Somewhere Between Luck and Trust (29 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

CRISTY WASN’T SURE
how to conduct a search. Beau rarely ranged far from the house, but she had no way to know what had transpired during her absence. She knew it was possible he had simply gone exploring and would return when he was ready. He could be on the trail of a deer, or visiting a neighbor’s dog.

On the other end he could be a victim of Jackson’s harassment. Jackson might have dropped him off between here and Berle to deprive her of her watchdog. Or he might have done something worse. Just because he could.

And if Jackson had harmed a perfectly innocent dog for no reason other than to remind her of her vulnerability, what might he do to their son?

If she took Michael and fled fast and far away, would even that be good enough? Would he track her down, purely because he liked toying with her the way a cat toys with a cornered mouse? Someday in the future, as some sort of sick, egotistical tribute, would he decide to find his father-hungry son and turn him into a copy of himself?

He had put her in prison, and now he was making certain she stayed there.

She didn’t know why Jackson was the way he was. During their months together she had never been to his home to meet his parents, so she had never observed his family life up close. She knew he was an only child, conceived when his mother was in the early stages of menopause after years of costly fertility treatment. Jackson had joked that at the last possible opportunity his mother had finally stepped up to the plate because Pinckney had his choice of younger women just waiting to do for him what she hadn’t been able to.

At his son’s birth Pinckney Ford had been puffed-up proud that the Ford dynasty would continue into the future, and from that moment on he had laid the world—or at least Berle—at his son’s feet. All Jackson ever had to do was claim it.

Right now Michael was with people who loved him and met his every need, but the atmosphere at Berdine’s was entirely different from the one she imagined in the Ford home. Michael was a baby, but like Berdine and Wayne’s daughters, as he grew he would be expected to contribute, to be kind and generous, to show respect for others and the world he lived in. He would be taken to church, not to be shown off, but to learn about God’s love and the expectations placed on a Christian. Berdine and Wayne would model their chosen religion at home, and while Michael would always find encouragement, nobody would tell him the world belonged to him.

Now she understood that Jackson was a sociopath, like some of the women she had seen up close in Raleigh. His mind was so alien she wondered how she could possibly put herself in his place and imagine what he had done tonight and what role poor Beau had played. The only thing she knew for sure was that he wouldn’t stop at anything to get what he wanted.

She stooped to retrieve the six-volt lantern that the goddesses stored under the table beside the glider and switched it on to be sure it still worked. Then she headed toward the barn, calling Beau’s name as she went. The sky had quickly grown dark, and halfway there she switched on the lantern to guide her. The beam was so bright that, if necessary, she could use it as a weapon to halt Jackson in his tracks long enough to switch on the stun gun. She swept the light over the bushes and boulders on each side, watching for movement, canine or human.

“Beau!” She stopped and listened, hoping to hear a joyful bark in the distance, but the only sounds were crickets and the eerie, quivering whistle of a screech owl.

She called the dog’s name until she reached the barn. The door was closed, which meant Beau hadn’t gotten inside without help. But it was possible Jackson had shut him in there to keep him out of the way. At the door she called the dog’s name again and listened, but when there was no answering sound, she opened it and stepped in, methodically spraying the interior with light. With relief she saw the barn was empty.

Back on the path she continued to the garden. Again, it was possible Beau had been cooped up inside the fence. At the gate she shone the light around the perimeter. In the center of the garden she could see the green shimmer of newly emerging plants, but no dog.

“Beau!” She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks. The dog had become a fixture at the house and in her life. Almost worse, she felt responsible. She shouldn’t have allowed Sully to leave him. She should have foreseen that something like this might happen. Jackson preyed on the innocent, and what was more innocent than a dog who wanted only to be petted and fed, in exchange for barking when he sensed intruders?

She debated how much farther to go. If she followed the trail into the woods, she would eventually come to the Johnstons’ property. It was possible Beau had gone that way, but it was easier to call and ask if they’d seen him.

