“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Ben chided him, but not with rancor.
“Yes, sir.” Jake straightened up.
“Your hands getting cold?” Ben asked Joylon.
“Yes, they are. Hard to tell what’s left of the body. Won’t know until we get him on a slab. With any luck, we’ll at least know how he was killed. Used to be when we found a body, which was not often—back in the seventies or eighties—we’d know them. Now there’s so many new people, we don’t.” He asked Ben, “Did you call in a retrieval vehicle?”
“I did. And I told them no siren, too. After All is full of people. No point getting them stirred up and no point dealing with curiosity seekers.”
“Why would anyone want to see this?” asked Sam, appalled at the thought.
“You’d be amazed at what people want to see,” said Joylon. “Years ago back when I first started, we had a killer from just down the road from here that was insane. No doubt about it. He strung up his cousin, whom he hated, tortured him and put his eyeballs out with a ballpoint pen. For whatever reason, a local newspaper reporter included all the grisly details of the murder in his story, and our office was flooded with requests for the pictures.” Joylon stood up, peeled off his surgical gloves, gratefully putting back on his warm, woolly ones, knitted by his wife.
“Sick,” Gray half spat.
“World’s full of strange people,” Joylon replied simply.
“Gray, Sam, I’m sorry to keep you all out here in the cold,” said Ben. “Why don’t you take my Explorer back to the trailers? I’ll have Luke and Jake drop me off when we’re finished here. Just leave the keys in the ignition. No one’s going to steal that barge.”
“Funny,” Sam mused to his brother, “no worry about theft, but we’ve got a killer out there somewhere.”
Back at the After All gathering, a few people who had noticed the Lorillard brothers’ absence asked where they’d been, to which they replied noncommitally. But most folks, happy with the hunt, with the wonderful party, continued gabbing away.
Gray finally made his way through the crowd to Sister, who raised her eyebrows in question.
He took her by the elbow, steering her clear of the other exultant hunters for a moment, never easy at such a hunt breakfast. “Sure enough, a body under a deer,” Gray told Sister. “Been there quite a while.”
“Years?” she asked.
“Months. Four, maybe five, according to Joylon. The mild winter accelerated decay. I don’t know how those guys can do that work. Turned my stomach.”
When Sybil joined them, Gray informed her of the gruesome developments on the road to nowhere.
“Ugly,” Sybil said tersely.
“You were so wise to come up to me.” Sister said, praising Sybil’s impeccable instincts to maintain order during the hunt.
“How many years have I whipped-in to you? Twelve, I think,” she answered her own question. “You taught me if something goes wrong, don’t broadcast it. If I can, fix it. If I can’t, find you.”
Gray exhaled. “I don’t think you can fix this.”
“No,” Sister responded. “Once we know cause of death and identity, if they can find that out, who knows what we might do? You know we generally assume that someone who has been murdered was an innocent victim. Then again, has it ever occurred to either of you that some people need killing?”
Both Sister’s boyfriend and her whipper-in stared at her for a long moment. Neither said a word.
CHAPTER 15
After Rickyroo had been wiped down with a little Vetrolin rubbed on his back and legs, he munched alfalfa in his stall while drying. Next, Sister would throw an expensive but excellent Irish turnout blanket on him. The lightweight but warm lining and an exterior that could resist ripping justified the blanket’s price.
Cleaned, with fresh water in their stalls and a bit of food, the three horses happily chatted.
Sister, Betty, and Tootie were busily cleaning tack in the warm tackroom. Surrounding each woman was an array of saddle soap, clean water, dirty water, a jar of saddle butter from a company in Grangeville, Idaho, small sponges, old washcloths, and fresh soft dishtowels to finish the process.
In the background, the radio stayed permanently tuned to the classical radio station. Sister and Rickyroo liked Tchaikovsky.
“Someday I’m going to roll the dial to heavy metal and watch you pitch a fit,” said Betty, wiping the browband of the bridle, which hung from the cleaning tack hook. The tack hook looked like a small version of the grappling hooks used to board enemy ships back in the days of sail.
