Lone Heart Pass (13 page)

He kept driving, slow and easy so the horse wouldn't be in any more pain than she already was. The sister, on the other hand, was starting to grow horns—in his mind anyway. The first thing she'd said to him was
Where is my sister?
And she hadn't got over the answer yet.

“Does this thing go any faster?”

“Yep,” he said.

She waved her hand as if she feared he'd dozed off. “Well then, go faster.”

He kicked it up about five miles and stared at the road. If this woman didn't stop talking she'd be toad-ugly by the time they made it back to the ranch.

“Is it always this hot?”

“Nope.” It couldn't be more than eighty, but he didn't think she'd appreciate a weather report.

She fanned herself. “What do you do on really hot days?”

“Roll down the other window.”

She tried that, but when the wind blew in, she screamed and rolled it back up. “My sister has moved to hell.”

Charley couldn't resist. “And you came to visit.”

She glared at him. Now that her once-perfect hair was slicked back by wind, he decided she wasn't beautiful at all.

She spent the next few miles ignoring him and patting on her hair. When he pulled up to the barn and pointed to the house where Jubilee waited on the porch, she glared at him. “You've got to be kidding. You expect me to walk?”

“Mud is mostly dried,” he offered. “I'll bring over your luggage as soon as I take care of the horse.”

“I need it now and I'd like to be let out at the house, not a hundred feet away. Do these look like walking shoes?”

“Look, lady, I'm the foreman, not the doorman. I got a horse about to die on me if I don't get her taken care of fast. I don't really give a damn what kind of shoes you wear.”

He climbed out of the truck and started working on the trailer gate, mad that he'd started cussing again when he was trying so hard to break the habit since Lillie had gotten old enough to talk and repeat everything he said.

Destiny was still sitting in the cab when Jubilee walked by her window. “Hello, sister. Make yourself at home in the kitchen. I need to help Charley with the horse.”

She finally stepped out of the cab. “I've never made myself at home in the kitchen, Jub, and I can't believe the horse is more important than welcoming me.”

Jubilee was helping him lead the horse out. “Welcome to my ranch. I'll be with you in a while. Right now I've got work to do that can't wait for an unscheduled visit.”

Charley grinned. There was that boardroom tone he'd heard Jubilee use before. Only, thank goodness, it wasn't directed at him this time.

Complaining with every step, Destiny started across the yard between the barn and the main house. Halfway there, she stopped to make a call.

Charley walked the horse slowly into the barn with Jubilee close, her hand resting on the animal's neck. She was whispering to the mare in a gentle voice.

“Watch her right side,” he said low. “She's about to foal and was hit by a stray bullet a few nights ago. The doc patched her up. She'll recover from the bullet, but he isn't sure about the colt or if the mare is strong enough to deliver and live.”

Jubilee's tone matched his. “Why didn't the vet keep her?”

Charley shook his head. “He's got his hands full with three others that were shot and the colt may come early. Apparently some drunks thought they were at a shooting match. Luckily it was dark and they were drunk, but still it doesn't take any skill to hit horses in a herd.”

Jubilee placed her forehead against the mare's neck and gulped down tears. “We'll take care of her, won't we, Charley? You know what to do and I'll help all I can.”

“I was raised around horses, then when I was in school, I worked at the AG barns. I know what to do, but none of us know if it will work. I'm going to need your help, Jubilee, houseguest or not.”

“I understand. Destiny's problems can wait.”

For an hour they worked, doing everything they could to settle the horse. Finally, when they stepped out of the stall, Jubilee lowered her head against the gate.

More out of instinct than any belief he could comfort her, Charley pulled her against his chest and held her tight. This was her first time seeing an animal in such pain, but she'd stepped up. “If the bullet hit the foal inside, they both might die during the delivery. If she doesn't take a turn for the better, Doc says I'll have to put her down. You need to understand that. It's not an easy thing to watch. I've seen seasoned cowhands cry when it happens.”

“Can we put down the drunks who shot her for fun?”

