Reining in Murder (29 page)

“Excuse me!” she yelled, standing to one side of the machine. The man looked up and turned off the machine, waiting patiently for her to explain why she had interrupted his work.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I was on the way to see the Truebloods and noticed all that wonderful cedar that you were spreading. Any chance that we could talk later about the possibility of buying some of your chips?”

“That's up to your friends,” was the blunt reply. “It's cedar from their sawmills. I just come over once a month to spread it on their landscaping. If they're willing to share it, I'm happy to spread it.”

* * *

It turned out that Martha was right: the Truebloods must have been wonderful people, because at least one of their children certainly had married a warm and friendly host. Annie met Mary Trueblood coming out her home, obviously about to work in her garden, her hands swathed in green gloves and a tidy row of garden tools tucked into a skirt pocket. She was delighted to make Annie's acquaintance. Wasn't she that lovely woman who took in rescue horses? She was sure she'd read about her in the local newspaper before. And she was a friend of Martha Sanderson? Oh, my, she hadn't even realized that Martha was still alive. Wasn't that nice. She and her husband, Fred, had been such good friends of her husband's parents. Would she like to come inside for a glass of iced coffee? She could make fresh if that's what Annie preferred.

Annie was content with iced. And when she asked about purchasing cedar chips for her own use, Mary wouldn't hear of it.

“That sawmill produces more than we'll ever use,” she told Annie. “We'd be delighted if you could take some off our hands. Cal's out at True Value, but I know he'll agree. Just give us your address and we'll make sure Ian—that's our man you saw coming in—drops off a load on a regular basis. We're just happy that someone else can put them to good use.”

A great weight lifted off Annie's shoulders. She felt confident, then, to plunge into the primary reason that brought her to the Truebloods' door.

“You're too kind,” she told Mary, meaning it. “You don't know how much this helps me out. You see, I've been taking care of the horse that was in that accident on the highway a few weeks ago, and it turns out he's allergic to straw bedding. It's been fine for my own horses, but Trooper gets a respiratory infection just by standing in it. I've had to change the bedding for all of them, and it's pretty expensive stuff.”

“Oh my. So you were there that night. I didn't go out, but Cal did. He said the truck that was hauling the horse was horribly mangled.”

“It wasn't very pretty although I was concentrating more on making sure the horse was safe. We were incredibly lucky that the trailer didn't flip. I guess we have your good fencing to thank for that.”

“There are too many accidents on the road,” Mary said emphatically. “People think a straight country road means they can go as fast as they want. They don't realize that we share it with deer and other wildlife. My own husband refuses to drive with me at night because I insist on going about twenty-five miles an hour just to avoid the deer.”

“I hear you.” Apparently, Dan hadn't informed the Truebloods that Wayne's crash wasn't caused by an animal trying to leap across the road. Well, why should he? That was protected police work, which only she was privy to.

Annie hesitated. “You know, I heard that there were some mysterious holes and tire tracks found on your property, close to where the rig crashed. Is that right, or is it just one of those rumors floating around?”

If Mary thought Annie's question improper, she didn't let on. She probably was too well-bred, Annie thought, unlike her, who popped off with whatever was on her mind.

“Cal did mention something about that. We thought perhaps the county had put up a sign there without getting our permission first—you know, one of the signs that tell people what the risk of fire is that day. But the fire department said they hadn't. Of course, they would have asked us first, and anyway, it was too early in the season. We still don't know what was there. It's a mystery. We don't recall ever seeing anything posted there before the accident, but then, we usually come in from the other side.”

“I suppose the police came out and took photos and all.”

“Well, I know they came out, but whether or not they took photos, I don't know. I do remember that Cal went down with them to take a look at the tire tracks. It must have been a four-by-four, or a truck with big tires. We had to haul at least a ton of gravel to fill in the holes that were made.”

Annie's heart sank. “Do you have any idea how large the post holes were? I mean, how far apart?”

“I don't, but I'm sure Cal will remember. Why are you so interested in knowing?”

Ah. The question that was bound to come.

