“You don’t know that he hasn’t been in contact with Alice. She’d never tell.”
“True.” Ben nodded.
“If he’s guilty, he wants us to find whatever is in this river.”
“But he doesn’t want us to find him.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“I wonder if he’d tell Sister where he is.”
“I don’t know. But Guy would be about forty-eight now. That’s a long time to carry around guilt. He may have killed her, but he also loved her.”
“You were in junior high, right?” Ben had talked to a lot of people and his memory was good.
“Seventh grade.”
“You didn’t really know these people?”
“We lived in Louisa County. I saw them at horse shows. My mother and father knew the hunt club crowd. Dad owned a small tire company in Charlottesville. My mother worked there, too. Sooner or later, everyone would need their tires replaced on trucks or trailers.”
“Funny, when I go out to question people, whatever the crime, I sweep up a lot of dust.”
“Guess you do.”
“In your line of work, I’m sure you pick up a lot, too.”
“People usually talk to their doctors.” Walter jingled the keys in his pocket.
“There’s jockeying for power in the hunt club. Hey, maybe it was a crank call. People are worried about Sister getting too old,” Ben said.
Walter took his hand out of his pocket, waving away this thought. “She’ll outlive us all.”
Ben laughed. “She just might.”
One of the divers surfaced, flipped up his face mask, and clung to the side of the boat.
Carl Walsh, sitting at the oars, cupped his hand to his mouth and hollered, “Sheriff, found the top of a fiftyfive-gallon drum. Can’t see the rest of it, it’s sunk all the way in the mud.”
Ben crossed the bridge to the northerly side. “Well, see if they can get chains around it.”
“Bet there’s a stove and a refrigerator down there, too.” Walter crossed over with him.
“Just one?” Ben hid his anticipation behind humor.
An hour later, a black fifty-five-gallon drum rested on the shore directly under the bridge. The label had long since washed away, but it appeared to be an old oil drum, maybe a paint drum. A few holes, tiny, had been punched into the metal by rocks or fast-moving debris.
What was curious about it was that the top was welded into place. A rattle could be heard inside when the drum was jostled. And it was heavy, off balance.
“Must be someone in Norwood with an acetylene torch.” Ben didn’t want to move the drum any more if he could help it. “Carl, call in for a department photographer, too.”
Another forty-five minutes passed before Frank Kinser, a distant relative of Doug’s, was there with his torch. The photographer arrived, too.
Walter stood back as the blue sparks flew.
Within minutes the lid, cleanly cut, was lifted off.
“Jesus Christ!” Frank cut off his torch, his eyes wide.
A few scraps of cloth clung to a jumble of bones. In the bottom of the drum was a blacksmith’s anvil.
The photographer clicked away. Ben carefully observed the remains but did not touch or remove them.
Walter felt that there would be hell to pay.
CHAPTER 18
Technology makes a good servant but a bad master. When the Internet first got rolling, Sister Jane hopped on the bandwagon. Her phone bills soon reached stratospheric proportions. She continued using e-mail only to send out notes to the Hunt’s Board of Governors and dear friends. The research possibilities pleased her, but more often than not she found she’d much rather pull out her old Encyclopaedia Britannicas. The writing could be quite good, and pausing to peruse subjects other than the searched-for subject always provided unexpected delights.
Keeping expenses down was a struggle she shared with millions of Americans who were no longer driven by hunger or need but were victims of advertising and their own acquisitive natures. Wonderful as the Internet might be, it cost money. Before you knew it you were paying for services and technology you didn’t really need.
One of these nonnecessities Sister still indulged was Caller I.D. When her mysterious phone call came in, the number appeared on the small telephone screen: 555-7644. Naturally, she gave the number to Ben Sidell, but she already knew it was the outside pay phone at Roger’s Corner.
The sheriff called Roger, who dutifully looked out the window, but by then no one was standing at the pay phone. The last hour before Roger’s ten P.M. closing time often proved hectic as people came by for a last pack of cigarettes or muffins for breakfast.
