Reining in Murder

by Leigh Hearon

  A pause.

  “Yes, I’m sure University of Pennsylvania is a good school as well.”

  A longer pause.

  “I’m not a qualified dressage instructor, but I’m sure your horse will learn to handle the bit without the tooth.” More silence.

  “Of course, that’s up to you. But the horse is in no condition to be moved at present. He’s still under sedation. He really should have time to rest and recover before he’s transported again.”

  Annie stroked the bay, for whom she felt increasingly sorry. “Poor baby,” she whispered. “We promise you’ll have enough teeth left to bite her.”

  Jessica was speaking again.

  “I’m sure Annie will be more than happy to accommodate your feed requirements, but please be aware that your horse will be on a restricted diet for the next few days, in any case, as he recovers from surgery.”

  Annie was humming “Camptown Races” and combing the bay’s mane when Jessica gestured furiously at her.

  “Let’s address that issue after your horse’s health is restored, Mrs. Colbert. And now I’m going to give you back to Annie.”

  Annie gingerly picked up the receiver, hot after the five minutes of chastising she was sure Jessica had just endured.

  “Yes, Mrs. Colbert?”

  “I’m sending my man, Todos, over this afternoon to make sure you’re caring for the horse properly. Todos will inform you when the horse will be transported. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Colbert.” Annie felt she was in second grade again, answering Miss Paul’s question of whether or not she knew when recess ended, which she had learned, to her great surprise, was a nonnegotiable subject.

  “One more thing, Ms. Carson. My equine dentist floated the thoroughbred’s teeth one week before he left Tennessee. Dr. Ted Barnes.”

  Annie had no idea who that was. Hilda Colbert continued. “I’m sure he did an impeccable job. I don’t know what you and your friend think you’re doing, but I am not at all convinced that this procedure is necessary. Therefore, until I learn otherwise, I assume that you will cover all the costs associated with this farm call.”

  “The hell I will!”

  “Annie!” Jessica didn’t waver from her studied gaze into the horse’s mouth, but her voice conveyed her shock.

  “Don’t worry. The old bat hung up before I said it. By the way, it looks like I’m paying you.”

  “Let’s talk about that later. Right now, I need your help.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Jessica tenderly packed the gaping hole where the bay’s tooth had been and handed Annie enough bute to last through the morning.

  “And NO HAY,” she reminded Annie. “Nothing but water tonight. And tomorrow, watered-down pellets. I don’t want to come back here because I hear the guy’s choked.”

  “Got it,” Annie said wearily, while she vigorously massaged her right hand. While Jessica had done the real work, she had been assigned the menial tasks of holding the bay’s head while Jessica administered a nerve block, then the bay’s tongue to one side so it wouldn’t get in the way. It was now late afternoon, and the stalls still hadn’t been mucked. The mere thought of wrapping her hand around the shavings fork made her fingers cramp.

  But at least the bay now had his life force back. He wasn’t going to run around any racetrack, but his head was upright, and his legs no longer worked like a drunken sailor’s. Trotter, the bay’s new best friend, had stood by during the entire operation and now was housed in the adjacent stall, where he contently munched on a flake of pasture hay. It was too bad Trotter ate while the bay couldn’t, but Annie wanted to make sure the bay had company. For some reason, the little donkey had a soothing effect on the thoroughbred.

  Rake in hand, Annie waved good-bye to Jessica from the stable entrance, then, with a sigh, turned, to the daily task in front of her. She wondered, for the millionth time, why she just didn’t hire a horse-crazy teenager from one of the local 4-H clubs to do this odious, not to mention odiferous, job for her? In the early-morning hours after the horses had been turned out, it wasn’t so bad. Rhythmically swinging “horse apples” into the cart as country-western music crackled on the radio behind her was a good way to stretch her muscles and give her time to think about her day.

