Reining in Murder (23 page)

Annie didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did a little of both.

* * *

Annie belatedly brought in her groceries from the car. Fortunately, the ice cream hadn't completely melted. Outside it was below freezing, unseasonably cold for the time of year. Just as she was finishing, Dan called.

“Well, Annie, I guess this puts a lid on it.”

“Direct as usual, Dan. Puts a lid on what?” Annie had consumed her first glass of single malt and was now on her second. Her mood had improved only imperceptibly.

“The case, Annie. What do you think? All of them.”

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Annie, I know this is tough for you to swallow—”

She snorted into her cell phone.

“—but Marcus has been our man all along.”

“You find his tie, and all of a sudden he's a serial murderer?”

“Be reasonable, Annie. Tony, Kim, and I have been chewing on this all afternoon and evening, and we're of the same mind. Marcus killed himself. First, he killed Wayne, then Hilda, maybe even Juan, then couldn't take it and threw himself over the waterfall. If we're lucky, we'll find his body, or what's left of it, next spring. But if it goes into the bay, we probably won't even find his bleached white bones.”

A bit of single malt came up in Annie's throat. She poured the rest of the glass down the sink.

“What about finding his car at the airport?”

“Oh, Marcus drove it there all right. He wanted us to think he was absconding. I don't think he necessarily wanted the world to know he'd taken the easy way out. Somehow he got back to the Peninsula to do the deed. Or he had someone else drive his car to Sea-Tac for him. We'll find out.”

“What about the car being wiped clean? And finding his briefcase still in the trunk?”

“Again, just a ruse. He must have overlooked the briefcase. Why not? With what he was planning, he knew he wouldn't need it.”

“So why'd he kill Wayne? As far as I know, he didn't even know who he was.”

“I don't think Marcus intended to kill him. He just wanted to kill the horse. Marcus was probably sick and tired of supporting his wife's expensive hobby.”

Dan spoke in an exceptionally patient voice. Annie felt like a ten-year-old being told all the reasons why she had to go to bed at eight. It was infuriating.

“Well, what about the mysterious holes and tire tracks on the Truebloods' property?

“As far as the damage on Cal and Mary's property, we think that's just the work of some campaign volunteer who put up a political sign without the owner's permission. Probably that woman who tried to worm her way onto the city council last fall.”

“But who drugged Wayne Johnston?” Annie realized she was shouting into the phone. She cleared her voice and spoke with an uneasy quietude. “Did Marcus fly up from San Jose to drug Wayne, then fly back again to kill Hilda?”

There was a pause.

“Point well taken. We still have to tidy up that loose end. Marcus had to have had a partner in crime. Probably the same person who drove his car to Sea-Tac. But don't worry. We're confident we've found the primary killer.”

Annie tried to count to ten and got to three before replying.

“Dan, I know you want this to be wrapped up in one neat and tidy bundle, but it just doesn't work. You read Latham's letters to Hilda. What about him? Have you investigated him at all?”

“Haven't had time. Your little adventure took up the rest of our day. But don't worry. We will. He very well might be the guy we're looking for—the guy who helped Marcus on this side of the water. It makes perfect sense. With Hilda out of the way, Marcus could have sold the ranch to Latham, which Latham wanted in the first place. Everyone would have been happy.”

Annie realized that Dan normally would have been shouting back at her in the phone. But apparently he was so pleased with himself and the way he'd suddenly “solved” the case that nothing could shake his contented mood. Finally, he'd decided, the axis of the world was spinning the right way in the life of Dan Stetson.

“No need to shout, Annie. I know you're distressed. You seem to have become more involved in this case than any private citizen should. And we've appreciated your help. Even if some of it came a little after the fact.”

Dan paused, and then spoke with unmistakable certainty. “It's very simple. Marcus wasn't born to be a killer. And when he came to be one, he just couldn't take the pressure.”

Annie said nothing. She decided it would be futile, not to mention humiliating, to mention the small matter of the oiled gate on Hilda's ranch. And what Dan had told her made a modicum of sense, she had to admit. But only a modicum, and that was a long way from it being the truth.

