Reining in Murder

by Leigh Hearon

“Why is that?”

  “Because the bills of sales are final. Once the horses leave the property, they no longer have the consideration of those who once owned them.”

  “Where did Hilda acquire her lists of prospective buyers?”

  “Everywhere. If you are in the business, you know.” Todos smiled at Annie. She felt his condescension practically dripping off his face.

  “Well, you may know that Señor Colbert had asked me to find new homes for Hilda’s stable,” she said stiffly. “If you have any ideas of prospective buyers, I would like to hear about them.”

  “I will do so,” Todos said. He shifted in his chair. “And how is the bay? Would you not like to return him to his home? We can easily accommodate him here. You must admit, Señora Carlson, that his living quarters would be much improved.”

  She was so angry that she didn’t stop to think.

  “I think not. Señor Colbert specifically hired me to take care of Trooper, and until he tells me not to, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “Trooper? You know the horse’s name?”

  Annie froze. Would Todos know that she had confessed about taking the papers from Hilda’s dead hands? No, there was no way Dan or Tony would have shared that bit of information outside the office.

  “I read it in his file.”

  “Aha. I think for a minute that you have seen his papers. Did you know we are missing his papers, Señora Carlson?”

  Annie felt a cold sweat rise up underneath her farm shirt.

  “Really? Well, I’m sure Sheriff Stetson will be able to find them.”

  “And who will ride him? Are you exercising him, Señora Carlson? He needs to be ridden on a regular basis, you know, or he will not be so valuable when it comes time to sell him.” Todos looked genuinely concerned for the horse’s physical regime.

  Annie bit her lip. Todos was right. Trooper did need regular exercise. She vowed she would start riding him, immediately. But she also vowed she would not tell Todos that Marcus had deeded Trooper to her.

  “The bay is doing fine. But thanks for expressing your concern.” She could not have sounded icier if she’d been Hilda’s twin sister.

  Todos got up from his chair and went to the door.

  “Please let me know if I can be of assistance in any way, Señora Carlson.” Todos again sounded excruciatingly polite. “Perhaps it would be easier for you if I take on the task of selling the horses. I have done so, many times. You need only ask.”

  It was all she could do not to hurl the Remington statue paperweight on Hilda’s desk after him. If Deputy Lindquist hadn’t been in the process of relocking the door, she just might have.

  * * *

  Annie stared at the stacks of paper in front of her, but the files on Hilda’s exquisite herd no longer interested her. Now that she’d been unmasked as a complete ignoramus when it came to the “business” of horses, horses that had been entrusted to her care, she felt like hiding underneath the table rather than continuing her education. But she owed it to Marcus, who foolishly thought she’d been up to the task of making sure the horses went to good homes. She couldn’t stop now. Her pride was at stake. What was left of it, anyway.

  She stood up, stretched her back, and walked over to the credenza in the back of the room. Deputy Lindquist was once again hunched over his reading material. She squatted, opened the first drawer in front of her, and resolutely got to work.

  An hour later, Deputy Lindquist informed her that her time was up. She docilely followed him out of Hilda’s office, meekly accepted the keys to her truck he handed her, and drove slowly off the property. She regretted not taking the time to find Dan to have him confirm that no news was good news, but there were more important things to do now.

  She eased down the highway, driving a steady fifty miles an hour, until she reached the bend in the road that signified the hind end of the Thompsons’ farm, where her sheep were temporarily pastured. The Thompsons raised root crops, all of which had long been harvested, but the rich soil and remaining nutrients were exactly what her small flock needed before lambing season. Johan Thompson appreciated having his land “rototilled” before spring; Annie was delighted that her own sheep pasture had the winter months to green up and be ready for the burgeoning brood that would be born just a few weeks hence. She parked her truck on the side of the road and sat for a few minutes, her eyes straining to see the flock that somewhere was feeding on the tail ends of turnips, beets, and rutabagas. Failing to see a fluffy tail in sight, she dug underneath her seat until she unearthed a pair of binoculars. It took a few minutes, but she eventually espied the not-so-pristine white coats of the Rambouillets. They were clustered together, heads intent on cropping nutrients from the ground, and looked healthy and content. None of them were bending at the knees yet—a sure sign that birthing was imminent.

