Death at the Black Bull (19 page)

B
y the time she got within view of the barns, she could see the dust. Probably Micah trying to recapture something, she thought. Sure enough, before she'd taken a dozen steps more, she could hear the grunts and squeals penetrating the dust clouds. It was only a little after ten, but already she could feel the perspiration under her clothes. If you were going to take a walk for cardio in this part of the country, at this time of the year, you did it by ten or you put it off until dusk. At least, that's what her doctor had told her. She listened to his advice about as much as she listened to anyone else's.

Cresting the last rise, just before the worker's dining hall, she could see her son atop the snorting horse, who was clearly trying to throw him. One slip of the reins and he'd land in a swirl of dust on the hardpan of the corral, which had become unforgiving after years of hooves and the occasional pounding of bodies. She bit her lip as she watched. He was all alone. It was just him and the horse. It wasn't the first time he had done this, but it was the first in a long time. Why was he doing it? Why now?

To her right, standing in the hallway of the dining hall, a man showed his face. She did not know him. This bothered her. It was her place, after all. She should know everybody on it, but there were more and more strange faces and she did not like it. When she looked again, he was gone.

The noise from the corral had lessened. Micah was moving the horse in circles around the enclosure, first left, then right. She knew these were neck-reining exercises, meant to reinforce the horse's response to changing leads. Only once or twice did the horse do a halfhearted crow hop. He had given over his will to the man. The battle was over.

She walked on and by the time she got to the corral, Micah had dismounted and was unsaddling the horse. She watched in silence until at last he acknowledged her presence with a nod of his head.

“You planning on going on the rodeo circuit again?” A reference to a long-ago youthful fling. “For the record, you're just a little south of fifty and the ground's not as soft as when you were young.”

“Well, I try to stay off the ground. I managed today.”

“Why take the risk, Micah? What do you get out of it?”

He didn't answer as he set the saddle on the post that joined the rails at the corner of the corral. The horse stood quietly, nostrils wide, blowing into the morning air. Micah took the saddle blanket and began working on the steam rising from the horse's back. Audrey moved toward the horse's head, reached through the fence, and stroked his muzzle. The gelding lowered his head to her touch, his sides gently heaving as he settled. Finally, Micah took the blanket he'd been using to wipe the horse down and draped it over the rail to air. Then he slipped the bridle over the horse's head and hung it over the saddle horn. Unfettered, the horse walked to the center of the corral while they both watched, lay down, and rolled the memory of the man off his back in the dirt. Then he scrambled to his feet and went to the horse trough at the side of the barn door. He dropped his nose into the water.

“They always used to say,” she said, “a good horse drops his muzzle deep into the water.” Her son didn't say anything.

“I asked you a question,” she said. “What do you get out of it?”

“I guess it's kind of hard to explain. Maybe it has to do with reminding me of a time when I felt free.”

“I don't understand.”

“I knew you wouldn't.”

“Try me. I'd like to know why you come down here, early in the morning alone, to chance breaking your neck.”

Micah looked at his mother full on for the first time. “When Caleb was alive, I was able to do pretty much what I liked because he was the focus, the heir apparent. In college, I'd been on the rodeo team six months before you even knew. I wasn't on the radar. All that changed when he didn't come back from Vietnam. Dad went into the bottle and you . . . all you saw was Rusty. Then, when she was gone . . . Well, that was pretty much the end. Dad took the easy way out, left a mess, and I was the only one around to clean it up. You . . . you just got mean. I don't know all the reasons. Maybe you felt cheated, maybe it had to do with Dad's weakness and the fact that someone you thought might be the answer rejected you. Probably a combination of those things, but you just got meaner and meaner and for the most part I didn't exist to you. I got stuck with this place and all that went with it and lost myself in the process. So, when things go bad, I come down here, find the rankest horse in the barn, and see if I can break my neck, and wonder, if it happens, will anyone even notice?”

She stood alone, long after Micah turned away, took the lead rope, and caught up with the horse, then disappeared into the barn.

She looked around, but did not see the thousands of acres filled with pecan trees or hear the distant lowing of cattle, or even see the towering house on the knoll that still bore the name Crow's Nest. She saw instead the refuse of her life. It was not so much regret that overtook her, but a sense of profound aloneness. Micah's words had hit their mark. More than he could ever know.

In the distance, where the hard county road met the long driveway that led to where she stood, she saw a car. She watched its progress as it made its way toward the house, finally pulling up to the steps that led to the sweeping veranda and the front door. The man who got out of the car stood as a reminder of her past. A rugged handsomeness, piercing, dark eyes, and an easy air of confidence, just like his father. Even after all these years, the memory of him stirred her. She would have walked away from everything she thought she wanted, for him. He had become her addiction. He had wavered because she was beautiful in her youth and in her strength of will, but in the end he rejected her. He could not destroy a family, nor would he allow her to despite the intensity of their attraction for each other.

The loss devastated her. When, in the years to come, he married and had a son, her grief became complete. The final blow came with his death, along with his wife, in the car crash. That had robbed her of the last of her hope, and she hated him for it.

