Chapter 16

 

I stayed put in the entryway and glanced nervously over my shoulder. The chilled air funneled over my neck as I listened for any noise that felt out of place. Any noise that was . . . human. As I started down the aisle, I kept my gaze focused on that foal. Although logic told me it was as dead as the hard ground it lay on, part of my mind expected it to move.

In barn eight, the run-in shed was to my right. Several mares cautiously entered the barn, but as others moved in behind them, they peeled around and ran back into the lot. One of the stalled mares snorted when I walked past, and the mare directly opposite the foal's body, stared through her stall's grillwork, wide-eyed and alarmed.

I crouched down and studied the foal. He was smaller than most of the foals I'd delivered or had seen delivered but looked perfectly normal otherwise. Except that he was dead. Dead and lying in the center of the aisle. And the only way he could have gotten there was through human intervention.

His purple tongue lulled out of his mouth, but I was relieved to see that his eyes were closed. I reached out and touched him. Warmth still rose through his damp coat.

This kind of statement didn't gel with an arsonist's plan, but it smacked of Paul, and I was convinced more than ever that he was behind the lights. And it should have been obvious from the start. He hadn't pulled his tricks during Maddie's shift, only mine. I assumed he planned on spooking me out of the job, and tonight's effort was a damned good attempt.

The straw in the shed rustled as a mare approached the gate. When I stood, she spun away from me and kicked out at the heavy strands of afterbirth that slapped wetly against her hind legs. She lowered her head and humped her back, striking out at the unusual sensation as she cantered back outside.

I flipped open the farm's cell phone and keyed in Dr. Nash's number. She answered on the fourth ring.

"This is Steve. One of the mares in barn eight aborted."

"Oh, damn." Something rustled against the phone, and I pictured her sitting up in bed. "Is the mare in a stall or the lot?"

"She's turned out," I said.

"She and the foal need be separated from the rest of the mares."

"Well . . . uh, the foal's already separated."

"Oh, good. Where'd you put it?"

"I didn't put it anywhere. It's in the barn aisle."

Static hummed in the earpiece. After a time, she said, "What do you mean, 'it's in the aisle'?"

"Someone placed it in the middle of the aisle. And I assume that same someone also flipped off barn seven and eight's lights."

"One of us will be over," she said before her phone clattered into its cradle.

Five minutes later, headlights swept across the field out back as a vehicle turned off Cannonball and headed toward the barn. I returned to the entrance as Dr. Nash's Spyder slid to a stop alongside my Chevy.

Victor Nash unfolded himself from behind the wheel and glanced at my truck on the way in. His hair stuck out on one side, and he looked as if he'd hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and jammed his bare feet into some boat shoes. He stopped short as he stepped over the threshold and caught sight of the foal. It looked as disturbing and out of place in the glare of the incandescent lights as it had with my Chevy's headlights streaking down the aisle.

"God." Victor glanced at me, but his gaze was drawn back to the deflated little body. "This is how you found it?"

"Yep."

"Shit."

"That's what I thought."

He rubbed his face, then started down the aisle as slowly as I'd done. "Deirdre said the aisle lights were out like the other night. You have any idea who's doing this?"

When I didn't respond, he stopped and looked at me. "Well?" His eyelids were swollen, as if he'd been sleeping with his face jammed in a pillow.

"I have a couple ideas, but nothing to back them up."

He held out his arms. "Come on, Steve. We're not in a court of law, here. I don't give a shit about proof. I want your ideas."

"Speculation without fact to back it up. That's all I've got."

"Fine." Victor looked toward the run-in shed when the foal's dam approached the gate once more. "Oh, fuck. We can't leave her out there like that." He glanced at the mares in the stalls alongside us. "Look, I'll go down to the far end of the barn and see if I can't find a mare that's not as freaked as these. I'll put her in a lot out back while you see if you can catch her."

We both grabbed lead ropes, and I slipped into the run-in shed while Victor headed for the back of the barn. When I started toward the mare, she spun away. I stood there and waited, listening to a stall door scrape open farther down the aisle.

The mare hovered just outside the shed. The mercury vapor lamp shone down on her, illuminating the patchy sweat that coated her flanks and neck, and I realized she was trembling.

I walked through the deep straw bedding, not directly for her, but in her general direction. "Hey, girl. You're going to be all right. Just let me catch you," I said softly.

She raised her head and watched my approach with suspicion.

