by Leigh Hearon
“Interviewed.”
“Interrogated. It’s all on tape. You’ll see.”
She could hear Dan sigh. “Annie, you can’t blame the man for doing his job. You were found at the scene, and your rifle is the same make as the one that killed the man. It sounded pretty gruesome.”
“It was. And I understand the guy’s wanting to test my Winchester. Even though I was the one who was thoughtful enough to alert nine-one-one about the body in the first place.”
“Killers have been known to do it before.”
“And stick around? For three hours?”
“Well, not usually, no.”
“Besides, it was all so unnecessary. The place is staged with surveillance cameras everywhere. If Sheriff Mullin really wanted to find out what happened, why wasn’t he reviewing those instead of interrogating me?”
“I’m sure he is, right now. But don’t be surprised if they don’t reveal anything.”
“What are you talking about? A murder takes place right in front of a feedlot pen with several cameras overhead, and you’re not going to see anything?”
“The digital recording might reveal the man being shot and the time, but I doubt the killer put himself in the picture.”
Annie thought about this. “Well, at least it would take me out of the equation. The desk clerk can verify when I checked out.”
“Look, Annie, I don’t think you have to worry about being a suspect anymore. After my conversation with Mullin, I’m fairly certain he believes you were there for exactly the reason you gave, to load four nags and hightail it back to the Peninsula. But depending on what the autopsy report says, the time of death may be so close in time to your arrival that a good prosecutor could persuade a jury otherwise.”
Now that was chilling.
“And another thing, Annie. I talked with the NSTB yesterday, and they’ve recovered remnants of an explosive in the crash. There’s bomb residue all over what used to be the dashboard. The FBI has K-9 units out right now looking for a trigger device.”
An icy-cold bead of perspiration slid down Annie’s back, and it wasn’t from her recent shower.
“What are you telling me, Dan?”
“That the Cessna was rigged to blow up in midair. Tony’s death, not to mention the death of the pilot, is now classified as a homicide. Possibly an act of terrorism. Mullin doesn’t know if there’s a connection, but he’s strongly considering the idea that whoever killed the feedlot owner did it as an act of revenge. Apparently you did a pretty good job of convincing Mullin how close you and Tony were. That gives you a very strong motive. Add to that your thirty-thirty and being at the scene of the crime moments after it occurred, and you really can’t blame the guy for wanting to wipe your hands for gunshot residue. Although that probably was just for show. Two hours of bucking hay probably removed any traces.”
“Dan! I didn’t shoot the guy!”
“Sorry, Annie. Just thinking like a cop. Nothing personal.”
For once, Annie ended the call before the sheriff had time to hang up.
* * *
After talking to Dan, Tony’s death no longer seemed a mere tragedy. As she’d suspected all along, it was an out-and-out horrific crime. She wished she could talk to Marcus. There was so much to catch up on, and she admitted she wanted to hear a voice that would sympathize with her, not simply recite all the reasons she was a viable suspect. It was now six o’clock in the evening—2 AM Marcus’s time. She decided to settle for a short text to bring him up to speed. As she pushed SEND, she had a small, slightly guilt-tinged feeling that Marcus would soon be calling her, no matter what the time difference was in London.
Then she remembered Lisa, who was back at her ranch, expecting Annie to roll in with a mission-accomplished wave any moment now. She rapidly punched in her stable hand’s number. It went to voice mail. Damn! She called the landline in the tack room and received a cheery “Carson Stables” response after the second ring.
“Lisa! It’s me, Annie. How are you?”
“They’re fine, everyone’s fine. Are you still on the road?”
Like every good horsewoman, Lisa had known full well that any question about her well-being actually referred to the horses in her care, and she’d responded appropriately.
Thank God for that. Annie didn’t think she could have held it together if there had been any scent of a crisis at home.
