by Leigh Hearon
Alvin Gilman made Annie feel right at home—especially since she could hear the pounding footsteps of children running upstairs and squeals of laughter. It was in stark contrast to the room into which he’d ushered her and Wolf. Everything was in dark oak—the walls, the desk, the swivel chair behind it, as well as the floor-to-ceiling library bookcases packed with ancient law books that looked in danger of crumbling if disturbed from their perch. The only incongruous part of the room was a basketball hoop pegged to the back of the office door. A certificate for Most Valuable Player from Georgetown discreetly hung on the rear wall.
“Excuse the twins.” He grinned at Annie. “They’ve just turned five and are still enjoying the remnants of a neighborhood birthday party yesterday. I think they found the leftover party favors.”
Annie smiled politely. She didn’t have children so she couldn’t respond with the empathy of a fellow parent who had gone through the same experience. The absence of children in her life wasn’t a conscious choice; she’d just never been in a relationship during those critical childbearing years when having one might have been possible and desired. Besides, there was Hannah, the best surrogate child a person could possibly have. Hannah went home at night to her own family.
“Let me see if I’ve got the picture right,” Alvin went on. “I understand you’ve lost a close friend recently.”
Annie nodded, feeling sudden tears prick her eyes.
“And, as I understand it, his death now looks like it might have been the result of foul play.”
Annie nodded again, slowly feeling her equilibrium return.
“And now that you’ve come to finish your friend’s job, which is to transport four horses back to your own county, another murder has occurred. And the sheriff is toying with you, making you an unlikely suspect in that death.”
Toying was precisely the right word, Annie thought.
“It’s ridiculous. I happened to show up just after George—the feedlot owner, the guy who was killed—had been shot. Simply because I happen to carry a rifle the same caliber as the one that killed him and was at the scene around the time he was shot, I’ve been named the person most likely to do the job.”
As she described the scenario, Annie realized just how easily someone might come to the same conclusion. Maybe having an attorney wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
Alvin nodded thoughtfully back at her.
“But there are several mitigating factors, are there not? A gun test should easily rule out your rifle as the one used in the crime, correct? And you have no apparent motive. As I understand it, you’d never even met the man, only his wife.”
“Who’s missing,” Annie added angrily, “and probably is the one who pulled the trigger herself.”
“Let’s not worry about solving the murder. That’s the sheriff’s job. Let’s just concentrate on keeping you out of Sheriff Mullin’s crosshairs.”
Hearing this, Annie sat up a bit straighter. “Why? What’s his reputation?”
“He’s a good ol’ boy. Never lost an election in twenty-five years. Mostly handles domestics and DUIs and the occasional break-in. When something like this comes along, Sheriff Mullin gets all excited. In his rush to judgment, he sometimes makes a few errors. About five years ago, he bungled a major homicide when his boys got too rough on a suspect and the confession was thrown out of court. He’s not likely to repeat that experience, but he’s not going to let another murder go unsolved.”
Annie could think of another sheriff who was prone to making snap decisions about suspects but said nothing. Dan happened to be her friend, as flawed as his judgment had sometimes been.
“Let’s start from the beginning. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, from the time your friend flew here to pick out the horses until now? I’ll just take notes; we won’t tape-record anything. You know everything you tell me is confidential. No one else will ever know what you’ve told me. But I need the truth in order to do my job.”
Just in case I decide to confess to murder, Annie thought, but she knew that she was simply getting the attorney’s standard line to new clients.
When she was done with her recitation, Alvin leaned back in his chair, put his fingers together, and looked at her critically.
“I really don’t think you have much to worry about,” he finally said. “But until we hear it from the sheriff’s mouth, I think it’s best that we go over a few ground rules. If anyone from the sheriff’s office, the press, or just a friend asks you to talk about the case, refuse. Do not say one word about the case or discuss your peripheral involvement in it. If someone insists—such as one of the sheriff’s over-exuberant deputies—politely refer them to me. The only thing you need to tell them is that you’re represented by counsel and hand them one of my cards.”
He leaned forward, plucked a half dozen from a card holder on his desk, and passed them over to Annie, who put them in her purse. She noticed that the card was printed in both English and Spanish.
“I’ll be in touch with the sheriff and the local prosecutor tomorrow morning to try to find out where you actually stand as a suspect. I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I do. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions or if any new incident occurs that makes you nervous.”
“Like what? Another death?”
“Anything. If you get the sense you’re being followed, or someone keeps pressuring you to talk. Anything at all.”
“I’m friends with the sheriff back in Suwana County. Does this mean I can’t talk to him about George’s murder, or Tony’s death?”
“I’m afraid so. You wouldn’t want to make your buddy the sheriff an involuntary witness to something you discussed, would you?”
Perish the thought. Dan would kill her. Then she remembered an item she’d brought specifically to share with Alvin, and dug into her saddlebag purse to find it now.
“I have something for you that might help. It’s a receipt I demanded from Myrna on Tuesday, the day before I was supposed to haul out. She was charging me for care and feeding until the very last minute. Technically, I guess I still owe her money.”
Annie brought out the envelope upon which Myrna had scratched out, in pencil, the amount due and then PAID IN CASH in capital letters below.
