Reining in Murder (28 page)

Next on the list was the mysterious stranger. Here, Annie put in a long string of question marks under each category. All she knew was that the stranger somehow was involved in Wayne Johnston's death. She was certain he was the one who had spiked his Coke. But again, even the stranger needed a confederate to make the call, so Wayne would go outside long enough for him to put the drug into the drink. Could it have been Latham? Todos? Or . . . Marcus?

Marcus, who was last on her list. Annie thought it was only fair. So she was dismayed to find that in doing so, she'd just painted herself into a corner. Means? Marcus was strong enough to kill Hilda, yes. Motive? Hilda was making impossible demands on Marcus; their marriage was all but over by the time she died. Opportunity? Annie wasn't sure, but she suspected it wouldn't be hard to fly in and out of the Olympic Peninsula on a private jet without submitting a flight plan. Or would it? After 9/11, life had changed for everyone, especially pilots. A quick search on her laptop informed her that as long as the pilot landed within the lower forty-eight and could fly without depending on instrumentation, no flight plan was necessary. Annie sighed. Suwana County had an airport. Nothing like Sea-Tac, of course, but big enough to be called “international” simply because private planes took off for British Columbia from its field. Alibi? To her knowledge, still unproven. And then there was that damn voice mail. She sighed again.

Tossing aside the paper, Annie headed for bed. There was still work to do. She just didn't know what it was.

S
ATURDAY
, M
ARCH
12
^TH

Annie leaned down and gently eased open the round-pen gate. Even at five-eight, she had to stretch the full length of her back to do so. But it was worth it. The view from Trooper's back was marvelous, if a bit daunting. She couldn't ever remember being on a horse so tall. In the saddle, she estimated that the bay stood closer to seventeen hands, and made a mental note to let Hannah figure it out the next time she came over to ride. On the mounting block, Hannah should be able to reach Trooper's withers with the measuring tape.

Saturday morning had dawned clear but cold, yet after her warm-up session with Trooper, Annie was ready to shed her sheepskin jacket. All week, the bay had behaved beautifully in the round pen at walk, trot, and canter. Now came the acid test. It was time to take him out on the trail. Annie had no intention of making Trooper one of her workhorses; he was simply too much fun to ride. But she was anxious to take a look at her sheep pasture and thought a nice quiet stroll along the fence line was just the ticket to test Trooper's comfort level in the great outdoors.

Besides, he was inoculated against the million and one things to which he apparently was allergic. Jessica had stopped by early this morning with small flasks of homeopathic medicine, which she guaranteed would inhibit his reaction to pine, alder, and practically every other indigenous plant in the region.

“It looks like eye of newt,” Annie had dubiously told Jessica.

“Probably is. See, they're color-coded. So you can't make a mistake. Start him on the yellow flask, once a week, and work up to the blue and red bottles. In six weeks, he'll be on a maintenance program, and you'll only have to do this once a month.”

Annie had obediently applied the first subcutaneous dose under Jessica's supervision and placed the rest of the medicine in her small tack room refrigerator.

“Not necessary, Annie. In fact, it's probably not good. Just store them at room temperature.”

Annie had placed the flasks on her medicine shelf, looked at the latest bill for her very expensive hobby, and decided, then and there, that it was time for Trooper to show her what he could give in return.

And what a return he bestowed. As Trooper began his half jog along the narrow path that led to the sheep pasture, she felt on top of the world. The horse's ears pricked forward in eager anticipation, and his breath was quick. Annie knew he was as excited as she was. She bent over to stroke his neck. She wanted him to know that they were a team, going out on a grand adventure together.

The pasture was thick and tall with new grass, glistening in the morning dew. There was no question that her sheep would dine well this spring and summer. It was one of the payoffs of surviving weeks of unrelenting rain and occasional snow over the past several months. It also was the reason Washington had earned its epithet as the Evergreen State.

The fence line predictably needed work. Blow downs from past winter storms had fallen across several fence posts, rendering the electric braid stretched below moot. Stray limbs were strewn everywhere, hazards to horses and sheep alike. Annie also noted a number of water pools inside the pasture, dangerous sump holes that contained filthy water and could break an animal's pastern with one misstep, or induce disease.