“No reason. It just seemed strange, that's all. I wondered if it had anything to do with the accident, I guess.”

“Well, if it did, it escapes me. Can I refresh your glass, Annie?”

Before Annie made her exit, she steered the conversation clear of any controversial subjects and stuck to the tried and true: the Trueblood family. Mary was only too happy to tell Annie about her daughter Camilla's frequent successes as an environmental law attorney and her high-placed connections in the nation's capital, but the subject of children stopped there. If Annie hadn't already known, she would have assumed Camilla was an only child.

At 4:00
P.M.
, Annie said her good-byes, continuing to offer profuse thanks for the gift of cedar chips and promising to stay in touch. Climbing back into her truck, she noticed Wolf in the back, straining to get out of his crate.

“Sorry, buddy. I didn't realize I'd be gone so long.” She opened the crate and waited for Wolf to take advantage of the nearest tree or jump into the front seat, his favored spot. Instead, Wolf bounded down the driveway, close to oncoming traffic.

“Wolf! Come, Wolf! Come!” Annie ran pell-mell down the asphalt. What was the dog doing? Honestly—first running after the Belgian puppies and now this. It was time for remedial dog training if Wolf didn't improve his response time to his mistress's commands.

She found him at the end of the driveway and grabbed his collar.

“Wolf! What were you thinking! Bad dog!”

Wolf ignored her. He was staring at a truck parked across the road, a black Ford pickup with dark tinted windows that nearly matched the color of the truck. Annie looked up, and saw a man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, emerging from the driveway on the other side of the road. He wore jeans and a stylish leather jacket. Annie watched as he walked around the back of the truck and opened the front passenger door. Wolf lunged forward and gave a low, menacing growl. Annie, whose hand hadn't moved from his collar, shook him to make him stop, but the sound had not escaped the man's notice. He turned and looked at Annie. He was not a big man, perhaps Annie's height, nor particularly well built. In fact, there was not a lot that distinguished him from the rest of the male population of Suwana County. Except for extremely bushy eyebrows that grew together in the middle.

* * *

“Dan, I'm telling you, I saw the guy who was in the steakhouse. He was right across the street from the Truebloods. I tried to get his plate, but by the time I got up to my own truck, he was gone.”

Annie listened impatiently on her cell phone to Dan's response.

“Because if I didn't get Wolf back in the truck, he was going to break free and rip the man's head off, that's why. Wolf must have been watching him from the truck. Something set him off. But then, Wolf always could smell pure evil. It's why I keep him chained up when you come around.”

Annie sighed as Dan broke in once more.

“I went to see if I could get cedar chips, that's why. Jeez, Dan, do I have to file a report every time I do something in this county? That's all. And if you don't like what I'm telling you, you can . . .”

Again Annie was talking to an empty line. She'd forgotten, or more precisely, hadn't had time to tell Dan about nearly being shot today. Well, no matter. There wasn't much he could have done about it, anyway. She'd tell him the next time their paths crossed.

* * *

Walking up from the stables to her farmhouse that night, Annie reflected that there was one more thing she had to check off before retiring that night and scotch, for once, would not help. But she would put it off as long as possible. She snuggled with the puppy, to Wolf's disgust, then washed and dried every dish in the kitchen from the previous week. Finally, there was nothing left to do but the thing she dreaded most.

Peering under her bed, she pulled out her shoebox amid the voluminous dust bunnies that had taken up residence there. She pulled the DVD out from the blank case, a deliberate act on Esther's part, and placed it in her antiquated CD player. Placing earphones on her head, she skipped through each track until she got to the proper place. Moments later, Marcus's voice filled her head.

“I will destroy you. You will be a dead woman before you know it. Consider yourself warned.”

She put the DVD on pause and thought. It sounded like Marcus. According to Dan and the crime lab, it
was
Marcus. Even she had to concede that the tonal quality certainly matched the voice she'd heard for a few short days. But the cadence was off, and that was what bothered her. There was something about the rhythm of his speech that was off-putting. It sounded like Marcus's voice, but it didn't sound like the way he spoke. It wasn't the words. Annie already had difficulty believing that Marcus had uttered them, crime lab report or no. But it was the way they hung together that didn't ring true. Why was that? How could the message sound like Marcus yet not sound like Marcus?

