by Leigh Hearon
“There ought to be a test for parenting,” Annie said gloomily.
“Yup,” Dan replied. “But you know our elected officials would never stand for it. They’d claim it interfered with citizens’ ‘free will’ or something.”
Annie chose not to respond. She and Dan were polar opposites when it came to politics, and she knew from experience that any attempt to alter Dan’s way of looking at the world was futile. She opted for more neutral ground.
“Why’s he still living with the family?”
“He won’t be much longer. The kids are having a Mac Meal with the guardian ad litem right now. As soon as we pull out of the driveway, I’m to alert Jim. The punch-happy dad’ll be in custody a few minutes later.”
“I can’t believe the mule is the only animal on the place.”
“’Course not. There’s a couple of pit bulls, a handful of cats, and I believe a parakeet.”
“Swell. And remind me again why Sheriff Bruscheau is making this our problem?”
“The miscreant father is his brother.”
Annie sat in stunned silence for a moment. Dan continued.
“Jim’s recused himself from the criminal investigation, of course. He and his wife plan on taking in the three girls, and the smaller animals will go with them. But the wife drew the line at the mule.”
“Probably the most well behaved of the lot.”
“Now, Annie, that’s not fair.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve had years of comparing children to four-footed animals, and the animals always come out on top.”
“Well, Jim wanted to keep this as quiet as possible, so he asked me, rather than the Harrison County animal rescue team, to pick up the mule. Apparently the kids are crazy about the animal. Jim’s hoping Susan will soften over time; he lives on fifteen acres himself and could easily build a stable for it. If not, then we’ll find a good home for the nag on our side of the water.”
“How much are we paying? And who’s footing the bill?”
“Jim authorized me to go as high as two thousand dollars. It’ll come out of his pocket.”
“That must be one good-looking mule.”
* * *
An hour later, Annie cautiously pulled onto a nondescript dirt road in the poorest rural area of Harrison County. She couldn’t help but notice the signs declaring that trespassers would be shot and that vicious dogs freely roamed the area. Annie gave Dan an uneasy sideways glance.
“Does Mr. Bruscheau know we’re coming? The bad brother, I mean. Or, perhaps I should say, the less bad of the two.”
“Nope.” Dan didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic himself. He unconsciously put his hand on the Glock hitched to his belt.
“Great. You do the talking and I’ll take the mule.”
“Deal.”
They silently drove along a long, bumpy road, made more difficult to traverse by fallen branches from a recent windstorm and sloping tree limbs that should have been trimmed back years ago.
“Slow down.” Dan leaned forward. “Jim said to look for the driveway with the Christmas tree lights on the mailbox.”
“Of course.” Annie, who hadn’t bothered to put up a wreath at her own home since her mother died, was baffled by the number of local residents who thought Christmas lights should be displayed all year round.
“There it is.” Dan pointed to a mailbox on the left-hand side, festooned with tiny bulbs.
“I don’t suppose you checked to see if this guy has a concealed weapons permit.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He doesn’t. But that’s only because he’s got a bunch of DUIs and an assault conviction. Couldn’t get one if he tried. But I won’t be surprised if he displays a shotgun or two. Maybe even an illegal assault weapon.”
“How reassuring.”
Annie glanced back at Wolf in his crate. He’d come to her rescue not long ago, and she had no doubt he would again, if the need arose. He was standing up now, tongue out and panting, intuiting that his mistress was finally arriving at her destination, where he was sure fun abounded. Annie wished she could be as delusional as her dog.
A dingy double-wide appeared in her vision; judging by its dilapidated condition, she was sure it contained mold and other noxious substances. She hoped there wasn’t a meth lab in one of the nearby shacks, ready to blow if someone lit a match. A muddy pasture, ringed with barbed wire and posts of various lengths, stretched from a sunken backyard patio to the rim of the ever-present forest. Loud, aggressive barking permeated the air. Annie immediately decided to keep Wolf in his crate.
