A Hiss Before Dying

by Rita Mae Brown

  “That was not being outmaneuvered, that was being subject to a woman’s whim and vanity. Allow me to emphasize the vanity.”

  Yancy shifted in his seat, leaned across the table. “When Francisco was killed, I offered my protection. In time I thought she would look kindly on my efforts to manage her estate. A woman alone will not be able to control those people. For one thing, Sheba. I believe Sheba is behind the killing and I believe it is that wench’s devious ambition that will bring down Maureen. She doesn’t see it, of course, but Sheba is turning her people against their mistress, and Holloway, lowborn, lacks any ability to rein in such unnatural, such dangerous thoughts.”

  Having no desire to be drawn deeper into anything to do with Maureen Selisse Holloway, Ewing simply nodded, then looked up for the waiter. “Shall we start with bread, Sir? Henry,” he called the waiter’s name, “what has been fresh ground and baked today?”

  The two men met by accident near Pestalozzi’s Mill, where Mrs. Pestalozzi opened an adjacent tavern so people could eat and drink while their grain was being ground. The huge waterwheel turning, spray shooting off the paddles, added to its allure.

  Buying grain, hauling grain down after harvest time was a job for one of his skilled servants, but today Ewing really just wanted to get off his estate so he thought he would pick up a few bags of whatever needed to be ground. Bettina begged for fresh white corn if any had been saved. If not, then yellow and might he find some crimped oats? He listened to her, he usually did for she had a way of framing her desires that made you want to meet them. Also, his late wife prized her cook’s abilities and was happy to consider any purchase.

  By luck, Yancy was there although not on an errand. Yancy did not offer why he was there and Ewing didn’t ask. Everyone showed up at Pestalozzi’s Mill sooner or later.

  A fireplace at each end of the large room, beams exposed, kept the place quite warm in winter. Today the temperature hovered in the midforties, which felt welcome after the deep cold and snows of January and February.

  “Mr. Garth, allow me to bring you a loaf of bread so light, so white, so exquisite it will melt in your mouth,” Henry offered. “And then Mrs. P.,” as she was called by those who liked her, “has made her special chowder, parsley, tiny potatoes, and peas, you know what a good canner she is, and fresh clams straight from the Bay.” Henry half closed his eyes in gustatory ecstasy.

  Ewing, laughing, held up his hand. “Henry, do bring it all and put it on my bill.”

  “Now, Ewing.” Yancy protested but was grateful, for he had come to Pestalozzi’s to ask for an extension of credit—not that he wanted anyone to know.

  He had secured a small loan when in Richmond from Sam Udall but the loan was far from enough should business falter.

  “We will not argue. Your company alone is worth a month of dinners, suppers, and drafts of late-night port.”

  “You never will tell where you buy your port, will you?” Yancy eyed him.

  With a twirl of his hand, Ewing said, “You know, it comes from Portugal and it is dark, deep and dark. Now I do like a tawny port midday, but at night, the end of the day, oh, a rich ruby port or,” he paused mischievously, “a wee sip from something distilled by our Scottish brethren.”

  A glow shone on Yancy’s face as he, too, imagined such beneficent liquids. “Ah, heaven shows itself in many forms.”

  The two chuckled, then Ewing said, “I loved France, but you were there ten years after myself. We’ve never had occasion to talk much about that fascinating country.”

  “You know, Ewing, I thought we Virginians possessed good manners but I felt a rube there. The smallest exchange delighted me. The women, of course, were spectacular.” He beamed.

  “Yes. Yes.” Ewing considered this. “I was fascinated by a glassworks outside of Paris. Then when traveling the countryside I saw how rich the soil, how well organized the estates. I had finished my courses at William and Mary and my father declared I needed seasoning, his exact words. And I did learn, indeed I did, but you did not feel constrained? I felt wherever you were born and in whatever station, there you would stay for your life. And everything, so groomed over the centuries, I missed our rugged forests, our untamed land. Had I not been sent on my Continental tour, I don’t think I would have realized how new we are.”

