Give First Place to Murder by Kathleen Delaney Page B

through Irma's gates and down her wide driveway, examining the front part of the ranch as I went. The drive was on the extreme right side of the property. I could see the almost new doublewide mobile where Wes and Linda lived. A few plants grew reluctantly against its side, but no lawn, no flowerbeds, no pots of color. Oh well, I thought, gardening takes time and work, and it isn't their property.
    All the action took place in the huge two story metal barn behind the mobile. Horse vans were housed, washed, and repaired there, and the business office, with its maps, charts, and two-way radio, was located along one side. Long’s ran two cross country transport vans, as well as three pickup trucks that could be combined with two four horse trailers, and one two horse for more local needs. All in all, they represented a huge investment, and I imagined, a lot of income for Irma. I wondered again why she wanted to sell.
    A woman appeared in the doorway of the office, watching my slow progress down the drive. She was dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans tight over skinny hips, and the kind of running shoes that fasten with Velcro. Her hair was skinned back in a tight ponytail, and crow’s feet shadowed her eyes as she squinted at me. I passed her close enough to tell she wore no makeup and, more than likely, moisturizer wasn’t on her shopping list either. She nodded at me, just once, and I nodded back. Who was she? Why was she standing there, arms folded, watching me? I glanced at her again in my rear view mirror. Who on earth----Wes's wife, Linda. She couldn’t be any one else.
    No wonder he eyed every pretty young thing that passed by.
    She was still watching me as I passed through the open gate that marked the horse ranch.
    Irma's home wasn't large, but the setting was perfect ---a low, ranch style house with huge windows, set on a knoll surrounded by oak trees. She could view her entire property as well as miles of country around. A short drive went up the hill toward her home, a longer one led to a complex of barns and outbuildings on the flat area below. That was where I headed. Large pastures were filled with curious young horses that raced me along the fence line. The older ones contented themselves with lifting their heads and watching my progress as they guarded their shaded places under the oak trees. A dark red pickup truck with a long silver horse trailer attached was parked in front of what seemed to be the main barn. A silver L was painted on the truck door and red letters on the trailer said, "There is a LONG way to go." Cute.
    The barn had two tall sliding doors that opened onto a wide aisle way, with what looked like horse stalls on each side. Another pickup truck, with some sort of open camper shell in the back, was pulled up half way inside the doors.
    That’s a strange place to park, I thought, as I chose a shady spot, got out and walked toward the barn, looking around as I went. Pipe pens in neat rows flanked one side of the main barn, all with metal covers over them. Almost all were filled with horses. A few housed mares with babies by their sides. I was tempted to take a detour, but I was sure Irma would show me around later. Another barn, more like the ones at the show ground, stretched out behind them. The stalls were in a row, with the roof overhanging about six feet, creating a walkway. The top doors were open and all seemed to be empty. Maybe the horses in the pastures spent their nights here? Then again, maybe not. Off to the side, an enormous pile of baled hay rested under a tall roof held up by, of all things, telephone poles.
    I heard voices as I neared the main barn, and I got a better look at the truck. That was no camper shell. The tilted up sides showed exposed shelves of bottles, pulled out drawers filled with syringes. A metal pail sat in the dirt with a lethal looking soft plastic tube inside it. I paused, then hurried into the barn. The truck had to belong to a vet, and even I knew that meant