Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) by Laura Crum Page A

cheeks; the hand that held the cigarette shook. "Then why is that horrible detective acting like he thinks I murdered Dominic?"
    "I don't think it's personal," I offered. "He acted like he thought I'd murdered Dominic, too."
    Barbara didn't seem to hear me. "He keeps asking me if I have an alibi; I must have told him twenty times that I was taking my horse for a ride in the park. How can I prove that?"
    "In the park?" I asked.
    "Yeah. I exercise them in Lorene Roberts."
    "Oh," I said. I was familiar with Lorene Roberts State Park; a large tract of wilderness, it covered many miles of coastal mountain range. "How do you get in there?" I asked curiously, trying to distract her from her grief. "I thought it was off limits to horses."
    "Oh, it is, theoretically. But I live near one of the parts nobody goes into much. I just ride across my neighbor's apple orchard and out his back gate and I'm on a trail that leads into the park. None of those rangers ever get up into this part."
    "So you didn't see anyone?"
    Barbara stubbed out the cigarette. "That's what that damn detective keeps asking me. And no, I didn't see anyone but Mountain Dave, and he's not worth anything as an alibi. No one can find him."
    "Who's Mountain Dave?"
    "A wild man. He lives in the park. Just keeps moving from place to place so they never catch him. Gets around on a mountain bike."
    "I see what you mean. Hard to use a guy like that as an alibi."
    I glanced around the room as I spoke, my eyes widening as I took in the decor. The house itself was an average sort of American tract house-ranch style, with Sheetrock walls and ceilings painted white and wall-to-wall beige carpeting-but every square inch of space seemed to be crammed full of some sort of "western" artifact. Horseshoes formed a chandelier overhead, Navajo blankets draped the furniture, saddles had been converted into end tables and lamps. And most striking of all, at least to my eyes, the walls were decorated with guns.
    With pistols, actually, many of them looking quite venerable. They surrounded large items of cowboy art and were interspersed with what looked like antique shoeing tools.
    Barbara followed my gaze. "That's Dominic's gun collection," she said heavily. "That detective went on and on about it. But it's perfectly legal to collect guns. Dominic never shot anyone." And she burst into tears again.
    I didn't know what to say. Somehow, even in these extremes of distress, Barbara didn't seem the sort of woman who'd want to be hugged. Nor was I the sort of woman who easily proffered hugs. So I waited.
    "I can't believe he's dead," Barbara sobbed. "I miss him so much. I don't know what I'm going to do."
    Her pain was real; I didn't doubt it. Faced with the intensity of her grief, I had to believe she'd loved Dominic, no matter how hard it was for me to assimilate that fact.
    "I'm sorry," I said gently. "I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you."
    "I don't know how I can go on." Barbara swallowed another sob.
    "Do you have someone who can stay with you?"
    Barbara sniffed. "My sister offered."
    "Can she come over now?" I asked.
    "Paula lives up on Summit Road. It's half an hour away, and she's got horses to take care of just like I do. I don't like to ask."
    "I think you should take her up on it," I told Barbara. "It sounds like you shouldn't be alone right now."
    "You're right, Gail." Barbara used her sleeve to wipe the end of her nose. "I just keep looking at all those guns and thinking that it would be so easy to get it over with."
    "Barbara," I said, "you're scaring me. Should I call Paula to come stay with you? I don't feel good about leaving you."
    "No, no." She shook her head. "I'll be all right. Honestly. I got through the last two days. I'll go on. I'm kind of a drama queen, you know." Barbara flashed me a very weak echo of her normal grin. "But it is hard. Just tell me one thing-did Dominic die peacefully?" Tears welled as she spoke.
    "I wasn't with him when he died," I said.