Sister squeezed out the small sponge full of saddle soap. “Takes more than that to make me pitch a fit.”
She then filled in the others about what had transpired at the Lorillard place when Sybil found the dead deer and human.
“You waited this long to tell me?” Betty threw her rag on the floor.
“You were in the truck with Shaker.” Sister held up her hand for peace. “And I wanted time to sort this out. I have.”
“Maybe I should keep away from you. First, that man in New York. Now another. That’s two bodies.”
“I didn’t find the second one. Sybil did.” Sister turned to Tootie, who had finished with her bridle and was wiping down her saddle. “You’re not saying anything.”
“It’s creepy.” The young woman lifted up a stirrup, tossing it over the seat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It is that and it will be in the papers and on the radio and TV tomorrow. We should enjoy this period of grace.” Sister wrung out her washcloth. “I’m glad none of us had to see such a sight. Sybil said she couldn’t see much except an upside-down jawbone but once she looked hard, she knew it was a human. Gray and Sam saw more, but Gray said there was no way to tell who it was.” She glanced at the wall clock, big and round. “He should be coming home soon.”
“Sam okay?” Betty paused. “I always worry when there’s something dreadful.”
“Gray said he’s fine,” answered Sister. “I really believe he won’t drink again.”
“He’s in my prayers.” Like Sister, Betty had witnessed Gray’s brother, so bright and gifted, excel at self-destruction.
“How do you know when someone’s an alcoholic?” asked Tootie. “I mean everyone drinks at Princeton on the weekends. Some during the week. The only people who don’t drink are the ones on varsity or those like me who don’t like the taste.”
“I suppose people tend toward alcoholism early, but because our culture accepts rowdiness in college or at least up through the mid-twenties no one can separate fish from fowl,” mused Sister. “Tell you what, though, by thirty it’s plain as day. And each generation has to figure it out all over again. No one young wants to believe their sister, brother, or best friend is on that slippery slope. The hardest part is there’s not one thing you can do.”
“You can tell them,” Tootie said to Betty as she worked on the other side of her saddle.
“You can,” Betty said, her tone measured. “And once in a blue moon someone will listen. Mostly, they deny it and will hate you for it. Friendship with an addict of any kind will tear you apart.” She stopped. “I don’t talk about it much, but my oldest daughter destroyed her life with drugs. Now she sits in jail, which is probably the best place for her. Bobby and I tried everything.”
Jennifer, the Franklins’ youngest daughter, was an exceedingly lovely young woman now in her third year at Colby College along with Sari Rasmussen, Lorraine’s daughter. Lorraine was Shaker’s lady friend, a fairly new romance.
“I’m sorry, Betty,” said Tootie. “I can’t imagine anyone not listening to you.” Tootie meant it. “I wish my mother were more like you.”
Betty was touched. “Tootie, thank you. Your mother tries. She thinks she’s doing what’s best.”
Sister chimed in. “Both your parents are so proud of you. They’re proud of you, Tootie.”
Tears welling up as she finished her cleaning, the pretty college
student mumbled, “Only as long as I do what they want me to do.” She picked up her saddle, sliding it onto its home on the rack that had her name on it. “Maybe I don’t want to be what they want me to be.”
The tears ran freely now.
Betty rushed to put her arms around Tootie’s waist. “Is it as bad as all that?”
Tootie nodded. Betty walked her to one of the director’s chairs where she sat. Betty sat opposite.
Sister hung up her bridle, then joined them, taking a seat. “Do you still want to be a veterinarian?” she asked.
“I do. An equine vet. My father says it’s a waste of my life. He’ll cut me off if I pursue my career with animals. He says I’m smart enough to be an investment banker and I’d make millions. I don’t need millions.” She wiped her eyes with the Kleenex Betty had fished from her vest pocket. “I just want to be happy and I want to help horses.”
Sister took a deep breath. “Parents take a long view. Your mother and father are thinking about how hard that profession can be, and it’s not especially lucrative. You’ll struggle sometimes, Tootie, and so far in your life all you’ve known is wealth. I say this because I love you. You really don’t know what it is to do without. You’re only a freshman. There’s a lot of time to make a decision.”
