by Leigh Hearon
Except that maybe it was. Annie now also remembered how Maria had cut off Donny when she’d started to share the story of how she’d jump-started her car that same morning, at “the crack of dawn,” as she’d described it. She’d been about to say where Maria was headed but hadn’t gotten the chance. Was that because she hadn’t been headed toward school, as she’d told Annie? Or was Annie completely overreacting to a perfectly harmless conversation among friends?
Annie thought about all her encounters so far with the woman. She’d been extraordinarily helpful navigating the final negotiations over the horses, and Annie was impressed by her commitment to saving as many feedlot horses as she could. On the other hand, she’d appeared suspiciously quickly after George’s death. And since Annie now assumed she hadn’t been at school, Maria obviously had heard about George’s death from some other source than the school’s police scanner. That was, if she hadn’t killed George herself, waited nearby for Annie, then the sheriff’s office to show up, and returned on a ruse, but really to make sure no incriminating clue still remained. Dan Stetson had told her that killers sometimes did that.
Yet, she’d remained as long as Annie had, and even Dan thought that was highly unusual behavior for a killer. And she obviously had a good relationship with Harlin Mullin. But now that she knew more about the sheriff’s dishonest character, was that a good thing? Who knew what the two of them might have plotted together.
But Maria was a good person, Annie’s conscience kept telling her. She saved horses. She dedicated her life to finding homes for lost and forgotten horses that otherwise would end up on the table in France, Canada, or Mexico. Plus, she’d worked with George and Myrna Fullman for years. Why kill George now? And, frankly, why not kill Myrna instead? If Olivia and Maria could be believed, Myrna was the brains and power behind the operation, and killing her would go a lot further in potentially shutting down the feedlot business. Annie assumed that with Myrna’s return, the feedlot would return to business as usual. Although she was highly curious about where Myrna had taken herself for two full days. Even Sheriff Mullin had to be suspicious about her unexplained absence from home. She hoped that the sheriff was now grilling Myrna in the same interview room she’d uncomfortably inhabited just a few days before.
But Maria’s inconsistencies continued to nag at Annie. What else had Maria said to her—or not said? Well, she’d certainly seemed as surprised as Annie was to learn that Danny Trevor was a hired gun for the local tribe. How believable was that? Maria had been a fixture in the horse-rescue business for years. Surely she would know if Trevor was under contract to help round up wild horses on tribal lands. This was a small community, and Annie knew from personal experience that it was difficult, if not impossible, to keep news like that contained.
And finally, there was Tony. Maria had made a big deal out of confiding in Annie the true nature of their relationship, and Annie had accepted it, hook, line and sinker. But for someone who had carried on a long, albeit long-distance, relationship with a guy she supposedly was nuts about, Maria wasn’t showing a lot of grief or emotion over Tony’s death. Of course, Maria still believed Tony had died in a tragic accident. Unlike Annie, she didn’t know that Trevor’s airplane had been rigged to explode. But still. Annie thought back to those first horrible days following the news about the plane crash. She could not recall seeing a card, a bouquet of flowers, or even a simple phone message from Maria Hernandez during that time. Annie was sure she hadn’t attended Tony’s memorial service. She would have remembered that.
Perhaps she should talk to Tony’s sisters, who might recall meeting Maria at the Bellevue conference for gifted high school students so many years ago. But then, if Maria and Tony had conducted a largely clandestine relationship, the fact that other family members hadn’t been privy to it might not mean a thing.
Annie realized she’d been tearing a flyer touting pizza delivery in thirty minutes or less into little bits. The fragments now littered the pale green carpet below her, and she self-consciously started to pick them up. As she did so, she noticed Wolf. He was looking at her with deep concern in his big brown eyes. Wolf knew his mistress, and for Annie to sit around dejectedly was a clear sign that the planets were misaligned in her private world. He slowly rose to his feet from his new favorite place by the air conditioner, padded over to her, and whined politely for her attention.
She was putty in his hands. She was also tired beyond measure of not getting the real answers to her questions. Perhaps she couldn’t fathom the true nature of Maria Hernandez, at least right now. But maybe she could uncover the secret the local tribe had wanted to share only with George and Myrna Fullman a few days before George’s death. She stood up decisively and grabbed her keys.
“C’mon, Wolf, let’s go. We’ve already seen the nightlife in Loman. Let’s take a walk on the wild side and see what it’s like on the rez.”
CHAPTER 18
FRIDAY EVENING, AUGUST 12
As she drove along the country road heading east, Annie was glad neither Dan nor Marcus was around to tell her this was all a very bad idea. She had no intention of doing anything that would get her any more entangled in George’s murder than she already was. After all, she wanted to go home on Monday, as soon as the trailer was roadworthy. But Olivia’s story about Trevor’s working for the tribe had piqued her interest, and she wanted to know more about the relationship between the natives who lived here and the feedlot owners. She didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. She just wanted to understand.
Wolf’s head was hanging out the passenger window, and Annie had a feeling this was the first time her dog had actually felt cool and comfortable all day. She ruffled his fur. She looked forward to taking him home, where, on a hot day, he could take a splash on the pond on her property and find plenty of cool forest ground to lie upon.