  “Yes, yes, I quite agree. But unlike you, I envied their stability. Here everyone is striving, trying to rise. Perhaps it is the price of freedom. I don’t know but some days I am tired.” He smiled a bit.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  The bread with fresh churned butter was brought so they began, Henry slicing the bread.

  “Your sons-in-law impress me as hardworking young fellows.”

  “Indeed. As different as chalk and cheese and yet those two men work together in remarkable harmony. Naturally, Charles with his education, well, let me start again. Charles enjoys teaching John a bit of history, higher mathematics. But I think of Catherine, who has a head for figures. And my Englishman,” Ewing grinned, “promises he’s going to teach the children, even the girls. He’s an Oxford man, you know. Naturally, they should learn to read and write but I am not certain my granddaughters need higher mathematics. Then again, the world is changing so quickly, perhaps it will move my granddaughter’s education.”

  Yancy laughed. “That would be a changed world.” He savored the bread. “Ewing, do you have any idea of the size or disposition of Francisco’s estate?”

  “Large certainly. I believe most of the money is in the Caribbean, in her father’s bank. I do think Maureen knows. She is shrewd about those funds. Like you, I question not so much Jeffrey Holloway but the tone of operations on the estate. Such unhappiness.”

  “Never found Moses and Ailee nor the tiny cook’s assistant. Waste of money to print the escaped slave notices.”

  “She was a sweet little thing as I was told.”

  “Ewing, given our problem with currencies, our difficulties with trade, is it possible that Maureen will be financially embarrassed?”

  “We could all be so.” Ewing’s face froze for a moment. “The French, as you know, are falling behind in their payments to their military. I do not know if businesses are failing but I know ours will if we don’t create some form of financial authority. Must you or I create a different set of figures and payment values for each state? How can we do that? And if we are not consistent as a nation, why would other nations want to do business with us? For profitable business, funds should be fluid, Sir.”

  “Yes, yes, I quite agree. Anything not owned outright is vulnerable, and how can one buy? Land values are uncertain. I predict speculators will be destroyed. If the values fall because no one can determine what is what if the value or currency falls, if the states squabble over tariffs, we are lost.”

  “Ah, the chowder. Thank you, Henry.” Ewing smiled at the agreeable fellow who evidently enjoyed all of Mrs. P’s cooking. “Yancy, have you a bank you trust?”

  “No. Given the shakiness in Williamsburg, I moved my funds to Philadelphia, and now I am not sure that was wise. Boston, New York? So very far if one needs one’s funds immediately. On the other end, Charleston and Savannah, also, too far. Richmond is improving but lacks the depth of men engaged in finance that the other cities enjoy.”

  “We’re in a vise.” Ewing thought the chowder remarkable. “I wonder if those among us with resources should not attempt our own bank.”

  This surprised Yancy, his spoon midway to his mouth. “I, well, our money would be close.”

  “Money should make money. The question is who could shepherd the funds, guard our treasure, so to speak. She may not be able to manage her estate, but remember, Maureen’s father was one of the most successful bankers in the Caribbean. Shipowners, merchants from Europe and America trusted him. And he made them money, pots of it. I have always wondered how much she knows.”

  “Yes, Yes…” Yancy’s voice trailed off.

  “And would she use her husband to further her ow
n interests? Could she hide, so to speak, and in hiding take everyone else’s measure? She is uncommonly shrewd. As to her current situation, that has nothing to do with financial acumen.”

  “Whatever she told him, I doubt he could understand it. Jeffrey Holloway is a cabinetmaker’s son and he himself remains a cabinetmaker.”

  “Let us both consider the dispositions of our monies. I have become uncertain. Perhaps if we observe Mrs. Selisse,” he used her old married name, “she will lead us to the right man or men.”

  “Or lead us to hell.” Yancy exhaled.

  November 10, 2016 Thursday

  “Low to the ground.” Pewter sniffed as she looked down from the hay storage, windows open.

  “True. Every dog is bred for something useful to humans. Beagles are bred to find small game,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

  “Well, Tucker is low to the ground and I can’t see that Bubblebutt performs useful duties.” Pewter watched that very same bubblebutt trailing the Waldingfield Beagle pack.

