Slickrock (Gail McCarthy Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

neatly notched and fitted, big squared beams for a floor, and no milled wood anywhere.
    "So, anyway," Lonny said, "I went out there and banged on the door, and when he didn't answer I went in. And there he was, in his chair, with a hole in his head. He left me a note. 'Doctor says I have cancer.' That was it."
    I leaned my shoulder into his. "That must have been really hard for you."
    "It was. I kept wondering what I'd done wrong. How I'd failed him."
    "Maybe he just didn't want to go through it all."
    Lonny was about to answer when we both heard feet clomping on the creaky stairs. The deputies were returning.
    They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at us. The male deputy was about the same height as his partner, a thick, square fireplug of a man. He looked strong as hell, with a heavy neck and a quietly pugnacious face. I revised my opinion that she was the dominant one of the pair.
    "Did you find anything?" Lonny asked them.
    "Not really." She spoke; he watched us. "Some paperwork that suggests he was doing some work for," she looked down at her notepad, "Dan Jacobi."
    "That's right," Lonny said affirmatively. "Bill did a lot of work for Dan Jacobi."
    "Do you know him?" she asked.
    "Sure. He's a horse trader. A big one. He's got a ranch in Oakdale. I'd guess he buys and sells more horses than anyone in California. Bill was his vet. Dan comes up here a fair amount," Lonny added. "Ted buys quite a few horses from him."
    The deputy nodded. I nodded. Her partner watched.
    I'd heard of Dan Jacobi. He was well known as a supplier of horses, particularly western-style horses. Lonny's two older team roping horses, Burt and Pistol, had come from him.
    We all waited. I watched the male deputy study Lonny and me in turn. He didn't seem inclined to speak.
    The woman said, "Well, we're headed back down the hill. We'll be in touch if there's a problem."
    She nodded at us both; the two of them tramped across the floor and dragged the heavy wooden door open and shut behind them.
    I looked over at Lonny. He was staring down again; it struck me that he was genuinely distressed. This silent contemplation of his feet was his way of saying that he hurt.
    Snuggling my body closer to his, I asked him gently, "Does Bill Evans's shooting himself remind you of your dad?"
    "Yeah, it does. I didn't know my dad was thinking of killing himself. I didn't know he had cancer. I thought he was doing all right. But I never asked him. And it turned out he wasn't.
    "Same with Bill. I've known him for years. He was a friend, in the way people you've known for a dog's age become friends.
    "I would have helped him if I'd known he needed help. But just like my dad, I didn't know. I watched him get drunk last night, watched Ted throw him out of the bar, and I never said a word. I thought he was a silly ass."
    I sighed. Wondered what to say.
    "It bothers me," Lonny went on, "how completely ignorant I was of what those people were feeling."
    Here it was, the perfect opening. I could say, once again, that maybe Lonny needed to try and be more aware of other people, more responsive to their needs. That if he weren't so wrapped up in getting done what he wanted to get done, he might notice how someone else felt. Like me, I added to myself.
    But I didn't say it. Instead I said, "No one can do everything right." Trite and not very helpful, I guess. I put my hand in his. "What do you say we go to bed?"
    Lonny stood up. "Let's go," he said.

 
    FIVE
    I awoke the next morning to the familiar sound of Lonny snoring. Lying on my side, head propped on my hand, I watched him sleep. He'd made love to me last night with enthusiasm, and I'd responded with pleasure; we'd fallen asleep relaxed and sated. Still, this morning, studying his face, vulnerable with unknowing, I felt not only tender and protective but also stymied.
    Lonny snored on, oblivious. What is it about snoring that causes a person to look so pathetically ridiculous? Suddenly I wanted to get up, get out,