Tootie worshipped Sister. “That’s what Val says. I know it’s true, but maybe I need to find out for myself.”
Betty said, “Tootie, you might be right. I admire your dream and we’ll find out about the grit.”
“You have it on the hunt field, why not off?” said Sister, reaching over to wipe Tootie’s tears. “What can we do?”
“Let me stay here with you, Sister. I’ll get a job. I’ll pay rent. I hate Princeton.”
Sister, who thought Princeton both beautiful and demanding in the best academic fashion, folded her hands. “You will never get a better education anywhere else.”
“That may be so, but I can’t concentrate there.”
Having raised two girls, Betty took a different tack. “Honey, I never could either. I made it through two years at Randolph Macon before throwing in the towel, but I don’t have your brain. Why don’t you finish out this semester? Come back after that.”
“That gives you the time to figure out expenses as best you can,” said Sister. “You know I don’t want any rent, Tootie, but you’ll have your car insurance and other expenses, like gas. It adds up. Your father’s threatened to cut you off and I believe he will if you drop out of school.”
Betty pursed her lips, unsure of the wisdom of what she was about to ask. “What kind of work do you think you can do?”
“I can work horses,” said Tootie. “I can clean a vet clinic. I’m not proud. I can do anything with a computer. And I can learn. If I don’t know something, I’ll learn it.” She looked straight at Betty. “I know finishing out the semester makes a lot of sense, but I’d rather drop out now so my grades don’t suffer. At least my first semester grades were good and I can transfer those later. If I have to go to night school like Felicity, then I will.”
Sister unfolded her hands. “You know your own mind. I can’t change it. Of course, you can stay with me, but you have to talk to your parents before you come on down. Tell them they can also talk to me. I know I’m going to be on their shit list along with you. Your father has never liked me.”
“He doesn’t like too many people. Too competitive.”
Yet Sister admired the African American media mogul. “That’s what made him millions at a time after LBJ pushed through the Voter Rights Act. Didn’t he start his magazine business in the seventies?”
“Did. He waited until he was in his forties to marry because he said he didn’t want to worry that he couldn’t support a wife. All my father thinks about is money. Every single decision he makes is about money. He tells me the first question I should ask whenever I make a decision is ‘What is this going to cost me?’ Not, will I learn anything? Will I love what I’m doing? Will I do good for anyone else? I can’t live like that. I won’t live like that.” Her voice rose and she was no longer crying.
“Millions do,” Sister simply said. “Men think their money obsession is merely being logical. Women think it’s the new way to think now—in other words, they’re imitation men. I’m afraid most people only wake up and realize what’s truly important when death brushes by them or someone they love. Tootie, who knows what will happen tomorrow to any one of us? But at least we’ve lived, truly lived. Betty’s had a harder time than I have with money. I’ve been lucky there, but I’ve endured other painful lessons. I wouldn’t trade one minute of it. Not one. So you talk to your parents and best you do it before you go back to Princeton to pick up your gear.”
Leaping from her chair, Tootie hugged Sister and kissed her on the cheek. Then she bent over Betty and kissed her.
“Thanks,” said Betty rising painfully from the stool. “My leg hurts.”
“Betty, what’d you do now?”
“Knocked a tree when we were at Old Paradise. My feet were so wet and cold I didn’t pay attention until later when it started to throb. It will go away.”
They heard the big Land Cruiser churning up the driveway, Gray at the wheel.
Sister looked out. “Here comes Mr. Wonderful, and the lights are still on in the kennels.”
“I’ll go see if Shaker needs a hand,” Betty volunteered.
“Me, too,” said Tootie.
“All right, then,” said Sister. “See you up at the house. Betty, would you like some supper?”
“No, thanks. I ate enough at the hunt breakfast and Bobby will be wanting his supper. I’ve got him on a new diet. It’s working, but very, very slowly.” She pushed open the tackroom door and headed to the kennels, Tootie in tow.
