Reining in Murder

by Leigh Hearon

  “How about her husband, Marcus Colbert?”

  “Didn’t even know she was married. In fact, if I’d been asked to bet on it, I would have said she was single. I’m only going by her reputation, of course, not from personal knowledge. I’ve done a lot of real-estate transactions in my career, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone who was as merciless and unyielding as Ms. Colbert. I’m surprised she didn’t die before she did. It was my mistaken belief that one had to have a heart to live.”

  Annie considered that. “So I know this is none of my business. But why, Mr. Latham, did you want to buy the property? I mean, I understand why you were upset about Hilda’s swooping in with a ridiculously high offer and getting the real-estate agent to accept it. But you have a gorgeous property already. Why did you want to acquire more land? It was land, wasn’t it? There weren’t any buildings already there?”

  Mr. Latham was silent for a long time.

  “I must give you credit,” he finally said. “You asked a question that eluded the police. No, it doesn’t make me culpable of murder. But the answer does show just how heartless my opponent is, or was.”

  He closed his eyes and gave a long sigh.

  “Seven years ago, my only grandson was brutally murdered by his peers, for no reason at all. Alex apparently had some kind of phone that the other boys coveted, and he wouldn’t give it up on demand. He was pummeled to death. He lay at death’s door for three weeks before his parents—my son and daughter-in-law—made the decision no parent should have to make in their lifetime. They let him go. He was never going to get better. He was never going to be the boy we all knew and loved so much.”

  Mr. Latham put a hand over his face. His mouth was working. Annie silently swallowed and was silent. Wolf put his head on his paws and gazed sorrowfully up at the man.

  “There’s not a day that goes by when we don’t wonder whether we did the right thing. Or why this had to happen to such a beautiful boy. For a year, I was so angry that I couldn’t see straight. The boys who were responsible were sent away, but they’ll be out of juvenile detention in just a few years. They’ll have lives as adults, something that Alex never will have.”

  Wolf slowly got up and padded over to Mr. Latham, dropping by his chair. Mr. Latham reached out and unconsciously began to stroke his fur.

  “Then I heard about the property in Shelby, forty glorious acres that had never been developed and were ripe for the picking. I got a brainstorm about how I might honor Alex’s memory and perhaps ensure that this kind of senseless murder never happened again, at least in our own backyard.

  “I planned to start a ranch, a place where boys who had nothing and had little hope for their own futures could come and learn the basic skills of how to get along with other people. Taking care of dogs, chickens, pigs, and yes, horses, I presumed was a good start. I thought if I could teach these boys how to respect animals, to respect each other, and gain the kind of confidence they needed so they wouldn’t feel compelled to bully others for elusive things that wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference in their own lives, I might save another boy’s life down the road.”

  “Did Hilda know of your intentions?” This came after a long pause, when Annie was sure that Mr. Latham was done speaking.

  “She did, and she couldn’t have cared less. All she cared about were her own precious horses. It was a complete and utter waste of a resource that could have done so much good.”

  Annie hesitated, but then asked what she wanted to ask.

  “The language you used in your last letter was . . . pretty strong.”

  “I admit it. It was strong, but I still don’t regret a word of it, even if the woman is now dead. My real-estate agent and my son both cautioned me against it. My son’s an attorney and was afraid of a countersuit. I was at the point where I wanted her to bring it on. But she never did. She got what she wanted, and it was as if Alex had never existed.”

  Annie didn’t know what to say. But then Mr. Latham took up the thread again.

  “Six months later, I had my stroke. And that put an end to all my plans. Now I just exist in this house and accept the kindnesses of others.”

  “Mr. Latham, is there anyone else you can think of who hated Hilda Colbert? Anyone else you can think of who might have wanted to kill her?”

  “As I said, I never met the woman. I know there were other people interested in the property, but I don’t know if anyone felt as strongly about acquiring it as I did. And Ms. Carson, I must disagree with you on one small point. I don’t hate Hilda Colbert. I pity her. She never knew what it was like truly to love another person. I did. And even though loving Alex breaks my heart every day, I still cherish my ability to do so.”

