Homeward Hound

by Rita Mae Brown

  Tootie was filling any water troughs that needed it inside; each had water heaters in the specially built trough. The outside runs did not yet have those automatic waterers. That would come in time.

  Within twenty minutes everyone was curled up on their bed or walked outside just to see why the people were still there.

  The field, now led by Dewey, who Sister sent back to get them off the farm road, were walking to their trailers. Dewey asked them to stay after their horses were tended to and reminded them there was a breakfast, go on in, and when Sister came back she would give a report. He rode back, checked the road up to the ridge to make sure there were no stragglers, then rejoined people at the trailers.

  Betty, now out of the kennel, spoke briefly to Shaker and Skiff. Then she hurried up to the house to set out the food. Gray, already there, had made coffee and tea. The two friends couldn’t believe what Betty had seen. Gray, farther down on the farm road, did not see Gregory.

  The forensic squad, led back up by Sam, who Dewey asked to stay, were as prepared as they could be. The photographer snapped away.

  Carson Blanton, Jude Hevener, and Jackie Fugate rushed to the scene as well. Ben wanted their eyes and he wanted them to become accustomed to the unimaginable. If they were going to be law enforcement officers, they needed to toughen up.

  Sister and Walter quietly waited to the side as the team first examined the scene. Ben soon came over.

  “I looked for tire tracks or footprints.” Sister watched as one of the forensics men got down on his hands and knees directly under the corpse. “Nothing. Of course the ground is hard now.”

  “Yes,” Ben, almost distracted, replied. “Why don’t you go back down? I know you have a breakfast. There really isn’t anything you can do. Well, there is something. Obviously, we don’t want hysteria. Solves nothing. If you could get the names of those people who saw the corpse, then I could get one of my boys or girl”—he nodded toward Jackie—“to take a statement. Not at the breakfast.”

  “Of course.” She turned Lafayette, who was mesmerized by all this, then stopped. “Ben, think about the hanging tree. This is where justice was carried out. Perhaps this is a message that the killer believes Gregory was a criminal and justice has been done.”

  Ben looked up at her. “An interesting thought.” He turned to Walter. “Why don’t you dismount, let her take Clemson, and you stay with me for a bit. I could use a doctor’s expertise.”

  “Right.” Walter dismounted, handed the reins to Sister as she walked away.

  By the time she reached her stable, Tootie and Weevil were waiting for her. She knew Betty would be helping Gray host things.

  “Oh, how good it is to see you.” Sister thankfully dismounted. “All of this has been a hideous shock.”

  Tootie began to untack Lafayette on one side while Weevil flipped up and unhooked the girth on the other.

  “Weevil, you stayed with those hounds on full throttle. How did you pick them up?”

  He slipped off the saddle while Tootie started on the bridle. “Halfway into the wildflower field where we started they circled, as they did at the beginning. Tootie got in front of them, told them to hold up, and they did. All I had to do was blow the three blasts. Tootie really did all the work.”

  “They’re a good pack.” Tootie had the reins on her shoulders, the bridle in her hand.

  She needed to wash the bit and she planned to clean the tack.

  “You both impressed me. Not everyone could have kept cool under the circumstances.”

  “Hounds first, madam.” Weevil smiled a little.

  “Thank God for them.” Sister called out to Tootie on her way to the wash stall. “Don’t bother to clean the tack. We can do that tomorrow. Let’s tidy ourselves up, go to the breakfast, and well, maybe we’d better plan on what to say and what to do.”

  “What did the sheriff think?” Weevil asked.

  “He didn’t say, but he also didn’t say for us not to report what we saw. The best thing would be for me to make a brief announcement, tell everyone that Ben, the forensics team, and his individual crew are there. Tell them there’s nothing they can do and ask who actually saw the hanging tree. Best to put it that way and inform them that Ben will be taking statements today or tomorrow. At any rate, the important thing is to blunt panic. Kasmir and Alida will be a great help with that. Sam and Gray, as well. They are all sensible people, as are you.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?” Tootie asked.

