Текст книги "Mama Sees Stars"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Thunder growled, an angry rumble in the distance. The sky to the south was a sheet of black, a sure sign a storm was brewing over Lake Okeechobee. I climbed to the top rail of the horse corral, rotated my phone, and checked the signal. I wanted to call my tardy sisters, but I still couldn’t get anything. The movie carpenters had built the corrals at the lowest point in the pasture. If these had been real Florida cowmen, instead of a cast of Hollywood actors, they would have had to wade through standing water three months of the year to get to their stock.

There was still work to do with the horses. After my encounter with Tilton, though, I was too wound up, not to mention embarrassed, to enjoy the easy rhythm I had before. All I wanted now was to finish up, see my sisters arrive, and get the animals loaded and on their way. If the storm broke first, the movie company would just have to pay the rental fee to keep the horses another night. I wasn’t about to try to get storm-spooked creatures onto metal trailers as lightning flashed across a wide-open field.

Florida is the most dangerous spot in the country for lightning strikes. I didn’t feel like tempting fate; not with the way my luck had been running. I was about to review in my mind all the things I felt bad about—Carlos being at the top of that list—when the slam of a car door put a stop to my self-pity parade.

That had to be my sisters. Finally! A cheerful whistle pierced the muggy air. Neither of my sisters is a whistler.

Squinting across the pasture, I saw Savannah lean in to retrieve something from the back seat of a small SUV. That door slammed, too. She strolled the short distance toward me, holding a beribboned gift bag in one hand. Her bobbed hair swung with each step. A straw sunhat was pushed off her head, no longer needed in the fading afternoon light. It bounced against her back as she closed in on the corral.

There was one more reason I liked Savannah: Instead of mincing her way around cow chips and horse patties in girly-girl footwear, she strode confidently over the rough ground. Her feet were clad in well worn, ranch-style work boots.

“Hey you!’’ she shouted. “Need some help?’’

“Do I ever!’’ I called back. “C’mon in and grab a horse.’’

I quickly outlined for Savannah what needed to be done. We immediately set to work in the dwindling daylight. She didn’t waste a motion. When she went to the trailer to get horse feed, she came back with halters slung over one shoulder, lead ropes coiled in the crook of an arm.

“I can tell you’ve done this kind of work a time or two,’’ I said.

She began filling twenty-quart buckets with feed, big enough for the horses to poke in their heads and eat when the buckets are hung on the fence. “Yep, we’ve got a dozen horses on the Jackson ranch,’’ she said. “I love to ride, and I’ve never been afraid of hard work.’’

Within fifteen minutes, we were in pretty good shape. The small herd was groomed, tied at the corral, and munching away happily at a late afternoon supper. Savannah had been a godsend.

“Hey, would you mind if we saddle up one of the horses for me to get in a quick ride before the light goes? I’ve got a long drive ahead of me, and I could really use some exercise first.’’

I glanced at the sky. “Looks like it’s going to storm.’’

She looked up, too. “Nah, it should hold off long enough for a quick ride. Besides, these are Florida horses, right? I know they’re used to the rain!’’

What could I say? I didn’t really want to drag the saddle and tack out of the trailer again. But the woman had helped me out. Not to mention, her director husband was the “king’’ on the movie set, and I was still looking for a paycheck.

“Sure thing,’’ I said, and went to get the gear for the even-tempered Appaloosa.

In no time, the horse was ready. More relaxed now, I leaned against the fence and took a look around. Across the way, Jeb’s cattle were herded together in a corner of their pen. No sign of him, and still no sign of my sisters. I was sure Maddie and Marty had tried to call, but couldn’t get through. I scanned the sky. Savannah may have been right. The clouds seemed to be stalled over the lake. I noticed the colorful gift bag she’d brought, sitting on a fender of one of the horse trailers.

“What’s in the sack?’’ I asked.

She grinned. “Just a few little things for you and your mama; sweets, mainly. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. You’re good people, Mace.’’

“The feeling’s mutual,’’ I said.

“We’re going to have so much fun when you come out to Jackson to visit. You have to bring your mama, too. She is something!’’

“Yeah, something or other,’’ I said dryly.

“Speaking of somebody who’s a something or other … I saw Greg hightailing it away from here as I was driving in. Was he giving you trouble again?’’

I thought about telling Savannah what happened, how I’d accused Greg Tilton of being the murderer. The story made me look like an idiot, though, so I decided against it.

