by Jan Neuharth
“Abigale!” Doug shouted.
She ignored him, crouching down on a rock outcropping that jutted into the creek. Waves splashed across the jagged stone and lapped at her feet. A powerful force seemed to tug her toward the restless water—to beckon her into the dark abyss. It would be so easy to slip into the current, let it carry her away. Take her to Manning. Abigale heard branches snap as someone tramped down the bank behind her. Probably Doug. She didn’t turn around.
Mallory’s searchlight sliced through the lashing rain, casting long shadows that danced across the water’s surface. Tree limbs and debris tumbled past her, caught up in the unforgiving current. Her eyes followed a gnarly branch twirling dizzily downstream until it disappeared beyond the reach of the searchlight, only to be replaced by another dark shape that bobbed in the water. She watched, mesmerized, waiting for it, too, to vanish from sight. But it didn’t. In fact, it appeared to be moving sideways. Toward the bank.
“Shine the light over there!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.
Mallory directed the light toward where she was pointing. Where did it go? Abigale held her breath as she squinted at the water.
“There!” she cried.
Her heart felt as though it would jump out of her chest as she saw Manning’s head skim the surface. He gulped in a mouthful of air as his arm sliced through the water, pulling him toward the bank.
Abigale’s boots skidded across wet rock as she leapt from the outcropping into the thicket along the bank. Swampy mud sucked at her feet, and she swore as she dropped to one knee, arms flailing for purchase among the slippery foliage.
Doug gripped her hand, hauling her to her feet. Together they shoved through brambles along the edge of Goose Creek, dodging trees now rooted underwater. The spotlight skittered erratically around Manning as Mallory plowed down the bank after them, and fear jolted through Abigale each time Manning disappeared from the beam’s reach.
Time fell away as Abigale plunged into the creek beside Doug, vaguely aware of the bone-numbing cold, the current grabbing at her legs. Water slapped her face, blinding her, and she lost sight of Manning. She groped for him in the swirling water, hope slipping through her fingers as swiftly as the tide. Panic mushroomed in her chest as she pawed the inky depths…and then—a wisp of fabric brushed her hand, powerful legs churned the water beside her. Manning’s head shot up above the water’s surface and joy burst through Abigale as his eyes shone at her in the spotlight. Manning seemed to almost manage a smile as she and Doug each grabbed him under one of his arms and the three of them kicked toward shore.
EPILOGUE
Manning groaned with frustration as his arm got hung up in the sleeve of his scarlet coat. “Goddamned cast.”
“Uh-uh-uh, don’t go getting any ideas,” Abigale said, helping him ease the sleeve over the cast. “You promised you’d keep this one on until the doctor takes it off.” She buttoned the front of his coat and straightened the knot on his stock tie, smiling as she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “You look very nice this morning, Master.”
Manning wrapped his arms around her. “Say that again.”
“You look very nice this morning?”
He grinned. “No. Master. I love to hear you call me that.”
Abigale pushed playfully at his chest. “Forget I said anything.” She slipped out of his embrace and climbed through the people door at the front of the two-horse trailer. Braveheart regarded her with big, gentle eyes as he grabbed another mouthful of hay from the hay net. “Hi, buddy. Ready to go hunting?” she said, unclipping the trailer tie from his halter. He snorted softly, rubbing his head against her shoulder. Abigale sucked in a lungful of air, savoring the fresh scent of hay and shavings. She stood and watched the big gray for a moment. Was there a more peaceful sound in the world than that of a horse munching hay? Any place she’d rather be?
She thought of the unopened FedEx envelope from Max, her editor at Reuters, on Manning’s kitchen counter. Part of her wanted to rip it open, see where her next assignment would be. But she had held back, despite Manning’s urging. Whether she was more afraid that she’d want to go or that she wouldn’t, she wasn’t sure. For today, she’d let it sit. Max had said he’d give her time.
Abigale heard Manning talking to Dario outside the trailer, explaining that the hunt would last about three hours, that Dario could relax in the truck until the riders returned. There had really been no need for Dario to accompany them to the hunt—Manning would rather drive the rig and take care of his own horse than have a groom do it—but Manning thought seeing what happened at a hunt would help Dario adapt to his new job. Dario was a quick learner and even Michael seemed pleased with his performance so far, with none of the complaining he’d had with Larry.
Poor Larry. No one had given him much credit in the brains department, yet he’d been the first person to figure out who’d tampered with Uncle Richard’s saddle. Tragically, it had cost him his life. Margaret and Manning had established a college scholarship in Larry’s name at his former high school, so at least his memory would live on. Larry’s mother wanted the scholarship to be based on character—courage—rather than academics, and was already working with the guidance department to identify potential recipients.