Now the same man, reborn in his son, stood by his car, looking up at the house.

*   *   *

Virgil had just put his foot on the first step when an intuition made him look to his right. There he saw a lone figure standing in the road by the corral. Even at this distance, he knew who it was. He looked at the house once more, then took his foot from the step and headed down the road.

“Mrs. Hayward . . .” He took off his hat as he offered the greeting. His sunglasses were on the console in the cruiser and he squinted in the eastern sun, which was at her back. He couldn't see her face.

“Good morning, Virgil.”

It was the first time he had ever heard her use his given name.

“I was wondering if Mike . . . Micah was here.”

“Yes. He's in the barn putting one of the horses away. A little morning exercise. I'm sure you remember from school, when he was on the rodeo team.”

“I saw him when he won the Junior Championship and got that trophy. He sure could ride.”

“Don't forget the belt buckle. It's the biggest buckle I ever saw. He still wears it regularly. Do you remember?”

“Yes, yes I do.” Virgil was standing alongside the corral, mulling over Audrey's words after she left him, when Micah came out of the barn, carrying a saddle over his right shoulder.

“I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Exchanging pleasantries with my mother?”

Virgil hesitated before answering. “Pleasantries . . . Yes, I guess they were.”

“Probably a first for you.” He set the saddle so it was balanced on the top rail of the corral.

“That's seen some use,” Virgil said.

“Yeah, busted my first horse on that and a few since.”

“You were good. Very good.”

“Thanks, Virgil. You were pretty decent yourself, as I remember.”

“Not as good as you. Besides, I was too anxious to hear that buzzer. I always got the feeling that you never listened for it. You were aboard just for the thrill.”

“Can't deny that. Still gets my blood rising.”

“There are safer ways. You're not a kid anymore.”

“You're sounding just like my mother. Maybe you two will become cordial yet.”

Virgil smiled. “Don't know about that. Like I was just saying, after a couple of minutes I'm listening for the buzzer.”

It was Micah's turn to smile. “So what's up? You didn't drive all the way out here to exchange pleasantries with my mother and remind me of my lost youth.”

“No, no I didn't. I came to tell you that yesterday we found two bodies at the bottom of a wash over in Redbud. Man and a woman. Or a boy and a girl, really. Both were decapitated. They were the brother and sister gone from here right after Buddy was murdered. Thought you should know.”

Virgil didn't miss the slight tautness in Micah's face, or the way his hand tightened on the pommel of the saddle he was steadying on the rail.

“I . . . I don't know what to say. I just thought they lit out, headed back south of the river.”

“Nope. My guess is they were scared. The girl was seeing Buddy. Maybe she knew something and somebody wanted to make sure she kept it to herself. Figured by leaving them alongside the road in Redbud they'd maybe send a message to somebody else. Maybe somebody who also knows what she knew. By the way, they were the brother and sister of Carlos Castillo's wife. Carlos works in your office in Redbud, doesn't he?”

“Yes. For years. He's a good worker.”

“Strange, isn't it?”

“What?”

“The coincidence. All these people work for you. And you know what? I've always had the hardest time believing in coincidences when it comes to things like this.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, while he was driving back to town on the county road, Virgil was still trying to figure out the look in Micah's eyes when he delivered that punch line.

The gray skies of the previous day were grayer. The clouds were full. There was a hint of heaviness in the air that Virgil had not felt for a long time. There was no dry breeze blowing across the land, almost as if the earth were holding its breath in anticipation of a change. The diagnosis was confirmed by Cesar when he stepped out of the car.

“Something's coming, pretty soon.”

“Maybe I'm ready for a change.”

“The cattle and horses are a little restless,” Cesar said. “Could be a big one.”

“You know what they say about a feast or a famine,” Virgil said as he headed for the house.

“By the way, you might want to check your messages. Phone was ringing. Heard Billy's voice.”

“You know the phone won't bite you. You could pick it up. Maybe even have a conversation.”

Virgil knew his words were wasted. It was a peculiarity of Cesar's that he would only answer the phone in the barn. The fight to get him a cell phone had been going on for almost a year. Virgil figured it was some kind of domain thing and there was little doubt that he spent more time in the barn than in the house. He hit the button on the receiver as soon as he walked into the house, but it wasn't Billy's voice he heard.

“Let's see, it's been three days, so you've either been awfully busy or your sex drive is a lot lower than I thought. Oops, hope I called the right number. If not, have a nice day, whoever you are, and just ignore that sex-drive comment. On the other hand, if I got it right about that sex-drive thing, give me a call.”

It was good to hear her voice and for just an instant Virgil felt the hint of a physical need. Then he heard Billy's voice telling him how he was looking out for grandfather and his new guests. He went on to say there would always be a pair of eyes on them and not to worry. Billy's message immediately brought him back to reality. He pressed the delete button then left the kitchen. Upstairs in his bedroom, he sifted through the tie and belt rack until he found a belt that he figured he'd probably have to notch on the last hole, it had been so long since he wore it. He wrapped it up in a coil and brought it with him when he went downstairs.