* * *

Yanking open the freezer door, Annie looked mournfully at the casserole Lavender had left for her. She sighed. She felt just like Dan after Dory had made her dramatic departure: alone and unwanted. Not to mention misunderstood.

Later that night, as she dug into the bowl of ice cream that served as her dinner, she decided she wouldn't tolerate feeling that way any longer. Dan, Tony, even Kim could go on believing that Marcus was responsible for every single homicide in Suwana County over the past decade. But she would not. If no one else wanted to investigate Marcus's disappearance, she would.

Lost in thought, she let the spoon drop down to her side as she started thinking of what she could do first. Wolf, who'd already found one item of interest today, now found another in Annie's hand.

W
EDNESDAY
, M
ARCH
9
^TH

The next morning, after a strenuous hour of cleaning stalls, Annie had done a tidy job in her head of figuring out how to tackle the job of clearing Marcus. She'd silently reviewed everything she knew the Sheriff's Office already had done. She realized Dan probably hadn't told her everything that he knew about the case—not by a long shot. Annie reasoned if she went over some of the same ground Dan had, she'd at least be on the same page. She'd already decided she would present herself honestly: just an innocent citizen asking innocent questions. Nancy Drew had always gotten people to open up about themselves, and Annie had read every single one of the books in her youth, along with the entire set of Hardy Boy mysteries.

Might as well start at the beginning, she'd thought as she hung up her mucking rake and began to premeasure the grain for the horses' evening meal. That meant going back to the scene of the original crime, or, more precisely, the last place where Wayne Johnston had been seen alive—the Garver's Corner steakhouse. Maybe, just maybe, she could glean something there that had escaped the notice of her law-enforcement friends.

* * *

Annie pulled her rig into the steakhouse at 4:00
P.M.
Even on a weeknight, the place already was hopping. A long string of Harleys festooned the front lot, and Annie could hear the plink of the jukebox from inside without even rolling down her window. The rest of the parking lot was filled with industrial-strength pickup trucks, with a few beaters wedged in among the shiny chrome. Wolf, who'd been confined to his crate in the flatbed, now hopped into the front seat, drool already dripping from his open mouth. The smell of charbroiled beef was unmistakable and deliriously alluring.

Calling to Wolf to stay, Annie pushed open the entrance door, a bell overhead clanging to herald her arrival. Just like the parking lot, the place was packed, and the noise from the customers and music was overwhelming. One foot inside, she nearly ran into a stooped man in overalls with bright red suspenders standing by the counter. His white hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and Annie suspected it hung longer than her own brown braid. At Annie's mumbled, “Excuse me,” he turned toward her, his light blue eyes crinkling into a smile.

“Haven't see you here before. New in town?”

Annie wasn't used to strangers striking up conversations with her, but she remembered she was here for information. She squelched the brusque reply rising in her throat and smiled back.

“Hardly. I live just twenty miles up the road. But I happened to be in the area and thought I could use a beer.”

“You came to the right place. I've been having a beer here every night for forty-five years. I turn seventy next week, so it must be good for me.”

Annie appraised the man, noting the faint spider-thin lines that etched his face and the red farmer's tan emerging from his white shirt. His overalls were bulky, but she could see he was still fit and fairly trim, without the bowling ball gut that so many locals produced after a lifetime of eating too much and drinking hard.

His blue eyes followed hers, not trying to conceal their amusement.

“So?”

“I think you should keep up the regime. It seems to be working for you.”

He stuck out his hand, rough and gnarled, but, Annie noticed, exceptionally clean.

“Bill Sorensen. Pleased to meet you.”

“Annie Carson. Likewise.”

“Care to share the counter with me? I usually sit over there.” Bill pointed with one bony finger down to the end, where the old-fashioned jukebox was parked.

“Ah. The optimal spot to play DJ, I see.”

“The best spot to hold back the girls who insist on listening to hip-hop. If it ain't good old country twang, I ain't interested in hearing it.”

