Homeward Hound

by Rita Mae Brown

  Gray took a deep breath. “I hate to drag Freddie into something like this. She can smell an accounting error but she hasn’t been in situations where people are willing to kill. An error in the books, you’re okay. Embezzlement, you’re not.”

  “She’s a terrific cover. She’s brave in the hunt field. She’ll be brave off.”

  “She never sucks back from a stiff fence.” Gray smiled at memories of Freddie flying over when others dropped back to Bobby Franklin.

  On those hunts when but a handful of people finished in First Flight, one of that handful was always Freddie.

  Gray smiled. “Next question, what does the bank know?”

  “Only that there was a glitch in payroll, which Soliden immediately covered. There was a seemingly small error in a check to the power company. The head of payroll took responsibility for what is being presented as a small error.”

  “Small? Their monthly bill has to be five figures at least.”

  “About forty-five thousand dollars a month to the power company.” Ronnie filled in the number. “No one admitted to human error, but it was promptly paid.”

  “Most people who steal from the company where they work steal from one department, or they are in accounting where an intelligent thief can shift monies at will, cover up tracks sometimes for years. Sooner or later it does show up. White-collar crime is rarely impulsive. It is well planned and well executed. If done a year before retirement, the culprit often gets away with it.” Gray was intrigued. “Make the call and get back to me.”

  “Sam doing okay?”

  “I think so. Everyone has been great. I can leave him now and return to my regular routine.”

  “Was being a tax expert your cover?” Ronnie bluntly asked.

  Gray laughed. “I really am a tax expert, but when I was young, my bosses realized I could do a lot more. That’s when I started finding the thieves, so to speak. In time I became a partner in the firm. I advised the FBI but I wasn’t an agent. Our firm was called on for the long cases, the sensitive cases. The wrongdoers were forced into resignation. Publicity would have hurt everyone. The infected agency, the political party to which the thief belonged, sometimes it could go all the way up to the close advisers to the president, who rarely knew anything about embezzlement or selling information. It would be a foolish president to sell information, buy sensitive stocks while in office. They cash in after they leave, most of them,” he continued.

  “One of my biggest cases was nailing an important person at the Federal Reserve who was selling interest rate changes before they were made public. Made a fortune. None of this could be made public. Citizens need to trust the Federal Reserve. He quietly left.”

  “It’s a sordid ballet, politics.” Ronnie listened intently. “You were a good dancer.”

  Gray snorted. “I despised those men, always men but perhaps women will catch up. I did my job. Do I think those people belong behind bars? I do, but will it serve the public good?”

  “Corruption greases the wheels of state.” Ronnie sighed.

  “Ronnie, more than you know. I content myself that we’re not as bad as Brazil.” He paused. “If there’s a rat at Soliden, I’ll flush them out.”

  “Hmm. Do you think, Gray, that women will be truly equal when they commit as many crimes as men, especially at a high level?”

  “I never thought of that, but I guess it makes sense.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “You’ve learned to build a fire, Mom.” Tootie complimented her mother on the fire she’d built, flames roaring upward in the old stone fireplace.

  “Good thing.” She smiled. “Thanks again for bringing more wood. I didn’t think I needed it.”

  “You will. This week, m-m-m, weatherman says the January thaw will end, then winter will slam us again. Look how much wood you’ve used already.”

  “Not quite half.”

  “The worst is always January and February. Can get bad storms in March, but it’s so bitter especially in February. Funny though, the night sky is beautiful in February.”

  Yvonne smiled. “I wouldn’t know. I never saw the night sky all those decades in Chicago. Seems like eons, and then other times I can feel the wind off the lake. That I do miss, looking out on Lake Michigan from our thirtieth-floor apartment. The calm calmed me and when the waves rolled in I wondered should I be more energetic, too.” She stopped, shrugged. “Silly.”

