Homeward Hound

by Rita Mae Brown

  Tootie dialed her mother as the others listened.

  “She believes me but she wants to talk to you.” Tootie handed the phone to Gray.

  “Fishies. Thank you.” Golly gobbled her treats as Gray talked to Yvonne.

  “Would you like me to call my brother?” A silence followed this as Gray listened. “Of course. I’ll do it right now.” He handed the phone back, got up, and walked into the library to call his brother on the landline.

  The three looked at one another. Then Sister said, “I’m going to call Ben Sidell and ask him to check every hunt club member’s big freezer if they have one. Oh, and while I talk to him, Tootie, pull a bowl of cold chicken potpie out of the refrigerator. I’ll heat it up when I’m done with Ben.”

  “I can do that.” Tootie walked to the refrigerator, Weevil with her as he took the bowl from her hands.

  “How about I do it?” He looked into the bowl. “I’ll heat this up and if she wants a piecrust, we’ll have to improvise.”

  “Oh, Sister will be happy with the insides. Me, too.” Tootie smiled up at him as she stood by the stove watching him pull out a big pot, which she indicated was stored in the oven.

  After a good ten minutes, Gray came back, observed the impromptu supper, got a wonderful loaf of homemade bread from the bread box. Sister did things the old way: bread boxes; crust made from scratch; real butter, not the fake yellow stuff.

  Finished talking to Ben, Sister observed the activity. “Weevil, if you give up hunting, you might have a career as a cook.”

  He smiled his blinding smile. “Oh, I’d just be a short-order cook. Nothing special.”

  “Those bangers and mash were fabulous.” She looked to Gray cutting the bread in thick slices. “Well, I’ll fetch drinks. By the way, Ben agrees. He will check freezers. I told him to get the keys from Margaret to the Gulf station or from Arthur, her cousin. Millie had a big freezer in there. He checked outbuildings but he needs to go inside.”

  Millie DuCharme, married to one of the DuCharme brothers, ran a little café at the Gulf station for years.

  “There’s only one problem with the freezer search.” Gray inhaled the light aroma of the chicken potpie, a good meal for a cold night. “It will tip off the killer.”

  “You think?” Tootie stirred the potpie while Weevil searched for fresh parsley in the fridge.

  “I do. It means we have part of the puzzle put together,” Gray replied.

  He was right.

  CHAPTER 36

  For a Thursday the field proved large. Bugden, a new fixture, drew the people wanting to hunt it for the first time. The land, rolling, pleasant, rested east of After All, nudging toward the border with Farmington. The owners intended to build a bed-and-breakfast catering to the hunting crowd since if you stuck a compass point into the center of the property, made a circle of fifty miles, you could hunt with seven packs. Extend that circle to one hundred miles, more hunts than you can count on both hands. One hundred miles, hauling horses, takes about two hours. In a car it’s an hour and a half. The young couple with the bed-and-breakfast dreams might make a living out of this yet.

  Jefferson Hunt cleared trails, built interesting jumps, all of which pleased Kylie and Christopher Smith. They currently lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, but would move, start building in the spring. The owners of Mousehold Heath, down the road, another young couple, hardworking, rented them a little cottage on their land.

  Sister liked having young people in the mix. She especially liked it when they bought property.

  The hunt, a few good runs, ended with everyone at the trailers. Betty’s yellow Bronco, per usual, held the food, and Walter’s truck, the drinks. As it was cold, everyone outside, this wouldn’t be a long tailgate.

  Every now and then Ronnie Haslip could hunt a weekday fixture. For Kasmir, Dewey, Sam, and others with flexible schedules or their own businesses, a weekday hunt sparked up the day.

  Ronnie swore he did better work after a hunt.

  Dewey teased him. “How can a lawyer do better work? Everything is precedent. You don’t have to create anything.”

  “You’re too harsh. One can interpret laws in new ways. Nothing really is written in stone.”

  Kasmir joined them. “My freezers have been investigated. How about yours?”

  “I don’t have one,” Ronnie volunteered.

