Small Town Filly (Sandbar Stables Cozy Mystery Book 1) (9 page)

              Alex somehow got through the rest of the day at the stables. She'd expected hard work when she'd come out here, but nothing like this. Her only exposure to things like threats and vandalism and animal cruelty had only been through paperwork at the law office—at least, they had been until now, when she was dealing with such things almost every day on her own property.

Along with the very real possibility that something far worse had happened right next door.

Just as she was starting her car to leave that night, there was a tap on the window. She looked up to see Lance standing there and put the window down.

"I was just going to say," Lance began, "that if Mr. Wood is now…gone…I don't think too many people will be sorry to hear it."

"I don't think so, either," said Alex. "Especially his wife."

"Yeah. And the other thing is—there's a real good chance he was the one doing all the damage over here. He sure wanted you to sell. With him living right next door, and being there all the time, he certainly had every opportunity to slip over and get away again anytime he wanted. And it would have been easy for him to make friends with Fanny by throwing a few fish over the fence for her."

He glanced out at the gulf, and then looked back at Alex again. "What I'm trying to say is, maybe you don't have to worry about anything happening anymore."

She smiled. "Maybe you're right. I sure hope so, whether that was Chuck Wood they found today or not."

***

Driving in early the next morning, Alex watched carefully for any signs of emergency vehicles but saw nothing. All seemed quiet and normal, and as she turned into the driveway at Sandbar Stables she drew a sigh of relief.

And slammed on the brakes.

The driveway was blocked by a row of six big rocks—at least the size of cantaloupes—spray-painted red with white letters hand-painted on each one:

STATIES

CAN'T

HELP U

NOW

GET

OUT

Alex groaned and eased the car forward as much as she could to make sure the back end wasn't hanging out in the road. How much worse could this get? At first she had been scared, but now she was just getting angrier.

She left the car parked where it was and got out and stepped over the line of rocks.
"Lance!"

***

It wasn't long before Alex, Lance, and Officer Pitts stood together in the driveway looking at the row of rocks blocking the entrance. "Okay, I give up," said Pitts. "What's that first word supposed to be? Are they trying to say
state
and just can't spell?"

Lance just shook his head. "No," said Alex. "It looks like
statie
to me."

This time Lance looked at her with ever-growing exasperation. "What the hell does 'statie' mean?" he demanded.

"I've heard it—or maybe seen it—from a couple of the lawyers I worked with up north. They were from New England. A statie is slang for a state trooper."

She glanced back at Officer Pitts. "The State Highway Patrol was here yesterday, wasn't it? For the incident over at the marina?"

"Yes. Florida Highway Patrol. There was one car here."

"I guess that's what they saw—whoever left this little message here in my driveway, I mean." Alex looked past the rocks and at the long block barn that held her horses. "But that doesn't matter. All that matters is where it says 'get out.'"

Her fists were clenched. "Whoever's doing this is just about to make me mad. This is my place now. I'm not going to let some cowardly somebody run me off when I just got here!"

Lance turned to Officer Pitts. "What can you tell us about what happened yesterday at the marina?"

Pitts nodded, even as he took out his phone to start taking pictures of the painted rocks in the driveway. "It's going to hit the news outlets this morning, so I might as well tell you," he said. "That was Chuck Wood that they pulled out of the water yesterday. At least, it was part of him."

Alex was silent. "Was that his belt I saw them pull out, too?" asked Lance.

"It was. That was partly how they identified him. Well, that and an old appendectomy scar on his belly."

"But how did he end up dead in the water?"

"We don't know that yet. And we don't know the cause of death yet, either. At least, not for certain."

Lance continued to look steadily at the officer. "We were watching when the divers brought him up. It looked like there wasn't much left."

Alex held her breath.

Pitts continued to take pictures of the rocks from different angles. "Well, I'm afraid you're right about that. By the time we found him, it looked like a shark had gotten to him. Maybe a couple of them. They've been coming in closer to shore all the time." He continued to snap photos.

"So," Lance said slowly, "if you had to identify him by his belt and a belly scar—and the sharks had been at him—then–"

Alex looked at Pitts. "Then all you found was–"

"Was his ass," finished Lance.

Finally, Pitts lowered the cell phone and put it away. "I guess that's one way to put it," he said. "Both legs gone, and everything else missing from the waist up."

"I guess even the sharks didn't want that," said Alex. Even though she knew she should be ashamed, she found herself fighting back a giggle.

She stole a peek at Lance and saw that he was also trying to keep a straight face. "I guess that's a tough way to go. But all I can say is, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

Pitts opened the trunk of his squad car and began loading the painted rocks into it. "He's lived out here all his life, and I can honestly say he won't be missed. But we do have to investigate his death, of course."

"I have to admit," said Alex, "that I really thought Chuck Wood was the one who was causing all our problems over here. And that I thought it would stop now that he's gone." She looked back at Lance. "I guess it wasn't him."

