The Tell-tale Horse

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Serial killers are, with one or two famous exceptions.” Sister knew Bessie, while not a flaming genius, possessed a sturdy intelligence, better in the long run.

  “They truly believe their actions bring justice because the system is slow and unjust.” Bessie repeated the main thrust of her thoughts.

  “Never thought of that. I thought killing provided an adrenaline rush, a thrill, power.”

  “Probably does. I hope Ben Sidell gets this guy. Makes me look over my shoulder to think he’s out there—I mean, out there on our streets.”

  “I’m looking over my shoulder too.” Sister changed the subject. “How’s Thornton?”

  “Oh, happy as a clam. Orthopedic surgeons never run out of patients. If it’s not a football player, it’s a skier, and if it’s not a skier, it’s a kid who fell off his bike. He loves it.” She laughed. “Show Thorn a broken bone and he’s in heaven. Isn’t it funny, he was just as enthusiastic when I met him in med school. Blind date and here we are.” She laughed again. “Just love him, just love him to death.”

  “Ever notice when someone finds the right one it’s easy”—Sister paused—“or as easy as a relationship can be.”

  “Yes, I have noticed.”

  “Bessie, it certainly is good of you to fill in here while Garvey is shorthanded.”

  “I worked before the kids were born, which you know, and now that they’re married—well, how can I put it? I was drifting along. When Garvey called last month I thought, Why not? A few months will be fun and the pin money never hurts, and you know I quite like it. I like the hustle and bustle.” Bessie’s vocabulary sounded older than she was, no doubt a result of all that time spent playing bridge with her mother-in-law.

  “He’s lucky to have you.”

  Bessie rose, came over to sit next to Sister, and lowered her voice. “You’re sweet to say that. I spoke to Thornton last night, testing the waters. He said he thought it would be fine if I went back to work, so today I’ll talk to Garvey about it. Even if he hires that pretty Porter girl, he needs one more person on office staff full time. Someone has to work the dinosaur.” She indicated the switchboard. “You wouldn’t believe how much work there is to do here. Mountains.” She emphasized mountains.

  “Better get your climbing gear because I know you’ll have a job.”

  “Think so?” Bessie sounded breathless.

  “Of course.”

  They heard Garvey’s door open so Bessie returned to the desk.

  Felicity and Garvey were walking in step, both smiling.

  “Bessie, Felicity will start tomorrow, working Monday, Thursday, and Friday after lunch, part-time, until school’s out. Then we’ve got ourselves a full-time girl, I mean woman.” He did try not to call women girls, but it confused him that an eighty-year-old woman would call another eighty-year-old woman girl.

  “Wonderful.” Bessie meant it.

  “Angel’s office,” Garvey mentioned.

  “A good omen.” Bessie smiled again. “Congratulations, Felicity. You’ll like it here. You can’t believe how much activity there is, so much to learn.”

  “I can’t wait, Mrs. Tutweiler.”

  Out in the parking lot, Felicity threw her arms around Sister. “Thank you, thank you!”

  “Honey, I just opened the door. You had to walk through it. I knew you’d impress Garvey.” She waited a moment. “The baby?”

  “Oh, he was so sweet. He said I should work until I became too uncomfortable and then come back when I was ready; he’d hold my job. I’ll be back in a week. I need to work.” She stopped, then looked Sister straight in the eye. “I don’t want anyone’s money. I’m glad our parents won’t help us. Howie and I will do it on our own. No one can throw anything up in our faces then.”

  “You’re right about that, Sugar. Come on, let’s get in the truck. It’s colder than a witch’s bosom.”

  Once rolling back down the road they chattered away.

  Felicity quieted a moment. She was usually quiet, but the relief of getting a job had pulled the stopper out of the bottle. “Sister, what am I going to do about Parson?” Suddenly tears welled in her eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  This was a surprise. “You have?”

  “He’s a good horse. He’s got a little age on him, but he’s well made, smart, kind, and will take care of his rider.”

  “He’s a good jumper.”

