that.”

“So, anybody come to mind that fits that description?”

Brandon shook his head slowly. “Not really. But there wouldn’t be any way of telling, maybe. I once knew a guy who seemed really normal. And then he went home one night and shot his girlfriend because he thought she was cheating on him. He seemed like a nice guy. I never thought he’d do something like that.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking of Doug Martin, who seemed like such a nice guy. Both women who had been shot had been involved with him. And yet I couldn’t believe Doug was a killer—he seemed like such a “nice guy.” Hmmm…

Suddenly Brandon stiffened and I saw his gaze go to the screen. I turned my head to follow his eyes and he raised a finger to his lips. In a moment I saw what he had seen. A big white dog was bounding up the trail that led to the reservoir.

I stared; Brandon stared. I knew that dog. It was the white standard poodle that lived in the blue house near the trail. The dog that routinely chased horses at the behest of his owner. What had Jeri said the guy’s name was? Bill Waters, I thought. Cocky-looking dark-haired guy. Riva from the Red Barn had said he was the one blocking the trails, and that he had threatened her. Jeri had said that he sounded willing to take out a “whole boatload of horse people.”

The dog ran on up the trail toward the Lookout clearing. I stiffened. Coming through the trees behind the white dog was a human figure. Stocky, dark-haired, moving fast. Small dayback on his back. Definitely Bill Waters. I’d only seen him a few times, but coupled with the fact that he accompanied the dog, which I did recognize, I was pretty sure it was him.

My eyes went to Brandon, who again raised his finger to his lips. And we both watched.

Man and dog approached the Lookout at a fast clip, looking as if they were going somewhere with a purpose. Bill Waters wore a dark T-shirt and black running shorts. He barely glanced over one shoulder at the view—a whited-out sky and ocean, mixed with grayish clouds—before turning to take the trail which led past the blind and on down the hill to the pretty trail. The dog circled around him once and then took the lead as they moved through the trees. In another minute they were out of sight.