  “I wish I could answer that. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe not danger, but we’d better be alert. Two hands were found in the hunt territory and now this.” Weevil placed the saddle on a rack, unfastened the nice thick saddle pad. “Tootie, you shouldn’t be alone. No one knows anything. So either you come stay with me at After All or I come stay with you.”

  “There are people around. Shaker’s in his place and Sister and Gray are in the big house. I’m okay.”

  “He’s right, Tootie. We don’t know what we’re up against. Tell you what. If you all don’t wish to be in either one’s house, then you can stay in mine. It’s big enough. If you don’t get along I can stick each of you at opposite ends.” She smiled.

  “Well.” Tootie halted, thought. “Weevil, come here. We have to work hounds and horses anyway. It’s more efficient. Sister’s given us a way out if we fight.”

  “Is it true, you don’t cook?” His blond eyebrows shot up while Sister observed all this, grateful to have her mind off the hanging tree.

  “Kind of.”

  “Then I’ll make bangers and mash.” He smiled.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll have to find out.”

  “I love bangers and mash.” Sister did, too.

  “Then I’ll make some for you, too.” He picked up the saddle, opened the tack room door, and placed it on a saddle rack as Tootie hung the bridle from the big wrought-iron bridle hook that looked like a grappling iron.

  Sister, in the aisle, prayed something good would come from all this. Perhaps Tootie would learn to open her heart, to love. She thought of all the rules, rules about age, race, class, the debris of conformity, that people spout about love or even careers. Love knows no age, no color, no anything, really. It just is.

  As they walked up to the house, lights shining over the winter landscape, she remembered falling in love with Big Ray. One supposed friend told her Ray was beneath the salt. Granted, he was from a lower class, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass. And the delicious part was Ray studied, worked hard, became an investment broker, and made a lot of money. Trixie Biglow, the so-called friend, married very well and he turned out to be a worthless drunk.

  Smiling to herself, she also steeled herself for the little speech she must give. She glanced again at these two impossibly beautiful young people, realizing she loved them. She was worried and grateful that Weevil was forceful about protecting Tootie although he did this in a gentlemanly way.

  Thank God for real men, she thought, and then she also thought, Love just happens. No rules. And then it occurred to her that that could also apply to murder.

  CHAPTER 33

  “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

  Sister wrote down what Gray had just said, then she came back with, “Sticky fingers.”

  “I thought you wanted hand phrases.”

  Pencil poised over the grid-lined paper, she replied, “I do, but fingers, palms, anything or any part of the hand.”

  Golly, lying on her side on the kitchen counter, said, “Paws for effect.”

  Rooster, at Sister’s feet, corrected her. “Human stuff, not paws.”

  “Just a thought. You and Rooster roam all over. You go up to Hangman’s Ridge sometimes.” The cat reminded them of their travels.

  “Not often and usually with Sister if she�
��s riding up there. I hate it.” Raleigh grimaced.

  “I do, too. It’s creepy. You can hear the dead whisper. Athena and Bitsy”—he named the two owls, one huge and the other tiny—“say they can see the dead.”

  “Bitsy is given to idle gossip and drama.” The long-haired cat now sat up. “But you can hear the dead and sometimes you can catch a fleeting glimpse, movement.”

  Thoughtfully, Raleigh added to that. “I think some humans can see and hear, too. They say they’ve seen a ghost and the others pooh-pooh them but for some the ability hasn’t vanished.”

  “If you’d run up there, you would have found him,” Golly posited. “With your great noses, the hounds’ noses, I’d think someone would have known.”

  “But that’s just it, Golly. Hounds didn’t know he was up there until they came onto the ridge. They told me as they got closer they could smell the wool in his coat but not him. He was preserved,” Rooster related.