As she approached the Cattle Rustler Café, her stomach predictably reminded her she hadn’t eaten in hours, and Annie was tempted to stop. But the tedium of waiting around had taken up much of the sunlit day, and Annie did not want to squander a second more than she had to. She reached into her glove compartment and found a power bar. Her health-conscious half sister Lavender must have left it there, she thought. Well, it wouldn’t kill her to eat something that was good for her—as long as she consumed a big, juicy hamburger later.
The absence of real mountains on this trip seemed incongruous to Annie, who had grown up with the backdrop of the Olympic National Forest. Still, she enjoyed seeing the sun, now arcing over the western part of the sky, cast its light on the hills and curves of the land in front of her. She passed the road she’d taken to get to the ridge above the wild horse run and decreased her speed. She knew this was the witching hour for deer and other animals and had no desire to encounter one in the center of the road. Two miles in, she saw a highway sign for the tribal center up ahead. She slowed down even more to accommodate any speed limits she might not have seen in her hurry to get where she was going. Remaining a law-abiding citizen was still prominent in her mind.
The town that greeted her was more dismal than the one she’d left. A number of homemade signs heralded the town limits: HUGS, NOT DRUGS, ALCOHOL FREE ZONE, METH MEANS DEATH. Poverty draped this town like a worn, flea-bitten blanket. Most of the residences were old, rusty, unkempt singles and double-wides, set closely together with no apparent property boundaries. The few yards in front of the trailers were sparse patches of dirt dotted by broken and discarded plastic toys. There was not a blade of living grass in sight. Annie looked around for some semblance of industry. She found none. She saw a church, a trading store, and, in the middle of town, a tribal council house that undoubtedly had been built with federal funds and was the best maintained building she’d seen yet. The street running through the gauntlet of shanties and trailers was silent. No one was sitting outside, but then, there were no places to perch, as far as Annie could see. She saw no municipal park where children might play and dogs roam freely. It was a desolate
and profoundly depressing way station, and Annie was beginning to regret her decision to come here.
Still, she had arrived and might as well make the best of it. She peered inside the smoky glass that covered the entryway to the council building. No one was inside. Well, what did she think? It was six o’clock on a Friday evening. Did she expect elders to be sitting around, waiting to answer her questions? She slowly turned and motioned for Wolf to return to the truck. This had been a wild goose chase. The only good it had accomplished was getting her outside the four walls of a too-familiar motel room.
“Can I help you?”
A young man—about fifteen, Annie thought—had come up beside her. He was thin and wore the ubiquitous blue jeans and simple T-shirt that teenagers everywhere chose as their uniform. The only deviation in this boy’s outfit was the red bandana loosely tied around his neck.
He’d spoken slowly and politely. Annie smiled at him.
“Thank you for asking. I was hoping to see someone on the tribal council, but I see everyone’s gone home, probably for the weekend.”
“Yes, nobody’s here. We have a receptionist during the week, but the council only meets on certain days. You have to make an appointment. There’s a certain procedure, and it’s not often easy to get to address our elders.”
The boy said this without inflection, as if this were simply the way of the world, which, Annie realized, it was, at least here on the reservation.
“That’s too bad. I’m only here for a few more days, and I was hoping someone could answer a question for me.”
“What is it?”
The simplicity of his question and his earlier response touched Annie. It was as if he had no guile, no agenda, but simply stated what was true and important. Talking to him was a refreshing change from what she’d encountered with most teenage boys back home.
“It’s a bit complicated,” she told him, smiling again. “If you have a few moments, I’ll tell you. Would you mind if we sat in the shade? I’ve got a dog in my truck who would love to be outside.”
In lieu of answering, the boy simply gestured to a small patio in the back of the council building. There were a few tables and, Annie saw, merciful shade provided by a large overhang.
“Great. Let me get Wolf.”
“You have a wolf ?” This seemed to interest the boy.
“Just a dog named Wolf. But he can be ferocious if he needs to be. He’s come to my rescue more than a few times.”
Wolf bounded out of the truck and up to Annie. He eagerly looked at the boy, sniffed his hands, and promptly sat on his haunches in front of him.
“You passed the test,” she said, jokingly.
The boy didn’t smile back. “I had a dog once. He was killed when I was eight. I called him Roger.”
“Roger? I don’t think I’ve ever known a dog with that name before.”
“I was watching a lot of cop shows back then. The police would always say, ‘Roger this’ and ‘Roger that.’ I thought it was a cool name.”
Annie knew she was not going to ask how the dog had died. She didn’t want to know.
The two sat in opposite chairs on the patio. The merest of breezes fluttered over the patio. Wolf lifted his head from the concrete pavement where he was resting and let it waft over him, his eyes still closed.
“I’m Annie Carson, by the way,” she told the boy, and extended her hand.
“My name’s Colin. My tribal name is Sahale.”
“Pleased to meet you, Colin. Or would you prefer to be called by your native name?”
“Colin’s fine.” He sat quietly in front of her, waiting for her to speak.
“I live on the Olympic Peninsula,” she began. “Our primary tribes are the Quinault, Makah, and S’Kallam.”
