Perfect Timing (7 page)

After seeming to regain some of her strength, Ceara carefully folded the star, keeping the stones at the center as if to protect them. She then placed the bundle inside the tapestry satchel, which already bulged with other items. Quincy had searched the bag earlier, but he hadn’t noticed the star. He guessed that he had mistaken the bundle of cloth for clothing, and wondered what else he might have missed.

There was no time to return to the arena right then to collect the satchel. “Back up,” he told Nona. “I want to watch that again. It’s a trick of some kind. She used an explosion of light so the cameras couldn’t record how she got into the stall.”

“That’s the only explanation,” Nona agreed.

But after several replays, they still could see nothing, because the flare of brightness caused a whiteout. Again and again, it looked as if Ceara had simply appeared in the stall from out of nowhere.

Nona used her cell phone to call one of her subordinates. “I want you to go over the black stallion’s stall again,” she ordered. “Keep a lookout for anything that could have created a bright flash of light.” She listened for a moment. “I know you’ve examined every square inch of the stall, Matt. But you’ll be searching for something else this time.” Pause. “Yes, I know, but that’s how the cookie crumbles.”

She ended the call. “Lunchtime,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s only eleven, but Matt’s already watching the clock for noon break.” She backed up the footage again. “Okay, one more time, and then I think we should move on to see what she does and where she goes inside the arena after gaining entry. Agreed?”

“Agreed. If she went near the feed room or hay storage, I swear to God, she’ll be an old woman before she gets out of jail.”

They resumed watching the footage. After resting against the horse, Ceara wobbled to the stall gate to peer out at the exercise arena. Then, apparently exhausted, she collected her satchel and made herself a bed in the straw in one corner of the stall and lay down to sleep.

“That’s exactly where I found her just before dawn,” Quincy said. “How the hell does that make sense? Keep watching her. I can’t believe she went to the trouble of trespassing onto my land and breaking into my arena, only to take a nap.”

“I’m with you on that.” Nona let the camera footage continue forward, increasing the speed to save time. After a few minutes, she said, “Good morning, Quincy. There you are, coming in through the personnel door. Our druid is still fast asleep. Maybe she just got tired and planned to do some mischief later, unaware that you always start your day so early.”

“This makes no sense.” Anger burned at the back of Quincy’s throat. “During that bright flash, she somehow got into that stall, and she damned well had a reason.”

“Unless she’s tellin’ the truth, and she just got dropped there,” Frank inserted.

Quincy sent his father a querulous glance. “Come on, Dad. Have you lost your mind?”

Frank sat forward on his chair, his gaze fixed on the frame where Ceara was stirring awake. When she struggled to her feet, he rubbed his jaw and frowned. “That outfit she’s got on—looks like the real thing to me.”

Chill bumps rose on Quincy’s arms. “Dad, people create costumes like that all the time. They may
look
authentic, but they aren’t.”

Frank sighed and stood up. “I reckon you’re right.” He stepped over to shake hands with Nona. “Good seein’ you again.” Turning to Quincy, he added, “I’m goin’ into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. I’ll stop somewhere and grab us some lunch. We’ll talk about this some more after my brain has had a break.”

Quincy’s own brain felt weary, so he couldn’t begrudge his father a little time to recharge. “There’s a great health food deli on Third.”

“Health food?” Frank groaned. “I had my mouth all set for a big, juicy hamburger loaded with cheese, and an extra-large order of fries.”

“You know I don’t eat crap like that.”

Frank shrugged. “Okay, fine, health food. But I’ll order sandwiches, none of the damned green stuff.”

“I’ll have a kale wrap. The gal knows me. Tell her the usual for me, but to add some bean sprouts this time.”

Frank pretended to shudder as he left the room. Nona laughed and shook her head as she resumed watching the camera footage, once again backing up to midnight.

“Isn’t that pointless at this stage?” Quincy asked. “With that bright flash, we can’t see how she got in.”

Nona sighed. “I’ve learned from experience that I can miss one little detail on a film, and when I finally find it, all the pieces fall together. Sticking tight is my job. There’s no need for you to stay.”

Quincy had all the ranches covered for the day, and he preferred to keep Nona company until Clint got home with his sick wife. Then, and only then, would his concern for his beloved horses take second seat to his worry for Loni. “Two sets of eyes are better than one. I want this nailed down before the day is over.”