“Unfortunately, no. Believe it or not, I’m still in Browning. There’s been a murder”—Annie could hear Lisa gasp in the background—“and I happened to show up right after it happened. The whole feedlot is closed down until the cops have it figured out. Since I’m such an important witness, I can’t leave just yet, either. Can you stay at the farm a few more days? If not, I understand.” Annie crossed her fingers and shut her eyes. She wasn’t sure who else she could call upon.
“No problem,” Lisa promptly responded, and Annie let out her breath. “I just got hired as a barista in Port Chester, but the job won’t start until next week, and anyway, I made sure my hours wouldn’t interfere with the ones at your place. I’m happy to stay on as long as you need me. How are the horses?”
Annie knew Lisa was referring to the rescues she’d hoped to bring back today.
“They’re surviving, although the mustang has a respiratory issue, or worse, and is separated from the rest of the herd. It probably isn’t going to hurt that he’s by himself a few days longer. Jessica wasn’t too happy knowing that I’d planned to transport them all together.”
“Yes, but if you don’t, who knows what’ll happen to the poor boy. The alternative is too terrible to think about.”
Well said, little Grasshopper, Annie thought smugly. Without trying, she was successfully training Lisa to think just the way she did. Which was the right way, of course, at least pertaining to all things equine.
“I’m glad you agree. I’m hoping it won’t be more than a day or two before that happens. I’ll keep you posted every day I’m still here in this godforsaken place. And, oh, Lisa, would you mind calling Jessica and telling her I’ve been delayed? Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow as soon as I’ve got the latest update. And tell her I’m sorry she made the trip out to her client’s ranch for nothing—that’s where they’ll be staying while they’re in quarantine. But you might say that the mustang is looking better.” This wasn’t exactly the truth, but Annie wanted no more guff from Jessica about taking the mustang with her.
“Will do. Would you like to say hello to Sasha?”
Sasha obediently barked and howled as soon as she heard Annie’s voice, which caused Wolf to bark and howl as well, within the confines of her motel room. Annie was glad that no one else seemed to be staying at the place and, if they were, that they would check in late and check out early.
* * *
Annie’s last call of the evening came just as she was about to walk outside with Wolf to wait for Maria to pick her up. The number that appeared on her cell was from California, but she didn’t recognize it as Marcus’s. She swiped her screen and answered.
“Annie Carson.”
“Miss Carson? This is Felipe, Mr. Colbert’s assistant. Mr. Colbert has asked me to deliver a message.”
Annie closed the motel-room door and leaned against it, all attention. “Yes?”
“Mr. Colbert wants you to know that he will be flying to Loman on his private jet on Sunday. He said that you were not to talk to anyone else from the sheriff’s office until he arrives, and if anyone persists in trying, to contact him immediately, no matter what time. Mr. Colbert was very insistent that you understand and agree to this.”
“Please tell Marcus I hear him loud and clear.”
“Great. I’ll tell him. Mr. Colbert also wanted you to know that he’s sorry he won’t be able to join you before Sunday, but he’s trying to rearrange his schedule now to see if it can be earlier.”
Annie felt a warm glow spread throughout her. Somebody cared for her. Somebody was determined that she wasn’t
going to be set up for a crime she hadn’t committed. But then, who would know better than Marcus what that felt like? He’d lived through the same experience just a few months before.
“Thank you, Felipe. And please tell Mr. Colbert that I am very grateful for his help.”
“Will do. He also said he would try to call you tomorrow, and to not get mad, but to remember to keep your cell phone fully charged.”
Annie marveled. The power of a single text message, she thought, as she stepped outside and into Maria’s waiting pickup truck.
CHAPTER 13
WEDNESDAY EVENING, AUGUST 10
Maria seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Annie was not in a mood to ask where that might be. She was getting out of the dreary little town, and that was all that mattered. Maria’s pickup also was headed in the opposite direction of the murder scene. That helped, marginally. Try as she might, Annie could not erase the scene of the chaotic feedlot from her mind. The sight and smell and sounds of the horses’ confusion and terror this morning would not leave her. Curiously, she realized she was not half as upset to recall the sodden mess that had once been Myrna’s husband. It was the horses’ heartbreaking circumstances and their utter bewilderment at the violence that had occurred within their bleak sphere that depressed her now.