  Annie’s steadfast belief that no one knew her horses and how to care for their health as well as she did was the real reason she wouldn’t sub out this menial job. Bring a youngster into the mix and they might see the lack of poop in one horse’s stall as a way to leave earlier, not as an early-warning sign of colic. Annie noticed these things—who was cribbing and needed more outdoor time, even if the wildest rainstorm was raging; who wasn’t drinking enough water at night; and who was the most adept at using their lips to garner stray pieces of straw just under the stall door. At the moment, Rover and Trotter were in a dead heat.

  Besides, she took utter heart-melting delight in seeing where each horse (and donkey) had laid its pretty head at night. The straw covering the mats clearly outlined each equine’s position.

  To prolong the inevitable job ahead of her, Annie checked the bay’s bandage one more time to make sure the bleeding had stopped, gently rubbing his neck.

  “You’re a trooper,” she said to the preternaturally quiet bay. “In fact, if you were mine, that’s what I’d call you.”

  She quietly let herself out of the stall and pulled the mucking cart toward the front of the stable row, noting that a little oil on the axle wouldn’t hurt. Well, all in good time. Right now, stalls needed mucking.

  Annie had finished Trotter’s stall and just begun Baby’s when she heard the crunch of tires coming down the driveway. She was glad for the break; even in the dead of winter, she’d peeled down to just a turtleneck and was still sweating. She walked outside to see a tall, lanky cowboy leaning on the paddock fence, one boot hooked over the lowest stile.

  “Nice place you got.”

  His aquiline features were picture-perfect, with a trace of either Hispanic or Native American heritage in them. Black hair fell almost to his shoulders. If not for a small permanent downturn of his mouth, like a perpetual sneer, the cowboy would have been handsome. And he was young, Annie realized. He couldn’t be more than in his mid-twenties.

  Turning his eyes over to Annie, he looked at her shrewdly. She felt slightly uncomfortable without knowing precisely why.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to look at Señora Colbert’s caballo.”

  Of course. This must be Todos. Somehow, despite his name, Annie had expected a young Englishman in jodhpurs, who spoke with a clipped accent. Hilda’s tastes did not run to rodeo events. Todos looked like he could be a champion roper.

  “You must be Todos.” She held out her hand.

  He smiled slowly, saying nothing, and reluctantly gave her a limp handshake.

  “Let me show you the bay.” Annie waited until Todos made the first move toward the stable and followed him in. “He’s in the last stall on the left.”

  Todos slipped into the stall and lightly and expertly ran his fingers over the bay’s body, ending with his face.

  “He’s just come out of surgery, so I wouldn’t touch him too much there.”

  Annie had recently touched him at that precise place, but now she didn’t like the idea of anyone else doing so. The bay stood still, not moving.

  “A bad tooth?” Todos’s question sounded doubtful.

  “Must have happened when the trailer flipped. The tooth was a goner, anyway.”

  Annie received another slow smile. “That so?”

  Annie said nothing.

  “Well, Señora Colbert wants her property home. As soon as possible.”

  Annie felt very defensive. “Vet’s coming by in the morning. I’d wait until she checks in before making a decision on moving him.”

  “You need more boarding fees?”

  Annie’s gut boiled again. What was it about these people so that everything they said e
nraged her? But she was not going to lose it again.

  “Just the time it takes to make sure the surgery’s held, and he’s ready to go . . . to go to his new home.”

  Todos nodded. “Of course. Señora Colbert will call you herself to set up a time. I think around nine. I hope your vet is here before then.”

  As if Jessica could rearrange her already-crammed work schedule to accommodate this bozo! In reality, Jessica probably would be here at seven-thirty, but Annie wasn’t going to tell Todos that.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Annie’s tone of voice implied that she would do nothing at all.

  Todos slipped out of the stall as silently as he’d entered and walked back down the aisle. Annie noted that he hadn’t given the bay a single pat or friendly gesture. He could have been examining a 4-H horse model.

  Suddenly curious, Annie asked, “So what will he be used for?”

  “Eventing. Jumping. That is, if he can compete without his full mouth.”

  “The vet doesn’t think it would matter.”

  “Bueno. Because if a gelding cannot be ridden, there’s not much reason for him to live, is there?”

  Annie managed to keep an impassive face long enough for Todos to get in his truck and drive off the property, then plunked down on a hay bale, put her face in her hands, and sat, quivering, until her breath was under control.

