Homeward Hound

by Rita Mae Brown

  Weevil, hearing the shot, saw Tootie pursue Dewey. That fast he was flying on Kilowatt. Dewey, chased by two young, superb riders, asked for a bit more from good old Bosco, who was doing his best but the staff closed in. He fired again. Missed again, thanks to the bobbing of Bosco.

  Weevil pulled up next to Tootie, yelled. “Go back. I’ll take care of him.”

  “No.” She rode right with him.

  Realizing he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn in these conditions, Dewey reached the back side of Old Paradise’s living places. The old sequestered cemetery was there, the tombstones large and showy. He dismounted from Bosco. He knew the land. If he could stop Tootie and Weevil, he figured he could elude the field long enough to disappear into the thick woods at the bottom of the mountains. He’d take his chances in there.

  Ducking behind Sophie’s obelisk, he fired again. This time he was close. Weevil, no fear, urged Kilowatt to untapped reserves of speed while Tootie moved up also. As they neared the obelisk they parted, she to the left and he to the right.

  Dewey figured he had them. He calmly rested the Smith & Wesson on his left forearm, staying behind the tomb. He heard hoofbeats but figured he had time to wheel and nail them both. Tootie roared up behind him, snapped her whip’s thong around his chest, and pulled. It was enough to throw him off balance. Weevil, now upon him, leaned over Kilowatt’s side, grabbing Dewey by the shoulders. Now both men were on the ground. Dewey, enraged, was large and powerful but not quick.

  Weevil, strong although not in Dewey’s class, grabbed his right wrist, trying to get the gun from his hand. Tootie, now off Iota, joined in. She kicked Dewey hard in the face. The pain made him loosen his grip. Weevil had the gun but not Dewey, who rose, trying to run off.

  Not even thinking about it, Weevil fired, hitting him in the back of the leg. He dragged himself forward. Weevil readied to fire again when he heard Ben’s voice.

  “Hold it, Weevil. I’ll take over.” Ben reached Dewey, who stopped hobbling.

  Sister held the field back at the Carriage House.

  Skiff and Betty brought the hounds around and waited, knowing Weevil and Tootie would never leave hounds unless it was critical.

  Yvonne drove up and would have known nothing if Ronnie, shaken, hadn’t seen fit to tell her. Yvonne drove over the grounds, swung around the back of the house and then the graveyard. She cut the motor, jumped out of the car.

  “Tootie. Tootie.” She ran to her daughter, being held by Weevil.

  The two staff members clung to each other, tears in both their eyes.

  Yvonne stopped.

  Tootie, a smile now on her face, said, “We brought him down together, Mom.”

  “She got him first.” Weevil released her, shaking a bit, hoping no one noticed.

  In the distance two sirens were heard.

  “We’d better get back to the hounds.” Tootie pulled herself together.

  Aunt Daniella and Shaker out of the car now noted, “Skiff and Betty have them.”

  Shaker, not terribly interested in Dewey, no matter what he’d done or why he’d run, bragged. “Some hound work.”

  This made Tootie and Weevil laugh. Weevil reached for her hand. She didn’t withdraw it.

  “I can’t believe you jumped him when he had his gun leveled at you.”

  “But he didn’t. You got him with your whip.” Weevil, relieved, laughed.

  “What were you doing chasing him?” Tootie asked.

  “I saw him fire at you.”

  “You’re both crazy,” Yvonne blurted out.

  Aunt Daniella, genuine emotion coming through, looked at the young people, looked at Yvonne. “It’s the Lord’s hands, Yvonne. It always is.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “An insanity plea?” Betty questioned on Valentine’s Day.

  “Standard fare these days,” Gray replied, sitting in the library along with Sister, Aunt Daniella, Yvonne, and Sam.

  “Do you think he is?” Yvonne’s voice rose.

  Sister, hands folded in her lap, replied, “My experience with Dewey has been good. He helped out if needed, he was reliable in the field, and he never ran with women, at least not as I can tell. So having him confess to murder, I can only wonder if he isn’t insane.”

  Sam, more cynical, responded. “Sister, he planned out the murder. Cold-blooded. Then he did things that would make people think the killer was crazy.”