  “I never miss it. I don’t belong in cities.” Tootie sat in a comfortable club chair by the fireplace. She could see out the window. She placed her hands on the padded arms of the chair covered in chintz, lifting herself up but not standing, hovering for a moment before dropping back. “We placed that dog box exactly right. Does it need fresh straw?”

  “No. I fluffed it up plus I threw in some old towels.”

  “Mom, you don’t have any old towels.”

  Yvonne waved her right hand. “I have towels that displeased me so I bought new ones, a sort of mango shade, so when I dry off I hold it up to my face and like the reflection.”

  “Mom.”

  “The small red fox that visits me likes the towels. Sometimes he curls up on the towels and the straw for a nap. He sure eats a lot of grape balls and Jolly Ranchers. Sometimes I see a gray fox in and out, but that one doesn’t usually stay. The red fox seems like a visitor.”

  “What about the Van Dorns’ dog?”

  “Misty? She’s two years older than God. I don’t think she even has the will to bark anymore.” She paused. “Although Misty can eat.”

  “Springer spaniels are such a beautiful color.”

  “Tootie, I’m surprised you don’t have a dog. Everyone else does. You certainly live in the right place for one. Don’t you ever get lonely? Strike that. You don’t. I pushed you too much to be social.”

  “Raleigh and Rooster visit me, plus I work with all the foxhounds. Maybe when I’m finished with school. Or a cat. I like cats. Don’t you like to watch the red and the gray that come here?”

  “Very much. I never realized how beautiful they were until I viewed them close up. Are you sure you don’t want something to drink or a sandwich?”

  She considered this for a moment. “If you have a ginger ale, I’d drink it.”

  “Well, I do.” Yvonne got up, walked into the small country kitchen, grabbed a Canadian Dry out of the fridge, popped the cap, threw ice in a glass, poured it, then thought she’d have one herself. She carried the drinks in on a little tray.

  “Mom, you’re getting fancy.”

  “I was always fancy. I had servants to do all this then. I really don’t miss that. I never knew what peace and privacy was until I left your father. Course I never knew how much work the average person did either.”

  Tootie drank her ginger ale, feeling the bubbles tickle her tongue. “Forgot to tell you. Dad texted me.”

  “What?”

  “This morning. I didn’t know he could text.”

  “I’m sure one of his new girlfriends has taught him how. She must be all of eighteen.” Yvonne couldn’t help it then. She laughed. “Sorry.”

  Tootie intellectually understood how brutal the divorce was, how emotional, but it was the emotions she couldn’t fathom. How could you let anyone under your skin like that? Then again, Tootie had remained remarkably free of romantic entanglements, even though in her early twenties. She had a capacity for deep friendship. It was the love stuff that she shied away from.

  “Could be. Anyway, he apologized for asking me to choose sides, for cutting me out of his will. Not that I believe him.”

  “I hate that bastard, but for your sake I hope the day comes when he actually acts like a father.”

  Tootie didn’t care what he did. “He wanted to know if you’ve invested any of your money. He wanted to know if you were buying a house. Stuff like that.”

 
“Ha. Our monies were together but I kept a small account of my own, an investment account. I did pretty good if I do say so myself. He never gave me credit for it. Well, did you text him back?”

  Tootie nodded as she reached for her soda again. “I didn’t say much but I told him I had no idea what you were doing with your money. Then he texted right back saying you never told him anything about your gambles—”

  “Gambles! I put money on Facebook straight up. I also pulled my money out of Enron before there was a hint of trouble. I can’t explain it. I just had a feeling.”

  “The other thing he said was he read about Gregory Luckham disappearing. He thinks the pipeline will depress land values badly if it goes through.”

  “That means he has money in drilling stock, energy stocks. He’s afraid they’ll be volatile. He’s so transparent.” She knocked back her soda. “But the threat of the pipeline has frozen people buying. No one knows what to do. Betty Franklin and I talk about it.”