  “Lorraine Rasmussen is coming along with her riding. She’ll be ready for first flight next season. I’ll have a word with her. You keep Parson, and when the season’s over, bring him here. I think we can work something out, and I bet you could ride him sometimes, although with a new baby I don’t know where you’re going to find the time.”

  “You did.”

  “Sweetie, you didn’t know my husband, but let’s just say I married well. We could afford help. And even with help, there were days when I was overwhelmed when RayRay was a baby. I do better with children when they can walk and talk but RayRay didn’t know that so I sure learned.”

  “He must have been a good guy, your son.”

  “He was. I think of him every day, every hour, and I long to hear his voice.” She smiled. “Your child opens your heart, or maybe I should say opens a part of your heart you didn’t even know existed until that door opens.”

  “I’m kind of excited. Kind of scared.”

  “Well, Felicity, join womanhood.” Sister laughed. “Every one of us feels that way and then out pops the baby and you’re on the roller coaster.”

  “I can never repay you.” Tears welled up in Felicity’s eyes.

  Sister’s engagement ring and wedding ring glamed with that odd burnish of platinum as a ray of sun caught her hand on the steering wheel. “You can.”

  “How?”

  “Love the land. Teach your child to love the land and the creatures upon it and in the sea and in the air. Teach your child respect for life. Even trees are alive and”—she paused dramatically—“put that little thing’s bottom on a horse as soon as he or she can actually see. Hold them up there and I’ll take the lead line. You make a foxhunter for me.”

  Felicity grinned. “It’s a deal.”

  “Now, what about Howie? I take it he can’t ride yet, so use your womanly wiles. The family that rides together learns to ride out troubles together too.”

  “Howie can’t ride a lick.”

  “He’ll do it for you. He’ll do it for the baby.”

  “I’ll work on him.”

  “Felicity, men are easy,” Sister said, a glint of deviltry in her eyes.

  Passing through the huge wrought-iron gates, Sister again admired the grounds of Custis Hall. She parked behind Old Main, the administration building, as she had business with Charlotte Norton.

  The two walked to the back staircase of the oldest building on campus, once serving multiple functions but now confined to housing administrators.

  Sister kissed Felicity on her cheek. “You’re on your way.”

  Solemn, a little nervous, Felicity said, “Will you be godmother to our baby?”

  Without a second’s hesitation Sister replied, “I would consider it a great honor.”

  Felicity felt tears well up in her eyes again. She struggled to know herself because she wasn’t given to emotions and now they skimmed on her surface. “Thank you.”

  Sister kissed her again. “Go on, young ’un.”

  Inside the reception room to Charlotte’s office, Teresa Bourbon, Charlotte’s able and discreet assistant, waved Sister in.

  The silver tea service, expensive then, a fortune now, given to the president by the class of 1952 back in 1952, sat on the coffee table, steam spiraling out of the teapot spout.

  “Egg salad and tuna salad sandwiches for starters.” Charlotte stepped out behind her desk. “And your favorite afternoon tea, real orange pekoe.”

  “I need it.” Sister sank onto the sofa as Charlotte poured a bracing cup and handed it to her.


  Then she poured one for herself and sat next to Sister. She picked up the tray of sandwiches. “Nourishment.”

  “I really am famished.”

  They ate their sandwiches, drank their tea, and talked forth-rightly, for over the years the two women had taken each other’s measure.

  “Got the job.”

  “I’m glad,” Charlotte replied. “Much as I’d like to see her at Princeton, I know she’s strong-willed and I hope this will work.”

  “Wonder if they’ll all get into Princeton?”

  Charlotte leaned back. “They have the qualifications but I doubt if admissions is going to take three girls from the same school.”

  “There is that.” Sister reached for another delicious sandwich. “You know, Charlotte, I have a feeling about Felicity. Like I get a feeling about hound puppies. That girl is going to be a success, a big success. She has drive. Fate appears to be handing her a bad card, but I think it will be the making of her.”

  “I hope so.” Charlotte didn’t sound 100 percent convinced. “Her parents flamed me like a blowtorch.”

  “Immature people need a target for their anger.”