Roger’s Corner stayed open on Sundays, but Roger himself took the day off. That Sunday morning, Sister drove down there and parked by the blue eggshell that housed the phone. Gone was the tall glass phone booth with the folding door. The replacement was a cheap small plastic egg offering no protection from the elements. She knew what it looked like, but still for some reason she wanted to check out the phone.
People waved to her as they strolled in and out of the store. Why she wanted to pick up the phone, she didn’t know.
Kyle Dawson, Ronnie Haslip, and Dr. Tandy Zachs came and went, all of them riding or social members of the hunt. Finally, she realized she couldn’t stand there all day, as no new thoughts were coming to her. She climbed back into the truck and drove to After All Farm.
The sheriff’s car and Walter’s truck, parked in the driveway, made her question if she should go in. She decided she would when Tedi, who had heard her drive up, opened the front door and waved her in. “Come on. Kitchen.”
Seated in the cavernous kitchen she found Edward, Sybil, Ken, Ben, and Walter. The men rose when Sister entered the room.
Edward pulled up a chair for her.
Ben smiled but gave her a look. She interpreted it to mean she should keep quiet. Walter sat beside her, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She liked that.
“I’m sorry to barge in.”
“You could never barge in,” Tedi replied.
“Mrs. Arnold, I was just informing the Bancrofts that I received a telephone tip, a voice that was unidentified, telling me to search off the Norwood Bridge.” Ben kicked himself. He’d slipped up in his haste to gather together a team to rendezvous at the bridge at sunrise, and neglected to order Sister to keep her mouth shut.
Ben assumed gossip wasn’t Sister’s lifeblood, but she could have told a few friends. He’d talk to her afterward, but he was worried. He’d made a mistake. He didn’t want Sister Jane to pay for it.
Sister understood Ben’s intention when he said that he’d received the phone call.
“Sheriff, I take it you found something or you wouldn’t be here,” Edward surmised.
“Yes. I asked the Doc to be with me this morning.” Again, Ben didn’t round out the fact that Sister had called Walter’s from Shaker’s cottage. “A fifty-five-gallon drum mired in the silt and muck was discovered at seven-thirty this morning. Once we raised it, we cut off the top, as it was soldered shut.” Everyone held their breath as Ben continued. “Upon opening it, we discovered it contained human remains. How long the body had been there I can’t ascertain, but I would guess for years. We might have a positive I.D. later today.”
“So soon?” Ken questioned.
“Larry Hund is meeting the coroner in about an hour.” Larry was one of the area’s best dentists, a man who had been practicing for twenty-five years.
Tedi folded her hands together on the table and it seemed to Sister that the sapphire burned brighter on her hand. “Ben, you think you know who that body is. That’s why you’re here. Who is it?”
“Like I said, Mrs. Bancroft, I think we’ll have a positive I.D. in an hour or so.”
“Was the body recognizable?” Sybil felt a rising panic.
“No flesh remained, a bit of clothing. We know it was a man,” Ben replied.
“Oh God,�
� Sybil whispered.
“Hotspur.” Tedi Bancroft suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Alice Ramy. “Does Alice know?”
“I have a deputy with her now and I’ll be going over there after I leave here,” Ben quietly answered. “Again, the I.D. isn’t positive, but we are working from the standpoint that the body may be Guy Ramy because of circumstances.”
“And you know that whoever killed Guy didn’t dispose of the body alone. It would take a Hercules to stuff a man like Guy into a fifty-five-gallon drum, solder it, and then heave it over the bridge,” Edward said with a grimace.
“Yes, we are working from that angle as well,” Ben said. “Two or more people.”
Ken, ashen-faced, simply said, “Horrible. This is horrible.”
Ben had hurried to the Bancrofts’ because bad news travels fast. He did not want them to receive a phone call from Mr. Kinser or an onlooker. He wished the I.D. could be 100 percent certain, but the feelings of the Bancrofts were important to him. Ben was a sensitive man in a rough line of work. And he knew the discovery of two bodies would have the killer or killers rattled. What they had thought was long buried had arisen from the dead. Feeling in danger, they might endanger others.
