Dead of Night (9 page)

“Rika's owner moved out of state, and we can't reach him,” I mentioned as we walked back to the barn. “How can we figure out where her training went wrong?”

“It won't be easy,” she said. “Since she's bolting every time she has a shot at freedom, the fear factor is consistent. It could be a sound or a smell, but odds are it's something that is a constant in her daily environment. Something she sees or senses like my jumper's gate. It could be a piece of equipment, something you do as part of her care routine, or even one of your brothers.”

“I wish horses could talk.”

“They do,” Mena said, and smiled as she went over to Sali's stall. “Like this cutie here. You're just a big flirt, aren't you, girl?” Sali lowered her head to nuzzle Mena's neck. “See? She gives away free kisses to total strangers.”

“Horses don't kiss.” Gray wheeled in the barrow we used when we mucked out the stalls. “Are you guys done? I've got work to do.”

Mena frowned at him. “Is it me, or is he this unfriendly to everyone?”

“It's him,” I told her.

She dug her fingers into her back pocket, and produced one of her father's colorful business cards. On the back she jotted down a number and handed it to me. “That's our home number, if you need to talk. Or if your brother ever gets over himself and wants to ask me out.” She raised her voice. “I like going on trail rides, picnics and seeing movies, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at Gray, who looked like Rika had kicked him in the head again. “He's a little shy.”

“That's okay. I'm not.” She walked out of the barn.

I went to the door to watch her ride off, and after a minute my brother joined me. “There is something wrong with that girl,” he told me.

“She says what she thinks. I like her.” I held the business card up under his nose. “Are you getting over yourself, or should I sell this to you at a later date?”

“Shut up.”

My new job kept me too busy to brood much over my problems. Each afternoon before the sun set I focused on inventorying the store's shelf stock and filling out the tally sheets, and then had my meal break. Jesse usually arrived right after that, and did his part by entering my counts into the computer. Once he'd gone through all the sheets, he'd bring out a bin from the storeroom and we'd tackle that together.

I did borrow one book from Mrs. Frost's shelves, one I had to keep in my backpack in case my brothers decided to search my room again. I'd never read Bram Stoker's
Dracula
, but I knew he had written a character in the story based on Abraham Van Helsing, a real nineteenth-century vampire-hunter. Since Stoker hadn't even bothered to change his name, I was hoping to find out more about the first Van Helsing from the book.

I had very mixed feelings about Julian Hargraves's collection. Some of the books fascinated me, especially those with detailed illustrations of fantasy creatures, but others seemed a little silly. A few even made me angry.

“From the way they describe these dogs, they probably had rabies or some other kind of disease,” I said to Jesse after I read a passage on hellhounds in a book about demonic animal possession. “So getting rid of them was a good thing. But I don't get why black cats had such a bad rep. It's just a fur color.”

“Black is the color of night, the time when people sleep, and are at their most vulnerable,” he told me. “It may be the reason mankind learned to control and use something as dangerous as fire. So they could light up the darkness.”

“Okay, so black isn't anyone's favorite color, but why pick on cats?” I argued. “I bet it's just because they've never sucked up to humans the way dogs do.”

He laughed. “Perhaps.”

At home Trick brought down from the attic our small box of Christmas house decorations and put them out, which made the old farmhouse seem a little more festive. We never went all-out the way some families did during the holidays, but it was nice to see the old stockings hanging from the mantle, and the lighted wreath on our front door.

One night when I came home from work I saw something I didn't expect in one corner of our living room.

“There's a tree inside the house,” I said to Gray, who had walked me home from the bus stop.

“I know, I went with Trick to the tree farm to get it.” He sounded vaguely disgusted. “He wants us to help him decorate it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I knew what Christmas trees were, naturally, but we'd never had one before this. “Is he going to make us go to church, too?”

“I don't do church.” Gray trudged off to his room.

I went over to inspect the tree. At six feet tall it seemed like the right size, and it made the whole room smell like pine, which I also liked. Wedged in between some branches I found a little empty bird's nest, which charmed me. The bottom of the trunk sat in a big, dirt-filled metal bucket, which didn't make sense to me until I brushed back some of the dirt and found the tops of the tree's roots.

“It's a live tree,” Trick said from behind me. “After the holidays we can take it outside and plant it.”

“That sounds nice.” I got up. “Why did you decide to put up a tree for Christmas this year?”

“I thought about it when you and Gray were younger, but we were usually moving during the winter holidays so the two of you wouldn't miss school.” He reached out to pluck a piece of straw caught in a cluster of needles. “This is really the first year we have a permanent home.”