She switched the lantern to her left hand and wiped her cheeks with the back of her right, the stun gun swinging from her wrist. Then, struggling to compose herself, she started back the way she had come, bathing the path and beyond with light, in case she had missed something the first time.

Near the house she veered off toward the family cemetery on the hill above it. Charlotte Hale was buried there, along with Charlotte’s mother and grandparents and a half-dozen ancestors. When the goddesses visited, they almost always made a pilgrimage, leaving bouquets or clearing away weeds. Last weekend Taylor, Charlotte’s daughter, had come with Maddie and Ethan, her father, to plant a rosebush that was already producing pale yellow buds. Not coincidentally the variety was named Charlotte, something Ethan had spotted in a garden catalogue, and Cristy had thought it was a perfect, thoughtful addition.

“Beau, where are you?” Her voice broke, but she didn’t stop. She batted at tears and kept walking. There were no visible stars, and the moon had yet to show itself. The lantern made a lonely swath of light as she swung it, and once she was so busy peering into the distance that she tripped over a rock and nearly sprawled facedown on the ground.

“Beau!”

She was rewarded by something as soft as a whisper, a fragile, tenuous whine that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined.

“Beau! Good dog! Where are you, Beau?” She stood absolutely still and strained to hear something. Anything.

There was no answer. She slumped. The noise had probably been an animal rustling in the brush, a squirrel or rabbit. There were foxes and black bear here, too. Lorna saw bears regularly in the Mountain Mist orchard, and Zettie always lost at least a tree’s worth of fruit to the bears by harvest. So far Cristy hadn’t seen one at the Goddess House, but now she supposed Beau might have had something to do with that.

“Beau...” She shook her head, shining the light all around her and peering carefully at everything she illuminated.

Then she heard a whimper. She waited, hoping, praying, and in a matter of seconds she was rewarded. This time the sound was louder, loud enough that she could tell it was coming from her left. She walked tentatively in that direction, taking a step, calling the dog’s name, then another, waiting in between until she heard the sound again.

The whimper grew louder. She moved quicker, flashing the light back and forth in slow, steady sweeps. “Beau? Good boy. Where are you, Beau?”

She was on the second sweep of a wooded area just beyond the cemetery when she thought she saw something, a mound that looked out of place. She sped up until she was close enough to see better. The mound moved.

“Beau!” This time she ran until she was nearly on top of the dog, who was stretched out on the ground, eyes closed, and panting although the night was turning cool.

“Oh, Beau!” She dropped to the ground in front of him, afraid he might snap at her if he was injured. “Sweet dog, what happened to you?”

He opened his eyes slowly, as if in shock. But his tail thumped twice, just enough to give her confidence she could approach.

“Where are you hurt, buddy?” She put her hand on his back, and he didn’t snarl or try to move away.

She shone the light carefully, trying to keep it from his eyes. It only took a moment to see that his right flank, just above the point where his leg met his body, was bleeding. He lifted his head to attempt to lick it, but he fell back, and closed his eyes.

She had to do something. She should have brought a first-aid kit, but she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She had to stop the bleeding and stop it quickly. And she knew she had to cover him to keep shock at bay. She stripped off her jacket, then her T-shirt, which she wrapped around the leg and brought up over the wound. He tried to sit up and yipped as she gently moved the shirt to apply pressure, but he fell back, too tired to protest more. She knew better than to tie the T-shirt tightly. She didn’t want to cut off circulation. She just needed to stop the bleeding.

“Listen, buddy, we’re going to make you feel better right away. You just rest. I’m going to make sure you don’t lose more blood.”

She tried to think what else she should do. If she managed to stop the bleeding, would Beau be okay while she ran to the house and called the Johnstons? They would know how to help the dog. But she was afraid to leave him alone, afraid the bleeding would begin again.

Jackson had shot him. She was as sure of that as she was of her name. She could visualize the scene. Jackson had parked and started up to the house, but Beau had refused to let him on the porch. Jackson, who had no way of knowing the big dog was all bark, had probably drawn a handgun, or gone back to his car for one of the hunting rifles he often traveled with. Then he had come back to shoot poor Beau. That he hadn’t killed the dog seemed to indicate a rifle, since with a scope, he could shoot from a safe distance.

