Death Takes Wing (12 page)

She practically leapt out of the yellow Aston Martin, followed by Gabriel, who looked slightly nonplussed at the straightforward manner in which she conducted herself towards the stables.  She
paused to let him catch up before continuing to stride forward forcefully, the excitement of seeing her old stomping grounds propelling her forward.

She stopped at a white fence, gesturing towards the two horses that grazed on the remains of the green grass.  “That’s Benny and that’s Charlie.”

“Okay?” he said, confusion in his voice as he looked at the two horses.

She laughed as she stood at the fence.  “They’re the farm mascots.  They were the first schooling horses that Miranda bought.  They’re both retired now,” she informed him as they watched the horses.  Benny was a large chestnut gelding, while Charlie was a small black mare. 

They looked happy, Gabriel thought as Charlie strolled over to Amalia, obviously used to getting attention from visitors.  Amalia rubbed Charlie’s small star as Benny ambled over to investigate the new couple.  After getting a demanding shove in the chest, Gabriel obliged Benny with the required amount of head scritches.

After giving the two one last pat, Amalia continued towards the large barn.  From what Gabriel could tell, there was a huge structure attached to the other side.  It seemed to match the barn, he noticed, both being covered in a beige siding.  He wondered if the large barn had ever been painted red, like the barns he’d explored in the past. 

Noticing his gaze, Amalia explained, “indoor riding arena.  If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone practicing.  Weekdays aren’t usually too busy until after five.”

Amalia entered the open barn, walking from stall to stall, examining each horse, telling him a bit about the horses that she recognized, and telling him about some of the things she’d done as a student.  She glanced out one of the aisles that led to one of the many pastures, and saw a gray shape grazing.  With a smile, she recognized the bright chestnut spot on the horse’s otherwise white neck.  Ghost, she said to herself, you’ve become a pasture-puff!  What a life!

She stopped at the stall of a large bay gelding.  She looked at the horse’s name gracing the plaque.  Morningstar Saloon.  She carefully patted the curious gelding on the nose as she read Patricia’s name engraved underneath the horse’s name.

She looked him over and saw that he was a well-conformed warmblood.  She sucked in air through her teeth as she thought about the price of the gelding.  If he were a Dutch Warmblood, as she guessed, his cost would be in the mid-five figures, especially if he jumped like Ghost had.  She let out a low whistle, catching Gabriel’s attention.  Gabriel looked at her from across the aisle.

“That horse,” she gestured towards Morningstar, “is worth more than my car.  Probably more than my house.  Wonder where she got him?”

“Jealous?” he teased as they made their way to the indoor riding arena.

She laughed, and replied, “a little!”

Quietly entering the barn, they were rewarded with an angelus slowly riding a bay gelding at a collected trot.  The solan looked up as they quietly stood at the fence, nodding to let them know that he saw them.

Waiting patiently, Gabriel watched the solan slowly make his way over to them.

“Can I help you?” the nasal voice was annoying, and arrogance was clearly evident.  Definitely not just Owen, then, she thought, annoyed.

“Gabriel Winterbourne, Coercitor.  I have a few questions for you,” Gabriel said clearly and firmly, staring up at the solan.

“Does it have to be now?” the tone turned petulant, whining.

“Yes,” Gabriel said firmly, broking no arguments.

With a sigh, the solan carefully dismounted, light cream wings barely brushing the horse’s broad back.  “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know Patricia Hemly?”

“I’ve seen her around,” he said, guarded and aloof.

“Did you see her in the company of anyone?” Gabriel pursued.

“Yes.”

“Who?” Gabriel prodded, tightening his lips almost imperceptibly.  The only sign the solan was hitting on every nerve.

Amalia knew it was hard to be that patient, especially when people’s lives were on the line, but sometimes it was necessary.  With a quick glance at Gabriel, she responded, “angelus or human?”

Finally noticing her, the solan turned his watery gaze to her.  Narrowing his eyes, he looked her up and down before dismissing her as unimportant with a shrug.  “Solan.  A doctor.  I can’t, for the life of me remember who, but that’s what you get.”

