Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (11 page)

“Who is she?” Colleen asked.

Bill’s cheeks flushed pink. She knew he would misunderstand the question—think she was asking it out of jealousy—but she didn’t care. Pinky was being stubborn. Pinky locked eyes with her and she knew in an instant she was correct. He was protecting a woman … who she was or why, she didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” Pinky said with sincerity.

“Bill will be discreet,” she said. “Won’t you?”

The tension in Bill’s jaw diminished at the revelation that Pinky may have been with a lady friend.

“Save your breath, Sheriff,” Pinky said before Bill could reassure Pinky about his discretion. “I don’t know anything else.” And with that Pinky sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

That was it. Pinky wasn’t going to reveal the identity of his paramour. Bill rose and she followed him to the door.

“Let us know if you change your mind,” she said, stealing a glance back at Pinky.

“You’ll be the first,” he said with a wink.

She smiled and exited the room. “So?” she said to Bill as they walked down the hall toward his office. “What do you think?”

“We’ll see what happens when Rodney brings Myrtle in. In the meantime, Salvatore stays.”

“You really don’t believe Myrtle killed someone, do you?” He didn’t respond. “Do you?”

“I can’t imagine how Myrtle would overcome a man of Denny’s size, but you never know.”

She checked her watch. She had been hoping to stick around and do some damage control when Myrtle arrived, but she was due at the station for the kid’s firefighter game day. The phone on Bill’s desk rang. He crossed into his office and picked up.

“Dorman,” he said and listened. “Did you try the preservation society office?… Okay, then. Let me know when you find her.” Bill hung up. “Rodney’s still searching for Myrtle.”

“I should get going,” she said. Bill escorted her to the front door of the Sheriff’s Department building. “We’ll be busy at the station, but keep me posted about Myrtle.”

She exited and crossed to her SUV, thankful that, given the soaring temperature, it was parked in the shade of the pine trees that lined the side of the building. She pulled out and drove south on Route 12. She had traveled about a mile when something sharp suddenly poked her in her right side.

“Don’t move,” came a muffled voice from the backseat.

Colleen froze, stunned by the presence of an intruder.

“Keep driving,” the voice ordered.

Her eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about that voice. She squeezed the steering wheel in exasperation. “Myrtle!”

Colleen felt what she now realized were fingers ease up on her side, then push against her again. “I’m not Myrtle,” said the intruder.

“Okay, person-who-is-not-Myrtle,” Colleen said, now certain it was indeed her former teacher, “You mind telling me what you’re doing hiding in my backseat with two fingers to my side?”

“I’m on the lam.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing and stretched to see if she could see Myrtle in her rearview mirror. “You know, everyone is looking for you.”

“So I heard on the police scanner.”

Colleen slowed and pulled off on a side street to turn around. “I’m taking you back to the Sheriff’s Department.”

Myrtle poked her hard in the side.

“Hey,” Colleen said. “Ease up on those boney fingers.”

“You can’t take me in,” Myrtle said, popping up from the backseat and leaning forward.

“Watch me,” she said, getting back onto Route 12.

“Please,” Myrtle said. “There’s a foal that might be in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone reported that they thought our new foal was lame—traveling on the tips of her hooves—which could mean she has contracted tendons. If not corrected, the foal could end up crippled. I won’t know if the report is accurate until I see her.”

Colleen sighed. She admired Myrtle’s passion for the welfare of the horses, but right now there was also the important matter of murder. “Couldn’t Nellie or the herd manager do it?”

“Please,” Myrtle begged. “Time is critical. She could be in need of rescue.”

Before Colleen had a chance to tell Myrtle she’d take her to the sanctuary, Myrtle flung open the back door and said, “Forget it.”

“Myrtle! Close that door!” she yelled, fearful that the woman would leap from the moving vehicle.

Myrtle struggled with the door and then slammed it closed. “So you’ll help me?”

“If I do, you’ll turn yourself in to the sheriff?”

“Absolutely,” Myrtle said, then ducked down in the backseat as they passed the Sheriff’s Department building.

Colleen shook her head and sped up Route 12 to Carova to check on the foal with Myrtle. Bill’s going to hate this, she thought.

