okay?”
“The what?”
“He’ll know,” he said. “We better go. The sirens are coming closer.”
She nodded. “You’re right. We’ll need to stay out of everyone’s way.”
They walked back up the path away from the barn and the enclosures. Abby set a slow pace, but not so much that Bobby would think she was deferring to him. Bobby faced many difficulties daily, but he had a lot of pride, something that helped him endure.
Hearing Hank the camel roar loudly, Abby halted. “Bobby, go ahead without me. Make sure the other officers and emergency people know where to find the detective. I need to get the horses out of the turnout area and move Hank to another pen so the police can work in peace.”
“Okay, but if you get scared or something, shout out or whistle. I’ll hear you.”
“Thanks,” Abby said and smiled. Bobby was as loyal as could be. It was one of the many reasons she was so fond of him.
Abby jogged back to where she’d left the detective. Though the horses were clearly upset by the stranger in their enclosure, they were still acting in a predictable manner. Both stood as far away from Detective Bowman as possible, at the innermost corner of the enclosure, watching him, their ears pinned back.
“Detective, let me put halters on the horses and lead them to another pen. They’ll be out of your way then.”
“No, stay put. This is a crime scene,” he said. “I see a hoof pick over there and a coffee can with some traces of grain. I’ll dump that out then check their hooves, scrape off any dirt and debris into the can and then bring them out to you.”
Preston looked around for a rope and halter but, finding neither within arm’s reach, decided to forego using them. He bent down and checked each of Missy’s hooves. Using the pick, he collected dirt and what could be blood and hair. Once finished, he grabbed the mare by the mane and led her over to Abby, who immediately opened the small turnout gate.
“You know horses,” Abby said.
“Yeah. It was part of life where I grew up.”
Abby grabbed Missy’s mane as he’d done and led her out to another corral. By the time she returned, Detective Bowman was waiting with Tracker.
Abby grabbed the horse but as her gaze strayed to Carl, a lump formed at her throat. How could this have happened? Nothing made sense to her anymore.
“Was he a close friend?” Preston asked, as if sensing the turmoil inside her.
“We weren’t close, but I considered him a friend. He was a good, loyal employee and a man who’d believed in my dream for Sitting Tall Ranch.” She wanted to keep her voice steady, so she paused for a moment. “Do you know how…he died?” she added in a strained whisper.
“Not yet, but I’ll find out. You can count on that.”
Detective Bowman walked away from her and crouched by Carl’s body once again. This time he looked around slowly, taking in the setting, not the victim. Although the gesture had seemed almost casual, she had a feeling he didn’t miss much. Then, surprisingly, he looked back at her. His gaze was penetrating…and unsettling. She wanted to look away but somehow couldn’t quite manage it.
To her, he represented the unknown…and that scared her. Would he be an ally, or would his appearance mark the last days of Sitting Tall Ranch? She’d made her mistakes—well-meaning ones, but if they came out now…Determined to guard her secrets, she moved away.
“We’ll be blocking off several areas with yellow tape,” he called out while taking photos with a small camera. “It may take a day or two before we’re ready to take the tape down, so be prepared.”
She tried not to give in to the unadulterated panic rising inside her. This wasn’t just about Carl, not anymore. If the ranch became synonymous with danger, no parent would want their kids here. She’d lose her funding and have to shut down.
Sitting Tall Ranch was a place of healing and hope. There was no other place like it in the area. What they offered kids was something worth fighting for, and she intended to do whatever was necessary to keep the ranch’s doors open.
“I’m going to need access to the animals,” she said as Hank let out another loud bellow. “Please try to keep that in mind when you put up the tape.”
“No problem. I’ve got you covered.”
“And please,” she said softly, “work quickly. We need donations to survive, and with the economy, those have become harder and harder to get.”
“You need closure, too, and finding answers is what I do best,” he said. “Trust me.”
She looked at him and blinked. She normally hated it when anyone said that. The words were usually empty and, if anything, meant she should do exactly the opposite. Yet there was something about Detective Bowman that assured her he was as good as his word.
Hearing another vehicle approaching, he turned his head to look, then glanced back at her. “Here comes Joanna Medina, the medical investigator,” he said. “I’ll need to speak to you and the boy as soon as I can, and when I do I’ll let you know what we’ve found.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I’m going to move Hank, the camel that’s being so vocal right now. After that I’ll be in my office, the casita behind the main house.”
“One more thing,” he called out to her. “The kid, Bobby, he didn’t move or touch the body, right?”
“No, I think he would have been afraid to. He told me to tell you he’d followed the rule of three. He said you’d know what that meant.”
Preston nodded. “Don’t touch them, don’t look at them, get away from them.”
“The ghosts of the dead—that’s the source of worry, right?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” he said, meeting her outside the corral. “The chindi is the evil side of a man that remains earthbound waiting for a chance to create problems for the living. Our traditionalists believe that contact with the dead or their possessions is a sure way to draw it to you.”
“You’re an officer, so you’re not…a traditionalist?”
“I’m a detective who does his job,” he said, waving at a woman wearing a lab coat and carrying a heavy-looking medical case. “I have to get to work now. I’ll come find you once we’re through here and we can talk about what you saw before I got here.”
As he strode away, a cold shudder ripped through Abby. She’d known anger, worry, love and ultimately loss. Yet she could count on one hand the times she’d experienced pure, unadulterated fear. Now as she watched the detective meet the medical examiner, she felt its icy-cold touch clawing into her again.
Carl was dead, and someone had attacked her here twice. No matter how hard she wished it wasn’t so, the truth was that the ranch was no longer a safe haven.
Trying not to look back at Carl’s body as she passed by, Abby returned to the pen that held Hank. Sensing