  “Herder. She nips heels,” Mrs. Murphy sagely commented.

  “Nah. She does that to irritate.” Pewter noted the goldfinches flying in and out of bushes. “All that color. You’d think birds would want to blend in.”

  “I don’t know. I guess wings make one superior,” the tiger mused.

  “Certainly not. Cats are the crown of creation.” Pewter lifted her chin.

  Below, Amy Burke whipped-in on the right front of the pack while her brother, Alan Webb, took the left front. At the left rear came Bob Johnson, who like Arie, the master, had such a long stride others struggled to keep up with him, apart from Arie.

  Up front the radiologist walked, his horn hung around his neck with rawhide. On the right rear, Joe Giglia walked, whip with thong in hand.

  Harry, Cooper, and Susan followed the beagles. The pack walked some Thursdays at Harry’s farm. She and her two friends greatly enjoyed the activity done near sunset. Chores finished for all three in their separate duties, walking the beagles provided a punctuation point for the day and daylight.

  In the front of the pack of twenty-one beagles, Empress, a sturdy female with drive, per usual led her friends. The crisp air put a lift to their step. Each human wore a jacket. The harsh cold lurked about a month away but a jacket now was welcome. However, being right by the mountains one never did know. Often storms came up so quickly the weather radar didn’t report them until the fury was right on top of you.

  Overhead, a whitetail hawk circled. Of course, the beagles, too big, couldn’t be snatched up but one could dream.

  Harry glanced up to see the impressive bird. “I can never figure out why some raptors head south in October and others, like her, stay.”

  “Pickings are good here and it’s her territory,” Susan said.

  “You’ve been reading the materials MaryJo has given us for the wildlife group.” Cooper smiled.

  “I have. I’ve always liked watching birds but now I’m trying to become knowledgeable,” Susan replied.

  “Don’t you wonder what she thinks looking down at us?” Harry laughed.

  “Bet any creature without wings looks funny.” Cooper noted Verdi, a beagle, nudging to the edge of the pack.

  “Verdi,” Bob reprimanded her, for she could take a notion and scoot.

  “I was just looking,” the adorable little hound fibbed.

  Tucker stuck close to the three women, for if she’d dashed up front she would have upset the pack. They could tolerate other animals when hunting, ignoring house dogs, horses, cattle as they concentrated on finding and trailing rabbit scent. A walk was a different matter. Minds could and did wander occasionally and another dog might upset the applecart. A cat, especially Pewter with her smart mouth, would definitely break their concentration of staying together.

  “Lot of game here,” Verdi whispered to Cyber, next to her.

  “We can’t do anything about it if he doesn’t tell us to ‘Find a rabbit!’ ” Cyber groaned. “I even smell grouse. Don’t smell much of that anymore.”

  They walked a mile out, along the creek, then a mile back cutting through the harvested fields readied for the winter.

  Once back at the farm, all stopped as the hounds drank water, waited to be picked up and put in their small wooden trailer.

  Cooper parked the black Tahoe next to the barn where the trailer was also parked. She’d picked it up from the dealer, late. Darrel dropped her off and she just ran out of time. She’d take it back to the sheriff’s department in the morning.

  “I can smell the dead man’s scent.” Empress lifted her nose, for the Tahoe’s windows were open. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”

  Curious, the whole pack sidled over to the Tahoe as Amy and Alan quickly walked to each side of them.

  “Hold,” Amy commanded.

  Empress lifted her nose. “Faint but him.”

  Virgil, on his hind legs, put his front paws on the driver’s door. “Perfume.”

  Empress copied him as Amy carefully pulled the beagles down so they wouldn’t scratch the black SUV. “Perfume or cologne. There was a woman in this car.”

  As sister and brother quietly shepherded the beagles to the trailer, Tucker walked over, lifted her nose. She thought it was cologne but it could have been perfume.

  Once the beagles nestled in their trailer, the eight humans repaired to the now glassed-in porch. Fair readied it for winter over the weekend.

  “We can go inside,” Harry offered.

