Death By a Dark Horse

It was time for life to return to normal, time to return to my beloved rut, and past time for me to call Andrea. There were three messages on my voice mail from her – the last thirty minutes ago, at two thirty – each sounding more agitated than the previous. The third time her message was brief.

'Damn it, Thea, where the hell are you?'

Swearing from Andrea – a sure sign of near hysterics. I called her.

'Where the hell have you been? Why didn't you call me?'

'I'm sorry -'

'I've been worried sick about you!'

'I'm sorry, I -'

'Are you all right? You aren't in the hospital, are you?'

'No, I'm fine, I -'

'Well, for the love of -'

'Andrea.' Once able to insert a complete sentence, I told her about the results of our trip to the Broken Axle and my visit to the sheriff's office.

'Okay. I forgive you. You've been busy. But I'm telling you, Thea, I was ready to call the cops.'

'I'm hoping they've got their hands full with Jonathan right now.'

'Until you know he's in custody, you be careful. Understand?'

'Yes, mother.'

Thus humored, she permitted me to get back to work, since I knew, even if Andrea didn't, that there was nothing more to worry about.

It was close to six when I wrapped up my accounting work. If I hurried, there'd be enough daylight left for me to ride my horse. Uncle Henry had lights for his arena, but they were expensive to run. I didn't like to use them if I could avoid it. I changed my clothes, put on my old sneakers, and grabbed my riding boots to change into later.

I opened the front door and the piece of newsprint taped to it flapped in my face. I snatched it off the door and read it. 'So sad, too bad, BC.'

My riding boots and purse fell from my hand as a sickening jolt of realization smacked me full in the gut. It was Greg, not Sarah, who'd left the notes. And he'd put this on my door while I worked in my office.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Because of me, Thurman was going after the wrong man.

Frantic, I looked up and down my street. Nothing. Gone. But when? How long ago?

I ran, dodging through the hedge, to my neighbor's house and pounded on the door. Be home, please be home. I needed to know when he'd been here. A long moment passed and I raised my fist to knock again, but I heard footsteps and Mrs. Baron opened the door.

'Hello, Thea. Goodness, what's wrong, dear?'

'You didn't happen to see someone at my house in the last little while, did you?' Please, please, let this one- woman block-watch-program have seen something, I prayed to all available gods.

'I'm sorry, dear, but I've been watching TV. Oprah's on, and she's doing one of those makeover programs. I hate to miss her show.'

I shrugged off her next half dozen questions, trying not to appear anxious, then jogged back toward my house. I pushed through the hedge, and stopped. One of my riding boots lay in the middle of my walk. I hadn't left it there. I picked it up and raised my eyes to my porch. The front door stood opened. I knew I'd shut it.

I approached the house, eased up the three steps to the porch, and listened. Nothing. From where I stood I could look through the living room and down the hallway that led to my bedroom. My other riding boot stood in the middle of the hallway near my bedroom door. God damn it. The son-of-a-bitch was in my house. I ran through the door, down the hall, snagged my other boot, and skidded into my bedroom, boot raised above my head, ready to beat him senseless with it.

Empty.

Except for the note on my pillow. 'You're going to be too late,' was handwritten on a plain piece of paper.

The front door slammed. I spun and dashed into the hall.

Again, no one.

Nothing but the feel of cold air coming from the back of the house. I ran to the kitchen. The back door stood open. I was the only one in the room. The wind must have blown the front door shut when he went out the back.

Or he could still be in the house.

I closed and locked the kitchen door, then pulled a carving knife out of the knife storage block by the sink and eased toward the pantry.

No one.

I crept silently to my bathroom. That, too, was vacant. I checked under my bed, in my closet, my office. I rushed through the house, abandoning stealth.

I was alone.

Back in the kitchen I put the knife away, but my hand trembled so much I had trouble sliding it into its proper slot.

Damn him. What was he playing at? Then I knew – Blackie! I dashed to the phone and dialed Uncle Henry's number. It rang once. 'Pick up, come on,' I pleaded. It rang again. 'Come on, come on, pick up.' It rang four more times. 'Damn. Damn. Where are you?'

Okay, Thea, now think, think. It's Friday. What goes on Friday afternoons?

'Aunt Vi's hair appointment, and…' I looked at the clock.

Uncle Henry has a lesson scheduled right now. That's why no one is answering the phone.

Okay, made sense. And my brain was working instead of reacting. I grabbed my cell phone, purse, and keys, locked the front door and headed to my car. Two steps off my porch, the obvious hit me.

Delores.

I flipped my phone open and punched Maria's number, praying someone was home. Maria answered. Silently I thanked her Dios.

'Maria, it's Thea. Do you know if Delores is back yet?'

'I do not see her car,' she said. I could hear her walking around, probably looking out the windows.

'Listen, this is important. What exactly did she say to you this morning?'

'She said she was going to look at a horse a man was selling and should be back before too long.'

I bit my lip and tried another tactic.

'Did she say she was going to see a man about a horse?' I held my breath.

'Yes, yes, that is exactly her words. How do you know?'

I flew to my car, phone pressed to my ear. 'It's an expression. It doesn't have anything to do with horses.' Although in this case it was close. 'I'm pretty sure I know where Delores is. I'm going to get her.'

I disconnected and punched the speed dial for Juliet's cell phone while I scrambled into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Relief. The engine turned over on the first try. Things were going my way. I shoved the car into gear and peeled away from the curb. Juliet wasn't answering her phone. Damn. I need her to go to the farm to check on Uncle Henry and Blackie.

In quick succession I tried the Copper Creek office and her apartment, met with identical results, and ran a red light. I tried Eric. No answer. Where the hell was everyone? Calm down. It's Detective Thurman you need. Frantically, I punched his number while swerving through traffic. I hit the send key and my battery went dead.

'Son-of-a-bitch!' I jammed it into my purse.

There was no time to drive all the way to his office. I couldn't give Greg that much of a head start when Delores's life was on the line.

Greg's last note taunted, 'Too late,' 'too late.' My foot pressed into the accelerator.

I left forty-five behind in a twenty-five zone and hoped a cop would see me. No luck. Where were the speed traps when you wanted them?