“Let’s get this over with.” Dan heaved himself out of the truck and stood up straight, arching his back. Male posturing, pure and simple, Annie thought with amusement, but she was glad he was along and fully armed. Her own Winchester was in her truck’s gun rack, but she had no desire to provoke what undoubtedly would be a stressful encounter with the owner.
He appeared now, opening a sagging screen door. Predictably, he had a shotgun slung through one arm.
“Larry Bruscheau?” Dan strode toward the trailer with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“You’ve found me.” A sideways stream of tobacco juice hit the ground.
“I hear you’ve got a mule for sale.”
“Where’d you hear that? And who the hell are you?”
“I’m Dan Stetson, sheriff over in Suwana County. Your brother told me you were looking to sell the animal. I’m interested in acquiring it.”
“Well, you heard wrong. None of my animals is for sale.”
This is going to be tough, Annie thought. She certainly didn’t envy Dan his job.
The incessant, angry barking of the pit bulls within the double-wide continued unabated. Meanwhile, Wolf was vociferously announcing his displeasure at being locked up in his crate. Their combined conversation was not helping the atmosphere.
“Well, Mr. Bruscheau, we can handle this one of two ways—the hard way or the easy way. The hard way is that I serve you with these papers from the county giving me the right to take your mule because too many neighbors have complained about the way you don’t take care of it. That means you get fined, possibly charged with animal neglect, and never see that mule again. The easy way is to sell the mule to me, and when you’ve proven to me that you’re capable of taking care of the nag in a proper environment, I might sell it back to you. I might even give you a deal. What do you say?”
“It ain’t a nag. It’s a mule. And that makes it a hell of a lot smarter than you are.”
A loud whinny, ending in a long hee-haw that Annie’s donkey, Trotter, would have envied, echoed off the falling-down lean-to that Annie imagined passed as a shelter. She wanted to leave this unpleasant tête-à-tête and check out the mule, but she knew that if she took one step forward, she’d be technically trespassing and probably in the crosshairs of the man’s shotgun.
“Mr. Bruscheau, we have to make a decision here. And I’d like to do it without any further fuss. So put down your shotgun and let’s talk like reasonable men.”
“What’s reasonable to me is that you get off my property.”
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Mr. Bruscheau. Put down your shotgun and let’s decide what we’re going to do.”
Mr. Bruscheau glanced down at his shotgun and ratcheted back the loader.
“Put the shotgun down! Now!”
Dan had raised and pointed his Glock at the man faster than Annie had ever seen the sheriff move. Cold sweat ran down her back. This was serious. She now wished she’d gotten her Winchester out of her truck. Her feet seemed rooted to the ground, unable to move.
Larry Bruscheau gazed at Dan for what seemed an interminable time. Finally, he gave a short shrug of his shoulders and placed the shotgun on the ground. Dan was up in front of him in two strides and kicked the shotgun away. Annie ran over and picked it up. It was a. 30-.30 Winchester, just like hers, oiled and ready for action.
“Turn around! Get on the ground!” Dan caught him by the back ru
ff of his shirt and slung him to the ground. Larry emitted a short hunff. Annie suspected the wind had just been knocked out of him.
She’d never been present when Dan made an arrest, and she wordlessly watched him frisk the man, find and pocket a small handgun from his boot, and handcuff him to one of the barbed wire fences. If he tried to get away now, Annie was sure he’d get cut. She was impressed at Dan’s ability to subdue and control Larry so quickly. All she could subdue and control were horses—although she generally was a lot nicer about it.
“One second, Annie.” Dan trotted back to her F-250 and made a call from inside the cab. She had no doubt he was calling Sheriff Bruscheau, to let him know that he’d just corralled the subject and had read him his rights.
“Well, Mr. Bruscheau,” he said, walking up to the man, who now crouched on the ground, his left arm hanging to the rail, “I guess we’re going to do this the hard way.”