"I'll give you some nice alfalfa hay," I said. "I'll even shake out some fresh straw in your stall, and after awhile, you'll be able to relax." I calmly moved to her shoulder as if we did this every single night of the year.

Her head inched higher, and she rolled her eyes but held her ground.

"That's a good girl," I whispered. "Everything will be okay." I reached out and stroked her neck, then clipped my lead on her halter. I slowly exhaled a lungful of trapped air as I smoothed my palm down her neck. She lowered her head slightly, but it took a bit of coaxing before she would approach the gate.

We were about ten feet from the barrier fence when the mare slammed into my shoulder and knocked me to my knees. I kept hold of the lead, forcing her to spin around me. She began to canter backwards, tipping me forward, but somehow, I scrambled to my feet. I ran with her and wrestled her to a stop.

As I moved alongside her shoulder, I noticed Victor standing by the gate and realized she'd probably spooked when he'd first appeared at the far end of the aisle. This time, it took me twice as long to get her over to the gate. Victor swung it inward and stepped out of the way.

The mare curled her neck and skittered onto the asphalt.

"Let her go over to her foal if she wants to," Victor said as he latched the gate behind us.

I thought she was too freaked, but she walked right up to him and lowered her head. She licked his rump and sniffed his tail.

After a couple of minutes, when the sound of the mare's snuffling filled the quiet, Victor moved alongside me. "Put her in the stall, Steve. Hopefully she's figured out for herself that he's never going to get up."

"Shit."

"I know," he said and raised his tired eyes to look in my face. "It happens though. Usually something's wrong with the foal, and whatever it is triggers the abortion."

"But he looks fine."

Victor rested his hand on my shoulder. "Nature knows better than we do, Steve, believe me."

I put the mare in the second stall from the end, spread clean straw over the old, and gave her a flake of hay. Then Victor and I stood over the foal for a minute longer. When he reached down and grabbed the colt's forelegs, I gripped his rear cannon bones and was surprised by how cold they'd become. As we carried him down the aisle, his neck curved toward the ground, and his head brushed the asphalt.

We placed him gently on the ground, and his quiet body flattened against the cold earth.

I followed Victor back into the mare's stall. He peered at the brass nameplate on her halter. "All right, Steve. Who's been fucking with the lights," he gestured toward the dead foal, "and now this?" He paused. "And, I take it, your tires."

"I don't know."

"But you have an idea."

"And that's all it is. An idea." I stepped out of the stall, and Victor followed. When he reached up and rubbed his face, his jacket sleeves slid down his wrist, exposing an ugly paisley pattern on what could only be a pajama top.

"Well?" Victor prompted.

"At first, since the fires have been so localized, I thought it was the arsonist. But that didn't explain my truck's tires being slashed, and whoever's fooling with the lights hasn't done it during Maddie's shift." I paused. "This is just a guess, but Paul cares for Maddie a great deal--"

"Genoa?"

I nodded. "He's jealous of me. My guess is, he's trying to encourage me to quit."

"You're right. I can't take action based on that. If he comes back, whoever he is, try to get his license or vehicle description. Sometime tomorrow, check Genoa's car. If he's the one, you'll be able to spot it easier."

"I already have."

Victor looked in at the mare and sighed. "Tie up her afterbirth, and you'll need to come back and check on her during your rounds until she cleans out, okay?"

I nodded.

Victor left, and I followed him several minutes later. I'd expected him to go straight home, but as I passed the clinic, I saw the red flash of the Spyder's taillights beneath barn six's dusk-to-dawn light, and in that instant, I realized all the barns were dark. Except six.

It figured.

Victor and I checked the barns together; then he drove over to the training barns, and fifteen minutes later, I saw him pull slowly down the drive to the garage behind the stone mansion.

* * *

Dr. Nash and Jenny didn't come into the clinic like usual Wednesday morning, which surprised me until I remembered Jenny had off from school. I ate my lunch, and at five after seven in the morning, when most of the crew had drifted in, Paul Genoa slouched in his chair and rested his chin on his chest. I was tempted to ask him why he looked so tired, but as I took a step toward him, the clinic door opened. Victor and Frank entered the room together, and the talking that had been going on petered out.

Victor cleared his throat. "It's come to my attention that the person who's been sneaking around the farm at night, vandalizing property and switching off lights we've left on for security reasons, may be a farm employee."

He let that hang in the air while most of the crew glanced at each other, and I noticed with satisfaction that Paul had centered his gaze on me.

"If this continues," Victor said, "have no doubt, I'll find out who's behind it, and that person will be fired immediately."