  “I do. Two. One at the office and one at home,” Dewey told them.

  “Why would you have a large freezer at the office?” Ronnie inquired.

  “Big staff. Meetings with clients, construction companies. Best to not run out of cold drinks and thank heaven for the microwave. If we need to serve food unexpectedly, we can.”

  “Dewey, are you running the microwave?” Ronnie lifted one eyebrow.

  “No, I am being sexist and encouraging my secretary to do it.”

  The three men laughed. Then Kasmir said, “It is unusual. Ben Sidell, and by the way, I am impressed with his work, went through everything at Tattenhall Station. I asked him what he hoped to find. He said perhaps a few threads from the coat. As Gregory wore an old English coat, he had hoped that the dye might leave a mark. No colorfast then. Anything, anything at all. My freezers were of no help but Ben is determined to solve this and I’m glad he is.”

  “Might take a long time,” Dewey remarked. “Real crime isn’t like Netflix, know what I mean? Impulsive anger, that’s easy but something plotted out, maybe not.” Dewey shrugged. “This seems the work of a looney but a looney with brains.”

  “True.” Ronnie agreed. “I wish I had paid more attention to Gregory. You knew him, didn’t you?”

  “I’d met him at fundraisers but I can’t say as I knew him. You had that explosive dinner at Farmington. That was the first time I’d been in his company without tons of people around. I think fundraising is the second-oldest profession. Soliden is generous to many nonprofits, which meant Gregory rarely got a break. Someone was always besieging him.”

  Ronnie laughed.

  “I admire people who run nonprofits. Even if one has a deep endowment, still endless fundraising. And so many of the nonprofits around here are small affairs, horse rescues, saving a pre–Revolutionary War house, that sort of thing. The director of the nonprofit always has her or his hat in his hand,” Kasmir noted.

  “Milford Enterprises is nowhere near the profits of Soliden, but nonprofit people work it over pretty good. Given the pipeline uncertainty, I am currently of no use to them.” Dewey downed his hot coffee. “I need warming from the inside out. Temperature’s dropping. The weather report calls for more snow.”

  “Saw that.” Kasmir caught Alida’s eye. She came over.

  “Nice run once we got on the other side of that stone jump.” Alida smiled. “Sister’s right to create a variety of jumps. Although putting together a dry-laid jump takes some doing.”

  “Does. You take them seriously though, don’t you?” Ronnie added.

  “Anything solid.” Kasmir looked up at the sky. “Low clouds. I think the weatherman is right.”

  “Well, some snow is one thing. A storm like we had for Christmas Hunt, I sure hope not,” Dewey mentioned. “Well, that and everything else at Christmas Hunt.”

  “You know I was talking to Sister. She brought up something I would not have considered.” Ronnie leaned forward. “She said whoever strung up Gregory did it before the hunt, in the dark of the early morning, and he was smart and strong. Probably used a pulley.”

  “Why would she say that about the early morning?” Dewey wondered.

  “Because his tongue wasn’t down on his chest.” Ronnie added this detail. “She said she talked to Ben, who told her the longer a body is hanging, the longer the tongue gets. Gravity just pulls it down.”

  “That’s a vile tidbit.” Alida grimaced.

  “Is but it’s those little d
etails that often lead one to the right conclusion. At least I hope it does,” Ronnie said.

  “My conclusion is this is about the pipeline. No special insight there.” Dewey put his hands around the heavy Styrofoam cup. “Did you read in the papers where Soliden has moved the pipeline farther south?”

  “We did.” Alida spoke for her and Kasmir.

  “I think Gregory was going to do that anyway.” Ronnie threw that out. “He knew what a mess it would be going up against Crawford and you, Kasmir. Two powerful men. Then again, it really wasn’t the best thought-out route. Too much floodplain, too many historic properties, and then when Crawford brought out the ground-penetrating radar, that did it, although Gregory was gone by then.”

  “Why didn’t Luckham just say so up front?” Alida asked.

  “Corporate politics. He had a board to answer to as well as the drilling company, which wants the shortest route possible. As for his senior management, I expect they were with him,” Ronnie answered.

