Long Time Gone (5 page)

One of Skeeter’s parents had had at least a nodding acquaintance with a Great Dane. Fred was mostly terrier, although god only knew what kind. They’d been running around the vineyard all day, chasing lizards and having a wonderful time conning the volunteers out of snacks.

Arthur hadn’t done anything but sleep, not that he ever did much during the daytime anyway. He was too smart to work during the heat, particularly when night was his preferred hunting time. Now he was enjoying himself, keeping Skeeter and Fred away from the door and the air-conditioning.

“Arthur, cut it out,” Morgan called.

Arthur raised his head to gaze at her through slitted eyes. Tufts of fur prickled at the points of his golden ears. He stretched his paws out in front of him, yawning widely.

Morgan sighed and walked over to the door. “Come on. Move it.”

Arthur pulled his paws underneath him languidly and stood. Morgan was virtually certain he had no cougar or bobcat in his background, just a bit of Maine coon cat, but sometimes when he stretched she had her doubts.

As soon as Arthur moved, the dogs trotted swiftly across the tile. Arthur squinted at them but stepped aside as Morgan opened the door.

Inside, she could hear Kit extolling the virtues of the malbec to a bunch of tourists from Tyler. Morgan groaned inwardly. She’d had almost as much congeniality as she could stand for one day. Maybe she could slip by without being noticed.

“You may be able to taste hints of blackberries,” Kit trilled. “I can taste cranberries, too. This wine would be great at Thanksgiving.”

Nice one
. Cranberries were new. Morgan backed out of the tasting room quickly before she could be roped into pouring.

Once upon a time, she’d had scheduled appointments. Once upon a time, her work day had started at eight thirty and ended at five thirty. Once upon a time, she’d averaged more than six hours of sleep a night.

Ah, memories, memories.

She ran a mental checklist of the things she needed to do for Ciro and for herself before she could legitimately call it a day. She had some paperwork to get ready for the Wine and Food Festival. She needed to call ATF about Bored Ducks and probably spend a merry couple of hours on hold. She had to check in with Dad, who undoubtedly wanted all the details about the day’s sauvignon blanc crush.

And she needed to go look at a potential vineyard. All of a sudden getting away from Cedar Creek for an hour looked better than any of the other chores she had to do. Morgan grabbed her purse and headed for her SUV.

Ciro had already scouted this particular property. Good drainage and soil depth. Not too alkaline. Currently being used as a goat pasture. Ciro knew vineyards. His own two already produced some of Cedar Creek’s best sangiovese grapes. According to what he’d said, the lease rate didn’t sound too high, considering where the land was. Best of all, it was fairly close to Cedar Creek as the crow flew.

Dad wanted her to look at it, although Morgan suspected she wouldn’t be able to tell him anything Ciro couldn’t. But he’d want her play-by-play on the starry-eyed assumption that she’d get to know what she was doing—and that she’d like it when she did.

After she finished checking the vineyard out, it would be close to six and she could drive to the Dew Drop to see Pete and Allie and Cal and Wonder.

And Chief Toleffson. Not that she would make the trip on his account or anything.

Morgan flipped open her state atlas as she bounced down Blumberg Road. Ciro had told her to turn right at Cuevas and then left at an unmarked farm road with a goat crossing. Morgan felt the SUV switch into four-wheel as she started up the hill.

Twenty bone-jolting minutes later, she parked beside a mesquite tree, pulled on the emergency brake and climbed out. The hillside looked steep, but not too steep for planting. Tufts of cedar and brush led to a distant stand of live oaks at the crest. Getting trucks in here for harvest would be a bitch. She wondered if they could talk the owner into grading the road for them.

She walked along the ridge, looking down at her feet. Lots of limestone. But Ciro had seen the soil analysis and said the alkalinity was within the upward limits. Morgan knelt and picked up a handful of dirt, crumbling the clods in her fingers, then poked a finger deeper to dig below the topsoil. Good red dirt stretched down toward subsoil depth.

She turned to look back up the hill and stopped. A dual tire track ran through the dirt above her. It looked heavier than a pickup.

She frowned slightly, squinting against the late-afternoon sunshine. Ciro had said the land wasn’t used for much besides grazing goats, but it looked like a truck had been driving around up there. Could somebody else be checking out the property?

She dusted her hands against her thighs and began to work her way farther across the ridge, studying the tracks. They looked fresh. Morgan bit her lip. Maybe somebody else was interested in the lease.

Please, god, don’t let it be Noah Castleberry!
Bad enough to lose sales to that snake, let alone an entire vineyard. Dad would never let her forget it if she somehow let the lease slip through their fingers.

