Outfoxed

by Rita Mae Brown

  “That’s saddling Doug with a hell of a burden,” Bobby blurted.

  “It may be but it also ensures that those with a big ego and big pocketbook like Crawford might contribute generously if elected as hunt secretary. Look, once this will is read, no one but a bloody fool will try to fiddle with it. We need that land. It’s good land, too. We couldn’t possibly buy it. Not at today’s prices and it’s close to a hundred acres. The club will fall in line.” She held up her hand. “We’ll have to hear this, that, and who shot the cat but they’ll fall in. My question to you, Vin, is twofold: What if Doug should predecease me? Secondly, what if Doug were convicted of a felony?”

  This got both men’s full attention.

  Vin cleared his throat. “If Doug predeceases you, then you have the right to name your successor with the stipulation that it be someone Peter taught as a child.”

  “And would we be within the spirit and scope of Peter’s will if, say, Doug committed a felony? I should say was convicted of a felony. Then would I have the right to name a successor? Again, someone who Peter taught.”

  Flipping up pages of the will, Vin read intently. He cleared his throat again. “I think you would not be in violation of this will.”

  Bobby, bolt upright now. “You think Doug killed Fontaine?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m asking a reasonable question. Personally, I hope Doug does succeed me. He will be a fine master once he gets the hang of it. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Of course, they had.

  CHAPTER 53

  The motor purred as Sister Jane and Bobby Franklin sat in her Durango in the parking lot of Vin Barber’s law firm. Over a foot and a half of snow had fallen last night, the temperature stayed low, and the skies threatened more snow.

  “Talk to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  That directive meant tell me everything and I know plenty as it is.

  Bobby sighed. “When I thought you were searching for a joint-master I supported Crawford Howard. Let me hasten to add that was a grievous error and I have since repented of my ways.”

  “In florid fashion, I’ve heard.”

  “Uh—yes. Anyway, Fontaine found out—not that I was actively campaigning for Crawford. I’d only verbally committed to his support and I hadn’t yet lobbied other board members. Well, Fontaine threatened to take away his business from me and to make sure others shunned my press. As you know, Fontaine did use us for most of his needs. The income from Mountain Landscapes has been steady. Crawford threw me big jobs but I wasn’t sure if all of his jobs would outweigh Fontaine’s jobs and vice versa. I believed Fontaine’s threat. I was between a rock and a hard place.”

  “Let me get right to the point, Bobby, and I ask this with no malice intended: Did you kill Fontaine?”

  “No. I’d much prefer to kill Crawford.”

  “That seems to be the prevailing mood.”

  “About me?”

  “No, about Fontaine’s death. When asked, people say they wonder why Fontaine, or they say exactly as you did. Curious.”

  Bobby squirmed in his heated seat, the warmth toasting his back. “How do I turn this thing down?”

  “Flip it off.” She reached over and cut off the heated-seat button. “The warmth in the car is sufficient, although I love these heated seats.”

  “I carry my own heat with me.” He smiled sadly. “Now look, Sister, do you honestly think I would or could kill Fontaine Buruss because he threatened my business?”

  “No, but I had to ask. But you could kill him if he threatened or harmed Cody.”

  Bobby’s head rocked back a moment. “Why do you say that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Rumor.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “All right, then, let’s look at this from another angle. Do you think Cody had an affair with Fontaine?”

  Bobby really squirmed in his seat now. “He was old enough to be her father almost.”

  “Since when has that stopped a man?”

  A sickly pallor flooded Bobby’s broad face. “Yeah. Is this relevant?”

  “For Chrissake, Bobby, if I didn’t think it were, do you think I’d sit here for the sheer pleasure of making you uncomfortable?”

