As Netty hurried to her rendezvous spot with Inky, the humans and hounds reached the far edge of the ridge. A curious geological formation, with gneiss and quartz underneath, ancient rocks had been folded into an eight-hundred-foot-high ridge, quite flat on the top but blunt on the northern end as though someone had cut the end off with a cake knife. The other three sides tapered down to the plain. The northern face was a sheer drop.
Hunt staff’s intent was to walk around the edges of the large meadow and then go back to the kennel, a distance of around two and a half miles at the most. A brisk beginning to the day for canine and human.
Fontaine’s coop, the replaced boards blacker than the faded boards, separated the woods from this meadow.
For a moment the humans didn’t notice that Aunt Netty and Inky sat on top of the coop.
Raleigh called out, “One, two, three!”
Every hound lifted up his or her head, singing, “Do you ken John Peel.”
Netty warbled, “At the break of day.” Then hopped off the coop.
Sister said, “We’re foxhunters, aren’t we?”
Shaker took off his cap, swinging it once around his head in a circle. “She’s in there. She’s in there.” He gave a little whoop.
The hounds trotted to the coop, each one leaping over. Sister, Shaker, and Doug followed.
Raleigh stayed up with Cora. His blinding speed would be useful if any hound’s discipline began to waver. Raleigh would run the hound down, bump him hard, and stand over him. If that didn’t work, he’d sink white fangs into a juicy hip. He didn’t think it would come to that.
Inky and Netty ran at a steady speed, occasionally glancing over their shoulders. They reached the other side of the woods in fifteen minutes. Cora and Archie were behind them with the humans far in the rear. At the hog’s-back jump leading onto the high meadows, the two vixens swerved left, hugging the fence line. The hounds reached it about three minutes later, moving single file along the fence. Even though most of the leaves had come down in the winds and sleet, the undergrowth hadn’t died off. The humans fought their way through except for Sister, who trotted along the meadow side of the fence line in case her hounds swerved back out.
Instead they swerved deeper into the woods. She climbed over, fanning back to the left. Sister wasn’t as fast on foot as she used to be but her powers of endurance were superb. Shaker stayed as close to his hounds as he could, slipping and sliding on the slick, icy leaves and pine needles. Doug swung out on the right once the hounds cut off the fence line.
They pushed on for another mile, perhaps more. The humans, tired, had slowed to a jog.
Archie yelled out, “Slow down. Slow down. They’re falling behind.”
The pack slowed to a fast walk. Netty and Inky stayed in sight range just ahead.
Dragon bolted but before he passed Cora, Raleigh hit him so hard he rolled over three times. The Doberman seized the young hound’s throat, scaring the crap out of him.
Raleigh let go. “You’ll learn to be a team player or I’ll rip your useless throat out.”
Tail between his legs, Dragon circled around to the back of the pack.
Panting, Sister was brought up short at the ravine, a fold in the land but a deep one. The hounds had stopped at the edge, too. The humans caught up just as Inky and Aunt Netty stopped at the rope.
“Here it is! Good job,” Netty encouraged Cora. “We’ll leave you here.”
“See you in the hunt field,” Cora replied.
Inky looked for Diana, whose tail was up, her nose to the ground, then scampered off in the direction opposite Netty.
As Sister, Shaker, and Doug skidded, slipped, and slid down the ravine, she said, “Never saw anything like that in my life.”
“Me neither.” Shaker lurched forward, grabbing a tree branch or he would have been pitched head over heels.
“You okay?” Doug asked. He moved down the side diagonally.
“Yes.” Shaker prudently decided to descend the way Doug was.
Sister, too, followed suit.
At the bottom of the ravine the hounds patiently waited.
Cora, Archie, and Diana sat around the rope, the other hounds behind them. Raleigh had joined Sister. If she fell, Raleigh thought he could help her up.
Doug reached the spot first. “Here!” He pointed.
Shaker, at last at the bottom, knelt down. “Damn fine rope.” He looked up at his employer and friend. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Should we leave it here and bring Sidell out?” Doug sensibly asked.
