Night of Shadows (8 page)

"Not that new." Melinda
put aside the magazine. "You could tell me something, I'm sure, about my
sister. And about Sammy."

"Your sister and Sammy. Strange
that you should mention their names in the same breath."

Melinda frowned. "I hope
you're not implying what I think you are."

Rod grinned and shrugged. "Don't
look so offended. It was no big secret. Everybody noticed."

"Everybody?" Melinda
asked. "Preston, for instance?"

"I don't know." Rod
sighed impatiently. "Look. There's some place I have to go right now. Just
what was it you needed from Preston?"

Melinda explained her desire for a
ride to the nearest working phone. Rod nodded amiably, then stood up and fished
some keys from his jeans pocket.

"I'll make a deal with you. I
wanted to drive into Broken Rock and pick up a newspaper. They have a little
store with a pay phone there. Would that suit you? I'll take you in exchange
for one little favor."

"What's that?"

"No more questions. Okay,
Sherlock?"

"You got it."

A few hours later, after Rod dropped
Melinda off at the main house, she found the McClure household to be as dark
and quiet as a cave. Harriet was nowhere to be found in the kitchen, although
there was evidence from dishes strewn on the table that lunchtime had come and
gone.

Looking furtively around, Melinda
put together a steak sandwich from the leftovers and quickly walked up the
stairs to her room. She didn't want to have to face Harriet over being late for
a meal the second time in one day.

Feeling strangely unsatisfied with
the outcome of her recent foray into Broken Rock, Melinda sank despondently on
the bed and began to munch on her sandwich. She actually had been successful
with her handful of coins and interaction with the old-fashioned pay phone
outside the small town's only store. In fact, she should feel elated with what
she had accomplished.

She had managed to get through to
Perry at the newspaper. And her friend had been a dear, lavish in his concern
for her welfare. He had unsuccessfully urged her to give up her quest at once
and come home. Then he filled her in on all the antics of their mutual friends.
In fact, when she and Perry at last said their goodbyes, Melinda was left
feeling wretchedly homesick.

In her next call, she had managed
to enlist the support of Ruth in the advertising firm's research department. Ruth,
noted for her flair for melodrama, had become an instant ally. She was busy at
work, but promised to use her spare time at home and outside resources to track
down information on Sacramento Ranch and its owners. Melinda also had given
Ruth a list of names to investigate, including that of Roy Finch. Now Melinda
would have to back off and give Ruth time to see what she could find out.

Meanwhile, she felt completely
useless.

After finishing the last crumbs of
her sandwich, she stood and restlessly flipped through the pages of a book she
had carried up from the library. The murder mystery looked remotely
interesting, so she took it with her out to the veranda overlooking the ranch.

There, she sighed deeply and
squinted into the sunshine at the sweeping vistas of the ranch. Then she
stretched out on a comfortable, padded lounge chair.

Instantly, Melinda felt drowsy. She
settled back and allowed the warm breeze to massage her hair. With an artist's
eye, she watched as a faraway, wooden windmill pumped water into a tank made of
native stones.

She wished then that she had a
drawing pad and pencil in her hands so she could capture the beauty of this
scene forever.

At that moment, the mockingbird
Melinda had spotted on her arrival to the ranch flew up and perched on the
railing. As though aware it had a human audience, the bird began showing off
with an elaborate serenade.

Sitting very still to avoid
disturbing the feathered performer, Melinda smiled and continued to scan the
horizon. Closer to the house, white fences enclosed lively young colts
frolicking with their mothers in a field of alfalfa. The dark green color
looked almost artificial in contrast to the brownish native grasslands in the
distance. There, tiny dots of cattle grazed peacefully.

It was like viewing an empire — which,
she supposed, in modern terms it was. She shifted her position on the lawn
chair, and closed her eyes, hoping for a nap.

But her perch was starting to become
uncomfortably hot as the merciless sun beat down on her. Even the mockingbird eventually
abandoned her for a cooler resting place in a nearby shade tree. Melinda was
about to follow the bird's wise example and go inside the house, when the
stillness was shattered by the loud roar of an engine.

From Melinda's vantage point, she
spotted a white van splashed with brightly colored murals of fierce eagles with
talons savagely protruding. As the vehicle sped through the entrance gate, dust
clouds billowed behind it. Unswerving, the van bore down on a ranchhand who was
leading a horse from one of the blue stables across the road to a fenced
pasture.

At last, the driver squealed the
brakes. Melinda's heart stopped as she watched the van skid to one side and the
spirited horse rear high into the air. Jerking the lead rope from the man's
grip, the animal bolted and ran like a flash of golden brown across the road
and down the side of the fence.

The swerving vehicle barely missed
both horse and man, but never came to a complete stop.

Instead, the driver again
accelerated down the lane, converting it to a speedway as he headed for the
house. Melinda saw the ranchhand sprint frantically after the horse.

Just then, a pickup appeared from
behind the stables where it had been parked out of sight. Even at that
distance, she recognized Mac's outline in the driver's seat as he turned onto
the main road to head off the horse. The terrified animal plunged recklessly
ahead in panic.

Melinda felt oddly detached as she
watched the miniature drama unfold from her elevated vantage point.

 While Mac sped off in the pickup,
the van slid to a dusty halt below her. Wondering what sort of dire emergency
had sparked this wild behavior, Melinda craned her neck and peered over the
veranda to get a closer look.

As the brash intruders spilled out
of the vehicle, Preston came into view immediately below her. That startled her.
She had assumed Preston was nowhere near the house, since Harriet had assured
her both brothers would be outside all day working with the horses.