He looked at her big brown eyes that were now flooded with tears. “The sheriff caught them. Vet said none could make bail so they are locked away for now. Said they were all throwing up this morning and Dan was making them clean it up.”

“Good. I wish we could torture them for a while.”

He kissed her forehead as if she were no older than Lillie. “We could send them Destiny. Being locked away with her might cause jailhouse suicides.”

She laughed, wiped her nose on her sleeve like an adorable kid then panicked. “My sister. I forgot all about her.”

Charley turned Jubilee loose. She bolted toward her house and he started cleaning up. It was going to be a long day. First, he'd have to keep checking on the mare, then try to work at both his jobs for the day and probably a few of the things Jubilee planned. She'd have her hands full with the wicked sister.

Around one Thatcher Jones showed up with Lillie. He claimed that after lunch school was just too boring to sit through. He found Charley in the barn and began helping without saying a word as to why he got off the bus at Lillie's stop.

The kid was born to the land; he knew what to do. He took over jobs Charley had delayed. After he'd fed and watered all the other horses, he hauled in hay and cleaned up the stalls.

Lillie climbed into the stall with the mare and offered her a peppermint. The mare seemed to settle. The little girl sat next to her, gently patting the horse's neck. When Charley checked on her a few minutes later, she was asleep next to the downed animal as though she understood the mare needed company.

Thatcher looked over the gate. “I've seen a child calm a horse before. It's like the mare senses her. I'll keep an eye on them both, if you like.”

“I do need to get everything ready and make sure I have all the supplies. If anything changes I'll be within yelling range.”

Thatcher stepped into the stall.

“You want a job, kid?” Charley asked.

“No. I just want to help. I heard about the horses being shot. It happened along the edge of Ransom Canyon where a small mustang herd runs free.”

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The shooting had happened not a mile from where the bus dropped Thatcher off. The drunks were probably Thatcher's neighbors.

“You know something about this, don't you, That?”

The boy didn't raise his head. “No. Nothing that would help the sheriff. He's already caught the fellows who did it.”

Charley waited.

Finally, the kid added, “From what I heard, they weren't drunk. Word is a man living far out in the Breaks offered some men free drugs. Bad drugs. I heard one of the kids on the bus say the men weren't shooting at horses, they were firing at the demons riding them.”

“Why hand out bad drugs?” Charley asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Maybe the dealer don't want no one coming into the Breaks and figured shooting horses would keep them out. Several of my neighbors said there were some suits knocking on doors asking questions about who owns the land out there. Then there is the sheriff driving by asking questions about the dead guy. Add Tim O'Grady just asking questions in general. Folks out there are starting to feel nervous.”

Charley offered Thatcher a bottle of water from the fridge in the barn that stored medicine for the horses and cattle. “Who'd want to buy that land?”

Thatcher shook his head. “I don't know, or care. But my mom is still gone and I don't want to be out there alone tonight. Any chance I could stay here? I'd sleep in the barn.”

“You are welcome to stay and you'll sleep on the couch. Lillie and I would be happy to have you join us for supper. Jubilee's got company so we won't be seeing her. How about I drive in and get burgers then we'll take turns staying up with Last Chance?”

Thatcher pointed his thumb at the downed mare. “That what you naming her?”

“Seems to fit,” Charley answered.

“I agree. If you hadn't stepped up to take care of her, she probably wouldn't have had much of a chance.” The kid studied the horse. “I feel like that sometimes. Trouble's likely to find me no matter how I try to avoid it.”

“You're welcome here,” Charley said again. “You're safe here.”

Thatcher seemed to relax for the first time, and Charley couldn't help but wonder what else the kid knew and wasn't saying. He was afraid of something, and the boy didn't look as if he frightened easily.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lauren
March 17

L
AUREN
SPENT
HER
spring break helping out at her father's office. She loved it, just as she always had. To her, the sheriff's office was the center of the town. The heartbeat. Something was always happening.

Her pop used to say that the saints had to drop by and mention how good they were and the sinners had to come in to remind you they haven't done anything lately. He guessed that priests and preachers in town had the same conversations.