  * * *

  As Annie drove home late that afternoon, she thought about Marcus and Hilda’s relationship and wondered if Travis (as he now insisted she call him) was right. Had Hilda ever loved Marcus? Marcus certainly seemed to have loved his wife while she lived, as exasperating as she evidently could be. But if you loved someone, and strongly, too, couldn’t those feelings turn to hate? Enough hate to say horrible things on the phone to them the week before they died? Enough hate to kill the person you once loved?

  Before she went to bed, Annie stowed the DVD of Marcus’s voice in the shoebox underneath her bed. She wanted to listen to it. She yearned to listen to it, to catch some nuance that would explain everything to her in a way that made sense. But not tonight. Tonight, she would think of Alex, and horses, and a wonderful Blue Heeler named Wolf, who understood human suffering better than most people.

  CHAPTER 20

  FRIDAY, MARCH 11TH

  “Suwana County officials now suspect the death of Marcus Colbert was a suicide. Colbert was the husband of well-known equestrian Hilda Colbert, whose body was discovered more than two weeks ago in her home in Shelby. Police initially said Marcus Colbert was responsible for his wife’s death, although he died before being brought to trial. Meanwhile, Sheriff Stetson has identified Juan Salazar as a person of interest in the case. Salazar was employed by Hilda Colbert on her ranch but has not been seen for several days. More on this story at the hour.”

  Annie’s hand sent the radio alarm clock crashing to the floor. It had done its work, which was to rouse her to wakefulness, but the way in which it performed its job had put her in a thoroughly foul mood.

  Stomping off to the kitchen for her first cup of coffee, Annie wondered angrily why people were so quick to rush to judgment. Marcus’s body hadn’t shown up, only his tie. He was a missing person, that was all. A missing person on whom the police were quick to place the blame for every homicide in Suwana County they couldn’t solve.

  Her cell phone emitted its old-fashioned trill. Annie grabbed it and noticed the blocked caller ID. It had to be Dan, she thought sourly, who blocked his identity every time he was on sneaky squirrel patrol. Sighing, she flipped the lid and said in her most perky voice, “Annie speaking.”

  “Annie, it’s Dan. Sorry I was a little gruff with you yesterday. Just had a few things to take care of that couldn’t wait.”

  Good old Dan. A pain in the butt one day, an apologetic little puppy the next.

  “Did you accomplish what you intended to do?” Annie tried hard not to sound sarcastic and failed.

  “Oh, yeah. Talked to that Latham guy you turned us onto. A harmless old geezer who just got his nose out of joint over Hilda’s bulldozing her way onto the property. That report’s been filed and buried.”

  “You don’t think he had a motive for killing Hilda?”

  “Motive, yes. Means, no. Opportunity, unlikely. Unless he called our county senior van and asked the driver to take him to Hilda’s and back. The guy can barely walk, let alone wield a knife.”

  “So it was a knife that killed her?” Annie distinctly recalled Dan painstakingly telling her the murder weapon was unknown.

  “Knife, penknife, whatever it was, believe me when I say Hilda would have turned it on him in a second, and
you would have been looking at a different body altogether when you came along.”

  “Well, congratulations. And I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got another little lead that you might want to know about.”

  “Blast it, Annie! What in the Sam Hill are you doing? Aren’t a dozen horses and seventy-five ewes enough to keep you out of trouble?”

  “It’s six horses at the moment, and you forgot the donkey. But never mind. I happened to be in the Garver’s Corner steakhouse a few days ago and talked to the waitress who waited on Wayne Johnston.”

  Silence reigned on the other end of the line.

  “And she said that a complete stranger approached Wayne just at the end of his meal. Then Wayne got a phone call and took it outside. He called it ‘a funny’ kind of call. Then he left the tavern—oh, after taking a last sip of his drink, but I guess the stranger stuck around awhile longer.”

  Annie thought she’d done a superb job of assimilating and conveying the facts. She was unprepared, therefore, for Dan’s retort.