CHAPTER 4
TUESDAY AFTERNOON AND EVENING, MAY 3
Thirty minutes later, Dan and Annie were back on the road, now with an 800-pound mule in their tow. Annie could see why the three young girls in the family doted on the animal. True to her breed, she was intelligent and even-tempered. She’d loaded without balking and did not wish her previous owner a single hee-haw good-bye, although in truth her signature song was somewhere between a neigh and a donkey’s bray. It was lovely, Annie thought.
Larry was of absolutely no help—not that he could be much, attached to a barbed wire fence. But he obviously thought exercising his right to remain silent extended to Annie. Her queries of when the mule had been last vaccinated and had had its hooves trimmed were met with stony silence. It didn’t matter. One look at the mule’s hooves made it clear that the last time a farrier had paid a call was long ago; its toe ends curled up off the ground and were chipped in several places. Any hoof trimming, she suspected, had been done by her owners, randomly, and with no particular skill.
She’d discovered the mule’s name only by espying a worn halter hanging on a nail in the sagging lean-to. The name “Molly” had been childishly scrawled with a black felt marker on front, and the headpiece was adorned with faded ribbons. This meant the mule was the offspring of a mare and a jack, or male donkey. It also meant it was unlikely that Molly had ever given birth to another mule, and judging by her teeth, any gestation cycles now were few and far between. The price Sheriff Bruscheau was willing to pay for the animal was far more than what a reasonable person would consider fair value; for the first time, Annie thought Dan’s competitor might have a heart after all. As expected, he was not present when Harrison County vehicles swooped in seconds after Molly was safely parked in Annie’s trailer.
A mile from the Worden Canal Bridge, a flashing highway sign blinked a discouraging digital message: BRIDGE CLOSED FOR MARINE CROSSING. Annie sighed, eased her truck into the long line of cars in front of her, and turned off the engine. Depending on the agility of the ship’s navigator, bridge closures could last as long as an hour.
Dan took the unexpected break to call the Sheriff’s Office to describe his daring exploits in loud and expressive terms to Esther, the sole 911 operator in Suwana County and Dan’s personal girl Friday. Esther, who’d just turned seventy-three, apparently was a very good listener. Annie, unimpressed, climbed out of the cab to check on Molly. The mule seemed unconcerned about the unexpected delay, and more intent to demolish the bag of hay Annie had put inside the trailer. Returning to the truck, she discovered that Dan had rolled down the passenger window and was still on an exuberant roll with Esther. She decided to remain outside. Using her own phone, she punched in the number for Jessica Flynn, the vet who tended to Annie’s herd, as well as most of Suwana County’s equine population. Jessica regularly donated her services to rescue animals when needed, and Annie knew that Molly was going to need more than a bit of babying before she was ready to adopt out.
“Don’t tell me. You’ve rescued another wee bairn,” was Jessica’s opening line.
“How’d you know?” Annie was intrigued.
“I can hear Dan’s healthy vocal cords in the background. And the only time the two of you hang out is when you’re coming to the aid of four-legged animals.”
“So true, so true. Well, I’ve got a new one for you—a Molly mule, aptly named Molly. I’d say she’s twenty if she’s a day, and in remarkably good shape, except for her hooves. But she’ll need a full going over, and frankly I don’t know if she’s ever been vaccinated in her life.”
“How’s her personality?”
“Sweet as can be. Fortunately, three girls were her caretakers, not their bio dad, who’s meaner than a junkyard dog and not half as pretty.”
“Wonderful. I love mules. I had one growing up, and it was the best friend I ever had.”
“Well, your new best friend is on her way. We should hit your place in a couple of hours. By the way, where are you?”
Annie knew that one never knew which quadrant of the county a large-animal vet might be roaming at any given time. Their commutes were long, were seldom the same, and commenced as soon as the phone rang with an emergency call.
“Believe it or not, I’m at the clinic, and expect to be here all day, knock on wood. So come on by. I’ll make fresh coffee and get a stall ready.”
Dan had finally ended his call, and Annie judged it was safe to reenter the cab. Gazing ahead, she could see no sign of movement, either from the waiting cars to cross the bridge or from the vessel in the water.