  “And Dewey kept saying the killer was crazy,” Gray added.

  “To my mind, murder is a crime we all say we abhor, but it has gone on for centuries without much change. This was about money. People kill for money, power, position, and, so they say, love.” Aunt Daniella sipped the wonderful bourbon Gray poured for her over those huge ice cubes.

  “And it really was over the pipeline but in a way we couldn’t have imagined.” Sam watched his aunt enjoy her drink.

  “Who could have imagined it?” Betty raised her voice slightly. “Who could have thought that Dewey would benefit from the pipeline? We all thought the reverse.”

  “It certainly underlines our limitations. We see what we want to see. We go along to get along.” Sam drank tonic water with lime. “Who would think that Dewey and Gregory were in cahoots? The pipeline just stopped real estate sales but Dewey figured out a way to profit with Luckham as a silent partner.”

  “Luckham certainly needed to hide.” Gray thought the plan clever. “He knew if the pipeline came through Chapel Cross, land values would tank. Horrible, and we thought it would be horrible to Dewey. But just the reverse. Dewey could buy up the land of disgruntled landowners for a song and turn the land into a housing development for an enormous profit. No way would Crawford sell, no matter what, and Old Paradise as well as Tattenhall Station create almost a state park. That would make living here very desirable.”

  “The right-of-way was 125 feet. A developer could plant trees, things to somewhat hide it plus the homes in the development would not be by the pipeline itself.” Sister had heard all this from Ben Sidell. “Plus they’d have those incredible views.”

  “Gregory had promised Dewey that the energy prices for the homes in this very high-end development would be extremely cheap. He would ensure that the homes could be serviced by the pipeline. This was a plan that could possibly sweeten the pot for this pipeline and future pipelines. It would divide the public, make the environmentalists look selfish, and get state legislators off the hook as they took their campaign contributions from Soliden.” Gray stood up to fill his drink, checking to see if anyone else wanted anything.

  Aunt Daniella held up her glass. “Well, you never know. Dewey couldn’t have predicted that the outcry to preserve Chapel Cross would be so great.”

  “What did it was Kasmir and Crawford joining forces to stop it. Then Crawford threatened to find graves and anyone who has had dealings with Crawford knew he would find something, which ultimately he did.” Sam paused. “That’s what I think.”

  “The Soliden board was getting nervous. The company wants to start the pipeline now. Years in court isn’t the way to do that and Crawford and Kasmir can afford years in court. So why not change the route?” Sister marveled at how money clouds people’s minds, how they think it will make them happy. “Dewey confessed to Ben that before the field took off, Gregory told him even though it was not yet public, the pipeline would shift south.”

  “But Dewey had other developments.” Betty threw up her hands.

  “He did but he was stretched thin, too thin. And even though those developments were on the other side of the county or the next county, people were sitting on their hands. Dewey needed money. And this Chapel Cross development would have made him millions, big fat millions even after he paid off Luckham.” Gray had to admit, it was clever.

  “He thought he could buy Beveridge Hundred, I’m sure,” Yvonne posited. “He
certainly cultivated the Van Dorns.”

  “And he liked them,” Sister said. “Knew them and hunted with them near the end of their hunting days. He also figured he could buy all that land from the New Yorkers. Conservatively he might wind up with about a thousand acres. All the work that Crawford and Kasmir have done benefiting him.”

  “He just lost it at Christmas Hunt?” Betty wondered. “The boom gets lowered and he loses it?”

  “His debts pressed and now his future looked uncertain. All that work, all the preparation, the research, the schmoozing with landowners who would be adversely affected by the pipeline. He would offer them a way out. They wouldn’t realize the profits they might realize if the pipeline wasn’t tearing up their land, but Dewey could sweeten it. They wouldn’t lose but so much. Land appreciates. This would drop the value but it would still be more than when they bought it. It’s a good argument.” Sister filled in.

  “So do you think he’s insane?” Yvonne wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Sister quickly replied. “We hear about people, people the neighbors liked, their friends liked, who locked up young women in their basements molesting them for years. No one had a clue. I just don’t know. I guess people are capable of anything. We see what we want to see.”

