One Foot in the Grove (29 page)

I heard the horse gallop away. Underneath me, the man hiccupped.

“Aww, shoot!” he said. I recognized the voice.

I jumped up and snatched the rifle from his hand. “Mister Beasley, what are you doing out here?” I cried. “You know, you could've killed someone!”

“Whoz dat?” slurred Boone Beasley. “Whoz out there? I gotta gun, ya know!”

“Mister Beasley, it's me. Eva Knox. Robert Knox's daughter. I was at your apartment today. Remember? With your check from my sister, Daphne Bouvier?”

“Ohhh, ye-ahhhh. I remember you. Whacha'll doin' out here, pretty lady? Say, aren't you the gal that killed that poor fellow workin' for Miss Daphne? What was his name? He was a Yank, I think. Poor bastard. Y'all ain't gonna shoot me too are ya?”

“I'm out for a walk, Mister Beasley. What are you doing out here? Surely you're not hunting?”

“Damn right, I'm huntin'! And y'all just let the biggest
whitetail I ever seen git away! Damn y'all, girl! You're as much a pain in the ass as your old man!”

“That wasn't a buck, Mister Beasley. It was a horse. And Daddy? What'd he do?”

“I been huntin' these woods
fer
years. Dammit. These are some of the best huntin' grounds in the county. Got some of my best meat out here. And your pa, he's gone an' spoiled it all!”

“Meat? You mean to sell? You've been poaching our land for meat? And then selling it?” My heart sank. My family had purchased meat from Boone Beasley for decades. “How could you do such a thing?” My ribs were hurting real bad. Throwing myself onto Boone Beasley had worsened the pain.

“It ain't easy bein' a butcher these days, ya know! Everyone wants ‘grass fed,' ‘organic,' ‘free-range'! That stuff is pricey as hell, and I ain't got the cash or the business for it. That's why I source stuff myself. Been makin' ends meet by sellin' wild game and my fresh breakfast sausages. The pork's been comin' from the wild boar that's been runnin' though these parts.”

“Wild boar?” I shuddered. As far as I knew, the meat from wild boar tasted like . . . sweat. Not at all desirable for consumption.

“Yep. If the hog ain't been eatin' carrion or too many pine tree roots, I can carve off the fat, remove the loins, and eat 'em just like deer loins. And I make a roast outta each back leg. Ribs go on the grill for a couple hours. Just baste 'em and cook 'em low and slow. I grind the rest and use my special seasonin' fer breakfast sausage. My sausage is an eighty-five to fifteen lean-to-fat ratio; that'd be leaner than anything folks can git 'round these parts. Customers eat 'em up.”

Boone Beasley reached into his pocket, pulled out a flask, untwisted the top, and took a swig. Then another.

“Everything was goin' fine until that fellow from outta town next door put up a big fence. Except fer one or two
spots, he's got the entire Greatwoods place surrounded. I used to hunt all over that place. This one, too. And where the feller ain't got fencing, he got little
cam-er-ahhs
in the trees. I seen 'em, watchin' me. I don't go there no more.”

Buck took another swig.

“And what does my dad have to do with all this?”

“Your pa went and cleared one hundred acres of the best huntin' grounds I'd ever known. Now, he's usin' it for his blasted olive trees. Whoever heard of olive trees in Georgia! It's gittin' so a feller cain't do a decent days huntin' no more. Damn! And now, you just let the finest buck I ever saw git away. Double damn.” Boone Beasley took another swig from his flask.

“Mister Beasley, like I said before, that was not a buck you were aiming at. It was a horse.”

“Horse? Whatchyou talkin' bout, young lady? There ain't no wild horses 'round these parts. I'dda seen 'em.”

“Believe me, Mister Beasley, it was a horse. And I've got a good idea who . . .”

I heard the hoofbeats again. They were trotting. Closer. The horse snorted from somewhere nearby. I looked into the darkness and tried to see. Then, from behind me, I heard the voice.

“Ye folks lose a round tonight?”

I spun around, still holding Boone Beasley's old rifle.

And there he was.

Ian Collier. Sitting high above us, on a great blaze-faced chestnut mare. Ian had no saddle. No bridle. There was just a halter over the mare's head and a lead line that led to Ian's hand. And the mare was just as calm and obedient as she could be. With a scorching look, Ian tossed a bullet to the ground by my feet.

“Better luck next time. I'm afraid ye missed me by just a meter or so.”

Ian jumped off the mare. “Eva Knox, I never expected to find it's been
ye
out here.” He sounded like something between disappointed and angry. I couldn't tell.