  But she realized it was getting to the time to start preparing for their reentry onto her farm, not to mention readying and mending the birthing pens. And that was only one of many tasks ahead. Shearing still had to take place, and after that, skirting the fleece—the process of removing dung tags left near the tail and other extraneous matter by hand.

  She sighed, replaced the binoculars in their case, and calculated in her head how much board she’d need to buy from Cenex. And what wiles it would take to get Lavender to help. That is, if Lavender’s month wasn’t up by the time the lambs were born.

  Now that she was assured of her sheep’s good health, Annie pulled out the manila file she’d stuffed inside her own sheep-lined coat. She gave an unnecessary furtive look around her to make sure she was alone. Lavender had developed an irritating habit of frequently and thoughtlessly rummaging through Annie’s clothes and bathroom supplies to find whatever she needed. It reinforced Annie’s resolve that no other human’s presence would interfere with her ability now to fully savor what she’d found in the last drawer of the credenza, underneath a stack of old horse magazines. She’d only had time to scan the correspondence that lay within, but it was enough to tell her that she was on to something.

  She sped read what she’d found and she’d been right. The letter exchange inside the folder was a gold mine, and had to be a significant clue into Hilda’s death. The exchange began back in 2010, when Travis Latham, a well-to-do investment banker in the county, had made what he considered a successful bid on the property Hilda had ended up buying. According to Latham, the offer had been accepted and he’d already secured financing for the balance of the selling price. A week later, Hilda countered at double the price. The owners, naturally, had accepted her offer. Latham’s real-estate agent had raised quite a ruckus—in fact, half the letters to Hilda came from the agency, the other half from Latham—but the owners and Hilda had stood firm. The owners, apparently, had never signed on the dotted line, or if they had, no one was able to establish that they did. In every letter, Latham threatened to sue. Hilda’s lawyers, all out-of-state, Annie noticed, threatened to countersue. But what Annie found most interesting was the last letter in the file, in which Latham threatened unspecified ways to do damage to Hilda if she didn’t withdraw her bid immediately:

  “If you continue to ignore the real-estate laws that exist in the state of Washington, I will destroy you,” read Latham’s letter. “Your business will be dead before it starts. I will see to it that no horse makes its way onto your property. Consider yourself properly warned.”

  Annie read the letter three times. Something was stirring inside her brain. What was it? What seemed so familiar? She strained but couldn’t make a connection. Giving up, she turned the key in the truck’s ignition and headed for home.

  It was only when she’d consumed her second sausage that evening, under the distinctly disapproving eyes of Lavender, that it suddenly made sense. Latham had used much of the same language that Marcus had used in his last voice message to Hilda.

  But was this good news? Latham might have followed through on his threat and been responsible for Hilda’s death.
But the similarity between his letter and the words on the digital voice message were too close for comfort. Had Marcus known Latham? Had they worked together, and Latham had then killed Marcus because he knew too much?

  It was too much for Annie’s brain to take in. She mentally added another question to the ones she wished she could ask Marcus. Then she reached for another sausage.

  CHAPTER 15

  SUNDAY, MARCH 6TH

  Gazing at the pelting rain in her pasture, Annie wondered how Judith Clare possibly survived these kinds of days. With five children under the age of ten, Judith must use every ounce of ingenuity to keep her family entertained inside without losing her cool. Annie wasn’t doing as well. All she had were two puppies, one dog, one kitten, a half-witted half sister, and she was ready to go ballistic.

  “Stop harassing the puppies!”

  Lavender looked up, bewildered. “I’m only playing with them, Sister. They need attention from humans, you know.”

  “Well, one has just vomited all over the floor, in case you hadn’t noticed. Try not to get them so excited. Puppy chow isn’t cheap.”

