again. Thankfully, we were almost there. Just a little farther up this twisty, gear-shifting excuse for a road before we arrived at Valerie's and rescued Blackie.
The steep, sharp curve ahead required another downshift. I shoved the clutch to the floor, found second gear, and eased my foot onto the accelerator. Success. My shoulders dropped and I exhaled at the exact moment a silver sedan hurtled around the blind curve, straddling the centerline. I jumped on the brake and twisted the wheel, heading for the nonexistent shoulder. Too late, I remembered the clutch. The truck stalled, lurching to a stop. I braced for the impact. The car missed us by inches.
I exhaled in a rush, too surprised and relieved to cuss out the other driver. Jorge managed for me.
'Shit! Bitch!' He spun against his shoulder harness trying to get a look at the other car. 'How did Valerie know we were coming? That was her BMW.'
'It wasn't Valerie.' I shoved the clutch in, pushed the stick into neutral, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared back to life. The image of the other driver was seared into my retina. I'd been unable to blink. 'Just looked like Valerie's car. I saw the driver. It was a man. He might have been able to see the damn road if he'd taken off the damn sunglasses.'
I put the truck back into gear and it bucked as I let the clutch out. Yeah, well, my knees were still shaking. Jorge was silent, but he wasn't slouching in his seat anymore, and he'd taken off his own sunglasses.
In less than a mile I turned the truck and trailer onto Valerie's asphalt driveway, managed to keep the gears from grinding, and carefully plied the turns up the wooded hillside. A quarter mile later we emerged onto the edge of a twenty-two-acre manicured meadow, made more impressive by its contrast with the wild forest we'd just driven through. The house, a huge old Victorian-type farmhouse, painted yellow and trimmed in white and blue gingerbread, was positioned perfectly to grab one's attention regardless of the availability of a view. And on a clear day the view of the Cascade Mountains to the east was spectacular.
'Wow,' Jorge said, then slid me a nervous glance.
'Get over it,' I muttered between clenched teeth.
The only vehicle in sight was Valerie's BMW parked in front of the house. Good. She was home, and I was right – her's hadn't been the car I'd nearly flattened. A single-minded calm settled over me. I was so going to nail her.
I didn't drive to the house, but turned onto a secondary, gravel driveway and steered Delores's rig to the barn – a miniature version of the house – around in back. I wanted to be able to load my horse without wasting time. And I needed to make sure Blackie was there before I knocked on Valerie's door.
For the first time since leaving Copper Creek, I had a moment of gut-wrenching doubt. What if Blackie wasn't there? How was I going to find him? Even sitting, my legs lost strength and I gripped the wheel tighter to keep my hands from shaking.
But as we rounded the old Victorian I saw my dark bay horse out in one of the large pastures, happily munching rich grass. He lifted his head and whinnied loudly before returning to graze. I swung my arm to point, nearly punching Jorge in the face with my exuberance.
'There he is. Thank God. I hope he's all right.' Then, with the same speed the elation had swept me when seeing my horse, anger blew in full force. 'Dammit, I could rip her a new one. What the hell does she think she's doing?
Jorge rolled wide eyes at me, and was silent.
I slammed the truck to a stop, jumped out, and ran up to the house. I hammered on the back door.
No one answered. She had to be hiding.
'I've come to take my horse back,' I yelled. 'I suggest you get your sorry ass out here and explain why I shouldn't call the police.'
Still no answer. I stalked back to the truck and grabbed my cell phone.
'I'm calling the cops,' I shouted at the house.
'Delores already -' Jorge clamped his lips together.
'I'm calling again,' I said.
Jorge nodded, his large, unblinking brown eyes reminding me of a horse ready to bolt.
Blackie ambled to the white rail fence near the truck and watched me with ears pricked in friendly interest. I jogged to where he stood. He stretched his head and neck toward me, and I took his big dark face between my hands, kissed his velvet nose, then rubbed the large splotch of white on his forehead.
'Are you okay, buddy? We're going home. I won't let anyone drive off with you again. I'm so sorry.' I kissed his nose once more, and gave him a cursory nose-to-toes examination, checking for any obvious signs of injury. He looked okay. I stroked his neck.
'Come on, Blackie. Gate. Let's go home.' He heaved a sigh and moved off in the direction of the barn. The gate to this pasture was on the other side of it.
I grabbed a halter and lead rope out of the truck, and dialed 9-1-1. As I walked I explained the situation to the operator and gave her Valerie's address.
'Has the horse been injured or abused in any way?' she asked.
'Not that I can tell right now, but I haven't had a chance to thoroughly check him.' I reached the gate, my attention divided between managing the latch and the phone call. 'I'm -' I stopped. Something was wrong. Where was Blackie?
The wind shifted, blowing my hair across my eyes. With my hands otherwise occupied, I turned my face into the breeze to clear my vision and inhaled a stench so dense it had weight.
A thousand spiders crawled up my spine.
Chapter Three
Then I saw her. I exhaled over and over without inhaling. My feet would not obey my brain's demand to flee. My throat seized and the rush of blood in my ears obliterated every sound except a thin, high pitched wail. It came from me.
'Ma'am? Ma'am? Hello? Are you still there?'
I forced the wail into words. 'I… Oh, God, she's dead!' Then I gagged on my next breath.
'Who's dead, ma'am?'
Valerie. It had to be Valerie sprawled a few feet away. Every detail of her body and clothing stood out as though magnified. One half of her once-beautiful face was crushed, her skin sickly gray, wax-like. Blood matted her blond hair. Blue eyes, surrounded by black, mascaraed lashes stared, vacant. Her jaw was slack and oddly bent. Flies crawled with jerky little movements over the gaping wound, the surface of her eyes and, with wings suddenly buzzing, darted in and out of her open mouth, pausing on lips that were pink only where lipstick remained.
My stomach heaved and I fought to keep my breakfast from exiting with my words. 'It's Valerie… oh my God, it's Valerie.'
'Valerie who, ma'am?'
'Parsons. Valerie Parsons.' My hand jerked, banging the phone against my ear. I heaved again and frantically swallowed down bile.
'Did you take her pulse? Do you want to try to rouse her? Do CPR?'
I shook my head to each question unable to look away. 'No!' The word was half shouted, half begged. 'She's… she's got blood, and flies… her head… oh, dear God, the smell.'
'I have an ambulance and patrol car in route. Don't touch anything and don't leave the scene.' The calm in the operator's voice was finally reaching me. I clung to her instructions. 'Is anyone with you?'
'Yes.' I tried to steady my voice to match hers.
'Okay,' she continued, 'do you have somewhere safe you can go to, like your vehicle?'
'Yes.'
'All right now, stay calm. I'll remain on the line with you until the police arrive. Go to your vehicle and wait. They're on their way.'
Wasting no time, I spun, collided with a live body, and screamed. My brain registered 'Jorge' as he leapt away from me. His gaze, however, never moved from the place past my shoulder where Valerie lay.
