Payne & Misery Page 5

  As she poured another cup, I studied her face. Did she seriously believe God cared about someone as insignificant as that frail woman?

  Zora Jane dropped a lump of sugar into her tea and stirred. “We need to talk to someone about what we’ve seen. An authority.”

  I nodded. If we had discovered a child suffering such injuries, we’d already be on the phone summoning the law.

  “Our son-in-law’s a deputy here in Nevada County. Have I ever mentioned him? Baxter Dunn. He’s a wonderful Christian man. Maybe we should run this by him.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  She lifted the handset of the old-fashioned telephone hanging on her kitchen wall and paused a moment. “I hate to bother him just now, though. He only returned to work yesterday after an injury and he hasn’t fully regained his strength. I think he should have waited another few days before going back. He’ll be swamped with paper work. Besides, do we actually have any facts? We don’t want to make an unfounded accusation. These are our neighbors. That’s a horrible stigma to lay on someone if we’re wrong.”

  “Maybe. But what if we’re right?” I felt the ticking of Zora Jane’s kitchen clock. Time mattered here. Lila’s safety was at stake. Perhaps even her life. If Zora Jane deemed this matter urgent enough to bring before God, how much more information did we need to summon the authorities?

  She replaced the phone. “Why don’t I ask Ed? He handled plenty of abuse and neglect cases. He’ll know what to look for, as well as the legal aspects.”

  That made sense. Ed retired from the San Francisco police force after twenty-five years of service. “I guess I could talk to Jesse too. He’s good at pointing out the obvious.” At least he always noticed everything I did wrong.

  Her eyes smiled understanding into mine.

  But how could she understand our conflicted marriage? Did she know how much I wanted to run home and tell Jesse everything with confidence that he’d care enough to listen? “I’ll tell Jesse when he gets home.”

  Zora Jane broke off a chunk of muffin. “Where is Jesse?”

  “He’s at a shoot. In Fresno.”

  She cocked one eyebrow. “A shoot?”

  “Cowboy-mounted shooting—his new pastime. They race horses around a course marked by balloons attached to orange highway cones.”

  “Oh, that’s what he’s been practicing in the arena.”

  I nodded. “It’s timed like barrel racing, with the added challenge of shooting balloons in order and the added fun of dressing in period costumes. These are grown men, mind you.”

  Zora Jane tilted her head and gave a slow nod. The questions in her eyes told me she wasn’t sure whether I intended to be facetious or not. “Boys will be boys, I suppose.”

  Talking about Jesse made me feel empty and sad. Before he retired, I thought I was the most important person in the world to him. Now … well, I didn’t know exactly where I stood, but I probably wouldn’t place in the top ten. It might be easier to get a divorce and never see his face again than to put up with his sporadic attention.

  I’d never mentioned my marital problems to anyone before. Zora Jane stared at me, tenderness radiating from her eyes to my heart.

  “Retirement has been a challenge for both of us, I’ve got to admit. Since I finished remodeling and redecorating, I haven’t found anything interesting to fill my time. Oh, there’s always gardening, but I can’t garden all the time, you know?”

  Zora Jane poured the remaining tea into my cup. “No, I guess not.”

  “When Jesse first retired, he moped around. Said he felt as useless as a four-card flush. So he tried art lessons, joined a woodcarving group, and then he discovered mounted shooting. It’s a perfect fit for him. He’s always loved horses, and best of all, he gets to dress in cowboy costumes.” I sighed. “I should be thankful, I know.”

  Zora Jane shrugged. “He could’ve chosen worse ways to fill his time. Maybe you’re feeling left out because he’s having fun without you. Are you sure you’re not jealous?”

  I rejected that idea without considering whether it might be true or not. “You don’t understand. He’s consumed with this stuff. When he leaves, he’s gone for four or five days at a time. Even when he’s home, he’s not really there. He devours Western magazines and books, cleans his guns, gets his gear together, or practices with his horse. It’s like nothing else on the planet matters anymore. Frankly, I can’t share it with him because it’s all so … frivolous. I can’t find anything more meaningful, though. Sometimes I wonder what my purpose for living is when I’m not doing anything useful.”