Morgan glanced up the hill again. Toward the top she could see a couple of goats drinking from a sinkhole. The stock tank behind them was surrounded by wire fencing for some reason, keeping them away from it. Morgan craned her neck, looking for a truck or an SUV.

She saw a quick flash of something beside a mesquite grove a few hundred yards up the slope, maybe the reflection of a window or a mirror. She started to walk toward it, then slowed. If Castleberry’s people were out here, she didn’t want them to notice her. Knowing that Cedar Creek was interested might be all he’d need to lease the land on the spot. She redirected her route to the side of the tank, stepping behind a mesquite clump.

The goats paid her no attention. Morgan started forward again, cautiously. Somewhere to her right she heard a boot crunch on gravel.

She started to turn toward the sound, but then someone grabbed her shoulders from behind. Rough hands shoved her toward the edge of the ridge. With a startled yell, she went flying through space.

The toe of one boot caught in a tree root, sending her rolling. She tried to grab hold of a grass tuft to slow herself down before she reached the lip of the ridge, feeling the stems slip through her fingers. Her knee hit a stone, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her leg. One cheek scraped along a length of limestone, and she yelped. Morgan dug her fingers into the ground desperately, grasping at whatever slapped against her palms. Clods of dirt, limestone, bits of mesquite. Brush and cedar scraped her arms, throwing her from side to side.

At the very edge of the ridge, her body slowed, and she tried again to stop her fall, grabbing at tufts of grass that gave way in her hand. And then she was dropping, arms windmilling, until her head connected with something very hard.

For a moment, the lights went out.

Erik put the truck into four-wheel and headed up the road toward the stock tank. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do when he got there, except verify that it was, indeed, a stock tank. He had a call in to a contact at TCEQ. As soon as he found out how they wanted him to take the sample, he’d send it off to be analyzed.

At least Cal had already been planning to go to Powell’s ranch to check the goats and had offered to direct him up to the tank.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea what the hell happened to those goats,” he said after they’d bounced over another stretch of washboard.

“Ate or drank something nasty—that’s all I can tell you.” Cal grabbed hold of the panic handle over his door. “Believe it or not, the road gets worse after this.”

Erik sighed. “We better pull over and hike the rest of the way. No way the city would pay to fix my suspension.” He parked under some oak trees beside the goat track that passed for the road, then followed Cal along a rocky trail to the top of the hill and the stock tank.

It was large, round, and made of galvanized steel. Powell or somebody working for him had tacked a length of chicken-wire around the top to keep the goats from drinking.

Cal glanced at Erik and shrugged. “Stock tank.”

“No shit.” Erik sighed. Complete waste of time, as promised. He did a quick survey of the area around the tank, looking for footprints or tire tracks, but all he saw were goat hoof-prints. A rainbow sheen floated on the surface of the tank water. “Looks oily.”

Cal squinted. “Yep.”

“Would oil make the goats sick?”

“It wouldn’t do them any good. I need to head back now. Horace is holding down the clinic by himself.”

Erik waited a moment longer, so that if anything interesting were going to happen—like the Creature from the Black Lagoon rising from the stock tank—it had a chance. Then he started back the way they’d come.

Something red flashed below him on the hillside.

Erik paused, frowning. “Did you see that?”

Cal turned back, squinting down the hill.

It was probably just trash, blown there from the ranch—or maybe a cardinal. Erik stepped toward the edge of the incline and looked down.

A brunette in a red blouse lay sprawled on a ledge below them. As he watched, she began to sit up slowly.

“Aw, shit,” Erik muttered and started down the hillside toward her. He could hear Cal behind him. “Get the first-aid kit,” he called. “It’s in the glove compartment.”

When he was a couple of yards above the woman, trying hard not to send pebbles skittering her way, she turned her head slightly toward him.

His throat tightened.
Morgan Barrett.

He slid the last few feet and dropped to his knees beside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Keep it light.

Morgan stared, her eyes dazed.

“Lie still.” He reached to cradle her head. “Cal’s coming with the first-aid kit. Where do you hurt?”

“All over,” she groaned, holding out her hands. “I left most of my skin on that hillside.”

“How about your head and neck—any pain there?”

She shook her head, then winced. “You mean besides the mondo headache? No. I don’t think anything’s broken.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to prop her up. She felt fragile. Hell, maybe some Blue Norther blew her off the hillside. Her eyelids started to flutter again. “Come on, Bambi, stay here with me.”

Morgan’s eyes flew open. “Bambi?”

He smiled tightly. “Can you move your arms and legs? Nasty scrapes on your hands. Anything sprained?”