Officer Pitts got back in his car. "We've got a lot to look into right now. We've got the problems at your place and then the unexplained death of Chuck Wood. If we have any more information for you, we'll let you know."

He drove away, leaving Lance and Alex standing in the now-empty driveway.

***

Another week went by. Each morning Alex was almost afraid of what she would find at the stables, but each day passed by peacefully. She and Lance were able to spend their time riding and schooling the horses and getting them ready for the lesson program, which Alex hoped to start by the summer.

Then, while sleeping very comfortably that night in her motel room, a distant sound began to draw her back to consciousness.

At first she thought it was the television—sometimes she fell asleep while it was on. But the wailing sound continued and grew louder.

Alex opened her eyes. Sirens. She was hearing sirens on police or fire vehicles, traveling fast down the two-lane road that passed right by her motel and led straight to Sandbar Stables.

It was rare to hear sirens out here. This was the first time she remembered hearing them, even though she was right on the road and so was Sandbar. She saw, glancing at the little clock-radio on the nightstand, it was nearly one in the morning.

Instantly, Alex got out of bed and grabbed her clothes. She had to see for herself. She had to know.

In minutes, she was in her rental car and driving east towards the stables. She saw the flashing blue-and-red lights up ahead and realized that those lights were no longer moving away from her. They were parked at the side of the road.

Alex could not get into her driveway because of the police cars that were there, so she just parked behind the nearest one and leaped out.

Black smoke poured from the hay barn, which sat right near the fence at the edge of the road. Dashing up the driveway and dodging the parked vehicles, half-blinded by the blue, red and white strobe lights, Alex could see the glow of orange around the front of the hay barn. The firefighters had parked their big truck beside the front fence and were running the hoses over the top of it, aiming a blast of water inside the building.

The entire hay barn was on fire.

As soon as the water hit it, the dark smoke turned to white where it rose up into the night sky. Alex stood out in the open space between the hay barn and the house, gasping for breath and trying to take it all in.

Suddenly, she looked around. "Lance! Lance, where are you!"

A tall silhouette walked out of the horse barn, with a smaller one trotting after it. "Oh! Lance!" Alex cried, running over to him. "Are you all right? Are the horses all right?"

"Everybody's okay. I just checked them again. It's only the hay barn."

"At least the fire department got here fast!"

"Yeah. I was asleep on the bales, as usual, in the barn aisle. I called them as soon as I saw the smoke." He tried to smile. "Good thing you made me take that cell phone."

She shook her head. "So, you weren't in the house?"

"I usually do sleep in the house. But tonight, I just had a feeling. I don't know. So I stayed in the barn. The smell of the smoke woke me up."

"Fanny didn't bark?"

"No. Maybe we need a new watchdog. It seems like she only barks during the day."

Alex turned back to look at the fire. It seemed to be out, and the firefighters were beginning their cleanup.

She turned to see Officer Pitts and another cop walking up to them. "Everybody all right here?"

"Yes," said Lance. "The horses were never in danger."

Pitts nodded. "Whoever built this place was smart enough to put the hay storage well away from the animals."

"How did it start?" asked Alex, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"It wasn't spontaneous," Lance said. "I'm sure of it. That's a cinderblock building, open to the sea breeze in front, and the weather's been cool. I've found no hot bales whenever I've gone in there."

"I don't think it was spontaneous combustion, either." Officer Pitts held out a small object to Alex. "We found this blowing around at the edge of the hay building."

Alex took the object very gingerly, and in the glare of the strobe lights she saw that it was a half-burned book of matches. "So," she whispered, "somebody did this deliberately."

"Yes. But unless one of you saw something, it's really not enough to go on."

"So are you saying you're not going to investigate?"

''Yes, we will investigate, Ms. Byrne, but as I said, with no witnesses it's going to be difficult."

The second officer—Fowler, by the name on his badge—took a step forward and glanced around the property. "It might be that you really should just sell this place and be done with it."

Alex could only stare at him. Her eyes flicked to Lance, who also stood very still. "You're saying you think I should sell, too?"

Fowler looked down. "It's got to be expensive keeping horses out here. It'll be tough to make the place pay."

There was silence between them for a moment. In the background was the loud sound of the fire truck's idling diesel engines and the shouts of the firefighters as they put away the hoses and checked through the hay barn for any hot spots.

"See," Fowler went on, "you and your hired hand—I mean—you're new here. Most of the folks living permanently in Argentina Shores have been here for at least two, three generations, and sometimes more. You're brand-new and you're just—you're just not familiar with this part of the world."

"It's a small town," said Pitts, trying to be helpful. "And it's also a booming area. Argentina Shores has to move into the twenty-first century with everyone else, and there's far more money and jobs in another high-rise hotel than there is in a little riding concession that could never even pay its own bills."