  Where did that come from? I don’t usually share such intimate stuff.

  “Oh, my dear!” Zora Jane patted my hand, eyes sparkling. “God has something wonderful for you. Ask him to reveal it.”

  For Zora Jane, the answer always started with prayer. If only I felt so confident that God cared about my life. He’d never sent me a message before. Why should he start talking to me now?

  She leaned toward me. “Meanwhile, why don’t you try mounted shooting? You’d look so cute in a cowgirl outfit.”

  I threw my napkin at her.

  We each finished another delicious orange-walnut muffin lathered with generous globs of homemade peach preserves. Then I headed home, wondering what God could possibly have for me to do in retirement.

  The phone rang as I entered the house. I hustled to beat the answering machine. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” Jesse’s voice boomed over the line. “How’s everything?” My heart somersaulted as it always did whenever I heard his voice. A foggy memory of Jesse’s hushed pre-dawn departure the previous Thursday morning surfaced in my mind. He tried not to wake me when he left early. But that meant I never got the chance to say good-bye.

  The initial delight of hearing his voice faded when I remembered that once again he’d been gone when I needed him. Since I hated explaining anything over the phone, I gritted my teeth and fibbed. “Everything’s fine here.”

  “Think I’m coming home tonight.” His original plan had been to return Sunday, still more than a day away. “Ranger’s limping. Can’t figure what’s wrong with his leg.”

  Another injury? Ranger slipped and fell in the mud once, right after they finished running a course. Jesse’s elbow didn’t heal for a couple of months. When would my husband understand he’d grown too old to play cowboy? “Did he fall again?”

  “No. That’s why I can’t figure it out. I haven’t seen him do anything to cause the limp. But it’s the same foot he had trouble with before. Maybe it’s arthritis. Old Ranger’s not as young as he used to be. But hey, who is? Anyway, there are storm clouds gathering here. Looks like we may get rain tonight. I don’t want to ride him through the mud. If I leave now, I’ll get home before dark.”

  “Okay. That’s good actually.” I’d been dreading another sleepless night listening for Will’s truck to break through the gate.

  “You’ll have to get rid of your boyfriend early.”

  Boyfriend? I shook my head. Strange sense of humor. “Sure. I’ll tell him he has to go.”

  As I hung up the phone, conflicting feelings churned in my stomach like toxic chemicals. I was grateful he’d be home before another night. I was. But resentment at being left unprotected overpowered the positive emotions. He never considered my need for safety.

  I occupied myself vacuuming and doing laundry, trying to fill up the afternoon. Busyness kept me from worrying about Lila’s plight. Then I made a batch of my mother’s chicken lasagna—yummy, but labor-intensive. Nutmeg and green onions give it a unique and delicious flavor. Jesse better appreciate that I spent all afternoon preparing his favorite dish.

  I stayed so occupied I forgot to watch for the return of Will’s white pickup. About four thirty, I put on a peppy Shania Twain CD and set to work cleaning up the lasagna mess, bopping to “Man! I Feel Like a Woman.” The phone jangled in the middle of the second chorus and I jumped.

  “Hello?”

  No
response.

  I clicked off the Bose music system. “Helloo?”

  Still nothing. Must be a telemarketer. As slowly as possible, I drifted back to the dry sink to hang up the phone, praying for a computer to kick in with a sales pitch.

  Curiosity reared its tempting head. I lingered just another moment, hoping for a clue to the caller’s identity.

  Then—heavy breathing, a grunted profanity, and a loud click as the line disconnected.

  I didn’t imagine that! I dropped the phone in the general vicinity of its cradle but misjudged the distance. The phone landed on the dry sink with a loud whack.

  My gaze flew out the windows toward the gray house just in time to see the back door fly open again. Will stood on his stoop, one hand on his hip, the other shielding his eyes to stare at our house.

  Oddly enough, in my panic, I thought of the animals first. Hoppy snored in a little black-and-white heap on Jesse’s white leather cowboy chair in the living room. Roy and Molly were somewhere outside. I hadn’t seen them for hours. I raced to the front door on the other side of the house as fear’s icy fingers clutched my soul. No sign of either one of them. My voice trembled like an old woman’s. “Molly! Here, Roy! Here, kitty-kitty.”