  “God damn that Hilda Colbert to hell,” she muttered. “People like her don’t deserve to live.”

  “Camptown Ladies sing this song—Doo-Dah! Doo-Dah!”

  “Curse that ring tone, too,” Annie grumbled, but managed to pick up the phone on the fourth chorus.

  It was Tony Elizalde, a welcome voice.

  “How’s my beautiful horse?” he asked.

  Annie laughed. Funny how everyone who encountered this hoof-stomping, head-rearing, time-consuming, money-eating beast wanted to take ownership of him.

  She filled Tony in on the latest events, ending with Todos’s visit.

  “I’ve never met the guy, but he’s supposed to be good at what he does,” Tony told Annie. “I hear he’s also the main attraction at the Roadside Tavern on Friday nights.”

  “Well, that may be, but he’s got the personality of a slug. It’s probably why Hilda hired him. Same bloodlines.”

  Tony chuckled. “I sure hope the big guy’s going to be all right. If you need any help, just let me know.”

  Annie thanked him, then asked if there was any news on the accident.

  “Wouldn’t know,” Tony said cheerfully. “That’s the sheriff’s job. I’ve spent the day holed up by the ferry dock, ticketing people who forget to buckle up driving off.”

  “Ah, our taxpayers’ dollars at work,” Annie murmured.

  “Hey, someone’s got to save them from themselves.”

  “I never got the chance to thank you for all your help last night.”

  “No problem. Glad I was around. Maybe I’ll swing by tomorrow morning before work to look in on our wild beast.”

  “Please do. Just don’t kiss him. His mouth’s still a little tender.”

  “I’ll try to control myself.” A squawk emanated in the background. “Gotta go. Weaver on the road.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Annie said into the disconnected line.

  She sighed and turned back to the job at hand. By four-thirty, the shadows on the stable walls lengthened so that Annie was forced to turn on the overhead lights. The winter days were getting longer, but not by much.

  When she finally emerged from the stable, a soft darkness filtered across the farm landscape. A long thread of horses outlined the paddock fence, ghostlike in the rising fog. Low-throated nickers told her they were ready for their evening meal.

  “Come and get it, guys.”

  Suddenly a small, spritelike figure popped up amid the mist.

  “Annie! Annie! Where’s your new horse?”

  Hannah Clare skipped forward and fluidly slid between the fence stiles. “I heard all about it, Annie! Where is he? Where is he?”

  Eight-year-old Hannah was the eldest of five children who lived with her parents down the road. For reasons unknown to her, Annie had been adopted as Hannah’s play aunt. It was not for Annie’s massive efforts to be a Big Sister. Hannah had simply appeared one day and decided Annie was her new best adult friend. Annie hadn’t said otherwise. From then on, Hannah was a frequent visitor to Annie’s farm, showing up after school and sometimes buzzing in before breakfast.

  Annie wasn’t a patsy—she’d made sure that Hannah knew all about horse safety before letting her near the animals—but the little girl had proven to be a smart, savvy youngster to whom the horses naturally gravitated.

  “He’s back here, Hannah, but speak softly—he’s just had a visit from the dentist.”

  “Ouch.” Hannah instinctively brought her hand to her face, where new, pink braces recently had been installed.

  Hannah tiptoed with great exaggeration to the bay’s stall, where she stared at him with such intense longing that Annie couldn’t help but fulfill the youngster’s wish.

  “Okay, Hannah, go on in. But no carrots. He’s still finding his way around and can’t eat just yet.”

  Hannah didn’t wait for Annie to open the gate. With the enviable agility of a small child, she slipped through and crept toward the bay, which looked at her with curious interest.

  “He’s beautiful, Annie,” Hannah breathed.

  “Isn’t he though.”

  They stood in companionable silence until Hannah tentatively, then eagerly, stroked his mane.

  “Is he yours?”

  Annie could hear the hopefulness in the child’s voice. So far, Hannah had ridden Bess, Annie’s ancient Morgan, but the languid stroll the horse produced was hardly up to Hannah’s idea of cowgirl fun.