“I didn't realize that,” I said. Then, before I could stop myself, I asked, “Can we really afford it?”

A shuttered look came into his eyes. “Of course
we can.”

“Let me rephrase.” This may not have been the best time, and I didn't know what I was going to say, but I was already halfway there. “Did you find a job yet?”

Trick regarded me as if I'd just confessed to moonlighting as a stripper, and then the light dawned. “You looked through the newspaper.”

“Before you get mad, let me point out that Gray did the actual snooping,” I advised him. “I'm pretty sure he's also applied for a job plowing fields at a strawberry farm.”

My brother shook his head. “I need him here, especially when I … no.”

“I'll let you talk to him about it.” I took my first pay check out of my back pocket. “Here's my first contribution to the avoid-foster-care fund.” I handed it to him. “If you're a smart shopper it should cover our groceries for a week.”

“You're not going in foster care, either of you.” He tried to give it back to me, and glared when I wouldn't take it. “I can take care of us, Catlyn.”

“I never said you couldn't.” I tried to sound cheerful. “Besides, you know how cold weather affects Grim's appetite. The horses may not be safe.”

He tried going remote on me again. “I don't need your money. If I don't find work soon, I'll sell the Harley.”

“I didn't know there was a huge market for cranky motorcycles that break down every other week.” I gave him an innocent look. “Pardon me, my mistake.”

“Classic Harleys always break down. It's part of their appeal.” He sat down on the end of the couch and held my paycheck, looking at it as if he'd never seen one. “If I can't find a buyer for it, I'll sell it to a repair shop for parts.”

“Okay.” I knew how much it hurt him to say that. “So what happens when
that
money runs out? Do we sell Flash, or Jupe, or some of the new stock? How much do you think you can get for Sali, assuming you can pry her reins out of my white-knuckled hands?”

He didn't reply, and his expression grew bleak.

I went to sit beside him. “Look, Trick, Norman Rockwell might never have wanted to paint us, but we're still a family. I know how hard you've fought to keep us together. Let me and Gray help, at least until you find a job, or we fix the problem with Rika.”

He gave my check one last glance before he folded it and put it in his pocket. “I'll pay you back every dime of this.”

“I'm sure you will. You should also talk to Gray before he worries himself into two jobs.” I smothered a yawn and stood. “I think it's time for me to turn into a pumpkin.”

“Wait, there's something I wanted to show you.” Trick took a folded flyer out of his pocket and handed it to me. On it was printed MISSING above a picture of a pale, dark-haired teenager. “Do you know this girl?”

At first I thought it was Sunny Johnson, until I read the information written under the grainy photograph. “Melissa Wayne. No, I've never heard of her.” The name sounded vaguely familiar, though, and I studied the picture again. “Wait, no, I think I have seen her. She was in my Ceramics class. Everyone calls her Lissa; that's why I didn't make the connection.” I looked at him. “What happened to her?”

“Two days ago her parents dropped her off at their church to help with the youth group's annual toy drive,” Trick said. “She never made it to the meeting, and no one has seen her since.”

Nine

T
he Sunday edition of the
Lost Lake Community News
ran a brief article on the front page about Melissa Wayne's disappearance, along with a tip line number to call with any information and an open invitation for the community to join a prayer vigil at the Wayne family's church.

“The article says the police recovered some evidence at the scene,” I mentioned to Trick when we talked about it over breakfast. “They wouldn't give the reporter any details, though, so it must be bad.”

“It's probably something they have to use for the prosecution.” He took the classified section from the paper and glanced at Gray, who was staring down at his bowl. “Is it too lumpy, or are you feeling sick?”

Gray started to say something, looked at me, and then began eating his oatmeal.

I knew my brothers had already talked the day before about our financial situation, so it wasn't that. “I thought I'd work with Rika in the barn for an hour today. Any objections?”

“You can try, but if she gives you any grief, you put her back in her stall,” my brother said. “Grayson, you keep an eye on them.”

“What?” Blonde hair flew as Gray jerked up his head. “I have to stand there for an hour while she leads that nag in a circle? No way.”

“I've got business in town, and no one works alone with that mare,” Trick said flatly.

“No problem, I don't have to—” Before I could finish my sentence Gray got up, dumped his half-eaten oatmeal in the trash and dropped his bowl in the sink before he stomped out the back door. “Hmmmm. Maybe he got
all
the lumps this morning.”