The boy nodded. “I have a cousin who’s a Makah. He lives on the ocean.”
Annie nodded in return. “Colin, I came to your part of the world to buy four horses that are for sale in the feedlot in Loman.”
She watched him carefully. She couldn’t imagine it, but if Colin supported rounding up wild horses for slaughter, she wanted to know now. But Colin simply inclined his head slightly. He was not giving her a lot of information to go on.
“A friend of mine was supposed to come with me. He’d flown here earlier to look at the horses. But he was killed in a plane crash coming back, so I’m making the trip alone.”
She waited for a response, any response. But Colin was motionless and gave no hint of whether this was news or not.
“The woman who sold the horses to me—to us—wrote a receipt on the back of an envelope.” She dug it out of her saddlebag purse and handed the Xeroxed copy to Colin so he could easily see the PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL lettering.
“I want to know what secret business the tribe has with these people.” She paused. “It’s very important to me.”
The boy stared at the Xeroxed copy of the envelope, using both hands to hold it. Annie willed herself to be patient as the boy continued to examine the words, as if they held some hidden meaning he could not yet decipher.
Without warning, the boy suddenly crumpled the piece of paper with one fist. The crackling sound of crushed paper startled her and she involuntarily jumped. She stared at Colin.
“Why did you do that?” Annie felt utterly confused.
“Let me ask you something.” The boy looked at her defiantly.
“Go ahead.”
“What was the name of your friend? The one who died in the plane crash?
Annie’s lips felt dry. “Tony. Tony Elizalde.”
The boy looked back at her, his eyes softening a bit.
“Come with me,” he said, rising from the table. Colin self-consciously handed the crumpled paper back to her and Annie accepted it in silence.
She quickly realized that “come with me” really meant for her to drive Colin and herself to a place he wanted her to see. She wasn’t too concerned about her safety. Colin seemed like a nice kid, and his reaction to seeing a letter addressed to the feedlot owners was appropriate—she hoped. Besides, she had Wolf riding shotgun in the extended cab and her own rifle was now firmly affixed to the gun rack above her.
“Hop in,” she said, opening the truck with her key. “I’ll get the air-conditioning going.”
Like Wolf, Colin preferred riding with the window down.
They bumped along the dusty road out of town, backtracking on the same miles Annie had just traversed. Ten minutes of silence passed, until Colin pointed to a small road leading off to the right.
“Turn here,” he said.
The road was marked PRIVATE and was accompanied by another sign that cautioned any trespassers that they would be prosecuted and shot, and not necessarily in that order. But Colin seemed unaffected by the warning, and Annie made no mention of it. The going was rough. Hairpin turns made it difficult to navigate the narrow road, and about a quarter mile in, Colin signaled for her to pull over to a small grove to her left.
“It’s easier to walk from here,” he explained. Annie nodded and locked her truck. Wolf raced on ahead, following the road. Colin strode ahead of Annie, who’d taken the time to pluck two bottles of water out of her cooler. She could barely see the boy and dog up ahead. They were walking quickly, and the heat made Annie’s progress indescribably slow, at least so she thought. Thankfully, the incline turned downward after ten minutes, and for the first time in days, Annie felt as if she was walking in the cool of natural shade. It was wonderful.
She saw Colin and Wolf waiting for her in a small grove of quaking aspen. When she reached them, she handed one bottle of water to the boy, who accepted it with a quick nod of thanks. Annie was pleased to see him offer Wolf a drink from the bottle after he had slaked his own thirst.
“We have to be quiet,” Colin said. “There’s not much of a path anymore. Try not to disturb any rocks. The rattlers like to sleep underneath them.”
Annie hoped that Wolf had absorbed this advice as well. Letting the boy and Wolf pre
cede her, she left the shade of the trees and began to carefully pick her way through the exposed scrub before her. Going downhill was almost worse than uphill, she thought. There were no branches to hold on to, and the path, such as it was, afforded no level purchase. Once he’d reached the bottom, Colin held out one hand and guided Annie to the edge of a small stream that had largely dried up. He put one finger to his lips, the universal sign for silence. Annie nodded. All she could hear were the click and buzz of insects in the distance and the sound of Wolf’s panting breath. Colin walked along the side of the creek, his worn sneakers making no sound. Annie tried to emulate him with less success. Wolf easily trotted alongside them, his big paws noiseless.
When Colin squatted, Annie immediately followed his move while automatically reaching out for Wolf to still him. She held her breath and looked at where Colin had trained his eyes. She knew in an instant that what she was seeing was both sacred and secret.
Before them, in a sylvan glen, grazed a family of horses. The herd was smaller in size than the one Annie had seen streaming through the canyon days before. A black mustang stallion stood vigil on a small rise behind the herd, while several mares and their foals grazed below on nubs of brown vegetation. One of them, a pinto, was clearly pregnant. She was significantly underweight, Annie saw, and that made her condition more obvious. Her stomach was pendulous in comparison to the rest of her body, and Annie observed hollows on both sides of her tail, evidence that foaling could be only days away. She looked inquiringly at the boy.