She flexed her arms slowly as Cal slid to a stop beside them. “Morgan. Jesus! What happened?”

Erik dropped his arm to her waist, propping her up. “Help me move her.”

Cal leaned down and scooped her easily into his arms. “Let’s get you up to the top of the slope.”

Erik felt an unreasonable shot of resentment as he watched his brother carry her away, then shook his head.
Get back in the game.
He grabbed the first-aid kit and climbed up behind them.

“Did you trip?” Cal’s voice sounded amazingly calm. “The ground’s pretty uneven up there.”

“I guess,” Morgan said slowly. “Yeah. I mean, that makes sense.”

Something about her voice sent a trickle of alarm down the back of Erik’s neck. He winced as her head bobbed with Cal’s steps. “You’re not sure? Don’t you remember?”

“No. Well, maybe.” She gazed at him over Cal’s shoulder with troubled eyes. “I mean the whole thing’s a little blurry. I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders here.”

“What’s blurry?” Erik kept his voice calm, fighting down the hollow feeling in his gut. He suddenly realized it was the voice he used with crime victims. “What do you think happened?”

Her eyes widened. “I think somebody pushed me.”

Chapter Four

Cal drove Morgan’s SUV back to Cedar Creek while Erik brought Morgan herself in his truck. Morgan argued that she was perfectly able to drive, but both he and Cal had ignored her.

Erik couldn’t decide what to ask her about being pushed down the hill. It was possible that she was suffering from the aftereffects of a concussion. On the other hand, she could be telling the truth. For some reason, he was inclined to believe her. Still, he figured he’d have more time to ask her questions later on, after a doctor certified that she wasn’t hallucinating.

Cal said he’d call a doctor when he got back in cell range. At least he knew the name of one—Erik didn’t have a clue.

He kept an eye on her to make sure she didn’t pass out as he drove back down the road from the goat pasture. After a few minutes, Morgan turned back to look at him rather than watching the hillside roll by. “I’m okay, really. Shaken up and bruised and scraped. No broken bones. No concussion. Just a headache. Otherwise okay.”

He steered around a particularly vicious pothole. “Concussions are tricky. Best to see a doctor before you decide you’re okay. In fact, why don’t I take you on to the ER at the county hospital right now?”

“Just take me back to Cedar Creek, Chief. I don’t want to make a big thing out of this. If Doctor Fleisher is in the neighborhood, he can swing by.”

She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. He really hoped she wouldn’t start to fall asleep because then he’d have to yell to wake her up, and she didn’t look like she’d enjoy being yelled at. “Could it have been a goat?” he asked.

She didn’t open her eyes. “No. I thought of that. A couple of goats were drinking out of a sink hole, but they weren’t that close. And they weren’t interested in me. Besides, it didn’t feel like a goat.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Feel like a goat?”

“You know—like horns.”

He kept his eyes on the road as they jounced down the hillside. “So you think it was a person?”

She opened her eyes then, giving him one of those
what kind of a moron are you
looks. “Well, it wasn’t a goat and it wasn’t a disembodied spirit, so yeah, I think it was a person. Besides, it felt like hands on my shoulders. And before you ask, no, I haven’t a clue who it was or why they pushed me.”

“You see anybody out there while you were looking around?” He turned onto Cuevas, bouncing along toward the highway.

She frowned again. “I’m not sure.”

“Meaning?”

“I saw some tire tracks. And I thought I saw something parked up in the trees. There was a flash from some glass. But I didn’t see any people close by.” She leaned back against the seat again. “I did hear a footstep just before somebody shoved me, though, and I could swear I heard a truck driving off as I was rolling down that hillside.”

Erik glanced into the rearview mirror. He and Cal hadn’t met anyone as they were coming in, but there could be other roads back into the brush, particularly for a four-wheel drive. The hills were full of goat trails and wagon ruts.

Beside him, Morgan’s eyelids began to droop.

“Don’t you go to sleep now.” He made his voice sharp. “You need to stay awake.”

She ignored him for a moment, then opened her eyes. “You called me Bambi.”

Erik stared resolutely at the road ahead. Just his luck she’d remember that part of it.

“Back there on the hill.” She squinted at him. “You called me Bambi. Why?”

“Trying to keep you awake. If you have a concussion, you shouldn’t sleep.” He turned onto the highway and headed toward the winery.

“But why Bambi? Why not Morgan? Or Miz Barrett? Or ‘hey, you’?”