Annie played the message again. And again. Finally, when she could recite the words and intonation by memory, she carefully put away the DVD and set the player and earphones aside.

She knew the answer. The problem was, she still didn't know who had done this to Marcus. And she had no idea how she was going to convince Dan that she was right.

S
UNDAY
, M
ARCH
13
^TH

Normally, Annie loved Sundays. It was the only day of the week when she truly allowed herself to kick back, except for taking care of the horses, of course. Today, she longed to make a pot of tea, stretch out on her living room couch with a pile of old horse magazines, and enjoy the comfort and quiet of her home. Wolf, she noticed, was already sleeping by the sofa in anticipation of his mistress's imminent arrival.

What was more, this was the first Sunday in recent memory Annie had a chance of enjoying. Lavender had been doing her ridiculous smudging the previous week, and the week before that was the horrible day that Marcus had disappeared. And the Sunday before that . . . Annie searched her brain. Oh, of course. That was the Sunday that started all the upheaval in Annie's life. Technically, she'd been called out on the search and rescue of Trooper in the wee hours of Monday morning, but in Annie's mind, it remained Sunday night.

Annie put away her lunch dishes and took one last regretful look at her well-worn couch, sagging in all the places where she typically plopped. It appeared that this Sunday would be no different. Despite her flippant remarks to Dan, she was more disturbed than she'd let on by the appearance of the shaggy-eyebrowed-stranger outside the Truebloods' home. She trusted Wolf's instincts. And Millie had told her enough to convince her that it was this same stranger who'd spiked Wayne Johnston's diet Coke. Whether or not the stranger's malfeasance extended to shooting at Annie, killing Hilda, and kidnapping Marcus or worse, she didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't want to get in his crosshairs again, and she wanted to know his identity.

To solve that little mystery, she figured she had no farther to go than her local library, conveniently open to the reading public on Sunday afternoons. Annie sent up a silent prayer that her tax dollars allowed county residents this luxury. She knew that several of the libraries in nearby Seattle had far shorter hours of operation than her own rural branch.

After making sure the pup was settled and the woodstove stoked and set to simmer, she whistled for Wolf, who looked surprised and a little hurt at the change in plans. She stuffed a handful of dog treats in her jacket to help make his wait in the truck more palatable.

A helpful volunteer showed Annie where the old high school yearbooks were stored. It was in a seldom-used corner of the library; apparently not many borrowers wanted to go down memory lane and sneak another look at their photo on the track team. Annie hoped Mr. Bushy Brows, as she now called him, had attended one of the local high schools and his distinctive facial hair was evident in his adolescence. If not, she was out of luck.

She started her search with the 1993 Suwana High School yearbook, several years after her own graduation from Port Chester high. Annie had graduated in 1990, when hoodies, leg warmers, acid jeans, and Converse All Stars reigned. Only a few years later, the fashion trends that had filled her school halls had been replaced by branded clothes and a surprising number of visible tattoos adorning almost every part of adolescent bodies. How hideous, she thought, as she turned page after page in the class photos section. The kids looked so young. Were they really old enough to decide how and where to be permanently etched?

By the time she picked up the 1996 yearbook, her eyes were glazing over, and she worried that even if Mr. Bushy Brows' photo was here, she wouldn't recognize him. This year, however, all the class photos switched from black-and-white to color, not just the senior section, which made them pop out on the page. Yawning, Annie began running her finger down the faces.

She found him toward at the end of the freshman section, sandwiched between Susan Trimble and Andrew Turler: Edwin Alford Trueblood. Eddie, as his family called him, had no hobbies and belonged to no clubs. He simply attended school. He was almost scowling in the picture, as if he resented having to pose at all or perhaps even participate in the public school system. But the scowl made his one-line eyebrows even more prominent. Annie guessed that he probably got teased for it. She could imagine the names: One Brow, Low Brow, Ape Man. Bushy Brows.