“Nah,’’ I said. “Tilton was fine. I think he just wanted to come say goodbye to the horses. I’m glad I got the chance to say goodbye to you, though. Weren’t you all packed up and supposed to leave this morning?’’

“I had to stick around and help Paul with some business problems.’’ She hesitated for a moment, seemed to be weighing whether to tell me more. “Anyway,’’ she said, “I’ll be on the road real soon.’’

“Back to Jacksonville?’’

“Jacksonville?’’ She cocked her head, puzzled. “There’s nothing for me in Jacksonville. I’ve got a flight from Orlando tonight, connecting through Denver to Wyoming.’’

“Who looks after your cattle for you?’’

A strange look played across Savannah’s face. Then she slapped a hand against her forehead, as dramatic as an actress in community theater. “Cattle!’’ She glanced toward Jeb’s herd, penned across the pasture. “Is that cowboy of yours around?’’

“Haven’t seen him all day. And he’s not my cowboy.’’

“Whatever. I came over here earlier, looking for you. I noticed one of his heifers has a bad open sore on a hind leg. It looks like she might have gotten tangled up in some fencing. I wanted to make sure Jed knew about it, before an infection sets in.’’

“Jeb,’’ I corrected her.

“Right,’’ Savannah nodded. “Want to take a look-see, make sure the poor gal hasn’t gotten any worse?’’

At the cow pen, coiled ropes still hung from several of the cypress-wood fence posts, along with an old-fashioned leather cow whip. A replica of a McClellan saddle straddled the fence’s top rail. At least the moviemakers got that detail right: The military saddle was popular with Florida cowmen after the Civil War. A shiny new shovel, which Jeb’s ranch hand probably used to dig a trench to drain off rain water, was a jarring modern touch next to the old-timey whip and saddle.

I clambered onto the fence and peered over the top at the cows. They moved, of course, trotting away from us to the far side of the enclosure. “Which one is it now?” I asked Savannah.

She peered between the lower railings, trying to get a look at their legs.

“I’m not sure,’’ she said. “The light’s really getting dim. And they’re mostly black, so the blood doesn’t show up well. I need to get a little closer.’’

I climbed off the fence and unwound the rusty gate chain the movie people had insisted upon. I opened just one side, in case any of the cows had a mind to make a break for freedom. I motioned to Savannah to step through. She did, and then pointed across the pen. “I think it’s that one. I remember her ears were kind of droopy.’’

I closed the gate. Even though I moved slowly, calmly, toward the cattle, they still scattered this way and that. Luckily, Droopy Ears headed in my direction. I leaned down low to try to get a glimpse of her hindquarters as she darted past. I didn’t see anything. I wanted to check her out on the opposite side, though. I walked toward her, trying to shift my position to be in the right spot when she ran past me again.

We repeated our dance a couple more times. I’d advance; she’d retreat.

I finally stood still and watched her, waiting to see which route she’d pick. The heifer stared me down, taking her time. While I waited, I happened to glance out across the pasture. Still looking for my sisters, I guess. The wind had picked up a bit, blowing from the south. Now, it seemed likely those storm clouds would be on their way.

Low in the sky, the sun spread out last rays like feeble fingers. They reflected off the windshield of Savannah’s vehicle. Her white vehicle. Suddenly, an image popped into my head of Savannah coming across the pasture, her oversized straw hat bouncing against her back. Almost instantaneously, I recalled Toby’s voice, as clear as if he were sitting right in front of me again, describing his near-miss with the car in the parking lot:

Big hat. Sun glinting off the windshield. I couldn’t tell who was behind the wheel …

That thought was the last one I had before something hard and solid smacked me in the back of the head. Then the whole world went dark.

My legs wouldn’t move. As I returned to consciousness, fear registered. What was wrong with my legs?

Other impressions came to me in disjointed pieces. Something tight cut into the flesh near my feet and hands. I smelled hay and manure and imminent rain. Gritty sand lodged in the crevices of my teeth. A calf bleated.

Slowly, I realized I was lying on my side, hogtied; wrists to ankles. I tried to lift my head, and felt a searing pain arrow up from where I’d been hit. My cheek in the dirt, I looked out over the ground. I could see the shovel twenty feet away, blade side up. Ranch boots moved toward me, splashing through mud and manure. Savannah’s boots. They stopped, right next to my nose. They smelled of wet leather and cow dung.

“You awake?’’

I closed my eyes and lay there, holding my breath. I tried not to move a muscle, even as my mind raced to figure out how I’d gotten in this jam.