A phrase floated into her brain: “He needed killing.” It was a pronouncement Annie had heard in many an old Western, and it came unannounced to her now. Perhaps George’s death qualified as this form of rough justice. She really didn’t care. All she knew was she hadn’t done the deed, and she had no idea who had.
She tried to shift her mind to the scenery but saw merely the same sparse, dry tumbleweed that had surrounded her on the way to the Cattle Rustler Café. Had she really made that drive only two days before? It now seemed a lifetime ago. She longed to get back to the lush green landscape of the Olympic Peninsula. She was missing too many precious summer days in the environment she loved most.
“A penny for your thoughts.” Maria’s words intermingled with the squeaks and groans of the ancient pickup as it bounced along an unpaved and untended country road.
“Oh, nothing much,” Annie replied without thinking. Then, after a pause, she decided to voice what truly was on her mind.
“You were right. Going to the feedlot was intense sensory overload. It would have been even if I hadn’t come across George’s body. I really don’t know how you do it.”
Maria didn’t explain. She merely said, “Well, now you’re going to see something completely different. And it will make you very happy.”
“Is food involved?” Annie was acutely aware that she had never had lunch. She’d been so busy answering questions in the sheriff’s office, where most of her responses had been a simple “I don’t know,” that for once, her stomach had not protested the absence of its usual midday meal. Until now.
“There’s a burrito trailer just ahead. We’ll stop there.”
Annie had never eaten at one, although the small aluminum trucks offering Mexican fare had peppered every small town through which she’d recently traveled. She found her burrito to be surprisingly good, and ample enough to satisfy even her thriving appetite. It was difficult to share her bounty with Wolf, who, she reminded herself, had inhaled his dinner before they’d left the motel.
“Where are we going?” Annie finally asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. She was feeling much better.
“I want to show you an animal sanctuary a friend of mine runs,” Maria said. “It’s about fifteen miles north of here. Olivia owns a thirty-five-acre plat, and she’s developed quite the menagerie over the past decade. She runs it with the help of volunteers, mostly teenagers. It’s a bit like the ranch you’re involved in creating. The kids aren’t necessarily juvies in trouble, but there’s no doubt that working for Olivia helps keep them focused and less likely to get into trouble.”
“Good for her. It’ll be interesting to see how someone else does it.” Annie had never thought of Travis’s ranch as a sanctuary, but now she realized that was exactly what he was creating—a sanctuary not only for the boys who would live there but also for the animals they cared for.
“Olivia and I have worked together for about a decade now,” Maria went on. “We found each other, predictably, through the feedlot circuit. She’s bailed out plenty of horses from the Loman pen, particularly ones who are in foal or who have recently given birth.”
Once again, Annie felt a sharp pain rip through her. “In foal? The feedlot buys horses that are in utero?”
Maria turned and gave her a sad smile. “ ’Fraid so. And if the mares drop before the transport arrives, the foal stays behind, even if it’s still nursing.”
Was there no end to the horror of feedlot practices? Annie found she had no words to express what she felt. She was simply glad that people like Maria and Olivia existed to help mitigate the cruelty of feedlot owners. And the people who sold their horses to them, she reminded herself. She still couldn’t get over the nonchalant attitude with which the woman had off-loaded Eddie, and her obvious lack of care before dumping him at the feedlot. The Thoroughbred was seriously underweight, Annie knew, and his hooves looked as if they’d been neglected for years. Now that she’d internally committed to taking him, she couldn’t wait to get him back on track—although she vowed a racetrack was one thing Eddie would never see again.
The two women bounced along in companionable silence for the remainder of the ride. Twilight was coming, and faster here than on her own side of the mountains. Maria switched on her headlights.
