Give First Place to Murder (7 page)

"Sure. If they want to. Let's have hamburgers. I'll bring beer. See you about, when. Six?"

"Fine." I hung up. I needed to follow my nose toward the coffee while I contemplated my now full day. Beer? That’s all he was bringing? Beer?

Bless Susannah. The coffee pot was almost full and there was a note on the table. "See you at Irma's at 1:00. Don't forget." As if I could, I thought as I sipped.

I’d been both looking forward to and dreading this afternoon's appointment. Irma Long owned an eighty-acre ranch not too far outside of town. Actually, it was two adjacent forty-acre pieces. Irma lived on the back parcel, where she maintained her horse breeding operation and the barn that she rented to Bryce. The front forty was used for the transport business Wes and Linda Fowler ran for her. The mobile home the Fowlers lived in was there, as well as the transport office and the barns that housed the trucks and trailers. It was this parcel, along with the horse vans, that Irma was thinking of selling. I was to give Irma some idea of what the land was worth.

Right. I had never, in my vast six months experience as a real estate agent, sold or listed a piece of ranch property, and was terrified I’d make a mistake. Irma had become Susannah's friend over the last few weeks. I didn't want to let her, or my daughter, down.

Not that I hadn't done my homework. My broker, Bo Chutskey, an old friend of my parents, had put me through a crash course on ranches, wells, cost of fencing, and so on. I felt somewhat prepared, and was excited by the opportunity to do this new thing. Also relieved that I had someone to back me up when I ran out of knowledge.

My mood greatly improved with coffee. I called Pat. "We're barbecuing tonight. Dan's bringing the beer, we get to do the rest. You and Carl want to come?"

"Of course. The first one of the season. What fun. Let’s see, I have avocados, some shrimp, how about if I improvise?"

"Sounds wonderful. I'm going to call Aunt Mary. She'll bring potato salad, she always does. At least she used to."

"Did Dan say anything more about that poor boy?"

"Rusty? No. Actually he didn't say much of anything except he would see us tonight." I didn't tell her I hadn't given him a chance.

"I hope they find out who killed him soon and what it’s all about. Drugs and all that really worry me. You don't expect it in a small, quiet town like this."

“
No, you don’t,” I agreed, “LA, it’s everywhere, but not here.” We hung up, but I kept thinking about Rusty. Could anyone connected with Irma’s barn ---? No, of course not.

“
I wish that kid had gotten himself murdered in someone else’s barn,” I told Jake, who sat in the middle of the chopping block contemplating the gold fish, “then I wouldn’t have to worry about Susannah.”

Jake jumped down, sat in front of his empty bowl and looked at me. I took this to be disapproval of his lack of breakfast, not my callous statement. “If you were a mother, you’d feel the same way,” I told him but I filled his bowl before reaching for the phone.

Aunt Mary was home from church and more than willing to barbecue.

"I'd love to come,” she said immediately. “What shall I bring?"

"Potato salad. Everybody used to say yours was the best."

"Imagine you remembering that. About five thirty? I hope Dan has some information for us. I don't like this talk of drugs one little bit."

I had long since given up wondering where Aunt Mary got her information, but she always knew everything and somehow she always had it right! Age of information nothing, Aunt Mary was light years ahead.

Humming, I put out a jar of sun tea and started the hunt for my summer dishes, tablecloths, and outdoor candles. I still had boxes of stuff unpacked, stuff Brian hadn't had the guts to refuse to let me take. I knew I could lay my hands right on it. An hour later, and quite a bit grumpier, I found everything in a box labeled Christmas decorations.

I had just enough time to hit the shower and head for Irma's. I’d stop at the store on my way home and pick up meat, buns, ice cream and fresh corn. Tonight we would feast.

Irma's place was only about ten minutes out of town, but it was a different world. The two-lane road wandered through a gently rolling countryside filled with grape vines, barley fields, and cows. The pale gold of the grass showed off the emerald leaves of the vines and the black green of the massive oak trees. The sky was the clearest of blues and the few fat white clouds lay still, looking like mounds of whipped cream. Dan was right. It was a beautiful day.