A shudder ran through Abigale as she thought of Thompson, rashly killing anyone who got in his way. All for what, money? There was no question Thompson had been in serious financial trouble. They’d found out he’d been fired from Knightly & Knightly for engaging in illicit online gambling using the firm’s computer. Yet for over two months Thompson had kept up a charade among his foxhunting friends—pretending to go to work each day, even going so far as to complain at various times about being swamped at the office and unable to go hunting.
They’d learned Thompson owed almost ten thousand dollars to the firm for unauthorized dining and entertainment expenditures he’d run through his boss’s expense account. After Thompson had been fired, his boss—Donald, the man she’d spoken to on the phone—had discovered the scam and threatened to press charges. But Thompson had fabricated a story about his ailing mother’s mounting medical bills, and Donald had agreed not to blow the whistle if Thompson paid the firm back. Donald had been outraged to hear they’d tracked down Thompson’s mother—who was in robust health—in Ohio, and discovered she hadn’t had contact with Thompson since she’d cut him off financially three years ago because he refused to get help for his cocaine habit.
It turned out Thompson wasn’t a partner at Knightly & Knightly, as he’d claimed to be; he was Donald’s administrative assistant. And the trip to Iraq had been a boondoggle on which Donald had let Thompson tag along. Donald told them in hindsight he realized he should have seen a red flag at that time, that Thompson had been inexplicably fascinated by the various ways a company could cook its books.
“Hey, are you just going to stand there and watch Braveheart eat, or are you going to put his bridle on?” Manning asked, stepping through the door on the opposite side of the trailer.
She smiled, picking a piece of hay out of Braveheart’s forelock. “I guess we’ll go hunting.”
Manning bridled Henry and backed him off the trailer, then released the butt bar so she could unload Braveheart. He looped Henry’s reins over his arm and gave her a leg up on Braveheart, checked her girth, and adjusted her foot in the stirrup. “You’re good to go,” he said, patting her knee.
“Here comes your mother,” Abigale said as Manning swung into the saddle. She nodded toward Margaret, who jabbed the ground with her walking stick as she picked her way across the field toward them.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“It’d be a lot better morning if I could get rid of this goddamned thing,” Margaret said, waving the stick in the air.
Manning smiled. “It won’t be long.”
Margaret grumbled something unintelligible, then reached up and patted Henry on the neck. “I’ve been roped into hauling around some city-folk friends of Doug
’s who want to hilltop by car. Any help you can give me on which direction you’ll be hunting today?”
“What do you think? Should we draw toward Hickory Vale or Chadwick Hall?” Manning asked.
“It’s up to you,” Margaret said.
Manning said, “I know, but I’d like your advice.”
“Well, then, I’d probably say cast hounds toward Chadwick Hall. It might still be a little boggy down in the bottom of Hickory Vale.”
“That was my thinking as well,” Manning replied, nodding.
Margaret turned away, but Abigale caught the pleased look in her eye.
“What about you, Abigale, are you whipping today?” Margaret asked.
“Yes. Fingers crossed I don’t get lost,” Abigale said with a smile.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that. If you do, you can always ask for help on the walkie-talkie, although I still don’t agree with us using those.” Margaret shook her head, her lips pressed together with displeasure. “I know Smitty says we need the radios in case hounds run toward the road, but if you ask me, we just need to work a little harder to keep the hounds under control. Folks are losing all their hunting knowledge, that’s what’s happening. Half the whips out there these days don’t even bother to think anymore, they just wait for the huntsman to tell them where hounds are running. I hope you won’t fall into those lazy ways, Abigale.”
“I’ll try my hardest not to.”
“I know you will. You learned how to hunt from the best, and I know you’ll make Richard proud.” The lines around Margaret’s mouth softened into a smile as she looked at Manning. “You both will.”
GLOSSARY
BILLET STRAPS: Leather straps underneath a saddle to which the girth is buckled.
BUCKLE GUARD: Leather flap that protects the underside of the saddle from being worn away by the buckles of the girth.
BUTT BAR: Restraining device at the rear of a trailer stall that prevents a horse from backing out.
CANTLE: Raised rear part of a saddle.
CHECK: Interruption of the chase during a foxhunt.
COLIC: Abdominal pain characterized by pawing, looking at the flank, and rolling. Mild colic can often be resolved with nonsurgical veterinary treatment, but acute colic can be life-threatening and often requires surgery, as in the case of a colon torsion—twisted gut—whereby a portion of the intestine twists, causing a blockage.