“We’re almost there,” she told Annie, who nodded.
A quarter mile later, Maria peeled off onto a side road as nondescript as the one that led to the feedlot. It took them up to a long, steep drive with switchbacks almost as precarious as the ones Annie had encountered on the reservation. Finally, they came to a ten-foot farm gate. Annie offered to get out to open it, and unhitched it before Maria slowly drove in. Wolf, naturally, had jumped out to help. She reattached the chain and waited for Maria to climb out of her truck. There was a mishmash of farm buildings in front of her, but because of the quick arrival of dusk, it was difficult to see what they were used for, or who might be inside. A minute later, a lean, tall woman emerged from within the labyrinth. Her hair was as long as Maria’s, only a shimmering golden color that illuminated her face in the fading light. She reminded Annie a bit of an angel in a Nativity scene.
“Maria, you made it.” The woman warmly embraced Annie’s companion, then turned to her. The angelic look was gone, and in its place was a face creased with lines from years of working outside in sun as well as cold. Yet it was still surrounded by that mane of golden hair, and it was a kind face, Annie decided, one that suggested a highly empathetic nature.
“You must be Annie,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Welcome to the menagerie.”
Olivia had encouraged her to stroll around at her leisure while she and Maria caught up. As Annie wandered from paddock to paddock, she thought “menagerie” was the perfect description for what she saw before her. Horses, pigs, goats, donkeys, dogs, and cats roamed everywhere—in paddocks, pastures, and all places in between. She saw an old, half-blind white horse sharing space with donkeys that couldn’t have been more than six months old. While the donkeys rushed up for the carrots she held out for them, the white horse held court in the center, with all the dignity of a revered old warrior. In one of the lower pastures, she watched a herd of yearlings cavort with each other as the last bits of sun dipped over the distant mountains.
In the field above lay another pasture in which horses of every shape, size, and color ate from a communal trough of hay. By the hay shed stood an old donkey, munching on a stack of orchard hay he’d found and claimed as his own, while chickens ran around his hooves. Everywhere she went, she saw pygmy goats inquisitively exploring nooks and crannies, occasionally ducking inside a pasture or paddock to the complete equanimity of any other animal who happe
ned to be there.
And there was one small animal Annie was particularly taken with—a little black-and-white miniature horse named Sassafras. It was an apt name, Annie thought. Sassafras had a shock of black mane that reminded her of Sid Vicious, and she watched with amusement as the mini strutted her way around the farm, paying no attention to any animal she encountered, and looking as if all this were a great kingdom that belonged to her.
An hour later, her tour complete, Annie knew just how much she’d needed to see this place after the horrors of the feedlot. She was grateful for Maria’s prescience in making the journey here. Not everyone was as heartless as George and Myrna and Eddie’s last owner. There were just as many—she hoped—helping the forgotten and unwanted animals. And here, at least, they were safe in what was truly a peaceable animal kingdom.
She wandered over to where Maria and Olivia were in deep conversation. She hoped she was not disturbing them, but Maria waved her over enthusiastically.
“We were just talking about when we could deworm them all,” she said. “It’s an all-day extravaganza.”
“I’ll bet,” Annie replied, flopping down on a hay bale. “How many horses do you actually have here?” She’d tried to take a headcount, but it was impossible to catch them all.
“At the moment, I think about thirty-one,” Olivia said. “Or is it thirty-two? Somewhere around there.”
“The yearlings you see in the lower pasture were all born here,” Maria said. “They’re the ones who are most adoptable, although most of them are only halter-trained at the moment. They’ll need to go to homes where we can be sure they get good training.”
“How do you do it?” Annie asked Olivia. She realized she seemed to ask the same question of every animal rescuer she met. “How do you find the time to feed all of them?” Annie knew exactly how long it took to care for her own five horses and donkey, and she had help. She couldn’t imagine getting up every morning and facing this lot. By the time she’d finished feeding the breakfast meal, it would be time to start prepping the one in the evening.