Probable Claws

by Rita Mae Brown

  “I like Jemmy Madison. I like his brother, and I fear their mother. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Imperious.” He shook his head, then laughed. “Well, I’ve nattered on, but I need be careful because I know Madison and Jefferson, though he be in France, think as one. And I must confess, I differ much from my neighbors, for I think John Adams has the stronger case, but I have doubts.”

  “Mr. Ewing, you should be there. You understand business. I think these men are mostly lawyers.”

  Ewing laughed. “Fearful, isn’t it?”

  A knock at the front door sent Roger to it. Ewing heard a familiar voice, rose, strode out into the hall.

  “Ah, Yancy, my dear fellow. Please come in.” He nodded to Roger, who stepped aside. “Roger has brought me my afternoon restorative tea. Might you join me?”

  “I would be honored.”

  The two men walked into Ewing’s library/office as Roger hastened to the kitchen. Bettina and Serena gathered biscuits, made small sandwiches; then Bettina, her sense of occasion aroused, quickly picked a few flowers and the two women created an early summer arrangement. Roger brought the tray into the office, which was beautiful in its proportions, the light shining on the leather-bound books.

  “Tell Bettina she again works her magic.” Ewing beamed up at Roger, who discreetly withdrew.

  Ewing relayed the contents of the letter from Philadelphia without revealing the author.

  “Have we not set ourselves too great a task?” Yancy asked. “We know only kings and queens. Athens is so very far away, as is Rome, though a little closer. They seem to be the ideal. Well early Rome, not late Rome.”

  Ewing nodded. “We have what they wrote.”

  “Yes, yes, but times are different. Think of the weaponry we have now, the speed of our ships. The ancients could never have imagined firearms.”

  “Yes.” Ewing took a bracing sip. “I buy the teas but Bettina does something.”

  “She waves her hand over the tea leaves. She has magic.” Yancy smiled then took a deep breath. “I have come to throw myself upon the mercy of an old friend, a friend tried and true in difficult times. Had we not won, you and I would have been hanged together.”

  Ewing’s eyebrows knitted together, he leaned toward Yancy. “What can I do? You have only to ask.”

  Yancy swallowed. “I found Black Knight. I carted him to the barn, where your most excellent daughter is going over him with Barker O. and Jeddie. He’s had a tooth knocked out, has cuts everywhere, and his tendons are bowed. Someone was brutal to the magnificent creature.”

  “I am so sorry. Is there any possibility to find out?”

  “The man who brought him to me is a farmer in Goochland County. Appears educated. He said the animal wandered onto his farm. He patched him up as best he could. A visiting neighbor recognized Blackie from the races. I expect most of Goochland County was there. So I paid the fellow for his troubles.” He looked into his friend’s eyes. “I can’t restore him to health. Catherine can. I am ruined, Ewing, ruined.”

  “I thought you profited from the races.”

  “I did. I repaid my debts to Sam Udall. I hired a lawyer since Maureen threatened to sue me for the loss of William. Why in God’s name would I be party to a slave escaping on my blooded horse!”

  “Runaway slaves are part of life, but I do think many of us would turn away from reporting anyone escaping Maureen. Her cruelty is anything but casual.”

  “She has backed off her lawsuit, thanks to her husband. The man with whom I fought a duel has become a friend.” He inhaled deeply. “But I have no workers as you know. I can’t afford to house and feed anyone. I can’t afford to pay for an indentured servant from Ireland. I prefer an Irishman for working with horses. And I can’t pinpoint where I went wrong. I did think our new country would have settled its debts by now.”

  “Yes.” Ewing nodded. “If nothing else this gaggle of argumentative men in Philadelphia must do that very thing. How can I help?”

  “Will you take my boy?”

  “Of course I will. When Catherine has him healthy again, I shall return him.”

  Yancy lifted his hands, palms upward. “I haven’t the means to keep him.”

  “What if she gave you a horse bred by him? He’ll never race again, obviously, but when his bows heal he will be able to stand at stud.”

