Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (13 page)

Oh hell. I shoved the confusing, conflicting thoughts away, wondering if Blue realized the turmoil that his proposal would cause in my heart. At this moment, I'd rather concentrate on anything else. Like Tracy Lawrence, for instance.

Tracy Lawrence, who had seemed so furious with Sam. And who had also been surprised, even shocked, when I recounted Dominic's last words.

Why? I wondered. And why was it Tracy who had called me about the injured horse, rather than Sam?

I found out half an hour later. Dusk was giving way to dark as I pulled in the Redwood Ranch driveway, my headlights showing me the barn. No humans in view, but there was a light in a nearby box stall. I walked in that direction.

Peering over the door, I saw Tracy Lawrence, tears running down her cheeks, holding the leadrope of a palomino gelding. The horse's neck was cut wide open under the throatlatch, blood staining the yellow hair, skin gaping red. I gasped, whether at the animal's injury or Tracy's expression, I couldn't say.

Tracy jumped at the sound and turned to face me. Almost unrecognizable as the cute little blond stereotype I was used to seeing, her initial expression was a mask of fury, which rapidly softened into frustration as she recognized me.

"Gail, it's you." Tears in Tracy's voice as well as on her face. "You took so long."

"I'm sorry. There wasn't anything I could do. I was in Aptos when you called, and you know what the traffic is like at this hour."

"I know. But I've been so scared. I didn't want to move this horse or leave him for a second. Look."

I looked. Sure enough, clearly visible in the gaping hole, but apparently uninjured, the jugular vein pulsed. Any nick there could be fatal.

"I'll get my stuff and stitch him up," I said.

Returning in a minute, I gave the horse a shot of tranquilizer to keep him quiet, and had Tracy steady his head as I began the delicate stitching job.

"Where's Sam?" I asked.

Tracy's eyes flashed. "I don't know. But probably down at the bar with his buddies, drinking himself under the table."

"Oh. So, what happened to this horse?"

"I haven't got a clue. It was real busy out here today, people coming and going, bringing horses, riding. Sam gave some lessons. I mostly stayed in the house, stayed out of Sam's way. He stuck his head in the door around five o'clock, said he was going to town and I was supposed to feed the horses. I flipped him off, for all the good it did. I knew he was off to get drunk, but," she shrugged, "the horses do need to be fed and I was the only one to do it.

"I found this guy like this when I went to feed him. I can't figure out how he could have got hurt in the stall. I can't see anything sharp, can't find anything with hair or blood on it."

"It's an amazingly clean cut," I said. "Perfectly smooth, no jagged edges. Like someone did it with a knife."

"But who would want to cut poor Pal's throat?"

"Who does he belong to?" I asked.

"A twelve-year-old girl. He's her show horse."

"That is weird." I was halfway done sewing the cut up. Keeping my eyes on my work, I asked the question that had been on my mind since I got here. "Tracy, are you afraid of Sam?"

Tracy's face seemed to crumple. She made a heroic effort to hold back the tears; I could see her jaw clench. "Sam's got a bad temper," she said, barely audibly.

"I know that. Do you think he would hurt you?"

"It's more than that." Tracy put her free hand over her face. "I told him last week that I was leaving him. I told him Friday morning, while he was sober, so he would understand that I meant it."

"Oh," I said. "That explains a lot."

"There's more." Tracy looked down at her boots. "I told him I was leaving him for Dominic."

"You were what?" My hands almost jerked, I was so startled. Letting my breath out slowly, I reminded myself to stay focused on my job. Carefully I brought the flaps of skin together and resumed stitching.

"You told Sam you were leaving him for Dominic?" I repeated.

"On Friday morning," Tracy said again.

"Oh my God." It was all I could do to keep from jumping again. "So you think that Sam might have ..." My words trailed off.

Tracy was crying openly now. "Gail, I don't know what to think. I've been so scared and confused. I've cried and cried for Dominic, but I can't tell anyone about it. I never would have thought Sam could do something like that, but now, I just don't know. He seems so crazy lately.

"And I don't know what to do. Dominic's gone, I've got nowhere to go, Sam's my husband, what am I supposed to do?"

"Do you have any family?" I was almost done stitching.

"They're all back in Texas."

"Any friends you could stay with?"

"Not really. I've only been out here a year."

"I don't know what to tell you, Tracy. I think if I were you I might go back to Texas and stay with family awhile."

Tracy shook her head firmly. "I'm not doing that. I'll get by somehow. Sam wants me; he wants me to stay. I'll work around it."

"If you're afraid that Sam killed Dominic"-I put the last stitch in the palomino horse's neck-"you shouldn't stay here. Do you want to come home with me?"

That brought a weak smile to Tracy's face. "No, Gail. But thank you."

I tried one more time. "Tracy, it doesn't sound like it's a good idea for you to be here with Sam. Really."

Tracy met my eyes. For the first time I noticed, beneath the pretty-girl exterior, a flat, cynical, hopeless quality. "I'm not sure I really care," she said.

"I'm sorry." I was done with the horse; I was ready to go. Whatever Tracy's problems were, it was clear that I couldn't solve them. I gave her antibiotics and instructions for dealing with the animal and took my leave.

It was black dark as I made my way out to the truck, no moon at all. A spring breeze tossed the redwood boughs above me, sounding like surf on the beach. There was a chill in the air. I shivered.

Climbing in the cab of the pickup, I drove out through various parked horse trailers and a couple of trucks. The big white dually that Sam drove still appeared to be absent. I hoped for Tracy's sake that it would stay gone all night. And then, at last, I was headed home, towards Blue and my little house and the animals.