Having Tim O'Grady there made it even more fun. When he was in the office he was talking, and as soon as he rushed off to investigate something Pop would always whisper, “Thank God, silence.”

But she knew her father. If Tim wasn't helping, he'd be gone. With every case, from parking tickets to the body left in the canyon, Tim had theories. His mind was a jackrabbit on speed.

The minute the sheriff came down from checking on the drunks housed in the tiny jail on the second floor, Tim asked, “How about letting me talk to the Dulapse brothers. I hear they want to visit the drunks.”

“No.”

“But Thatcher introduced me to them one day last week.” Tim pleaded his case. “They weren't too friendly but still, they'd probably talk to me before they would you, Sheriff. There's more going on out at the Breaks than firing shots at wild horses.”

“No,” Dan Brigman said again without hesitation.

“I looked it up.” Tim started pacing beside the sheriff. “I'm not sure it's even a crime to shoot wild horses. I know it's no problem to shoot hogs.”

Lauren just watched from her tiny desk between file cabinets.

“I've got enough to hold them for a few days,” Pop said.

“Right. That's my point. I could put the screws to them for a few hours and maybe find out more about the body we found in the canyon or where they got the bad drugs. Bad guys, dumb as they are, probably know other bad guys.”

The sheriff stopped and faced Tim. “You think maybe they have a fraternity?” He didn't wait for an answer before he fired the next question. “Where'd you hear a term like ‘put the screws'?”

Tim straightened. “I'm a writer. I read. Let me talk to them.”

“No.” Dan smiled. “Didn't you ever hear of cruel and unusual punishment?”

The sheriff walked out of the room before Tim could answer. When he must have been almost at Pearly's desk, he yelled, “Get back on the research for the dead body in the canyon.”

“Will do,” Tim yelled back, but the sheriff's only reply was the slamming door.

Slowly, piece by piece, Lauren and Tim put together who the man in burlap might be. On the tax rolls for the fall trade fair, several vendors called themselves
yard art painters.
One by one Tim tracked them down and, if they were breathing, eliminated them as his man. Finally he only had one name and that yard artist had listed his address as “Homeless.”

Since the clerk said all the vendors were local and homeless people don't carry around yard art, Tim deduced that the dead guy must not want anyone to know where he lived.

He'd had little luck with the tattoo artists around knowing anything about a tat that said Surrender to the Void. Some kept haphazard records. A few kept none at all. Those who did didn't know or care if they got the full or right names. Plus, a man that age, with old tattoos, could have gotten them in the sixties.

Friday morning, Lauren was alone when the Franklin sisters rushed in, out of breath from darting the thirty or so feet from their store. They reminded Lauren of Halloween scarecrows you buy at the discount store to stand in your yard. Not scary or funny.

Lauren reached for her notepad and pen as she stood. “How may I help you, Miss Franklin and Miss Franklin?”

While they both fought to control their frantic breathing, Lauren tried to hide her grin. They considered themselves the town criers and followed their calling with gusto, whether it was a cat in a tree or a murder.

Rose Franklin, the slightly larger sister, gripped her hands in front of her ample chest and straightened. “Morning, Lauren. Good to see you're home for spring break and not running around in a bikini down on the coast. There is no telling what college girls pick up in the sand.”

Lauren knew better than to argue. She just smiled.

Daisy Franklin winked at her. “We always knew you were a sweet girl, dear. I remember when you were little and came into the bakery we had then. You'd pay your quarter and get your cookie without handling all the others first. Not like some of the other kids who'd touch several then lick their fingers. I should have charged them a dime a lick.”

“I miss your bakery,” Lauren admitted. “Hope the antiques business is going well.”

“Oh, it is. We've had a real run on vinyl records lately. I still love the songs of the seventies. But we're considering another business. One that will let us combine our cooking skills and our love for antiques.”

Rose looked at her sister as if Daisy was wasting time with small talk. “We've a mission, sister. No time to discuss what might be.”

Lauren put down her notepad and picked up her phone. “The sheriff is out of the office right now, but I can give him a call if it's urgent.”