“No. I’ll tell you why. The rain and sleet washed out any prints. We’re lucky this is still here—not dragged off by an animal or dragged off by the killer. Sooner or later he’ll realize he dropped it.”
“I don’t think he dropped it.” Doug, sweating from the long run, unzipped the front of his jacket. “This ravine is a shortcut back toward Soldier Road. Or up to the high meadow, depending on the direction you’re moving. Right?”
“Yeah.” Shaker ran his large hand over his chin. Vexed, he hated not having an answer.
“I think our killer came back through here, tossed the rope, and rejoined the hunt. He had to have hidden the rope somewhere in these woods or somewhere close by, cut out of the hunt, picked it up, tied it to the tree, and then when the deed was done, ridden down through here and tossed it.”
“He’d have to be a pretty good rider.” Shaker held his hand under his jaw as though holding back his words.
Doug took the rope from Sister’s hand as she picked it up. “Can’t buy a rope like this in Virginia. This is the real deal.”
“What do you mean?” Sister asked.
“Belongs to a calf roper or a steer roper. Rodeo. They use special ropes, special twists in the braid. Who would have a rope like this?”
“Nobody in our hunt field rodeos—I mean willingly.” Sister had to laugh, because a few people performed unintentional bronc riding out there.
“Let’s walk out. Head down farther and climb out the west side. It’s easier,” Doug suggested, since a massive rock face with an overhang and ledge loomed before them.
“Cora. Archie, D-puppies, and the children. You may be the best pack of hounds in Virginia. You’re certainly the only detective pack.” Shaker praised his charges.
“Thank you,” they cried in unison.
“And you were impressive.” Sister petted Raleigh. “Never saw anything like it. The hounds and Raleigh stayed behind those foxes at a steady pace.”
“The foxes knew.” Shaker’s voice rang with conviction.
“Seemed to.” Doug shook his head.
As their bodies recovered from the run the cold set in. They zipped up their coats while sliding down in the bottom of the ravine, staying to the west of the creek running through it.
“Whoever did this sure knows the territory,” Doug said.
“That eliminates eighty percent of the hunt field.” Sister laughed. “They’re so busy showing off for one another they don’t look where they’re going. God help them if they ever have to get back on their own.”
“Be easy to slip off. Especially during opening hunt. Clever. Damnably clever.”
Doug walked beside Shaker, since the hounds behaved impeccably. “I can’t figure out how whoever it is got Fontaine to go with him.”
“Fontaine could have stopped to go to the bathroom.” Sister thought Fontaine was doing more of that lately, but then men did as they got on in years. He wasn’t that old, though.
“He stopped and another fellow stopped with him. Then led him off? That sort of thing?” Shaker breathed out two straight lines of mist from his nostrils.
“Partly. But Fontaine would come back to the main group. He wouldn’t get sidetracked by the splinter pack.”
“We were moving fast that day. His hearing wasn’t as good as yours.” Doug paused. “Course, no one hears as good as you. You’re uncanny . . . part fox.” He smiled at Sister.
“Sounds bounce around out here. He might have followed the hounds that sounded the closest. He might not have heard the main pack. We really were flying. I mean, people ran out of horse the first hour. I watched them pull out,” Doug remarked.
“When did you have time to watch the field?” Shaker grumbled.
“When I reached Soldier Road. We were running so hard I headed straight for the road. I hoped I could turn the pack but they turned on their own. Almost one hundred eighty degrees. But they were heading back before that because I passed riders on the farm road early on. The pace was scorching.”
“Maybe Fontaine turned back,” Shaker said.
“Gunsmoke. No way.” Sister shook her head.
“He’ll be fine,” Doug said. “Had to call the vet this morning about Trinkle. Asked about Gunsmoke.”
Trinkle was a bitch with uterus problems. She was going to have to be spayed, a pity, as she had great bloodlines and was a good hound in her own right.