Well, might as well track his academic progress. The sophomore yearbook netted another picture, this one with Eddie in a Mohawk—although the eyebrows remained the same. The new fashion statement only him look more like the juvenile delinquent Martha had sadly told Annie he'd become. Annie wondered if there was a mug shot of him someplace—or did minors escape that part of the charging process?

Eddie was absent from the junior and senior yearbooks. Annie realized he may have transferred to another school, opted for Running Start, or, more likely, simply dropped out. But she had no interest in tracking him down further; that was Dan's job. She had what she'd come for: Bushy Brows' identity.

She made several copies of both photos on the library's one color copier machine, then made a pit stop before leaving the building. On the kiosk outside the bathroom, she noticed a flyer advertising a horseman's meeting at the Grange that evening—in fact, checking her watch, exactly one hour from now.
Damn.
Annie hated to go to the things. They were supposed to provide valuable information to horse owners in the valley, but Annie suspected they really were fairly transparent ways for local folk to get together and spin tales about their own lives. The speakers were often less than scintillating, and the social hour afterward, which consisted of weak coffee and store-bought cookies, often lasted longer than the presentations. Annie didn't socialize, not when she could help it. But as a staunch supporter and very active member of the search-and-rescue organization, she was obliged to attend at least a few of the meetings. Well, she was halfway to the Grange already. She might as well make an appearance.

She stopped for a greasy hamburger and shake at the closest drive-in, generously sharing her protein bounty with Wolf. What with the beef stew at Johan's, her faithful canine was almost getting spoiled. But she couldn't afford to be without his protection right now. The good news for the Blue Heeler was he was now regularly eating the tastiest cuisine of his entire dog life.

A dozen other pickups were already in the Grange parking lot when she pulled up. She recognized most of them; the good news about the county's horse owners was they were more than willing to help out the others in time of need, and most everyone had been to each other's ranch or farm several times. Short a half ton of hay at winter's end? Someone would surely sell you what they could spare until the first summer cutting, delivering it, too. Out of a probiotic for a colicky horse? Any horse owner with the stuff would rush to make sure you had what you needed in a crisis. Horse owners also were good about filling in when their neighbors were sick or called out of town. Annie pitched in and helped out as much as the next person, and actually enjoyed the interactions. It was the prescribed social activities that made her uncomfortable and long to be back to her solitary existence.

“Annie! Long time no see!”

A redheaded farmer in overalls ambled over, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

“CW, how are you?”

“Can't complain. Looking forward to tonight's talk. I've spotted two bears on the north side of my property in the past two weeks. I'd like to know how the state intends to let us deal with the problem. Right now, I've got my .12 gauge oiled and ready.”

Bears? Annie thought she'd heard more local news than she ever wanted in the past few weeks, but apparently a key story had slid right by her.

“I didn't realize any bears had been seen in the valley,” she admitted to her companion. “A bit early, isn't it?”

“And a bit out of their usual roaming range, I'd say. Bill over here says they got into his chicken coop just yesterday. Tore the head off a chicken and went after his turkeys.”

Annie was dumbfounded. She was used to the predictable cougar alarms that sprang up every few years, when one or more was spotted in the area during cool autumn months. But bears? She thought they were all happily living in the Olympic National Forest, only a menace to campers who left their food or garbage out at night.

“Who's the speaker tonight?”

“Sergeant McCready. He's over there, talking to Lena.”

Annie looked over CW's shoulder and saw the Fish and Wildlife agent chatting away with the club secretary. He seemed perfectly at ease.

“Well, maybe it's just a fluke. I sure hope so.”

“You've got your ewes coming into your place pretty soon, don't you?”

“Yeah, but I've never seen a bear around the flock. The pasture is wired. And I put my donkey in for protection.”

“Well, I sure hope you don't have any problems this spring. As I said, I'm armed and ready for any varmint that steps foot on my property. With or without the state's approval.”