  “Oh, my friend, I can’t race. The time it takes to train. I can’t do it. I have just enough for hayseed, for corn. By the time the hay is ready to be cut, I hope I shall have found some workers, day men.”

  Ewing, voice strong, replied, “I’ll send some of my men. You’ll bounce back. We’ve been through war, floundering after the war, which did go on and on, and now we will survive whatever is happening in Philadelphia. We are men of business. Those who live only by books will destroy us all. I pray there are such practical men in Philadelphia, but we are such men here.”

  Yancy sat a little straighter. “Practicality is in short supply.”

  “Nicely put.” Ewing poured another cup of tea for each of them. “I fear men who do not work for an honest living and I fear even more those men who think they are smarter than those of us who do.”

  “Lately, I have been wondering were we pushed into the war, did we understand the problems or were we goaded into it? Did England think we could be dashed, humbled then subservient? All profits flowing one way, so to speak.”

  With certainty Ewing responded, “We were provoked. We would settle one insult, which would be followed by another outlandish tax. But no matter what, the profits would not flow one way. The English can’t get enough of our tobacco, hemp, indigo, cotton, and rum. They have to do business with us and, really, where else in the world is there tobacco? If another nation tries to grow it from our seed it will not be Virginia Burley.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I hadn’t either until you brought it up. Now see here, Yancy. You’re tired. You’re in constant pain. Your spirits are low. But you are a resourceful man. Let us just get through this growing season. You will make a profit even if Mother Nature is difficult. We can sort things out after that and”—Ewing put this hand on Yancy’s wrist—“do not now or ever sell your holdings to Maureen Selisse.”

  Yancy’s eyes opened wide. “What?”

  “She is both ruthless and astute. You own highly productive land. She’s trying to beat you down. Jeffrey has dissuaded her from a lawsuit but she’ll come up with other ideas. You know she’s on her way to England.”

  “I had heard. I gave it no credence.”

  Ewing smiled broadly. “It’s true. She is sailing to meet with Charles’s deeply indebted brother to buy a title.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Isn’t it though.” Ewing laughed again. “Now ease your mind. Black Knight will thrive, as will you. Shall we walk down to the stable so you can say goodbye?”

  Yancy’s eyes misted, he shook his head. “Thank you, no. Perhaps when time passes.”

  “Of course. Do you think William was the perpetrator of his suffering?”

  “No. I think William dismounted, took off the tack, stored it somewhere, then made his way either downriver or to the coast. Blackie wandered for who knows how long, possibly picked up by someone who thought they had a new horse but couldn’t ride him. He’s a lot of horse. I expect he was badly beaten and I expect the violence put him further out of reach. Apart from my ill-fated duel, I don’t really believe in violence.”

  “I understand, but I see little hope of men doing otherwise.”

  “Yes.” Yancy stood as Ewing did, the two men walked down the hall to the large door where Roger was waiting, which meant he’d heard the whole thing. Roger bowed as Yancy stepped out, Ewing alongside.

  His cart, coming up from the stable, was a sure sign that Roger overheard all, then sent his son down to alert the boys to ready Yancy’s cart and drive it to the door. Ewing knew this, of course, but pretended otherwise over the years.

  Clasping Ewing
’s hands in both of his, Yancy said, “I shall never forget your kindness.”

  “All will be well. Truly, all will be well.” He watched as his friend drove his heavy-boned draft horse down the long drive of Cloverfields.

  Ewing pulled out his gold pocket watch, checking the time, whispering to himself, “I swore I wouldn’t do this.”

  Placing the birthday watch back into his vest, he walked down to the stable, where Black Knight stood in a large stall, Catherine on one side, Jeddie on another, and Barker O. in front just in case.

  Slowly approaching so as not to frighten the animal, Ewing asked, “How bad is it?”

  “Hay, some good oats, he’ll fill back out,” Catherine replied. “Fortunately his hooves are good, no damage.”

  Jeddie, out of the sling at last, knelt down holding a heavy warm cloth on Black Knight’s forelegs. “Bows.”