  “Why would someone hang up a dead human, preserve him? Wouldn’t it make better sense to just dump the body in one of those deep ravines in the mountains or throw the body on I-64 in the middle of the night? That would create a fuss. This seems like a lot of work to me.”

  “He was mutilated. Hands cut off,” Raleigh said.

  “I remember when hounds found one in the woods and then Sister told Gray about his aunt and Yvonne finding one. Is that why they’re thinking of hand stuff? Seems funny. I mean phrases.”

  “Is,” Rooster affirmed.

  “Sister thinks there’s symbolism,” Raleigh told her.

  “Hand to mouth.” Gray thought of another one.

  “Red-handed.”

  “That’s a good one.” He watched her write in her elegant style. “How about a winning hand?”

  “See, once you start, things pop into your head.” She then said, “All hands on deck.”

  “An iron fist.”

  “Oh, that’s another good one. Um-m, beat you hands down.”

  “Bite the hand that feeds you. Maybe he betrayed someone.”

  “Can’t see the hand in front of your face. Well, you certainly couldn’t during that storm. Oh, cash in hand.”

  He smiled. “Cold hands, warm heart.”

  A knock on the mudroom door, followed by a knock on the door to the kitchen. “Master.”

  “Come in.” She glanced up from her notebook to see Weevil, dish towel around a large plate. Behind him walked Tootie carrying a bowl, also covered.

  “Bangers and mash.”

  “Weevil! You did cook me bangers and mash. Well, let’s eat it.”

  Sister and Gray hastily set the table; the four sat down.

  “I didn’t make anything last night because the breakfast was so much food. You settled everyone’s nerves. You’re a good speaker.” Weevil complimented her.

  “Didn’t used to be. Becoming a Master forced me to learn lots of new skills. Maybe the most important one is keeping my mouth shut.” She looked at the empty glasses. “Milk, beer, wine, water, tonic water, and, Gray, have I forgotten something?”

  “Already at the refrigerator door.” Gray teased her. “Nectar and ambrosia.” He returned with two bottles of beer, two tonic waters for the ladies, with limes and a cutting board.

  Tootie filled the glasses with ice while Weevil cut their limes. “Are you making notes?” She saw the leather-bound notebook.

  “We are and we’ll ask you for ideas. Here’s what we’re doing. Coming up with hand phrases.” She read what they’d already thought about.

  “Carry fire in one hand and water in the other,” Weevil said.

  “I’ve never heard of that.” Tootie was trying to think of something.

  “My mother says that. How about, a dab hand?”

  “Don’t hear that much anymore, but it means you’re good at something. Handy.” Sister grinned.

  “Did I say beat you hands down?” Gray took another sip of ice cold beer.

  “Yes. Another good one. Hand-me-down,” Sister said.

  Tootie finally came up with something. “Fall into the wrong hands. Oh, got another one. Wringing hands.”

  “Keep talking.” Sister encouraged them.

  “One hand tied behind your back.” Weevil speared a sausage.

  “Whip hand. That should have been the first one we thought of,” Gray said.

  “Grease your palm.” Weevil was liking this.

  “Um-m-m, upper hand.” Tootie then added, “Hand in the cookie jar. That’s one of my mom’s whenever she reads about politicians.”

  “And they’re supposed to have their hand on the tiller.” Weevil was quick.

  “Hand in glove.” Gray came right back. “Speaking of politicians made me think of that one.”

  “Hand in hand,” Sister wrote.

  “Blood on your hands,” Gray added.

  Tootie had another one. “And finger in the pie.”

  “Good one.” Sister wrote, then looked up at them. “Play the hand you’re given.”

  “Getting harder.” Weevil finished off his mashed potatoes. “Get a handle on it. Not exactly hand.”

  “No, but it counts.” Sister wrote. “The Devil finds work for idle hands.”

  Gray leaned back. “From my cold dead hands.”

  “Honey, that’s too close for comfort”—she sighed—“not that any of this is comfortable.”

