Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) Read Free Page A

made it visible.
    I stopped and studied it in mild consternation. What in the world was it doing here? Was it, in fact, stuck?
    I had a small penlight in my pocket (as well as a Swiss Army knife and a waterproof container of matches). Perhaps I should go and see.
    Ten steps in the direction of the car and I stopped. Was this smart? I was a woman alone; I had no idea what the car was here for. On the other hand, I argued, I was perfectly safe skulking out here in the dark willows. No one who was in the car would be able to see me without a light.
    Cautiously I approached the vehicle from the rear, out of headlight range, my hand on my own small flashlight. No humans seemed to be about; the car looked deserted. But it also looked too expensive to be cavalierly abandoned.
    From twenty feet away, I stared. It was some kind of two-seater sports car- I couldn't put a name to it. No movement in it, or around it. My eyes tracked along the ground nearby. A patch of white. Not large. Bigger than a paper bag, smaller than a picnic blanket. Next to the car, about ten feet from the front bumper. I stared. The white thing didn't move.
    Cautiously I brought the flashlight out of my pocket. Wiggling gently behind a sheltering screen of willow branches, I aimed it at the white shape and clicked it on.
    For a second I still couldn't figure it out. White cloth, it looked like- I moved the light. And something darker. A face. Shit.
    The white was a shirt, a shirt that was on a man lying flat on his back in the meadow.
    I clicked the flashlight off. This was weird.
    Peering through the near-dark, I ascertained that the man hadn't moved. I mentally replayed what I'd seen. A man lying flat on his back-I'd had a brief glimpse of his face, staring upward. No one I recognized.
    Was he hurt? Dead? Asleep? Drunk?
    I clicked the light on again. The grass and willow branches obscured him somewhat, but there was no doubt of what I was seeing.
    Pointing the flashlight right at his face, I looked for signs of life. For a second, nothing. Then the face turned slowly toward my light. I couldn't read his expression.
    I hesitated. Before I could make up my mind what to do, the man sat up.
    Big, dark blotches all over the front of his white shirt. What? No. Yes. Blood. Dark red blotches. Blood, or something like it.
    "Leave me alone," he said.
    My mind spun.
    He lay back down.
    Now what the hell was I supposed to do? Could it really have been blood on his shirt front?
    I kept the flashlight on his face. Thought about it. Then I shouted, "Do you need help?"
    No response. And then, slowly, he sat up again, looking in my direction. "Leave me alone," he said again. And then quite distinctly, "I'm trying to kill myself."
    Once again, he lay back. Shit, shit, shit. This time I was sure the dark red blotches were blood. "I'm trying to kill myself," he had said. I played the flashlight on the ground around him. In a moment, I caught the dull flash of reflected light off the blued barrel.
    A gun. Lying on the ground near his right hand. Within reach of his hand. If I approached him, he could shoot at me. I trained the flashlight back on his face.
    "I'll get help," I shouted.
    This time he spoke without moving, and I had a harder time making out his words. "No, no help. Don't want help."
    "Just hang in there," I said, using my strongest reassuring-veterinarian tone. "I'll help you."
    "No. Leave me alone. No help. Let me die."
    I tried to decide what to do. If I went near this guy, he could potentially shoot me, though he had made no move toward the gun so far. I had no idea if he was dying, or if there was anything I could do immediately that would help him. Get some help, I thought. Don't get yourself shot for no good reason.
    "Listen," I yelled at him, "I'm going to get help. Just hang in there. You'll be okay."
    "No, please." He didn't move; I thought his voice was weaker. "Don't try to help me. I'm dying. I want to die. Like the horses."
    "Like the horses?" I repeated,