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I did. If someone had called, if someone had needed me, I would have had to go, regardless of what I'd been doing. Or whom.
"I should get back," I said. I had to call Grace, find out what had happened on her little jaunt into the woods. I was surprised I hadn't heard from her already.
"Yes," he said, obviously distracted. "I will see you later. "
I turned toward the lights and the music, figuring Cartwright would follow me to my car, maybe kiss me good night. I was trying to figure out how to avoid that - all I needed was for the townsfolk to catch a glimpse of me swapping spit with a stranger - when the sound of hoofbeats had me spinning in the other direction.
Just in time to see Malachi Cartwright and his horse disappear.
Chapter 17
The show had ended by the time I slipped into the circle of lights. No one seemed to notice I'd been gone.
Where had Cartwright been headed? What could possibly require his attention in the depths of a forest that wasn't his own?
Good questions, neither of which I'd probably ever get an answer to.
The fortune-teller was mobbed. Not that I wanted my fortune told, but I had wanted to ask her again about the talisman. However, without it, I doubted I'd have gotten any further than before. I'd probably end up with another monkey's paw, and that I could do without. I'd return tomorrow night and bring along the chunk of wood.
A serpentine line led away from the menagerie wagons. A large crowd clustered in front of the cougar; another equally large one peered into what I assumed was the grizzly's cage. Plenty of Gypsies milled about, keeping an eye on things.
I tried to find Joyce but had no luck. She must have left right after the show. I couldn't blame her. The woman was in the office long before I was every morning.
I headed for my car, but as I pulled away I caught a glimpse of Sabina at the edge of the trees. I lifted my hand in greeting, but she didn't respond.
I felt sorry for her. She seemed lost, lonely. I wondered if the Gypsies treated her poorly because of her infirmities or watched over her as if she were an injured puppy.
I slowed my car, intent on trying to communicate with her, but when I glanced a second time where she'd been, she was gone.
The road to Lake Bluff was deserted. Without streetlights, it was downright cavelike with the canopy of trees rimmed by the mountains on either side.
I drove slower than the speed limit, alert to any movement at the edge of the woods. A deer darting into my path could cause quite an accident. At the very least, my air bag would engage. I hated when that happened.
For several minutes my headlights revealed nothing but asphalt; then suddenly a dark shape raced toward me. I swerved, slamming on the brakes. My tire caught in the gravel at the edge of the road, and I skidded sideways, coming to a stop with the nose of the vehicle in the ditch.
Taking a shaky breath, I turned my head and came nose to nose with a wolf.
Luckily, the window was shut. Nevertheless, I reared back, squeezing my eyes closed, expecting the glass to shatter inward and rain against my face.
Nothing happened.
I opened one eye, then the other. All I saw was trees.
"Hell. "
Had I seen a wolf, or hadn't I? I didn't plan on getting out to check if there were tracks, even if I'd been capable of distinguishing the print of a dog from a coyote or even an albatross. That was a job for Grace.
I shoved my car into reverse and floored it, bouncing out of the ditch and onto the road with a squeal. Then I held on to the steering wheel with a grip so tight my fingers ached as I sped much more quickly back in the direction I'd come.
There'd been something strange about that wolf. Something I couldn't put my finger on since it had been there and then gone so fast I was left wondering if I'd even witnessed it in the first place.
The fur had been tawny brown, gold, gray all mixed together, and the eyes had been strange, though I couldn't determine why I thought so. I'd never seen a wolf except in a book or perhaps on television.
I passed the turn for the lake and kept going. Grace's house was about a mile farther down, on a hill with a view of the mountains on one side and the lake on the other. It had been in her family for centuries, a miracle considering the government's penchant for taking anything worth having from the Indians.
But one of Grace's ancestors had possessed the wherewithal to cede their property to a white friend. That friend had kept it for him when the Cherokee were herded onto the Trail of Tears. For years the Aniyvwiya, or the principal people, as they called themselves, had remained in the desolate corner of Oklahoma where they'd been exiled. But they'd missed their mountains.
A few had come back, hiding in the hills with others who'd slipped away and never left. When the time came for the Aniyvwiya to reclaim some of what was theirs, the McDaniels had taken back their land forever.