“Caught your interest, didn’t it?” He shrugged. “Kept you awake.” He turned in at a road next to a hanging sign with
Cedar Creek Winery
written in elaborate script, then pulled up in front of a limestone building with a silvery tin roof—traditional Texas with a few contemporary twists. A covered patio sat at the side with umbrella-topped cedar tables and chairs. Vineyards stretched out over the hills in orderly rows of grapevines.

After a moment, Erik remembered it. Cal and Docia had been married on that patio. How the hell had he forgotten that? It looked so damned picturesque he almost felt like drinking some wine himself.

A man he recognized as Ciro Avrogado came striding through the door as soon as Erik put on the parking brake. A broad, dark-haired woman in jeans and a bright pink T-shirt stood on the porch, watching.

“Oh god,” Morgan moaned. “Not Carmen too.”

Avrogado stopped at the side of the truck, waiting. “Cal Toleffson called and told us what happened. Why’d you bring her here? Why didn’t you take her to the ER?”

“I don’t need to go to the ER. I just needed to get back here and lie down,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. As she opened the door, Avrogado reached in to help her. She stuck out a hand to stop him, wincing. “It’s okay, I can walk.”

The woman in the pink T-shirt gave Erik a narrow-eyed look. “So you’re the new police chief?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He started up the walk, keeping an eye on Morgan as she limped toward the porch. “Erik Toleffson.”

“Carmen Avrogado. Nando’s my boy.” Her eyes were still narrowed.

Erik didn’t know what test he was taking, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t passed it yet. “Nando’s a good man. We’re lucky to have him.”

Carmen gave him a curt nod, then turned back to Morgan. “And you, missy, what would have happened to you if the chief hadn’t been there? You think about that yet? Why’d you just take off without letting anybody know where you were? You think we’re psychic down here or something?”

Erik saw Morgan wince, but he didn’t know if it was from Carmen or the effort of climbing the fieldstone stairs. He stepped forward and took her arm, putting it across his shoulders.

On the porch, Carmen raised her eyebrows. “Well? What did you think you were doing out there?”

“I didn’t break any bones,” Morgan said, lifting her foot to the first step. “I didn’t pass out. The fall knocked the wind out of me. I would have gotten up and walked back up the hill in another few minutes. Everybody’s making too much out of this.”

Carmen snorted, shaking her head. “We’re not making too much out of this. Your daddy ain’t gonna be happy.”

Morgan skidded to a halt, bumping her shoulder against Erik’s chest. She turned back to Avrogado. “You can’t tell him, Ciro, you really can’t. Please!”

Avrogado rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. Erik had the feeling he was trying not to look at either of the women. “We have to tell him, Morgan. You know that.”

“No.” Morgan dropped her arm from Erik’s shoulder. “You don’t. You know what’ll happen if you tell him. He’ll decide he has to come back here to make sure everything’s okay, and he isn’t strong enough yet. The doctor said another couple of weeks at least before he can start moving around again. I don’t want him to hurt himself. Please, I’m begging you.”

Avrogado folded his arms across his chest, scowling. “He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out.”

“
When
he finds out,” Carmen corrected, her lips a thin line. “You’ve got to tell him sometime.”

Morgan turned back to her quickly. “I’ll tell him. I promise. But not right now.”

Erik could see her shoulders beginning to droop. Her reserves must be almost used up. One of the warm breezes that came off the vineyards could probably blow her over. He leaned down quickly and swept her up into his arms before she could object.

Morgan gave a soft “hmph” against his shoulder. Behind him he could feel eyes boring into his back again. He pushed the door with his shoulder, stepping through into what turned out to be the tasting room.

And realized suddenly he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

“Where am I taking you?” he muttered.

Morgan nodded at a door on the other side of the room. “My apartment opens off the office, but I can walk there myself if you’ll please put me down again.”

“Indulge me.” Erik headed for a door with a
Private
sign.

A stunning girl with long dark hair was standing behind the bar pouring wine for some tourists. All of them stared at Erik and Morgan with rapt attention. The girl glanced up and then down again quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. The pourer looked underage, but he’d deal with that later.

“She’s twenty-one.” Morgan smiled faintly. “But you can check. She’s used to it by now. She’s Allie’s niece.”

Erik opened the door and stepped into an office with a desk and computer. Another door opened in front of him. He nudged it with his shoulder and walked into a snug, warm room. Plastered walls, a small limestone fireplace at the far end, pegged pine floors like his apartment in town.

Correction—like Docia’s apartment in town. He was just renting it from her.

He deposited Morgan onto an overstuffed couch with a brown afghan across the back.

She gave him a thin smile. “I think there’s iced tea in the refrigerator. And soda. And wine. No beer, though, sorry.”

