Reining in Murder (6 page)

“Hey! Over here!”

A small Hispanic man looked up.

“¡Hola!”
Annie waved her arms. “
¡Aquí!
I have Señora Colbert's
caballo!
”

The man sat silent for a moment, then turned off the engine. “
¡Un momento!
” he called back.

Annie got back into the truck and waited.

Two minutes later, a long, grating buzz and loud click sounded and the large metal gate majestically swung open. Annie waited for the gate to fully extend, then slowly drove through and around to the back of the stable. A fleet of trailers emblazoned with the Colbert Farm logo met her.

“You'd think
one
of these could have collected the bay,” Annie muttered as she got out of her truck. Her own rig looked dwarfish next to Hilda's procession.

The farmhand came around to greet her, a large German shepherd by his side. Wolf strained against his tether from the flatbed, anxiously barking.

“Shush.” Annie undid the buckle, and Wolf leapt out, unmindful of the harness still on him. “And behave.”

The dogs danced around each other, yelping exuberantly, then raced off down the slope.

Annie and the farmhand looked at each other and smiled. “Instant
amigos,
” she said, and stuck out her hand. “I'm Annie Carson.”

The little man seemed slightly unnerved at Annie's extension of friendship, but he took her hand and softly shook it.

“I'm here to deliver Mrs. Colbert's new horse. Is this a good place to unload?”

Annie got a blank stare in return.

Cursing herself for not taking Spanish in college, Annie frantically sought for a phrase that might make sense.

“
¿
Dónde está Señora Colbert?”

She got a shrug with widespread hands that intimated that Señora Colbert could be anywhere in this big, wide world.

“Todos?
Él consigue el heno.
”

Getting hay. Great.

“
Quando
. . . um . . . back?”

“Oh,
mucho mas tarde.
” Judging by his tone, Todos could be gone for days, months, perhaps years.

“Well, I need to get these guys out of the trailer,” Annie said, realizing her actions from here on out would speak louder than her words. She motioned toward the back of the trailer and, using her hands, suggested that he unlock the paddle latches. The man nodded vigorously and began to pull up the latch on the left, behind Trotter.

“Wait! Stop!
¡Ahora!
” Annie ran over to the window grill, untied Trotter's lead rope from the tie, and threw it over his withers. “Okay!”

Annie's helper pulled up the latch and stepped aside. Trotter daintily stepped backward and expertly found his way to the ground. Annie took the lead rope and walked him away.

“Señora!”

Annie turned. The man's face was a mixture of horror and incredulity.

“
¡Es un burro!
”

Annie hooted with laughter. The idea that Hilda would buy a donkey was worth the price of admission to this fanci-fied place.

Gesturing to the other trailer door, she said, “
There
is Señora Colbert's
caballo.
”

Her helper scurried to it and waited for Annie to give the signal to lift up the latch. This time, Annie stepped inside the trailer and stroked the bay's mane, now wet with perspiration, as she loosened the lead from the stall tie.

“Easy, boy,” she whispered, as the latch lifted, and the back gate swung open. “Just one step at a time.”

The bay took four quick steps backward until one hoof hit air. A split second later, he put it down. Annie threw the lead over his back and emerged outside just as the horse's four hooves met ground. Gathering up the lead line, she led him directly to Trotter, who was drinking deeply from a water trough.

“
¡Magnifico!
”

Annie had to agree, and not just about the gorgeous bay. Looking around for the first time, she saw perhaps eighteen other highly pedigreed horses, each in its own paddock, each eating from its customized hay feeder. They were all blanketed, some with hoods, and Annie realized that she'd never thought of doing this while the bay was at her place. But then, she never blanketed any of her own horses. They were perfectly capable of growing their own winter coats.

