by Leigh Hearon
“Against whom?”
“The lowlifes who did this to your trailer. Maybe the sheriff’s office, as well, since one of them may be on the county payroll.”
“This just gets worse and worse. Come home soon, Annie. I’m worried about you.”
* * *
Predictably, the desk clerk claimed he’d been called away on a family emergency the previous evening and so had no idea that Ms. Carson’s horse trailer had been vandalized. He was most sympathetic, and even went as far as suggesting that boys from a local reform school might be responsible.
“Why? Did I miss the report about a massive breakout on the news yesterday?” Annie didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm. She was appalled by the clerk’s clear allegiance with the thugs who were responsible for the mess she was in now.
“I’m just saying,” the clerk replied, his eyes growing wide with feigned innocence. Annie was tempted to throw her room key in his face and tell him she’d take her business elsewhere. The problem was there weren’t many other places she could go, and, she reminded herself, she’d have to find a way to take the trailer with her.
She grabbed a quick bite at her now-favorite taco stand. Her plan to walk to the sheriff’s office was quickly nixed—it was midday, the sun was directly overhead, and no intelligent person would walk even a few blocks if an air-conditioned truck was available to them. Besides, she was restless after all the unpleasantness of this morning, and might want to drive somewhere. She put Wolf’s dog food in a secure container in the truck bed and gestured for the blue heeler to jump in. He was thrilled to accept her invitation.
The sheriff’s office was little larger than a corner market, Annie noticed with some disdain, and only a few county vehicles were parked in back. She pulled into one of two visitor’s spots and left Wolf in the truck with the windows rolled down. Then she squared her shoulders and marched in.
“I’m here to make a report of vandalism,” she coldly told the deputy on duty.
“Name?”
“Annie Carson.”
“The sheriff’s been expecting you. Thought you’d be here earlier. Have a seat, and I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Annie declined to sit. Instead, she amused herself by reading the wanted posters tacked up on a bulletin board by the front desk. Even the women portrayed in the posters looked mean and ugly. She itched to have her .30-30 back in her possession.
That wish, at least, was fulfilled. A few minutes later, Sheriff Mullin walked into the reception area, holding her Winchester in his hand.
“Here you go, Ms. Carson,” he said, handing it over to her. “Sounds like you may need this if you stay here much longer.”
“Does this mean you’re giving me permission to go?” Annie knew Alvin Gilman already had asked the same question, but perhaps in the last hour the sheriff had come to his senses.
“Not quite. We’re still going through the surveillance tapes. Don’t pack your bags yet.”
“And meanwhile, I’ve got a severely damaged horse trailer to deal with.” She was getting angry. The sheriff’s nonchalant attitude about her situation was insufferable.
“So I hear. We’re a bit busy today, but we’ll try to send someone out to take a look at the trailer this afternoon. I understand you discovered the damage last night. Any particular reason why you decided to wait until today to report it?”
Annie ached to tell the sheriff exactly what she thought. She did not. That was what lawyers were for, she reminded herself.
“It was late, and difficult to see the full extent of the damage,” she said tersely.
“I see. Any witnesses?”
“Isn’t that your job, finding witnesses?”
“Just asking. I hear you were out having drinks with your lady friends earlier. We’ve got a strict DUI patrol out here on the weekends. Just a word to the wise.”
Annie nodded but said nothing, vowing to herself she would not have so much as another sip of beer if she had to drive as much as a block.
“You might want to consider the company you keep. Stick with Maria—she’s the only halfway sane female in the bunch.”
Obviously, Deputy Goddard had reported back to the sheriff. So much for thinking there was only one bad apple in the bunch.
“She’s a nut case when it comes to those feedlot horses,” the sheriff continued, “but she knows what she’s doing when it comes to teaching kids to read. Wish the school had enough money to take her back. Well, take an accident form with you and sit tight. As I said, I’ll send out a deputy as soon as we can spare the man power.”
“Just how many deputies do you have at your disposal, Sheriff ?”