Having said his piece, CW nodded at Annie and went for a refill. Annie felt disgruntled. She really wasn't worried about any wildlife coming onto her ranch, but the idea of black bears in the vicinity still was cause for concern. A six-foot-tall bear wouldn't think twice about swiping a little Belgian Tervuren if it stood in the way of a food source.

The meeting got under way a few minutes later. Annie squeezed into a seat between two riding friends, Luann Schmidt and Jill Thayer, promising to catch up with them after the presentation. Sergeant McCready stood up and began to speak while the crowd was still talking among themselves.

“Most of you know me already, so I won't bother with a big introduction. I'm Doug McCready, and I've been with the Fish and Wildlife Department for the past eighteen years. Most of that time has been on the Peninsula. You got a problem with fish or wildlife, I'm your point man. I track all sightings, and I want to hear about them when they happen. That way, I can try to extinguish the problem before it gets out of control.”

“Don't you mean exterminate?” The loud bellow came from the back of the room. Annie recognized CW's voice.

McCready ignored the interruption. “I'd planned on giving you an update on our cougar management removal program,” he continued, “but since I've heard quite a few of you have spotted black bear on or around your properties, I'll switch gears and address that instead.” The room quieted down.

“Every year, we get about sixty reports of black bear in our area. This year, we've already received reports of fifteen sightings. That's a substantial increase over past years. We don't know why we've had this surge, but there are a number of reasons why this could be occurring.

“As you know, our past two summers have been cooler than average. This means less food at higher elevations, where the bears typically spend their winters. Two, what with the economy the way it is, we had an actual decrease in hunters this past season. So there are more wildlife competing for less food.

“While I'm not happy knowing that bears are roaming our rural areas, I'm certainly not as concerned as when we had our cougar outbreak three years ago. Unlike cougars, black bears are essentially herbivores. Their primary diet is plants and berries. That being said, if you leave a half-eaten steak in your garbage pail at night, they still might go after it. Ditto for small domestic animals. Or chickens. So taking a bit of preventative care isn't a bad thing to do.”

Annie began to zone out as McCready continued his discussion. It was all old news. She perked up again when he dragged out a life-sized cutout of a black bear cub.

“There was supposed to be an image of a female bear here, but it's gone missing,” McCready said as he put the cub photo in full view of his audience. “Which is exactly what could happen in real life. You see one of these cute little fellows and decide you want a photo of him and your grandson together. Don't do it. You can be darn sure that mama bear is close behind and will attack on sight if she thinks someone is endangering her offspring.”

As if she didn't know that, Annie thought sleepily, as McCready continued his discussion of black bear habits and ways of procuring food. Most of what he said was common knowledge to her, not to mention the rest of the people in the room. What they really wanted to know, she realized, is whether or not they had the state's permission to shoot any bears they saw on private land. She dozed off again until she realized McCready was nearing the end of his talk.

“In conclusion, I want to emphasize that there have been zero reports of any bears attacking a human. A little knowledge and common sense will keep it that way. Keep your small pets inside at night. Make sure your fence line is secure and hot-wired. Stow your garbage inside until you can put it in a safe receptacle off your property. And, please, if you see a bear, call me first. We're prepared to remove the bears if at all possible and restore them to their natural habitat. They probably don't like wandering around in your meadows any more than you like seeing them there. Now, I've left a number of cards on the table. Please help yourself and don't hesitate to call if you have any questions.”

A thin smattering of applause filtered through the room. CW, however, wasn't ready to let the agent go.

“Can we kill them if we see them?”

McCready already was leaving the podium, but he stopped and addressed the farmer personally.

“CW, you know as well as I do that if a bear is attacking your livestock or other animals, you have every right to shoot. You're also required to report it immediately, I repeat, immediately, to the Fish and Wildlife Department so we can pick up the remains. But if you see a bear that's not acting aggressively toward your herd, all you can do right now is give me a call. There is no removal system in place that extends to private citizens at the moment, and quite frankly, that's how it's likely to remain, unless the number of bear spottings drastically rises.”