Hayburner (A Gail McCarthy Mystery) (11 page)

The brush on the hill was burning; I could see firefighters at work there, trying to keep the fire controlled. But Christy's house was engulfed; it was an old house with a shake roof, I remembered.

Back to work. Handing my horse off to a holder, I got another halter from Clay and proceeded to capture the next candidate. I evaluated each horse as well as I could. Some coughed; all the rest seemed perfectly fine.

Pointing the coughing horses out to Clay, I said, "I ought to start those on antibiotics."

"Go ahead," he said. "There're only four horses left to catch. Tony and I can handle it."

The little knot of spectators and horse holders was rapidly growing. I hoped that among them would be the horses' owners, or I would find Christy or someone who could give me permission to begin treating the animals.

As I made my way to my truck for supplies, I spotted Hans' silver head in the crowd; he was examining a coughing horse. Sure enough, Hans' truck was parked right next to mine in the drive.

So, where was John, I wondered? Surely one of our clients would have called in and the answering service had paged him by now; why wasn't he here?

No time to think about it. I got antibiotics and my stethoscope out of the pickup; out of the corner of my eye I registered a sheriff's car pulling in the driveway.

Jeri Ward got out of the car. A man detached himself from a group near a fire engine and walked to meet her. I recognized Walt Harvey.

"Jeri!" I called.

She looked my way. Taking two fast steps toward her, I said, "I've got to run. But there's a man here that I saw at the last fire. His expression is, well, weird. Like he's enjoying it."

"All right," Jeri said. "We're going to be questioning everyone we can. Point this guy out to me."

I scanned the crowd. "There he is." I told her. "Fat guy, near the front of the group staring at the fire. Wearing glasses."

"I've got him," Jeri said.

"He was definitely at the last fire; if he says not, he's lying. I remember him."

"All right." Jeri and I parted company in a mutual swoop, she toward the crowd by the barn, me toward the riding ring.

I spent the next few hours examining and treating horses. There turned out to be at least a dozen with signs of smoke inhalation problems, and one with fairly severe burns on his neck and rump. At some point in this process, John Romero made an appearance near me.

"Where've you been?" I asked him. "Didn't the service page you?"

"I was out having dinner," he said grudgingly. "It took awhile to get here."

"Jesus, John, I've been here two hours. Where the hell were you?"

"Brookdale. If it's any of your business."

It took me a minute, but I got it. There was only one thing in Brookdale, a little town up in the mountains of the north county, and that was a fairly elaborate restaurant called the Brookdale Lodge. It being Friday night and all, John had probably taken a lady friend to dinner. No wonder he was even more surly than usual.

"It should only have taken an hour to get here," I said.

John shrugged.

Infuriated at his attitude, I turned away and moved on to the next horse without a word. This was all getting to be too damned much.

Another hour later, all horses had been examined and treated, and the inferno seemed to be subsiding. Despite the wind, the firefighters had managed to control the brush fire. But the barn and house were a total loss.

I saw Christy standing near a horse, and walked up to her.

"Oh, Gail, thank you." Christy sounded as if she were crying.

I put a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry," I said. "What a mess."

"I know. But at least we only lost one horse." Christy gulped and went on. "And you got Clifford out. I can't believe he was still in there. I thought someone told me they'd already gotten him out."

"Clifford?"

"The horse you got out of the barn. That's Clifford. He's the most valuable horse out here."

"Oh." I remembered Clifford now. So many things had happened since I rescued him, I'd forgotten all about it.

Christy shook her head. "The woman who owns him paid over eighty thousand for him."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Christy gave me a weak smile. "He's got a fancy German name I can't pronounce. Clifford's just his barn name."

I must have looked puzzled.

Christy cocked her head. "You know, Clifford the big, red dog. Clifford the horse is just a big, sweet pup."

I shook my head, not understanding the allusion.

"It's a kids' book," Christy said, and burst into sobs. I put an awkward arm around her shoulders as she cried. "All my daughter's books were in that house. And all her baby pictures," Christy gasped out. "They're all gone. And she's grown up now; I don't have anything left from when she was a baby."

"Did you get all your pets out?" I asked gently.

"Yeah. I shut the dogs in the pickup; it's parked way out there." Christy waved an arm at the drive. "I don't know about the cats. They were barn cats. I hope they got out. I haven't seen them."

"I'm sorry," I said again, feeling how inadequate it was.

As I spoke, a woman detached herself from the crowd and threw her arms around Christy. The two of them wept on each other's shoulders. I watched them sympathetically, not knowing what to say or do.

Christy George was about my own age. I'd known her to be divorced and single, living alone here and running a boarding stable that catered to high-priced dressage horses. I hadn't known she had a daughter.

Christy's operation was much smaller than the Bishop Ranch; I thought she had about twenty horses on her place, total. But all of them were worth a lot of money, and Christy charged high rates and gave her boarders deluxe care. I couldn't imagine how she was going to cope with such a large-scale disaster.

I felt a tap on my arm. "Gail?" It was Clay.

"Hey," I said.

"I'm going home now," he told me. "Mom's not feeling well and she's alone. I need to get back. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Thanks," I said. And then, "Where's Bart?"

"Out on a date. That's what Mom said. I'd guess with Angie."

"Oh." Belatedly I realized I hadn't seen Bart tonight. "Well, thanks for letting me know about this. I'm glad I could be here to help."

"Yeah. I was glad you were here, too." Clay squeezed my hand briefly and turned away.

Other people were departing, too, I noticed. Maybe I could go. Christy George was talking to the woman who had hugged her. My junior vet and supposed cohort was nowhere to be seen.