He paused, then gave her a small sardonic grin. “Thirteen.”
“Impressive.”
“We’ve got a large territory to cover, Ms. Carson. We need every deputy we got. Understood? As I said, we’ll get to your problem as soon as we can.” He reached behind him and handed her a form.
Annie held out her hand stiffly, took the sheet of paper, and turned to go. As she did so, a small, scrawny woman rushed in the door and flew at Annie. She reeked of booze, and waved one arm wildly in her direction.
“That’s the woman! She killed my George! Arrest her, Harlin! Don’t let her get away with murder!”
Sheriff Mullin instantly inserted himself in front of Annie and brought Myrna’s hands down and behind her back.
“Calm down, Myrna. Let’s go someplace where you can tell me all about it.” The sheriff nodded toward Annie. “You’d better go, Ms. Carson. But remember, don’t leave town just yet.”
Annie numbly walked out of the building and back to her truck. The full strength of the sun bore down on her, crushing her energy and her spirits. She felt as if she were in her own personal episode of The Twilight Zone, stuck in a town that she could never leave. And now Myrna Fullman was back in it. Maybe the woman truly believed Annie had killed George. Or maybe she was just trying to pin the blame on her to cover her own tracks. Wherever the truth lay, one thing was certain. Annie had just made an enemy, and one who controlled the destiny of the horses Annie desperately wished to take home.
CHAPTER 17
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AUGUST 12
Annie had never been one to sit still for long, and waiting in her motel room for a deputy to show had gotten old, quickly. While she’d been with the sheriff, Jessica had texted her both the claim number and the name of her insurance agent. Annie had promptly filled out the incident report, making it clear that photos and a video of the damage would be forthcoming. She’d also exchanged texts with Lisa, who reported all the horses were healthy and frisky, and boy was it hot—the thermometer by the barn tipped past eighty degrees yesterday.
You don’t know what hot is, Annie glumly texted back. Can’t wait to return to the Peninsula version. But she was relieved to know all was well in her own horse world and that Lisa was more than content to continue her role as barn matron.
Now there was nothing to do except wait, which was excruciating. She snagged a copy of the local newspaper, a weekly that reminded her of the one in her own hometown that reported mostly local news. George’s death had made the front page, although the only photo was of a much younger George, taken somewhere other than the feedlot. She scanned the article for her name. Thankfully, it did not appear. Myrna was mentioned as George’s wife, but nothing was said about her being a missing person. Annie figured she was one of the few people who knew the grieving widow had recently returned, alive and drunk. She noted with amusement that Sheriff Mullin had characterized the feedlot owner’s death as “a tragic accident.” Annie knew from Dan Stetson that what a sheriff fed the local press was often a cover for the real investigation being done.
Annie badly wanted to talk with Dan. She was well accustomed to sharing information and theories about cases with the sheriff, and she yearned to tell him her suspicions about Myrna and what she’d learned about the pilot, Danny Trevor—if he didn’t already know. But she also knew that
while she was still a suspect in George’s death, any conversation she had with the Suwana County sheriff might make its way back to Sheriff Mullin. She hadn’t trusted the local sheriff from the beginning, and she sure as hell didn’t now, knowing that at least one of his deputies had been given carte blanche to harass suspects and destroy their property.
So when Dan called an hour into her impatient wait for a deputy to show, she picked up her cell with both relief and concern.
“I just got off the phone with Harlin Mullin,” Dan said abruptly, without waiting for her opening greeting. “What’s this I hear about Jessica’s trailer being smashed up?”
Annie was silent.
“Annie? You there?”
The words came out in a rush.
“Dan, I can’t talk to you. Marcus hired—I hired an attorney yesterday. He’s told me not to talk about the case, not even with you—especially with you, because that might make you a witness later on. I’m sorry.”
She stopped her flow of words, feeling terrible, as if somehow she’d betrayed their friendship.
Dan’s response was uncharacteristically calm.