Savannah prodded me with the toe of her boot, jabbing it into my shoulder.

“Your head’s probably hurting pretty bad right now.’’ She stooped down, put her face close to mine. I could smell her breath, disconcertingly sweet, like milk chocolate and pralines. “The first hit stunned you, but I had to whack you a couple more times with the shovel before you went down. Won’t matter. Those bruises will just blend into all the others after the cattle stampede.’’

I squeezed my eyes shut. If this was a nightmare, I really, really wished I would wake up. Maybe I’d find myself in my bed beside Carlos. Maybe the last week—the movie shoot, our breakup, all of it—would turn out to be a dream. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I saw the curve of Savannah’s cheek; the swing of her chestnut-colored hair. She gave me a friendly smile. Her eyes looked crazy.

Crap.

I looked across the ground. The tip of that leather cow whip that had been on the fence now trailed in the dirt by Savannah’s boot. I could see the legs and hooves of the cows, all gathered together in a corner of the corral. I scooted backwards, trying to get away from Savannah. The ropes restricted my movement, but I could go no farther anyway. The rough wood of the fence came up hard and unyielding behind me. Scrabbling my fingers out over the dirt, I felt the tail end of the rusty chain that secured the gate.

Double crap. I was on the ground, outside the gate—right between the penned-up cattle and greener pastures.

I strained against the ropes, even while knowing they’d just pull tighter if I struggled. They did. I lay still again.

“Why?’’ The word came out in a hoarse whisper. I wasn’t even sure she heard me.

She sat down in the dirt, the whip curling across her lap. “Because you wouldn’t leave it alone, Mace. You would have kept wondering and asking questions. Sooner or later, the answers would have led you to me.’’

I remembered the flash of images that played in my mind right before she hit me. Savannah’s hat. The slant of sunlight. Her white SUV.

“So the murder … and everything else. That was you?’’

“And Paul. He did what I told him to, used the skills he had, to throw the production into chaos. Like sabotaging that light. We wanted it to blow up. It was a stroke of luck it happened right over your head.’’ She shook a finger in front of my face. “You should have quit right then; taken it as a sign.’’

She leaned down and looked me in the eye. “You know, like in the cartoons? How a light bulb always goes off over the character’s head?’’

She chuckled, like we were having a friendly chat. “Funny, right?’’

“Sorry, I don’t really get the joke,’’ I said. “I think lying, hogtied, in a pile of cow shit might be affecting my sense of humor.’’

I could hear the wind beginning to gust, rattling the fronds on the cabbage palms. The smell of approaching rain was stronger now. The cattle surged nervously around the enclosure. A horse nickered from the corral across the pasture. Was it Rebel, I wondered? Did he somehow sense I was in danger? Of course, even if he did, it wasn’t like Rebel could run and get help like the collie always used to do in those old episodes of Lassie.

The daylight was almost gone. An owl hooted—ominous, considering my circumstances. Didn’t an owl’s call always portend death in those old movie Westerns?

I wanted to keep Savannah talking. Maybe Jeb would finally come to take care of his cattle, or my sisters would show up. They’d arrive in the nick of time to save me, just like in the movies.

“I meant why to all of it, Savannah. Why murder Norman? Why stage all the other ‘accidents’ and near-misses?’’

“So is this that scene in a movie where the villain spills all her secrets?’’

“Indulge me,’’ I said. “It’s the least you can do since you so enjoyed getting to know me. I’m ‘good people.’ Isn’t that what you told me?’’

“Honey, I’m a murderer. Do you really think it bothers me that I’m a liar, too?’’

Suddenly, I thought about lies. Something Savannah said about Jacksonville ran through my brain. “You weren’t in your car on your way to Jacksonville the morning Norman was murdered, were you?’’

She lowered her face next to mine and grinned. Before, that grin had seemed friendly and full of fun. Now, it just looked cruel.

“No, duh, Mace. ‘There’s nothing for me in Jacksonville.’ As soon as that phrase was out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. I forgot I’d made Jacksonville my alibi, and then lied about growing up there. You didn’t catch my screw-up then.’’

“I didn’t,’’ I said.

“Yeah, some detective. Your sorry love life was too distracting. I knew you would catch it, though; and you did.’’

Too late, I thought.

She lifted the whip, waved it to the corners of the cow pen. “I had to think on my feet, come up with a plan. I saw the shovel. The ropes. The cattle. Everything fell into place, really fast.’’

