Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (5 page)

“Do they leave the cows out all night when it’s this cold, Joe?”

“Cattle? Sure. I’m not sure about dairy cows. They take horses in, though.”

“So what exactly does Lincoln Tyler do at Pleasure Ride Farm?”

“He’s a hired hand, basically. Lives in a cottage on the property, tends to the horses and works wherever they need him. Lincoln’s real interest is rodeo competition. He’s won some all-around cowboy championships in the International Pro-Rodeo Association.”

Joe was on I-75 now, and Julie noticed the marked difference in the land as the hills became more pronounced. Still, it sure didn’t look like cowboy country.

“I just don’t think of Florida when I think of cowboys,” she said. “Maybe it’s because I’m from the northeast. Everything I know about horses and cattle comes from western movies.”

“I know,” said Joe. “Most people don’t. It’s funny, because it all started here. Ponce de Leon brought the horses, and the cattle, too. Hundreds of years ago, the Florida Panhandle had dozens of cattle ranches. In fact, Texas Longhorn cattle are descendants. The Seminole Indians and the settlers had herds, too, all over the state. So, when the railroads came, Florida was all set to become a major beef and leather supplier for the Confederacy. After the civil war, the state became a supplier for the whole country. It’s a
huge
business in Florida.

“But you’re right, it’s different here. There’s not a lot of fenced pasture. The big herds are mostly on open range all the way down to Lake Okeechobee. It’s a challenge for cowboys, Julie. They have to round them up over miles of open plain, rivers, hammocks and swamp. You ask me, I think it’s a
lot
easier to be a cowboy out west.”

He took an exit and they were on a two-lane country road, lined on both sides with wood corral fencing. Julie spotted a few horses as they drove along. After a few minutes, they saw a green and black sign rimmed in gold:
Pleasure Ride Farm.
A matching green and black arch with the circled brand
PR
spanned the entrance. Joe slowed and turned right onto a long, red dirt road.

The pastures were lush with giant trees, many hung with lacy hems of Spanish moss. It was late afternoon and their long shadows striped the lawns with every shade of green and gold. The horses were more plentiful here, some right along the fence. Julie was tempted to ask him to stop so she could pet them. Feeling childish, she kept that to herself.

“You were right, Joe. This
is
a beautiful farm.”

They passed a white stable with green and black trim, where some horses and riders were gathered. Considering the time of day, Julie thought they must be returning from a trail ride. Ahead of them sprawled a white ranch house with black shutters and a green door.

“Lincoln’s cottage is past the main house, near the barn, over there,” said Joe.

Rather than park out in front of the ten-stall barn, he swung around to the side. Julie
could see Lincoln Tyler’s cottage off to the right. Like all the buildings, it was painted white with green and black trim. On the left, the west-facing doors to the barn stood open, allowing the late afternoon sun to pour in.

“C’mon,” said Joe.

Julie followed him inside. The uneven, well worn floor was covered with bits of straw and dirt, and the smell of horses, hay and leather was heady. It was earthy and satisfying. They walked down the center, all the way to the end, admiring the animals in their stalls. Julie finally succumbed to her inner horse-lover and stopped to stroke the velvety, golden nose of a curious palomino mare.

The slow clip-clop of a horse entering the barn caught their attention and they turned. The horse and the man leading him were dark figures, starkly silhouetted by the brilliant sun.

“Hello, Mr. Garrett.”

As he neared and her eyes adjusted, Julie caught her breath.

He looks just like James Dean. Well worth a trip to Ocala, Dianna.

“Hi, Linc,” said Joe. “This is my friend, Julie O’Hara. Julie, this is Lincoln Tyler.”

“Linc,” he said, sticking out his hand.

He’s not young. Not old, either; early thirties maybe?
Even his mannerisms are like Dean’s; the off-center smile, the shy, downward glance.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, “’til I get him settled in.”

He led the big chestnut stallion into his stall and removed the horse’s blanket. A couple of pats on the horse’s back and he latched the gate.

“Let’s go in here,” he said, leading the way to a tack room off the center of the barn.

It was a spacious room, surprisingly warm and comfortable. A scarred oak desk and three chairs, black leather cushions tied to the seats, were on the right. Saddles and bridles hung on pegs over a long bench on the left wall, while closed cabinets covered the far wall. Julie was surprised by the relative neatness of it all.

Linc plopped into the chair behind the desk.

“So, how you like Pleasure Ride, Ms. O’Hara?”

The double entendre was not lost on her.

“It’s beautiful, Linc. You can probably tell I love horses.”

“Yep.
Do you ride?”

“When I was a kid,” said Julie, smiling as she remembered.

“You should come back. We got some great trails in the Ocala National Forest and the Greenway. You can go half-day or all day.”

“Now I’m feeling left out, Linc,” said Joe. “You didn’t ask
me
to come back.”

Both men laughed, and Linc said, “You already came back, Mr. Garrett.”

Lincoln invites female attention; it’s different, though, somehow. It’s almost as if he’s doing it to validate his own masculinity.

“Did Dianna ride, Linc?” she asked.

It was comedy to tragedy. Like a clown smiling and passing a hand down over his face, Lincoln’s features were suddenly pulled downward. His misery was palpable.

“Yeah, she did.”

“Did she come up here to ride? Is that how you met?”

“No,” he said, “we met last year, in February.”

His eyes drifted aside, as if he were remembering.

“It was at the Silver Spurs Rodeo …”

“C
owboy up!”

The gate swung open and instantly
Linc’s focus narrowed to the rhythm and swing of the bull. The pulsing of his own blood drowned out the roar of the rodeo fans in the Silver Spurs Arena. Black Lightning was two-thousand pounds of pissed-off fury, determined to rid himself of the weight on his back. Linc held onto the braided rope with a single gloved hand, his other arm whipping around for balance on the furious, spinning bull.