  “I know. I know.” He gripped the handguard as though the vehicle were moving. “Do I think Cody had an affair with Fontaine?” An agonizing silence followed; then he spoke much too loudly. “Yes. Goddammit. Yes. I could have killed him for that. She’s made enough of a hellhole of her life as it is without him digging her in deeper.” He caught his breath. “Rehab and therapy. Betty and I have to go once a month along with the kids—I’m finding out stuff I wish I didn’t know. Cody would sleep with anyone to get cocaine—more than one at a time. I’m amazed she’s alive and not suffering from AIDS. And Jennifer has always worshiped Cody. That was misplaced admiration. I hope we’ve stopped this before she really follows in Cody’s footsteps.” He wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “If they were sons, I’d have thrashed them within an inch of their lives.”

  She swallowed. “Bobby, we’ve known one another for a long time. Children go their own way and even if it’s the wrong way they have to learn. Cody had sense enough to put herself through rehab. She’s looking for a good job. Restaurant work brings her into contact with much of what she needs to avoid. It’s going to be difficult for both of your girls but Jennifer has an earlier start on cleaning up. Everyone knows Cody’s history here. At least Jennifer’s misdeeds are on a smaller scale. Cody’s back with Doug and if anyone can help her stay on the straight and narrow—it’s him.”

  “I’m very grateful to him,” Bobby mumbled. “I behaved badly this summer. I even rejoiced when they broke up.” He stared out the window, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You know, I’m ashamed of myself. I was worried about what people would say.”

  “Color.”

  “That didn’t help. Money. You know a father likes to see his daughters married to men of means. Right now that seems—superficial.”

  “It’s the way we were raised. And it’s not far wrong. Love is potent. Money is omnipotent. No father wants to commit his daughter to a poor man. Have you said anything to Cody about Doug?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  They sat watching a few isolated flakes fall, presaging more to come.

  “Maybe you should talk to Cody.”

  “That’s what Betty says.” He turned his face toward hers. “I don’t want to upset her. I’m afraid she’ll go backward.”

  “Admitting you were wrong about Doug isn’t going to upset her.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about Fontaine. Asking her.”

  “I don’t know. Done is done.”

  His voice, barely audible, shook. “I don’t know if Jennifer will make it. She’s in trouble before Cody was—at her age—or, maybe I see it. . . . I didn’t see it with Cody. Jennifer’s still under my roof. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Jennifer has your full attention. I suppose negative attention is still better than no attention. She’s always been in Cody’s shadow. I thank God I passed through adolescence before the words ‘self-esteem’ were uttered.” She sighed.

  He brightened, then laughed. “God, it’s such bullshit.”

  The gloom lifted. They sat in silence again.

  “Early snow. A long winter, I think.”

  “I love winter.” He smiled. “Always loved Peter Wheeler’s Christmas tree. It will be lonely without him. They don’t make them like that anymore. People don’t have time for one another anymore.”

  “We do.”

  “The club. It’s an obsession that keeps us together . . . but yes, we’re lucky that way. Except for Fontaine’s murder. I still can’t get over that. During the damned hunt.” He slapped his leg.

  “I never thought I’d be facing anything like this.”

  He checked his watch. “I’m glad Peter made the land conting
ent on you remaining sole master. It’s better.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You’re right. I don’t thank you enough. I don’t thank Betty either.”

  “Buy flowers. Go home and kiss her.”

  “Think I will.”

  “Two more quick questions. You usually lead hilltoppers. I don’t see what’s behind me but you do. I hear Fontaine used to stop at least once during a hunt.”

  “He did.”

  “I assumed this was to go to the bathroom. Now I think maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, did you ever see him go to the bathroom? Not that you’re looking but sometimes you men will stop and hold one another’s horses.”

  “No. I never saw him. I’d see him veer off and then he’d be back with us within fifteen minutes. Sometimes took longer if we were on a hot run.”

  “Two thoughts occur to me. He always found the field. He knew hunting. He knew territory. He knew the shortcuts and he knew not to foul the line of scent. Is it possible he stopped for an assignation?”

  “Pretty short one.”

  “That would appeal to him.”