Not for long. To my absolute dismay, my cell phone rang just as I hit the freeway. It was the answering service operator. "Sandy McQuire has a colicked horse and needs a vet right away."

"Tell her I'll be there in ten minutes," I said resignedly. Sandy McQuire lived along Summit Road, not all that far from Sam Lawrence. I would have to backtrack five slow miles before I reached her little stable.

What had Tommie Harper said about Sandy? That she was one of Dominic's many ex-girlfriends, and one that particularly hated him. Hell, I thought, the ground is thick with 'em. There seemed to be a woman with a motive to murder Dominic around every comer. And there were probably several dozen more that I didn't even know about.

Not, in many ways, a very nice fellow, Dominic. And yet Tracy Lawrence had decided to leave Sam for him. How had that come about? Tracy was probably half Dominic's age. Why fall for an aging horseshoer who was a known womanizer?

Well, I did know the answer to that, I reflected. Dominic could be charming. Charming and flirtatious and apparently chivalrous. Contrast that to Sam, who, even at his best moment, was still a rough-edged fireball. Tracy was probably tired of being singed and ready to be courted awhile.

But damn. Any woman with the brains of a turnip ought to be able to see that Dominic was a bad bet. Of course, I realized a second later, quite a few otherwise intelligent women had already fallen for him. It just wasn't my weakness; I didn't find handsome, flirtatious men particularly alluring. That was why I didn't get it.

Following Summit Road, I drove through dark ranks of redwood trees, around hilly, tortured curves. Houses spangled the meadows with light. Not too far to Sandy's now.

In another five minutes I was there, pulling into a bumpy driveway to arrive at a well-lit barn. Sandy McQuire stepped out to meet me.

In her thirties or early forties, Sandy was thin and trim and had the hardest face I could imagine on a woman of that age. Fine lines radiated out from steely eyes; deeper lines scored her cheeks from nose to lips. Her chin jutted out aggressively and her mouth clamped shut in a narrow seam. She had sandy-beige hair and sandy-tan skin, and all in all, Sandy seemed an appropriate name for her.

I remembered Tommie telling me that this woman had gone through a boob job to attract and attach faithless Dominic; there was certainly no sign of that now. Sandy McQuire was, as they say, a carpenter's dream. Perhaps she'd had a reverse job done. I shook her lean, sinewy hand and asked how the horse was.

"You're not going to believe it." Sandy laughed. Lighting a cigarette, she went on. "Half an hour ago he was thrashing on the ground and now he's standing there as normal as you please." She sucked in a draft of smoke and coughed. "Have a look at him."

I followed her down the barn aisle, passing box stalls filled with happily munching horses. Bays, sorrels, the occasional buckskin or gray. I wished sadly that I was munching on something myself.

Sandy stopped in front of a stall where an unremarkable dark bay horse stood chomping hay like the rest of them. Gesturing in his direction, she said, ''Thirty minutes ago he was flailing around on the ground, moaning and groaning. And now the silly son of a bitch seems fine."

"Colics can be like that," I said. "He seemed to be in a lot of pain?"

"Sure looked like it."

"I'll check his pulse and respiration, make sure everything's normal, then leave you with some painkiller; you can give it to him intermuscularly if he gets painful later. Whose horse is he?"

"Barbara King's. I didn't call her, though, what with all she's been through."

I nodded. Stepping into the stall, I asked, "What is he?"

"Four-year-old colt. Prospective rope horse. Gentle as a pup. Aren't you, Leo?"

Automatically sizing Leo up as I stepped into the stall with him, I revised my impression of unremarkable. Medium-sized, medium-boned, and a solid bay, not a white hair on him, Leo had a head that was neither pretty nor homely, and a quiet, steady eye. To a non-horseman, he was just another reddish-brownish horse. But I saw the overall congruity, the near-perfect structure, good round feet, muscling that was neither too heavy nor too light. My eyes widened in appreciation.

Patting Leo's shoulder, I said over my shoulder to Sandy, "Nice looking horse."

"He is that. Real easy to work with, real athletic, too. Barbara has a good eye."

I checked the gelding's pulse and respiration-all within the range of normal-and listened for his gut sounds, which seemed normal also.

"Are you starting him for Barbara?" I asked Sandy.

"That's right. I started a couple of horses for her, must be ten years ago now. She just brought me this guy last month." Sandy laughed. "I guess she thought I did a good enough job on the last two."

"Must be," I said politely. "This colt seems fine. Sometimes sand in the gut will cause this kind of intermittent colic, or a stone can do it. I'd keep a close eye on him for a while."

Walking out to my truck, I filled a syringe with eleven cc's of banamine and gave it to Sandy. "Call me if you have any problems," I said, praying she wouldn't.

"Will do."

And then I was back in my truck, headed, at last, for home, blissfully unaware of the fact that trouble had begun to coalesce, like some strange brew bubbling on a stove. Things were coming together, and I was a part of them, like it or not.

FOURTEEN

Wednesday morning did not differ markedly from Tuesday, at least for the first ten minutes. I reviewed my scheduled calls, bemoaned their number, and looked up to see Detective Johnson striding through the office door. That's when things started getting different fast. The expression on the detective's face was significantly more dire than it had been the previous morning.

"We need to talk. Now," he said.

Once again, I gestured at my office door and followed Detective Johnson inside.

"Where were you, yesterday evening, between seven and nine?" he asked, as soon as the door closed behind me.