“Great. Having a paper trail will help establish your bona fides. Not many murderers insist on receipts from the wife of the person they intend to kill the next day.”
“It’s all yours.”
“Thanks, but let me make you a copy. You never know; Myrna might reappear, and you’ll need it to renegotiate the terms of the horses’ release.”
He was right. Annie waited patiently as Alvin left the room. She thought he easily could have put a small copier in the office, but then, it would have clashed with the dark oak paneling and décor. She glanced around and noticed that Alvin Gilman was admitted not only to practice law in the state of Washington, but also to argue cases in the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals and the U.S. Supreme Court. She fervently hoped her case would go away before that was required.
Alvin stepped back into the room and handed her a Xeroxed copy of the receipt, front and back.
“Mr. Gilman, may I tell you what I really want?”
“Please.”
“I just want to go home with my dog and four horses.”
“I’ll do my best to make that happen.”
* * *
As Annie started the hour-long journey back to Browning, her mind no longer was on the scenery. She was thinking about the return address she’d seen on the envelope that Myrna had turned into a receipt. The sender of the letter was the local tribal council; the return address was printed right on the envelope, and the postmark was Monday, August 8, the day Annie had arrived in the area. But what intrigued her most was the PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL in big block letters underneath the names of the recipients, George and Myrna Fullman. What secrets did the local tribe and the feedlot owners share? Did they have to do wit
h Danny Trevor and his death?
She’d just been told to let the sheriff handle the feedlot owner’s murder investigation. That was fine and dandy, but the connection between the tribe and the Fullmans was one piece of information she intended to ferret out herself. As she settled back for the drive, she recalled the electrifying sight of wild horses racing across tribal lands. They thought they were headed to a place of safety. Little did they know that the big steel bird that circled overhead would ultimately betray them all.
CHAPTER 15
THURSDAY EVENING, AUGUST 11
Lost in thought, Annie didn’t hear her cell phone ringing until it flipped over to voicemail. Sighing, she pulled over to the side of the road to find out who had called. She had yet to get an earpiece for the smartphone, and while she was under the watchful eye of Sheriff Mullin, she intended to obey every single traffic law she knew of.
“Hi, Annie. It’s Maria. Hey, I’ve got an unexpected night off—the kids are with my mom for the evening. Want to meet up at the local tapas bar in Loman? A couple of friends are joining me, and you’ll like them. They’re all horse-crazy women. I’ll probably get there about seven. Hope you can come!”
Maria rattled off the name and address of the bar and disconnected. Annie caught only the name but didn’t take the time to listen to the message again. The truth was Annie had little desire for more socializing in eastern Washington. She didn’t go out often at home; she’d much rather spend the evening with her dogs, horses, and kitten. Here, however, Wolf was her only boon companion, and she could hardly expect him to keep her entertained in a pine-paneled motel room, as spacious as it might be. Anyway, how many tapas bars could Loman hold? She sighed again and decided to extend herself one more time. She reminded herself that Marcus’s arrival was now only three days away. Maybe tomorrow she’d find a library or a good used bookstore to fill the time until he arrived.
She could have used a shower—she’d had time for only a quick wash-up before dashing off to Duncan—but the sun was already setting, and her watch informed her that with no stops she would land in Loman a little past seven. Poor Wolf. He’d miss dinner at his usual time. She’d have to make sure that there was tapas suitable for blue heelers, which, on reflection, probably was just about everything on the menu. She parked underneath a small bower of trees and rolled down the windows a good eight inches. Annie was fairly confident that Wolf wouldn’t bound out and leave her for another woman, unless that woman tempted him with a large T-bone steak.
The tapas bar was easy to spot; Mexican music poured out of it onto the sidewalk. In fact, walking into the place, Annie thought it seemed more like a typical Mexican restaurant than a Spanish one. As far as she could tell, no one was drinking sangria. Most of the patrons were tippling Coronas or frosted margaritas. She espied Maria’s long dark hair and saw her sitting at a large circular table in the front room with several other women around her. Annie’s heart sank at the prospect of meeting more total strangers, but she smiled and wended her way toward them.
“Annie! So glad you could make it! Donny, this is Annie Carson. Annie, meet Donny. Donny’s got eight horses, all of them rescues, and runs a year-round camp for kids with disabilities.” Annie shook her hand, wondering if she could stand meeting one more woman with the drive and dedication of Mother Teresa. But she decided Donny looked nice enough even if she did more good acts than Annie was likely to achieve in her lifetime.
“And this is Connie.” Maria gestured to a middle-aged woman whose bright red hair obviously was not her natural color. “She has only two horses, but she’s still as crazy as the rest of us.” Annie smiled again and sat down at the one empty chair, which, thankfully, Maria had saved next to her own. “And over there is Tinker, short for Tinkerbelle, which isn’t her real name, but it’s what everyone has called her since she was two.” Tinker was a fine-boned, petite woman, whose eyes showed a fierce internal resolve. Annie wondered if her tiny size had contributed to that outward persona. She suspected Tinker could merely tell a rattlesnake to get lost, and it would immediately slither away.