  “Sister, Weevil, and I rode over Tollbooth Farm and Mud Fence Farm yesterday. Sister figured we knew that territory better than the people who own it. Well, not Weevil, but he’s learning. Nothing, although we did see a gray fox at Tollbooth. It was creepy seeing where they’d dug out Rory.”

  “Yes it is. I try not to look at it when I drive to town. Much of it is melted down now. Oh, look.” Yvonne put her fingers to her lips.

  Sarge slipped in the dog box. The two women slowly rose, slowly walked to the window to watch the little fellow eat kibble sprinkled with dog food. Now that it was warmer, Yvonne scooped out a bit of canned food because it wouldn’t freeze. He chewed away, blissfully happy, then he batted around one of the old rubber balls she’d thrown in there.

  “Now what’s he doing?” Yvonne wondered.

  “Batting something around, something like a tiny hockey puck. He likes to play. I think most animals do. We do.” Tootie grinned, watching the happy fox who at that moment looked up, saw both of them, stopped, thought about it, then returned to the tiny puck. He’d swat it against the side of the dog box, dig in the straw to recover it, place it between his paws, throw it upward. He’d miss it, try again, and when he connected he’d really give it a swat.

  The puck was the Saint Hubert’s ring, although Tootie and Yvonne couldn’t see that. What he was playing with looked like a small stone. They sat back down.

  “Another?”

  “No thanks. I can’t drink as much in winter as summer.”

  “I guess I’ll find out. My first Virginia summer.” Yvonne leaned back, content to hear the fire’s crackle, happy that her daughter visited her.

  “You like it out here at Chapel Crossroads, don’t you?”

  “You know, I really do. If someone had told me I’d be sitting in the sticks of central Virginia in my fiftieth year and loving it, I would have said they were crazy.”

  A wry smile played on Tootie’s beautiful lips. “Mom, you’ve been spending too much time with Aunt Dan.”

  A pause followed this observation. “All right, just a year off—or two. Fifty-two.”

  They both laughed.

  “How are your lessons?”

  “Cold. I don’t see how you can ride in winter. I’m in that indoor arena and my hands are ice.”

  “Sam’s a good teacher.”

  “Old Buster is a good horse.”

  Tootie looked at the old wall clock. “Gets dark so early. I can never get used to it. Maybe you need a dog, Mom.”

  “Maybe. Once I really feel settled I’ll think about it. Right now I have a fox.”

  Yvonne got up to look at the doghouse. Sarge had gone. “Back to his den, I expect.” She sat back down. “How are you and Weevil working together?”

  “Pretty good. I tell him about each fixture before we get there. He’s an incredible rider. Amazing really.”

  Yvonne asked no more. It was obvious to her that Weevil was dazzled by Tootie, but then most men were, just as most women swooned for Weevil, who was drop-dead gorgeous. Yvonne was not one to push Tootie, but as her mother she prayed the day would come when what her own mother called “a suitable boy” would show up. No parent wants their child alone in life. She thought Weevil was playing the long game.

  So was the killer.

  CHAPTER 14

  Bible open, reading glasses perched above the tip of her nose, Aunt Daniella read the page of Luke, chapter 5, verses 36–39. A knock on the door lifted her eyes.

  The door opened. Sam, carrying two bags of groceries, stared at his nonreligious aunt. “What are you doing?”

  “Cramming.”

  He laughed. “You’d have to, Aunt Dan.”

  “I never broke the Ten Commandments.”

  “What about ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife’?” He carried the bags into her spotless kitchen as he called over his shoulder.

  “I never coveted my neighbor’s wife.” She sounded ever so prim and full of herself at the same time.

  “You should have been a lawyer.” He unpacked her groceries as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Thank you for shopping for me. I hate to drive in bad weather.”

  “You should give me the keys to your car.”

  “No. I can still drive. Furthermore, I don’t get tickets.”

  “Of course you don’t. The sheriff’s department is scared to death of you.”

  She pulled out a kitchen chair. “Can I fix you anything to eat?”