"Just think about it, all right?" said Fowler. "And call us if you need anything."

The two of them turned and walked away.

Alex could only stand and stare at the two officers, and at the firefighters, and at her still-smoldering bales of hay. Finally she turned to Lance.

"They think we should go, too," she said quietly. "Even the police don't think we belong here. We're just a nuisance that's making extra work for them."

Lance crouched down to ruffle Fanny's coat, and glanced up at Alex. "I don't know," he said. "In one sense, they're right – we are newcomers here, compared to most of the folks who live here. And I don't doubt that a riding stable did very well back in the '30s and '40s, but these days? Everybody wants jet skis and parasailing and high-powered, high-tech fishing boats."

Alex nodded slowly. Her eyes burned, but it was not from the drifting smoke. "Maybe our little pony ride is part of the past. Maybe that's where it should stay."

***

As the sun came up, Alex worked alongside Lance to get the horses fed and turned out. She was finding out that now, with her property and her horses threatened by something as hideous as fire, all of her fear had been forever replaced by anger.

She placed Violet's halter back on its hook and slammed the stall door shut. Lance looked up at her, and she saw him grinning. "You're gonna break things if you keep that up."

Alex sighed heavily. "Yeah. I guess I am pretty mad. Nothing worse than fire. And the cops barely seemed to care at all whether or not they catch who did it."

"Well," Lance said, putting away the last two halters on the stall doors, "
we
care about catching them. Why don't we sit down and take a look at all the evidence we've got? Maybe something will jump out."

Alex stared at him, and then nodded. "Yes. Yes. Maybe we'll see something they haven't."

"Nobody's going to care about your home like you do," said Lance. Alex started towards the house, and he followed closely.

***

Lance set two cups of coffee down on the kitchen table—cream, no sugar. "Thanks," she said, and took a sip of the hot coffee.

In front of her were a pen and some blank paper. "All right." Alex set down the coffee cup. "Let's make a list of exactly what we know about whoever's been trying to drive me away from Sandbar. First, it's not Chuck Wood. He's dead, but the harassment still continues. Like the fire last night."

Lance nodded slowly.

"Second, it's someone Fanny knows. She doesn't bark when this person comes around, but she'll bark like crazy at any other stranger. Third, it's someone who can spell and use words. Both the note and the message on the rocks were spelled correctly, even words like
knacker's
,
rubbish
,
booted
and
statie
. They even put the apostrophe in
knacker's
."

She began writing down all of the words in the mysterious notes and painted on the rocks. "I don't think I'd know how to spell
statie
," Lance said as she wrote. "And English was my best subject in school."

Alex smiled quickly, but kept working on her list. She sat back and ran her finger over the words she'd just written down, and then she noticed something.

"Rubbish," she said out loud and looked up at Lance. "
H
ave you ever heard anybody around here use the word
rubbish
?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure it means trash. I think that's what they say over in England, but I've never heard anybody around here say it in a normal conversation."

"Neither have I. But you know where I
have
heard it?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

"Remember, I was a paralegal up in Ohio before I moved here. I talked to a lot of lawyers, and our firm dealt with a lot of other lawyers, especially lawyers from Boston. And I know I've heard it from them, even if you barely hear it anywhere else in this country."

Lance sat up a little straighter.

"And that's where I've heard things like 'statie.' Ever heard that one?"

"Nope. Never. I thought it must have been 'state' misspelled when I saw it on that rock. I don't even know what it means."

"I'd never heard it, either, until I worked on a few court depositions taken from people living in the Northeast. Up there, it's a common slang expression for a state trooper. But not here!”

"Okay," Alex went on, "who do we know who wants to buy this place, is not Chuck Wood, is someone Fanny knows, and is not from around here?"

Lance thought about it. "Well, there's that woman Lisa, who went with us on the beach ride. She's a buyer for her company, and isn't it an English company?”

"Yes," Alex said slowly. "Yes, it sure is. But Lisa Bell is from Atlanta and is as Southern as grits."

"She might be, but if her company is English, she'd certainly be used to hearing and using their expressions."

"Hmm. You make a good point. But she's not that desperate to make the buy. She's got others in the works, too, and she knows you can't get every piece of property you want. I'm convinced it's not her," Alex went on. "If nothing else, Lisa Bell loves all these horses. I just can't see her trying to harm them by turning them loose on the road or spray-painting them—or paying someone else to do it."

She kept thinking. "Now, Fanny's not saying, but there sure is one person who fits the other criteria, and that would be one Mr. Stuart Gray from Boston."

They looked at each other. Lance nodded quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. It could be. It really could."

              Alex picked up her cell phone and quickly called the police department. She told them everything that she and Lance had just figured out.

"Did they believe you?" asked Lance, as she clicked off the phone.

              She grinned at him. "Looks like it. They're going to get a warrant and search Gray's hotel room. They'll let us know whether or not they make an arrest."