“Maybe Fontaine stopped to help someone. Someone good-looking,” Shaker added.
“That’s the best theory yet,” Sister agreed. “And if he or whoever stopped in the woods, they wouldn’t be that easy to see. For one thing he wore that gorgeous black weaselbelly with the white vest. Made for him in Ireland. God, he always was one of the best-turned-out men in the hunt field. If he’d been in scarlet, he might not have slipped away so easily.”
“Huh.” Shaker was considering all this as they climbed upward.
“If you want to kill someone and you don’t want to get caught, I guess you plan for years or you plan pretty intensely and wait for the wind to blow in your favor. I don’t know if things had turned out differently, if the young entry hadn’t bolted onto that drag, that Fontaine would be alive. But whoever did it was waiting. The drag was brilliant. If it didn’t work, he would have tried later. Maybe something in the hunt field. Maybe something somewhere else. This strikes me as planned but still trusting to luck. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“Sister, what you’re trying to say is our killer is one bold son of a bitch.” Shaker, breathing hard, was relieved to finally reach the top of the ravine.
They were at the back side of the meadows surrounding Hangman’s Ridge. The ridge was a quarter of a mile in front of them to the west. They’d made a lopsided semicircle around it. Soldier Road was to their right, the bridge spanning the ravine and the creek immediately behind them. This early in the morning, the roads icy, there was no traffic.
“Only a mile back home.” Shaker smiled, as he intended to stay in the meadow. The walking would be much easier.
“I suppose Ben Sidell will question everyone that hunted. Someone is bound to have seen Fontaine stop.”
“Maybe,” Doug answered Sister.
“You know last hunt season I noticed he’d stop to relieve himself. Maybe he was getting prostate problems. I suppose they can occur at about any time.”
“Wouldn’t know.” Doug laughed.
“You will.” Shaker laughed right back. “Then they go up in there with a Roto-Rooter.”
“Ah, the indignities of age.” She laughed along with them.
“But not there, Sister, not there.” Shaker laughed even harder.
“Honey, that’s where your indignities begin.”
They laughed the whole way back to the kennel, keeping in this vein.
Later when Sister walked back in the kitchen, Raleigh, who knew where lazy Golly would be, snuck up on her and blew in her ear.
“P-s-s-t,” she spat.
“Scares the pee right out of me.” Raleigh giggled, then told the cat everything as Sister called the sheriff.
“You knew about this. You left me knowing what the foxes and the hounds were going to do?” The cat was desolate.
“You snooze, you lose.”
“I’ll get you for this, Raleigh Arnold. I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do!”
CHAPTER 42
That same evening the clouds lifted, creating an odd sight: dark cumulus, Prussian blue overhead, with a thin band of turquoise twilight underneath.
Everyone on the farm was behind on their chores because of the long hound walk and the sheriff coming to pick up the rope. He asked questions about everything, which they expected. No doubt he would check today’s reports with Saturday’s, searching for discrepancies or new information. No one could accuse him of not being thorough.
Just as Sister and Doug were bedding down the horses they heard a trailer rumble down the drive.
Raleigh hurried outside, leaving Golly inside. He let out a perfunctory bark, then shut up. Golly was so upset at missing events she spent the remainder of the day following Raleigh around, to his amusement, not to hers.
“I’ll see who it is.” Sister slid back the heavy metal stall door, a mesh to allow cooling breezes in the summer.
In winter Doug or Sister could throw on an extra blanket. Keeping a horse cool in summer’s oppressive heat proved far more difficult than keeping them warm in winter.
The thin band of turquoise above the mountains slowly turned purple.
Sorrel Buruss cut the motor on the Chevy dually truck and stepped out into the cool air. “Sister, will you take Gunpowder and Keepsake? I should have called but I don’t know. I can’t seem to keep anything straight in my head and I know Fontaine would want the horses well cared for and used. They’ll sit around in the barn and that’s not right.”