Beau, injured, had taken off, and Jackson, who then had access to the porch, had either let the dog go or missed subsequent shots. She imagined if she looked hard enough when the sun came up she might find bullet holes in the front of the porch or splintering a post.

She smoothed the jacket over him, but now Beau was shivering. She knew she had to run back to the house for blankets. She also needed to call the Johnstons. If Beau didn’t thrash around too much, her T-shirt would apply some pressure while she was absent. She could be back in minutes to wait here until one of the Johnstons arrived.

“I’m coming back, boy,” she said. She stroked his head. “I promise. In just a few minutes. Just stay with it, okay? Hang in there. We’ll get you fixed right up. I’m going to take care of you.”

She got to her feet and steeled herself when he whimpered in protest. Then she started down the hill.

The air was cold against her bare skin, and she felt vulnerable, still frightened that Jackson might be hanging around to watch the fun. She trained the lantern on the ground so she didn’t trip and took the hill as fast as she could. Halfway back to the house she saw lights coming up the driveway. She froze, terrified Jackson had come back, but when she cast the light toward the parking area at the driveway’s end, she realized the car wasn’t Jackson’s at all.

“Sully!”

He parked and leaped out of his car, slamming the door behind him and flicking on a flashlight.

“Cristy?”

“Sully!” She swung the lantern directly in front of her, hoping that would make her easier to spot. He came loping up the hill, and only then did she realize she was half-undressed.

“What on earth?” he said, when he saw her. “Did he hurt you? Did Jackson—”

She knew what he was thinking. “No. No! I never saw him, just the note. I found Beau, and he’s bleeding. I’m pretty sure Jackson shot him. The only thing I had to stop it with was my T-shirt.”

His eyes flicked to her bra, then quickly up. “Where is he?”

She pointed. “Up behind the cemetery. In the woods just beyond. I’m going to get a blanket.”

“Get a couple. It will make it easier to carry him.”

“Are we taking him to a vet?”

“Around here? Not much chance. Let me look at him first, then we’ll figure out what to do. We’ll take him tomorrow for sure.”

She suddenly realized that at most half an hour had passed since she had phoned him, and Berle was an hour and a half away in daylight. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was on my way to see you. I figured you were just about out of dog food. I have another sack in the car, so I left after my shift ended.”

She thanked fate for good timing. Then she took off for the house, and Sully went up the hill.

Less than ten minutes later she found him with Beau and held out the blankets, which he took. She’d slipped on a sweatshirt, and grabbed a load of old towels in case they were needed.

“He’s a tough old guy,” Sully said. “Looks to me like the bullet dug a regular furrow in his flank, but it kept going. It bled like the devil, so blood loss is the problem, but I don’t think he sustained lasting damage. And your T-shirt seems to have stemmed the tide.”

“Shouldn’t we bundle him up and take him into Asheville?”

“He’ll be okay here tonight, then I’ll drive him somewhere in the morning and have him looked at, maybe stitched up. A neighbor can tell you what vet’s closest. If not I’ll take him to mine, but I’m going to stay and keep an eye on him tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is.” She knelt beside the dog and stroked his head. “But are you staying to watch out for me or Beau?”

He didn’t answer that. “How’d Ford get inside?”

“I don’t have any idea. I locked the house when I left. I
know
I did. And I’m almost sure it was locked when I came back. I didn’t try the door before I unlocked it, but I’m sure I heard a click.”

His response was succinct and profane.

“This was Jackson’s way of letting me know I’m not safe here,” Cristy said.

“I’m not going to get you to leave, am I? Not even now?”

“I can’t. Not yet. I have to work things through, and I need a job while I do.” They had been through this. She didn’t elaborate.

“Then I’m spending my nights here. I’ll come in the evenings, after my shift ends. I’ll sleep on the couch, and I’ll be gone before you get up in the morning. But I’m not letting you spend another night here alone.”