He had a smarmy smile on his face, and Amalia didn’t like it one bit.  “Did you ever hear them talking? Arguing?”

“You think I listen in?” his voice was quickly filled with faux outrage.

Brushing the tone away, Gabriel responded, “not on purpose.  But sometimes, when you’re near enough to a talking couple, it’s hard not to hear.”

Grudgingly, he nodded and said, “they were arguing.  About a week ago.”

“About what?”  Amalia prodded, an encouraging smile on her face.

“About whether or not she should change.”

“Change?  As in to an angelus?” Gabriel asked, narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Yeah.  Money was involved,” the solan said, worry now filling his watery blue eyes.  “I reported it, of course."

“To who?”

“Another coercitor.  Korolyov,” he answered.

Gabriel nodded then stepped away, letting the solan get back to his ride.  His face had a worry that he quickly masked.  Aleks hadn’t told him about Patricia and her boyfriend’s argument, or about  her possibly being changed.  It disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.  He made a note to talk to Aleks about it later.  Maybe it had just slipped his mind…

After getting the solan’s name, they bid him good day.  Walking back down the aisle, Amalia led them to the small office near the middle of the stable. 

Sitting in the only old lumpy chair in the small room, she looked up at him.  He looked down at her and placed his hands on her shoulders, softly massaging them.  Amalia slightly stiffened at the unexpected contact, but relaxed as his hands expertly unknotted her tense muscles.  While he worked out a particularly stubborn kink, she gave a small moan of pleasure, leaning back into the pressure.

He chuckled and slid his hands up her neck, working on the tight muscles as he went.  She was arching her neck into his hands like a happy cat, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she would purr if she had the ability.

His eyes drifted up the wall which was covered in photos and newspaper clippings, floor to ceiling.  He caught sight of a graceful gray horse with a red mark on his neck, mid-flight over a large bush jump.  His hands stuttered as he suddenly recognized a much younger Amalia, a hard, concentrated look on her face.  “What is it you’re not telling me?”

She followed his gaze and smiled, remembering the jump and the show where the picture was taken.  One of their best summers, she thought fondly, remembering how they’d nailed every jump, and out-jumped every horse and rider in their group.  After reminiscing to herself, she share a few choice details of the show with Gabriel.  “Told you that you didn’t want to leave me,” she muttered.

She stood and walked slowly up to the wall, indicating various pictures as her and Ghost.  Mostly jumps, but some trail pictures, some in a dressage arena.  Even some articles written about the duo.   Surprise was still written on his face as he read some of the articles featuring her.

She made a face at him.  “I wasn’t always a prim librarian or a hard cop, you know, “she said with a mock curtsey.

He smiled and rested an elbow on her shoulder as he stared up at the wall of memories.  “I know, but I didn’t expect that.  You were jumping jumps that were…what, four and a half feet?  Higher, maybe?”

She laughed, partly from the feeling of his elbow, and party at his surprise that she’d jumped anything larger than a pencil.  “Yeah, and it’s even harder for me to believe at this point!”

“So what happened to your horse?  Or, at least, I hope you had a horse, and you weren’t jumping them on foot,” he finished dryly, tapping a picture of her and a friend jumping one of the pole jumps by foot with his knuckle.

She giggled and pulled away.  “No, I wasn’t jumping them all on foot.  At least, not at the shows.  That was a picture from my 16
th
birthday party I had here.  At the shows I rode - “

“Ghostly Melody,” finished a voice in the doorway.  “One of my best horses.”

“Miranda,” Amalia said warmly, rushing away from Gabriel to give the older woman an enveloping hug.  Gabriel looked on in slight interest, disappointed that she’d pulled away so eagerly.  “Ghost was my show horse until I left for college.  By then, he was ready to retire from the bigger fences, and I knew Miranda would take good care of him, so I sold him to her,” Amalia explained.

She shook her head, thinking about Ghost. “Anyway, we’re not here about Ghost.  We’re here about Patricia.”