I dragged my gaze away from Paul and glanced around the room. Victor's comments had Tiller's attention, but not in a way that seemed suspicious.

"Sooner or later, most people who indulge in this type of juvenile activity brag about it," Victor continued. "If any of you learn who's behind this, I expect you to report it to me in private, because, if I find out you knew but remained quiet, you'll be fired, as well." Victor's gaze settled on Genoa for a second before he turned and left the room.

The crew was unusually subdued until Frank separated us into teams, and we headed to the parking lot. Thankfully, I was paired with Tiller, Ben, and Ronnie.

I smiled as I listened to their speculation.

"The boss don't know what he's talking about," Ronnie said as he opened the truck's door. "Ain't none of us would pull that shit."

Ben and Tiller agreed.

"Could be anybody," Tiller said as he climbed into the cab.

Ben scrambled into the bed. "Maybe gypsies are doing it."

That stopped me in my tracks, and Tiller and Ronnie swiveled around on the bench seat and stared at Ben through the glass.

"My grandma says they're around here. In the fall, they steal her grapes."

Ronnie shoved the cab's back window closed, and when he locked it, Tiller chuckled under his breath.

By the time we'd turned out the mares in barn six, and Ben and Ronnie had argued over who was going to use the best pitchfork, the general consensus reached was that the arsonist had been responsible for the lights.

By nine-forty, as we moved to barn five, Victor pulled alongside the farm truck in a beat-up Toyota pickup and caught my attention. "Steve, give the keys to Tiller. Sergeant Bodell's at the clinic, and he wants to talk to you."

I climbed out of the cab. "They're in the ignition."

Victor nodded and yelled to Tiller. "You've got the Ford. Steve and I are going over to the clinic."

I glanced at the Toyota's right front bumper before I climbed into the cab. It had a ding in it the size of a dinner plate. A large crater over the wheel well had been hammered out, and a deep gouge ran the length of the rear panel. Except for a swath of clear glass on the windshield, the entire vehicle was crusted over with a layer of hardened mud.

Victor shifted into reverse as I slid onto the seat and closed the door.

"Who's been driving your truck?"

Victor grinned. "I take it off road--"

"One would only hope."

His grin broadened. "There are some dirt tracks along the river that are a blast to plow through, especially when it's muddy. Unfortunately, an occasional tree or boulder gets in the way."

"No, kidding. So, what does Bodell want?"

"Deirdre called him about last night." He rubbed his forehead. "Man, she's going nuts with this."

"Any news on why the mare aborted?"

"There was evidence of a bacterial infection. Deirdre's taken cultures from the mare and foal and will know in a couple days."

As Victor sped past the lake, a stiff breeze pushed ripples across the cold water and rattled the cattail stalks on the far bank. He slewed the little truck down off the road, and as we approached the clinic, Shane Hadley strolled out of the building and nodded to Bodell. Hadley paused alongside his silver Viper, turned his back to the wind, and bent to light a cigarette. He slid behind the wheel as Victor pulled up alongside Bodell's cruiser. Its sleek chocolate finish shimmered under the sun. Less could be said for the man himself. His overalls were embedded with grime, and I doubted his ball cap's frayed bill was a fashion statement. "Don't look too happy, does he?"

I chuckled.

Bodell had been scowling as he watched Hadley back out of his parking space and point the Viper toward the road, and I wondered if he resented Hadley's wealth or was jealous of him. Or both.

"Deirdre's got him wrapped around her finger," Victor said. "Not that I blame him. I swear, he'd stand on his head out here in the parking lot if she asked him to."

"Aren't they cousins?"

Victor grinned. "Distant cousins. Makes a difference."

Sergeant Bodell's old-boy charm was as polar opposite Deirdre's high-society as two people could get. As I climbed out of the Toyota, I thought back to his remark about Deirdre's being one classy lady. At the time, I'd thought what I'd heard in his voice was admiration, and maybe that's all it was.

Sergeant Bodell pushed off the cruiser's front quarter panel, yanked off his ball cap, and smoothed his palm over his balding head. "Hear you had a fun night?"

"Yeah," I said. "Real fun."

Since daybreak, the sky had begun to cloud over, and a chilly breeze channeled down from the mountains so that the day felt colder than the preceding night. Bodell shivered under his lightweight jacket. When he suggested we use the clinic, the three of us went indoors.