Rose's lips pinched so hard that all that showed beneath her nose was her thin mustache. “We're not here to see the sheriff. We heard Tim O'Grady is working here. We'd like to talk to him. Rumor is he's thinking of becoming a writer.”

Lauren shrugged. “Yes to both, but he's not here, either.”

Daisy's eyebrows wiggled. “Do you know what he's writing? You've read some of it, haven't you? He's not planning to turn Crossroads into a Peyton Place?”

“Or worse, one of those X-rated stories where people use whips and chains while the wives swap places.” Daisy was off on another thought. “Did you ever think about why they call it wife-swapping? Why not husband-swapping? I think it's because no one ever wants to trade off a husband for potluck. After all, I've heard they take years to train.”

Rose cleared her throat long and loud.

Lauren knew Rose wanted the conversation to move along. “I haven't read any of Tim's work. Why are you ladies so interested?”

Rose took over the conversation. “We want to make sure he gets a good start. Crossroads has never had a writer. He could be famous one day. Real famous. Buses might come from all over the state to drive around the town where he grew up. Reporters would flood the streets to talk to anyone who knew him before he hit big.”

“So big we'd have to put a sign coming to town saying he lived here.” Daisy giggled as if she was already organizing the committee. “Oh, wouldn't that be something.”

“I'll let him know you want to see him the minute he gets back.” Lauren decided she would go with Tim when he dropped by the Franklin sisters' shop. She wanted to see his face when the ladies told him there might be a sign.

They both nodded but Rose added, “You tell the O'Grady boy to come find us. We know a way to help him. There's a woman who can change his path from good to great just by looking in his eyes and visiting.”

“I will,” Lauren promised, wondering what these two had planned for Tim.

Rose nodded once. “We best be getting back to the store.”

Daisy opened her mouth, glanced at her sister then reconsidered whatever she'd been about to say or maybe just knew to let the older sister have the last word.

Lauren watched them march out. She doubted they would help, but it might be worth watching.

When Pop came in a little after noon and began answering calls, Lauren slipped away from the office for lunch at the retirement home with her former piano teacher.

She'd never known too much about music, but she'd always loved visiting with Miss Abernathy.

If the Evening Shadows Retirement Home had a queen, it would be Miss Abernathy. She'd taught music for fifty years before she retired. She was one of those rare people who remembered every student she'd ever had.

The long sunny front office of what had once been a bungalow hotel now served as the meeting room. Even though Lauren was fifty or more years younger than anyone in the open area, she felt right at home. Half a dozen retired teachers, who'd known her since the first grade, crowded around to join in the visiting.

Lauren was an honored guest. Everyone filled their plates from the Saturday noon potluck and sat in a circle, each with their own little tray table. The conversation drifted from college to careers for Lauren, to happenings in Crossroads.

When talk settled on the body in the canyon, all wanted to hear details of what research Tim was doing and what the sheriff's theories were. She'd planned to say little—after all, it was an active case—but they wore her down with their smiles and experience with just what to say to make young people talk.

Lauren filled them in on what she hoped was common knowledge, ending her account with, “The man who died had a tattoo we can't figure out.”

Mr. Leo, always quick, asked what it was.

Lauren wasn't sure she should tell, but then several people in town already knew about the tattoo and so did every ink shop within fifty miles, thanks to Tim. “One of his tattoos says Surrender to the Void. I have no idea what that could mean.”

The room went silent. Not one of the dozen retired teachers circling her moved, or spoke or even chewed.

She looked around. Without a word, she realized they all knew what it meant. “What?”

Miss Abernathy pushed her table to the side and stood. “It's a song, dear.”

Miss Bees giggled. “I remember it. It's a Beatles song about dying.”

“No,” Cap said. “It's about coming back.”

Everyone was talking at once about reincarnation. Lauren leaned back in her chair and finished her egg salad. She suddenly felt as though she knew the burlap man. He'd loved a song enough to tattoo it on his arm. A Beatles song about coming back to life.

The dead guy no longer seemed so frightening.