“Calm down, Annie. I’m not trying to sucker you into a confession to a murder I know you didn’t commit. I just was checking in with Sheriff Mullin to make sure you were okay, and he told me that the horse trailer had been vandalized. We won’t talk about anyone’s dying, or how they might have died. I just want to know what happened to the damn trailer.” As Dan spoke, his voice became louder and more emphatic. It was immensely cheering. Dan was acting more like his normal self.
“Okay, but you’re not going to like it. A bunch of rednecks threatened me last night at a bar, and I’m sure they’re behind the vandalism. One of them was a local deputy who reported back to Mullin, so he must be in on it, too. The trailer looks like a squashed tomato can. It could be totaled for all I know. My attorney read Mullin the riot act this morning, and at least I got my rifle back. Now I’m waiting for a deputy to show up to take a report on the trailer. I just hope it’s not the same guy I saw last night. Oh—and Mullin’s still not giving me permission to go.”
A series of expletives exploded in her ear.
“I knew Mullin was running a bent operation.” Dan’s voice was ominously menacing. “And he’s got no right to keep you there any longer. It’s bull. You may have your Winchester back, but it still may not be enough to protect you from the sheriff’s hoodlums. I want you to come back now, as in immediately. Screw Mullin. And forget the horses. We’ll get ’em later.”
“I can’t do that, Dan. I just can’t. If I don’t take the horses with me, they’ll be sent to slaughter, I know it. If the van comes, and I haven’t taken them, Myrna will pocket the money we’ve given her and put them on the truck.”
Another string of expletives ensued. Annie waited until it subsided and rushed on before she could give Dan a chance to speak.
“What I need most right now is a serviceable trailer. I don’t know if Jessica’s can be repaired in time to be of any use. Hell, I don’t even know yet where to take it for repairs.”
Annie was dangerously close to tears, but she willed herself not to give in. She’d never cried in front of the sheriff, and she intended to keep it that way.
“I can see I’m about as close to changing your mind as I’ve ever been, which is never,” Dan grumbled into her ear. “Since you insist on being so pigheaded, here’s what you need to do. Stop waiting for someone to show up for your report. They’ll show up at nine o’clock tonight if they show up at all. If they do, don’t expect them to be bringing a fingerprint kit or anything. My guess is they’ll pick up your incident report, say thank you very much, and leave. It’ll be a waste of time.”
Annie felt better. At least she didn’t have to sit around anymore. Wolf had assumed they were going on a road trip when he’d hopped into her truck, and she’d recognized his look of disappointment when they’d soon returned to the motel.
“And since you’re so damn insistent on taking the horses with you, get on the horn and find a place where you can get the trailer examined,” Dan continued. “Can it be towed?”
“My attorney told me not to touch anything. But all the tires are flat, so no, I can’t haul it behind my rig. I’ve already called my roadside assistance club, and this is out of their league.”
“Just as well. There might be damage to the undercarriage that would make it unsafe to pull even with a new set of tires. I wish to hell you weren’t doing this alone, Annie. I’ve got half a mind to drive there tonight myself.”
“I’ll be fine, Dan. Marcus gets back from London tomorrow. He’s planning on flying here on Sunday. If I can just get the trailer business sorted out by then, we should be ready to get out of Dodge on Monday.”
“What does Marcus know about fixing horse trailers?”
“Nothing. But he’s a pro at getting people to do what he asks.”
“Sure looks like he’s got you wrapped around his little finger. Or did I get that backwards?”
Annie laughed. She and Dan were talking like the old friends they were. And the subject of murder hadn’t come up once.
* * *
She found what she needed at the local library, an old Carnegie building that she was pleased to notice was several times larger than the sheriff’s digs. A polite young woman directed her to the reference works that might help, then stopped by the desk to whisper her own personal suggestion for finding a good mechanic.
“Have you contacted the local airport?” she whispered to Annie. “They’ve got several excellent mechanics on staff there and just might know who could work on your vehicle.”
What an excellent suggestion, Annie thought, and told her so. And the librarian was right. The head of maintenance informed her he knew precisely who could handle the job, and at a fair price, too.