  “Well—I guess, but wouldn’t we see a woman leave, also?”

  “Not if she were a whip.”

  He winced. “Pretty damned irresponsible.”

  “As I said. Done is done. It’s a theory, not a fact, but my mind is turning over everything. If he wasn’t stopping to go to the bathroom, he had to be doing something he didn’t want the rest of us to see.”

  “Tell you what. Let me ask the men. Maybe someone did see him.”

  “Good. It’s easier for you to ask than for me. The next question is, when do you want to call a general membership meeting to announce Peter’s bequest? If we don’t do this, it will leak out. I’ll be besieged with calls. You’ll be besieged with calls.” She poked his biceps. “Bet you rue the day you were elected president.”

  “Sometimes. Got a calendar?”

  She flipped down the glove compartment. A calendar was fastened to the inside. “How’s that for service.”

  He put on his reading glasses, the black heavy frames, square, so ugly they bordered on fashionable. “Friday. I’ll get the phone tree started. Or we could just meet after hunting Saturday.” He stopped himself. “No, horses will be tied to the trailers. Everyone will be thinking about their horses and about food. Friday. It’s awfully short notice but I bet we’ll get a good turnout—all things considered. Time?”

  “Six. Let’s get them right after work. Ask Betty to organize coffee—maybe some cookies or something.”

  “Okay. Whoo, coming down now. You know I’ve put over a hundred twenty thousand miles on that old Chevy Blazer.” He nodded toward his smallish four-wheel-drive vehicle parked next to Sister’s car. “Still runs like a top and no rust. When the engine finally dies I think I’ll just pop in a rebuilt one.”

  “I think you should donate it to the club. We’ll auction it off as Wonder Wheels.” Her voice rose in imitation of a salesman.

  “We’ll make a fortune.” He leaned over, kissing her on the cheek, then opened the door. “Course, you could bronze it and use it as sculpture.”

  Driving back home, Sister remembered Peter had also left the club his 1974 badass pickup with the 454-cubic-inch engine in it. Another old Chevy.

  She listened to Rachmaninoff’s Symphony in E-flat on the way home.

  CHAPTER 54

  Understanding one’s emotions isn’t the same as conquering one’s physical desires. Every day Cody Franklin fought her profound thirst for alcohol, specifically tequila. The hours, the tears, the laying bare of frailties during her intensive week of rehab and subsequent therapy couldn’t prepare her or anyone for the body’s craving.

  She could do without cocaine, marijuana, skin-popping heroin. But to spend the rest of her life without a drop of liquor seemed a cruel sentence. She’d dream of standing at a neon-lit bar, all cool aluminum washed in blue light. The bartender, Dionysus in disguise, would slide a glass of straight tequila to her. Margaritas were for wimps. Tequila sunrises were for trendies. Straight tequila on the rocks. She’d wake up sweating, mouth dry, hands shaking. Then she’d haul herself out of bed, pull a seltzer water out of the fridge, and drink. But she craved tequila.

  One day at a time. Like a mantra she’d roll that phrase over and over in her head until it made no sense at all but sounded soothing.

  She realized that the first day an alcoholic takes a drink, gets hooked, is the day emotional development stops. By her own reckoning she was eighteen years old. She’d smoked some weed before that, junior high school, popped the top of a beer can, but she started methodically drinking at eighteen, her first year in college.

  She also realized that she was self-centered. Like many young people she assumed other people thought like her. One of the good things to come out of the rehab was the knowledge that just wasn’t so. Other people were other people. She was making an effort to see the world through other eyes, making an effort to grow up at last.

  She gave herself a pep talk as she left Real Estate Virginia. Turned down again, she trudged through the snow. She knew she couldn’t make a career out of training horses. She was good but there were plenty better. She could exercise a horse, she could give a green horse confidence, but she couldn’t put the spit and polish on a horse to go into the showring. She could bring along a sane foxhunter but that was a small market and people still believed they could find the perfect foxhunter for $5,000. Those days were long gone but no one would ever accuse a Virginian of keeping up with the times. Indeed, they prided themselves on not keeping up with the times. The times were for the rabble. Virginians were eternal and eternally above such silliness.