  “And what was the stranger’s name?” His tone was silky smooth.

  “Well, how should I know? He was a stranger, according to Millie. That’s the waitress. Didn’t you talk to her?”

  That last remark was a cheap shot, but Annie didn’t care.

  “I thought we had. What time did Millie say Wayne walked into the joint?”

  “Close to closing. She had to tell the kitchen not to close yet, ’cause Millie, in her usual manner, convinced the man he wanted the T-bone special.”

  A prolonged sigh flowed into Annie’s ear. “All right. We’ll check him out. Does Millie remember what this ‘stranger’ looked like?”

  “Enough for a police sketch, I would think. His most compelling attributes are eyebrows that grow together.”

  “Terrific. Well, thanks for planning my day. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Oh, and you might want to look at Wayne’s cell phone records, if you haven’t already. And before I forget, ask me about Hilda’s not-so rusty gate.”

  She was speaking to an empty line.

  * * *

  The phone calls continued to come while Annie was feeding the horses. Cursing the blasted device, she methodically went about her work and ignored the shrill tone. It was only when she shrugged off her stable jacket and procured another cup of coffee in her kitchen that she deigned to see who wanted to speak to her. Quite a few people, it turned out.

  The first call was from Rick Courtier, the reporter whom Tony had tossed off her farm a few weeks earlier, and was proving, with this phone message, that he failed to understand that “no means no.” Annie listened to ten seconds of his unctuous overtures before hitting the delete button.

  The next message was from James Fenton, who merely asked Annie to call him. This she did at once, feverishly punching in the numbers as she sank into a chair by her kitchen table. She endured only a few seconds of staccato-like Baroque music before Fenton picked up the line.

  “Good morning, Ms. Carson.” He always sounded so bored at the prospect of having to talk to her, Annie thought. She wished the feeling were mutual.

  “Mr. Fenton, what news do you have?”

  “Against my strong objections, Marcus’s disappearance has been classified as a suicide . . . although my guess is it’ll take a year or more for the death certificate to be issued. The good news is that this determination will allow the process of settling the estate to begin. I’ve petitioned the court to release certain funds immediately, which means they could be available as soon as the end of next week. I just wanted you to know that the monies Marcus authorized for you to divest Hilda’s horse property should soon be in your hands.”

  Horse property? Annie thought she’d only been given instructions to find homes for Hilda’s horses. Oh, that’s what Fenton meant. Being an ignorant, arrogant attorney, he could only think of them as things, not animals.

  Annie didn’t care about Marcus’s money. “You know, they’re still trying to pin Hilda’s death on Marcus. Wayne Johnston’s, too.”

  “I know, I know.” Fenton sighed. “Believe me, it’s been a real challenge dealing with these backwoods law-and-order types. My worst nightmare is if they manage to convince the prosecutor that Marcus is a serial murderer and he’s found alive. At that point, Marcus’s bail will be revoked and no amount of money will get him out of jail before trial. Make that plural. Trials. The Johnston family will sue, of course. That’s why I’m trying to release as much of his funds now, before all hell breaks loose.”

  And you can get paid, Annie thought, but she said nothing. At least she and Fenton were on the same page regarding Marcus’s innocence, even if for polar opposite reasons.

  * * *

  The last phone call was from Jessica, who, bless her soul, merely wanted to know how Trooper was doing.

  “Great,” Annie assured the vet. “I’ve hopped on his back a few times in the round pen and can hardly wait to get him under saddle and on the open road. I think he’s enjoying his new life among the commoners.”

  “Delighted to hear it. Thanks to all the cold rain and new grass, I’ve had a higher-than-average number of colic and founder cases already this year. I just wanted to make sure Trooper’s delicate system was handling his new environment okay.”

  “Eating like a horse. Pooping like a horse. All systems go. Oh, and Jessica, there’s a good chance that I’ll be able to pay off your bill in the next couple of weeks. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “I will. Although I know you’re good for it, Annie. But I never turn down money when offered.”

