Reining in Murder (18 page)

But it hadn't been that easy. Annie considered herself a highly competent, knowledgeable horsewoman. But apparently her skills and training only went as far as the needs of her own environment on the Olympic Peninsula. Sure, she knew how to gentle horses, get them under saddle, and become willing, agreeable companions for their owners. She even knew how to rope and barrel race, thanks to ten years in the local 4-H while growing up.

But the equestrian world that Hilda lived in was another country to Annie. She'd found the files on all eighteen horses that were stabled here, and learned, to her surprise, that Hilda owned five other horses who were boarded elsewhere and had been on the cusp of bidding on an “in utero” breed when she died.

Good Lord,
Annie thought.
How many horses can one woman ride at once?
It had become clear that Hilda was heavily into eventing competitions and participated in every category: dressage, cross-country, and show jumping. That explained, in part, the significant number of horses she kept at the ready. After all, horses who excelled in dressage and also happened to be champion jumpers were rare. But the sheer cost of housing, training, and transporting all these animals staggered Annie's imagination. Which made Hilda's reticence to pay her vendors on time either completely understandable or completely nuts, depending on the health of her bank account.

Glancing up at Deputy Lindquist, who still seemed glued to his manual, Annie spent a furtive ten minutes looking for Hilda's financial records in the desk drawers. She came up with zip. Either Marcus had transferred them to the briefcase found in his car or, more likely, they'd been tagged by the Sheriff's Office as soon as Judge Casper signed a search warrant for the premises. Either way, Annie thought, they now were part of the inventory accumulating in Hilda's murder case.

Still, what remained made fascinating reading. It was a glimpse into Hilda's life that Annie had never known about and probably never would have if Hilda hadn't, as old-timers liked to say, “bought the farm.” Annie wasn't sure she'd ever want to share in that life. But it didn't stop her from eagerly poring through Hilda's files. After all, she'd been given the job of determining where these beautiful, finely tuned equine athletes would go from here. She needed to know all she could about Hilda's “children.”

She was so engrossed in the file on “Knight in Armor,” a 17.2-hand Danish Warmblood with “big bold gaits and tremendous suspension” that she didn't even hear the soft knock on the inside door. Deputy Lindquist leapt to his feet, sprinted to the other side of the room, and slipped outside, closing the door behind him before Annie could barely register the fact that he was gone. She heard the remnants of a low conversation, then the squawk of a radio. A few moments later, Deputy Lindquist stepped back inside the room.

“Ms. Carson? Adolpho Todos is here and wondered if he could be of any assistance.”

Annie rolled her eyes, then nodded at the deputy.

“Might as well. He's got to know what's going on, sooner or later.”

Deputy Lindquist let Todos in, who, to her astonishment, removed his cowboy hat and approached Hilda's desk with a small smile.

“Señora Carlson, it is nice of you to come out and help us today.”

What the hell? Had Todos had a frontal lobotomy? He couldn't even remember her name. Still, he was being way too polite. She understood his obsequious behavior around Marcus, but to have it extend to her? Well, at least it was easier to talk to someone who didn't put on the silent, stoic cowhand act all the time.

“My pleasure. Why don't you sit down? How's the search going?” Annie wasn't sure she wanted to know, but felt she had to ask.

Todos pulled up a chair and carefully sat down.

“I am having enough trouble keeping the horses calm. All this noise does not make for good digestion. If one of them colics, well, it will not be my fault.”

Annie understood. Horses could colic, she often told new horse owners, if the moon was misaligned or you looked at them the wrong way. But the truth was that an equine's small intestine ran as long as seventy feet, and it didn't take much of a minor disturbance to upset its ability to function as required. All the strange activity and noise on the ranch today could easily provoke a colic attack in a sensitive horse.

“But I don't think they have found anything,” Todos continued. “Unless you count an old tractor, buried far, far below the ground.”

“Well, that's good news.” Annie's relief was palpable.

Todos looked up at her quizzically.

“Perhaps.”

“
Perhaps?
Don't you
want
Señor Colbert to be found alive?”

“If he is responsible for Señora Colbert's death, then finding him buried would be a blessing.”

“We like to think our justice system is capable of dealing with murderers in a more civilized way, Mr. Todos.” The voice came from the back of the room. To her surprise, Deputy Lindquist's voice had taken on a distinctly law enforcement tone.
Well, bully for him.

Todos turned and gave the deputy an obsequious smile. “As you say.”

Annie decided it was time to start the conversation over.

“Señor Todos, you've worked here long enough to know these horses quite well.”

Todos permitted himself a modest smile of assent.

“How many of them arrived after you came on board?”

“A few.”

“A few. Well, do you know if any of
the few
could possibly be sold back to the original owners?”

Todos looked at her as if she were a small child who had asked an idiotic question.

“Is not possible, Señora.”

“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.