Chapter Three

F
rank returned an hour and a half later, his arms laden with a cardboard box crowned with two sack lunches from Quincy’s favorite deli. As he strode through the kitchen to the formal dining room, he hollered at Quincy to join him. Quincy abandoned Nona to do her job and followed his dad up the hallway.

“I didn’t order soft drinks,” Frank informed him. “I figured you’d rather have water. And I favor coffee. Nothin’ that dissolves a penny overnight is goin’ into my stomach unless it’s laced with Jack Daniel’s.”

Quincy was too tired to inform his father that pennies didn’t really dissolve in carbonated drinks. “You guessed right on the water. Normally I’m well on my way to downing my daily eighty ounces by now.” Quincy grabbed the sack with a Q scribbled on its fold. “What’s in the box?”

“Stuff from a safety-deposit box at the bank. Been years since I opened it. Last time was shortly before your mama died, I think.” Frank grabbed his own lunch. “The box will keep. After flyin’ in from Portland, we didn’t get home until four this mornin’, and I’d barely grabbed a wink before the sirens woke me up. Didn’t eat dinner last night or any breakfast. My belly button is gnawing a hole through my backbone.”

Quincy went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water for himself and a cup of black coffee for his father. The two men settled at one end of the long oak table to eat. Before beginning, they crossed themselves and said a blessing. Nona appeared in the archway just as Quincy took a bite of his kale wrap.

“We’re breaking for lunch,” she said. With a glance at her watch, she added, “Thirty minutes each way and thirty to eat. We’ll be back at about two forty-five, give or take.”

Quincy managed to swallow. “Enjoy the break. See you in a bit.”

Nona left. Quincy turned back to his lunch. Mary, from the deli, had sent him a side of sugar peas and hummus dip. Frank had a bag of greasy potato chips and a fruit tart, one of those assembly-line things full of fat, white flour, and sugar, and with little nutrient value. “How can you eat shit like that?” Quincy asked.

“Just like this.” Frank took a huge bite of a double-decker sandwich and grinned with a bulging cheek. After chewing a moment, he swallowed and added, “I’m surprised your eyes ain’t green, son. You eat the strangest things. That kale, for instance. Why do you think it’s so great?”

“It’s a super vegetable.” Quincy knew that fell on deaf ears. “Full of iron and calcium. You should read about it, Dad.”

“Readin’ about it is all I’ll ever do. Dee Dee gets some spinach into me every now and then, and I’ll even force down asparagus and broccoli on occasion, but that’s about as healthy as I’m willin’ to eat. I’m a meat-and-potatoes man. I do have a salad every night, but only because she won’t serve my main courses until my bowl’s clean.”

“Meat and potatoes with lots of butter, gravy, and grease tossed in, not to mention heart-attack breakfasts.”

Frank chuckled. “I’ll die happy. You’ll die hungry for some real food.”

The argument was one of long standing, so both of them tucked back into their lunches without speaking again. When the sacks and napkins had been dispensed with, Quincy returned to the dining room. “Okay, what’s in the carton? I know you didn’t open the safety-deposit box at the bank and bring that stuff home just for the exercise.”

Frank moved to the end of the table and opened the cardboard flaps. “Old family heirlooms, son. I doubt you’ve ever clapped eyes on ’em. After your mama passed away, I pretty much couldn’t bring myself to look at any of these things. Not because my family history no longer mattered to me, but because your mama got so excited about every little thing. Every couple of months, she’d insist on a trip to the bank, just so she could read this or that. She used to swear that someday, after you boys was grown, she’d track my family clear back to Ireland. I just couldn’t face all them sweet memories, you know?”

Quincy’s memories of his mother were dim. He’d been young when she died, and when he tried to picture her face, all he saw was the photograph of her that his father had kept on his nightstand until he finally remarried. “I wish I’d known her better.”

Frank’s eyes grew misty. “Yep, me, too. But it wasn’t meant to be, I don’t guess, and life goes on. There was a time when I didn’t think it would, but now . . .” His voice trailed off as he lowered a hand inside the box. “Well, now I have Dee Dee and a lot of wonderful memories of your mama. In many ways, I’m luckier than most men ever thought of bein’.”

Quincy inched closer to the box. “So what have you got there?”