  “No. I brought roasted chicken for both of us, a side salad. Thought about macaroni but decided against it. You eat like a bird.”

  “Birds actually eat a lot.” She smiled. “I can eat. After you finish I will clean up. A human Hoover. Although that expression applies to cocaine.” She got up to set the table.

  “How do you know these things?”

  “I read, Sam, plus I watch some shows. After you and Gray bought me that big-screen TV and a DVD player I watch Netflix stuff. I like to watch old movies like Raisin in the Sun, Notorious, the good stuff. Movie stars had faces then. Now actors want to look real. I don’t want them to look real. I want them to look like gods.”

  “Okay.” He sliced the chicken, pulled the plastic top off the salads. “What kind of dressing do you want?”

  “Oil and vinegar. There by the stove.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of ranch for himself, then sat down.

  “How was the hunt yesterday?”

  “Not bad. Awful footing. The packed snow was better than this slop, but then it always is. People put studs on their horses’ shoes but studs don’t do you but so much good in mud.”

  “Mercer used to say that.” She mentioned her son, who died two years ago.

  “He was always trying to dress me. I never had the money for his kind of clothes. Mercer had an uncanny knack for picking colors, all that stuff.”

  “I was happy to divide his clothes between you and Gray. Funny that you three were close in size. No one porked up. God knows my third husband did.” She raised an eyebrow. “I finally told him he had to lose weight because I couldn’t find his member.”

  Sam, mouth full, swallowed hard, then laughed. “That would motivate a husband. Aunt Dan, thank you for having me over a lot of nights, for arranging dinners and stuff. Gray, Sister, Yvonne, even Tootie and Weevil, have been great. Crawford’s huntsman has been kind, too. Her romance with Shaker is good, I guess.”

  “Makes sense. He’s been divorced long enough to recover. They like the same things. Yvonne will recover, too. What a nasty piece of business that was.”

  “I’d have shot the son of a bitch.”

  “Then I’m grateful you were not married to him.” She speared a crisp carrot. “How are you, really?”

  “I’m…I don’t know. There are so many questions gallopin
g through my mind.”

  “That was a remarkable thing you did for him, working extra jobs so you could send him to rehab. I’ve never told you how much I admire you for that. Have you ever noticed white people bugle blast anything they do for one of our people but what we do for them: silence?”

  “Not Rory.”

  “No.” She hunted down another carrot. “Do you think alcoholism supersedes just about everything else, class, race, gender, all the stuff that fills the news? I don’t read any solutions to all those things, by the way.”

  “There are solutions for being a drunk but you have to want to do it, you have to work at it every day. We need to support each other and I pray. I pray a lot, Aunt Dan.”

  “I do, too. I’d rather people not know about it.” She grinned.

  “What haunts me is I didn’t know he’d come back to drive Trocadero to Crawford’s with me. On the big days people always need help and Crawford is good about letting us earn extra money. Since Crawford wasn’t going, not that we expected him to, he allowed us to go. I hunted that four-year-old he wants me to bring along. The guy’s got the bone to carry him but he’ll have to adjust to Crawford, who is anything but a soft rider. He does try. But Rory usually told me what he was thinking. Did he decide to have a look at the gelding during the hunt? I can’t get it out of my head. Same questions over and over.”

  She cut her chicken into small squares. “Was he in money trouble?”

  “He would have told me.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure Ben has questioned everybody as well as Sister, too. People might talk to her before the sheriff.”

  “I’ve even thought what if he was killed elsewhere and dumped in the ditch? He had to have been killed close to Tattenhall Station.”

  “I think so, too. Maybe he got in the way. Gregory Luckham is still missing and presumed dead. Maybe Rory took a notion to come by at exactly the wrong time. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “The medical examiner’s report specified Rory was killed on the day of Christmas Hunt. Ben called me. He knew I was tortured by this. Everyone’s afraid I’ll drink again.” He leveled his gaze right at her.