Falcon's Run

He pulled up in front of the logs anchored in place to serve as a parking barrier. “Just point me in the right direction. This is a police matter and I’ll handle it.”

His steady voice and calm confidence made it easier for her to trust him. He’d stepped into an unpredictable situation and had taken charge effortlessly, as if it was second nature to him. Something assured her that Detective Bowman was very good at his job.

They climbed out of the SUV, and she led him quickly to the turnout area alongside the barn. As they approached, she saw that Bobby had left her office and was now standing just outside the welded pipe enclosure where Carl lay.

“I need to get Bobby away from there,” she said quickly. “He’s too young to deal with things like this and he’s seen too much already.”

“Bobby’s your son?” he asked, noting that the boy was Navajo.

“No, he’s always my first guest of the day. He’s also one of my regular helpers,” she said. “He found Carl and made the 911 call. Is it okay if I go take care of him?”

“Yeah. This is no place for a kid. Find a place where he can stay, just make sure he doesn’t leave the property. He may have seen or heard something that could help us.”

As Abby hurried to the boy, she could see Carl’s body in her periphery. A silent scream rose inside her, filling her mind and nearly obliterating her ability to think.

“He’s…dead, isn’t he?” Bobby whispered.

He seemed remarkably controlled considering the circumstances. But she’d seen that same look on other faces before and recognized it for what it was. Many would mistake it for indifference, but fear, the kind that clung with razor-sharp tentacles to your soul, often mimicked bravery. She remembered seeing it in her twin sister’s eyes as treatment after treatment had failed to cure her.

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to focus on the present, Abby turned her head and saw Detective Bowman had ducked through the gap in the welded pipe fence. He had latex gloves on and was now crouched next to Carl’s body. After checking for Carl’s pulse, he looked up and shook his head, affirming what she already knew.

Abby focused on Bobby. “We need to leave. Other officers and medical people will be here soon and will need us to point the way back here.”

Bobby didn’t move, his gaze still locked on Carl. “Do you think Missy or Tracker kicked him?” he asked in a thin voice.

She hadn’t even considered that possibility until now. “I can’t imagine either of those horses hurting anyone. They’re the calmest animals I’ve ever known. I’ve never seen either of them spook, not under any circumstances,” she said, taking an unsteady breath. Somehow her voice had remained steady but her hands were shaking badly. Not wanting Bobby to see that, she jammed them into her pockets. “Carl was their trainer and the animals knew and liked him. They never even flinched or pulled away when he cleaned their hooves. There’s no way they hurt him.”

“Then who did this?”

Abby drew in another unsteady breath. “I don’t know, Bobby. That’s what Detective Bowman is here to find out.” She tried to urge Bobby along, but he refused to move.

“I’m going to miss Carl, Abby. He was my friend and I don’t have that many. The kids at the foster home play a lot of football and baseball, but I can’t. Carl liked the same kind of games I do. We’d pretend we were spies and do a lot of cool stuff.” A tear trickled down one cheek, but he brushed it away instantly.

She wanted to give him a hug, but she knew Bobby would think she was babying him and would hate that. “It’s okay to be sad. I am, too, Bobby.”

He nodded but didn’t answer her directly, avoiding the subject altogether. “The detective’s Navajo, like me. Did you notice? He has to work around the body and that’s dangerous, but he knows how to protect himself so he’ll stay safe,” he said. “See that leather bag on the cord around his neck? That’s not jewelry, and he’s not just trying to look Indian. That bag protects him.”

“From what? I don’t understand,” Abby said.

“Spirits stick around and like making trouble for people. Mrs. Nez—she cooks for us back at the foster home—told me that,” he said.

Abby hesitated, unsure what to say. “Carl would never hurt either one of us, not when he was alive or now that he’s passed on,” she said. “Bobby, you may not need a hug, but I do.” She bent down and held him. As she did, Abby felt the tremor that shook his small body.

After a moment she stepped away and Bobby refused to look at her, almost as if embarrassed. “Tell the detective that I followed the rule of three, 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.”