“It's all right.” Now Trick got up and dumped his oatmeal. “I'll talk to him later.” He went to the window and looked out at the barn. “Cat, I'd like you to do something for me.”

“I'm not making breakfast for Grim,” I told him. “If he doesn't want oatmeal, let him eat cold cereal.”

He swung around to face me. “Don't get too attached to Rika.”

“Sali is my best girl,” I reminded him. “But I've got a big heart, and maybe in a year or two Rika will take second place. It's not like she's going anywhere, right? You're not going to sell her, so … oh, no.” I realized what he meant. “You can't put her down. She just needs some time and TLC.”

“I hope you're right, and she turns around,” he said slowly. “But I can't sell a dangerous, aggressive horse, and I can't afford to keep one, either. The way she is now, she's worthless.”

“What about her foal?” I demanded. “After it's born, it's going to need a mother.”

“There are breeders in the area who keep nurse horses,” he said, referring to mares who were bred every year so they would keep lactating, and provide milk for orphaned foals. “If we have to, we'll board the foal with one of them until it's weaned.”

I knew what it was like to grow up without a mother. To deliberately kill a helpless baby's mother … “That's horrible.”

“What if Rika loses it while she's with her foal, and ends up trampling it?” he countered. “It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened. How would you feel if you knew we could have prevented it, and didn't?”

I knew he was right, even if I didn't want to admit it. “Let me work with her in the mornings. Please. I won't get too attached. She deserves a chance, at least.”

“Dr. Marks has to evaluate her after she foals,” Trick said. “If her behavior is still the same, I'll have no choice. As long as you understand and accept that, until then you can keep working with her.” He picked up his keys. “I'll be back in a few hours.”

Once Trick left I flew through my chores so I could get out to the barn and Rika. Naturally she wasn't happy to see me, and I knew my agitation would only make her more nervous, so I left her in her stall and began breaking down a bale of bedding.

Gray came out from the tack room and watched me for a minute. “He told you about Rika.”

“Yes, he did.” I shoved the pitchfork into the center of the bale. “I think he forgot we're supposed to be breeding horses, not killing them.” When Gray took the pitchfork from me, I swiped at it. “You're messing with my therapy.”

“You'll only give yourself blisters.” He set the pitchfork to one side. “You knew that girl Melissa, right? She was in your art class.”

He wanted to talk. I wanted to scream. “Yes, she was, and no, I didn't.”

He kicked some loose straw back at the bale. “I know something about her disappearing.”

My eyes widened. “You
what
?”

He looked up at the roof. “There was this old guy, and he fell on the sidewalk in front of the church, right after her parents left. She tried to help him. Then she just walked away with him.”

“Gray, you saw it?”

“She dropped her purse. That's what the police found.” He swallowed hard. “So I should call that tip line, right? I can give them a description of the old guy.”

I couldn't believe Gray had been an eyewitness to Melissa Wayne's kidnapping. “If you were there, why didn't you say something? Why didn't you call 911 immediately?”

“I wasn't there.” His voice dropped low. “I dreamed about it, the night she went missing.”

I was about to yell at him for making the most sick, tasteless joke I'd ever heard, but then I remembered something he'd said to me, something I wasn't supposed to remember.
My dreams come true.

I had to force myself to play skeptic. “Why would you believe something you dreamed really happened?”

“Because my dreams come true,” he said, in an eerie echo of my memory. “Not all the time, and sometimes they're all mixed up, but this one … it felt like the real thing.”

“If you tell them that you dreamed it, they'll never believe you.” I thought for a minute. “You can make an anonymous call from a phone booth. Say you were driving by and didn't realize it was Melissa you saw until you read the paper this morning.”

“I'll call from the pay phone at the gas station,” he said. “But you can't tell Trick about this.”

“Go.” I pointed toward his truck. “If you don't go and call them, right now, I'll do it myself from the house phone. Then you can explain this to Trick and the sheriff.”

“I knew I shouldn't have told you,” he said, and tromped off.

I watched him from the barn door until his pickup disappeared down the road. “Idiot.” I was so angry I could have kicked Rika in the head. My brothers and their obsession with secrecy had gotten completely out of control. What if this “old man” my brother had seen in his dream had already hurt Melissa, or taken her out of the state? If not for Gray being a coward, she might be back home with her parents.

I walked back to Rika's stall. “Sorry, girl, I'm cancelling manners class for today.”

The mare put her head over the stall and looked at me with sad eyes.

