Breakaway (A Gail McCarthy Mystery) (18 page)

"No. I didn't see or hear anything unusual. I just saw Jo, lying there between the barn and the house." Kris's voice was very carefully even, but I could hear the underlying strain. She must have thought, feared, for at least a few seconds, that Jo was dead. It wouldn't be something you would get over quickly.

We were all quiet for a minute. I tended to give credence to Jo's suspicions of an unknown horse. Dixie was unlikely to start neighing for no reason.

"When you heard Dixie neigh to begin with," I asked Jo, "what did it sound like? What kind of a neigh was it?"

Jeri Ward looked a question at me.

I half shrugged. "A horse gives a sort of friendly nicker when you come to feed him in the morning, or when he spots another horse he recognizes. He's more likely to snort than neigh if he sees another kind of animal, like a deer for instance. When you take one horse away from his companions, he neighs louder and shriller; he sort of squalls. It sounds a lot more frantic. And a horse might neigh loudly like that if a strange horse arrived in the middle of the night."

Jo nodded vigorously. "It was more like that. Not nickering, neighing. I thought Dixie had seen another horse and was neighing at it, and then I thought I heard the stranger horse neighing back. They sounded kind of excited, you know."

Jeri looked confused but game. I was glad that she'd recently acquired a horse of her own. The concepts might be unfamiliar to her, but at least she wasn't dismissing our horse talk as a bunch of foolishness, as a non-horseman might be inclined to do.

"So Dixie sounded like she heard or saw another horse and was neighing at it?" I asked Jo.

"Yes," she said definitely. "And then I thought I heard another horse answering back."

We were all quiet once more. I suspected that the others, like me, were trying to puzzle out what bearing the unknown horse, if real, might have on the situation. Was it a coincidence? A loose horse running around just when the horse rapist was in the barn? That seemed unlikely.

She lifted her eyebrows. "Doesn't look like there are any fingerprints; we think he wore gloves. We'll do the usual analysis on the semen. It appears that a horse was tied behind the barn, not too long ago." Jeri looked at Kris. "Do you tie your horse back there?"

"No, never. I tie her out in front, by the stall where you found her."

"Well, it could be that this unknown horse was tied there. We're going to wait until daylight to make a closer examination of the scene. Is there a trail behind your barn?"

"Yes," Kris said. "It runs up the bank behind the house and then follows the ridge in both directions."

"Where can you ride to from here?"

Kris and I looked at each other and shook our heads. "Just about anywhere," she said. "If you go one way, you'll end up in the Lushmeadows subdivision. If you go the other, you'll end up in a network of trails that will take you toward Corralitos, and a lot of other places."

"I could ride from my place to here. I did it, last weekend," I said. "Or, at least, I rode to Lushmeadows, and, as Kris says, a person could easily ride from there to here."

"All right," Jeri nodded. "I need to ask you to stay completely away from the barn for a day, while we pursue our investigation."

A cold, quiet voice, not unpleasant, exactly, just detached. Her cop voice. "Don't forget, Gail. I'll need the name of the other party you spoke of. It's important."

"Right," I said. "See you."

And then I was gone.

FIFTEEN

Another foggy morning. Tired, depressed, and worried, I lay on my side in bed, looking out the window at solidly gray skies. Condensed fog dripped steadily off the roof and the porch was wet and dank. Not much to get up for. But I had to. The animals needed to be fed and I had one very important errand to run. I had to go see Nico.

I got up, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, worked my way through the morning chores, and climbed in the truck. I didn't know how early Nico got up; I hoped it was early.

Eight o'clock on a Saturday morning was not an appropriate time for a social visit, and I knew it. At least I wasn't on call this weekend; my pager wouldn't buzz in the midst of a tricky conversation.

Fortunately, Nico was up. There were lights on in the kitchen, and I could smell coffee through the top half of the Dutch door, which was open despite the fog.

Once the ritual of pouring coffee and offering cream and sugar had been accomplished and we sat at the table in the windowed breakfast nook, I told Nico what had happened last night at Kris's.

"I have work I wish to accomplish here," she said. "If the police find out I am here illegally they will deport me, and I do not want that to happen."

"But ..." I started, then stopped, aware already that nothing I could say would convince her.

"Please do not speak about me to this detective," Nico said.

What could I say? "It's your choice," I told her at last, "but I am really concerned. Has it happened again?"

I looked at her across the table; her face struck me as incredibly simple and pure. As always, I found myself intrigued, wanting to know her better. And I was worried about her.

"Can you think of anything that's changed lately?" I asked her. "Did someone new move in next door? Has a stranger been by here to look at paintings or something and noticed your mare?"

Nico sat quietly, holding her coffee, thinking. "I do not know of anything like that." She paused. "Except for George, and it cannot be him."

"Yes, I met him years ago, when I first moved to this area. We have ridden our horses together on the beach. He rode over to visit me when he first moved here."

"Sure," I said. Inwardly my mind was churning. George Corfios had ridden here on a social call; he had ridden to Kris's on a social call. In both places the mares had been "raped." Nothing of the sort had happened in this area until he moved into it, as far as I knew. Could it possibly be a coincidence?

I was following Nico through her studio, glancing at paintings as I went. Once again, my eyes went to the tawny, undulating landscape with the mysterious cobalt blue water-shape in the center. It had been the first painting I had looked at when I stepped into this room, what, only a week ago? It seemed much longer than that.

Then I was entering a short hall with an open door to my right that revealed a small bathroom. Nico was going through the door at the end of the hall; I followed her.

Once again I stopped, my eyes widening in pleasure. Nico's bedroom was as plain as my own. The bed and dresser were solid, simple oak pieces, both primitive and graceful. They suited the whitewashed adobe walls perfectly, as if they'd been made for the room. Which, in fact, they had.

"When I moved here, George was one of the friends who came to visit me. I asked him to make some furniture for my bedroom. I think he has, how do you say, captured the spirit of the place very well."

"Yes," I said. The bed and dresser were undeniably beautiful. But all I could think about was the uncanny coincidence of George knowing both Nico and Kris-the two owners of the "raped" mares. And both attractive single women, I added to myself.

I felt a little startled; the words had just come from my mouth. I wasn't aware that I'd chosen. But apparently I had. Turning, I led the way back to the studio and up to the first painting that had caught my eye. "This one," I said definitely.

"Really? That would be great." The feeling of financial relief was accompanied by another buoyant thought. If I made payments to her, perhaps I could continue getting to know Nico.

We made arrangements. I gave her directions, my phone number, and a deposit for the amount of five hundred dollars. Despite last night's stress, and my worry and suspicions, I felt remarkably lighthearted at the thought of owning the painting, as well as the idea of knowing Nico better.

Nico walked me out to my truck. I stopped by the driver's side door and stared at the black mare, peacefully eating hay in her corral.

"Nico, I'm really, really worried about that guy who comes to ..." I struggled for a word and gave up and shrugged, "the horse. I wish you'd let me call the police. They aren't going to be concerned about your residence status."

I got into my truck slowly, wishing I knew what the right answers were here. Should I override Nico's wishes? She might never forgive me, and again, was it really my decision? I had the definite sense that Nico wasn't going to be receptive to my suspicions about George.

In the end I said nothing. Just, "I'll see you Wednesday, then." But I drove away wondering. Not least of all what to say to Jeri Ward. Her dark green sheriff's sedan was parked in Kris's driveway when I got there; reluctantly, I pulled in.

As I expected, our encounter was less than positive. In front of a pale and quiet Kris, I told Jeri that I'd promised to keep the other "victim's" identity a secret, and I was going to keep my promise.