  “Ronnie, then why kill him?” Dewey asked.

  “Damned if I know.”

  “What would you do if you did?” Dewey looked at him.

  “Go to Ben. Look, what evidence we have points to this being someone in our hunt club or someone close. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake. They always do,” Ronnie replied.

  “Just so he doesn’t make it during a hunt.” Alida pulled up the collar of her hunt coat for the temperature was dropping rapidly.

  CHAPTER 37

  Pale light cast iridescence over the light snow. Watching it, Sister wondered how that could be. Was there enough sunlight behind the clouds to reflect? Whatever it was, the sparkle was beautiful, as was the stillness.

  She, Betty, Tootie, and Weevil walked out the hounds Friday morning with Shaker driving behind. He swore he could drive without messing up his neck. As Skiff was working for Crawford, she could only be with him in the evenings and early morning. But Shaker, like most huntsmen, proved tough and determined. Sister watched him climb into the truck without saying a word.

  As hounds walked over the road into the wildflower field, one could hear the soft click, click of the snow.

  Ardent stood up on his hind legs to bat at snowflakes. The other youngsters thought this was a good idea. Hunt staff laughed at their high spirits.

  “I like it when it hits my tongue.” Aero trotted forward.

  “Melts,” Audrey replied.

  The older hounds walked along happy to be out, thinking the young ones were silly kids but it did look like fun.

  Weevil wore Wellies and heavy socks, as did Tootie. Sister wore Thinsulate L.L.Bean hiking boots but she stuffed her pants into the boots. Betty, feet usually hot, also wore a high pair of boots but these were French Le Chameau, terribly expensive but she’d bought them thirty years ago and they were as good as the day she purchased them.

  Betty’s motto was “You get what you pay for.”

  As she wasn’t a well-to-do woman, she watched her money. If she spent a large amount, the object better be long-lasting; hence the old yellow Bronco.

  Shaker hit the horn.

  “Hold up,” Sister called out. “He’s having a fit. He wants us to come back and walk on the road.”

  “This is one way to keep him from driving.” Betty put her hands on her hips, warm in gloves.

  Betty had the secret to staying warm, a high metabolism.

  “Madam?” Weevil turned to face his Master behind him.

  “If he pounds on the steering wheel, that will be worse than his driving. And here I thought I was being smart. Come on, let’s turn around and get on the road.”

  Tootie smiled, looked over at Ardent. “There will be snowflakes everywhere.”

  “Good!” The small hound smiled.

  “Doesn’t take much to make you happy.” Dreamboat came alongside the little boy. “I think I’ll try it.”

  The two of them hopped along side by side as the humans and hounds enjoyed the spectacle.

  Tootie moved forward, reaching the wide farm gate first. The snow, only two inches at this point, didn’t bunch up under the gate. Tootie unhooked the Kiwi latch, held the gate; all walked through, then she closed the gate.

  A jump was up ahead in the fence line but on foot a gate was easier than climbing over. One never realized the true size of a jump until you tried to get over it on foot.

  Sister waved at Shaker, who did not wave back. He crept behind them.

  A half mile later they reached the bottom of Hangman’s Ridge. Not only did they not wish to go up there, it was a climb on foot, it was creepy. It wasn’t that easy on horseback, either.

  “Let’s hold up for a minute.” Weevil reached into the tool apron, short, around his waist, fetching cookies.

  Calling each hound by name, he handed the animal a cookie.

  “Milk-Bones.” Dragon complained.

  “I like Milk-Bones.” Ardent chewed a large one.

  “Greenies. I want Greenies,” Dragon bitched.

  “Greenies are expensive,” Pickens said.

  “How do you know?” Dragon smarted off.

  “I heard Sister and Shaker talk about costs. We get Greenies for special occasions. You’re spoiled.”

  “Got that right.” Dasher agreed.

  “Bugger off.” Dragon growled, then left the hound circle, veering slightly off the road as the others, sitting, watched him.