After I'd repeated everything I could remember about last night and Saturday, when the guy had first started fooling with the lights, I was thankful when Victor was the one to put my theory about Paul into words. I was still uncomfortable naming him and was relieved when Bodell didn't seem overly impressed.

Bodell eyed one of the chairs, but chose to lean against the counter instead. He crossed his arms over his stomach and yawned. "I'll run a record's check on Genoa and give his vehicle information to the watch commander. If any of us see him cruising around here after hours, we'll see what he's up to."

"You mean, pull him over?"

Bodell nodded.

"Don't you need probable cause?"

Bodell tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. I'm dealing with Perry Mason, here." He opened his eyes and smiled as he lowered his gaze from the ceiling. "Why don't you become a real cop? Put your talents to good use. 'Course, if you decide to become a lawyer, I might have to shoot you."

I grinned and Victor chuckled as he reached into an upper cabinet and took down a batch of Styrofoam cups.

"Well, Steve," Bodell said. "I guarantee it. You follow somebody long enough, when you've got a lightbar on your roof, you're bound to find something to pull them over for."

"Legitimately?"

"Of course. You'd be surprised. Erratic or over cautious driving." He grinned. "Now, I admit, that might have something to do with the fact that we're tailing them. Going too fast or slow, not signaling properly, taillight out, license plate displayed incorrectly. I bet if I went out right now and looked over your truck, I'd find something I could get you for." Bodell switched his gaze to Victor and grinned. "Now, Victor's piece-a-shit truck's probably ripe for a dozen citations under all that mud."

Victor innocently spread his hands. "Hey, how'd this get around to me?"

Bodell's lips twitched as he straightened his spine. He slipped his wallet out of his back pocket and handed me a business card. "You see anything you don't like, call 911 first, then call my cell number. Now that I'm off third shift, I can get here in a minute or two since I live close. Just off Dunnottar."

Victor offered Bodell a cup of steaming coffee. "What shift they got you on now?"

Bodell accepted the coffee and grunted. "First, and it's just about killing me. The only thing good about it is that they got donuts at roll call."

I smothered a grin and shook my head when Victor held out a coffee and raised his eyebrows. In the two weeks that I'd worked the job, as far as I could tell, no one had thought to rinse out the filter basket, let alone wash it.

"Well, that's it, gents," Bodell said. "Unless you got something else I should know about."

"That's it." Victor pulled over a chair and sat down.

"I'll give you a call, then, after I check out Mr. Genoa."

Bodell placed his hand on the doorknob, but before he had a chance to turn it, the knob rotated beneath his fingers. The door swung inward on him, and Jenny bounded into the room. She paused in front of Bodell, and he tousled her hair.

"Hey, Punkin," he said.

Jenny tilted her head back and peered into his face. "You catch any bad guys lately?"

"You bet." Bodell winked at her, and she giggled.

Jenny spun around and spied me. "No foals?"

"'Fraid not," I said as Bodell slipped out of the room.

Jenny's fine hair was plaited in one long braid down the center of her back, and she wore a pair of jodhpurs and boots. She nodded, then crossed over to her father. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, honey, not yet. I've gotta wait until that man from New York comes down and looks at those two yearlings."

"Awh, Dad, but you promised." She rested her hands on his knee.

"I'm sorry, honey."

Jenny hooked one foot behind her calf. "Well, can't I go by myself, or just ride on the track? I'm old enough to do that by myself."

I moved behind Jenny and waited for the opportune moment to interrupt them.

"You know you can't." Victor's gaze shifted from his daughter to me.

"Anything else, sir?" I said.

"You don't ride, do you, Steve?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

Jenny spun around, and her eyes widened in delight. "Can Steve take me on a trail ride? Please, Dad. I know the way. We won't get lost."

I glanced at Victor as a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Not a trail ride, honey. But maybe Steve can ride with you on the track." He looked at me. "Do you mind?"

"No, sir."

"I'm gonna go tell Mom." Jenny ran out of the room.

Victor sighed and slouched in his chair. "Thanks, Steve. I'll get you out of here by noon."

The three of us crammed into the Toyota, and Victor drove to the training facility. I checked the barns at night but had never gotten a good look at them in the daylight. Barns nine, ten, and eleven were laid out like racetrack barns but were far more elegant. Instead of the usual concrete block, a warm brown brick formed the exterior walls. The interior wooden walls were varnished and trimmed in black paint, and cupolas with antique weathervanes dotted the ridgelines. A half-mile training track, complete with furlong poles and an elaborate marker that simulated the finish line, sat on the opposite side of the access road. A lake filled the center of the track, and its gray surface mirrored the sky.

