FOR JUST CLAWS
by
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A stone wall lay ahead, a reminder of when this land was farmed and the fields divided. Abruptly, Feather stopped, throwing her head up, ears forward. I stiffened, expecting her to shy or bolt. Standing on the wall, a man reached into the branches of a massive oak tree, bracing one knee against the oak’s rough trunk.
I held Feather back, waiting. One corner of a black trash bag was secured underneath his belt. He pulled something from the tree, looked at it, and dropped it into the open corner of the plastic bag, shaking the bag to settle the object to the bottom.
Feather snorted when he shook the bag and it drew his attention. Though I hadn’t seen him in years, I knew him. He looked a lot like Kathy, his hair was the same shade of blond and he’d grown incredibly tall and thin.
I rode Feather into the light, out of the valley. "Derrick?" I asked. "Remember me? I’m Carol Ward, your mom’s friend."
Jumping down, he said, "Yeah, I remember." His jeans hung loosely from a gaunt waist. "Nice horse; what’s its name?"
"It is a mare, and her name is Feather."
He pulled the corner of the plastic bag out from under his belt. Feather stood her ground but eyed him warily.
"Does she spook easily?" he asked.
"She’s usually fairly calm."
"You just never know about them, do you?" He took a step toward us and Feather took a step backward. The bag rustled as he walked.
"No, I guess you don’t," I said, wondering where this was leading.
"You’re not afraid, in the woods, all by yourself?"
"I don’t scare easily."
"I guess you’d be in a real pickle if you got thrown, and maybe hurt, way out here, not a soul around. A person could lay here all night, maybe longer."
"My husband knows exactly where I am," I lied. "And if I don’t show up at a certain time, he knows exactly where to look for me." If you’re going to lie, might as well go all the way, I told myself. "Besides, he insists I carry a cell phone." Which would work out nicely if you didn’t forget it ninety-nine percent of the time.
"I can see the headlines now," he said. Spreading his arms wide, as if reading from a billboard, he said, "Second Body Found in Remote State Park." He laughed.
"My, aren’t you morbid," I said. His choice of conversation did have me alarmed, but damn if I was going to show it. "I said I don’t scare easily."
"Tell the truth. I think you’re just as afraid as she was."
"Who?" I asked.
"Julie, of course."
"How would you know?" Discreetly, I gripped a handful of Feather’s mane. If she bolted, I wanted to make sure I went with her.
"That’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t know. It’s all speculation. The world is full of it. Nobody knows anything about anything. We’re all just little rats, running a maze."
"That’s a rather pessimistic outlook on life."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Just calling it like I see it."
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About the Book
Carol Ward loves her sleepy rural town, where the biggest event is the monthly saddle club meeting and the most controversial subject which bridle path needs renovating. But now, murder and robbery, poisoning and mercy killing are the buzz.
Who killed the college student? Or poisoned the pop can picking old wino who camps by the lake? And Carol wonders why her octogenarian neighbor, Marie, is acting so strangely. Does Marie know more than she wants to admit?
As bodies pile up, a harried sheriff struggles to make sense of it. Carol, warned by her all too-conservative husband to keep her nosiness in check, nonetheless lands dead center where she shouldn’t, bumbling her way into a labyrinth of deceit and greed. If she doesn’t watch out, she may just be the next victim.
About the Author
Karen Wilson has experience in both the worlds of journalism and horses. She has written for two newspapers and has ridden and shown horses both in hunt seat and dressage.
She lives in Southeastern Michigan with her husband, ten cats and two horses. She enjoys watercolor painting, cross-country skiing and riding, but regrettably has been unable to squeeze in time for the accordion lessons suggested by her husband.