by Leigh Hearon
“I’ve got plenty of volunteer help,” Olivia said simply. “Somehow, it just seems to all get done.”
Annie still had her doubts, but every animal on the place looked healthy, well fed, and undeniably content. She concluded she was in the company of extraordinary women with superpowers. There was no other plausible explanation.
“Enough shop talk,” Maria said firmly. “Olivia, what do you make of George’s death? And you know that Myrna’s missing in action.”
“This requires a bottle of wine. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
Olivia disappeared into her home, just a few yards away.
Annie looked at Maria with a half smile. “You know, for a moment, I’d forgotten all about the feedlot.”
“I’m sorry, Annie. That was thoughtless of me. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Actually, I’d like to know more. I know absolutely nothing about this couple other than the few things you and Tony mentioned. If I’m going to be a suspect, I might as well know more about the person I supposedly killed.”
“Stop with the suspect label.”
“No, seriously. Tell me about this charming couple. And let me know who you think really did it.”
Annie spoke half-jokingly, but her request was serious. She knew better than to share Dan’s staggering news that a timed bomb had been found in the airplane wreckage. And while she’d never give Dan or Sheriff Mullin the satisfaction of knowing so, she, too, suspected there was a connection among the deaths of George, Tony, and the pilot of the downed aircraft. If she knew who wanted to kill George, it might lead her to finding justice for Tony.
Olivia returned with a bottle of Chardonnay and three plastic cups.
“I’m a staunch advocate of twist-off wine caps,” she announced as she poured liberally from the bottle. “It makes life so much easier.”
The other women assented and raised their cups toward the stars now overhead.
“To the horses,” Olivia said.
“To the horses,” Annie and Maria solemnly repeated, and then Annie added, “And Tony.” Olivia and Maria silently nodded.
The wine was chilled, and if not the vintage Marcus might have ordered off a sommelier’s list, it had the same effect. By the time the second glasses were consumed, the three women were thick in conversation about the strange and terrible lives of the feedlot owners.
“George was always just a good ol’ boy,” Maria told the group. “His daddy had a feedlot for steers, and George always knew he’d inherit the place. And the old man was all right. There were plenty of feedlots in the area that collected horses for slaughter, but George’s dad’s wasn’t one of them. He always said he wouldn’t sully his feedlot with horses. Loved them too much. He’d grown up near the Lakota Sioux tribes, who truly honor the horse and are absolutely opposed to the idea of slaughtering them for human consumption.”
“They’ve even filed federal lawsuits to try to stop it,” Maria chimed in.
“So what happened?” This came from Annie.
“George met Myrna,” Olivia said glumly. “George’s father had been gone five years, and he had the business. Myrna came to town from—was it Idaho, Maria? Or Wyoming?”
“Idaho,” Maria said firmly, finishing a large mouthful of wine. “Although we never learned much about her background.”
“Except it was obvious that she was mean as a snake,” Olivia chimed in. “Within a year, she’d married George and convinced him that the feedlot would be three times as profitable if they took in horses. George caved in, just like that.”
“So why wasn’t Myrna killed instead of George?” It seemed obvious to Annie that Myrna was the real villain in this tale.
“Good question,” Maria replied. “George never really cottoned to buying horses for slaughter. And while he was never a teetotaler, over the years he became a quiet, steady drunk. Probably was the only way he could live with himself.”
“So what you said to the sheriff about George’s having one too many beers at breakfast was true?”
“George would chug a beer before he had a shower. That is, if he showered. It’s why Myrna confined him to the simple stuff at the end—feeding and maintaining the horses and steers before they were shipped off. He wasn’t really safe to drive at any speed. The Kubota was about the only vehicle he could handle without endangering others.”
“Do you think Myrna killed him?”
“No reason to,” Olivia said promptly. “He was her chore boy. It’s hard to find people to work on a feedlot that sells horses for human consumption. As pitiful as he was, he would have been hard to replace.”