“So what’s new in the land of law enforcement?” Annie immediately regretted her opening gambit. The last thing she wanted to hear was Dan talk about his recent conversations with Marcus and his attorney. Dan knew very well that Annie had a full-blown schoolgirl crush on the man, and she just couldn’t stand that he knew it. But Dan was smart enough to avoid the topic as well.
“Not much,” he admitted. “We have a quasi-mysterious death of an old woman that we’re trying to figure out. When Hank first reported it, we assumed it was just a case of her dying in her sleep, something we should all hope for. God knows she was old enough to die—ninety-five, according to her death certificate.”
Hank, Annie knew, was the county coroner. “So what makes it mysterious?”
“The old lady was prescribed a million meds, and when we took an inventory, half of them were missing. The crucial half—the ones for her heart, and the super-duper ones for pain.”
“So you’re thinking suicide?”
“Maybe. Her adult son says no way—he talked to his mom the night before and everything was hunky-dory. ’Course, he wasn’t too happy to hear that an autopsy is now in order.”
“I suppose not. Well, who’s this in-home nursing service? Maybe someone on the staff stole the pills. It happens.”
“Don’t I know it.” Dan sighed. “Those drugs are just too tempting for a lot of kids, and that’s who mainly goes in to care for these folks. Plenty of time to peruse the bathroom cabinets while Grandma is taking her afternoon power nap. Don’t worry, we’ll be talking to every kid who cared for the old lady.”
“Kids? They hire kids to take care of senior citizens?”
“You know what I mean, Annie. ‘Young people.’ People considerably younger than you and me.”
Well, that was a depressing thought. Annie regarded herself as someone who had yet to hit the prime of life.
“Speak for yourself, Dan Stetson. I am still in the first blush of youth and, thanks to hanging out with horses, will never age.”
“Good luck with that, Annie. Personally, as long as this old lady’s death doesn’t turn into another god-awful homicide like the ones we just had, I’ll be a happy man. Even if I am old and decrepit.”
* * *
At long last the line of cars began to move, and by three o’clock Annie was pulling her rig into the parking lot of Jessica’s clinic. Jessica was delighted to make Molly’s acquaintance, and it seemed the feeling was mutual. Annie and Dan stayed long enough to be assured t
hat nothing appeared significantly off-kilter with the mule and that she would get Jessica’s full attention over the next few days. The sun was just going down as Annie drove into the driveway leading to her stables. It had been a long day.
Wolf was deliriously happy to be sprung from his crate. Annie had naively assumed he’d be out helping her urge neglected horses into the trailer. Instead, the poor guy had spent most of the day cooped up, she thought guiltily. The Blue Heeler raced off and out of sight. By now, the odor of rotting things on his fur had been somewhat dispelled by the outside air, but a whiff was still present, and Annie realized, a nanosecond too late, that he might be heading back to the source for another good roll.
“Back in a flash,” Annie yelled at Dan as she raced after her dog. He’d gone around the hay barn and appeared to be heading into the back pasture that now lay fallow. Annie was keeping this section of her property temporarily devoid of horses so that the spring rains would replenish the grass. Unless she installed an intricate water system, this was necessary to ensure her herd had sufficient pasture to munch on all summer long. And even if she’d been allowed to use all that water for this purpose, it was far too expensive to even contemplate as a solution.
“Wolf! Wolf!” Annie called out, and hoped her dog wouldn’t embarrass her in front of Dan and fail to respond. She was relieved to see his head pop up in the field and his body come to attention.
“Good boy! Come, Wolf! It’s dinner time!” Whether or not Wolf understood the words, they usually were enough to get him to come running. But today he remained at attention.
“Damn,” grumbled Annie, and started to jog toward him. The smell of this morning’s roll increased as she came closer to him.
Then she stopped, horrified. On the ground, near Wolf’s feet, was a small lamb. It had been badly mangled and was in a state of severe decay. Could it be one of hers? Annie instinctively clutched her arms around her chest, then breathed out. No. It could not be.