“Depends on the tax.” Sister felt the bracing tea warm her throat. “What else did Margaret say?”
“Only that this is two unsolved deaths in the county in just over a week and Ben is fretting, since now a woman was killed the same way in Lexington, Kentucky. She also said the discovery will be on the late-afternoon news. Maybe by then the body will be identified.
“Ben takes his job seriously. He’s a good sheriff. If you’d asked me when he was hired, I would have been doubtful. Virginia remains Virginia, which means you need to listen very closely to what is being said. Of course, that’s why people from the north think we are hypocrites. They don’t know the code.”
“True,” Bobby agreed. “We learned and so can they.”
“Well, we learned the Ten Commandments, too, does that mean it sank in?” Sister raised a silver eyebrow.
“Too hard.” Betty turned off the flame, scooping her signature omelet onto three colorful breakfast plates.
The Franklins’ Manx cat sauntered in, sat down waiting for a piece of bacon, which he received to thunderous purrs.
“Have you all weighed Roman Bold?” She named the fat fellow, a typefont name.
“Don’t be ugly.” Betty buttered her toast.
“His butt is so big you could show a movie on it.”
“Don’t you fat shame my cat.” Betty pointed a fork at Sister.
“Roman, forgive me. I am an insensitive human,” Sister apologized while Roman devoured the treat. “Have you all ever wondered how we landed where we are now?”
“Plenty. Our problems are the problems of plenty,” Bobby answered authoritatively.
“Honeyman, not everyone in America has plenty.” Betty didn’t argue, simply made a statement.
“I know, but the great majority of our people live very well. Someone of modest means would be rich in Venezuela.”
“Has Central America ever been stable? Guatemala, El Salvador? Those people get battered by the right then the left comes in and it’s nastiness, if not death, from the other direction. Maybe disarray, violence is the human condition. I mean, here we are in one of the most beautiful places in the United States if not the world and a man is found with a lead shank tied around his throat at Showoff Stables.”
“Not while I’m eating,” Betty suggested.
“I don’t mind.” Roman’s ears perked up. “You should see me kill mice.”
Bobby assumed the feline chat was a request for more food so he slipped the cat a piece of his bacon. No wonder Roman was huge.
“You met the Sabatinis. What did you think?” Sister asked.
“Attractive. Rich. But there were so many people at Kathleen’s grand opening, hard to say.”
“True.”
“Delicious, as always,” Sister praised her friend and whipper-in.
“You feed me enough. After walking hounds in the off-season. After working the horses.”
Sister smiled at Betty. “Odd how food brings people together.”
“Yes,” Roman enthusiastically agreed.
“It’s brought us the cat.” Bobby loved his fat cat. “Back to the dead man in the old Gulf garage. He had to know Arthur’s schedule. So I suppose Ben has questioned Arthur, plus Margaret would tell him whatever or whoever she knew. When Binky ran it, everybody out in Chapel Cross took their trucks and cars there.”
“You would think, but the station, although closed, is known to many of us. Also what if the dead man had been driven there by someone who knows the area? Easy enough to do. The old Gulf station is hardly a secret.”
Betty nodded. “Margaret said as much.”
Bobby jumped in. “Why would he be there? Why not just dump him by the side of the road?”
“Parker Bell was killed where he worked. So it’s a bit different, the body at the gas station.” Betty leaned back in her chair.
Sister rejoined, “Who did these men offend? Think about Parker. His forefinger and second finger missing at the first knuckle, an old wound, long ago healed. Ben asked me did I think there was significance?”
“Do you?” Betty wondered.
“I don’t know. They were old, healed injuries.”
“Before I forget, have you picked the dates for the girls’ meet, for lack of a better term?” Betty stood up to collect the plates. “You could change the last week of the season so we could travel. A thought.”