  “Dragon!” Weevil knew how hardheaded this hound was.

  Give him an inch and he would take a mile. Some animals are like that.

  “Horn. Deer horn.” Dragon grabbed what he thought was an antler piece.

  “What the hell?” Betty stepped toward the hound.

  “It’s a crop, a stag-handled crop under the snow.” Tootie wondered how it got there.

  “Dragon, I’ll take that now.” Weevil held out his hand and Dragon turned his head sideways so he wouldn’t have to look Weevil in the eye.

  Sister walked up to him, grabbed the crop. “Drop it.”

  He did. “It’s mine. I found it.”

  “This is beautiful. Two silver collars.” Sister held the large crop in her hand, then turned it. “There are engraved initials on the top collar, the widest collar.”

  Betty, not worried about the hounds for they were good hounds despite Dragon’s attitude, came over to inspect. “G.E.L.”

  “What’s it doing here?” Tootie, surprised as were they all, blurted out.

  “I have no idea but I’ll stand here, well, wait—that might not work. Don’t know when Ben can get here. Weevil, give me your lad’s cap.”

  Sweeping it off his head, he handed it to Sister. She walked over to where Dragon found the crop, placed his hat there.

  “I’ll get you a new one. You all take the hounds back to the kennel. I’m going to call Ben Sidell from the truck.” She hurried to the truck, opened the door, reaching for the phone, an old phone but serviceable, affixed under the dash.

  The others could see her dialing as she was talking to Shaker.

  Hounds, aware of the emotions, quietly went back to the kennel, where Weevil, Tootie, and Betty put them up.

  “We can’t all fit in the old hound truck. Come on, get in the Bronco. We can wait on the road for Ben.”

  The snow continued to fall. Sister and Shaker sat in the truck as the Bronco sat behind them.

  Twenty minutes later Ben, driving a sheriff’s department SUV, pulled behind the Bronco, cut the motor, got out as Betty, Weevil, and Tootie also got out.

  Sister, seeing them, also opened the door.

  “Here.”

  Ben examined the crop. “Show me where you found it.”

  Except for Shaker, they walked down the road to the spot where Dragon pulled it off the ground, Weevil’s hat keeping the deer antler outline i
n the snow covered.

  Ben knelt down, stood back up. “This would make more sense if you’d found it on the other side of the ridge.”

  “Yes.” Sister agreed. “If anyone had driven up the ridge before the hunt here, we would have known. To put the body up he had to come from the other side in the dark. This is almost as if it’s been cast aside.”

  Looking at the crop again, Ben nodded. “No tooth marks. Not that I can see. The team will look it over.”

  “We found the body. Everyone had to come down this side of the ridge. Well, they went up this side, too. Obviously, there was confusion, distress. Anyone could have walked back here, I suppose, to drop it. What was he doing with it in the first place?”

  “Sister, if I knew that, I’d be a lot closer to solving this mess.” Ben sighed. “Do you think you’ll hunt tomorrow?”

  “I hope so. The snow’s supposed to stop. We might get a few flurries tomorrow but if there’s any way, you know I’ll go. It’s from Tattenhall Station. I hope you can hunt tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “It’s occurring to me that maybe, and this is a beautiful crop, he couldn’t bear to part with it. Then realized he must. Who among us would go up and look at the collars of an old, beautiful crop? Crawford has one with gold collars.”

  “He would.” Ben looked closely at the crop.

  “Whoever this is took off Gregory’s boots. Apart from knowing quality, he, well, I think he’s supremely confident we’d never think of who it is.”

  Ben leaned against Shaker’s truck for a moment and the injured huntsman ran down the window. “Sheriff.”

  “Good to see you, Shaker. This is odd, isn’t it?”

  “Odd. Gruesome. Almost like he’s playing with us.”

  “Yes.” Ben agreed.

  The others crowded around.

  Betty asked, “Any luck with freezers?”

  “No. I sent out my team. Members of the hunt club have been cooperative. Margaret got the keys to the Gulf station. I’d hoped that might be the place but no.”