Outfoxed

by Rita Mae Brown

  He sat on the leather sofa. “Quite a storm.”

  “I love watching the weatherman on Channel Twenty-nine. Even with all the sophisticated radar, satellite photos—they still don’t know what the weather will do. Especially here next to the mountains.”

  “Hungry?”

  “That means you are.”

  “How about a cold Coke?” He went outside again and this time returned with a Harrods hamper basket filled with exquisite sandwiches; cheeses, including Stilton; crackers; fruits; chocolate-covered strawberries; small delicious shortbreads. He carried this largesse with two hands, it was so heavy.

  Under his arm he pinned a checkerboard tablecloth, which he now spread on the floor. “Picnic. Wine for you?”

  “Oh.” She surveyed the endless array of treats he kept pulling out of the basket. “I’ll have a Coke with you. Let’s save the wine.”

  “Goodo.”

  As they ate and chatted, Crawford reported on his heroic exploits delivering food, whose vehicles were stuck, the Fishers’ collapsed shed roof.

  She remarked that downtown didn’t lose power and she enjoyed watching the snow fall over the rooftops. The Episcopal church steeple was wrapped in white. This was her favorite view from her bedroom window, Saint Luke’s, and for a few hours the snow fell so heavily she couldn’t even see that.

  After laughter and chat he leaned toward her. “Martha, do you think people can change?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you feel that I have changed?”

  “In some ways.”

  “How?”

  “I think you’ve learned that younger isn’t necessarily better.” She suppressed a smile.

  He blushed. “Well, yes, but I was hoping you’d see that I’ve become more sensitive, more responsive to others.”

  “Crawford, you are trying.” She wanted to encourage him but he’d always want his way. The bully was never far from the surface.

  “And I’ll keep trying. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I want to make amends.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I want to marry you all over again.”

  A long pause followed until Martha leaned over the fragrant chocolate-covered strawberries and gently kissed him. “Let me think about it. You know I love you. I never stopped loving you but I’m afraid.”

  “I promise I will never do anything like that again. Only you.”

  “Give me some time.” She kissed him again.

  “I’ll do anything, Martha. Anything.” He kissed her passionately.

  “Well, I have a task for you if that’s true. What I learned when we divorced was that no one wanted to hire me. The work we did together didn’t count on a résumé. I could have starved. And you know, Crawford, you’re very tough in business and I thought I was old business.” She kissed him again, then continued. “I was burned. Not just by you but by people I thought were my friends. I found out exactly how I was regarded socially. So I was not high on anyone’s employment list nor on the dinner-party circuit. Devastating as it was, it was valuable to me. If I should go back to you I want to work. Even if I don’t make what you consider money, it will mean the world to me and I think it will make me more interesting to you.”

  “You’re fascinating even in your sleep.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, but do you understand? If you got tired of me—”

  “I won’t,” he interrupted, his eyes intense.

  She held up her hand. “Okay, but for my peace of mind. Do you agree to my working?”

  “Yes, as long as you can take vacations when I do.”

  “Then I need my own business.” She sounded much calmer than she felt.

  “That’s not unreasonable.”

  “I’d like to buy this company. I can make it work and I’ve learned how to bid jobs.”

  He exhaled through his nostrils. “Will she sell?”

  “I think she will. She’ll need the money. You know how he was.”

  “Yes,” Crawford replied simply.

  Another pause ensued while he thoughtfully ate a strawberry. “I never really thought about what you must have gone through. I thought about it in emotional terms but not—I’ve been the captain of the ship. I can’t imagine what it was like to look for work and I wish you had told me.”

  “You were occupied.” She said it without rancor.

  “What I was was a fool.” He put down the stem end of the strawberry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I agree to your terms but it might be prudent if you approached Sorrel.”