“Sorrel.” Sister put her arm around the pretty woman’s shoulders. “I’ll give them the best of care. We’ll hunt them and when you’ve had time to think things through if you want to sell them, I will.”
“I’d like to donate them to the hunt.” Her lower lip trembled.
“Let’s wait and see how much money you have left when all is said and done. Okay?”
Sorrel, a well-groomed woman even in grief, cried. She couldn’t speak.
“Doug can unload. Come on. Let me get you a cup of coffee or a drink if it’s too late for coffee. All right?” As Sorrel nodded her agreement, Sister walked back into the stable. “Doug, will you unload Gunsmoke and Keepsake? We’ll be caring for them for a while.”
“Sure.”
Once in Sister’s kitchen, the fire roaring in the huge fireplace, Sorrel relaxed a little. “The funeral is tomorrow and I couldn’t stand one more deeply sympathetic condolence. One more person at the door. God, I must be awful. The kids are at Mom’s. They’re upset but at the same time kind of excited, all the food, flowers, people.”
“I often wonder what stays with them. The telling detail. I don’t know. I remember a great deal from my childhood and yet when my brother was alive he’d recall the same event not so much in contradiction but with a different emphasis. It used to make me wonder about my mind.”
“I gave up on my mind a long time ago.” Sorrel half smiled, grateful to be out of the gloom of her own home. “I apologize for just dropping in on you. I could have called. . . . I just went to the barn and pulled those guys out of their stalls. At least I remembered their halters and lead. I have moments when I can’t remember anything. I’m moving but I’m not functioning. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” Sister offered her some cookies, then sat down herself.
Raleigh reposed by the fireplace. Golly sat on the kitchen counter.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get through tomorrow.”
“You will.”
“How did you do it? Twice.”
“I told myself that the men in my life wouldn’t take kindly to a wife or a mother who fell apart in front of God and everybody.”
“I guess we just go on—I mean, I don’t even know why I’m here. I mean here as in alive. I don’t seem to have a purpose. I never did. I had a purpose as a wife and a mother but I can’t see anything. I—”
“Sorrel, maybe we don’t have a purpose. Maybe we’re here to just live. But whatever, right now you go through the motions. The substance of your life may be revealed later.”
/> “You have a purpose.” Sorrel’s face was so innocent and so open.
“To live.”
“You have the hunt club.”
Sister smiled. “Yes. I doubt that philosophers or even those people eager to live your life for you would find that much of a purpose but I have Nature, I love God’s creation, and this is a way to appreciate it.”
“You’ve lived a fabulous life.”
“Well, let’s just say I may not have done much good in this life but I haven’t done much harm either.” She smiled, pushing another cookie at Sorrel. “Eat. I know it’s hard but if you don’t your blood sugar will go haywire and you’ll feel like you’re on a roller coaster. I’ve got some nice cold chicken. How about a chicken sandwich with lettuce, pumpernickel bread?”
“Yeah!” Golly shouted.
Sister sternly eyed the calico.
“I don’t think so, thank you. Board . . . What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Really.”
“Sister Jane, can you think of anyone who would kill Fontaine?”
After a considerable pause Sister said, “I can think of plenty of people who might want to kill him but none who would.”
“He lived every single second while he was here.” Sorrel smiled ruefully. “I adjusted. I guess you could say my flame didn’t burn as bright as Fontaine’s.”
“No. Your flame burns steadily. It has to, Sorrel; you’re a mother. Men can leave. They can leave us flat out. They can die. They can run off with other women or they can show up on their thirty-seventh birthday and declare they want to climb Mount Everest before they’re forty. We’re tied to the earth. Once the children are grown I suppose we can do those things, too, but how do you break a lifetime of holding back?”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“I think a lot. I’m alone much of the time or I’m doing chores. My mind is always on an adventure.” She picked up a cookie, putting it in Sorrel’s hand. “Okay. You don’t have to eat it but look at it. I’m making a sandwich even if you won’t eat it. Take it with you.”
“There’s enough food in my house to keep a brigade full.”
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