“O.J. and I are working it out with Deep Run, Red Rock, Bull Run, and Big Sky. I much look forward to that. We’re working toward one meet with all hunts. Then in the coming years each hunt will host same. That’s a lot easier than trailering horses to all those separate hunts in one year.”
“Good idea.” Bobby got up, poured Sister more tea while Betty brought some cookies to the table.
“For your sweet tooth.” Betty smiled.
“I am trying to throttle my sweet tooth.”
Betty flicked Sister’s shoulder. “You never put on weight. Eat them all.”
“Oh, great. Sugar gives me such a buzz. I really am trying to cut back.” She reached for a small rich chocolate cookie, popped it in her mouth. “On the other hand.”
They talked hounds, fixtures, people, kept returning to the two dead men, then Sister glanced at the wall clock.
Bobby followed her eyes. “Hey, stay all day.”
“I lose track of time when I’m with you. Need to get back and check on everyone. Gray should be back soon, full of Aunt Daniella’s tales.” Sister brushed crumbs into her hand, rose, and dumped them in the trash can. “My focus is blurring. Too much going on. We’re so close to the end of the season. I’ve got to clear my head.”
Betty and Bobby smiled then Betty said, “I think we all feel that way. Nobody ever knows what tomorrow will bring but things seem especially confusing.”
CHAPTER 19
February 25, 2020 Tuesday
Hounds fanned out over a pasture rolling down to a meandering creek. O.J., sitting next to Catherine Clay-Neal, riding sidesaddle, observed the chase.
“That coyote always loses us down there.”
Catherine nodded, her silk top hat catching the light. “This wind isn’t helping.”
“No, but at least it’s warm. Bad for scent but good for us.” O.J. urged Blossom forward at a trot.
The two women, riding as silent whippers-in today, watched everything. Spencer, the huntsman, asked them to sit on the hilltops, watch. This particular coyote drove the man to distraction. In ways the animal eluded them like a fox.
Down at the creek the field waited patiently while the huntsman cast again. O.J. and Catherine, a bit to the side and behind them, saw hounds make good every inch of the ground down by that creekbed. Nothing. Truly, it was uncanny.
“You know scent lingers a bit stronger near water,” O.J. whispered. “And water is wider than we see. Depending on the size of the creek or river it’s also under the ground on both sides of the creek. Good for scent.”
“Bottomland.” Catherine smiled, a longtime foxhunter.
They’d been out for three hours. Had a decent run but the high-pressure system, the sun with a light wind made for a great trail-riding day but not a great hunting day.
The senior master, Dinwiddie Lampton III, rode up to the huntsman, chatted, hounds turned for the trailers, a wise decision, as it would only grow warmer, dissipating scent.
O.J. and Catherine walked at a leisurely pace.
“Snow last week. Look at that.” Catherine pointed to a handful of daffodils, happy faces turned up to the sun.
“I don’t even try to predict the weather anymore.” O.J. smiled at the daffodil faces. “I heard that the police pulled in a suspect, Delores’s murderer.”
“We’ll see. The police came to the museum to question me, this was yesterday and I kept my mouth shut…well, until it was
made public, but they wanted to know, did we ever use a window service or any repair services?
“I gave them the names. Nothing much was told to me or any of the girls.” Catherine called her assistants “girls.” “But I asked was there thought that this is related to some sort of international art theft? I mean, should we worry at Headley-Whitney?” She cited the museum of which she was the director.
“And?”
“The authorities didn’t know. I mentioned that if it is an international art ring, one would think they would be wiping out England, where much of Sir Alfred’s work remains.” She added, “Stealing paintings is one thing. Killing a fine old lady is another.”
“Obviously you didn’t catch the news this morning, but the man apprehended drives a truck for a big window company. No explanation offered, but the truck had been parked down the street. No one in the area had window work done.”
“The question is, what did Delores know or did she get in the way? Her Munnings was taken. She wasn’t home, so the thief or thieves knew her routine; then why come back and kill her? It’s a terrible thing.”