  The cold air made her nose run. Great. If anyone saw her they’d say she was on coke again. She crossed the downtown mall, heading for the parking lot where her wheezing car awaited her.

  She passed the side street where Fontaine’s office was, a three-story Federal brick building painted beige with burgundy shutters. On a whim she turned down the street, walked up the steps, freshly shoveled and swept of snow. Inside, the office door was open. Martha Howard sat at her desk, landscaping plans unfurled.

  “Hi, Martha. How are you doing? I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Come on in.” Martha stood up. She had guessed at Fontaine’s relationship with Cody but didn’t pry. It was none of her business.

  “It’s strange—without him here.”

  “Yes. Very. Would you like coffee or tea? How about a soft drink?”

  “Coffee. I’m chilled and I don’t know why. I walked here from Real Estate Virginia. It’s not that far.”

  “First bitter of the winter. Always takes me that way, too.” Martha poured coffee in a mug with a horse’s tail as the handle. “One or two?”

  “Two and milk, please.”

  Martha delivered the coffee, then sat down with Cody on the sofa. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay. And you?”

  “A lot of changes. It’s hard to believe Fontaine is really gone. Right now it seems like he’s on vacation. Ireland. He loved Ireland better than any place. He had more energy . . .” Martha’s voice trailed off. She rose, poured herself a coffee, reached into the white cabinet, and brought out a box of cookies. She sat back down and they both nibbled on the dark-chocolate-covered cookies. “I always thought that women had more energy than men and in the main I think they do but Fontaine was in a class by himself. Has the sheriff grilled you yet?”

  “Yes. I don’t think they know any more than when they first started questioning people.”

  “Maybe. I suppose it’s too early to tell. People think Crawford did it. He hated Fontaine. He was missing for about fifteen or twenty minutes. Bad timing. He didn’t kill him, though.”

  “He could have paid someone else.”

  Martha laughed, an unexpected reaction to Cody. “Never. Crawford is too smart to ever let emotions
foul up his life. If he were caught, he’d be dragged through a court of law. . . . Not Crawford. Too cold-blooded and that was not a cold-blooded murder.”

  “I never thought of that.” Cody wrapped both hands around the coffee mug to warm herself. “What are you going to do?”

  “About Crawford?”

  “Well, I wasn’t thinking about that. I meant here. What will happen to the business?”

  “I think Sorrel will sell it. Right now she’s in no shape to make a major decision and I told her I’d finish up the jobs outstanding. If I had the money, I’d buy it. Fontaine was hardly regular in his work habits. He was good at bidding jobs and I learned a lot from him but a strong work ethic was not part of his makeup. At the risk of bragging, I kept this business on track. I love the creative part of this. Love design. I know I could make a success of this.”

  “Crawford would buy it for you. He’ll do anything to get you back.”

  “Is that your opinion?”

  Cody, not the most socially conscious creature, said, “Yes. Other people think that, too, but I guess it’s hard to trust someone after they’ve—well—I’m kind of going through that myself only I was the one who screwed around.”

  Martha lowered her eyes for an instant. “What are you going to do?”

  “About Doug?”

  “No. About your life.”

  “I don’t know. No one will hire me. I guess they’d hire me to dig ditches. Places want drug tests now. I don’t mind that.” She sighed. “What I mind is everyone peering at me as though I’m under a microscope. I think half of the people want me to fall on my face and the other half don’t.”

  “Life.” Martha smiled, a tinge of sadness in her face.

  “I didn’t think it would be this hard. The receptionist at Real Estate Virginia, Marcy Talmadge, took my résumé and blew me off. I remember that sorry bitch from high school.” She ate another cookie in defiance.

  “No one forgets anything around here. It’s the reverse of California.”