She could only assume Preston must
have been expecting the visitors.

He stopped, with his back to her,
as the van's occupants — a group of four men and a woman — approached. She was
unable to distinguish words as Preston said something in a low voice.

There was an answering, indistinct
response from the man who appeared to be the leader of the unruly bunch. All of
them were now stopped squarely in front of Preston.

Something about the leader's confident
stance and his neatly groomed, long blond hair and beard caught her attention
as he engaged Preston in conversation. She wished they were nearer, so she
could hear better.

She risked half-lifting
herself from the chair for a closer look, but was unable to fully see faces
from her upper level. She cautiously lowered herself back down to avoid
attracting attention.

Those with the blond man did not
seem too interested in the conversation between their leader and Preston as
they bantered among themselves. All of the people in the group were dressed as
garishly as the van was painted.

Fringe and sequins adorned mock
ranch style costumes that seemed more suited to a Las Vegas stage show. Long
locks of hair sprouted from beneath fancy, broad-brimmed hats.

The young woman with the group
seemed to hang back, staying close to the painted van where Melinda now could
read the insignia, "Eagle Ranch," on the door.

 The woman kept clasping her hands
together and gazing around. Occasionally she would reach up to tug on her long,
dark braid of hair. Once, when she appeared to look directly up at the veranda,
Melinda shrank uncomfortably back into her chair.

She was certain the woman had
spotted her. But the blank expression on the visitor's face seemed to indicate
that Melinda's presence didn't matter. The woman appeared to be high on some
drug.

Soon, the woman was looking down at
a booted foot that she wriggled around as though fascinated by the sight. The
abnormal behavior repulsed Melinda, who looked away and back to the leader of
the group.

 The blond was nodding his head
forcefully. Then, he gestured emphatically with his hands to emphasize
something he just said to Preston. Although their voices now were sometimes
raised in argument, she still could not distinguish any words.

Preston, by the rigidity of his back
and his clenched fists, seemed agitated.

Melinda couldn't resist leaning
forward to try again to hear what was going on. That's when she noticed the
girl's eyes fixed on her. The girl's head was upraised and still, striking the
pose of an alarmed deer.

The blond leader saw. He followed
the girl's gaze to where Melinda sat. That's when Melinda got her first good
look at the stranger's face. His steely gray eyes penetrated her with almost a
physical force, one so malevolent that Melinda actually shivered.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a
pickup skidded to a halt alongside the van, temporarily obscuring the scene
with a spewing of dust. Mac threw open the door and stepped out. His booming
words were so loud that even Melinda could hear.

That mare is with foal!  She could
miscarry!  What do you mean driving in here like that?"  Mac slammed the
door to his pickup shut with a thundering crash. "Get off my property,
Finch, and I mean now!"

Finch whirled to face Mac, as his
three men flanked him for reinforcements. For a fleeting moment, Melinda
wondered if Mac were in real danger. Voices were lowered again, and Melinda
couldn't catch what was said in the next exchange.

But she did see Mac reach inside his
shirt, pull out a gun, and point it menacingly in the blond man's face. Her
mouth went dry as she recalled the morning when Mac, without hesitation, had
shot the renegade bull.

Finch instantly turned to the other
intruders and gestured for them to get inside the van. As the others sullenly
slipped inside, he paused and looked back toward Mac as though making a silent
promise. And then again his eyes moved upward, slicing through Melinda, before
he, too, climbed inside.

The van drove away in a defiant
burst of speed.

Mac tossed the gun aside, then
reached out with both hands and grabbed his brother by the shoulders — as
though trying to reason with him. Finally, Mac reached down and retrieved the
pistol. Then he got back into his truck, drove down the lane and disappeared
behind the stables.

Preston stood for a few seconds in
a pose of defeat. He turned with lowered head and walked slowly back into the
house. The van rounded a distant corner of the dusty road, and disappeared from
sight.

Melinda saw that the ranch hand was
leading the mare, the first casualty of the visit, back in the direction of the
stables. The animal was exhausted as it stumbled forward, its sides heaving, as
its nose almost touched the gravel road. Finally, the animal was guided into a
stable.

All was quiet again.

Except for Melinda's thoughts.

She stood and hurried back into her
room lest anyone see her excitement.

She had no doubt that the scene she
had just witnessed carried great significance. For one thing, she had at last
encountered the elusive Roy Finch. And if he knew Preston, wouldn't it be
reasonable to assume that he also knew Joan? And, if so, was there a connection
to her disappearance?

Having locked gazes with those
wintry eyes, Melinda hoped not.

***

The first part of dinner that night
with Preston and Mac was spent in a chilly hush that even Melinda was reluctant
to interrupt. Finally, however, she succumbed to the insistent spur of her
curiosity. There was no appropriate moment or way to broach the subject. So she
just plunged in.

"I saw Roy Finch today."

Both Preston and Mac paused in
mid-bite, their forks frozen as though she had hit the "pause" button
on a DVD movie. Preston unthawed first.

"When?"

"I was on the veranda when the
van pulled up."

"What did you hear?" Preston's
voice sounded oddly strangled.

"Nothing." Melinda could
see by his expression that he didn't believe her. "Really. I was too far
away. Who is the man? He certainly caused quite a stir."

Mac carefully put his fork down. "Don't
answer that, Preston. She has to learn she's not entitled to know all of our
business."

"If it concerns my sister, I'm
certainly entitled," Melinda retorted coldly.