  Aunt Daniella nodded. “And some people are highly intelligent. They fool us because they know we see what we want to see, hear what we want to hear. Politics is founded on that.”

  No one said anything. It was too true and too depressing.

  Yvonne spoke up. “I will buy Beveridge Hundred. I’ve spoken to the Van Dorns. They can live there as long as they wish, leave when they wish. Naturally, Dewey’s arrest and confession, if you call it that, has disturbed them because over the years he told them not to worry. Then the pipeline route would cut off a corner of their land and they did worry.”

  “Have they accepted?” Gray looked at his brother, who he suspected knew the answer.

  “They have.” Yvonne smiled broadly. “I’m the first to admit, I never thought I’d be a country girl and in the South no less, but here I am.” She smiled at the small group. “I never expected to like any of you either. You all have treated me with respect, you’ve helped me with Tootie and, how to put it, I’m happy here.”

  “Good news. Three cheers.” Betty held up her glass.

  They chatted, congratulated Yvonne on buying Beveridge Hundred. Then the conversation drifted back to the murders and Dewey.

  “Did Dewey say how he did it?” Betty couldn’t help herself.

  Gray shifted in his chair. He’d been with Sister when Ben came by to inform her of events. “Pretty much like our conclusions. He rode alongside Gregory as they approached the crossroads, hit him hard in the head with the butt end of his gun—a gun we never saw under his coat—pulled him off. The snowstorm gave him his chance. He drove out of Tattenhall Station going the wrong way. Most of us were gone, not staff or Sam but most of the field had made it out. He stopped, retrieved the body, drove to Beveridge Hundred, where he turned the trailer around.”

  “How did he kill Rory? Actually we know how, why?” Betty asked.

  “He says he didn’t kill Rory,” Gray replied. “Of course he did and of course Rory had to have gotten in the way, but better to be charged with one murder than two.”

  “He had to have killed him.” Sam’s jaw clenched. “Rory must have seen him kill Luckham, so Dewey had to silence him.”

  “Yes. But how can that be proven?” Sister realistically looked at him. “He’ll hire the best defense lawyer he can. That lawyer will line up psychiatrists, psychologists, you name it, and the insanity plea will stick. He’ll be deemed guilty. He’ll go behind bars, but I doubt it will be too awful. He’ll be in a place where they think he can be stabilized. Isn’t that the word now?”

  “What about the cutting off of the hands, the hanging, the boots up to Middleburg, his crop? Stupid stuff.” Betty hated the idea that Dewey would be in a country club prison, more or less.

  “Well thought out.” Aunt Daniella could smell the aroma of great bourbon. “We’d all think this was the work of a crazy person. He thought he could get away with it. I do believe that, but now that he didn’t, look at the trail of craziness, if you will. Sending boots to Middleburg Tack Exchange is as nuts as cutting off hands and the rest of it.”

  “But there are clues. People can’t quite cover it all,” Yvonne said. “Hands are cut off of thieves. This was about money. And the hands were put where they would divert our attention.”

  “The crop, the cigarette case.” Betty ran her fingers through her sleek hair. “He couldn’t bear to part with expensive things, elegant things. Did he say anything about the crop? I mean, here on the farm? The ring? All this stuff.”

  “The ring he knows nothing about, so it probably was ripped off by an animal enjoying the hand.” Gray grimaced. “The crop he said he grabbed, forgetting it was in his trailer. I don’t know how true that is, but it does support the insanity plea. Wouldn’t a normal person attempt to clean out anything of the victim’s?”

  “You bet,” Aunt Daniella swiftly responded.

  “So he realized he had the crop as he came down from the ridge, tossed it aside. He was the last one down of all the field.” Gray shrugged. “That’s his story. He also told Ben stringing up Gregory in the middle of the night worked up a sweat but cutting his hands off was hard work, too. He relished the gory details. Said he wrapped the victim in large garbage bags, put him in his huge freezer, which he locked. Ben searched the freezers too late. He’d moved Gregory, getting ready to string him up. Said he had him in his car in a sleeping bag. He’s a large man, a strong man. He could do these things alone. But he actually was proud of them.”

  “Sick. Even if he isn’t insane, it’s sick,” Yvonne pronounced.