“I . . . uh . . . I was looking for Dolly when I stumbled on Mister Beasley here. I'm afraid he'd mistaken your mare for a big whitetail buck. The gun went off when I tackled him. I'm sorry. I had no idea anyone else was in the woods.”

“Tackled him?” Ian looked surprised.

“Damn girl flew outta nowhere!” cried Boone Beasley. “Knocked the wind clear outta me just when I had that buck in my sights! Biggest whitetail I ever seen, too!” He took another swig from his flask. “Ahhhh. Dammit. Buck got away, he did.”

Slowly, a smile made its way across Ian Collier's face and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Good going, lass. Looks like I owe ye one.” Ian chuckled and put an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze and a peck on my forehead. “You see, Kyrie here is my pride and joy.” He patted the great mare on the neck.

“Kyrie? That's the mare's name?” The back of my neck was hot. Something somersaulted deep inside me.

“Aye. It's short for Valkyrie.”

Kyrie put her huge head down, and Ian stroked the big mare's face. Boone Beasley hiccupped.

“Except she's a bit of an escape artist and likes to take 'erself for evening jaunts. She seems to enjoy it and always comes back to her stall in a couple of hours, so I'd not worried about it much until lately, when I heard someone hunting over here. Kyrie knows the secret trail out of Greatwoods.”

If only I'd known the “secret trail” out of Greatwoods, I thought. Would've saved me from fighting the barbed wire.

“Is that what happened the other night?” I asked. “When you found me?”

“Not exactly. I'd tacked up Kyrie and come out lookin' for a poacher after I heard shots. Had him on the run, too, didn't we, Kyrie? Then, when I heard the lightning strike and smelled the smoke, I came over here lookin' to see what happened—checkin' to make sure there wasn't a fire.”

“And there would've been a big one, if it hadn't been for you,” I said.

“Aye. Scots luck, that's all.”

“And you took me back to Greatwoods on Kyrie?”

“Aye. I did. Ye don't remember?”

“No. I don't remember anything about that night. Not after I tripped over . . . well . . . not after the lightning.”

I still hadn't figured out the car wash part, so I chalked it up to being a dream. And it would stay a dream, at least until I was able to get it straight in my mind.

“Aye, I'm sorry, lass,” said Ian. His eyes went all soft.

Boone Beasley belched.

“So, Mister Beasley,” said Ian, “is it you who've been out here all these nights hauntin' the wood folk?”

Boone Beasley didn't answer. Sitting on the ground, he just hiccupped and belched again. So, I explained to Ian all that Boone Beasley told me, about how he'd hunted illegally for years.

“That makes sense,” said Ian. “Yer father told me he was sure someone was huntin' out here. I told him I'd keep an eye out. Thanks for saving Kyrie. I owe ye.”

“Let's just say we're even,” I laughed.

Celtic music thumped and quickened in my head.

My suspect list was shrinking by the hour. It hadn't been Loretta who killed Leonard. And I couldn't believe it'd been Ian, either. After Ian and I sorted it all out, it appeared that although he'd been out and about in the woods that night, it hadn't been Boone Beasley he'd heard. The gun was all wrong, and Ian was pretty sure Boone had been hunting nearer Greatwoods Monday night, because Ian had found shell casings on Tuesday. And if I believed him, Ian assured me that his employee Lurch was not my man, either. In fact, he'd actually laughed when I mentioned it. Seems Lurch had had the night off and was at a ballroom dance class somewhere. It was all easily corroborated.

So, it was looking like my wise guy visitors, Sal and Guido, were at the top of the suspect list again. Seems like while their wives were sipping peach whiskey in the living room at the big house, they'd been out and about stalking mobsters. Hopefully, Detective Gibbit had already tied the gun Daphne found in the boot to the gangsters.

“Sure ye don't want a lift, lassie?” asked Ian with a smile. He was still wearing the vest and pink shirt he'd had on
earlier. He bent down to pick up Boone's flask from the ground, and I decided that in his faded Wrangler jeans, Ian looked pretty awesome from every angle. The sultry tribal music of Celtic pipes, fiddle, flute, and drums rocked on in my head.

“I'll put you up on Kyrie while Mister Beasley and I hoof it alongside the mare. It's hardly proper for ye to be out alone late at night like this,” said Ian. He was talking, but I was staring hopelessly at his green eyes, slender waist, and broad shoulders. I was hearing nothing but my Celtic music, and the tempo was quickening. I watched Ian's strong, slender fingers stroking Kyrie's neck.