  As Annie said good-bye, she thought Jessica had a point. Marcus was not dead—she’d believed this, ever since she’d discovered his tie—but whether she was right or wrong, he did want her to have the money he’d left her. And Trooping the Colour.

  * * *

  She was out of food. She didn’t know how it happened, even though it happened more often than she would have liked to admit. Horse, dog, and cat comestibles were in plentiful supply. Life would not have been worth living had they not been. But the stuff that propelled the mistress of the farm throughout the day was in pitiful, short supply. Even the freezer had been denuded.

  Rummaging in the aisle that promoted unhealthy chips and dips, Annie heard a shriek behind her. She wheeled around, expecting to see a gallon of sickeningly sweet fruit juice on the floor or a child being yanked away from a row of candy bars. Instead, she saw a young woman with long brunette plaits hurtling her way toward her.

  Annie tried to step out of the way but the woman was too fast. The next thing she knew, she was held captive in the arms of a stranger. She struggled to get free of the clearly disturbed inmate unloosed from the asylum until a piercing cry rang out across the entire store.

  “Sister!”

  It was Lavender, although Annie could barely see the resemblance to the woman who had shown up at her door a mere two weeks ago. This Lavender seemed, well, normal. The absence of pink hair got a lot of the credit. And the hippy peasant look was gone, too, replaced by jeans and a battered sweatshirt. But there was something else that was different about the woman who stood beaming in front of her. It was in her demeanor. The ephemeral gaze was gone. She looked, well, just plain normal.

  “Lavender, where have you been?”

  She didn’t mean for her first sentence to come out this way. But then, she hadn’t realized until now how genuinely worried she was about her half sister’s well-being.

  “Let me start again. Lavender, you look wonderful. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

  Lavender laughed, and her blue eyes crinkled, making her look not only normal but downright pretty. A few days out of my presence, Annie thought, and dead people come back to life.

  “I told you, Annie! I’m living with my new friend, Martha. Martha, where are you? I want you to meet my sister. The one I’ve been telling you about.”

  A tiny wisp of an elderly woman shyly standing be
hind Lavender took a few dainty steps forward and gave Annie a lovely smile.

  “So you’re Annie. I’m very glad to make your acquaintance. I’m Martha Sanderson. I’ve been enjoying your sister’s company so much these past few days. I do hope you don’t mind sharing her.”

  Not at all. The pleasure’s all mine.

  “Well, I’ve been a bit worried about her. But I’m glad to see that she’s all right. Do you live nearby?”

  “Martha lives right on the bus route, don’t you, Martha? We met on the bus last week. She lives in the cutest house, and all alone. Well, until now, that is.”

  Martha put a gentle hand on Lavender’s arm which surprisingly made Annie’s half sister fall silent.

  “I live in the robin blue cottage just about a mile from your place, Annie, near the turn-in to that new cider business. Lavender saw me struggling with my groceries on the bus about a week ago and was kind enough to help me. Since then, we’ve become fast friends. When she told me that . . . she thought you might . . . well, to make a long story short, I have a guest bedroom, and I invited Lavender to stay with me.”

  “And I love it, Annie! Martha’s so nice, and we get along just like sisters!”

  Something hard pierced Annie’s heart. She didn’t think Lavender had any idea of what she’d just said, but regardless, it was true. Martha obviously enjoyed Lavender’s company far more than Annie ever would, and the pouting, disgruntled Lavender she’d seen in her own home had vanished. Maybe Annie just wasn’t meant to be around people and should stick to animals. Annie pushed down the lump in her chest and smiled back.

  “That’s wonderful, Lavender. I’m so happy for you.”

  Lavender turned excitedly to Martha.

  “Oh, Martha! Let’s have Annie over for tea! I’d love for her to taste those scones you made this morning.”

  Annie immediately made noises of doing no such thing, but Martha took it all in stride.

  “Of course, dear child. Annie, we’d be delighted to have you over. Can you come after you’ve finished your shopping? Do you think you can find the place?”