“It is. Let me switch to a happier subject. I volunteered Long Run Woodford to host the first hunt with Red Rock, Blue Sky, Deep Run, Bull Run, and Jefferson Hunt, and you know why?”
“No, but I’m ready to hear it.”
“We could have them all here for the opening of the Andre Pater exhibit.”
Catherine, a terrific-looking woman, broke into a wide smile accentuating her warmth. “O.J.! How wonderful of you. Just what we need, a museum full of people, and of course the press will have to come.” A pause. “Have you told Dinwiddie, Joe, or Paul?” She named the joint masters.
“No, but Catherine, have you ever known them to pass up a great party?”
Catherine laughed. “No, but this means the women of the club will have a lot of work to do.”
O.J. slyly said, “And so will you.”
“Throw it at me.”
“The evening after the big hunt, which will be at Shakertown, of course, what about a formal dinner preceded by a gathering at the museum? Evening scarlet. If we can pull it off that will even get the TV people out there for the opening and the fashion drama.”
“Do you ever stop?” Catherine turned to smile at her.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Pulling rabbits out of the hat and in this case it’s my hat.”
“Well, Catherine, you are wearing a top hat.”
* * *
—
As Tuesday was also a Jefferson hunt, Sister and the Tuesday faithful sat on folding chairs at Heron’s Run. Like in Kentucky, the day proved warm, so everyone sat outside after the hunt, horses munched their hay in the bags, the hounds on the hound trailer sprawled in the trailer loft, an area taking up half of the trailer; it had an indoor ladder leading up to it so hounds had an upstairs and a downstairs. As the day had proved surprisingly fast they ate a cookie then flopped on their sides. Soon most of the pack was asleep.
Ben Sidell, sitting between Sister and Walter, fielded questions about the discovery at the Gulf station last Saturday.
“It wasn’t grisly. Unusual, but not grisly. He was gone. Still no word from the Medical Examiner, but that can take time unless there’s pressure.”
“People being afraid bring pressure.” Alida had figured that out.
“So you still don’t know who was in the truck?” Bobby Franklin mentioned.
“No. No one has come forward to claim him.”
“What about Bell?” Sam, who had ridden one of Crawford’s horses, Trocadero, asked.
“He was an ex-con. Served time for illegal gaming and gambling. Gigi Sabatini knew that and said he had had such good results hiring former prisoners to help with the horses. He’s heard about the James River Horse Foundation. Although Parker served time in Kentucky. It’s funny to think of gambling being a problem there because of the casinos on the Indiana side of the river.”
Kasmir, happily settled in a comfortable folding chair that Alida had brought, shrugged. “Gambling, prostitution, drugs, illegal liquor, the so-called sin crimes. Do the laws solve anything?”
“No,” Sam forcefully said as his brother stared at him for a moment. “All it does is keep people from seeking help. As you know, I’m an alcoholic. Even though what I drank was legal it didn’t mean I wouldn’t drink what wasn’t, and would I seek help? No. Had I been on drugs I truly wouldn’t have gone into rehab. Be on my record forever. I thank God for my brother and my late cousin.”
“Do you mean we legalize everything?” Weevil, being Canadian, found some American ways odd.
“No, but decriminalizing isn’t the same as legalizing,” Ben answered. “Can I take a position as your sheriff? At this time that wouldn’t be wise but do I think we need to change a lot of this stuff? Of course I do.”
“Where would you start?” Alida asked.
“That’s a tough one. Either drugs or prostitution. The violence against prostitutes by their johns or pimps beggars description. No one much cares, and of course so many of the women in the life are on drugs. I will follow the law. That’s what you pay me to do but it doesn’t mean I believe those laws all work.”
“This is what I love about our tailgates.” Sister put her feet up on an overturned red bucket. “We tell one another the truth. We don’t have to agree but we put it out there.”
“I think it’s because foxhunting can be dangerous. We draw close to one another in a way perhaps tennis players don’t,” Betty pondered.