“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Edward inquired, his silver eyebrows raised, his face drawn in concern.
“Be alert,” Ben replied simply. “And call me if anything occurs to you, no matter how trivial it might seem.”
“Yes, of course,” Tedi said.
“Let me be off to Mrs. Ramy’s. Oh, Sister, walk out with me to the squad car, will you? Walter, too. Perhaps you two can give me an idea of how to handle Mrs. Ramy.”
As Sister, Walter, and Ben walked outside, Sybil rubbed her eyes for a moment.
Tedi patted her daughter on the back. “It’s sordid, isn’t it?”
“You know, Mom, he was a beautiful thing, like some wild animal—just a beautiful thing.”
“Not anymore,” Ken said softly as he watched the three people outside.
Ben leaned against his brown squad car. “Sister, I apologize to you. I should have asked you last night not to tell anyone about the phone call. Did you talk to anyone else?”
“Walter”—she nodded at the handsome doctor—“and Shaker. Shaker won’t tell anyone. He’s not a talker unless it’s about hounds.”
“Nonetheless, remind him.”
“I will.”
“Walter?” Ben asked him.
Walter shrugged. “No one.”
“Mrs. Arnold, do you have any idea why you were called?”
“No, Ben, I told you, I really don’t and I wish I did.” She made a straight line in the brown pearock with the toe of her boot. “And please call me Sister or Jane, won’t you?”
“I’ll try.” Ben liked this woman. “Look, this is what I know. Whoever called knows you, trusts you, and lives here. Everyone stops at Roger’s Corner in these parts.”
“It’s one of us,” Sister said with no surprise.
“Yes.”
“I wish I could tell you more about the voice. A man’s voice. I sort of recognized it. He was disguising it, of course, muffling it and speaking in a higher tone, but—” She shrugged.
“You may get another call. Whoever called you knows you called me, and whoever called you may be the murderer.”
“After all these years?” Walter hooked his thumb in his belt loop.
“Guilt. Often they want to get caught.”
“And more often they don’t,” Sister sensibly said. “My hunch is whoever called me helped the killer toss that drum over the deep end of the bridge all those years ago.”
“I think your hunch is right,” Ben agreed.
CHAPTER 19
“There’s no hope. I don’t care if I live or die!” Alice Ramy cried, teetering on the brink of hysteria.
She’d held herself together when Ben Sidell visited her. Now Tedi, Edward, Sybil, and Ken had come by to express their sympathy. Sister Jane had also come with them after Tedi had asked her please to do so. Alice couldn’t put a good face on it any longer.
Tedi, perched on the edge of the wing chair where Alice sat crumpled, said, “You do care. You must care.”
“Why?”
“For Guy,” Tedi responded.
“He’s dead. Dead.” She stared at Tedi with vacant eyes.
“You already knew that, didn’t you?” Edward tried to be consoling, but this wasn’t the path to take.
“No! I prayed he had run away. I didn’t want him to be a murderer, but I didn’t want him dead.”
Sister, standing by the other side of the chair, said, “Alice, I believe Nola and Guy died together. If not at the same moment, then because of each other. I pray their souls rest in peace, but I know mine is in a state. I want to find their killer or killers.”
“How?” A flash of life illuminated Alice’s eyes; anger, too. “Especially now. Too much time, Sister, too much time.”
Sybil, sitting across from Alice with Ken by her side, spoke up. “Fate. It’s fate that they died and now it’s fate that they have reappeared. We’re supposed to find the killers.”
“Fate is just an excuse not to do your homework.” Alice smiled ruefully, tears in her eyes now. “When Guy brought home a D in geometry he said it was fate. I said fate is just an excuse not to do your homework. It stuck. There is no such thing as fate.”
Resting a strong hand on Alice’s shoulder, Sister leaned down. “Then let’s do our homework. Try to remember—”
Alice interrupted, “I have!”
“Things can pop into your head at strange times. Come to some hunt breakfasts. Talk to the gang. Something might click,” Sister encouraged her.
“Nobody wants to talk to me.”
“Of course they do,” Tedi said warmly.