Addicted to the danger of bull-riding, Linc craved the adrenalin rush. When it coursed through him, the brief ride became a slow-motion high where his seat and control were perfect. He gloried in it for stretched-out seconds, and then dismounted cleanly on the outside of a spin.

The pick-up rider swung Linc up behind him on his horse, while the nearest bullfighter, a clown in a barrel, emerged to distract the angry bull. Linc, exhilarated, waved to the crowd as they cantered away. Just before the exit, he thanked the pick-up and jumped off.

Dianna was there, right behind the rail. She had on low-rider jeans and a body-hugging red jersey. Her blue-green eyes were fringed with dark lashes, her skin the color of cream. She leaned over the railing, sweeping her dark hair away from her eyes.

They were meant for each other.

He called her that night and asked her to come to Pleasure Ride Farm. Mid-week had been best for both of them, since the weekends were busy. She arrived late Tuesday morning…and left on Wednesday. They’d gone riding in the forest, and planned to have dinner afterwards at Chili’s. Neither of them said anything about staying the night. They didn’t have to; it was a foregone conclusion.

They made love all night…on the floor in front of the fireplace, in his bed, in the shower. He’d been through hell and back in his life, but none of it mattered as long as he had Dianna.

Ten times she came to Pleasure Ride. And then she stopped.

“Lincoln? I was asking when you saw her
last?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry. It was after Thanksgiving, the first week of December, I think. Dianna came up every once in awhile, but, like I told Mr. Garrett, we weren’t serious.”

“Was she depressed or despondent about anything, Linc?”

“Not when I saw her, but that was two months before she…you know…”

“But you two talked on the phone during that time, right?” asked Joe. “She might have mentioned something, been upset about something…”

“No. We didn’t have much contact after December.” He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his forearms on his legs. His head was tilted down, but his eyes were looking up at them. It was vintage James Dean; the real Linc had disappeared. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. I sure hope you don’t feel you wasted your time coming up here.”

“Not at all,” said Julie, standing up, reaching across the desk to shake his hand. “Thanks for your time, Linc. It was nice to meet you, and a pleasure to see Pleasure Ride.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Lincoln drawled, half-smile back in place.

“Thanks again, Linc,” said Joe.

“Did the police investigate Lincoln, Joe?”

“Yeah, they did. He was transporting a thoroughbred to Gulfstream Park.”

“That’s a racetrack, right? Where is it?”

“It’s in Hallandale, between Fort Lauderdale and Miami. Linc delivered the horse the night before Dianna died and said he stayed the next morning to watch the workout,” said Joe.

“Did anybody see him there?” asked Julie.

“The trainer said he always stayed to watch.”

“That’s not the same thing as saying specifically, ‘
I saw him there that morning’.”

“I know, but Detective McPhee is ‘satisfied’ with
Linc’s alibi, and I’m quoting,” said Joe. “If we want anymore on that we’ll have to get it ourselves.”

“Maybe we should,” said Julie.

They rode in silence for awhile.

“So, what do you think?” said Joe. “Was it worth the ride up here, apart from the scenery?”

“Yes, it was. He’s an interesting guy. Hard to read, though. He’s a man who’s learned to control his expressions.”

“He looks like Jimmy Dean, huh?” said Joe, glancing at her with a tinge of jealousy.

“James Dean. Yes, he does,” said Julie impassively.

“He’s probably been told that many times. He plays the part because it works for him. Anyway,” she said, “that makes him hard to read. But I think you were right. Dianna was from a different social milieu. For some reason, she hadn’t been up to Pleasure Ride Farm for almost two months, and that’s a long time for lovers. Maybe she decided to stop seeing him. Maybe Lincoln cared for her more than she cared for him. That would be hard for someone like him to take…harder than he’s willing to admit.”

“He really looked miserable when you first mentioned her name, though.”

“Yes, he did…but was it grief?”

* * * * * 

Chapter 8

T
he phone beside her bed was ringing insistently. Julie wanted to disconnect it, but she was too tired. She opened her eyes slightly. It was pitch dark out! Sol was even asleep, upside down on the bottom of the bed, feet in the air. Who had the
nerve
to call in the middle of the night?

“Hello…who is this?” she said.

“It’s me, sleepyhead,” said Joe. “Time to get up. I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

“What? No. It’s too early.”

“No, it’s not. We
need
to be early if we want to catch the trainer at Gulfstream.”

“Oh,
all right
! I’m getting up.”

•

Fortified with coffee and doughnuts, Julie felt a lot better. She had dressed appropriately in jeans and low boots, not knowing exactly where they might be walking at Gulfstream Park. The sun was climbing in the east and the Land Rover was chewing up the Florida Turnpike between Orlando and the Southeast Florida coast. They’d been going over the questions they planned to ask and had decided that Joe would take the lead this time. Julie was thinking they’d be at Gulfstream Park in another half-hour or so, when Joe suddenly pulled to the right and got on an exit ramp.

“We’re getting off here? I thought the track was further south, in Hallandale.”

“Gulfstream Park
is
in Hallandale,” said Joe, taking the Boynton Beach exit off the Florida Turnpike. “We’re going to Palm Meadows Thoroughbred Training Center. That’s where Lincoln Tyler actually took Beau Grande, the colt he was transporting. Beau Grande ran in the second race February 4th at Gulfstream, but he trained for it here at Palm Meadows. Jack Folsom, Beau Grande’s trainer, was already here waiting for Linc to deliver the horse. That’s the guy we’re going to see.”