“It sucks, I know.” Without thinking I went over to give her a pat. “We'll try again tomorrow morning, and show those boys that they're wrong about you, and why are you doing that?” I stared as she nuzzled my palm, just as gently as Sali would. Her ears weren't laid back, she didn't nip me and she seemed as gentle as a lamb. “Did my other idiot brother give you a tranquilizer?”

Rika lowered her head and gave my shoulder an unmistakable, let-me-out nudge.

“I know I'm going to get grounded for this,” I told her as I took her halter down and unlatched the stall door. “So when you kick me in the head, make sure you finished me off as soon as I drop.”

Rika stood patiently as I put on her halter and attached the lead rope, and then politely shuffled out of the stall. She glanced at Sali before she lowered her head again.

I pushed up her head and looked into her eyes, which appeared bright and normal. “Okay, you're not drugged.” She could also see that the doors were open on either end of the barn, but didn't take a single step toward freedom. Slowly I released the rope, turning her loose, but she still didn't move. “Um, this is usually when you run to the other side of the farm.”

As if she understood—and disagreed with—me, she snorted and waggled her head.

“Or not.” I caught the rope and gave it a tug. “My mistake. So, how do you feel about walking outside with me? If you're good, I'll give you an apple cookie.”

Rika perked up as soon as we emerged from the barn, but she didn't try to yank the rope out of my hand or buck or any of the other nonsense I'd come to expect from her. She stopped and waited as I unlatched the back pasture gate. I quickly stepped to one side, expecting her to knock me over to get to freedom, but she turned out as nice and polite as Sali would.

I closed the gate and stood watching as she trotted down on fence, had a good look around and then checked out the feed bucket before dipping her head to nibble on some grass.

“Why couldn't you do this when … ” I stopped as a thought occurred to me. I couldn't remember a single time I'd ever been alone with Rika, except when Sali and I had ridden out to catch her. Which aside from a couple of visits from Dr. Marks and his daughter, had been the only times I'd ever seen her behave.

You know why she keeps running away.

“No. It can't be that simple.” I grabbed the gate and went into the pasture, securing the latch before I faced the Arabian. I let her see the rope in my hands so that she knew I wasn't holding a treat to lure her before I whistled.

She came over to me, as if I'd called her to me a million times.

I still wasn't convinced. I wasn't going to climb on her back; although the books said pregnant mares could be ridden until they foaled, I couldn't assume she'd been saddle-trained.

But I can find out.
I climbed over the fence and headed for the tack room. Rika came over as I perched my saddle on the fence and gave it a sniff.

“We'll try the blanket first,” I told her as I stepped through the gate and approached her on her right side. Most horse owners believed the old myth that a rider should always keep to the left side, but Trick had taught me and Gray to regularly switch around so the horses would be comfortable being handled from all sides.

From the puzzled look Rika gave me she was also accustomed to being handled from the left, but she didn't fuss or move as I placed the blanket over her back.

I stepped back and went to grab my saddle. “If you keep this on, you get two apple cookies.”

I saddled her the same way I would Sali; not being rough but not treating her like glass, either. When I reached under her belly she nickered a little, but that was all the protest she made.

I didn't buckle the girth strap, but straightened and stood back. “That's my favorite saddle on your back, and you're going to stand there all day with it on, aren't you?”

Rika lifted her head, and her ears flicked before she laid them back.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Gray's truck coming back up the drive. “Blast it, I thought he'd take longer.”

Rika backed away from me, her muscles bunching as she pawed the ground and then wheeled around, sending the saddle and the blanket flying. She ran to the farthest end of the paddock, and trotted back and forth along the fence as if searching for a gate she could kick open.

Gray appeared on the other side of the fence. “Are you crazy? Trick told you not to work alone with her.”

“That's the problem,” I told him as I picked up the blanket and shook it out. “Did you call the police?”

“Yeah. I had to hang up because they were asking me too many questions.” He gazed at the Arabian. “How did you get that saddle on her?”

“It's my saddle, so it only smells like me and Sali.” I handed the blanket over the fence. “She likes girls. I imagine it's the other smells that are driving her crazy.”

“What's smell got to do with it?”

“Everything.” I retrieved my saddle and hoisted it over. “She isn't afraid of the other horses, or the barn, or anything on the farm. She's not scared of me or Mena, and she behaves whenever Dr. Marks is here. Rika isn't dangerous, Gray.”

“Then why does she run away?” he pointed out.

“Simple. There are two things on this farm that terrify her.” I looked up at him. “You, and Trick.”