  “Felicity is more mature in many ways than her parents.” Charlotte poured another cup of tea for Sister and herself. “You’d be surprised how many times I see that here.”

  “Bet I wouldn’t.”

  Charlotte spoke next of the unavoidable subject. “I’ve hired extra security. There’s always fat in every budget, so I squeezed some out. Chances are, whoever this perverse killer is, he isn’t interested in Custis Hall, but I can’t be too careful, and both victims were young and good-looking. Who’s to say?”

  “I certainly hope the girls are safe. You did the right thing. The only common thread I can find—well, two—for the victims is that both were quite beautiful and both had knowledge of wireless technology.”

  “Yes, I thought of that too. Naturally, I don’t want to alarm the girls but I did have the career counselors give each girl a questionnaire concerning last year’s summer jobs. It’s not obvious—there are lots of questions because it’s designed to support finding a job this summer for those who want to do that as well as supporting life experience information for college applications—but there are a few questions about working for cell phone companies and computer chip companies. Just in case.” Charlotte smiled a tight smile. “As it turns out, Val worked last summer for Alltel back home.”

  “You’re way ahead of everyone else,” Sister replied. “Let’s hope Val’s knowledge is limited, just in case.”

  Charlotte held a plate of chocolate cookies and shortbread ones. “One good thing that’s come out of this is that interest has spiked in the early Middle Ages.” She paused. “It was taught to me as a low point in European history—well, not as low as the so-called Dark Ages but low—and I don’t think it was at all. The advances in agriculture were significant.”

  “And the clothing design was gorgeous,” Sister added.

  “Twelfth century. The lines,” Charlotte enthused, for she believed clothing revealed a great deal about a culture’s dreams as well as its reality.

  “Long fluid lines.” Sister agreed with her. “I think the true Dark Ages for European culture was the twentieth century. A sea of blood.”

  “Exactly.” Charlotte paused. “You know, the sum of suffering was so great we can’t apprehend it. But we can understand two dead Lady Godivas. Understand and fear.”

  “Do you think the killer wants us to be afraid?”

  “I don’t know. I am.”

  “I wonder if he’s laughing at us.”

  “Is it possible he wishes us to be both fearful and amused?”

  CHAPTER 25

  On Thursday, March 6, Sister and a large contingent who managed to get off work or had already retired drove up to Casanova territory, east of Warrenton. Ashland Bassets were meeting at Eastern View, owned by the Fendleys.

  Hunting on foot separated those with wind and those without, which became apparent twenty minutes into the hunt.

  Joyce and Bill Fendley ran along, as did Marion, who took off early from Horse Country because Ashland hounds cast at two in the afternoon.

  Sister had to laugh because Cabel Harper showed up in brush pants, very intelligent decision, and a true tweed jacket to repel thorns, topped off with a hunter-green Robin Hood hat, a pheasant feather stuck in for allure. Ilona confined herself to a baseball hat, while Betty Franklin, remembering those nasty thorns, also wore brush pants but she tied a wool scarf around her neck, tucking it into her jacket. The last time she hunted with the bassets she had cut her throat, and blood had poured over her shirt and jacket.

  Charlotte Norton allowed the Custis Hall girls to hunt so long as they wrote a paper about it for class. Val drove them in her lime-colored Jeep. By the time the kids reached Eastern View, all but Val agreed a Wrangler wasn’t meant for long trips. Their fillings rattled in their teeth.

  Al Toews, Master of Bassets, held the horn this March 6 and his joint master, Mary Reed, whipped in to him. Al and Mary had been in the custom of taking turns hunting the hounds but Al declared he would give it up to Mary after season’s end because his wind was shot. No one believed him since he could outrun anyone, but this declaration was made with solemnness. Al’s wife, Kathleen King, also whipped in to him today. The two were psychic when they hunted together. Aggie de la Garza, Miriam Anver, Frank Edrington, Sherrod Johnson, Mary Dobrovir, and Nancy Palmer whipped in as well.

  Camilla Moon and Diana Dutton acted as first flight field master and second accordingly, although they didn’t exactly specify it that way, but the field seemed naturally to break into two groups as time ran on and so did the bunnies.