  Roy’s head popped up from behind a clump of rosemary near the fence. He’d been foraging for lizards, field mice, blowing leaves— anything that moved. Tail up, he bounded toward me. When he got to the dry stack stone wall holding back the upper part of the hill, he balanced in perfect form just long enough for me to admire him. Then he jumped onto the driveway with a kerplunk. In great relief, I gathered his bulky body into my arms and dumped him through the front door.

  “Good boy! I’ll be right back.” I secured the door so neither cat could escape and faced the late afternoon landscape. Now, where could Molly be?

  I rushed up the driveway toward the front gate. A slight wind rustled the tops of the trees, but no sign of Molly there. I turned to search the other way. When had I seen her last? At the corner where the driveway curved up the hill to the exit gate, I started to sprint. Before long, my panting forced me to stop. When had I gotten so old and out of shape? Admit it, Christine. You’ve reached the age when jogging uphill ceases to be a good idea.

  I limped back to the corner to lean against our huge rock, huffing and puffing. I hunched over with both hands on my knees to rest. Rats! I’d trampled the Boston ivy we planted last summer. Straightening, I pressed my back into the boulder until my heavy breathing subsided. “Cornerstone Rock,” as we called the boulder, consisted of a mammoth chunk of granite taller than me. Unearthed during the construction of our house, the rock had been placed in a prominent position at the corner of the driveway. It added a stunning focal point to the landscape. The sight of it usually evoked feelings of continuity and security. Just then, however, the enormous hard surface heightened awareness of my own insignificance and weakness.

  Where could Molly be? Think, Christine. Watching for birds? The pond. I retraced my path along the front of the house and veered left. Straining to see, I nearly tripped down the stone steps.

  My eyes scanned the terrain. “Molly!”

  Out of the corner of one eye, I caught a glimpse of the white tip of her wagging tail. She stood to my left at the fence between the yard and the pasture. Arms crossed, Will faced her from his stoop. A spasm of fear shivered through me, paralyzing me for an instant.

  “Molly.” My voice quivered. She jerked her head in my direction and charged toward me. I crouched to caress her soft fur without bothering to wipe her slimy licks off. “I’m glad to see you too, old girl.”

  I drew her into the safety of the house as quickly as possible. Why had Molly been down there? Did he lure her? Could this be connected to my visits with Lila? Did Will make the obscene phone call? If so, how did he get our unlisted phone number?

  Trembling, I raced to the kitchen window.

  Will Payne had disappeared inside the gray house again.

  8

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As the sun dropped in the sky, I watched Jesse pull in and unload Ranger at the barn. I raced outside as he dragged his bags from the back of the pickup. Molly followed—tail wagging. She stopped a moment at Jesse’s feet, then moseyed to the truck to sniff the tires.

  Overwhelmed with joy at the sight of him, I threw my arms around his neck, resentment temporarily forgotten.

  Jesse stiffened and drew back. “What’s this about?”

  I pressed my face into his chest to inhale the mixture of sweat, sexy aftershave, and horse that clung to him after a day of riding. “I’m glad to see you.”

  He set down his luggage and bent his six-foot frame to look squarely in my eyes. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Part of me wanted to savor the romance a moment longer. “Aren’t you even a little bit glad to see me?”

  “Yeah, I guess. So, what’s going on?”

  Why bother? We’d gotten too old for romance. Jesse didn’t care about me that way anymore. “Well, come in first.” I pulled him inside and closed the door. “It’s probably not as bad as I think.”

  “You’re scaring me, Christine.”

  With a toss of my head, I flounced toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Chicken lasagna will be ready soon.”

  He dropped his gear on the stairs and followed. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

  After I made him beg a little longer, I launched into a detailed account of the peculiar events of the last two days. I told him about my fears for Lila and of Will’s bad behavior. I told him about the truck that tried to crash through our gates and how Will threatened Molly.

  While I babbled, Jesse crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen island. At length, he interrupted. “Sounds like one of your jaunts into the land of make-believe. How much of this really happened?”