  She threw her arms around him. “You’ve made me so happy. You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”

  “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 58

  “We could realize an annual income of $24,000 minimum. If we spent what needs to be done to rehabilitate the place, probably $40,000, then we could realize an annual income of close to $48,000, since we could charge $4,000 a month.” Georgia Vann, treasurer, spoke. She had taken the precaution of handing out these figures along with the bids for repairs at the beginning of the ad hoc meeting to announce Peter Wheeler’s generosity.

  “Why can’t we hire someone to clear trails and build jumps year-round and house them there? They could make the repairs and it would save some money.” Betty Franklin was trying to be helpful.

  “When would they have time? I mean, if they were properly doing their job for the hunt club? It’s better to hire professional roofers and painters. Look at what we’ve been through at the shop, hon,” Bobby, seated at a long table facing the membership, reminded his wife.

  “You’re right.”

  “Is she always that agreeable?” a male member called out.

  “My Princess, sure.” Bobby laughed and the others laughed with him.

  Peter’s gift, an antidote to Fontaine’s murder, had raised everyone’s spirits.

  “Would the renter have to be a hunt club member?” Cody asked, wishing she had the money to rent it.

  “We never thought of that,” Bobby responded, “but unless someone raises an objection I don’t see why membership would be a requirement so long as the renter accepts this is a long-standing fixture and will be hunted regularly.”

  Walter stood up. “I would be willing to rent the place right now. I would also be willing to coordinate all repairs if the hunt club will pay for them. Naturally, I’ll keep up the grounds. And I’d pay $3,000 a month so long as I have full use of the barns and all outbuildings.”

  A brief silence followed; then everyone talked at once.

  Bobby banged down the gavel. “Does anyone wish to match Walter’s offer?”

  Crawford stood up. “It’s a good solution for both parties. I move that we accept Dr. Lungrun’s proposal. The rent to stay at $3,000 per month for a five-year period, at which time the lease can be renegotiated.”

  “I second the motion.” Martha beamed at Crawford.

  “Discussion?” Bobby asked. When none was forthcoming he continued: “All in favor, say aye.”

  “Aye,” came the chorus.

  “All opposed say nay.”

  One lone nay came from Cody.

  “What’s that about?” her father asked.

  “Just that I wish I had the money to rent it. I’m not really opposed.”

  “All right, then.” Bobby smiled at her. “Motion carries. Is there other business to be discussed?”

  Sister, who sat in the corner during business meetings, called out, “New doors for the kennel.”

  Bobby scanned his list. “Forgot that. We need new interior doors. As you know, wooden ones last two years, if that. The tin-covered ones last about five years and our five years are up. If you’ll flip over your sheet you’ll see Georgia has itemized expenses and bids.”

  As the discussion about replacing doors droned on, Jennifer slipped into the meeting. Still carrying her schoolbooks, she sat next to her mother.

  “How wa
s practice?” Betty strongly supported Jennifer’s field hockey efforts.

  “Okay.” Jennifer whispered, “Mom, Dean Offendahl got busted at school for drugs. He says I’ve been buying from him but I haven’t.” Betty shot her a dark look and Jennifer hurriedly added, “He’s pissed that I don’t hang with him anymore. Honest.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Betty whispered back. Inside she wondered if there’d ever be an end to this. If she’d ever trust Jennifer again.

  Finally all the loose ends were tied up, the meeting was adjourned, and the members headed for the bar. Jefferson Hunt had no clubhouse. Meetings and events rotated among member’s homes and large meetings such as this one were held at a new country club, Dueling Grounds, built on the old dueling grounds. Since the club was competing with older, more prestigious clubs it offered better facilities and encouraged people to come in and see what was available.

  The bar, paneled with wormy chestnut, old hunt prints on the wall, was inviting.

  As was the custom in Virginia, paid staff did not attend membership meetings. Shaker and Doug didn’t mind, as neither man had much tolerance for the windiness that accompanies such gatherings.

  “Sister.” Walter leaned over to speak to her. “I’ll take good care of Peter’s home.”