Her face glowed with pride. Did she want me to compliment her on her clever plan to kill me?

I closed my eyes and thought about Carlos. An image of his face replaced Savannah’s, in front of me. Would I ever see him again? Would I see my family? Maybe the cattle wouldn’t kill me. But if those pounding hooves struck over and over at my head, my brain would be so scrambled I probably wouldn’t recognize those I loved. With that kind of head trauma, I may as well be dead.

I strained against the ropes. They seemed to pull tighter. Hair fell into my face, brushing my nose and making me want to sneeze. I wriggled my nose, but the hair didn’t move.

“Don’t struggle, honey. It’ll just make it worse. There is one little bone I can throw you. A parting gift, as it were.’’ She reached down, and almost tenderly pushed away the hair from my itchy nose. “That cop is crazy about you. I could see it in his eyes the other night at the bar. While you were moping over your beer, he was watching you, even when he was dancing with Kelly. Whenever you weren’t looking at him, he was looking at you.’’

I wouldn’t think my heart, already racing with adrenaline, could feel a flutter, but it did. If I ever got out of this, I was going to throw myself into Carlos’s arms and never leave.

“Thanks for that,’’ I said. “I wish I hadn’t been such a fool.’’

She sighed. “You said it at the bar. Love makes us do strange things.’’

“Is that why you killed Norman?’’ I asked. “To avenge Jesse?’’

“What?’’ She leaned close to my face; scrunched up her forehead. “Hell, no. What Norman did to Jesse had nothing to do with it. This film was Paul’s absolute last chance to save his reputation as a director. Norman was going to fire him. I couldn’t let him do that. What would I do without Paul’s income?’’

Get a job? I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

“I was poor once, Mace. I don’t intend to ever be poor again.’’

Savannah glanced at her wedding ring, the big diamond winking in the diminishing daylight. She seemed lost in thought. Almost to herself, she said, “All the other stuff was to cause confusion on the set, to divert attention from Paul and me.’’

“What did you mean when you said Paul did what you told him to do?’’

“My husband was definitely on board for Norman, but he was reluctant about the rest of it. He didn’t want anyone else murdered. Well, maybe except for Greg Tilton.’’

“Yeah, that poisoned sandwich could have killed him.’’

She laughed. “That’s funny, because we had nothing to do with that sandwich. Toby? Yes, that was me; and Paul skinned that cable for Jesse’s close call, too. Johnny Jaybird was in the wrong place at the wrong time, though.’’

“What do you mean?’’

“When Paul planted the loaded gun, we thought Toby would use it to rehearse with Greg, not the A.D. Johnny’s talent was useful to us; Greg, we didn’t need.’’

Thunder clapped, loud enough to split the sky in half. Savannah looked up to roiling black clouds. She stood, dusting her hands against her knees. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Mace. It’s time for the climactic scene. It’s always been the same, way back to the days of silent film. Ever hear of The Perils of Pauline? That poor gal got into some crazy jams. There she’d be, tied to a train track just as a locomotive was bearing down.’’

Sensing the storm, the cows jostled and shifted together at the pen’s far side. Whip in hand, Savannah gestured toward the animals.

“Right there is your locomotive, Mace.’’

I knew it wasn’t possible, but the eyes of the cattle seemed to gleam with menace.

I watched Savannah’s boots as she strode away, continuing across the pasture in the direction of the horse corral. What was she up to now?

I did remember seeing those ancient film clips from The Perils of Pauline. Someone always rescued the silent movie heroine at the last possible moment. Unfortunately, my horizon looked pretty scarce on the cavalry.

I started flexing and contracting the muscles in my wrists, trying to work on loosening the ropes. The pressure eased a bit, but there was no way I’d get the knots untied by the time Savannah returned to carry out the rest of her plan.

I started to pray. I might be rusty, but I still knew enough to ask for God’s hand to guide me.

I hoped the big man was listening. Within moments, hoof beats pounded the ground outside the pen. Galloping up, Savannah stopped the Appaloosa just short of the gate. The mare shook, and snorted though her nose, close enough for me to feel a fine mist spray down onto my face. Savannah’s boots hit the ground. The chain jangled as she unwound it from the gatepost.

The cattle paced on the far side of the pen, their big heads swaying. The Appaloosa stepped through and stood inside the gate, waiting patiently for her rider to remount. Savannah pulled the gate closed, but didn’t chain it.

The cows, wary, regarded the horse and rider. Thunder crashed like a bomb exploding. A fat raindrop splattered in the dirt beside my head. Savannah began uncoiling the whip from the saddle.

