Unbridled Murder

by Leigh Hearon

  “Did he tell you about the feedlot owners almost pulling out of the deal at the last minute?”

  “No, Tony didn’t mention that. He probably wanted to spare my aging heart. What happened?”

  “It appears they tried to wrangle more money out of him and won. There really wasn’t much choice.”

  “Those scurrilous dogs. I suspect they make more money out of bleeding-heart horse rescuers like us than they do from the meat factory.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Anyway, I’m concerned that three days have passed since Tony bought the horses, and I haven’t made any progress in securing transportation for them. Tony said the feedlot owners promised to keep them apart from the rest of the doomed herd, but I don’t know how long that promise stands.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Annie. We’ve got to get those horses back without further delay. Do you know of anyone who could bring them here? As I understand it, there are specialized haulers for this type of thing. Something to do with not spreading diseases.”

  Annie sighed. “The problem is, we don’t know what these horses are carrying until Jessica examines them. A regular commercial hauler probably doesn’t want to risk passing on a respiratory disease to his next load of horses. But I can certainly check out the possibilities.”

  “That’s good, Annie, but frankly, I’d feel a lot better if you were there to personally oversee their delivery. I believe that’s what you and Tony were expecting to do right about now.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, Travis, because that’s exactly what I was going to propose. And just in case finding a transporter proves difficult, I thought I’d haul a trailer myself, just to make sure the job gets done. I’ve only got a three-load slant myself, but Jessica’s got larger trailers, and I’m sure she’d let me borrow one for the trip.”

  “What about the cross-contamination issue?”

  “If I do end up using it, I promise to thoroughly sanitize it after the horses get here. Which brings up another issue. We need to find a place to quarantine them.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember Tony’s mentioning that as well.”

  She sighed again. “I feel so remiss. I promised Tony I’d get on this right away, then . . .” Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard.

  “Annie, Annie. Only a few days have passed since we received the dreadful news. You’re on top of it now. When do you expect to leave? And will you need any money? The coffers of Alex’s Place are quite full, you know, thanks to your very good-hearted boyfriend.”

  She was glad Travis could not see her blush. “I’ll be fine, Travis. I’ve got my credit card, and I’ll bring as much cash as the ATM will allow. I think it’s better that I pay now and the organization reimburses me when the job is done.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then go get ’em, Annie, and if you dig up any clues about the plane crash, please keep me in the loop.”

  “I will. Promise.”

  Annie reflected upon hanging up that she’d used the same words—“go get ’em”—with Tony on the advent of his departure to eastern Washington. She hoped that her return from across the mountains would not end as badly as his had.

  But then, she was driving.

  * * *

  Annie’s next call was to Jessica Flynn, who, she was embarrassed to discover, was already asleep.

  “Sorry, Annie,” Jessica yawned into the phone. “I have to get up at four o’clock tomorrow. My one clinic worker is on vacation this week, and yours truly is in charge of cleaning the stalls. And right now I have a full house. It kills me to go to bed when the sun’s still up, but there you have it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jessica. Do you want me to call tomorrow?”

  “Nonsense. Have you called to talk about Tony? What awful news. I still can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I.” Although after reading the witness statements and police and fire reports, not to mention looking at the hundreds of photos taken at the crash scene, Annie’s hold on her fantasy that it had all just been a bad dream was rapidly slipping. But there was no reason to share what she knew with Jessica.

  “Look, Jessica, Tony’s death has been a shock to all of us. So much, in fact, that I, for one, completely forgot about the fate of the four horses Tony rescued up in Loman three days ago. Tony made it sound as if they might be carted off to the slaughterhouse any day now, and when I last talked with him, he wasn’t at all confident the feedlot owners would keep their promise of separating them from the others. I’m terrified that they’ve been taken already.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  Jessica may have been half-asleep, but she had no problem understanding that Annie needed help.

  “I need a trailer. I’d prefer to have a commercial outfit do the job, but I’m concerned about getting the horses out of there as quickly as possible, and I may not find another hauler in time. You know my trailer’s a stall short. Can I borrow one of yours?”

  “Absolutely. Since my clinic is full, I won’t need my four-stall to haul any horses, and you’re welcome to it. When are you planning on leaving?”

  “Monday morning, early.”

  “Well, you know what time I get up. You’re welcome anytime.”

  “Thanks, Jessica. And, there’s one more thing—”

  “What, you want a thermos and bag of hot doughnuts to come with the trailer?”

  Annie laughed for the second time that evening. It felt good.

  “I haven’t had the time or energy to find a place to quarantine the horses after I arrive.”

  “Leave that to me. Since I’ll be overseeing their care, I’ll want it someplace close to my own. You go rescue the horses, and I’ll find a place where they can temporarily stay.”

  “You’re wonderful.”

  “I know. My new mule tells me all the time.”

  * * *

  Annie was acutely aware that Tony’s funeral was the next day. It would be the third service of its kind that she had attended this year, but the others had not filled her with quite as much dread as this one. On the two previous occasions, she’d barely known the deceased. This time, she would be at the funeral of a very good, longtime friend. She knew it would be a long, emotional afternoon and wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep herself together. She also knew practically nothing about the Roman Catholic faith and was afraid she’d make some ritualistic gaffe.

