Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (feel good novels TXT) 📕

him after the car accident. At the time he was reminiscing about his mother. Poor, poor Tristan.

“Do you pull the trailer with a truck?” Bob’s question broke the raw emotion of the moment.

“I do. We store all that down there because we often need to pick up rescued horses, and in general I keep my mare up here. But I was gone and felt like it would be good for Tache to be around other horses.” Was I the only one who noticed the love in his voice when he spoke about his horse, or that it turned frosty in regard to the so-called wife who had lied to him and, according to Silvia De Aguilar, possibly caused his father’s untimely death?

Who could blame Tristan? He had just been hit with a ton of betrayal and years of deception, and he managed to keep a polite and controlled façade. Part of me wanted to shake him and tell him it was okay to be angry; the other part wanted to hug him tight and assure him that it was okay for men to cry. But as usual, I kept my screaming tucked nicely in my heart. Then I remembered I didn’t have my car. If Bob Clarke was heading south to the ranch, how was I supposed to get home?

As if reading my mind, Bob made it official. “Monica, why don’t you drive to the ranch with me, and then you can ride back with Brenda and Dior? I bet they’ll both like that.” I found myself nodding, my mouth open as usual, my eyes on Tristan. He was still staring at the photo of the Rogelio crook. I wondered if he lied when he said he had never seen him before. How could he be so cool, looking at the face of the man who wanted him dead?

Detectives Adam and Eve had been talking to each other in low, conspiratorial tones, darting glances toward Tristan from time to time. It seemed to me they felt sort of sorry for him. Who wouldn’t?

Then Tristan turned to Bob and me and said, “Would it be all right if I tag along with you two? I can then drive Tache back to Phoenix without leaving my car at the ranch.”

Bob Clarke looked at me, and I shrugged. Of course inside I screamed for joy, but this was not the place for that type of outburst. “Sure, Mr. Dumont, no problem. Are you dropping your vehicle by your place?”

“No,” Tristan said. “It’s parked here. Safe I assume. Correct?”

Everyone nodded.

FOURTEEN

TRISTAN SAT IN front with Officer Clarke. We traveled south on Interstate 10 hoping to get to the ranch before sundown. I mentally prayed Brenda had some food left because I was famished. I did my best to carry on the conversation without sounding like a total chatterbox. My goal? To keep Tristan from thinking about all the sad things that Silvia De Aguilar’s letter brought to light.

When we drove by the Wild Horse Pass Hotel and Casino, Bob reminisced about sighting a band of wild horses running at full speed to the west side of the highway a few years back.

“At first I thought they were filming a movie because those horses were magnificent with long flowing manes and different colors too. That was the most interesting part. I had always assumed that wild horses running around in a group were one big family and would all look alike. Wrong... anyway, that was before the smart phones with cameras and all that, so I couldn’t get a photo.”

“Talking of phones and families, do you know where the dead woman was staying?” I asked.

“No, I don’t know, but her medical appointments were at the Mayo Clinic in north Phoenix. I understand they provide you with room and board when you are part of experimental treatments. Why do you ask?” Bob said.

Tristan turned to look at me. “Yes, what are you thinking about, Fiat?”

I shrugged. “Oh, you know, curious. She showed up twice at your house; alone I guess. How did she get there? I don’t remember seeing a car, either time. First I thought she could have left her vehicle on the street outside the gate. If she had such a vehicle, of course. You know, that gate and steep driveway can be intimidating. Or maybe she used Uber.”

“I’m sure Detectives Ross and Reid have checked that out,” Bob said. “Monica, you should let them know you didn’t see a car, especially on that Wednesday when she died. It may help to determine when she arrived at the house.”

Well, so much for keeping Tristan from thinking about sad stuff. Good job, Monica.

It had been quite some time since I’d visited the ranch. The new addition, where the large, industrial-type kitchen was to be, seemed almost done. Even in the setting sun I could see new windows, stuccoed walls, and a flashy metal roof. The kind of roof I usually saw in photos of old barns from what Americans call back East. In my mind that could be anywhere east of Arizona and New Mexico, but I’m sure I was wrong. Someone with a funky sense of humor had sprayed Coming Soon in red paint over the old wooden sign that said No Name Ranch. And the caretakers’ house had a new porch, but the same old patio chairs. In a way, I liked that. It gave me a sense of continuity—something I had always craved, in spite of my so-called lifestyle.

As Bob slowly drove around looking for a parking spot, I rested my hands on Tristan’s shoulders and kneaded the soft center spot. He let his head fall back and seemed to really appreciate the gesture. Then Bob parked, and Brenda appeared out of nowhere.

“What a nice surprise. What’s up?” She wiped her hands on a big dishtowel. She had on her cooking apron, the one with extra-large pockets. I rushed to hug her as if I hadn’t seen her in like forever. “Well, looks