  Lavender turned back to her charges with a childish pout. Wolf, Annie noticed, was hiding in the corner, looking, as only a dog can, thoroughly disgusted. Max, the kitten, was conspicuously absent. Annie knew he would emerge if, and only if, the house subsided into relative calm.

  Midmorning, Annie had finally announced she would be in her room, where she intended to work undisturbed. It was a lie. The only work she possibly could have done in her bedroom was to clean up the clothes strewn on the floor from the past week and take a well-oiled cloth to her dusty bureau and bedstand. Both were admirable rainy-day activities, but Annie was not the least bit interested. Instead, she read through the Latham/Colbert correspondence for the fifth time. She’d practically memorized the letters, which was a good thing, because she realized she shouldn’t have them in the first place.

  In the middle of the night, she’d awakened with the sinking feeling that once again, she had screwed up. Dan’s words came floating through her brain: “I promise no one will look over your shoulder if you promise that you’ll make copies of anything you want and leave the originals.”

  Well, Deputy Lindquist had certainly fulfilled his end of the bargain. She, on the other hand, had furtively—and stupidly—simply pocketed the file and left with it. But it wasn’t my fault, the evil-twin side of her brain insisted. I was getting the bum’s rush to leave. Nonsense, the rational, mature side of her brain responded. All you had to do was ask for two more minutes to make copies. Get real.

  Annie sighed. Good Angel’s logic notwithstanding, she’d be hanged if she was going to ’fess up to Dan Stetson. She would simply have to find a way to undo the damage.

  Reaching for the phone, she resolutely punched in Dan’s cell phone number. She was prepared to be totally obsequious in order to gain access again to Hilda’s ranch. She imagined Dan there now, covered in mud and soaked to the bone, barking out orders to deputies who probably looked like tin hats building trenches in preparation for the Battle of the Somme.

  Instead, she heard the distant roar of a sports game and an announcer’s excited pronouncements after Dan picked up the phone.

  “What’s up, Annie?” Dan sounded surprisingly peaceful.

  “Some weather we’re having, huh?” Annie regretted using such a trite opening, but having caught Dan at home, she wasn’t sure how to begin.

  “Yup. Makes me glad the county decided not to pay for more overtime. Supposed to let up by Monday. But I hear on the news that the Big Squill River is rising and might flood the folks down near Garver’s Corner before end of day. In which case, I’ll be pulling on my boots and hauling sandbags with the rest of them. But you didn’t call me to ask about the weather, did you, Annie?

  “No.”

  “To answer your question, we haven’t found a body on Hilda’s ranch. But we’re not done looking.”

  “How much longer do you think it’ll take to search?” Annie could hear the tension in her voice. She hoped Dan didn’t.

  “One more good day. I still maintain it’s a long shot, but it had to be done. We’re trying to level the areas we’ve dug, but we can only do so much on our meager budget. Too bad Hilda isn’t still around. We’ve already dug the foundation for that tennis court she probably wanted.”

  Annie laughed. “Why, Dan Stetson! I believe you’re getting back your sense of humor.”

  “Here I sit, feet up in my easy chair watching the game, a bowl of chips in one hand and a beer in the other. You know what Dory would say if she could see me now?”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “I’m happy as a pig in a poke. This bachelor life is growing on me. If I could just train the dog to do the dishes.”

  “That’s why God made dishwashers, Dan.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to have to figure out how to use it one of these days.”

  Annie fleetingly felt a small pang of sympathy for Dory Stetson even while acknowledging how badly she’d behaved exiting the marriage. Taking care of Dan could not have been easy. Or particularly fun over time, once the honeymoon was over.

  “Uh, Dan? My work at the ranch isn’t quite over yet, either. I didn’t have time to make copies of the horses’ files, which I’ll need if I’m to find new owners for them.”

  “What’s the hurry? It’ll take months to settle Hilda’s estate, and that won’t even start until we get a copy of her revocable trust. Hell, the coroner only declared her officially dead last Thursday.”

  “I know, but eventually her estate will settle, and I need to be on top of the game.”

  In the background, Annie heard the doorbell ring.

