by Leo Bonanno
The Hunt Chronicles
Volume 1
By
Leo Bonanno
Published by
Leonardo Bonanno, Jr.
Post Office Box 692
Argyle, TX 76226
For the Amazon Kindle
The Hunt Chronicles: Volume 1
©2006, 2012 by Leonardo Bonanno, Jr. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover Art by Peter-Design.Blogspot.com
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarities to any other names, characters, places and/or incidents (real or fictional) is purely coincidental.
Special thanks to Jason, Jamie and Shirley for keeping me laughing
Special thanks to Earl Billington for Naddler’s Hill
Special thanks to Carol Sykora, who is the best at what she does
The Hunt Chronicles
Volume 1
Table of Contents
Part 1……………Houseguests and Homicide
Part 2……………Curator Conundrums
Part 1
Houseguests and Homicide
Happy families are all alike;
every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
Leo Tolstoy
My name is Reevan Hunt, and someone has poisoned my sister.
“Maddie?” I whispered. She looked like hell. Her face was whiter than the sheets of her hospital bed. Every wrinkle and pore and crow’s foot was visible. Her hair had the slightest wisp of gray. The woman I was leaning over was not the same woman I had seen only four months earlier at Christmas. The woman in that bed could have passed for my mother, and I was fifty-three years old.
“Can you hear me, Maddie?” I asked. Her eyes were shut, and her chest rose and fell slowly. Suddenly, her right eye popped open, looking tired, confused and ever so slightly pissed off.
“Who wants to know?” She muttered slowly, but loudly.
“It’s me, Reevan!” I proclaimed, smiling. I bent forward to kiss her…I never saw it coming. Red-hot pain seared my left cheek as I caught a glimpse of Maddie’s flying palm. “What was that for?” I cried.
“Your sister of over fifty years is on her deathbed and it takes you two days to get to her side?” Maddie’s hand rose and swung again, but I was ready. I caught it and held it by the wrist.
“Your ‘deathbed’ hasn’t even been turned down yet, so you can’t be laying in it now, can you?”
“I was poisoned, Reevie…poisoned! My stomach was burning and churning…I couldn’t breathe…it was…”
“Indigestion,” I mumbled.
“What?” She asked. All of a sudden, I was finding it very hard to restrain my sister’s arm. She was shaking with the power and fury only two types of women possess: big sisters and psychotics.
Granted, living alone for over three decades could make anyone a little bitter, and I was no exception, but only recently had my attitude changed from middle-aged pessimism to spiteful sarcasm. Madeline Hunt was the last person on Earth who ever took either from me.
“Food poisoning, Maddie. People don’t die from expired milk or left-out tuna anymore.” Maddie grew still. She stopped shaking and just stared right into my eyes. Whatever she was searching for she must have found, because she smiled a little then. A poorly made imitation frown appeared.
“It was a chicken sandwich from the diner,” she said, then added “and that waiter has never liked me.”
We laughed until our sides hurt that afternoon. Maddie was released the next day. She asked me to stick around in Connecticut for a while just until she was fully recuperated. Dr. Witcham suggested I stay as well, claiming that I looked like I needed a vacation anyway. I took Witcham’s advice and I’ve hated him ever since.
True, Wellington, Connecticut wasn’t the talk of the country, and it wouldn’t have been my first choice for a vacation spot, but I did manage to occupy myself with some of the most interesting people in town.
The McCune family lived on an estate so expansive it had its own zip code. Wilson McCune’s town car had a license plate trimmed with gold. The license plate itself simply read:
4
Apparently, there were only three people ahead of Wilson McCune in line at the DMV the day it opened; Sheriff Bell, Judge Doyle and Father Nolan.
Wilson McCune’s wife had passed on three years before Maddie’s brush with death at the hands of a chicken sandwich. She was sixty-six years old, and I don’t mind saying that the age was a little too close for my comfort. McCune and his three children, Cheryl, Donald and Richard, resided on the property dubbed McCune Hall by the plaque at the end of the driveway and The McCune Mansion by the neighborhood children.
Gardeners, a butler, drivers and other numerous staff were permitted to reside somewhere on the property, whether it be the guest homes by the stables or the tiny cottages furthest away from the front gate. Only three McCune staffers actually called the walls of McCune Hall their home for these three had to be able to jump to the McCunes’ wishes at all hours of the day and night. They were the butler Thomas Freely, the cook Nona Bronson, and the head maid Madeline Hunt. My room was next to hers.
“Reevan Hunt, how the hell are you?” Wilson McCune’s voice emanated out onto the grounds. As it faded, I heard the gate at the end of the driveway slam home. A scary image popped into my head just then…prison cell.
The voice bellowed out of a seventy-two year old mouth. The mouth was full of teeth so white they could have been mistaken for Chiclets™. I noticed something looked off, and then discovered it. Those teeth look like his own I thought to myself. Seventy-two and his teeth are still hanging in there! There was a nudge in my right side. I turned and saw Maddie, her eyes wide and scolding. “Yes, they’re his,” she muttered, quickly looking down at my shoes. I looked at her with a raised brow that asked How the hell would you know? As if reading my mind, she muttered again “I’ve helped him brush them.” My stomach made an odd croaking sound. I turned to Wilson and smeared a hearty grin across my face. My eyes winced as they caught the dusk sunbeams bouncing off Wilson’s motorized wheelchair.