COLORS: Distinctive color or colors—unique to a particular hunt—typically worn on the collar of a hunt coat. Wearing colors is a privilege awarded at the master’s sole discretion, generally to members who have hunted regularly for several years, shown exemplary skill and sportsmanship, and contributed to the success of hunt activities.
COOP: Wood panel jump, fashioned after a chicken coop.
COVERT: Area of woods or brush where a fox might be found. Pronounced “cover.”
CUBBING: Informal foxhunting in early fall, used for training and conditioning young hounds and horses. Cubbing attire—“ratcatcher”—is less formal than foxhunting: tweed or wool coat in a muted color, earth-tone breeches, brown or black leather boots, light-colored shirt and stock tie or man’s tie, black riding helmet, and brown leather or string gloves.
DRAW: Search for a fox in a certain area.
FIELD: Group of people foxhunting, excluding the master and hunt staff.
FOXHUNT: Hunt with hounds, followed by riders on horseback, after a fox. Hunting attire is formal: black wool melton coat, buff or rust breeches, black leather boots, white shirt, canary or tattersall vest, white stock tie secured with a horizontal gold stock pin, black riding helmet, and brown leather or string gloves. Male hunt members who have earned colors, and lady masters/hunt staff, may wear a scarlet coat, white breeches, and black leather boots with brown tops.
FULL CRY: Sound of a pack of hounds in hot pursuit.
GONE AWAY: Call on the horn when the fox has left the covert and the hunt is on.
GIRTH: Strap fastened around a horse’s belly to hold the saddle in place.
HACK: Leisurely ride, usually cross-country.
HAND: Measurement of a horse, from the ground to the highest point of the horse’s withers. One hand equals four inches.
HILLTOPPERS: Group of foxhunters who generally go at a slower pace than the rest of the field and usually do not jump. Also referred to as the “second field.”
HOUNDS: Foxhounds. They are never called dogs.
HUNT BREAKFAST: Meal served after the hunt. Usually hosted by the property owner where the hunt meet is held.
HUNTSMAN: Person who controls the hounds.
LONGE: To work a horse in a large circle at the end of a long line.
MASTER: MFH (Master of Foxhounds)—the person in command of the hunt.
MEET: Assembling of a foxhunt at a certain place.
NATIONAL FENCES: Portable hurdle fences that are moved from one racecourse to another.
OUTRIDER: Mounted official charged with catching loose horses and maintaining order on the racecourse.
OXER: Spread jump with at least two sets of jump standards.
RUN: Period during which the hounds are actively chasing the fox.
POINT-TO-POINT/STEEPLECHASE: Cross-country horse event consisting of races over hurdles, timber, and on the flat. Sanctioned steeplechase races often offer substantial purse money, but point-to-point races are referred to as the “pots and pans” circuit—very little money is offered; the prizes awarded are mostly silver trophies.
POMMEL: Raised front part of a saddle.
SCARLET: Red coat worn by certain select members of the hunt. Also referred to as a “pink” coat, after the British tailor, Mr. Pinque, who designed it.
SCARLET IF CONVENIENT: Phrase used on formal invitations indicating it is proper for gentlemen who have earned their hunt colors to wear scarlet tails/white tie to a black-tie event.
SCENT: Smell of the fox.
STIRRUP CUP: Drink served to mounted riders before the hunt.
STOCK TIE: Hunting necktie—white for formal foxhunting, plain or colored for cubbing—tied in a square knot or four fold, secured with a plain gold safety pin fastened horizontally.
TACK: Equipment used on a horse.
TALLYHO: Hunting cry when the fox is sighted.
TRI-COLOR: Horse show championship ribbon consisting of three colors—champion combines blue, red, and yellow streamers; reserve champion features red, yellow, and white.
VIEW: To see the fox.
WHIP: Short for “whipper-in.” Person who helps the huntsman control the hounds.
Jan Neuharth and Scully
A ward-winning author Jan Neuharth practiced law in Los Angeles before moving to the Virginia hunt country to establish Paper Chase Farms, a premier full-service equestrian center. A graduate of the University of Florida and Vanderbilt Law School, Neuharth lives in Middleburg. Virginia with her husband, who is a former master of the hunt, and their children. The Kill is the third novel in her Hunt Country Suspense series.
Jacket design by Judy Walker
www.judywalkerdesign.com
Jacket and author’s photographs by Ruthi David
www.rdavidphotography.com
Spine photograph of fox by Susan Whitfield
www.susanjanephotography.com
To learn more about Jan Neuharth’s Hunt Country
Suspense Nuvels, visit our websile at
www.huntcountrysuspense.com
Printed in the U.S.A.