  She smiled up at him. “You’ll fill up that barn in no time. Have you ever noticed people start with one horse and wind up with a herd? I think it’s some kind of progressive disease. You might want to do research on it.”

  He laughed. “All right.”

  She lowered her voice, which, considering the noise, wasn’t necessary. “Thank you again for dropping by the other day. Peter was a dear friend. I appreciated your sympathy.”

  “He saved me after Dad . . . died. I wish I’d known him as long as you did. He used to call you his movie star.”

  “He did?”

  Before they could continue, Georgia Vann joined them and the conversation steered toward Thanksgiving hunt breakfast. The club needed to borrow utensils.

  Crawford avoided Bobby, who did likewise. He told everyone that he and Martha were engaged. To celebrate his good fortune he bought a round of drinks for everyone.

  Cody and Jennifer had Perrier as Jennifer told her tale of woe to her sister.

  Sarcasm dripping, Cody said, “I’m so glad you’re preparing Mom and me but what’s the deal?”

  “No deal.” Jennifer shrugged.

  “You might as well tell me now because I’ll find out later and then, li’l Sis, I’ll really be mad. Like I don’t care how long you cry you ain’t gettin’ no help from me.” She sounded like a country-and-western song, which was her intent.

  “He’ll say I slept with him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “For drugs?”

  Jennifer reddened. “Not exactly. I liked him. How was I to know he’d turn into such a butthead. When I stopped screwing up and screwing him, he—” She shrugged. “Getting even.”

  “Mom and Dad are going to be really embarrassed.” She thought a moment. “Can’t you talk him out of it?”

  “How? He got busted in the locker room selling a gram of coke. I can’t get him out of it.”

  “Does he still want to go to bed with you?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged again.

  “I’m not suggesting you comply but—” She shook her head, trying to come up with solutions. “Has he named other people?”

  “Oh yeah. By the time he’s done half of Lee High will be tied and fried. Barbecue.”

  “His dad’s a lawyer. I suppose that will help him but it won’t help you or anyone else.” She took in a deep breath. “Let’s talk to Walter. He’s a doctor. He’s smart. Maybe he’ll help us. If nothing else he can testify that you’re making every effort to keep clean.” She put her hand under Jennifer’s elbow, heading her in the direction of Walter.

  “There’s one other thing. Dean knows I slept with Fontaine.”

  Cody went white. “You idiot.”

  CHAPTER 59

  The sting of not being chosen to be joint-master faded as Crawford focused on Martha. Winning her back meant a great deal personally and socially.

  This euphoria somewhat dissipated when Ben Sidell walked through the office door to announce that the .38 found in the ravine was registered to Crawford Howard.

  “Are you accusing me of killing Fontaine Buruss?” Crawford sputtered.

  Calmly, deliberately, the sheriff replied, “I am informing you that a thirty-eight registered to you, purchased last June, was the gun that killed Fontaine Buruss.”

  Rising from his chair, Crawford said, “I didn’t even know the gun was missing.”

  “Where do you usually keep it?” Without being invited to do so, Ben sat down in a chair by the coffee table. He opened his notepad.

  “In my trailer.”

  “What trailer?”

  “My horse trailer.”

  “Why would you keep a thirty-eight in your horse trailer? I thought foxhunters didn’t shoot foxes.”

  Walking around his desk and leaning against it, facing the sheriff, Crawford, quickly in control of himself, replied, “In case I find a wounded animal. In case there’s an accident in the field. You know, a horse breaks a leg.”

  “I see. Then why was the gun in your trailer and not on your person? I’d think you’d notice its disappearance promptly.” His tone was even, his voice deep.

  Embarrassed, Crawford folded arms across his chest. “I anticipated being asked to carry the gun but when I wasn’t, I put it in the medicine chest in my trailer.”

  “Why would you be asked to carry a gun?”

  “One or two staff people usually carry a thirty-eight under their coat or on the small of their back. Just in case.”

  “So you bought the gun last June—just in case.”