Sister cut the lights in the tackroom. She walked into the center aisle to cut the lights there. Darkness fell so early in February, or so it seemed, even though a minute of sunlight was added each day after the winter solstice.
As he was dry, she threw on Rickyroo’s fancy blanket. Tootie and Betty had already put their horse blankets on. As the night promised to be another bitter one, she decided to bring in the other horses. Walking out the barn’s big double door, she whistled. Up ran Lafayette, Aztec, Matador, and Keepsake. Opening the gate for them, they all four entered the warm barn.
Aztec ducked into Lafayette’s stall for a second, just to see if his feed was better.
Lafayette bared his teeth as the younger horse hurried out. “I’ll bite your hindquarters.”
“Yeah, but your teeth are getting worn down,” the six-year-old sassed back as he trotted into his stall.
Sister shut each stall door after closing the outside doors. She rechecked each stall, even though she had filled the water buckets. She hoped it would stay warm enough inside the barn that the buckets wouldn’t freeze overnight. Usually the horses gave off enough body heat that the enclosed barn hovered above freezing, but on the coldest of nights those buckets could freeze—meaning more work in the morning.
A squawk drew her eyes upward. Bitsy hopped from a rafter into her nest. Sister waved to the little owl, then left the barn, closing the door tightly behind her.
Twilight turned the sky royal blue, then the blue darkened. A thin line of gold traced the top of the blue mountains. The evening star glittered brilliantly. The clouds of the morning’s hunt disappeared. Tonight, bright and clear, would be particularly cold.
The kennel door creaked opened and shut, and Sister waved to Shaker and Betty. Tootie ran up to Sister and the two walked up to the house.
The dogs greeted everyone. Gray had made a pot of green tea for Sister and Tootie. He kissed them both, then sat down at the kitchen table with the Sunday Richmond Times-Dispatch.
“Still a good paper, even if it is one quarter the size it was in my youth.”
Sister decided to tell him about Tootie later. She sat down next to him as the young woman brought over the teapot, then the cups.
“Thank you.�
�� Sister knew how Gray liked to read the paper undisturbed, but she had to interrupt just for a moment. “Where’d you find this tea?”
“Tea Forte Citrus Mint,” he answered with a smile. “Harris Teeter. They make a Lemon Ginger, too. That has a bite. This is more soothing. For me, anyway, and I am chilled to the bone. I bet you two are as well.”
“You were out in the cold longer than I was,” Sister said.
Golly sashayed into the room, her tail straight up, waving grandly. “I’m here,” the cat announced.
“We know,” Raleigh barked in reply.
Golly jumped into Tootie’s lap. “From here, I can see everything on the table,” she bragged.
“I can smell everything on the table and there’s nothing to eat.” Rooster hoped for a dog treat.
Sister gratefully sipped the delicious tea. “A hot shower after this tea and I’ll feel good as new. Tired but good.”
“You first.” Tootie smiled.
“Thanks. I sort of want to pull off my boots and I sort of don’t. My toes are so cold.” Sister then patted her deep yellow vest, removing the cigarette case she’d bought from Adolfo.
Gray glanced over from the business section of the paper. “Isn’t that heavy over your heart like that?”
“A little bit. I suppose I could put it in a lower pocket but I like it close to my heart. Silly.” She drank another deep draft of the hot tea. “I promise I’ll let you get back to the paper, Gray, but we didn’t get to talk much at the breakfast. You said the sheriff’s department couldn’t make an ID. Could you see the body at all?”
“I saw the man’s jacket. One of the officers called it a Pennsylvania tuxedo.”
Sister sat up straight. “A Woolrich jacket? Heavy, red with a black plaid over it?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t see too many of those anymore, but there was that new fellow, hadn’t lived here long, who sometimes hauled odds and ends with Art DuCharme, he wore a really old one. Can’t remember his name, but you know who I mean?”
Gray thought. “Short fellow, kind of heavy, not too bright. Art would use him to help move stuff once in a while.”
Fox Tracks Page 12