Crunch Time

She said, “This calls for some hot herb tea.”

I built a fire in her hearth and swathed myself in a homemade crocheted afghan. As I began to warm up, I wondered about Sean Breckenridge.

I didn’t know him, really. He and Rorry had been living in Aspen Meadow for only a few years, and when Rorry had parties, Marla told me, she hired a Denver caterer. Rorry and Marla had become friends at the country club pool, where Rorry took her son for swimming lessons.

I knew Rorry from church, but only a little. Sean and Rorry’s son, who I guessed was now in kindergarten, came to the altar for a blessing when his parents took communion. The little guy was dark haired and adorable, and possessed an amazing collection of checkered shirts and cowboy boots. He seemed to be wearing a new pair of boots every time I saw him, but always the same cowboy hat. As the mother of a son, I knew enough to tell him his outfit was “really cool” but to stop there. The little boy had looked at me with serious eyes and actually tipped his hat. He’d said, “Thank yeh, ma’am.” I’d managed not to laugh.

Sabine returned with a tray and two hand-thrown pottery mugs, from which a steam emerged that smelled like lawn clippings. She said, “Maybe it’s not as big a deal as we think it is.” She settled into a rocking chair and blew on her tea. “Maybe Sean and Rorry just have so much money, and such a big house, that they go out looking for, you know, adventure while their son is in school.”

“Adventure. Right.”

“Well, Goldy, you don’t know he was up to something else. With someone else.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” I took a deep breath. “What do you suppose that person or those people were shooting at? Do you think they saw or heard us?”

“I can’t imagine they did,” she said. Her nose and cheeks were smudged with soot. “I wish I’d found something. May I just see the card one more time?”

I placed the credit card on the coffee table Sabine and her husband had made, she’d told me when I did her retirement party, from a door salvaged from an abandoned church.

“It could have been stolen,” I said. “Or, if he’s the one who dropped it, he could have done it when he was lifting logs,” I said, remembering how he’d dropped his keys when he was trying to carry his camera. “Credit cards are weird that way. They can work their way out of your wallet. Any man who was exerting effort like that, back and forth to the house, if he had a wallet? The card could have just fallen out. Then the guy’s boot wedged it under the pile.”

Sabine shook her head again and handed me the card. “I notice the expiration is in two years. So it’s a current card.” That information settled over us for a few minutes. “Well, old friend,” she said, standing up, “I have to go take care of the horses. Hay, water, stuff like that. You’re free to stay as long as you want, but I need to get out to the barn.”

I scrambled to my feet and checked my watch. One-forty-five already! I had no idea our little escapade at the A-frame had taken so long. “I have to skedaddle, too. But, wait. Sabine, are you the one who called Donna about someone at the A-frame?”

She shook her head. “No. But there are other people who live out here. It’s just hard to see their houses with all the trees.”

“Has there been any other, you know, suspicious activity in the wildlife preserve? Some reason for people to be shooting?”

Sabine divided her ponytail just below the rubber band, then pulled it in two sections to tighten it. “Well, there’s Hermie.”

“Not Hermie Milkulski.”

“The very same. She’s an animal-rights activist, do you know her?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Did you know she lost two fingers a couple of months ago, when she was trying to close down a Nebraska puppy mill by herself? The owner shot her hand.”

I shook my head. “So that’s how it happened.”

“Unfortunately, yes. And since she was trespassing, the owner was within his legal rights. I heard she promised her son that she wouldn’t go out of state anymore, nor would she go into places alone. Now, apparently, Hermie only acts locally. When she suspects some kind of abuse is happening, she just calls Furman County Animal Control.”

“She doesn’t go out of state, and she doesn’t go alone,” I echoed. Hermie had done more than call Animal Control. She’d hired Ernest to do her dirty work. It wouldn’t help to tell Sabine this, and I knew Tom would not appreciate my sharing this tidbit.

Sabine shrugged. “Whenever the Animal Control people don’t find what Hermie thinks they should find, she raises a stink. She was here once, asking me a bunch of questions. Some guy near here has a legit breeding operation on his farm. But Hermie claimed this was cover. She actually used that word.” Sabine sighed. “Anyway, someone who bought a puppy from this breeder called Hermie and said the puppy got sick and then died. According to Hermie, the buyer said it was the veterinarian himself who suspected a mill. Also according to Hermie, Animal Control went out and couldn’t find anything. Hermie insisted that the mill, or mills, were hidden in sheds, or kennels, somewhere on the breeder’s property. Now, wait for it. Hermie thought this breeder knew he was onto her, words she also used. So, even though she’s left-handed, and she’d lost those fingers from her left hand, she learned to shoot a pistol with her right.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. And she told me she was ‘withdrawing from society.’ ”

I thought for a minute. “So . . . Hermie thought illegal breeding was going on out here? Would that occasion gunfire? Or could Hermie be the one shooting?”

Sabine shrugged. “When Hermie showed up at my door, she was acting half crazed, asking if I knew back roads in the preserve that would lead onto private property. I told her, I don’t. Plus, you know how it is out here. There really aren’t good maps.”

“So . . . she never found the place?”

Sabine said, “I don’t think so.”

“Do you know if she had any evidence of deplorable conditions?”

“I don’t. But then I began to have suspicions. At the feed store, I ran into a bald guy, a very smarmy character, buying lots of bags of puppy chow. I held the door open for him—”

“What?”

Sabine closed her eyes and shook her head. “I mean, I have nothing to go on, but he put out bad vibes. When I asked him if he was raising puppies, he told me to get out of his way. After Hermie visited, talking about all her suspicions, I found myself wondering about that guy. Yes, Hermie is very excitable. She told me she was thinking of hiring an investigator to find the secret kennels, and get proof of the abuse for Animal Control. But listen, I really need to go feed the horses. Does that answer your questions?”

“All but one, Sabine. Did Hermie say the guy she suspected was raising beagles?”

Sabine’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. She said, “How did you know?”

14

I said, “Thanks for all your help,” then hugged her and hustled out to my van.

On the way back to town, my cell phone began beeping. I had three messages. Three? Why hadn’t my cell rung?

Tom’s voice said, “Miss G.? Where are you? I’m just getting back to you now, sorry, it’s been a firestorm at the sheriff’s department. Please call me.”

Then Yolanda announced, “Hi! We finished at the doctor’s office. I’m driving back up from Denver now. When we get to your place, I’ll check your schedule to pack everything up. See you soon.”

Once again, Tom’s voice implored me: “Miss G.? I know I didn’t answer your earlier message, but now I’m getting worried that you haven’t called me back. Are you all right? Please call me as soon as you get this message. This morning I had meetings, and then I was out of cell range.”

I called him back immediately, and he picked up on the first ring. “Sorry, Tom,” I burst out. “I was out at