“Nice to meet you,” Annie shouted over the noise and hooked her purse over the arm of her chair.
“We’ve ordered a pitcher of margaritas,” Maria explained. “It just seemed simpler.”
Annie nodded her assent and wondered how tequila would sit with her. She’d last imbibed the substance when she was twenty-one, and the ensuing hangover still made her shudder.
“We were just taking a poll on Myrna,” Connie shouted toward her. “Did she or didn’t she?”
“Did or didn’t do what?” Annie knew what she was asking, but wanted to hear it first.
“Kill George, of course! I’m betting she did. Everyone knew she was having an affair. George probably found out and Myrna decided to shut him up for good.”
Annie turned to Maria and looked quizzically at her. This was the first time she’d ever heard this tantalizing bit of gossip. It was difficult to think of Myrna having an affair with anyone. It was less difficult to think of her killing her drunk of a husband.
“Oh, that rumor’s been floating around for years,” Maria said, laughing. “It may have been a loveless marriage, but I doubt Myrna had the time to have a fling. Or the stamina.”
“You’d be surprised what older women can do,” Donny said ominously. “Six weeks after my grandma went into a retirement home, she up and married the guy in the room next door. I’ll bet even Myrna would still be happy to get a little on the side.”
“Maybe so, but why bother to kill George?” This came from Tinker, barely visible in her chair in the corner. “Even if he knew about the affair, he wouldn’t do anything about it. Doesn’t have the backbone.”
Annie was beginning to find the conversation a bit distasteful even though she, too, wondered if Myrna had been complicit in George’s demise. As his surviving spouse, she was the obvious suspect. Particularly since she’d been AWOL since yesterday morning. But the conversation was dangerously crossing into off-limits territory, according to her new attorney.
Fortunately, the subject was changed.
“I think we could load up all the horses in the feedlot while Myrna’s still gone and take them away.” Donny looked as if she was ready to execute this plan at a moment’s notice.
“I think that’s called horse stealing,” said Tinker.
“Are you sure, Tinker? I’d call it horse rescuing.”
“It’s a nice thought,” Maria chimed in. “I wish we could do it.”
Annie decided to remove Myrna from the conversation altogether.
“How are the horses? Do you need my help tomorrow morning with feeding?” Annie had assumed this was her new schedule until further notice.
Maria shook her head. “Not necessary. Tinker and Connie have offered to help, and Donny’s going to come out on Sunday.”
Annie felt instant relief flood through her, quickly followed by a touch of guilt. She should be helping out, at least taking care of the four animals she planned to take, plus Eddie, but frankly she wasn’t sure how many more visits to the feedlot she could handle. It was such a heart-crushing experience, and she realized seeing the horses’ plight, day after day, was becoming more difficult, not easier, to absorb.
“You sure?” Annie asked gamely.
“Positive. Eddie’s now permanently in the paddock with your three and is doing fine. And the mustang is right next to them. We’ll keep your horses safe and happy and make sure they’re ready to travel as soon as you get the word.”
“Thanks, Maria. I really appreciate it. But if you need help, please let me know. I’m just hanging out and don’t have much to do. You’re the ones with jobs and families to juggle.”
“Maria’s the pro,” Donny told Annie. “This woman can keep more balls in the air than anyone I know. Yesterday she jump-started my car at dawn before taking off for . . .”
“Stop, Donny,” Maria interrupted. She was laughing, Annie noticed, but she also seemed inte
nt on curtailing her friend’s flow of conversation. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Well, I would if I knew how to jump-start a car. That’s the problem.”
“You picked up my kids from school yesterday. And babysat them all last night. Now that was helpful.”
Annie remembered that Maria had patiently waited for her at the sheriff’s office yesterday afternoon. She’d forgotten all about the fact that Maria had two young sons who might need their mother’s attention. The only thing Annie never forgot was to feed her horses.
The pitcher of margaritas arrived and Maria, obviously the alpha mare in this female herd, served up.
“Ah . . .” Connie sighed contentedly. “Nothing like a cold margarita on a hot summer day.”
A chorus of agreement followed Connie around the table.
“Which one of you is Annie?”
The words were harsh and accusatory and brought the group instantly to attention. Annie turned to where she’d heard the deep male voice, which was somewhere from behind Maria. A big, burly man stood behind her friend, glaring at the group of women. Annie was momentarily mesmerized by the sheer size of the man’s gut, which stuck so far out it was in danger of touching the back of Maria’s head. A belt buckle was barely visible somewhere south of its lowest point, and Annie wondered when gravity would take its toll. She looked up toward the man’s tanned and weather-beaten face. Deep furrows were etched into his forehead, which somehow only emphasized the meanness in his eyes. They were black, Annie thought with astonishment. She’d never seen eyes so dark—or so angry.
And he’d asked for her.
Annie slowly stood up and turned around to face the man.
“My name is Annie,” she said. Her voice sounded far steadier than she felt.
“You the gal who killed George Fullman?”
Annie’s heart suddenly pounded. She was aware that other men were quietly gathering around the spokesman.
“No, I’m the woman who found his body. I don’t know who killed Mr. Fullman.”