Chapter 9

“There’s nothing more
beautiful than seeing a horse free and in its natural habitat,” Myrtle said, staring through binoculars down a narrow trail that cut through the marshy foliage of the refuge.

Yes, Colleen thought, and the sooner we see the foal and make sure she’s healthy, the sooner I can take you to the Sheriff’s Department. It wasn’t that she didn’t share Myrtle’s love of the horses. She did. They were truly magnificent creatures; but right now Colleen felt a little like she was aiding and abetting a criminal.

“You sure they’re up here?” Colleen asked. They had been waiting in this spot with the engine off for twenty minutes and, despite the breeze coming through the open windows, the heat inside the SUV was oppressive.

Before Myrtle could answer, a large monster of a tour vehicle rumbled over a nearby dune. Tour-zilla was one of a number of local companies that gave horse tours, and was famous for its vibrant green trucks with enormous Godzilla-type heads attached to the fronts, lizard scales painted on the sides, and reptile-type tails hanging from the backs. Colleen caught a brief glimpse of the tattooed driver as the truck wobbled past them with an open back full of sunburned tourists and then disappeared around a bend in the sandy road leaving a section of squashed shrubs and deep tire tracks in its wake.

“Snelling,” Myrtle hissed with disgust.

Colleen’s brows raised in surprise at the sudden outburst.

“The Snellings have made millions off of the horses with that Tour-zilla company and have never given one cent to help them. Did you know that?”

“No.” Colleen had to admit, there was something wrong about their lack of support, especially since their business depended on the horses thriving. Apparently, the people living in Carova weren’t the only ones subject to the Snellings’ disrespect.

“They wanted to drive a bus even larger than that truck through here. Can you imagine the damage something bigger would do? The piping plover folks and I took it to the state legislature, got them to cap the vehicle size.”

The bushes rustled and moments later a horse emerged. Colleen held her breath.

“Not her. The foal’s mother has a blaze,” Myrtle said referring to the horse’s nose markings.

Two more horses emerged from the brush, blinked lazily at them, and munched on leaves.

“That’s Lightning, Bella, and Gonzalo,” Myrtle said, pointing to each.

“How can you tell them apart?” she asked, studying them.

“Some have socks,” Myrtle said, indicating the white on one of the horse’s hooves, “The markings on the nose, how their mane falls to one side or the other … It’s not hard.”

She had to hand it to Myrtle: she may rub people the wrong way, but there wasn’t a person on the planet more dedicated to Corolla’s horses. She wasn’t surprised Myrtle had gone to the North Carolina legislature, but she was surprised that those protecting the piping plover had cooperated with her.

“I thought you weren’t too fond of the piping plover folks,” Colleen said, wiping sweat from her temple and upper lip and watching the horses move down the trail, tails swishing.

“Who told you that?”

“Don’t they blame the horses for destroying the plover’s nests?”

“Poppycock,” Myrtle said. “That rumor was started by the duck hunters because they were worried they’d be restricted from hunting on the property. Nothing with legs is destroying those nests. It’s those monster wheels that are doing it.”

Colleen checked the time. It was getting late. As much as she hated to abandon their mission, Myrtle would have to search for the foal later. “I’m afraid the stakeout’s over,” she said, reaching for the keys in the ignition. She glanced in her rearview mirror and froze. Standing a short distance behind the SUV was a stunning chestnut with a white stripe down her nose nudging a furry foal. “Myrtle,” she whispered and pointed out the back window.

Myrtle twisted in her seat. “That’s her.”

“She’s beautiful,” Colleen said in awe.

The two quietly observed mother and offspring nuzzling one another. The mare shook her mane and it billowed in the ocean air. The foal bounced across the road, healthy and happy. Myrtle smiled with pride and Colleen sighed with relief. The mare led the foal across the trail and then both disappeared behind a dune. If I get flack for not bringing Myrtle in right away, Colleen thought, it was well worth it.

“You good now?” she asked.

“Take me in, Chief.”

She started the engine, blasted the air conditioning, adjusted a vent so the air hit her straight in the face, and rolled up the windows.

“I’ll text them that we’re coming,” she said.