“Xavier keeps chickens,” Edward said, smiling.
“Fighting chickens,” Tedi sniffed.
“Not illegal to keep them. Just illegal to fight and bet on them,” Ken responded, trying to humor her, calm her. He didn’t really know what to say.
“Guy used to come home from those cockfights plucked cleaner than the chickens. I don’t believe he ever won a red cent.”
“He won sometimes,” Ken said, trying surreptitiously to check the time. “I was there. You just never saw a penny, Alice, because he spent it on wine, women, and song.”
“Guy could be very naughty.” Alice couldn’t conceal a note of pride. After all, how many women bear a son who is widely considered movie-star handsome?
Tedi, having a different take, said, “So could Nola, unfortunately.”
“Oh, Tedi, she was high-spirited,” Sister said.
“High-spirited with other women’s husbands.”
“Mother,” Sybil exclaimed.
“You thought I didn’t know. Nola was a bad girl. I loved her. I couldn’t help but love her, but men were chess pieces to her. Every man a pawn and she the only queen.”
A moment of embarrassing silence followed, broken when Alice surprisingly said, “She met her match in Guy. That’s why they fell in love. Both of them wild as dogs in heat.” She looked fleetingly at Edward, then Tedi. “Forgive me.”
“It’s the truth,” Tedi agreed.
Edward, not knowing about all of Nola’s amours, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. No father likes hearing these things about his daughter. Tedi certainly had never told him. Nola was the apple of his eye.
Ken, sensing Edward’s pain, said, “Dad, she wasn’t as bad as all that. Nola was a terrible flirt. She didn’t, well, you know . . .”
Tedi knew that was a flat-out lie but decided to let it pass. No point going into the details in front of everyone. It wouldn’t help Alice.
“Come to our hunt breakfasts. Reacquaint yourself with your neighbors and friends,” Sister said, again extending the invitation. “We go out cubbing Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. If weather’s iffy, I change around the days, but call me up. Once formal hunting starts Octo
ber twenty-sixth, I’ll send you a fixture card.”
“You’re just trying to get me to let you hunt here. Guy used to beg me to let you do it, but I still won’t. Poor little foxes.”
“Those poor little foxes make fools of us all. But Alice, you know that’s not why I’m here. I mean it. Come out and see us. You’ll be surprised how friendly everyone is. All of Guy’s friends are there. You know Ralph and Xavier. Ronnie Haslip, of course. Ken will be there on Saturdays; sometimes he can squeeze in a weekday. Oh, the Franklins. The boys in their mid-forties—they’re all Guy’s old running buddies.”
“Maybe.”
“Alice, excuse me, but I have to go. Richmond business calls.” Ken stood up.
“Haven’t been to Richmond since 1986.” Alice noticed her mantel clock had stopped running. She’d forgotten to wind it.
“Downtown is a little sad. No Miller and Rhoads, no Thalheimer’s.” Ken mentioned the great department stores that used to draw shoppers like a magnet in the old days. “But it’s much the same. What’s changed is the West End. The shops, the businesses, Alice, they’re all the way out to Manakin Sabot on Broad Street. You just wouldn’t believe it.”
“Don’t want to see it.” Her obstinacy was returning, which meant she felt better.
“If you change your mind, I’d be happy to take you down. Be fun to find some fall clothes,” Sybil suggested.
Ken smiled. “Sybil, we need to build a new wing on the house for all your clothes.”
“She always looks so nice,” Alice said. “Thank you, Sybil, but I think I’ll pass on Richmond.”
Ken walked over, took both of Alice’s hands in his, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. Sybil also leaned over to kiss her good-bye. Alice hadn’t been kissed since Paul died in 1986. She craved human touch but didn’t realize it.
“You take care now. And you call me if you need anything,” Ken said warmly.
After Sybil and Ken left, the four contemporaries remained quiet for a few minutes.
“You’ve kept the place up,” Edward complimented her.
“Full-time job. Wouldn’t be so much work if it weren’t for the chickens. I change their water every day. I scrub out their coop every day, too. Doesn’t stink like chickens can, you know.”
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