“Excuse me, young man,” I schmoozed with a phony English accent, “but where can one find Master McCune?”
“Shake a man’s hand first, kiss his behind once you’re in his house!” He laughed. I walked forward and took the man’s hand. I don’t remember the last time I shook a little girl’s hand, but I imagine it felt the way McCune’s handshake did. I, on the other hand, was expecting a little more resistance and began to crush the man’s fingers. “Careful, man. These hands can’t lift a glass of water unless I’ve got a pulley rigged up!” He burst into laughter again. He lifted his arms up slowly and clapped his hands together with amusement. It was like watching a slow motion replay.
“Wilson, I’m sorry about Clara. She was a damn nice lady.”
“Cancer is a respecter of no one; you remember that.” He turned to Maddie and smiled. “Madeline! Is working for me so miserable you’d rather be in the hospital than come in on Mondays?”
“I’m feeling fine, thanks,” she said, laughing. “Hello, Thomas.” The statuesque Thomas Freely was standing behind Wilson, his hands at his side.
“Madeline,” he said curtly nodding. “We’ve missed you.” Maddie smiled.
“Well,” Wilson announced, “let’s go inside. My joints are aching and that means those April clouds are about ready to tear open. Grab Mr. Hunt’s bag and we’ll all have a bite to eat.” An uneasy look swept over his face. His wheelc
hair whizzed around and started for the doorway. “The children are waiting inside,” he called back as he disappeared beyond his threshold and into the shadows.
The dining room table was long and elegant. Paintings and mirrors hung on the walls while a crystal chandelier loomed overhead. The table itself was neither “standard” nor “extra large,” but one of “buffet size.” It was covered with a meat spread large enough to feed a small country. Nona, a cartoonishly pudgy woman, had apparently been preparing for my visit and Maddie’s return ever since Maddie called Thomas from the hospital the day before.
The kitchen was adjacent to the dining room. A wall did separate the two, but it had a doorway and a serving window cut out like at a fast-food drive through. Nona placed a platter of shrimp on the counter in the window, and Thomas instinctively snatched it and started for the table.
Even though Maddie declined her boss’s invitation, he insisted, and she eventually caved in. He sat at the end of the table, able to peer into the kitchen if need be, I suppose. Maddie sat to his right and me to his left. Three more chairs stood around the table, empty. Just as I reached for my glass of water, the chairs’ owners walked in.
The three human beings were nowhere near ‘children’ anymore. Wilson McCune was seventy-two, and Clara would have been sixty-nine. Their ‘children’ could have children of their own.
“Hi there, Mr. Hunt!” Cheryl McCune erupted. “So nice to see you!” Cheryl McCune was thin, tall and in her mid-to-late forties. Her once long blond hair was thinning and was now the color of faded corn. Her eyes were carrying a lot of baggage, but her smile was bright as ever and could still fill a room.
Cheryl trotted around the table to greet me while her brothers bent to kiss Maddie. Maddie was almost sixty then. She’d been working for the McCunes for almost thirty years. When Clara passed on, we all knew what would happen. Maddie stepped in as Replacement Mom, though the promotion didn’t include a raise. She’s always been a mother to these kids a deep bitter little voice said in my head, but I pushed it away. I rose and hugged Cheryl eagerly, then held her at arm’s length to absorb that beautiful smile.
When I let Cheryl go, I saw Donald waiting, hand outstretched. I grabbed it and pumped twice. Donald was only thirty-eight, I believe, and then it was my turn to get an achy hand. “How are ya, Mr. H.?”
“Oh fine, Don, just fine. How’s the restaurant?”
“Could be better, but there is always a slump this time of year. Too much rain in this damned state. Come summer, the place will be overflowing with the usual business and we’ll be back in the black.” As if the clouds themselves heard Donald’s comment, a thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Wilson McCune’s achy joints should be on the weather channel.
“Good to hear,” I said. I wondered how any McCune of Wellington could ever slip out of the black as far as a checking account was concerned, especially Donald. He was the oldest son and heir to a piece of his father’s Texas-sized fortune. He owned a restaurant that was supposedly in a prime location, he eats for free and God knew he wasn’t paying Daddy any rent.
Donald walked past me and pulled up the chair beside mine. Cheryl was already sitting next to Maddie. A tap on the shoulder brought my eyes and attention to my side once more, and I was face to face with Richard McCune. “Richard!” I hollered.
“Reevan!” He shouted back. I hugged the man who was twenty years my junior. He was also the favorite of Maddie and I… had been since the first time we met him. Richard was the youngest and, guessing by the way his family treated him, the least expected. His mother was in her thirties when Richard was born. To a McCune, that was prime age for business meetings and brunches, fancy galas, afternoon teas and trips to exotic ports. Richard was raised as an unexpected and somewhat unwanted blessing until Madeline Hunt joined the staff and took over.