Hans Schmidt was gone, too. I wondered what time it was. Scanning what was left of the crowd, I saw Jeri Ward talking to a teenage boy over by her sedan. I walked in their direction.

The boy was tall and thin with pale skin, wearing a ball cap and denim jacket. His eyes moved restlessly as he spoke to Jeri. There was something defiant in his stance; at the same time he looked uncomfortable.

As I approached, Jeri glanced my way and then said something that appeared to be conclusive. The boy answered her, then slouched away.

I watched his loose-hipped, slump-shouldered shuffle, and asked Jeri, "Who's that?"

"That," she said, "is Marty Martin. That's what he calls himself. Suspect number one, at the moment."

"Ah," I said. "I thought suspect number one was Bart Bishop."

"He's been replaced. Marty, there, is actually Bart's pick for chief suspect."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Bart told me."

"So, of course, I checked him out. Turns out we're very familiar with Marty Martin."

"Familiar?"

"He's got one of the longest rap sheets for a juvenile I've ever seen."

 
"Oh."

"Yeah. Marty's been arrested for everything from petty theft to possession of pot, to guess what? Arson."

"Oh," I said again.

"Yeah," Jeri said again. "He burned the neighbor's shed down when he got mad at her. Told her she'd be sorry when she ran him off her place, which is what he allegedly said to Bart Bishop. Quite the coincidence."

"So, how come he's running around loose?"

"Marty's father has a lot of money," Jeri said succinctly.

It figured. Everyone who lived in Lushmeadows subdivision had a fair amount of money.

"Also," Jeri said, "Marty committed those crimes as a juvenile. But this time it'll be different."

"Why's that?"

Jeri smiled. "Marty turned eighteen last month."

TEN

At ten the next morning I was down at my barn, waiting for Blue Winter. We'd agreed on this time for my initial training session with Danny, and I was keen to begin. Sitting on a bale in the hay barn, I rubbed Roey's red, wedge-shaped head and stared impatiently down my driveway, much as I had as a five-year-old, waiting for my father.

Danny stood in his corral, munching the last of his breakfast hay and eyeing me curiously. Despite my eagerness to begin, I refrained from grabbing a halter and catching the colt. I wanted Blue with me, as an observer and an advisor. Though I was familiar with equine ways in general, I was aware of my ignorance about the breaking process. I'd read some books, sure; I'd seen people get on colts for the first time. But neither of these was an excuse for real hands-on experience. Which Blue had.

Why, I wondered suddenly, had I never told Clay about my new project? The answer came to me just as quickly. Because of Bart. Bart was a horse trainer by profession, and Clay would probably have suggested that his brother help me with the colt. And I was not a great fan of Brother Bart. In my opinion, Bart's attitude was egotistical and his method rigid; neither was an advantage in a horse trainer.

Still, I was glad to hear he was off the hook as chief arson suspect. I hadn't really believed he'd burn his own barn down, and I felt the distress the whole situation seemed to be causing Clay.

Was Marty Martin the culprit? Jeri seemed to think so, but I wondered. I couldn't forget the expression on the fat man's face as he stared at the blaze.

Once again, I shifted my attention to the drive. Where was Blue?

High on the eastern ridge, the big blue gum whispered softly. Morning sunlight seemed almost to glitter on the smooth lance-shaped leaves. Each plumey bough was mounded with a load of little silvery blue cones, like some sort of magically moonlit snow. Slender, branching trunks reached skyward, creaking and swaying in the breeze, towering high above the ridge and my property.

I smiled. Eucalyptus trees are notorious for coming down in a storm. But my big tree was far enough away from my house and barn not to be a hazard, and I loved it. It was the only really big tree on my property, and as such had a special presence for me. My bedroom window looked out at it; I had seen it glowing in the light of the full moon and silhouetted against the dawn. Were I to make a shrine, it would be at the base of that tree.

Still no sign of Blue. I scanned the sky impatiently. Though the air was warm and dry, little feathery clouds scudded along, drawn by the breeze. Perhaps the weather was changing.

At last. And at last, too, the shape of a dark green pickup could be seen pulling in my front gate. Blue was here.

I waited quietly on my hay bale as Blue parked and got out of his truck. My heart seemed to move, literally, as he turned, saw me, and smiled.

What is it, I asked myself, not for the first time, about this man?

He walked toward me, red hair shining like fine, coppery gold wires in a springy halo beneath his gray fedora hat, and all I wanted to do was fall into those long arms like some kind of storybook maiden and have him hold me.

Our eyes met. Blue smiled again; I wondered what he was thinking.

"Morning, Stormy," he said. "I'm sorry I'm late. One of my guys quit this morning and I had to scramble around to find some help. Little plants take a lot of looking after in this heat."

"I can imagine. Looks like the weather might be breaking," I added.

Blue glanced skyward. "It does," he agreed. "That wind last night made me think a front might be coming in."

"Yeah," I said. "Another barn in Harkins Valley burned last night."

"Oh no," Blue said. "Arson?"

"Everyone seems to think so. It was Christy George's place. Do you know her?"

"I don't believe so."

"She runs a fancy dressage stable. She's a single woman; the boarding stable is her livelihood. I'm afraid this will be really hard on her. Her house burned to the ground, too. I sure hope she has good insurance."

"Wow." Blue shook his head. "So the cops think some arsonist is getting his kicks burning horse barns down."

"Apparently. They seem to think it's a neighbor kid who's been in a lot of trouble." I shrugged. "I guess we'll see."

"You're friends with that detective, right?"

"Jeri Ward. Yeah, we're friends. Or almost friends, anyway. We've known each other awhile." Picking Danny's halter up from the bale beside me, I said, "Are you ready?"