  “Heavy-handed,” Weevil piped up.

  “Well, yes. Gray’s had to put up with me but I now think so much of what has happened has some symbolism. If we can figure out the symbolism, we might be closer to the killer.”

  “That’s just it, honey, we are close to the killer.” Gray was solemn. “That’s why Weevil is here. That’s why Sam is staying with the Van Dorns, which he did once the first hand was found.” He looked at Tootie. “We don’t want your mother alone and we all knew she might not want him in her house. This is the next best thing.”

  “Is Mom in danger?”

  “We don’t know, but the first hand was found out there in Chapel Cross. That’s where Gregory disappeared and that’s where Rory was found.”

  “I still can’t believe his mother didn’t come to his service.” Tootie squeezed her lime into the bubbling tonic water.

  “Tootie, you’ve never really seen poor whites until you’ve lived in the South. Many are good, but when they go bad, they’re in a class by themselves,” Gray warned her.

  “Don’t you think that’s everywhere? The ignorant and the brutal?” Sister scribbled. “And that’s what worries me. Our killer is neither ignorant nor poor. He may be brutal. I don’t know. One can kill but not be brutal. But this person is intelligent and, in his way, sending the rest of us messages.”

  “We’re not in safe hands,” Tootie responded.

  That same Sunday evening, Ben Sidell, computer in front of him, was on the phone with the Goochland County sheriff.

  “The medical examiner said she’d get on it tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

  The sheriff replied, “Liz has asked me to tell her the minute the exam is done. She’ll have John Noon Western’s funeral home retrieve the body. She wants an Episcopalian funeral. She said she wants him back and she wants his hands.”

  “Actually, the hands are already there.” Ben checked on the dates on his computer screen.

  “Damned mess, isn’t it?” The Goochland sheriff commiserated. “By the way, she asked for Gregory’s ring. She said he wore a ring on the little finger of his left hand. Saint Hubert, I don’t know Saint Hubert but I’m a Methodist.”

  “No ring was found. Saint Hubert is the patron saint of hunters. I’ll double-check around here but I’m certain no ring was on that hand, what was left of it, and the white cotton glove.”

  “I’ll let her know.”

 
“Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Water sprayed off the huge waterwheel at Mill Ruins. The millrace rarely froze at the mill itself, although it did freeze away from it.

  February 6, cold, clear, a few clouds in the sky did not look promising, but foxes get hungry and Mill Ruins now hosted more than in the past. James, the oldest, lived behind the mill. Ewald, young, last season made a den in an outbuilding not far from the barn. Both these foxes were reds. Hortensia, a gray, lived in the big hay shed, which she quite liked. Her den, underground, provided protection when needed but she also liked to burrow into the big round hay bales. Sometimes she could hear mice chatter in those bales. The mice could smell her so no little marauder stumbled on Hortensia. Way at the back of this remarkable place Grenville, another gray, had a den in the storage shed.

  Inside the large mill the gears still worked, the millstone still viable. Unfortunately, no one knew how to use it. Walter, who had a ninety-nine-year lease on the place, thought about finding a miller to rent it out, but then he considered the traffic on the farm with people bringing their grain. He told himself if he ever retired from medicine, he’d learn to be a miller. At one time this was the farthest-west mill in the county. After the Revolutionary War more people moved west. Numbers forged over the Blue Ridge into the Shenandoah Valley. During the Articles of Confederation people cleared the land, plowed, planted. Once we created the Constitution, more stability, brave souls kept going into the Ohio Valley, land beckoning them. Citizens of the new republic had been promised the vast expanse of that valley would be made safe for them. However, Spain and England fostered other ideas, hoping to pin the newborn nation between the Appalachian Chain, the Alleghenies, and the sea while they took over the fertile valley, hoping someday to defeat us by arms. Monarchies feared this new political entity so they stirred up the tribes, made deals, and blood flowed. Then again, never underestimate one nation’s greed for the land of another.