Barnstorming (Gail Mccarthy Mysteries) by Laura Crum

endlessly soothing. Watching them, for me, is what I suppose watching the sea might be for others. I stare idly and wonder what is it about these big livestock animals that I like so much. Having horses makes me feel connected to the natural world. Connected and empowered. I do not need to ride them to feel this. I just need to have them here, to care for them, tend them and be with them.
    My eyes move across the little patch of rough grass where I let the horses graze to the grove of live oaks on the other side of the barnyard. Mac is flying through the air in a steady pendulum, rising and falling in his swing that hangs from a branch of the biggest tree. Mac’s hair flares in the wind; Sunny walks over and stands close to the airborne boy. Sunny has seen this many times: he still likes to watch.
    I see my son and the horse, together in the sunshine, amongst the live oaks, and I know, for one brief second, that more than anything else, this is the gift I am bringing to my child. Just being here with the horses, being part of each other’s lives. Riding is wonderful, and we have done a lot of it, but being a family with our horses is more than riding them.
    My eyes rest on Henry, who is snuffling the ground, looking for acorns. We’ll be able to start riding him soon. But we are grateful simply that he is here with us. I smile at the sight of his bright eyes and cheerful white striped face. His sorrel coat gleams red in the sunlight with a glint like a shiny copper penny. Henry, our good horse, is still with us. The greatest gift is present now, as we are here in the barnyard together.
    I resist the urge to move, to do. I sit and watch. And gradually my mind quiets. I know how fortunate I am. Every fiber of my being basks.
    Ten minutes later the peace is broken. I see a car pull up by our front gate; I see the driver get out to open the gate and climb back in. I know who it is. Jeri Ward.
    Almost instantly, my tranquil, meditative mood vanishes. The questions of this morning come bubbling back up in my mind. Sighing, I get to my feet.
    “Who’s that?” Mac asked.
    “Jeri Ward, the detective who’s investigating this shooting. I need to talk to her. I’m going to take her over to the little house, sweetie. We need to be private.”
    Mac took this in and then said, “I’ll go find Papa.”
    I met Jeri as she parked her car. “Come on up to the little house,” I said. “I’ve got some stuff to tell you.”
    Once we were seated, I said, “What happened with that young guy that your people picked up?”
    “We arrested him on probable cause,” Jeri said. “I think it’s a mistake, but what could I do? There he was, not half a mile from the crime scene, hiking through the woods carrying a twenty-two rifle, and he wouldn’t say what he was doing there. So, we took him in. I imagine he was probably trying to poach a deer.”
    “Do you think she was shot with a rifle?” I asked.
    “She was shot with a twenty-two,” Jeri said. “We just did the autopsy and found the bullet. Don’t know whether it was a pistol or rifle. Twenty-twos are odd that way,” she added. “One of the guys is going to fire our poacher’s rifle this afternoon. That should tell us whether the bullet came from his gun.”
    “And if it didn’t?”
    “Then we let him go and start over,” Jeri said.
    “I found out something this morning,” I told her. And I recounted the story of the mysterious light on the ridge.
    Jeri took this in. “Can you tell me where that house is?” she asked.
    I gave directions and Jeri took them down. Then she sat there, staring at the notepad in her lap. “I was going to ask you to draw me a map,” she said, “showing where you met Jane, and how that relates to where the body was found, and where, exactly, you ran into the other folks that you mentioned. And I’d still like you to do that. But I just had an idea. What if I haul Gray Dog over here tomorrow, and we retrace your ride. Then you could show