“Harrigan history,” Frank said softly. “Some of it to be proud of, and some of it skeletons in our closet.”

“Skeletons?”

Frank trailed his fingertips over the leather binding of what looked like an ancient journal about to fall apart with age. “Not all my ancestors was what I’d call normal, let’s just say.” He motioned Quincy closer. “Come on. Have a look.”

Quincy moved to stand beside his dad, acutely conscious as he did that he was only a couple of inches taller than Frank and in almost every other way his duplicate—same build, same square and work-hardened hands, and the same coloring.
Family
. In that moment, as Quincy stared into the carton, the meaning of that word took on a whole new significance. The old Bible and journals were a physical record of Harrigan history.

“Damn, Dad. I’m afraid to touch anything for fear it’ll disintegrate.”

Frank chuckled. “I kept all this stuff for you kids. Not much point in that if you’re afraid to look at it. If one of the bindings falls apart, we can always get it restored.”

With cautious reverence, Quincy lifted the Bible from the container. The cover was dark brown leather and fragile with dryness. He could imagine the hands of countless Harrigan ancestors touching the book just as he was now. He turned to the first page, which sported a yellowed and faded family tree. The name O’Hourigan leaped out at him. “Shit, it’s true, then. We changed our name from O’Hourigan to Harrigan.”

“I thought O’Hourigan sounded familiar,” Frank said. “I only needed a quick look inside to know I wasn’t rememberin’ wrong. Back in the eighteen hundreds, when the Irish immigrated here to escape the famine, name changes were pretty common. Sometimes to make them sound less Irish, other times to make them simpler to say and spell.” He flashed Quincy a quick grin. “O’Hourigan, for instance. Here in America, H-O-U-R is pronounced like the hour of the day, with no H sound. Changin’ the spellin’ was probably a smart move. Everybody probably would’ve called me Hour-Again.”

Quincy smiled and nodded. He’d mispronounced his share of surnames. Behind the original family-tree page, his ancestors had slipped in additional parchment or paper as the years passed to keep track of marriages, births, and deaths. He noted that the record ended with his dad’s generation.

“You stopped keeping track?” Quincy asked his father.

“No, of course not. Your mother just felt this Bible was getting too fragile, and she bought a new one. I have it over at my place. She went back a few generations and then recorded our marriage. All you kids is in there.” His voice turned thick. “After she died, I had to enter her death and Samantha’s birth. It took me a few months to muster the courage, but I finally got it done. Had myself a good cry afterward, feelin’ like I’d just lost her all over again. Pain like I can’t explain. Nowadays, it’s easier for me. I made note of my marriage to Dee Dee, and I’ve kept track of Clint’s babies, and the little one Sam and Tucker lost before it ever got born.” Frank’s eyes grew moist. “I just hope and pray I won’t have to enter the death of another loved one anytime soon.”

“Loni.” Quincy didn’t state it as a question. He knew Clint’s wife was never far from Frank’s mind. “Any updates since I talked to Clint this morning?”

Frank shook his head. “Not on her condition. Zach called to tell me Clint is busy tryin’ to get ready to transport her home. He’s worried about how she’ll handle the flight and about them removin’ the IV catheters. Once they get a vein, he hates for ’em to lose it. She’s so dehydrated that it’s the very devil to find a new one. But the nurses at the center refuse to leave ’em in. They say new catheters will have to be used if she’s seen here, anyway.”

Quincy sighed. For a few hours, the relentless sadness that had formed a lump in his throat had been pushed aside by the events of the morning. Now his concern for Loni came flooding back. All he could do was pray for her. He believed in the great power of prayer, but even so, he was, by nature, a do-it-yourself man. Loni’s illness made him feel so damned helpless.

He took a seat at the table to study the family tree. The first entry dated back to the seventeen hundreds, making this Bible nearly three hundred years old. The thought was mind-boggling.

“Dad,” he said after a long silence. “Look at this.” Frank came around the table to peer over Quincy’s shoulder. “Practically all the first wives of your ancestors died at young ages.”

“Dyin’ young wasn’t uncommon back then. Men often lost their wives durin’ childbirth or shortly afterward from childbed fever.”

Quincy knew that was true, but the theory didn’t hold up under closer examination. “Most of the second wives made it. I mean, well, they eventually died, of course, a few of them at fairly young ages, but a good majority of them lived nice, long lives for that day.”