A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge Read Free

horses straight into the barn. I follow and watch him as he looks them over nose to tail, patting them and prodding them and calling them by name. “I want to be sure they’re okay.” When he’s finished he says, “They look fine. Funny that they got out, though. Better make sure that gate is padlocked.”
    And then I remember that Jenny always keeps the gate padlocked. To open the gate, someone would have had to get the padlock off. I wonder if Jenny took it off for some reason and forgot to put it back on.
    By the time we walk out to the street it’s dark. I thank Alvin for his help and run him back over to his daddy’s house in my truck. When I get back home, my repaired knee is starting to swell a little, as it still does some nights when I’ve had an active day. “You’re going to have to put up with me moving around a little longer,” I tell it.
    I take my big flashlight over to Jenny’s and shine it around on the ground near the gate. Over by the house, I catch a glint of steel, and sure enough it’s the lock. It has been sheared open. Must have taken heavy-duty bolt cutters. Seems like a strange bit of mischief. Who would have done something like that? Not kids. Maybe somebody who doesn’t like horses, or maybe doesn’t like Jenny?
    In my garage I locate a couple of spare padlocks and put one at the top and one at the bottom of the gate.
    Back at my house I close up for the night, but the question of the lock nags at me. I’m usually a good sleeper, but tonight I jerk awake a few times, restless, thinking I hear sounds from the horse stable. The third time it happens I get up, ease out the back door, and stand in the yard, eyes straining in the direction of the stable. I don’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary.
    When I go back to bed, I’m wide awake and I lie there remembering the crazy talk today from Jenny’s mamma. Drugs talking. Sometimes when my wife Jeanne was under the influence of the drugs that kept her pain at bay, she would mutter wild ideas. Complaining that people were sitting on her bed or standing by the window when there was no one there. But Vera Sandstone seemed very certain of what she was saying.

    Jenny’s horses are fine this morning. If anything, they look pleased with themselves for their adventure yesterday. The padlocks are still secure. I’ll check them again later in the day.
    I swing by police headquarters to make sure nothing out of the ordinary needs seeing to. The young part-time deputy, Bill Odum, is on duty today. He’s fresh out of the police academy but is a quick learner. He says he’ll keep an eye on things and call me if he needs help. I’m glad I finally got a cell phone. It makes a big difference not having to stick by the telephone.
    I go over to Jenny’s again to check on the gate locks. They’re still in place. There’s a man I don’t recognize sitting in a beat-up old white Chevy outside her house. I’m uneasy about him, but before I can walk over and find out what he’s up to, he fires up the engine and takes off.

CHAPTER 3
    Sunday Jenny says Vera seems better, so the next morning, with Jenny off at work, I visit Vera in the hospital. As I approach the front entrance a man who looks vaguely familiar is hurrying out the sliding glass doors—he’s a big man with wiry reddish hair peppered with gray. He’s football-player big, but unlike a lot of aging men with his build, he’s kept his muscle tone. From the leathery look of his skin, I’d guess that he works outdoors. I nod to him, but he takes no notice. He pauses at the top of the steps, looks out over the parking lot like he’s surveying his territory, and heads down to the lot. He climbs into a black Lincoln town car and whips out onto the road like he’s got someplace important to be.
    There’s no sign on Vera’s door telling visitors to check in at the