Yet the grandeur of Hilda's horses could not be obscured by their outerwear. Anyone with a modicum of horse savvy could see that Hilda had amassed a stunning collection of prime hunter jumpers—including a jet-black stud, Annie saw, housed in its own fifteen-foot-high paddock, far away from the mares. The stallion was pacing back and forth, tossing its head in utter frustration, and in doing so, had created a well-worn track around the perimeter of its personal cage,
Poor boy,
Annie thought to herself,
he's far too worked up for his own good.
She had never understood why so many breeders insisted on sequestering their stallions from the rest of the herd. She knew from experience that if handled correctly, stallions didn't have to turn into rapists. It just took time, training, and understanding.

Turning back to the bay, she noticed that the small Hispanic man was running his hands up and down the horse's legs, looking for possible travel injuries.

Again, Annie felt a small pang of guilt. She hadn't even thought of putting travel boots on the bay. She never did with her own, simply because she knew her horses were smart enough not to step on themselves.

But Hilda's minion seemed to be content with what he saw. He smiled at Annie, took the lead rope, and led the bay toward the massive stable. She watched him cross tie the bay in the washing-rack area. He twisted several knobs, and water from four overhead and two wall jet nozzles suddenly burst forth, lightly watering and massaging the horse. Apparently, this was the standard equine spa treatment around here.

“You've come to the right country club,” she quietly told the bay.

While the stableman attended to the bay, Annie left Trotter by the water trough with a flake of hay to keep him happy, and called Wolf to her side. It was time to hunt down the deadbeat. Before she left, she was determined to get a signed receipt that she'd delivered the bay, along with a check for services rendered. Annie could well imagine Hilda claiming that she'd never received her prized thoroughbred and sending an avalanche of attorneys down on her.

Hilda lived in a Spanish-style hacienda with a top story that looked utterly out of place. It was completely out of sight of the stables. Unlike Annie, apparently Hilda didn't care if she was within earshot or eyesight of her horses. Of course, Todos presumably lived in a caretaker cabin, and the stableman she'd just met seemed to be a fixture on the place. But still. Annie's dislike of Hilda deepened.

A late-model Land Rover was in the front driveway. A good sign. Annie gave the doorbell one long buzz.
No use in being subtle now,
she thought.

The yelping of agitated dogs cut through the air. It seemed to come from around the back of the house. Wolf charged after the sound.

“Wolf!” The Blue Heeler knew better than to take off without Annie's express command. She strode after him, muttering at his misbehavior.

That emotion subsided when she saw the small kennel in the backyard, filled with two Belgian Tervuren pups, jumping over each other in their enthusiasm. Wolf had his nose stuck through the wire, and the pups were licking him with fierce intensity.

The kennel was saturated with the smell of urine and the sight of dog poop. The lone water dish hooked to one side was hanging at an angle, bone dry, which one pup licked in vain. The other pup was gnawing on what seemed to be a piece of paper. Annie did not see a scrap of dog food in the pen. The anger she'd felt for Wolf transferred to the pups' owner.

“You poor things!” Annie unlocked the kennel latch, snatched the paper from the pup's mouth and wrestled the water dish from the other pup's mouth. Glancing around, she noticed an Olympic-sized pool to the left of her. There was no cover on it, and the water inside was steaming, wisps floating over and through the old-growth trees surrounding it.

Many Northwest natives had hot tubs on their properties; a soak in the tub was a welcome respite from a day out in the cold dank rain. Only the truly foolish and extremely rich installed swimming pools in their backyards for a swimming season that lasted perhaps sixty days. Apparently, Hilda was one of this group. A tennis court probably was over the next knoll.

Annie found a hose near the pool shed and, after a spurt of icy water rushed out, she was able to get enough flow to fill the water dish to the brim. The pups lapped it up before Annie had time to shut the kennel door. She filled the dish three times before the pups fully slaked their thirst.

And still no sign of Hilda.

The sound of pounding feet and ragged breath took Annie's attention from the pups she now cradled in her arms. She looked up, and saw Hilda's helper running over the crest of the hill, his chest heaving with exertion. He looked frantic.

Had something happened to the bay? Annie scrambled to her feet, still holding the pups to her chest.

“What's wrong?”

“No, no, Señora! You don't come here!”