Richard sat opposite his father at the other end of the table. I looked across to Maddie just as Thomas laid her plate before her. She looked very uncomfortable, like her chair was made of cacti and porcupines. She stayed that way through the entire meal, obviously not enjoying being served by someone who would be her co-worker again the next day. On the other hand, I had no problem being fed with the McCune silver spoon. I looked to my right at Wilson. He had a rather large piece of meat on his fork and it was apparently outweighing the strength in his arm. He grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and managed to guide the choo-choo into the tunnel. What I witnessed next suggested Wilson McCune traded in his silver spoon for a rusty pitchfork.
Watching food go into Wilson McCune’s mouth was like watching a planet get sucked into a black hole only to be ripped to shreds by ravenous white meteors. It wasn’t just viciousness I noticed, no, but speed and strength. He tore through meat and veggies at dinner, shredded breadsticks and cookies during dessert, and even crushed ice-cubes from his glass when his drink had finally disappeared. That man is as weak as a kitten my little voice whispered, except for that mouth. If I were to reach across his plate to grab the salt, I’d pull back a nub.
Maddie excused herself after dessert, claiming to need to prepare my room and unpack her things. As she walked away, I could have sworn I saw a cactus spine poking out of her caboose.
Nona was in the kitchen with Thomas quietly murmuring as they cleaned dishes.
I looked to my left at Donald, whose eyes were filled with something that looked so timid. His restaurant had come up several times during the meal, but his father had swatted away the topic every time. Just then, Donald McCune pushed everyone into a very uncomfortable place, and it started with a question to me. “Wanna hear my plan for the restaurant?” Wilson glared impatiently at his son.
“Stop bothering him, Donald! I’m sure he’s not interested in the slightest.” I turned back to Donald and lifted my eyebrows.
“Well, it might be interesting to hear a restaurateur’s strategy,” I said. “Your plan is what, exactly?”
“His plan,” Wilson interrupted sarcastically, “is to have me host some damn fiesta in the place with all of my buddies from down town and…”
“Not just those buddies,” Donald said earnestly. “Dad has important friends; famous friends. The Governor of Connecticut and some of the most respected men in the northeast. I was going to hire a photographer to take some pictures and then plaster them all over the Wellington Word-that’s our paper up here.” I nodded. “I thought that if some of the average Joes in town saw men like that having a good time in the place, they’d think themselves upper class just to be on the waiting list…get it?” I nodded again. “So what do you think?” My eyes grew wide and I found breaths hard to take in. How are you going to answer this one? Little Reevan asked. Do you tell him his idea sounds good, possibly humiliating your gracious host, or do you tell him to put that thought on the shelf and wait for a real one to drop in? Apparently, Wilson didn’t care what I thought, or was just afraid of what I might have said given the opportunity. He pounded a fist on the table before I could answer, thankfully drawing the attention away from me.
“You are outrageous!” Wilson cried out. My ears began to ring and the chandelier began to shake. “First you ask me for money to save that pathetic excuse for an eatery. Then you try to wheedle me into eating there and embarrassing myself in front of my colleagues. Now you disrespect a guest of this house by putting him in such an awkward position? Not while I’m running the show, boy! Get out of my sight until you’ve either gained some business sense or you’ve changed your name so it no longer shames mine!” The clatter and chatter in the kitchen had stopped. Cheryl and Richard were looking at their laps as if there was something worth seeing down there. I turned to Donald who was standing and shaking with what looked like a fierce combination embarrassment and rage. He looked down at me with eyes that were black and hollow.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Mr. Hunt.” That was all there was. He left the dining room, left the house, left McCune Hall altogether according to the clanging of the gates. I
f I was Donald McCune that night, I would have left Earth in a rocket ship, landed on the moon and buried my head in the sand.
After another hour or two of catching up, Wilson McCune announced he was going to retire to his study for the evening with a quick brandy before bed. He left the room, shaking my hand once more and telling me I was welcome to stay in his home as long as I liked. Cheryl excused herself shortly afterwards. Richard and I looked at each other and smiled. “Is dinner this much fun every night?”
“No, only the nights we try to be a family,” Richard replied, and we both chuckled. I shifted into Donald’s chair and leaned in towards Richard.
“Does your father still drink as much as he used to?” I whispered. Richard nodded.
“Almost as much as Donald, assuming he can lift the glass. Even more since Mother passed.” I nodded and leaned back.
“Did your father actually give Donald money for the restaurant?” Richard opened his mouth to answer but he was stifled abruptly by a loud clearing of someone’s throat coming from the kitchen. We both turned to see Thomas glaring through the serving window. Then he turned to face Nona and they both left the kitchen through its far door.
“Thomas says family business should stay in the family,” Richard whispered. I leaned in again; our noses almost touched. A hint of an eerie smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
“If Thomas is so smart,” I began, “then why hasn’t he figured out a way to pull that stick out of his ass?”
“We can’t all be retired professors like you,” he whispered back with a smile.
McCune Hall would be very quiet for the next few minutes, with the exception of our occasional guffaws and the sound of falling rain.