  Perhaps she could at least mitigate the chances of that occurring, she thought, and picked up her phone at once to consult with another octogenarian friend, Martha Sanderson.

  “Wear black, dear, and just watch what everyone else does,” Martha had counseled her. “There will be a lot of kneeling, and you should, too. But you don’t need to try to cross yourself when you see others doing so, and you really shouldn’t take communion, if it’s offered.”

  “Are you planning on attending?” Annie couldn’t imagine anyone not going, but wanted reassurance.

  “Of course, dear. Lavender and I plan on being there early, and we’ll save you a seat if you want. The church is sure to be packed to the rafters.”

  As much as Annie would have loved to sit by Martha and take her cues from her—even if it meant her half sister Lavender would be seated on the other side—she regretfully declined. She knew that she would be expected to join Travis, Dan, and other law enforcement officers. She’d known Tony through his work on the force, and most recently, for his contribution to Travis’s organization. She needed to be counted among his many friends and colleagues in those arenas.

  * * *

  The last phone call was the hardest, but it had to be made. She found the Loman feedlot listed on the Washington State Department of Agriculture Web page, confirming it was duly licensed and open for business. The owners’ names weren’t listed, but their phone number was. Annie took her last sip of Glenlivet and punched in the number on her phone.

  The string of rings went on for an intermi
nably long time, without a voice message encouraging the caller to leave a number. Just when Annie was about to give up, a woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes?” She sounded angry.

  “This is Annie Carson. I’m calling from the Olympic Peninsula in reference to four horses recently purchased by Tony Elizalde on behalf of . . .”

  “I got ’em. Someone was supposed to pick them up a few days ago.”

  Not bloody likely, thought Annie. They were just purchased a few days ago.

  “Yes, I know. You may have heard that Mr. Elizalde was killed in a plane crash the day after he executed the sale.”

  “I did. Danny Trevor will be sorely missed.”

  As will Tony Elizalde, you old cow, Annie inwardly seethed.

  “Well, it’s taken us a bit longer than we expected to round up transportation, considering Mr. Elizalde also just died.”

  “Well, they’re here. But if you don’t pick ’em up soon, they won’t be much longer. When are you planning to have them hauled out?”

  “Tuesday is the earliest I can be there.”

  “Tuesday, you say? Well, I can hold ’em until then, but it’ll cost you.”

  Of course it will. “That’s fine. I’m happy to pay for their feed and board until I take possession.” Normally, Annie disdained people who made a point of saying they “owned” or “possessed” any equine. As far as she was concerned, her horses owned her, rather than the other way around. At the moment, however, it seemed best to use a word that this harpy could understand.

  “All right then. What’s your name?”

  “Annie Carson. Let me give you my cell number in case you need it.”

  “I got it. It came up on my screen.”

  “Great. And, uh, your name is . . . ?”

  “Myrna. See you on Tuesday. Don’t come before two. That’s when we feed. Before that, the lot is restricted to sellers, and no one else is welcome.”

  “All right, Myrna. I’ll see you at two on Tuesday.”

  The conversation abruptly ended.

  Annie found that her hands were shaking. She slowly got up, put her tumbler in the sink, and saw Wolf by her woodstove, inquisitively looking at her. She bent down to scratch behind his ears.

  “Well, this is your lucky day, Wolf. You’re about to embark on an exciting road trip.”

  His prompt bark assured Annie that her stalwart companion was already packed and ready to go.

  CHAPTER 7

  MONDAY, AUGUST 8

  By seven o’clock, Annie was on the road to eastern Washington, with Wolf riding shotgun. She’d hurriedly packed the night before and arisen before daybreak. After writing a detailed note of instructions for Lisa—who she realized probably didn’t need any reminders—she fed the horses and turned them out to pasture. Unlike Annie, the horses did not grumble at being roused at such an unseemly hour. The dawn showed all the promise of another glorious August day, as well as a hot one, and Annie suspected her herd was happy to be out on the grass while it still held dew and the air was still cool.

  She pulled into Jessica’s clinic on her way out of town, and was greeted by a long whinny from Jessica’s latest equine acquisition, Mollie the Mule.

  “And top of the morning to you, too,” Annie replied, clambering down from her truck after Wolf, who had deftly leapt over her, strictly against orders.

  Jessica had her four-stall trailer ready for hookup in front of her clinic.

  “Since we don’t know how big these horses really are, I’m giving you the straight-load,” Jessica informed her. “It’s longer that the slant, but it’s all-aluminum construction.”

  Annie nodded appreciatively. Slant loads could cramp large-size horses if filled to capacity. Her F-250 could handle the weight of all four rescues, but she’d take all the help she could get. Even with an all-aluminum rig, the return trip would be slow going.

  “In case you encounter a problem loading, there’s a front-load ramp as well as one in the rear,” Jessica went on, pointing out this feature.