A huge streak of lightning turned the dark clouds silvery white. In the burst of light, I saw red in the distance. Mama, still wearing Ruby’s red dress and shoes, picked her way across the pasture toward the pen. She’d probably spotted Savannah on the horse, and mistaken her for me. Head down, concentrating on avoiding manure stains on her Ruby shoes, Mama was silent.

I prayed she’d stay that way. No such luck. Closer now, she called out: “Yoo-hoo! Mace! Honey, you better get in before it really starts to rain …”

As soon as Mama’s voice rang over the pasture, Savannah whirled in the saddle in her direction. A moment later, Mama, who had quit watching the ground, stepped on the shovel blade. The handle shot up and hit her in the forehead. She staggered backward. Fingers pressed to her forehead, she fought to keep her balance.

“I’m over here! Help, Mama!’’

Maybe it was the desperation in my voice, but she caught on quickly for somebody just smacked in the face with a shovel. Of course, it was just the narrow wooden handle, not like the full force of the blade that had hit me.

Mama’s head swiveled, like a camera panning the three points of a triangle: Savannah in the saddle, unwinding the whip. Me on the ground, in front of the gate. The cows in the corner, awaiting their cue.

Savannah cracked the whip. The cows scattered, starting into a trot. As the rain fell harder, she edged the horse into the herd, driving the animals into a line that hugged the curve of the fence. One followed another, picking up the pace. I could guess what she was up to. She wanted them to circle the pen a few times, gathering speed, before she funneled them out the gate, and over me.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

As Savannah snapped the whip, Mama grabbed the shovel. She raced toward the gate. “Get back, cows! Go on, now! Get back!’’

With Savannah in pursuit on horseback, wielding that whip, the animals paid little heed to Mama.

Dropping the shovel, she fell to her knees beside me. The hem on Ruby’s dress dragged through a puddle of rain and cow manure. Her small, nimble fingers worked at the ropes that bound me. They were the same fingers that had treated my tomboy injuries; patched the childhood clothes I ripped by playing too rough.

Hooves thundered on the other side of the fence. Mama picked and pulled at the knots. Her breath came in short, frantic gasps. Rain streaked down her face. But when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see a trace of fear. There was nothing there but steely determination and a mother’s devoted love.

I saw Savannah, starting to shift the horse’s position. We had only seconds before she’d move the cattle, pushing them through the gate and out the enclosure. Mama gave a final tug, and I was free. I enfolded her into a protective embrace, wrapping my arms and legs around her.

“Roll!’’ I shouted, taking us both to the sodden ground.

Entwined like two TV wrestlers, we tumbled over and over, trying to get away, as the animals thundered past. Their huffing breath filled my ears. My arms stung from bits of rock kicked up by their flying hooves. I tucked my head tight over Mama’s and held on, feeling her racing heartbeat clear through her back.

I wasn’t even certain we were in a safe place, until, suddenly, the cows were gone. Knowing I had to move fast, I let go of Mama. By the time Savannah got herself clear of the stampede and turned to see the results of her deadly plan, I was off the ground and onto the fence. Snatching one of the coiled ropes from a post, I climbed up to straddle the top rail.

She was in range. I’d get only one chance. Would my muscles remember those endless hours of roping practice, all through my childhood and the years of high school rodeo?

Coils in one hand, loop in the other, I flipped the rope over my wrist and swung it in circles over my head. Then I let the loop end fly. It floated toward Savannah, seeming to hang forever right above her head. Then the loop dropped, just where I intended it to.

I jumped from the fence and pulled the rope taut. Savannah was so surprised at being lassoed like a Corriente steer, that she dropped the horse’s reins. With both hands, she tried to free herself from the rope, now tightening against her midsection. Still holding on, I moved hand-over-hand along the rope as I closed the distance between us.

Meanwhile, Mama grabbed the shovel and used it to goose the horse’s sensitive flank. The Appaloosa bucked, and started to bolt. Savannah’s boots flew from the stirrups.

That was the moment I needed. I yanked on the rope with all my strength. She tumbled from the saddle and hit the ground.

Standing over her, I jerked tight as she strained against the loop. “Don’t struggle, honey,.’ I repeated the words she’d used on me. “It’ll just make it worse.’’

Mama came up beside me. Jamming the shovel’s blade into the muddy ground just inches from our captive’s face, she said, “Looks like this was your last roundup, Savannah.’’