Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (23 page)

"No one knows. It's been here as long as I've been roaming the park, and that's ten years now."

I stared at the figure. Just a foot-high concrete Buddha, faded and worn, the ordinary sort one could buy at garden centers, the statue had a delicate shawl of lichen and the soft patina of age and weather. Candlelight made the slight smile on his face seem to change from moment to moment. His eyes appeared to look right at me-and to look right through me.

Dave picked up the sleeping bag, unzipped it, and handed it to me. "It's clean," he said.

It did, indeed, look freshly laundered. I wrapped it gratefully around my shoulders. "Thanks," I said.

"I'll go make the call. You rest here."

"Okay. Be sure and tell them to send some kind of rescue crew for the woman; if she's alive, she's probably injured. And they should get hold of a Detective Matt Johnson with the sheriff's department. He'll want to be here. And we'll need a trailer for the horses. Oh, and please, can you call my boyfriend? He'll be worried sick."

Dave fished in his pocket and brought out the small notebook and stub of a pencil. "I've still got your phone number," he said. "What's the cop's name again?"

I told him. I gave him Blue's cell phone number, too.

"All right," he said. "I'll make the calls, then I'll come back and collect my stuff. When the troops get here, don't mention me, okay?"

"It's a promise. And thank you."

Mountain Dave picked up his bicycle, which lay in the sand next to the rudimentary camp he'd made under the bridge. In another moment he was on it and ascending the stream bank in the moonlight.

I watched in awe. Like one creature, man and bike scrambled up the steep trail. It was unearthly; again I thought of Pan. Pan, who is the protective god of all hooved and homed beings. I remembered the buck who had appeared to me on the trail. Pipe music seemed to tremble in the air.

Tired beyond my own understanding, I suddenly saw Mountain Dave, the cycle tramp, as a shape-shifting shaman, entrusted with the secret of the lost bond between man and Nature, sent to save me in this hour of my deepest need. I took a deep breath. Who knows, I told myself. Truth and magic are intertwined. You don't need to figure this out. Just be grateful.

Wrapping the sleeping bag more closely around myself, I sat down in front of the Buddha to wait.

TWENTY-SEVEN

My rescue, when it came, was relatively uneventful. Dave and his camp vanished, just as he'd said he would, when ranger Jeeps growled up the old logging road in a blaze of headlights. Detective Johnson was with them and so, to my amazement, was Blue.

Hurrying to his side, I asked, "How'd you manage to get in here?"

"The detective and I were camped out in Paula King's living room when we got your message. We came together." Blue wrapped his arms around me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I am. I'm sore as hell, but I'm fine."

Turning to Detective Johnson, who was at my elbow, I said, "I'll tell you the story as we go, but we need to look for Barbara King. If she's alive, she's probably injured."

In another minute I'd directed the rangers who had brought a horse trailer to take Paint and Leo back to Sandy's. Blue, Detective Johnson, and I climbed into another Jeep.

The ranger behind the wheel glanced at me briefly. "Dave gone?" he asked.

"Who?" I responded.

"Right." He started the Jeep and headed up the road.

I told my story as we jolted and bounced our way back over the country I'd just traversed on horseback. I left out only two details: Carlos Castillo and the fact that I'd purposefully spooked Barbara's horse. All else I recounted just as it happened, right up until the point I encountered Mountain Dave.

"How did you manage to call us?" Detective Johnson asked.

"I ran into a cyclist with a cell phone," I said.

The ranger snorted.

"What time is it, anyway?" I asked the group in general.

"It's two A.M.," the ranger replied.

"I got your call just after midnight," Blue added.

"You must have been worried." I squeezed his hand.

"I was," he said quietly.

"It's just over this ridge, I think," I told the driver.

It was surprisingly hard to pinpoint the spot where Barbara went over. Everything looked different, approaching from the opposite direction, safely ensconced in the Jeep. I found it hard to believe that only a few hours ago, I had been struggling to stay alive, here on this very hill.

In the end, I got out of the Jeep and backtracked on foot, finally spotting the big rock that I'd used as a shelter.

"Here," I said, pointing to the bank. "Her horse spooked right here. She fell off and went over the edge."

We all peered down. Moonlight poured over the lacy, patterned depths of the canyon; I could hear water on stone.

"Barbara!" I shouted.

No answer. Only the quiet voices of the night.

"We've got a rescue crew coming," Detective Johnson said at last. "They'll rappel down and have a look. Are you sure this is the place?"

"I'm sure," I said. "Real sure."

EPILOGUE

Barbara King didn't make it. The rescue crew found her body; appearances indicated she'd died in the fall. I never told anyone but Blue that I'd spooked her horse and caused her death, but I haven't forgotten. And I still believe that I did what I had to do.

Blue and I got married in June, in my garden. My cousin came out from Michigan; Blue's parents stood by our side. Roey and Freckles wore bows on their collars, and a good time was had by all at the party afterward.

For our honeymoon, we took the horses back to the old barn on Elkhorn Slough. Blue made margaritas, of course, and we touched our glasses together as the full moon rose over the water.

"Here's to you, Stormy," Blue said.

I took his hand. "Here's to us."