  Crawford’s voice rose. “I thought I would be asked to become joint-master. My rival, as you know, since you’ve questioned everyone, was Fontaine Buruss. Jane Arnold was to have made her decision at opening hunt. However, the death, the murder of Fontaine, convinced her to delay that decision until next season.”

  “You’re disappointed?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m disappointed but not enough to remove my rival.”

  “Why couldn’t you both serve?”

  “It would have never worked.”

  “Why not?”

  “Fontaine was a lightweight. A bullshitter. What he wanted to do was seduce women.”

  “I was under the impression he was successful without being joint-master.”

  “Sheriff, this is Virginia. We’re both outsiders. It took me a while to realize that M.F.H. behind one’s name ranks right up there with F.F.V. Of course, if you have both you have everything.” He caustically winked.

  “Tell me again of your whereabouts during opening hunt. You were unaccounted for for twenty minutes.”

  “We went over that.”

  “Refresh my memory.” Ben smiled at him, a cold glint in his eye.

  “My horse went lame. I turned back. When I reached the small creek, Tinker’s Branch, I was afraid Czapaka would jump it and I didn’t want him to do that if he was lame. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me at first but I picked up his front feet and found a stone. I removed the stone, walked him a bit with me off. He was sound. So I got up and rejoined the group.”

  “And no one saw you?”

  “No. Not that I know of, anyway.”

  “Crawford Howard, I am booking you under suspicion of the murder of Fontaine Buruss. You have the right to remain silent. . . .”

  CHAPTER 60

  Crawford Howard strolled out of the county jail within four hours thanks to his lawyer, the best money could buy. The bail, set at two hundred thousand dollars, was paid with Crawford waggling his finger at the bailiff saying that the money would be back in his pocket within the month.

  No doubt the lawyer was thinking the same thing.

  That
same afternoon Dean Offendahl named every student at Lee High School who had ever bought drugs with him or done drugs with him. His father had worked out an arrangement whereby if Dean cooperated with the courts he would not be sent to a juvenile detention center.

  He also had to name anyone else he knew that sold drugs. Fontaine Buruss’s name was on that list.

  As this was immediately before Thanksgiving break, Mr. Offendahl hoped the worst of the gossip would be dissipated by the holiday.

  During this time Sister Jane set out small heaps of corn throughout the fixture that would be hunted on Thanksgiving. She also walked deep into the ravine, patiently laying corn and bits of hot dog.

  CHAPTER 61

  Raising children, not an occupation for the faint of heart, baffled Bobby Franklin. He worked hard, paid the bills, supplied discipline when necessary, spent time with the girls. When they were younger Bobby carted them to horse shows, grooming, cleaning tack, applying that last-minute slap on their boots with a towel when they were mounted. He listened to them rant about unfair judges, sometimes agreeing, sometimes not. He observed them bite their lips so as not to cry when they lost. They also learned to win without undue celebration, as befits a lady.

  Neither kid impressed her teachers with intellectual prowess but the physical education teachers thought them both wonderful. He feared the onslaught of adolescence but they sailed along. When Cody began to falter at sixteen he didn’t notice at first. She still competed in horse shows. She wasn’t surly, just diffident. He thought this remoteness a phase. He didn’t recognize that she was struggling until she was in her sophomore year of college. Wrecking her ancient Jeep was the first sign; a report card below the line was the second.

  Betty sensed it long before he did. He wondered now if he’d done the right thing. He’d hated his father sticking his nose in his business, probing him about girls, drinking, parties, his future. He thought he was giving his girls room. Sitting before the tiled fireplace, Betty in the wing chair to his right, both daughters on the sofa before him, he had occasion to repent of his laxness. Mr. Offendahl kept the story of drugs at Lee High out of the paper but he couldn’t cut out people’s tongues. Neither Betty nor Bobby was surprised when their phone rang off the hook. Jennifer, horrified, slunk to her room, refusing to come out, declaring she would never go to school again, her life was ruined, et cetera. . . .