  At a check, Tootie whispered to Sister, “Why so many whippers-in?”

  “Bassets are harder-headed than foxhounds. Need more control,” Sister whispered back.

  Camilla, a true canine student, turned as the Jefferson Hunt people were behind her, the Ashland members gracefully allowing the guests pride of place. “Second-best noses in dogdom.”

  Tootie already knew that bloodhounds possessed the best so she rightly figured that foxhounds must come in third.

  Naturally, harrier people, coonhound folks, and beagle devotees could argue the point. Even Plott hound lovers who run bear would argue, but foxhunters, like all hound people, prove marvelously resistant to others’ opinions.

  Al bounded into a hateful covert of brambles, a thin swift-running blade of water, deep-sided, cutting it in two, a perfect abode for the cottontail.

  Before first cast, the tall lanky Vietnam veteran had asked Sister if she would care to hunt hounds with him. Flattered as she was by the prospect of being that close to these aggressive hunters, this would be her only time to be one of the field as opposed to leading. Joyce Fendley enjoyed being in the field for the same reasons. She had no decisions to make. Camilla and Diana had to make them.

  Hounds began to feather, then tails whipped like propellers. One lone deep note from Tosca alerted the others, followed by a crescendo of sound, beautiful spine-tingling music for the only pack voices as beautiful as these belonged to Penn-Marydels.

  The rabbit, still in the covert, headed along the stream, then shot out over the pasture and ran a tight circle, hounds in hot pursuit and humans pursuing as hotly as their legs would carry them.

  This rabbit could run, and the chase lasted fifteen exhausting minutes up and down the pasture—which had a steep roll to it—and then the rabbit disappeared, just popped down a hole. No amount of furious digging could dislodge Peter Cottontail, who lived to run another day.

  Rabbit scent is fragile, but the afternoon proved a good one and hounds worked another narrow covert. Mary Reed hollered, “Tally-ho!” Al quickly pushed the bassets up to the line, and off they ran again.

  Sister noted at the next check that most of the Jefferson Hunt people hung in with first flight, but huffing and puffing were evident. She was breathing hard too, and all those br
oken bones of decades past began to speak to her.

  After another short burst, light fading and temperature falling, the group walked back to the old silo to enjoy a tailgate.

  Betty asked Cabel if she’d heard anything from Clayton.

  Gratefully drinking mulled wine, the warmth most welcome, Cabel airily replied, “He can’t call out. It’s lockup.”

  “All for the best, I’m sure.”

  “I’m lost,” Cabel suddenly blurted out. “He plucked my last nerve. Let’s call a spade a spade; my husband is a philandering drunk but we’ve lived together for twenty-two years and I miss him. If nothing else, he did take out the garbage, drunk or sober. I can’t believe how much I miss him….

  “How do those Custis Hall girls get out of school? When I went there you were only let out of class if your mother died.” Cabel nodded toward Val, Tootie, and Pamela, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Where’s Felicity?” Ilona asked. “Val, Tootie, and Felicity are the Three Musketeers.”

  “Aluminum Manufacturing,” Betty answered. “She’s working three afternoons a week.”

  “I thought the Porters had money,” Ilona said.

  “They do.” Betty wasn’t about to tell them Felicity was pregnant, as well as the rest of it. “But she wants real-life experience, as she puts it.”

  “Good for her.” Cabel nodded. “What else do they have to do at that age except drink, drug, and have sex?”

  “Cabel, we didn’t.” Ilona recalled her own Custis Hall days.

  “Speak for yourself,” Cabel wryly responded.

  Betty held up her hands, palms outward. “I was a bleeding saint.”

  “Spare me.” Cabel rolled her eyes, then stared at the girls again. “They are beautiful girls. Well, Pamela’s a pudge, though she’s losing some of it. But Val and Tootie are two of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”

  “The men notice, and they notice which other men are looking. Bobby tells me everything,” Betty noted. “He said if anyone lays a hand on one of those kids—did I get it right, lay? Well, if anyone does, he and Walter will dismember them. But I don’t think the men in our club are like that.”