“That’s okay, I didn’t figure you’d be entertaining me.” He stared out the window behind the couch. Rows upon rows of grapevines marched up the hillside to a stand of live oaks at the top.

“Cynthiana. Native American grapes.” She stretched out on the couch, resting her head on the padded arm. “They’re also called Norton, but Cynthiana sounds more uppity, so that’s what Texas winery people call them. In Missouri, it’s Norton.” She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

The rich sunlight of late afternoon cast long shadows across the vines, the heavy grape clusters glowing golden in the distance. “It’s beautiful,” Erik murmured.

Morgan opened her eyes, nodding. “Yeah. Picturesque as hell. Believe me, you love it right up until you have to climb up there and pick those suckers.”

She grinned at him, and he felt a quick twinge somewhere south of his diaphragm. She was dusty and bruised and there was a nasty cut running along her cheekbone. But her cocoa eyes still sent a bolt of warmth straight to his groin.

He cleared his throat. “You heard a truck when you fell. Not a car?”

Her smile turned wry. “I didn’t think you were listening back there. Yeah, I heard some kind of motor. It sounded too heavy to be a car—louder.”

He nodded. He could hear voices now in the winery office. Probably the doctor. Maybe Cal.

“Do you believe me?” Morgan wasn’t smiling anymore. Her eyes had gone all Bambi again. “Nobody else will when they hear about it.”

Erik’s chest tightened. “Yeah. On the whole, I do.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?” She watched him steadily, probably waiting to see if he’d back down.

He sighed. “Eventually. First, I have to figure out who might have been up there.”

“Morgan?” A short, balding man in a rumpled seersucker suit walked into the room, blocking Erik’s view of Bambi. “Cal said you hurt yourself.” He set his medical bag on the table. “You’re lucky I was already out here. I don’t make house calls as a rule.”

Morgan’s lips spread in a tired grin. “That’s okay, Doc, I won’t make a habit of it. I promise.”

Erik took his cue to leave and headed back toward his truck.

When Morgan woke up, it was dark outside. She hadn’t really meant to sleep, but after the doctor had confirmed no broken bones or concussion, and after Carmen had agreed, grudgingly, to leave her alone, she’d drifted off.

She stumbled to the bathroom to splash some cool water on her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. Scratched cheek and hair that looked like it could be used to clean a skillet, but nothing a couple of days with her feet up couldn’t cure.

Of course, the chances of her being able to put her feet up at any point in the near future were somewhere south of slim. She sighed. Too late to go to the Dew Drop, even assuming she could haul her aching body out to the SUV.

Instead, she limped to the refrigerator in the tasting room. At least Allie had left the remains of the volunteers’ lunch. Morgan plopped a spoonful of King Ranch chicken onto a plate and pushed it into the microwave just as someone knocked on the patio door.

“Morgan?” Ciro called.

Fred and Skeeter ran to the door, yipping ecstatically. Morgan undid the latch and let him in.

“You okay? Carmen sent you dinner.” He handed her a foil-covered plate. “Gorditas.”

She slid the plate into the refrigerator. “Thanks. Between Carmen and Allie I shouldn’t have to cook for the next week.”

Ciro helped himself to some fruit salad and settled onto one of the barstools. “Did you get a chance to look at that vineyard site before you fell down the hill?”

Morgan considered telling him she’d been pushed, and then decided against it. Chances were he probably wouldn’t believe her if she did. “It looks good to me, but I know I’m the new kid around here, so my judgment doesn’t count for much.” She took a forkful of chicken. “I’ll tell Dad about it. Since you’re the one recommending it, I’m sure he’ll agree.”

“Good for cabernet franc, maybe mourvedre, maybe even primitivo or barbera if we want to go to the trouble.” He stared at the ceiling, figuring. “Should be ready in five years or so if we can plant this year. The market for all of that is really expanding.”

Morgan looked down at her plate, trying to figure out how to ask the next question without making Ciro overly curious. “Is anybody else interested in leasing that land?”

He frowned. “Like who?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Castleberry’s just got me spooked. If somebody else is interested, wouldn’t we want to move quickly?”

“Haven’t heard anything.” He chased a grape with his fork, keeping his eyes on his plate. “I wanted Nando to look at it, but I don’t think he ever got around to doing it.”

“Nando?”

“Good place to get started in the vineyard business. Let the boy get his feet wet.” He was still avoiding her gaze.

Morgan took a breath. Nando was old enough to take care of himself. Ciro was her father’s best friend and the man who was making most of the decisions at the winery. This was definitely not a fight she wanted to get involved in. “So Nando’s decided to start working in the vineyards?”