  “No, Hannah, he’s not,” Annie said firmly. “He belongs to someone else. I’m just taking care of him right now until his owner can come get him.”

  Hannah’s downcast face was palpable in its misery.

  “And that’s tomorrow,” Annie added. “But I do think it’s time you had a turn on Sam. Why don’t you come back tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll saddle up old Sam and see if he remembers how to trot?”

  Hannah could barely contain herself. “Really?”

  “Really. I’ll have his saddle out by the time you get out of school, all ready for you.”

  “But, Annie!” Hannah was hopping on one foot with agitation. “You know I can’t saddle a horse alone!”

  “You want to ride Sam?”

  Hannah nodded vigorously.

  “Then you’re going to have to figure out a way to saddle him. Of course, I’ll help.”

  All this animated conversation had awakened the bay from the lingering effects of the anesthesia. A deep rumble rose from his chest, and he brushed his face across Hannah’s chest.

  “Oh, Annie! I love Sam, really I do! But I really, really want to ride this one!”

  * * *

  While shedding her barn clothes inside the farmhouse door, Annie was greeted by an exuberant Wolf, whose whole rear end seemed to shiver in delight. She ruffed up his fur, letting him slobber all over her. It was the least she could do for a dog who’d been cooped up all day to make sure a guest horse wasn’t further traumatized. Glancing at her clock, Annie noted with surprise that it was close to eight. The horses had been fed, and the farm was ready to shut down for the night. Usually, this would have been accomplished two hours earlier.

  Padding comfortably into the kitchen in her socks, Annie dumped Alpo into Wolf’s bowl and headed to the kitchen cabinet, where her coveted Glenlivet was stored. After pouring herself a severe jigger, she headed to a rocking chair inside her small living room. She thought about turning on the news, then thought better of it. Better to inhale the fumes of single malt scotch and scratch Wolf’s ears.

  The landline beside her rang shrilly. Annie didn’t have the benefit of changing this ring tone, but even if she had, she was sure s
he it would not be the rousing chorus of “Camptown Ladies.”

  She plucked up the phone, buoyed by the sudden warmth that good scotch had poured through her body. “Annie speaking.”

  “Sheriff Dan at your beck and call.”

  “Dan! My man! What’s the news, oh arbiter of justice and shedder of light?” Annie realized she’d probably inhaled a little bit more scotch than she’d thought.

  “Wish I was there, Annie, wish I was there. Is this the first jigger or the second?”

  Annie sat up straight, any transient buzz gone. “What’s the news?”

  “Wayne Johnston got a major slug of GBH, otherwise known as the ‘date rape drug,’ within an hour of his death. There was no deer on the road. Just a man pulling a trailer who’d been doped out of his mind and crashed.”

  “So . . .”

  “So we’re classifying it as a homicide, Annie. And that horse you’ve been caring for is now considered a material witness.”

  CHAPTER 5

  TUESDAY MORNING—WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, FEBRUARY 22ND AND FEBRUARY 23RD

  Annie looked up from the bay’s mouth, frosted with wet, warm bran mash, as a fleet of cars rumbled into her driveway. Nudging the horse’s mouth away, she placed the feed tub on the stall floor. The bay’s long neck followed in one fluid motion with not a flicker of interest in Annie.

  The quiet munch-munch of horses eating their morning hay followed her as she walked to the stable door.

  “Dan! Jessica! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people at my house at once!”

  “And I hate to break it to you, Annie, but we’re not even here to see you. It’s that pile of horseflesh that interests us.”

  Annie laughed. “Better look quick, Dan, because Hilda’s minions are going to show up any moment and haul him away.”

  “That’s just what I’m counting on. I need to talk to both her and her man.”

  Annie and the sheriff walked down to the bay’s stall. Jessica, who had ignored all the banter, was already listening carefully to the horse’s gut with her stethoscope.

  “He looks good, Annie.”

  “Yeah, and notice his appetite.” Annie was unconscionably pleased that the bay was straining to get to the uneaten portion of her mash, now placed outside the stall door.