“But call the shop now,” she was advised. “It’s Friday, and if they’re not busy, the crew may go home early. Tell them Dave from the airport told you to call.”
She reached the owner of the repair shop just in time.
“Andy’s Repair.”
“Do you fix horse trailers?”
“Lady, we fix anything except broken hearts. Now what can I do for you?”
Annie explained and Andy, incredibly, was intrigued by the challenge.
“The problem is that I need to get the show on the road early next week. I’m picking up four horses, and this is the only hauling rig I have with me,” she explained.
“Four horses, you say? Local seller, I assume?”
Last night’s encounter at the bar had convinced Annie that not every person she met in eastern Washington held people who rescued feedlot horses in high regard. She decided to fib.
“Actually, the sellers aren’t from here. They’re in Ellensburg. I dropped off four horses in Spokane earlier in the week and plan to pick up four new ones on the way back. It’s a pretty tight time frame.”
“What needs fixing?”
Finessing the answer to that question was going to be a bit tricky. Annie took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Well, there was a bit of a party going on in the motel room next to mine last night. I complained about the noise, went out for dinner, and when I came back, found that my neighbors had taken a baseball bat to the trailer.”
“Whoa.”
“Yup, they really did a number on it. I think most of it is cosmetic, but I really don’t know. I know all the lights got smashed. Insurance will cover most of it, although I’m happy to cover the cost of repair myself and get reimbursed later. It’s more important to me that I can get back on the road on schedule.”
“Does it need to be towed?”
“Sure does. All the tires are flat.”
“I’m assuming you told the police about it?”
“Oh, yes,” Annie said. “Problem was that the occupants of the room left after they were finished with the trailer.”
“I’m sure the cops got their registration
s from the front desk. Shouldn’t take long to track them down.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure the police will find them in no time.”
* * *
Annie sighed. How had such a simple trip become so utterly convoluted? She was back at the motel, anxiously awaiting the arrival of a thirty-foot flatbed trailer to cart the trailer away and hopefully restore it to good health. She wanted to make this as easy as possible. She’d give Andy her credit card and if he was like most people, he would be happy to accept her story, do the work, and make a lot of money fast. She’d told the mechanic that she’d gladly pay rush rates, as long as the trailer was ready to go by Monday morning. Her biggest concern at the moment was that a deputy would show up just as the trailer was being loaded. She willed the police not to show, as Dan had predicted.
Even Andy was taken aback by the trailer’s appearance.
“I’ve seen a lot of vandalism in my time, but this beats all,” he told Annie. “Just exactly what did you say to those party animals to get them so ticked off ?”
“Just to keep the noise level down,” she replied. “I think alcohol was a factor in their reaction.”
“I guess,” Andy said doubtfully, but turned to the flatbed to lower the ramp.
To Annie’s immense relief, the transfer was made without mishap and without the interference of any law enforcement.
“It doesn’t have to look perfect,” she assured Andy, as he was about to drive away. “It just has to run and be safe to drive on the freeway.”
“Those must be expensive horses that you’re hauling,” Andy said admiringly. “I can’t think of much cargo that’s worth the time and money it’s going to take to get this trailer in shape to haul again.”
“Oh, yes,” Annie told him. “These horses are priceless.”
* * *
She really should call Maria, she thought, but nagging thoughts kept her from picking up her cell and bringing her up to speed. Most of her reticence came from the offhand remark Sheriff Mullin had made to her this morning. Annie interpreted it to mean Maria had once worked at the school but had been laid off, which entirely contradicted what she’d told Annie. She’d been so believable when she regretfully told her she couldn’t be at the feedlot last Wednesday morning, when Annie had expected to load and haul the four horses back to the Olympic Peninsula. In fact, now that Annie remembered that conversation, she realized Maria had actually told Annie when she was expected to be at school—something about 7 AM sharp. What was up with that? If Maria hadn’t wanted to be at the feedlot that morning, why lie about it? It was no big deal.