Victor left me to tack up Rocket, but before he'd gone three paces, he paused under the shedrow and backtracked. He stood in the doorway and grinned. "Oh, and Steve, don't let his name mislead you. This guy's as solid as they come. He raced for five years before we retired him to the farm. He's fifteen now, and he's seen and done more than most horses ever will. Deirdre hunted him for years after he came home, but now we mostly use him to pony the babies. He'll take good care of you."

I nodded.

Across the way, in barn nine, several employees milled around, scrubbing water buckets and cleaning tack. As far as I could tell, no one was working in ten. The stalls were cleaned and hay nets hung outside each stall, just like they did at the track. By my estimation, each barn had the potential to house eighteen horses, but barn eleven looked deserted.

Rocket turned his handsome head my way as I lowered the saddle onto his back and let it settle into position. He studied me with a kind, curious eye and stood stock still as I lifted the saddle pad's center seam off his withers so it wouldn't press on his thin skin. As I worked, I had an overwhelming impression that he was evaluating my level of expertise against the countless others who had come before me. I tightened his girth, then lifted the bridle off the stall guard. The bit jangled as I draped the reins over Rocket's neck and organized the straps. There was something wholly satisfying in the simple act of tacking up a horse. The smell of leather and horseflesh, the sound of creaking tack and jangling buckles. The anticipation of the ride. I picked out his feet, and as I led him into the shedrow, the farm's cell phone rang.

"Cline, here."

"This is Ralston. Can you talk?"

I glanced toward the far end of the barn. Victor and Jenny stood next to a medium-sized gray pony. Its reins were looped over Victor's arm as he bent down to adjust Jenny's helmet. "Yes," I said. "For a minute or two."

"Bruce Claremont has one DUI and one minor possession charge for marijuana. He was fined for both instances."

"I'm not surprised."

"Fifteen months ago, Paul Genoa was arrested for simple assault. Because it was his first offense, he got off with six month's probation. Shane Hadley's gonna lose his license if he gets another point on his driving record. Victor Nash has two speeding violations and a couple parking tickets, and it took awhile to come by, but he has a juvenile record for setting fires in Prince George's County," Ralston added, and I think I stopped breathing. "He got a slap on the wrist and counseling. Michael Tiller's clean."

Victor was on one knee, now, struggling to tighten Jenny's chinstrap.

"Steve?"

"Huh?"

"Watch your back with Genoa."

"I will."

Ralston disconnected.

I folded the phone and dropped it into my jacket pocket as I stared down the shedrow at Victor. He couldn't be responsible for these fires. He just couldn't. I thought about Lloyd Strauss, burning to death in the old barn, and prayed to God he wasn't.

And if he had set those fires nineteen years ago, what did that mean for Bruce?

Victor hoisted Jenny into the saddle. He bent to check that her feet were properly positioned in the stirrups; then he lifted his head and smiled when he caught sight of me. "Come on, Steve. What're you waiting for?"

I led Rocket down the shedrow as Victor guided the pony into the weak sunlight. Once we cleared the roof overhang, I climbed into the saddle.

"Walk around the track once to warm them up," Victor said to me, "then do some trot work. After that, let Jenny canter as much as she wants, just make sure they cool down before you bring them back."

I nodded, and after I finished lengthening my stirrups, Victor sent us on our way. I glanced over my shoulder as we crossed the gravel road. His gaze was on his daughter, but when he noticed me looking, a lopsided smile lit up his face.

I had to be missing something. He couldn't be responsible.

Jenny led the way through the gate and onto the track; then she turned to the right. Even though she'd left a great deal of slack in the reins, and didn't have hold of her pony's mouth, he arched his neck and lowered his head and marched purposefully forward as if he were pushing against an invisible wall. Rocket on the other hand, ambled alongside the pony and spent his time taking in the scenery. In particular, a flock of geese bobbing around the lake held his interest.

"After we're done," Jenny said, "do you think you'll have time to ride with me when I take out my other ponies?"

"It depends. I have to leave right at noon today."

"Oh." Jenny looked over her shoulder. "Do you like Rocket?"

"Yeah. He's fine."

"He was a great field hunter. A bit wild, maybe, because he always wanted to be in front, like at the track. Mom said he used to pull so hard during his first season, she could barely lift her arms to take off his saddle at the end of the day. Then I guess he got the hang of it, because the hunt master wanted to buy him."