“Bill here's been playing jukebox police for as long as I can remember,” a voice said behind her. “But don't let him bother you, hon. You want something romantic, I'm sure he'll give you a pass. As long as you buy him a beer.”

Annie turned and saw a tall, thin woman in a frilly white apron she hadn't seen sported by waitresses since she was a child. A pencil was stuck behind one ear and she carried a cartload of oversized menus in one hand while balancing a tray laden with burgers and French fries in the other.

“Now, Millie. Don't be giving away my secrets. I was hoping to teach her the ways of Garver's Corner's finest—”

“And only,” Millie stuck in.

“—steakhouse myself. No, don't bother.” Bill put up a deprecating hand. “We'll seat ourselves. Follow me, Annie. And don't believe a word this ornery woman has to say.”

Annie meekly threaded her way through the crowd vying for attention at the bar and sat down on the stool Bill had saved for her. Her heart felt surprisingly light. Whether it was hearing the good-natured banter between Millie and Bill, or just indulging in a social activity for the first time since Marcus disappeared, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she liked where she was, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to our Goddess of Serendipity that she'd stumbled across a longtime regular without even trying.

Bill pulled out a pile of quarters from his overall side pocket, tugging down so deeply that it seemed his coins had collected near knee level. He slapped them on the counter.

“There. That ought a keep us in country songs for a while.”

Millie appeared at their side.

“What'll it be, hon? I know what this old codger drinks.”

“Um . . . do you have any pale ale?”

“We have Sierra Nevada. Will that do for you?”

Annie nodded and turned her attention to Bill, who was studiously flipping through the jukebox selections in front of him.

“Dang! I swear there's less of George Jones every time I come in here. Millie, who's in charge of your music selection?”

But Millie was now at the other side of the room, taking orders from a table of bikers. She was laughing at something one of them had said, and swatted her hand at the nearest biker in a mock “I declare.”

“My favorite country crooner is Patsy Cline,” Annie told Bill. “My mother used to play it all the time.” She didn't add, “And even more after my father left us.”

“Well, your mother had good taste. Let's see. I believe I can still see a few remnants left of the Queen of Country in here.”

“Queen of Country? I thought Reba McEntire was the Queen of Country.”

“Hon, she learned everything she knew from Patsy and would be the first to admit it,” said Millie, swooping in behind them with Annie's Sierra Nevada and a Bud Light for Bill.

Annie nodded, realizing this was not the time to argue country-music preferences. She turned to Bill as the first heartrending bars of “Crazy” floated over them.

“So how did you first discover this place?”

“Easy. Back in the late sixties, this was the only watering hole within thirty miles. At least, the only one that didn't have a sideline of renting out the ladies in the back room. I was just starting my farm back then. My wife and I would work twelve-hour days, and when the day was done, I'd be hankering for something that would wet my whistle and allow me to talk to someone else other than my steers. I started heading down here after work and never stopped. Sometimes, the missus would join me. Of course, that was before the kids were born.”

Bill took a long pull on his beer, draining it. Annie looked around, caught Millie's eye, and signaled for a refill.

Bill and Annie both started talking at the same time, Bill beginning with “Do you have any kids?” and Annie plunging into the opening she'd rehearsed while driving here. They both laughed, then Bill said, “You first. If a pretty woman wants to ask me questions, I'm sure not going to stop her.”

She was blushing, she realized, to her annoyance, but not out of annoyance at Bill.

“I actually stopped by for a reason,” she started, adding “besides the chance to meet you, of course.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Annie. Continue.”

“Well, I'm taking care of a horse right now that was in a near-rollover accident a few weeks ago. The hauler stopped here for dinner right before it happened. I was just wondering whether you or anyone else might have remembered seeing him here.”

Bill took another long drink off his beer, which magically had appeared in front of him.

“You're thinking he was drunk?”

“Actually, no. I mean, we know he wasn't drunk. He had a steak dinner and a diet Coke. Then he filled up his tank and hit the road. It wasn't long afterward that his rig swerved off the road and hit a fence post. The hauler died, but the horse lived.”

“Damaged?”