“Maybe Myrna’s chopped up in a million places and lying in a ditch somewhere, too,” Maria said dreamily.
“You are terrible,” Olivia said severely, although Annie doubted she meant the sentiment. “But it is odd, her not showing up. Especially since the transport van is due to arrive. It’s not like Myrna not to be right on top of things, even with her husband gone.”
“Well, I still think she did it and is hiding out in Idaho as we speak. She’s probably holed up on the Snake River, communing with her reptilian friends. In any case, I’m now in charge of feeding and caring for the horses until such time as Myrna reappears,” Maria told her friend. “I got the official okay from Sheriff Mullin. Which means Annie and I can sneak in and give them all the medical attention they’ve been missing. That is, if you’re willing, Annie.”
“Of course,” Annie replied although she knew the horses would only receive this care until they were shipped. Once more, her mood plummeted. She decided to get back to George’s death, a subject that was infinitely more gratifying to think about, even if she was a suspect.
“So if it wasn’t Myrna, who do you think did it?”
Olivia and Maria looked at each other.
“I can think of about a hundred people in the county who wouldn’t miss George and had the means and opportunity,” Olivia mused. “How about you, Maria?”
“At least. And if you expand that list to every horse person in the tristate area who’s ever looked at my feedlot photos and realized what George and Myrna were up to, I’d say that list could quadruple, easily.”
“Yup.” Olivia finished her wine with a deft swig. “I’d say George’s fan club is about as small as Danny Trevor’s. We’ve lost two men in the past week, and the only ones who’ll ever mourn them are their mothers. Or possibly not.”
Annie sat up straight, confused. “Why? What? What was so bad about Danny Trevor? I thought he was just a local pilot.” Annie glanced over at Maria, who seemed as perplexed as she was.
“Me, too. What’s his story?”
“Didn’t you know, Maria? Last year, Trevor signed a contract with the rez. He was hired to fly over tribal lands to locate wild herds. Once he’d pinpointed their feeding areas, the natives would swoop in on ATVs and round them up. Most of the horses ended up in the Loman feedlot.”
“You’re kidding!” Maria looked stunned. “I had no idea.”
“Well, I sure did,” Olivia said coolly. “Every month, like clockwork, I’d hear that old airplane overhead on its way to the rez. I considered it as kind of a preset alarm. I knew I’d be wrangling with Myrna over a bunch of pregnant mares in the next week or two.” She nodded toward the lower pasture. “All the yearlings over there? Their mamas came from the rez, every one. If killing Trevor keeps even one foal from losing its mother, I’d say his death was worth the price of the bullet.”
The ride home was long and mostly silent. Both women were lost in their thoughts, but Annie suspected she and Maria were wondering the same thing. When Tony got into the plane with Danny Trevor, had he known he was flying with one of the bad guys? And, more to the point, who exactly had been the intended victim—Tony, the horse rescuer, or Trevor, the horse ambusher?
There was no doubt in Annie’s mind. Someone in this desolate country was out to kill every key player in the horse-slaughter business.
CHAPTER 14
THURSDAY, AUGUST 11
Annie’s new nighttime ritual was washing out socks, underwear, and blouses in her motel bathtub. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could do. She thought wryly that on Sunday Marcus would see a far different person from the one he’d seen the last time he’d set eyes on her. The glam was gone, and in its place was the same country cowgirl he’d always known, smelling of horses, saddle leather, and the great outdoors. She kept reminding herself this was what had attracted Marcus to her in the first place.
Marcus had called her early that morning while she was trying to pry open a small plastic container that held one packet each of sugar, sweetener, fake cream, and a thin red wand to stir it all in. Annie wasn’t sure she wanted any of these substances in her coffee, and judging by the resilience of the plastic bag, she wasn’t sure she was going to gain access to it anytime soon. She was trying to decide whether bad coffee would be better with or without it when her cell phone lit up from its place on the nightstand. She leapt for it, the weighty issue forgotten.
