Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) (6 page)

"Oh," I gasped.

It was magical. The barn sat right on the bank of the slough; some thoughtful person had built a deck along its length, looking out over the clear, reed-fringed water. A small wooden pier extended out to an island about thirty feet offshore. Sparks of light clung to the ripples lapping the planks; a long-legged blue heron fished in the shallow water just off the island.

I looked at Blue. "This is wonderful."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," I said. "The understatement of the century. How did you find it?"

"The guy who owns this place farms next door to the rose farm. He told me about it. His family uses it once a year for a big family picnic. He said I was welcome to come here."

"And the hay?"

"I brought it one day last week when I had some time. Thought it would come in handy if you wanted to take a little pack trip with me."

"And here we are." I smiled. "You really did think of everything."

"Maybe," he said. "Ready for a drink?"

"Sure. Let's get the horses unpacked."

Blue ran water from a rusty spigot to rinse and fill an old watering trough next to the hitching rack while I unsaddled and brushed Gunner and Danny. Then he unpacked Plumber as I watered the other two and tied them to the manger with flakes of hay in front of them. When Plumber was similarly provided for and the dogs had had both a drink and a dip in the trough, we began unpacking the gear.

"Wow, it's the deluxe trip." I grinned.

Blue had brought folding chairs and a cooler. He'd also brought big, comfortable quilted flannel sleeping bags and a thick air mattress to sleep on.

"No tent, though," he said. "I figured we'd sleep on the deck. If it rains, we can just move into the barn."

"You bet," I said. I was investigating the contents of the pack bags and finding that Blue had provided us with chips and salsa as well as margarita makings. And the cooler contained a bag of ice cubes, marinated skirt steak, and a green salad.

"Wow," I said again.

"Sit down and relax." Blue indicated a chair he had set up in a patch of sunshine on the deck. "Let me bring you a drink."

"This is just too good for words." I accepted a clear tumbler filled with lime green liquid. Staring out over the quiet water of the lagoon, I asked, "What did I do to deserve it?"

"Oh, just being you is plenty, Stormy." Blue clinked his glass against mine.

"To us," I said.

We drank.

After a minute, Blue began collecting driftwood, margarita in hand. Piling it next to a simple stone firepit near the shore, he pointed at the little island at the end of the pier. "Hummingbird Island. Do you want a tour?"

"I sure do."

"Better leave the dogs behind."

We tethered Roey and Freckles to the posts of the porch and I followed Blue down the narrow, creaky pier.

"The rancher told me about this island," Blue said. "It's really fascinating."

The pier ended at a sandy spit of a beach, fortified at one end with piled rocks, which seemed to form a rudimentary seawall. The island itself looked to be less than an acre, mostly covered with native scrub--greasewood, ceanothus, manzanita.

"Come on." Blue took my hand. "Let me show you where the hermit lived."

"Hermit?"

"Yeah. Bob, that's my rancher friend, said that when he was a boy, an old man lived out on this island. A crazy old man, or that's how everyone thought of him. He had no particular right to be here; the island belonged to Bob's family, who own this ranch. But Bob's father let him stay."

As Blue talked, he led me down a narrow trail, really more of a tunnel through the brush; we both had to stoop and push branches out of our way. The path emerged into a clearing; with a wall of scrub on all sides, it was as private as if it were an enclosed villa.

"There's what's left of his hut." Blue gestured at what appeared to be no more than a pile of sticks; adjacent to it, and still standing, was a primitive arbor made of found wood. A wild cucumber vine still trailed over the trellis, wreathing it in bright green leaves and tiny cream-colored flowers.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing at a large hump in the center of the clearing.

Blue shrugged. "Sculpture? Religious icon?"

The hump was made of earth that looked as though it had been patted and stomped to a smooth clay texture. Embedded in it were thousands of shells, and fragments of shells, and pebbles, mosaiclike, arranged in strange, swirling patterns. At the top, an intricate geometric shape radiated outward.

As I stared, a tiny, iridescent green bullet dive-bombed my head, with a sharp, whirring shriek.

"Yikes." I ducked, already recognizing the culprit. "Hummingbird Island," I said to Blue with a smile.

"That's right. They're all over the place. They breed and nest out here."

"That one looks like an Anna's," I said. I was familiar with hummingbirds; they nested on my property, too.

"I think so," Blue said. "From what I've seen, there are both Anna's and Allen's Hummingbirds on this island."

I looked around the clearing in bemusement. "So this old man just lived out here alone with the hummingbirds, making weird sculpture?"

"That's right. When he first came, apparently he had a little boat, which he used to row to the town of Moss Landing for supplies. After he got older, Bob's family built the pier, so they could bring him food."

I smiled. "Their own personal hermit."

"Yeah. They probably got lots of karma points for taking care of him."

I stared around some more. The clearing had an eerie resonance; it felt entirely apart from the modern world. I could almost sense the old man's presence, brooding over his strange mound. Not hostile, not frightening, just otherworldly.