  “Hold on, Annie. Someone’s at the door. If it’s the Girl Scouts, I’m buying six boxes of the caramel kind. Hold on.”

  Annie waited patiently until Dan got back. She heard a ragged sigh as he again picked up the phone.

  “Per usual, her timing is perfect.”

  “What are you talking about, Dan?”

  “I’ve just been served. With divorce papers. Right in the middle of the Lakers game. If that don’t beat all. She planned this.”

  He was going to cry, Annie thought. She’d heard the pre-emptive noises before.

  “I’m so sorry, Dan. Do you want me to come over?”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine. And if you want to come out again on Monday, be my guest. Just let me know what you’re copying.”

  She heard a muffled sniff as he hung up.

  * * *

  Now Annie felt thoroughly guilty and frustrated. She’d misled Dan again, the second time in the past two weeks she’d ever acted anything less than honorably toward him. That was bad enough. But now she had to wait an entire day to rectify matters.

  She glanced at the clothes on the bedroom floor that badly needed to be washed and the horse magazines on her bedstand that had yet to be read. She wavered for a moment; maybe housework would get rid of her funk. Suddenly, she was aware that the house was strangely silent. This could not be good.

  She found the two Belgian pups once again ensconced under the kitchen woodstove and Wolf snoozing nearby. Lavender was at the counter, tunelessly humming as usual, both hands immersed in Annie’s pot roaster. Surely she wasn’t concocting yet another vegetarian casserole. Annie thought she’d made herself quite clear the previous day. No, the smell was too pungent. Lavender’s casseroles, she’d noticed, erred on the side of healthful blandness.

  “What’s for lunch, Lavender? Tree bark?” Being a Bad Girl had put her in a bad mood.

  “Very funny.” Lavender’s humming stopped.

  “Sorry,” Annie said, almost sounding as if she meant it. She walked over to the counter. “Smells like cedar.”

  “It is cedar.”

  “Oh.” Something stirred in Annie’s memory.

  “Um, you’re not going to spread that stuff around the house, are you, Lavender?”

  Lavender turned to her and
gave an exasperated sigh.

  “Of course I am. It’s part of the smudging ceremony.”

  “Great. I’ll be following you with the fire extinguisher.”

  “I’m just releasing the smoke, for heaven’s sake, not scattering burning needles. The only thing I’ll be spreading in our home is cornmeal.”

  “Cornmeal? In our house?” Annie was so flabbergasted that she momentarily forgot to correct Lavender’s presumptive remark. She glared at her half sister. “We both live here, as you well know. But the last time I looked, Anne Marie Carson was the only person on the property title.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sister. I didn’t travel all across the country to watch your life disintegrate because unwanted spirits have taken up residence in your home. I am trying to get rid of all the negative energy. I’m trying to help you. Don’t you get it?”

  The only unwanted spirit who’d taken up residence that Annie could see was standing right in front of her. She silently counted backward from twenty, the days remaining when her half sister’s lease ran out. Lavender serenely continued to bundle sprigs of cedar with twine she’d obviously found in Annie’s all-purpose tool drawer.

  For a brief moment, Annie envied her half sister’s oblivious disconnect with reality. The moment passed. It was time to get Lavender in sync with the real world.

  “Okay, Lavender. Here’s the deal. You can smudge my house. But first you have to help me outside with the horses.”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  “No, Lavender, it’s our job,” Annie replied. She didn’t bother hiding her irritation. “Since you consider this our home, then all the animals that live at our home are your concern, too. Look outside. It’s been pouring for the last three days. The pasture is a soggy mess. The horses have been standing in water for days now, and I’m concerned about their hooves. This is the perfect time for thrush.”

  “Thrush? I thought they didn’t show up until the spring.”

  Annie burst out laughing, but abruptly stopped when she saw Lavender’s face crumple. “Sorry, Lavender, there’s no reason you should know. Thrush is bacteria that grow on horses’ frogs—not the kind you find on lily pads,” she hastened to add. “Frog is what we call the triangular patch on the bottom of their hoof. It sort of acts as a shock absorber.”