  “It’s so lovely. There won’t be many days when we can even sit out here.” Amy pulled out a chair by the small round table. “It’s not cold here, a little chilly maybe but not bad.”

  “Well, let me just start these warmers. Once the sun sets that mercury will plunge.” Harry positioned two tall warmers, the kind used on restaurant patios.

  Immediately, the air warmed. Arie brought out his tin of cookies and a drink called The Ridge Lee Special. Harry ducked inside the kitchen, returned with a Pabst Blue Ribbon for Bob, a Corona Extra for Cooper, sweet tea for those who wished it.

  “Anyone want hot tea or coffee?” Harry offered. “Food?”

  “No, sit down.” Alan encouraged her by pulling out a chair.

  They ate their cookies, chatted as the rays of the sun grew ever longer. The cats had moved to the opposite end of the barn. They could be seen sitting in the open second-level doors.

  “Looks like you put up good hay. The cats are guarding it.” Amy laughed.

  “You know, our hay crop was spectacular this year.” Harry grinned.

  Arie asked Cooper, “Any progress on the murdered man?”

  “Nothing dramatic, but we know he was a high-priced private detective on a case.”

  “Anyone know the case?” Alan inquired.

  “Not yet, but we know it involved Charlottesville. It could be something as simple, as common, as Charlottesville being a drop for drugs. The town is central to the state. The train runs through it twice a day, the passenger train. Freight more often, but the schedules are erratic. Thanks to 64,” she named the east-west interstate, “anything can be easily moved east to west, Route 29, north or south. If this isn’t an illegal something, Charlottesville a hub of distribution, it’s some kind of stopoff. But we don’t know what yet. The drug-sniffing dogs crawled over that Tahoe. Nothing. Very sad.”

  “That there weren’t drugs? But he was a PI,” Susan, being logical, pointed out.

  “No, not that he was carrying anything, but black Tahoes, with black-tinted windows, are a big fav with criminals, rock stars. We’re trying to put this together. Why the Tahoe?”

  “Black Tahoes with black-tinted windows are also favored by our government, federal,” Bob noted. “The other vehicles are all marked. But if an important person is on the move, there are decoys, unmarked cars. This fits the bill.”

  “Does.” Harry thought about it then turned to her neighbor. “What are you doing with the Tahoe?”

  “Picked it up from the dealer. The
y know their cars better than anyone so our forensic team worked with Price Chevrolet. They took this car apart. Everything. Nothing.”

  “Dogs should do their work. Humans miss too much,” Tucker announced.

  Harry gave the corgi part of her cookie. “But, Cooper, what are you doing with it?”

  “I was late picking it up, so I called Rick and he said drive it home, bring it in tomorrow. It’s terrific to drive. Has everything, I mean this thing is loaded.”

  “Loaded and expensive,” added Harry, who kept up with such things. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like one.”

  “What’s wrong with your Volvo station wagon?” Alan liked the Volvo.

  “Has just over two hundred thousand miles, that’s what.” Harry slumped in her chair.

  “The engine’s just getting broken in.” Arie smiled.

  Harry fiddled with the Number Eleven chit around her neck.

  Noticing, Bob remarked, “Isn’t that what the man we found wore?”

  “He wore Number Five. I bought this from Liz. She had a whole bag full that she bought from Hootie and Martha Henderson. They found them in their attic when they did some work on the house. Found old accounting books, too, all the way back to 1786.”

  “Wow. They might be valuable,” Amy said.

  “Hootie will allow me to read them and I asked Tazio to help. What I’m thinking is what if slave prices are in the book? We know Ewing Garth didn’t sell anyone on his holdings here but he surely would have noticed costs. And if not that, I’m sure he would at least have noted the price of flour, fabric, medicines, stuff like that. Anyway, maybe we can get them, if they do contain that information, for the schoolhouses.” She then told them the idea about actually using the old buildings, about thinking of a fund-raiser for Save the Old Schools.

  “Wonderful idea. Put the kids right back in time.” Bob smiled.

  March 19, 1786 Sunday

  “You’d think after sitting in church this morning, they would curtail their activities.” Mignon mentioned the nearly full house.