Colleen texted first Bill and then Rodney that she had Myrtle in Carova. Seconds later a text came back from Rodney that he was already in Carova and would pick Myrtle up himself. She agreed to meet Rodney at the nearest access point.

“Deputy Warren is picking you up,” Colleen said. “When they question you I want you to tell them everything: why you’ve been in that silly disguise, how long you’ve been stalking Denny, how you found him at Pinky’s house, and anything you noticed yesterday when you confronted him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Myrtle said, barely paying attention.

She stole a look at Myrtle as she steered around a pool of water. “You better or you could be arrested.”

“Fiddledeedee.”

She wanted to scream. In all her life she’d never known anyone as annoying as Myrtle. “Do you want to be charged with murder?”

“Murder?” Myrtle said, taken aback. “I thought it was an arson investigation.”

Shoot. She had said too much. “It’s both.”

“Denny Custis was murdered?”

“How did you know it was Denny?” Colleen asked.

“Corolla’s small. Heard a rumor it was Custis in that fire, but I hadn’t heard it was murder.”

“Now do you see why you need to be completely honest with the sheriff?” Myrtle stared out the side window. “What were you doing there, anyway?”

Myrtle said nothing. Better to let Bill question her anyway. They drove the rest of the way to the rendezvous in silence. When they arrived, Rodney was waiting for them.

“You ready?” she asked Myrtle as she stopped.

“No problem,” Myrtle said. She exited and trekked toward Rodney with her wrists thrust out in front of her ready to be handcuffed.

Rodney waved Myrtle’s hands away. She hoped Myrtle treated the questioning seriously and told Bill everything. Rodney took Myrtle by the arm, helped her into his pickup, walked around the back, gave Colleen a quick wave, slid into the driver’s side, and drove away with Myrtle—currently Corolla’s Most Wanted.

Colleen pushed tendrils of hair from her face. She felt sticky and wanted to wash her hands. Suddenly, there was a tap at the driver’s side window. She startled, then discovered an attractive woman in her early forties smiling at her. She rolled down the window.

“What can I do for you?” Colleen asked.

“I’m glad I saw you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” the woman said.

“You sure you don’t have me confused with someone else?”

“I’m Autumn Harkins, Fawn’s aunt,” the woman said, and held out her hand.

“Of course.”

She shook Autumn’s hand and noted roses and sunflowers tattooed like rings around several of her fingers.

“I’m sorry you had a hard time finding the place. Fawn didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Well, actually—” Colleen said, attempting to interrupt.

“I can’t wait to tell you about the ceremony.”

“I think there’s a bit of a misunderstanding. Not that it isn’t lovely to meet you, but I’m overdue at the station.” She knew Jimmy would have the Junior Firefighter’s Game Day under control but wanted to get back to meet with visitors.

Autumn smirked. “Fawn and Chip warned me you’d be elusive. A fear of commitment perhaps?”

“No, I really do—”

“Relax. I think you’re wise not to jump into anything too fast. Although I wouldn’t wait too long. That sheriff could give George Clooney a run for his money. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t nabbed him already.”

Colleen silently groaned. Even complete strangers were apparently aware of her romantic life. Please don’t let her read my aura or tea leaves or whatever mystical thing she might be into, she prayed.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to read your aura,” the woman said knowingly. “You look like you’ve been out in the heat awhile. Sure you don’t want to come in and have a cool drink?”

“I really must go.”

Autumn placed a hand on her hip and gave Colleen a sideways glance. “The wedding
is
this weekend. I’ve done all the work. Fawn just needs to know you’ve signed off on it.”

“Okay okay,” she said. Better to get this over with and get on with her day. “Where do you live?”

“Over there,” she said, indicating a blue house fifteen yards beyond a nearby dune. “I’ll meet you.” And with that Autumn vanished along a narrow trail between the dunes as suddenly as she had appeared.

Chapter 10

Colleen alighted
from her SUV and stared in wonder at Autumn’s yard. Arranged in various positions as if reclining, frolicking, or climbing the dunes, were a Who’s Who of rock-and-roll molded celebrity statues. Buddy Holly sported his signature black-rimmed glasses and strummed a banjo; Jimi Hendrix huddled over his guitar at the top of a dune; and Madonna lounged seductively on her side in a leather corset, grass growing around her like a halo.