Annie stopped, confused. You don't come here? She WAS here. No one seemed to mind before.

“No come to Señora Colbert's
casa! Muy malo.
Come, come away!”

So that was it. No one dare set foot on Hilda's property. Well, to hell with that.

“The hell with that,” she told him. Carefully placing the pups back in the kennel, she motioned for him to follow her. He seemed rooted to the spot. “Come away, Señora!” he hissed.

“Nonsense.” Annie walked up to the long sliding glass door facing the backyard and rapped loudly on it.

“Mrs. Colbert! It's Annie Carson! Answer the door!”

She could hear the man whimpering in the background.

“Mrs. Colbert! I've brought your thoroughbred! Please answer the door!”

More silence. Annie peered inside the window, shading her eyes with one arm. In keeping with the exterior, Hilda obviously liked California-Spanish décor. The red-tiled floor was littered with Navajo rugs, a stark contrast to the white stucco walls, one with a huge mural of a black stallion. Two horseshoe arches shaped the room, which seemed to be divided between entertainment center and wet bar. A wrought-iron staircase banister in back of the arches led upstairs.

Annie jiggled the sliding-glass door handle. To her surprise, it wasn't locked.

Behind her, she heard moaning. “No, no, no, Señora. Please, come away.”

Annie held her finger up to her lips and whispered, “Shhhh.” The little man's frightened posture made her more resolved to confront Hilda on her own turf. Giving Wolf the silent command to stay, Annie slid the door open a good foot.

The stableman took off like a jackrabbit.

Once inside, Annie realized that this is where Hilda probably spent most of her time. A huge BOSE HDTV framed one side of the room, and the La-Z-Boy chair in front of it looked well used. On the coffee table were scattered various well-known horse magazines, mostly on dressage and jumping. Several issues of
People
magazine poked out behind the horse fodder. Beside the table lay an unopened UPS package. Annie glanced at the return address. It was from a pharmaceutical company in New York. She wondered if the contents were for Hilda or her horses.

Glancing over to the wet bar, Annie was amazed to see an espresso machine that took up almost the entire width of the counter. It was a far cry from the Mr. Coffee drip in her own kitchen, so stained by coffee grinds that it would never be pearly white again.

As much as Annie normally would have liked to snoop, an unnamed fear began to creep over her. She wasn't afraid of confrontation, or even breaking or entering, which apparently was what she was doing. But Hilda's silence made no sense. The Land Rover in her driveway made it clear she was home, but the piercing cries of her young dogs and Annie's own yelling still didn't evoke a response.

She crept upstairs, unthinkingly putting her hand on the grilled banister, then jerked it away. No sense in leaving more of her carbon handprint than absolutely necessary.

“Mrs. Colbert! Anyone home?”

Annie emerged from the stairwell onto the main level of the home, a massive living room with cathedral windows that overlooked the valley.

It was very, very still. And there was a bad odor in the air. Maybe Hilda had more neglected dogs in the house. Annie tiptoed on the plush carpet through the living room and down the hallway leading to what she assumed were the bedrooms.

The smell was getting worse now. Annie's heart began to hammer in her chest.

The door at the end of the hallway was open a few inches. Annie fumbled for her handkerchief and put it over her mouth and nose. Using one finger, she gently nudged the door, causing it to slowly open two more inches.

Hilda Colbert was lying on her back on her king-sized bed, her chin jutting up toward the ceiling at a curious angle. She was dressed in full riding gear, down to her high rider dress boots and full seat breeches. But Hilda wouldn't be riding today, or any other day. The choker band of her show shirt was fully obscured with a thick, congealed mass of blood. And whatever had caused this bright red ribbon across her neck had left Hilda's head perilously close to leaving the rest of her body.

Annie sank to her knees. The stench of death was overwhelming, and she could barely process what she was seeing. Taking deep, gulping breaths under her handkerchief, she tried to think. She was a trained emergency technician. What should she do? Check for a pulse. Oh, God. Was it really necessary? Could she even stand?