“Annie, I hope I didn’t awaken you.” Marcus’s deep, resonant voice filled her ear. It was the best wake-up call she could imagine, and she promptly told him so.
“Whew. It’s two in the afternoon here, and I’m just finishing a late lunch with a client. I go back into the fray in a half hour but was hoping to catch you before I did. Your text message was, how shall I put it, rather provocative.”
“Really?” Annie’s surprise was genuine.
“Really. Let me refresh your memory. ‘Trapped in eastern Washington for now. Feedlot owner was murdered Wednesday and I’m the prime suspect. Will fill you in when you call. Wolf is OK.’ ”
Oh, yes, that text. Annie vaguely remembered feeling that perhaps she’d overdone the melodrama just a bit at the time she’d sent it. But then, dammit, she’d wanted to talk to the man. Besides, everything she’d texted was true.
“I was delighted to hear that Wolf was in good health,” Marcus went on dryly, “although what I really wanted to know was how you were faring. I envisioned you locked up in some rural jail and the lynching party outside the door. Fortunately, a phone call to Dan assuaged those fears, but I’m still very concerned about your situation.”
As only Marcus would be. After all, he’d been in a rural jail not long ago.
“Well, when I talked with Dan, he made the evidence against me sound pretty convincing. Although he did say he’d done his best to assure the local sheriff I was here just to pick up Travis’s horses and wasn’t the murdering kind.”
“Yes, I got the same assurance, but with all due respect to Dan, it’s not enough. You need an attorney, and I’ve taken the liberty of hiring one for you.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary? And you don’t have to do that. I can pay for one.”
“Too late, Annie. I’ve just wired a retainer to Alvin Gilman, although you’ll need to meet with him to sign the contract so he officially will be your attorney of record.”
“Alvin? People are still named Alvin these days?”
“Apparently they are if they’re born and raised in Duncan, which is Alvin’s story. He has a good reputation for criminal defense, and in any event, he’ll have to do for now. I’m not going to rest easy until I know you’re represented by counsel.”
Annie still wasn’t sure this was necessary. After all, if one rural sheriff endorsed your good character to another rural sheriff, wasn’t that enough? She intuited it probably was not.
“Thank you, Marcus. You’re going to have to stop being such a wonderful guy. Although I really don’t want you to.”
Marcus laughed a rich, deep laugh that she loved to hear. “I think this will all blow over, but we can’t just assume that simply because we know you’re innocent. Let me give you Gilman’s number so you can arrange a time to meet. But, Annie, make it today, all right? And text me afterwards, so I know it’s done. I really can’t concentrate on business until I know Gilman is covering your back.”
“Promise. I’m going out to the feedlot in an hour or so to help Maria feed the horses—she’s my contact here, and was Tony’s, too—but then I’ll drive to Duncan and meet with the guy.”
“Are you sure you should be going to the feedlot right now? After all, it was a crime scene two days ago. And why do you have to feed?”
“The wife of the deceased is missing. Personally, my money’s on her as the killer, but in the meantime, fifty horses need to be fed. Anyway, as I recall, I took you to a crime scene not too long ago, and that was mere moments after you’d been sprung from jail.”
“Touché. All right, Annie, but be careful, and make sure Maria can vouch for you the entire time. I wish I could be there sooner than Sunday, but right now, I just can’t seem to find a way.”
“I’ll be fine.”
The call ended ten minutes later, and after Annie had said good-bye, she realized she was fine. Just fine. And she decided drinking black coffee at least once in her lifetime wouldn’t kill her.
* * *
Ten hours after dropping her off the night before, Maria’s pickup rolled into Annie’s motel’s parking lot once more. Annie already was waiting outside and gratefully accepted the tall latte Maria quietly passed to her. They drove to the feedlot in silence, content to listen to the patter of news from a local radio station. Today, Maria had chosen to wear shorts with her cowboy boots, while Annie, confined to the only pair of jeans she’d worn all week, sported the one sleeveless shirt she’d tossed in her overnight bag days ago. Even at seven o’clock in the morning, the sun baked hotter here than it ever did on the Peninsula.