Blue watched my face. "Can you feel it?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I thought, too. It's an odd spot."

I raised my eyebrows. "A sacred space?"

"Maybe." Blue sketched a small, formal bow in the direction of the mound. "We'll be going now."

"Thank you," I said, nodding my head in the same direction.

 
We both ducked back into the brush, emerging onto the sand spit by the pier. Startled, a mallard female herded her flock of fluffy babies back into the water with many alarmed quacks. Blue and 1 stood silently together, hand in hand, as the ducks sailed off in a tiny flotilla.

"That was neat," I said as we walked back along the pier. "Thank you for taking me there."

"My pleasure." Blue grinned. "How about another drink?"

"You're on."

We drank margaritas while Blue made a fire and grilled the meat; he'd brought red wine to drink with the steak and salad for dinner. The sun went down over the lagoon as we ate; afterward Blue emerged from the barn carrying two oil lamps.

"I stashed these here when I brought the hay," he said, as he lit and hung the lamps off the deck. "Watch. There's something 1 want to show you."

The lanterns cast a flickering illumination over the slough. As it grew darker, I found that by cocking my head so I got the angle just right, I could see into the inky water.

Blue smiled and pointed with his eyes. "Hold still," he said.

A flap of wings alerted me to a black bird with a white crest descending out of the night sky to perch on one of the posts that formed the porch railing. Two others arrived right behind him.

"Night fishing herons," Blue whispered softly.

This was a type of bird I'd never seen before. As I watched, the three birds studied the water below them intently. Suddenly one plunged, as neatly and precisely as a high diver; he entered the water headfirst and appeared to swim under the surface briefly. His head popped up a second later, a silvery fish in his beak.

I smiled at Blue and reached for his hand. Together we watched the birds fish for what seemed like a long time; it might have been only ten minutes. I was lost in the magic of the scene, the old barn at our backs, the slough before us, the fitful light of the lanterns on the water. The diving herons, with their long, trailing white crests, like plumes, lent just the right note of exotic splendor.

"This has been the perfect vacation," I whispered in Blue's ear.

He smiled and reached in his pocket. Before I could see what he was doing, my hand was in his hand. "Stormy, will you marry me?"

"Will I what?" I looked down in amazement. Blue was gently

pressing a ring into my palm. My fingers closed around it and I held it up as I met Blue's eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, as I saw his expression. "I wasn't expecting this."

I looked at the ring. A simple band, it was set with a heart-shaped stone that flashed in the dim light. It didn't appear to be a diamond.

"It's a sapphire," Blue said. "It was my mother's. I had it set in a ring for you."

I swallowed.

"Sapphires were always my favorite stone." Blue looked down.

I took his hand. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for asking me. I honestly hadn't been thinking about us getting married."

"Will you think about it?"

"Of course. Tell me, why do you want to get married? Don't you like things the way they are?"

Blue gave me a hesitant glance. "I thought," he said diffidently, "if we wanted to have a child, it might be better if we were married."

"A child?" Now I was really reeling. "You want to have a child?"

"Haven't you thought about it?"

I was silent for a moment. "Yes," I admitted, "I have."

"Me, too," Blue said simply.

"Is that what you want, then?" I asked him.

"Maybe. If you do. Either way, I'd like to marry you. I love you, you know."

I smiled. "I love you, too. No matter what."

"So you'll think about it?"

"Yes. I promise."

"Good. I'll save the ring until you decide." Blue pulled me towards him and gave me a long kiss.

"Maybe," I said, when we broke apart, "we should just skip straight to the honeymoon."

"Those sleeping bags look awfully good," he agreed.

I kissed him one more time and began to unbutton my shirt.

Blue grinned. "I can't wait to see what you look like by lamplight," he said.

SEVEN

I arrived home the following afternoon to a reality check of truly dismal proportions. Crime scene tape still swathed my barnyard, Detective Johnson had left three messages on my answering machine, and Gunner was lame. Despite the EZ Boot and the soft ground, the trip had really been too much for him.

"Damn." I watched my good horse limp off across his corral and wanted to kick myself. "I should have got the shoe back on him right away."

"Why don't you call the shoer now while I feed," Blue suggested.

"All right." I headed back up to the house, mentally composing what I would say to Tommie Harper. It wasn't exactly a typical request. Please finish the shoeing job your competition started. And Tommie was a very forthright person. I'd just have to see what she made of it.

Tommie laughed. "So Dominic managed to get shot in the middle of shoeing your horse?"

"Is that what people are saying?"

"That's what I heard."

"Well," I said feebly. "Would you mind putting the last shoe on? It's the foot the horse has got navicular in, actually, and he's already sore."

"No problem."

"I've been using an egg bar shoe with a wedge pad," I added.

"No problem," she said again. "I'll be there tomorrow evening when I'm done with my appointments. Say, five-thirty."

 
"Great," I said. "I appreciate it." I hung up the phone noting that Tommie had quite distinctly failed to say that she was sorry about Dominic. Of course, it was no secret that she'd detested the man.