The cloudbank had thinned and given way to puffy, dark-bottomed clouds. In a few places, they'd separated, and shafts of sunlight slanted through the gaps and stretched down to the earth.

I pictured the heavy chord of smoke that had spread out from the fire on Cannonball Gate. It hadn't looked much different than the clouds drifting overhead.

"Mom doesn't hunt much, anymore. She's too busy, so Dad ends up taking me on the weekend. That's not so bad, though, because Mom's overprotective. She doesn't want me to gallop because she's afraid my pony will trip or step in a ground hog hole."

As I listened to her, I wondered if she was ever lonely, growing up as an only child; then I pictured Dr. Nash's tender expression that day in the clinic and had no doubt that she loved her daughter very much. And what about Victor?

Jenny pivoted around in her saddle and frowned. "You're not listening."

"Huh?"

"Have you ever hunted?"

"No." Before she could start up again, I said, "Jenny, remember the day your dad moved your ponies?"

"Uh-huh."

I squeezed my calves and moved Rocket up so I could see her expression. "Did anything else out of the ordinary happen that day?"

Jenny frowned and stared off into the distance as she pondered my question. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Did anyone else go to the bank barn that day? You know, people who normally don't go back there?"

She shook her head. "I went up there right after breakfast with a bag of carrots. Mom had saved some apple slices from when she made pies, so I took them, too. I could hardly wait to ride in the snow, but Dad ruined it because Mom was going out, and he had a meeting to go to, so--"

"What kind of meeting?"

Jenny shrugged. "I had to go to my cousins' for the day. I hate going there. Caleb is always whining about something and knocking people's toys down. As soon as Lexi gets the last block balanced on a pyramid, Caleb kicks it over. He does that all the time, and it gets annoying. And he does this." Jenny turned to face me, shoved her lower lip out, and squinted. "And his face turns red."

"Hmm."

She settled back in the saddle. "He's a brat."

"Sounds like it."

"Mommy says he can't help it, but everybody can help what they do, can't they?" Jenny tilted her head up and peered at me from under the brim of her riding helmet. The cold breeze had brought color to her cheeks, and she looked so sweet and innocent, it hurt.

"I don't know, Jenny. They should." I glanced down the track and realized it wouldn't be long before she'd want to trot, and I expected our conversation would come to an end at that point. "And your ponies were moved by the time you got back?"

"Uh-huh. I was pretty mad because I'd missed riding in the snow, and I wouldn't be able to go out and see my ponies whenever I wanted to anymore. But it's not so bad having them here. I can gallop them a lot, and that's important if I'm going to be a jockey."

"A jockey, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be the best girl jockey that ever lived."

I smiled. "How about the best jockey, period."

Jenny raised her eyebrows. "Maybe."

"Were the other horses still in the barn when they took your ponies out?"

She nodded.

"Jenny, you said that Bruce checked the bank barn at night. When was the last time you saw him do that?"

"The night it snowed."

"Was anyone else with him?"

"Uh-uh."

"What time was it, do you know?"

"It was real late, but I don't remember what my clock said. I just know it was late because I kept waking up to check the snow. I was sure we were going to have the whole day off, but all we got was a measly two-hour delay."

"Was that the same night the horse trailer went to the bank barn?"

"Yep. The truck woke me up, and I couldn't go back to sleep. The light from the barn comes through my window, and I'd left my blinds open so I could watch the snowflakes swirl past my window. Sometimes the flakes were real big, and sometimes they looked like they were going up instead of down. And if I squinted my eyes just so, they looked like streaks of light."

"Did Bruce go into the barn when the trailer was there?"

"No. After."

"Well, do you know how long he was in the barn? How long were the lights on?"

"I didn't mean the inside lights. I meant the light on the side of the barn, up by the corner. That's what shined in my window."

"Okay, but how long were the barn lights on when Bruce went in?"

"He never turned them on," Jenny said, and the first stirrings of dread fluttered in my chest. "He went inside, and a couple minutes later, he came out."

"Where'd he park?"

Jenny shrugged. We were nearing the gate, and she had started to gather up her reins. "I didn't see the farm truck."

"What about a car?"

Jenny squeezed her legs, and the gray broke into a trot. "He didn't have a car, either."

Rocket, not to be outdone by a pony, flipped his head in annoyance, then slipped into a collected canter of his own accord. "Jenny, this is important," I said as I shortened the reins. "Can you remember anything else?"

"No."