  Now that was a break, Annie thought. She didn’t know if any of the horses had been hauled anywhere—except to the feedlot. She hoped they’d be easy to load without a hissy fit about their next-door neighbor, but you never knew.

  Jessica opened the rear doors to show the stall areas. “They should be fine for the ride home. Floor mats are three-quarters of an inch thick, there’s a pop-up roof vent for each horse, and the bulkhead window in front has front opening windows, as well.”

  The weather in Loman was in the high nineties, according to Annie’s new phone, and adequate ventilation inside the trailer was key. Jessica had it covered.

  Annie’s vet now opened the small door to the “dressing room,” a small space tucked in front of the right-front wheel where most horse owners stored tack, hay, and shavings. Annie stared in amazement.

  “I’ve given you two bales of orchard, which probably is what they’ve been eating, two sets of hay nets, halters because I doubt any came with them, and a couple of bags of shavings.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “Tried to. I knew you’d bring your own medical kit, but I put in my emergency one, as well. You’ve got bute, antibiotics, meds for ulcers, bandages, stethoscope, everything I thought you might need when you get there.”

  “Thanks, Jessica.” Annie felt overwhelmed by her vet’s generosity—and perspicacity. She’d never thought of bringing extra halters.

  When both women had checked and double-checked each lock and latch, Jessica handed Annie a piece of paper.

  “I did a bit of research this morning,” she told Annie. “There are a lot of horse rescuers where you’re headed, some with excellent reputations, others, not so much. I’ve put down the names of two people I trust. Naturally, they’re women—”

  “Of course.”

  “And they’ve been doing this for years. They know all the feedlot owners in eastern Washington and how to work horse deals without handing out bribes.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Annie was horrified.

  “Well, I’m speaking metaphorically. At least, pretty much. The horse-rescue business in the Northwest is a mixed bag. Motives aren’t always clear. Most organizations are just trying to do the right thing, but there have been a few horror stories in recent years of so-called rescuers flipping the horses and selling to another kill pen. I’ve heard of other outfits that sell rescues at exorbitant prices and profit just as much as the feedlot owners. Don’t automatically assume everyone who says they want to save the horses has the horses’ best interests at heart. The two women I’m putting you in touch with are solid. That is, to the best of my knowledge.”

  Annie thanked Jessica and climbed into her truck. In truth, she felt a lot less certain about her ability to perform what she’d set out to do. But there was no turning back now. Tony would want her to carry on. And her conscience demanded that she finish his job.

  “Call me once you’ve seen the horses,” Jessica called up to her in the cab. “And if there’s anything I can do from here, just let me know. ”

  “Just find a place where I can park them upon return, and I’ll be forever grateful,” Annie said, and flashed her friend a smile as she slowly pulled out of the clinic’s circular drive. She sounded more confident than she felt.

  She’d calculated a six-hour drive to Loman, which, according to Google Maps, was somewhere northeast of Moses Lake, and had filled her CD player with her favorite country western albums to keep her company along the way. But she didn’t dare risk the distraction of music now. Traffic at the height of summer took all her attention, at least while she was in urban territory.

  She’d decided to drive around the Peninsula rather than take a ferry into Seattle to join up with I-90E, the highway that would lead her closest to her destination. Ferries were crowded this time of year, and Annie didn’t want to wait in line. She also didn’t want to pay the exorbitant fee for transporting an oversized vehicle on water. Besides,
Seattle traffic was daunting at the best of times. Instead, she wended her way to Tacoma, crossing the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, a mile-long suspension bridge that Annie never forgot, at least when she was on it, had been turned asunder in a freak windstorm back in 1940, months after it had been built. She knew the replacement bridge was aerodynamically designed to prevent another collapse, but stuck to the middle lane where she could pretend she had blinders on and willed herself not to look down.

  Once she’d navigated Tacoma and turned off on Highway 18, she relaxed and settled in for the long drive ahead. It was a familiar path; Annie had graduated from Central Washington University in Ellensburg more than twenty years before and the route hadn’t changed all that much, although North Bend, to her astonishment, was no longer a hick town but a major suburban draw, with a shopping mall whose square footage Annie couldn’t begin to fathom.

  Normally, she would have enjoyed climbing the switchbacks that led up to Snoqualmie Pass, known for its ski runs in the winter and as a vast recreational area in the summer. But with a twenty-eight-foot trailer behind her, she was constantly shifting gears and pulling into turnouts to let less encumbered vehicles pass. And, more to the point, she was heading straight to the place where Tony Elizalde had perished. As her truck and trailer slowly chugged up the mountain pass, her sense of dread increased proportionally with the altitude. She needed a break but couldn’t bear stopping at the summit. As it was, she still noticed detour signs on the highway berms approaching the lodge. Nope, she’d keep rolling until she reached more neutral ground.

  About a half hour outside Ellensburg, she pulled off at a rest area with a dog run and used the restroom. It was now eleven o’clock, and the sun was high in the sky. She knew the temperature would be fifteen degrees higher when she hit the valley below. She remembered what it had been like during her college years, when students wore shorts and sported flip-flops until mid-October, when the weather suddenly changed and fall and winter quickly merged into one long, cold, and often snowy season.