Miranda’s sun-tanned face grew dark as the smile melted off of her face.  She ran a hand through her gray-streaked black hair, catching a piece of hay
between her fingers.  Twirling it in her fingers, she said, “I wish I could tell you something, but I’ve got nothing new to tell any more reporters.”

“We’re not reporters,” Gabriel said softly, reaching out and touching Amalia’s shoulder as he stepped closer, a silent warning not to say too much, “I’m with the angelus police, and I’ve recruited Amalia for this case.  We’re not looking for just her.  Over have a dozen others have gone missing, and they’re somehow connected.  We’re just trying to find out what that connection is, and one of the missing worked here.  So far, this is our only lead.  All the others are dead ends.”

Miranda pursed her narrow lips and glanced at Amalia, wariness filling her dark eyes.  “She had a new boyfriend.  That’s the only thing that’s changed that I knew about, and she was very…vocal about her life,” she said diplomatically with a shrug.

“A new boyfriend?  Who?” Amalia asked, curious.

“Jeremy…Stolhagen?”  She shook her head, playing with the piece of hay, “something like that.  Anyways, I met him once.  Red hair, brown eyes.  Normal looking.  But then,” she paused, “Bundy was normal looking.”

“Ted Bundy?” Gabriel asked, mind wandering towards the conversation they’d had with the solan in the arena.

“Ted Bundy,” Amalia confirmed.  “Sorry, Miranda reads too much true crime,” Amalia apologized for the change of subject.  She turned towards Miranda, “do you know where he lives?  Anything like that?”

Miranda glared at Gabriel, not trusting him, despite his credentials.  “Why would I tell you?”

“You don’t trust me,” he said, complacently.  I get that a lot, he thought with a sigh.  My wings are dark, therefore I
must
be dangerous.  He ruffled his feathers in annoyance.  Well, he was used to humans not wanting to work with him, but he always found a way around that.

She shook her head.  “No, I don’t.”

Amalia put a hand on Gabriel’s arm, warning him back.  “But I do, Miranda.  And I thought you trusted me.”

“I did,” she responded tightly.  “But I haven’t seen you in a long time.  People change.”

“I haven’t changed, Miranda, not like that.  I’m still the girl you used to know.  We need to know, Miranda,” Amalia continued.  “Patricia needs your help.  You remember Sam?  Sam is one of those people.  One of the missing that we’re trying to find.  Please,” she pleaded, green eyes wide with worry, “please help me find Sam.”

Amalia could see the conflict in the older woman’s brown eyes.  She wanted to trust Amalia, but wouldn’t let herself trust the dark-winged
stranger.  Finally, she shook her head, “I…Fine.  I assume they were close because it seemed like she was always going to visit him.  He’s one of them, but with light wings,” she said, gesturing awkwardly at Gabriel.

Amalia was surprised, and she knew Gabriel was by the state of his eyebrows.  So Ms. Patricia was dating a solan, was she?  How very interesting.

“She always made a huge deal out of it – her dating one of them.”  Miranda frowned in disgust, “I could never see the attraction.”  She broke off and shrugged uneasily at Gabriel.  “No offense or anything.”

“None taken.  Listen, we should probably go and see if we can’t track him down.”  He looked back at Miranda, “will you tell us where she lives?”

Rifling through the drawers, she pulled out a file with Patricia’s name.  She gave Gabriel another wary look, but he carefully kept his expression relaxed and neutral.

Amalia crossed to the desk, and Miranda quickly copied down the address.  She hesitated, but ripped off the scrap of paper and handed it over.  Amalia gave her a grateful smile.  “Thank you.”

Miranda didn’t return the gesture.  “It’s the last place she lived that she told me.  I hope you find her.  Alive, I mean,” she amended.

Gabriel spoke quietly, “Thank you for your help.  We will try our best.”  He turned to leave.

Amalia saw the bright tears welling up with the brunette’s eyes.  She gave her a reassuring hug, and then followed behind Gabriel.  When she peeked back over her shoulder, she saw the older woman sitting alone at the desk, face in hands, shoulders silently heaving.  Amalia hated to leave Miranda in such a state, but now that they had a lead, they needed to follow it to the close.