“Eva?”

Boone Beasley hiccupped from somewhere behind me.

“Eva?” said Ian, again.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking.”

“Were ye now?” Ian raised his eyebrows and flashed a wicked smile. “Aye, something's put a twinkle in your eye.”

I blushed.

The plan was for Ian and Boone to head to Greatwoods, where Ian would put up Boone for the night while he slept off the alcohol. In the morning, Ian would send Lurch out to find Boone's truck, which was stashed somewhere in the woods, just off the main road. After that, Ian said he'd contact my dad and they'd decide together how to handle what Boone had done. Ian said he thought that maybe some time in a decent rehab center, rather than a fine or jail, would do Boone Beasley the most good. And he even talked about paying for it. Which only made the mystery of Ian Collier more mysterious.

What the heck does this guy do?

Anyway, I knew that if Ian and Boone walked me home, it would take them as much as forty-five extra minutes to get where they were headed. And none of us were sure that Boone could last that long. Already, Boone had admitted that it wasn't unusual for him to pass out during his nighttime hunting forays. So, I argued for several minutes with Ian about how I'd get home.

“I'll make it fine on my own,” I said. “Besides, after the day I've had, what else could possibly go wrong?”

“Ye got a point there, lass. Although, it's still not right, leaving ye out here . . . all alone.”

“How about a compromise?” I asked. “I admit, I'm a little turned around right now. If you wouldn't mind leading me back to the main trail, I'll be able to get back on my own from there.”

Against Ian's “better judgment,” compromise is what we ended up doing. Ian slid his hand under my raised foot and gave me a leg up on the mare's back, and I grabbed the end of Kyrie's mane. Like a spoiled princess, I rode on Kyrie bareback as Ian led us from the ground. Although I'd ridden as a girl, it had been years since I'd been on a horse. Normally, I'd have been in seventh heaven, riding a beautiful mare like Kyrie. However, my mind was so preoccupied with everything that had transpired, I barely noticed the great creature, all powerful and soft, moving beneath me.

Ian kept hold of the rifle as Boone Beasley dragged himself along behind us. We went that way for about ten or fifteen minutes, until we got to a spot in the woods where I recognized the trail. Then, I dismounted to walk—or hobble, as Buck would've said—back home for the remaining ten or fifteen minutes that it would take to get there. Ian objected to leaving me, but I insisted that I would be fine. After all, I was just a few minutes from home, and Boone Beasley was losing steam fast. Ian grabbed a big stick, snapped it into just the right length to make a cane and handed it to me.

“There ye go, lass. Watch yer step and have someone call me when ye get back home safe. Yer sister Daphne has my number.”

“Thanks.” Daphne works fast, I thought. Already, she had the man's number. I'd been right about her thinking Ian Collier was husband material. I chuckled to myself.

I turned and headed down the trail while Ian hoisted Boone, them himself up onto Kyrie. They stood and watched me until I rounded the first corner before I heard them canter off in the other direction. All was looking good.

That is, until five or ten minutes later when I ran into trouble.

Sal appeared first, huffing and puffing, as he jogged around a corner on the trail.

“Well, lookee who we found here, Guido!” Out of breath, he huffed with a big sneer before accelerating and lunging toward me.

“Oh yeah, boss! Lookit who we found!” wheezed Guido as he chugged up the path.

“Help!” I turned, tossed the stick and moved as fast as I could, off the trail into the woods. I yelled again.

“Call . . . all . . . ya want . . . Cupcake!” taunted Sal as he huffed behind me. “No one's . . . gonna hear ya. Way . . . out . . . here. They're all inside . . . back at the house . . . tearing it up . . . By the time . . . they quit . . . you'll be long . . . gone. So will we.”

“So . . . will . . . we!” repeated Guido from farther back.

Despite the fact that he sounded quite tired, Sal wasn't tired enough. He was only about ten feet behind me. I needed to move faster.

I was sure my quota for adrenaline had been used up for the day. Still, I tried to speed up. I imagined myself flying over the ground, as I zigzagged recklessly between the trees. Speed was all I cared about. I never even noticed when my stupid flip-flops fell off my feet. And I didn't feel any of the briars scratching and tearing at my feet and ankles. After a minute of brainless, frantic crashing through the wire grass, I couldn't hear Sal's wheezing breaths and thumping footfalls. I was making progress. Even injured as I was, I'd pulled away.

Then, I stepped into nothingness.

And fell.

Deep into the ground.