“Any hunt where you dismount, can walk away, your horse is fine, that’s a good hunt.” Kasmir laughed.
“I can tell you something strange.” Ben held his glass. “When we took off Parker’s glove on his right hand, he was missing his forefinger and second finger to the first knuckle. An old wound. When we took the glove off the right hand of the unidentified man, same thing.”
They looked at one another, then Walter spoke. “Surgically removed sometime in the past?”
“I would have to say yes. Clean amputation.”
“What in the world?” Betty exclaimed.
Sister, taking this all in, clearly stated, “That’s too unique not to mean something, not for those two to be connected in some fashion even if they didn’t know each other.”
“Well, Sister, how can two missing fingers be connected?” Betty exhaled. “That’s too bizarre.”
“Bizarre, yes, but I say trust your instincts and don’t expect life to be logical.” She held her glass up to the others as a toast.
CHAPTER 20
February 26, 2020 Wednesday
“Sure is a lot of suds.” Tootie sprayed the power washer on the walls and floor of the kennel.
“Could peel the paint off a car, there’s so much force, but I’ve yet to find anything that can clean a kennel like a good power washer, or as inexpensively.”
“Once a week.” Tootie nodded.
“Well, I did go over the top when I bought two. Thought it would save time. Just have one with the cleaner in it and the other with clear hot water. I maybe saved some time but probably not enough to justify the expense.” Sister stood by her clear water power washer while Tootie finished up with the sudsy one.
The two women worked side by side and had been at it since nine that morning. Weevil and Betty walked hounds without them so they could do the indoor runs first. The outdoor runs were picked up, the poop thrown into a manure spreader, which also had straw bedding in there, which was changed whenever needed. Sister, a stickler for proper kennel practices, might let the straw go a week if the weather wasn’t awful but that was it. Every outdoor condo, as they called the big boxes on stilts, was rebedded once a week in winter. No straw in summer to help keep hounds cool. Some mornings in the winter, Sister would walk out to see what looked like steam rolli
ng out of the condos’ small open doors.
The condo runs, huge, narrowed to a chain-link walkway to the main kennel and a push-open door, should hounds prefer to be in the kennel. However, the animals exhibited strong likes and dislikes so some kept to their social group in their condo, sort of like a sorority or a fraternity. Others enjoyed the camaraderie of the indoor housing. Best to let them tell you which, was Sister’s attitude about all animals. Golly, the long-haired cat, would sashay down to the kennels, parade along the outside runs, and denigrate the hounds within. They ignored her, which Raleigh and Rooster could not. As it was, she now reposed in the kennel office, fire crackling in the fireplace, for it had been built before indoor heating, later added. The roar of the power washers disturbed her equilibrium.
This did not disturb the two humans, happy with how the kennels sparkled. After the washing was done each woman pushed a large mop so the floor dried out quickly. The mops, carried to the industrial sink by the storage closet, were rung out, not such an easy task, then placed inside the closet, mop-head up. Both women washed their hands, dried same, then rubbed cornhusker oil on their hands.
“Stuff works. My hands don’t crack, I hate the cold on my hands and feet. Feels worse if your hands are cracked.”
“Hate it, too,” Tootie agreed, then added, “they’re on a long walk.”
No sooner had she said that than the iron gates to the outdoor draw run could be heard opening. The two women had also washed that concrete floor.
“Come along,” Weevil’s voice rang out.
“Barmaid, skiddle, daddle, do,” Betty urged the youngster to hurry up.
Then the door opened to the inside of the kennels, girls first into their side of the kennels then the boys. Everyone finally settled, the door opened into the large feeding room.
“Brisk.” Weevil rubbed his hands together. “It’s sixty degrees one day then thirty the next. I don’t know if I will ever get used to it.”
“Weevil, I was born and raised in Virginia and I’m not used to it,” Betty teased him. “Girls, this place looks practically perfect.”
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