Reining in Murder

by Leigh Hearon

  Annie already had pictured Martha’s house in her mind’s eye. She knew exactly where it was and what it looked like. It was one of the original farmhouses in the valley, noted for the pink and white rosebushes that graced the walkway leading to the home. It was adorable. Annie had always wondered who took such tender care of the fragile flowers, and now she knew.

  “I’ve often seen your place from the road, and yes, I’d be delighted.”

  “Wonderful!” This was from Lavender. “Oh, but, Annie, you don’t really want those chips, do you? Let me show you where the gluten-free section is. It’s amazing what this store stocks for people who care about their health.”

  * * *

  Seated in Martha Sanderson’s parlor—there was no other name for it that fit—Annie looked around and made a mental comparison of the lavish home she’d been in just yesterday. Travis Latham undoubtedly had more expensive furnishings, but both homes exuded warmth and the personality of their occupants. In Martha’s case, this meant an old-fashioned upright in one corner with a book of hymns laid open, and on the windowsills, rows and rows of antique Dresden dolls with matching crocheted doilies underneath. In the back of the room was a well-used fireplace with a mantel adorned with more than a dozen family photos. Larger framed ones hung on either side, some of which looked as if they dated back to the nineteenth century. Annie had no doubt that the entire Sanderson family tree was displayed in the room.

  She wondered idly if Travis Latham and Martha Sanderson could ever be a couple. But then, Travis would have to adopt Lavender. She nixed that idea.

  Lavender tripped into the room, bearing a tray of warm scones and a bone china tea set. She carefully set it down on the piano bench and left, flashing Annie a beatific smile.

  “There’s someone else I know you want to see,” she said cryptically as she left the room.

  A moment later, a small Belgian puppy came racing into the parlor. Annie scooped him up and hugged her. “How are you, kiddo? Are they treating you okay in this prison?”

  “I hope so,” said Martha, who appeared with napkins and small spoons. “In addition to the puppy chow Lavender brought, she’s been eating a bit of raw steak every night. I’m afraid that’s my fault. I hope that’s all right for her.”

  “If her tummy can accommodate it, then I think it’s fine. Although you are spoiling her, you know.”

  “My dear, I don’t know how much longer the good Lord is giving me on earth. I intend to spoil as many people and animals as I can before I go.”

  Annie was amused to see Lavender resort to her finishing-school manners in front of her. She poured the tea as if she were serving the Queen of England and presented the scones as if they were a rare French delicacy. Annie did her best to mimic her sister’s good manners for Martha’s sake, and adroitly fed the small crumbles from her scone to the puppy hovering at her feet.

  “I’ve admired your roses for so many years now. When did you first plant them?” Annie asked Martha politely after accepting her third cup of tea.

  “Oh, honey, since I was twenty-one and a blushing bride. My husband, Fred, and I moved over here in 1952, when Fred took a job as a research chemist for the local lumber company. We met at the University of Washington. There weren’t many women attending college in those days, and even fewer majoring in chemistry. The war had just ended, and veterans were going back to college in spades. I had my choice of men, I can tell you! But Fred caught my eye in our chem lab sixty-five years ago, and I’ve never looked anywhere else since.”

  “The valley must have looked a lot different back then.”

  “You’d hardly recognize it. Miles and miles of pristine forest, with just a sprinkling of houses hither and yon. Most everyone was involved in the timber business back then, in one way or the other. I wanted to go out and make my mark on the world, too, except that there wasn’t anything for me to do. Women didn’t take professional jobs back then, not if they didn’t have to. Fred and I were never blessed with children, so I just devoted myself to my roses. When people would ask me how I grew them so healthy, I’d just tell them that’s where my chemistry degree came in.”

  Martha’s eyes were twinkling as she said this. Annie was amazed. Here was an intelligent, educated woman whose skills had been ignored and unwanted in a rural community, yet she showed no resentment at her lot in life. Fred must have been a wonderful husband, she thought.

  As if reading her mind, Martha added, “Of course, I had my wonderful husband, up until 1998. We never lacked for intellectual conversation. And we tried to stay current with what was going on in the city. Don’t get me wrong—we loved living here, every minute, but both of us needed to hear good music, see good art, and keep our brains stimulated. At the same time, we were happy to embrace what the Peninsula offered. We’d often go to a hoedown on Saturday night and hear the Seattle Symphony the next afternoon.”