  “Yes, so Yancy said.”

  “He’ll recover. The scar will be prominent but he’ll actually be ridable, nothing hard. He’s got quality.” Catherine admired the fellow.

  “He’s yours. Yancy has given him to us. He can’t afford proper care. Hard times.”

  Barker O. turned his head slightly.

  “Father…” She changed her mind, said to the men, “Let’s turn him out next to Reynaldo. It’s a small paddock. He can walk about and eat. The last thing he needs is to stand.”

  Quiet for a moment, the skinny Black Knight sniffed then dashed to the end of the sizable paddock. Reynaldo, in the adjoining paddock, let out a holler, which Black Knight returned. Then he ran to the fence line, where the two stallions stared at each other.

  “They’ll work it out.” Barker O. smiled.

  “I’m rather glad I don’t know what they’re saying.” Catherine laughed, happy to see an abused animal bright again.

  Love could heal most creatures.

  Piglet joined them, interested in the new horse and wise enough not to chase him. Piglet did, however, herd Ewing, Catherine, Barker O., and Jeddie toward the fence line, feeling it his duty to watch over them as they watched the two boys fuss at each other. Lots of flared nostrils, snorts, turning in circles, bucks that finally settled into biting. It was occurring to Reynaldo that he was stuck with this fast horse whom he met at The Levels, just as it occurred to Black Knight he had arrived at paradise.

  That gorgeous June day, wind ruffling manes and Catherine’s long hair, no one knew if they would have a country that held together, but at that moment the Blue Ridge Mountains promised permanence: the rolling fields, shoots now above the ground offering a form of hope. In time Cloverfields would fall to the ground, the outbuildings and stables dwindle into disrepair.

  None of them would live to see that, thankfully, but the mountains would stand. Each of those humans and even the corgi would live full lives, painful, joyful, complete, and their bloodlines would flow through the centuries along with the two stallions’.

  Old people would say then as now, “Blood tells.”

  And so it would.

  46

  February 24, 2017

  Friday

  Branches scraped against the handblown panes of the windows in Harry’s old farmhouse. Cooper, Tazio, Brinkley, Pirate, Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter reposed in the living room. Well, the animals reposed, the humans sat in chairs with Tazio on the sofa, Brinkley glued to her.

  “Just never ends, does it?” Harry glanced out into the early darkness as a branch’s high-pitched noise captured attention.

  “A fire makes everything pleasant no matter what happens outside.” Tazio looked into the gathering night.

  Cooper, hand on Pirate’s head as he sat by her chair, sighed. “You two nearly got killed. I’ve cussed you before and I’ll cuss you now.”

  Harry defended both of them. “We had no idea. Admit it, neither did you.”

  “We were closer than you think. The killer of both Gary and Lisa had to know their habits, which meant a close friend or a close coworker. We even hired a handwriting analyst to study people’s handwriting, including yours, and that opened the door a wedge.”

  “How so?” Harry asked.

  “The rental car papers for Enterprise. Remember the car left across from Legacy Market in the snowstorm? The papers were under a false name, false but with a really good counterfeit driver’s license. Raynell had incredibly well-made false papers for whatever she needed.

  “We began to focus on her, Felipe, and the head of Nature First down in Richmond. Each of them had a work record that could be traced. Darla, Raynell’s real name, had a great cover. She really did work for other nonprofits.”

  “So she’s a professional killer?” Tazio wondered.

  “If she has to kill, she will. But she can root out whatever the company that hires her needs. She can also set up stings.”

  “Like what?” Harry watched the flames edged in blue.

  “Trap a rival executive or politician either with a drug setup or a gorgeous call girl. Obviously, she’s good at what she does. Born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa. How she got into this business…well, she won’t admit she’s in it.” Cooper shrugged. “They never do and their bills are paid by some of their former customers. If she takes the rap she will come out of jail even richer. Some system, right?” Cooper sighed.

  “You have the 1984 files?” Harry wanted to know about the files, since she’d spent so much time going through the other years.