Annie had brought along a big red marker with her, which she now put to good use. She brought Trooper to a gentle halt to mark the fences that needed mending and the grassy areas that required repair. Not only would this make her first day working the land immeasurably easier, it was an excellent way to test Trooper's awareness of his rider. She could tell that, given his druthers, he would have cantered, no, galloped the short mile they now took at a leisurely pace. And if truth be told, Annie was just as game to fly past the posts to see what Trooper really had to give. But reason and experience told her that she had several hundred miles to put on Trooper's back before they were ready for the racetrack. Besides, by asking Trooper to stop every few dozen steps, she was reminding him that they were working together. If he obeyed her commands, she willingly gave him his head when they started again. It was a win-win situation that Trooper intuitively grasped. Annie marveled at the horse's intelligence. He'd been trained to run, and only run, yet he had a connection with her that was undeniably solid.

An hour later, they approached the north gate, where the sheep would be unloaded in less than a week. Annie and her next-door neighbor, two miles away, shared an easement between the two properties. Annie used it for sheep loading and unloading; her neighbor used it to get to his private gun range down the road. Fortunately, the sound of shotgun and pistol practice was largely muffled by trees, and the sheep seemed oblivious to the noise each Sunday afternoon, the time her neighbor typically choose to exercise his Second Amendment rights.

She glanced up at the sky, looking at a sun that was gamely trying to shed warmth on a cold March morning, and stood up in her stirrups for a good long stretch. Trooper sniffed the three-bar aluminum gate, obviously curious about the new scent of eau de ovine. Annie reached down to test the latch. Sure enough, it ominously squeaked, unlike Hilda's worn-out gate. She wished she'd remembered to bring three-in-one oil with her and made a mental note to do so on her next trip out.

Annie decided to dismount and reward the bay with a ten-minute grass break. She had just swung one leg over the saddle when an unexpected blast from a shotgun rang out and something whistled disturbingly close past her ear.

With one foot still in the stirrup, Annie had to make a split-second decision. She watched Trooper's head rear up and felt his front feet lift off the ground. An eerie scream penetrated the air and for one heart-wrenching moment, Annie was afraid the bullet had pierced Trooper's skin. Then his front feet pounded to the ground and Annie hurled herself back onto the saddle, grasping the reins with both hands. Gone was the silent empathy that the two had enjoyed on the ride here; now Trooper was hell-bent to get back to safety. He pummeled his way down the fence line, with Annie hanging on for dear life. She knew better than to try to reel him in. She simply wanted to stay on his back and make sure the ride would end before they crashed into the tack room. For two unbroken minutes, all Annie heard and felt were the rapid-fire pounding of Trooper's hooves on the ground below. From her vantage point, Annie felt as if she were flying. If Trooper had been born with wings, they'd be airborne right now, she thought.

As the familiar round-pen and stable appeared in sight, Trooper eased his gait fractionally, and Annie tightened up on the reins. They were going to have to stop eventually, and she preferred that her dismount not be over the bay's head. She was sure her heart was beating as fast as Trooper's and prayed that she had enough good sense left to think for both of them. It had occurred to her midflight that Trooper could have mistaken the sound of the firearm as the cue to “go.” After all, he had been trained as a racehorse. If that was the case, she was going to have to teach him that “stop” didn't always occur at the tape line.

She tugged on the reins hard and released, then tugged again. She had to make contact with Trooper's mouth, which at the moment appeared hard as granite. The horse simply wouldn't give. In one fluid motion, Annie slid her hand up her left rein and whipped it outward and around and planted it on her knee. Trooper's front hooves left the ground again, but he was forced to make a half circle. Annie kept her hand firmly planted on the rein touching her knee, which forced the horse to turn. But instead of stopping, Trooper kept turning in a dizzying circle, his head taut against the reins. Just when Annie was contemplating the possible injuries she might sustain by jumping off, Trooper abruptly stopped, and Annie instantly released the reins.

She never remembered dismounting. She only remembered sinking to the ground, her legs shaking uncontrollably, and feeling great relief that Trooper was content to remain where he was although he was shaking as much as she was. Annie caught her breath and grabbed the reins before Trooper could run off again. They both walked on trembling legs over to the round pen. Once inside and the gate firmly latched, she fumbled to remove Trooper's saddle and bridle. She glanced over to the horse pasture to see the rest of her herd cantering toward her, no doubt to investigate their mad-dash return. Setting down the saddle, Annie grabbed a stray lead rope and clicked for Trotter. Throwing the rope over the donkey, she walked him over to the round pen, which Trotter entered without fuss. Trooper was in the corner farthest south, agitatedly pawing the ground. Trotter placidly walked over to him and nuzzled the lowest portion of the bay's neck—the highest he could reach. After a few minutes, the bay began to nuzzle back.