  “You must know most of the families in the valley.”

  “Oh my, yes. You couldn’t help it. You saw them at church every Sunday and at the Grange every other day of the week. I know all the first families’ here, along with their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

  Annie was intrigued. She’d grown up in Port Chester, the biggest town in the area, and only moved to the country after she’d purchased her small farm. It had been important to her mother for Annie to attend the best schools the county had to offer, and they were in town. Her mother’s job with the county also made living in town a necessity.

  “Do you know the Truebloods?” she asked Martha. Like every other longtime native, Annie knew that the Truebloods were among the first families to own a lumber and paper mill in the area. And now she knew that Wayne Johnston had plowed his rig into their fence line on his zoned-out trip from Garver’s Corner. The Truebloods were on her list of people to talk to, Dan be damned, and she wondered if Martha could shed any insights that might help her introduction.

  “They were our first and best friends,” came Martha’s prompt reply. “John and Louise were just the nicest people. They welcomed everyone into their home. We spent many a Saturday night playing bridge and charades in their parlor. And the parties they’d hold! They were wonderful hosts, just wonderful.”

  “They had children, didn’t they?”

  “Six of them, as I recall.”

  Glancing at Annie’s appalled face, Martha added, “It was the done thing in those days, dear. You needed sons and daughters to help out at home.”

  Which is probably why Martha and Fred never got a home bigger than this, Annie thought to herself.

  “Did the children go into the family business?”

  “Some did, some didn’t. One of the boys, I believe, was killed in the Vietnam conflict. And the girls, of course, moved away after they were married, although I think one of them moved back here a few years ago. But it was Cal, the oldest son—he married Mary Darnell, another local gem—who truly stepped up to the plate after John retired. Of course, the timber business changed after his father got out. A combination of federal mandates and dwindling forests, I’d say. But the Truebloods still own most of the timber in this county. And they’ve been wise stewards of the environment, despite all the negative press that the timber industry has received.”

  Annie digested this. “So Cal and Mary’s children may not automatically have a family business to inherit, it seems.”

  “Well, it’s a blessing in some ways. They only had two children, a boy and a girl. The girl became a lawyer, and I believe is practicing environmental law in Washington, D.C., now. I don’t know if she ever married. I don’t believe so. I think she’s a lesbian.”

  Annie started at Martha’s casual declaration.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, dear. Believe it or not, we had gay people even back when I was born. We just didn’t know it, and we certainly didn’t call them that. I’m just glad that the world’s advanced enough to recognize gay people and to stop paying so much attention to their sexual orientation.”r />
  Annie was beginning to like Martha more and more.

  “How about the boy? The son?”

  “Now that’s a sad story. Eddie was always a bit of an outcast, even in his own family. He didn’t take to school, and he got into a bit of trouble when he was a teenager. For the past three generations, every boy in the family had trotted off to the same Ivy League college, but Eddie couldn’t even get into his father’s alma mater with his grades, juvenile pranks, and yes, criminal record. He tried to start a couple of businesses, all with his father’s money, of course, but couldn’t seem to make a go of anything he tried. The last I heard, he wanted to buy farmland and start raising llamas, not that Eddie knows anything about llamas. But that’s Eddie. He gets an idea in his head, and there’s no stopping him until he’s tried it and failed miserably. Unfortunately, everything he wants to do takes money, and I suspect Cal is about ready to stop supporting his half-baked endeavors.”

  Annie did her best to look sympathetic. She was sure Martha had spent countless hours comforting Louise Trueblood over her grandson’s peccadilloes. Personally, Annie was just glad that she and Eddie had never crossed paths in high school.

  At the end of the afternoon, Annie had convinced Lavender that the puppy should return to her home, at least for the next month or two.

  “He needs to be trained, Lavender. And no one’s a better dog trainer than an older, wiser dog like Wolf. Belgians are highly intelligent, but also highly energetic animals. They need a job. At my place, the puppy can learn from Wolf how to herd and be a good watchdog to my sheep. Here, you’re going to have to walk him six times a day just to keep him from tearing up the house.”

  “Annie’s right,” Martha added gently. “Remember how the puppy chewed up all your clothes the first night you were here?”