  “Yes. September 19, 1984, by the Kushner project was a note, ‘E. E. missing for three days. Dinosaur bones found in his trunk. Disregarded as they were not human. Thrown away.’ ”

  “Longer than his other notes.” Harry leaned forward. “Wonder why?”

  “With Edward Elkins’s disappearance, I expect Gary realized Elkins’s gossip about Ali being killed may not have been gossip. Remember, Gary was fascinated by dinosaurs. Also he somewhat knew Ali, who died in 1983. An apparent heart attack, but so close to Elkins’s. He knew what those bones could mean for research and what it would mean to Rankin Construction or anyone hoping to build in Richmond. He got out while the getting was good. He didn’t tip his hand, but he must have gotten sloppy with Lisa. We’re hoping we can worm it out of Darla but she’s a tough nut.”

  “The book?” Harry questioned.

  “Brilliant. She brushed nicotine on the corners of the pages wearing rubber gloves before taking the book to Lisa’s office. In all my years of law enforcement this is the cleverest way I have ever seen to kill someone.”

  “Bunch of bones. People are crazy.” Pewter expressed her opinion.

  “People want to know about the past,” Tucker replied.

  “Who cares? Doesn’t change anything,” the cat rightfully surmised.

  “If humans understand something they feel better. Maybe they feel safer, even if they can’t control anything. They believe it helps them look into the future.”

  “I’ve got news for them.” Pewter lifted her chin. “They’ll muck up the future no matter what they’ve learned about the past. They have no common sense.”

  None of the other animals challenged this view, as there was some truth to it, but why let Pewter jump on her soapbox?

  “Did you ever find the Ducati?” Harry would have loved to have that bike.

  “No. What Rick and I think, especially after talking to the people who study organized crime, is this some form of highly organized crime? No, but Darla is part of a company, for lack of a better word, that destroys reputations and sometimes destroys people. We hope this may lead us to who those people are. We know they are enormously rich and they may be international. We strongly believe they also operate politically, ruining elected officials who might reduce the profits of their clients.” Cooper rested her hands on her knees. “The crime that gets reported in the papers is usually impulse crimes or crimes driven by drugs, lack of money, personal revenge, but drugs usually fuel most of what we see, that or alcohol. The truth is that crimes like this are thought out and carried out by high
ly intelligent people. It’s doubtful that Darla, smart as she is, came up with all of the plan. People higher up created it and, remember, this had to cover up the scientific treasure underground.”

  “How can people stop building? Really?” Tazio questioned. “Ok, the area is incredibly important, not just for a short time, but as we’ve been reading at least two hundred and fifteen million years. There’s no easy answer.”

  “No,” Cooper agreed.

  “So millions really are at stake and not just this project but future projects. Have you thought that Rankin Construction did not act alone?” Harry was trying to put it together.

  “It has occurred to us. State agencies will push into our research and future research, and so will the federal government. Our little county sheriff’s department is about to be overwhelmed by people who think they’re smarter than we are, but we cracked the case. Sean denies everything.”

  “I did!” Pewter shouted. “I saved everyone!”

  “So back to the Ducati.” Harry pressured.

  “We think the bike was either bought or rented by the parent company, again for lack of a better word, and trailered here. Once Gary was killed, Darla drove it back to a rendezvous place or a garage used by the company, where it would be picked up. Again, clever. Almost impossible to trace especially if a dealership is owned by this company. They have fingers in many pies to cover their tracks. Certainly they have a ready supply of unregistered guns. A great deal of crime money is hidden in purchasing small or midsize companies. Sometimes they are silent partners. Sometimes they take the profits and run. The once-legitimate partner can’t report them.”

  “We’re naive, aren’t we?” Tazio suggested.

  “People have no idea of the extent of organized crime. One of the reasons they have so much money is they don’t pay taxes on the big money makers, like this type of operation or drugs, especially drugs. Not a penny goes back to the public, but if drugs, like alcohol, were legal, monies would be available for rehab. And people might be more willing to come forward for help. If they do so now, they’re a criminal.”