If there was ever a time when Trooper needed a soothing companion, it was now. The trouble was, so did Annie. She knew the shot had not come from her neighbor. He might have a lifelong passion for collecting firearms, but he was scrupulously concerned about gun safety. Even if he'd just seen a cougar on his property, he never would have shot off a round without knowing where it would land. No, this was a bullet meant for her. Or Trooper. The knowledge was horrifying.

* * *

Annie would have liked to have taken to her bed with a bad case of the vapors, but she hadn't forgotten that her sheep were being sheared today. She resolved to buck up, but not without taking proper precautions. After thoroughly cleaning her Winchester, she restored it to the gun rack inside her truck and placed a full box of ammo in her glove compartment. Whistling for Wolf, whom she intended to have by her side from here on out, she climbed into her truck and set out for the Thompsons. There was no way to track the shooter unless she found a spent cartridge that fit a very rare gun. But she would be better prepared if there was a next time.

Annie wheeled into the Thompsons' and saw her flock crowded into Johan's front pasture, baaing and carrying on as if they were being asked to board the
Titanic
and already knew the advance headlines
.
Leif was kneeling in the middle, quickly and efficiently shearing a ewe that was putting up a pitiful wail against the sound of the electric shears. His cousin stood nearby, ready with the vaccinations that would come afterward. Johan stood beside him, clearly hoping to be called into service.

It was a relief to observe a traditional farm ritual after the trauma of the morning. Annie waited until Leif finished with the ewe, which trotted off baaing plaintively after being released from its undignified captivity. She watched Leif wipe his face and accept a glass of Hester's lemonade from Johan. Catching his eye, she walked over to where he was working.

“Leif! How's it going?”

“Not bad, Annie, not bad. I swear, your ewes grow more wool every year.”

“Fabulous. More wool means more money from the co-op.”

“Yeah, but it takes me twice as long as it did a few years ago. If you're going to keep treating them so well, I'm going to have to raise my rates.”

Annie knew he was joking although he had a point. When she'd started her flock five years ago, she'd only had fifteen yearlings that had matured into adulthood remarkably quickly. After a few well-picked rams came to visit, motherhood soon followed, and now Annie was the proud owner of seventy-five fully developed and producing ewes. She'd learned to ignore the pointed suggestions from friends and neighbors that her babies would taste awfully good with a little rosemary and butter. Sheep growing was a smart move, for which Dan constantly demanded full credit, but she'd deliberately decided to breed them only for wool. Annie wasn't opposed to eating lamb. In fact, she was quite fond of it. She just preferred to partake of the shrink-wrapped variety she found at her local grocery.

“Charge me whatever's fair, Leif. I trust you.”

A flash from his eyes showed that he appreciated the gesture, which also meant that she'd forgiven him for his egregious lapse in judgment at the accident site. Well, everyone made mistakes, she thought, although when she might have fallen short recently momentarily escaped her.

* * *

Annie didn't look forward to her next stop, but she refused to let herself back down. The truth was, she hated meeting new people. She never quite knew what to say, and she secretly believed her small circle of friends was already sufficient to last her lifetime. It had taken all her courage to accept Lavender's invitation to visit her new home yesterday although that had turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. But Martha Sanderson's description of her closest friends, the Truebloods, did little to inspire Annie's confidence. She realized she was meeting the Truebloods' offspring, but figured the genes had to be the same. Annie was not a highbrow. She didn't listen to classical music, and her trip to Travis Latham's house had proven that she knew nothing about art. Yet she felt compelled to talk to the lumber barons. Just a few weeks ago, their fence line had been the scene of horrible wreckage in which a man was killed. She wondered what Dan had told them about the case since then, if anything. She wondered what she might learn from them today.

Yet, for once, Annie got the perfect opening line. As she peeled off Highway 3 to turn into the Truebloods' driveway, she noticed a chip blower off to one side, depositing mounds of rich cedar chips onto the owner's garden beds.
What she would do for that cedar,
she thought. The cost of buying bags of cedar chips at the local Cenex for stall bedding was significantly eating into her household budget. Perhaps she could hold the operator at gunpoint and demand that he dump some of the stuff at her barn.

Or perhaps she could just ask politely. She parked her truck at the foot of the driveway and walked up to the operator, who was oblivious to everything except the task at hand. The sound of the blower was overwhelming, and Annie could understand why he wore ear protection.