Annie assumed he was referring to the horse, not the truck. “Thankfully, no. The trailer never flipped, and the police were able to get him out before he tried to kick the doors down. I'm part of the local search and rescue, so I got the job of stabling him until . . . well, until his owner was located.”

“I take it you're still taking care of the nag?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. His owner was found dead a few days later.” Annie decided not to tell Bill that she'd been the one to discover Hilda's body. She wasn't sure it was privileged information, since it had hit the news practically upon impact, but she did know she didn't want to relive that scene any more than she had to.

“You think the two are related?”

Annie nodded. “Seems pretty clear. I imagine the police have already talked to everyone here, but I thought I'd just double-check. And I was in the area.”

“Playing Nancy Drew, are you?”

To her extreme discomfort, Annie felt herself again blushing. But Bill didn't seem to notice, or perhaps was simply too polite.

“Let me see now. That would have been, what? Back in February?”

“It was a Sunday, the second-to-last one that month.”

“Well, I would have been here. What did the fella look like?”

Annie tried to recall the grainy photos that had appeared in the local newspaper.

“He was a big guy, over six feet tall, I'd guess, and had a big cowboy build. I assume he would have been eating alone. It would have been around midnight, I imagine.”

“That's way past my bedtime. But maybe Millie remembers.” Bill turned around and hollered above the barroom noise. “Millie! Get your skinny white butt over here!”

To Annie's surprise, Millie promptly skittered over and, by the expression of her face, seemed to take Bill's description of her as a compliment. Around here, Bill obviously was the unmarried, divorced, or widowed woman's dreamboat. Go figure.

“Millie, Miss Annie here wants to know if you remember seeing a big, beefy cowboy eating a steak dinner here on a Sunday night back in February.”

“Late February? Close to closing?”

Annie felt her heart pick up a beat.

“That's right. It would have been February 21
^st
, the one before the leap day weekend.”

“Why, I sure do. He was the cutest thing. So polite, and he left a tip bigger than anything you've ever tossed my way, Bill.”

Bill snorted.

“I predicate my tips on the service received.” He sounded as if he was reciting the Gettysburg Address.

“Hogwash. You predicate your tips on the number of quarters left on the table. But anyway, this guy was real nice. As I said, we were about to close the kitchen, but he said he'd been traveling all day and still needed to get to his destination that night. He said he'd got hung up on some road construction down south and already was behind schedule, but sure would like a real meal before he got back on the road.”

“Apparently he charmed the shoes right off Millie here.” Bill obviously was unimpressed. Millie appeared just as unimpressed by his comment.

“I talked him into getting our T-bone special. He must have liked it, because I remember handing the plate to our dishwasher when he was done and telling him he just might as well put it up with the dried set.”

Annie interjected. “Did he make any phone calls while he was here?”

“Why, yes, he did. It was right at the end of his meal. He'd just been talking to another customer when his cell phone lit up. He stepped outside to take the call. I remember that. The manager thought he was about to stiff us for the bill, but I knew he'd be back. And he was.”

Annie's head was swimming. “He was talking to someone in here? Did he appear to know who it was, or was it a stranger?”

“He was a stranger to me, I know that. I'd never seen him before. He'd come in a couple of hours before this guy and had been nursing beers all evening. Then he went over to the truck driver, and I assume asked him a question. It wasn't ten seconds later that the driver's cell phone rang.”

“What did he look like? The other man, I mean?”

“Oh, now let me think. All our beer bums look alike to me by now.” Millie squinted her eyes and was silent. “He was skinny, I know that.”

“How tall? Was he short or tall?”

“Oh, he was lanky, all right. Not much more than five-eleven, I'd guess, but definitely not a shorty. More like a string bean.”

That described about half of Suwana County's farming community.

“Anything else? Hair color, tattoos, scars, clothing?”

Millie looked closely at Annie.

“Are you the police or something?”

“No, not at all. But as I was telling Bill here, the man who came in for dinner was in a highway accident after he left, and I'm taking care of the horse he was hauling. I'm just trying to figure out why he swerved in the middle of the road.”