  Lavender nodded glumly. Aha! Annie thought. So that explains the change in style. The Peninsula-style chic Lavender had adopted had been born out of necessity. Well, she could only hope that Lavender realized her new apparel was more practical and more appealing. Annie had no doubt that Martha had been instrumental in persuading Lavender to go for a more natural hair color.

  Annie and the puppy departed just as the sun began sink over the Olympic Mountains. From her truck, she waved the puppy’s paw good-bye. Martha and Lavender waved back, a striking silhouette against the rosebushes, still stark from the winter months, but with the promise of blooms showing in every bud.

  Just like Lavender, Annie thought as she drove home with the pup on her lap, conscious that she was breaking the law but unwilling to put the pup in an unfamiliar crate in her flatbed. A bud just waiting to open to its full glory. And Martha, bless her heart, was just the woman to cultivate that process.

  * * *

  For a dog, Wolf was fairly charitable about receiving the young upstart Belgian back into the home. He didn’t snarl, and he didn’t growl. He simply ignored him. Annie was content. Bolstered by the tea and scones she’d just consumed, she went out to tend to her horses’ evening meal. It was almost seven-thirty before she returned to the house. The assessment she’d given Jessica of Trooper’s health really had been right on, she told herself. The horse had ravenously consumed his mash and looked bright, alert, yet relaxed. She decided to take him out for a ride the next day if the weather permitted.

  Now she made herself a pot of tea and sat at her kitchen table, willing herself to put down on paper what had been swirling in her brain for days. She reached for her collection of sharpened pencils and began to write. On the top of the sheet, she put in big block letters “MEANS,” “MOTIVE,” “OPPORTUNITY,” and “ALIBI.” On the left-hand side, she listed all the suspects to date. She began with her personal favorite: Todos.

  She’d never forgotten his remark about what happened to geldings who were unable to compete or show. She didn’t care if he was the hardest unpaid worker on Hilda’s place. Or had the reputation as the most skillful trainer to the rarefied sector of the equine world. Any man who could destroy a horse for such a paltry reason would never rank above snake level in her book.

  Did Todos have the means to kill Hilda? Absolutely—he had the run of the ranch and, Annie assumed, lived on-site. Motive? That was unclear. Todos undoubtedly was the highest-paid hand on the place, and Hilda was probably a cash cow compared to every other horse owner in the county. Opportunity? Again, he had more contact with Hilda than any other employee. Alibi? Ah, there was the rub. Todos had an airtight alibi. Damn.

  Moving on, Annie considered Juan. Poor little, meek, underpaid, unappreciated Juan. Like Todos, he had the means and opportunity. Although he probably lived in some horrid little hovel on the ranch, not a caretaker cabin that she assumed Todos had been allotted. Motive? Who wouldn’t want to see Hilda dead? If she’d reamed him out over some perceived failure or threatened to fire him, it might have been enough to set him off. Alibi? Who knows? Juan had taken off before anyone had the chance to ask him. But Annie couldn’t forget her memory of him quaking beside her as she stood on the brink of entering Hilda’s golden palace. Dan might think he’d been quivering with fear that Annie would discover the body that he already knew was there, but Annie still didn’t buy it. He was just plain scared of a very mean woman.

  Next was Latham. Although Annie had left Travis’s property utterly convinced that he, too, was just another victim of Hilda’s downright evilness, she now thought of several small details that had escaped her at the time. Such as his impassive face when she’d told him she had been the one to discover Hilda’s body. Was this the natural reaction of someone given startling news? Unless it wasn’t startling news. Annie fleetingly wished she watched television so she knew what CSI detectives would think. And what about means? Travis certainly appeared to be a physical wreck, but who tended his garden? He said he lived alone. If Travis were capable of wielding a trowel or a hand weeder, he might be capable of sticking it into Hilda’s neck. Motive? Travis reeked of motive. True, killing Hilda wouldn’t bring back his grandson, Alex. And several years had passed since Hilda had usurped the property from him. But hadn’t some famous person said “revenge is a dish best served cold”? She moved onto “opportunity.” Not on his own. He’d have to have a confederate, and she refused to believe that it was Marcus, as Dan had suggested. Alibi? His word only. Poor Travis didn’t even have a dog to back up his story. If Travis was innocent, Annie vowed to train the Belgian pup to be his companion. When the pup reached maturity, of course.

  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.

  CHAPTER 21

  SATURDAY, MAR
CH 12TH

  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.