  “Why does everyone always say it’s only my imagination? Honest, Jesse. All this happened.”

  “Maybe you’re overanalyzing then.”

  I scrunched my face and squinted. “You know I hate to be accused of overanalyzing.”

  He held up both hands and chuckled slightly. “Okay. Where’s Molly now?”

  “Molly?” I laid aside irritation to remember. “She went outside when you came home.”

  But when I looked out the front door, Molly wasn’t on the driveway. I hustled to the sliding glass doors but didn’t find her in her usual spot on the back deck. She didn’t return, though I called her name repeatedly.

  Not again. Where could she be?

  Standing outside, I listened for the jingle of dog tags on her blue collar, but only heard the gurgle of the waterfall splashing into the pond.

  While I searched, darkness settled into the twilight sky. Jesse grabbed the big stainless steel flashlight that always sits on the granite counter in the kitchen. I turned off the oven and flipped on lights illuminating the yard near the house as we hunted for our truant dog.

  For the next half hour, we scoured the property. We took turns pacing back and forth on the driveway, but that didn’t bring her home. Using the flashlight, we hiked the entire perimeter inside the fenced portion of our yard. We called her name until our voices became nearly hoarse in the chilly air. She didn’t come.

  At length, Jesse stopped. The expression on his face read concerned but not panicked. Maybe he’d gotten too tired to panic. “I’m going to get the car. She might be out on the road somewhere. You know she’s been squeezing through the gate to run down the hill lately.”

  Twice in the past few weeks, I’d called her back from one of her exploring trips. Cars often zoomed along our street as if propelled by jet fuel.

  I shuddered involuntarily. “You don’t think someone hit her, do you?”

  “At dusk, she’d be hard to see.”

  More likely Will Payne took her. After all, he’d somehow lured her to the fence and held her spellbound while I yelled for her. When I followed Jesse to the Jeep, that fearsome possibility sunk into my stomach. Jesse backed o
ut, then steered up the driveway and out the gate.

  The bright Jeep lights lit a wide patch of ground in front of us. Our eyes swept back and forth, searching. We crawled to the top of the hill without finding her. I looked down past our house at forests and valleys in the distance. The enormity of our task throbbed in my mind. Once off our property, she’d be one small dog in a big, unfamiliar world. Where should we begin? I already knew the answer.

  Memories flashed through my fear. “Do you remember when we first saw Molly? So tiny—the smallest one in the litter—but she wiggled over to introduce herself just like she chose us. Remember, Jesse? Such a sweet puppy with so much personality.”

  “We’ll find her, Christine.”

  “And remember when we took her home to Chamois?” Chamois reigned over our house as top dog at that time—an elderly, often-crotchety, blonde cocker spaniel.

  Jesse chuckled. “She herded Chamois down the garden path, nudging from one side to the other so Chamois couldn’t stray onto the grass.”

  The memories brought a smile to my lips.

  Jesse maneuvered into the driveway leading to the barn and horse corral at the bottom of our property. In the glow of the floodlight atop our green barn, we resumed our search in the horse area. Ranger whinnied softly when we disturbed his much-deserved rest. Dolly Desperado, the older brown quarter horse, followed us with her velvet eyes, but Vegas Dice, the feisty Appaloosa, snorted as Jesse flooded each stall with light. We didn’t find Molly in the barn, the arena, or anywhere nearby.

  “That was a long shot, I guess.” Jesse climbed back into the Jeep. “Molly wouldn’t come down here.”

  “No. Molly doesn’t like horses.”

  Years ago, before Molly had fully grown, long before we moved to Grass Valley, Jesse introduced her to his horses in hopes of training her for trail rides. In the barn, Molly sat while Jesse saddled his steed. However, the instant he swung his leg over the saddle to mount, she rocketed into motion. Around and around she raced, circling the horse wildly. The startled horse tried to follow her crazed movements while Jesse shouted, “Molly! No! Molly! Stop!” After several uncertain seconds, the horse reared upward to flail at the intruder with his hooves. Off balance, Jesse had slumped to the ground.