Fifty restless, nickering horses greeted them upon arrival, and there was no sign of any other human on the property. The two women got down to business. Annie couldn’t remember ever working as hard as she did that morning, except for the early days on her ranch, and she had been fifteen years younger then. She flung so many mounds of hay and orchard grass into each paddock that they soon resembled haystacks in a Monet painting. And because there was enough to share, the usual internecine fighting over food was replaced by the steady chomp-chomp of hungry horses. Annie then joined Maria at the “sick bay,” where the most infirm horses were quarantined. She calmly served as Maria’s vet tech, handing her bandages, salves, and vet wrap, and taking temperatures upon direction. Some of the horses looked beyond hope, but Maria determinedly ministered to all of them. It was hard to look at some of the wounds many had suffered, and Annie wondered whether they had come at the hands of humans, hooves, or the barbed wire that the local farmers seemed to prefer over electric string. Barbed wire certainly was cheaper.
The last task of the morning was to dump, clean, and refill every water trough on the place. It was difficult to tell when, or if, this had last been done. It was backbreaking work, and by eleven o’clock, sweat was pouring down Annie’s face and under her clothes, making rivulets in the dust that had settled over her flushed cheeks.
Annie’s one comfort was noticing that all the horses seemed less distressed and anxious than they had under George and Myrna’s care. And the little mustang, still in solitary, had ceased blowing snot and looked infinitely more alert.
“Soon, buddy, soon,” Annie murmured to him as she slipped him a carrot. “You’ll be out of this hellhole very soon.”
She hoped she was right. If Myrna’s surveillance cameras had been turned on the day before, surely by now the sheriff’s office had reviewed what had had recorded and with any luck, unearthed a clue that would convince Sheriff Mullin she was innocent. and free to go.
With the horses.
* * *
Maria brought her back to her motel at noon. After a quick lunch at the local taco stand, Annie was on the road again, this time headed due east, toward the small town of Duncan. She realized she was on a road she’d never traveled before. She’d headed north to the reservation and south to the feedlot, and traversed the small square blocks of Browning proper too many times to count, but thi
s was a new path, one that meandered by a small river for a short while and provided the first welcome scenery in several days. Even Wolf seemed to appreciate the new landscape. Rolling along at seventy miles an hour, she glimpsed a sign for the county airport. This must be the place where Tony had landed and where he’d departed on his ill-fated trip home—just one week ago today. She thought back to Travis’s remark about interrogating the airport employees. It wasn’t a bad idea even though she suspected FAA investigators had done exactly that by now. She was less sure that Myrna was behind the plane crash, but feeding fifty horses twice a day wasn’t going to give her much time to probe that theory.
The sign for Gilman Law Offices was prominently displayed in the front yard of a small house right in the heart of downtown. The house was painted sky blue with white trim and looked large enough to serve as both home to the Gilman family and office for the attorney-at-law. After responding to the sign next to the doorbell—IT’S OPEN—COME ON IN—she discovered she was right. Shoes of persons much younger than she lay strewn on the hardwood floor, and a row of different-sized bike helmets was neatly arrayed on a nearby coatrack. A door farther back opened, and a tall man in his late thirties quickly walked out. He had to be at least six-four, Annie thought. He had the physique of a pro basketball player, not a criminal defense attorney, and Annie suspected he still managed a pickup game after closing shop each night.
“Annie? I’m Al Gilman. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . . and your dog,” he said, glancing down at Wolf, who was politely standing next to his mistress. Thanks for making the drive over.”
During the hour drive to Duncan, Annie had been glad for the chance to think mindlessly for once. Now that she was here, she had to focus again on the uncomfortable fact in front of her—that being in the right place at the wrong time had somehow made her a murder suspect in the eyes of the law. She reluctantly conceded that she needed the attorney looming over her right now. She was glad that he’d at least dropped the old-fashioned part of his first name.