I drove slowly through Irma's gates and down her wide driveway, examining the front part of the ranch as I went. The drive was on the extreme right side of the property. I could see the almost new doublewide mobile where Wes and Linda lived. A few plants grew reluctantly against its side, but no lawn, no flowerbeds, no pots of color. Oh well, I thought, gardening takes time and work, and it isn't their property.

All the action took place in the huge two story metal barn behind the mobile. Horse vans were housed, washed, and repaired there, and the business office, with its maps, charts, and two-way radio, was located along one side. Long’s ran two cross country transport vans, as well as three pickup trucks that could be combined with two four horse trailers, and one two horse for more local needs. All in all, they represented a huge investment, and I imagined, a lot of income for Irma. I wondered again why she wanted to sell.

A woman appeared in the doorway of the office, watching my slow progress down the drive. She was dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans tight over skinny hips, and the kind of running shoes that fasten with Velcro. Her hair was skinned back in a tight ponytail, and crow’s feet shadowed her eyes as she squinted at me. I passed her close enough to tell she wore no makeup and, more than likely, moisturizer wasn’t on her shopping list either. She nodded at me, just once, and I nodded back. Who was she? Why was she standing there, arms folded, watching me? I glanced at her again in my rear view mirror. Who on earth----Wes's wife, Linda. She couldn’t be any one else.

No wonder he eyed every pretty young thing that passed by.

She was still watching me as I passed through the open gate that marked the horse ranch.

Irma's home wasn't large, but the setting was perfect ---a low, ranch style house with huge windows, set on a knoll surrounded by oak trees. She could view her entire property as well as miles of country around. A short drive went up the hill toward her home, a longer one led to a complex of barns and outbuildings on the flat area below. That was where I headed. Large pastures were filled with curious young horses that raced me along the fence line. The older ones contented themselves with lifting their heads and watching my progress as they guarded their shaded places under the oak trees. A dark red pickup truck with a long silver horse trailer attached was parked in front of what seemed to be the main barn. A silver L was painted on the truck door and red letters on the trailer said, "There is a LONG way to go." Cute.

The barn had two tall sliding doors that opened onto a wide aisle way, with what looked like horse stalls on each side. Another pickup truck, with some sort of open camper shell in the back, was pulled up half way inside the doors.

That’s a strange place to park, I thought, as I chose a shady spot, got out and walked toward the barn, looking around as I went. Pipe pens in neat rows flanked one side of the main barn, all with metal covers over them. Almost all were filled with horses. A few housed mares with babies by their sides. I was tempted to take a detour, but I was sure Irma would show me around later. Another barn, more like the ones at the show ground, stretched out behind them. The stalls were in a row, with the roof overhanging about six feet, creating a walkway. The top doors were open and all seemed to be empty. Maybe the horses in the pastures spent their nights here? Then again, maybe not. Off to the side, an enormous pile of baled hay rested under a tall roof held up by, of all things, telephone poles.

I heard voices as I neared the main barn, and I got a better look at the truck. That was no camper shell. The tilted up sides showed exposed shelves of bottles, pulled out drawers filled with syringes. A metal pail sat in the dirt with a lethal looking soft plastic tube inside it. I paused, then hurried into the barn. The truck had to belong to a vet, and even I knew that meant trouble.

The beautiful little mare that I had met at the fairgrounds was standing in the barn aisle, head down, anything but beautiful now. Dark sweat marks showed behind her ears and down her shoulders, her large inquisitive eyes dulled with pain.

The group surrounding her hardly noticed me as I walked up. A short, rather chubby man with a face that looked like it was used to laughing, was worriedly telling Irma, "We don't have much time. She has to go immediately."