  “Cigarette case?” Sister wondered. She hadn’t asked Ben about these items, sticking to the bigger story.

  “Ronnie says Dewey couldn’t bear to part with it. Twenty-four-carat gold, a sapphire clasp. Ronnie came by my house to visit and to catch up,” Aunt Daniella replied. “Dewey had put it in his pocket and I guess it was sort of like the whip: He realized he had to part with it, tossed it during a hunt, I think the one where Dragon found the hand. He said they’d covered a lot of territory, he fell back and pitched it, he thought, under the little stable. Ronnie doesn’t know whether to believe him or not, but he knows he came back for it. Odd. Again, we get back to insanity.”

  “How did Ronnie know?” Betty would never forget that hunt that nearly proved fatal.

  “When he looked at the initials on the cigarette case,” Aunt Daniella filled her in, “Dewey had hung back supposedly to go to the bathroom. Ronnie said he doesn’t know why but he was beginning to have doubts about Dewey, little things, and he decided to look around that stable. A hunch. How many times have you had a hunch that proved correct?”

  “They were hunting buddies. Ronnie knew him fairly well.” Sam thought we often know things in the back of our mind before they come to the front of our mind.

  “We don’t know how this will turn out in court, but at least we are safe. I hope we are safe.” Betty smiled then added, “Sister, what are you doing with this lad’s cap on the coffee table?”

  “I owe Weevil a new one.”

  “You washed the one you used to cover the crop,” Betty said.

  “Shrunk.”

  The back door opened. Two pair of footsteps could be heard.

  “In the library,” Gray called out.

  Shortly Tootie and Weevil stepped into the library.

  “What have you got?” Aunt Daniella broke into a huge smile.

  Tootie handed a Norfolk terrier puppy to her mother. “I don’t want you to be alone. Her name is Ribbon.”

  Tears filled Yvonne’s eyes as she held the adorable puppy to her bosom. She realized h
er daughter loved her.

  “What a beautiful puppy.” Sam rose to grab a tissue for her.

  They all made noises about the puppy, who was cute and a little sleepy, resting her head on Yvonne’s forearm.

  Aunt Daniella leaned back, finished her bourbon. A marvelous glow followed but she felt glowing anyway. Love. Puppy love. A parent trying to make up for too much money and not enough time for her child, and the child understanding finally. Then she looked at Sam, handing Yvonne another tissue and oh, she heard Yvonne when she would declare, “I am done with men.” Doesn’t every woman say that at least once in her life? She certainly had. In Aunt Daniella’s case, that promise lasted perhaps a week, but still. As for the ex-husband, he wasn’t done with his daughter and ex-wife yet, but for now who cared? He was out of the picture and Sam offered compassion. Eventually Yvonne would figure this out.

  Then she studied Weevil and Tootie. Tootie was opening her heart to her mother and to this kind young man.

  Aunt Daniella surveyed the room, thinking love comes in many guises. Never turn your back on love. But little Ribbon, well, perhaps that was the best—and it was Valentine’s Day.

  Dedicated to Mr. and Mrs. James Evert, who taught us at South Side tennis courts and later at Holiday Park tennis courts that it is the Ten Commandments not the Ten Suggestions

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Donna Packard, my friend and typist for more than thirty years, passed away November 17, 2017. She left behind an adored husband, two grown children, and legions of friends. Working without my wonderful backstop was a sorrowful adjustment.

  J. M. Cummings, another novelist, stepped up to the plate so that much did not need to be explained. My handwriting, however, did.

  As always, Kathleen King and Dee Phillips, Ph.D., both foxhunting buddies, pitched in when I needed odd bits of information.

  I stuck Raymie Woolfe, Jr., briefly in this novel to tickle him. Born July 31, 1935, he died on May 10, 2018, before publication. His bursting onto the steeplechase scene occurred when he was sixteen, winning the Saratoga Steeplechase on Hampton Roads. He was a winner in the saddle and out of it. He also wrote clear, excellent nonfiction. His book on Secretariat in 1981 remains the touchstone. In 2016 The Doomed Horse Soldiers of Bataan was published to high praise. There were books in between, and at his death he was writing another.