Neil appeared with a cellular phone. The man grabbed it and walked back toward the truck, punching in a number. Susannah stood beside the horse, a lead rope draped over her arm. She looked up, saw me, started to say something when Neil said loudly, "Watch out." She's going down." The mare swayed, her knees buckling. Neil leaped forward, grabbing the lead, snatching up the mare's head.

"Don’t let her lie down. We'll never get her up into that trailer if she does." His face was grim. "Walk her, Susannah. Slowly, easy does it."

Susannah glanced at me, her eyes wide and scared, but she obeyed, pulling the mare gently forward. Neil was behind the horse, tapping her on the rump, making clucking noises. The mare tried, stopped, then seemed to gain a little confidence and slowly, painfully moved off beside Susannah.

"What's happening?" I whispered. "What's wrong with her?"

"Colic." Irma seemed to feel the one word was enough.

Neil took pity on me. "Horses have miles of intestines and not much stomach. Sometimes the intestine gets blocked or gets twisted back on itself."

"Is that what happened to her?" I pointed at the mare staggering down the barn aisle, trying to follow Susannah. "How do you cure it?"

"You don't, not when it’s this bad,” said the chubby man, shoving the phone at Neil. "You operate, and pray like hell that you get in there before her gut strangulates. The clinic’s expecting you, Irma, so let’s get going. That's your rig out there, isn't it? Where are the keys?"

"In the ignition," called out Susannah.

"OK. Neil, go throw in some straw, and make sure this mare has room to go down if she has to. Irma, who's going with you?"

Irma looked around somewhat blankly. She’d said only one word since I had arrived and seemed to be in only a little less pain than the mare.

"I can't." Susannah stopped by us, the horse more than willing to quit moving. "Bryce and Chovalo will be bringing the rest of the horses back from the show pretty soon. Neil?"

"No. I need him. We have another emergency as soon as we leave here. How about you?" The vet was pointing at me.

"Who, me?" .

"Of course. Mom will go." Helpful Susannah!

"But I don't know anything about horses."

"You know how to work a phone, don't you?" The vet wasted no time on niceties. "Let’s get that horse in the trailer."

I could hear clanging and banging in front of the barn and reluctantly followed the rest out into the sunlight. The double doors at the back of the trailer were wide open, showing a large open space. Neil emerged covered with straw.

"Ready. Bring her in."

The vet took the lead from Susannah. Gently, but very firmly, he led the horse up to Neil, who disappeared with her into the trailer. Then the vet whirled around toward me.

"Here." He handed me a plastic sack filled with syringes. "Do you know how to give shots? I’ve filled her pretty full of pain killers, but you might need to give her some more if she goes down and starts to thrash."

He'd lost his mind. I had never given anything a shot in my life, and wasn't about to learn on a thousand pound horse thrashing around on the bottom of a trailer.

Irma headed for the cab of the truck, so with a deep breath I hitched my purse under my arm, climbed into the passenger seat, and deposited the bag of syringes on the dashboard.

"Hey, wait. Where're you going with that truck?"

A woman's face appeared at Irma's window. Her faint mid--west twang was strong with agitation.

"Get out of the way, Linda." Irma had the truck started and was trying to put it in gear. Her legs didn't quite reach the clutch and she was fumbling under her seat. "Ellen, see if there's a lever or something under your side. This damn thing won’t budge."

"Where're you going?" Linda had a hand on Irma's door handle and looked as if she was going to open it.

"Valley Oak Clinic," Irma barked out. The seat slid forward with a jolt, and the gearshift slid down into first. “That’s got it. Let’s go."

The vet took Linda by the arm, pulling her away from the truck. "They're taking Mariah for colic surgery and they haven't got time to waste. What's the matter with you, woman? They need to leave."

"Not in that rig. Wes needs it to go get horses from the show grounds." Her voice was brittle with irritation. She pushed at the vet, trying to get back toward the truck.

Irma had paused, her foot on the clutch, staring at the woman in apparent amazement. "Tell him to use the big van or wait until we get back, but we're leaving. Now!" She let the clutch out and we were finally, slowly moving.