Рита Браун - Out Of Hounds

“You know what I’ve been doing?” Betty waited for all to ask then continued. “The missing fingers. Well, missing from long ago. I’ve been researching this on Google. Nothing really, then Bobby, sitting at the table playing solitaire, piped up ‘Cards.’ ‘Cards! What?’ I turned at him.”

“Cards?” The other three looked at Betty.

“You have a deck in there?” Betty leaned over Sister to open the long thin middle drawer in the desk. “Most everyone has a deck of cards somewhere.”

“I don’t, but I bet there’s a deck in Shaker’s desk. He would play cards with the boys once a week down at Roger’s Corner.” She named the country convenience store miles down the road, which had not been altered since after World War II. Betty opened the drawer in the old schoolhouse desk. “Aha. Now watch carefully.” She walked back to stand in front of Sister.

Weevil and Tootie watched as Betty flicked a card from the bottom of the deck with her forefinger.

“I don’t get it.” Weevil furrowed his brow.

“You saw me do that, right?”

“We all did.” Sister stared at the cards in front of her on the desk as Betty kept flicking.

Stopping, Betty remarked, “If my forefinger and second finger, my middle finger, were cut off at the knuckle, squared off, a proper operation, you would never see me flick a card from the bottom.” As they stared at the cards, then her again, she explained. “Whoever those men were or even what they did now, we may never know, but they knew cards. They were probably cardsharks. Wasn’t Parker Bell imprisoned for gambling? As I recall, Gigi Sabatini mentioned he had had good luck with men who had not committed violent crimes. You know, stuff that isn’t violent.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance but I truly believe there are no victimless crimes. Think of the people ruined when Enron tanked.” Sister folded her hands over the cards.

Betty looked at the two younger people. “You all were probably too young, but Kenneth Lay, head of Enron, misled people, probably the easiest way to put it, falsified profits. He also promised millions to the University of Missouri. Can you imagine the shock? The school had budgeted those millions.”

“So there is no victimless crime.” Sister handed the cards back to Betty. “Actually, in some ways entrenched stupidity creates its own victims. It’s not a crime but, well, I don’t know. How did we get off on this?” She looked at the cards in Betty’s hand. “Okay. What’s your theory?”

“My theory is those deaths are part of a crime network. So Parker Bell and the man in the truck either ran afoul of whoever they were working for or got greedy. They had to be in on the take. As for Delores, killed in the same way, her death is connected to all this.”

“But what take?” Tootie’s voice lifted up.

“If we knew that, we’d know what this is about.” Betty walked back returning the cards to the drawer. “So here’s what crosses my mind. Gigi Sabatini, we don’t really know him. He’s thrown his money around and he hired an ex-con. Maybe he’s pulling the strings. He can’t be happy about the incident on the farm. But I don’t think that’s why Parker was killed. Maybe Gigi does.”

“Gray said Gigi made his money producing then distributing high-grade plumbing fixtures. His products are sold all over our country.”

Betty laughed. “A royal flush.”

Sister appeared appalled. “Do you eat with that mouth?”

Weevil’s eyes widened then Tootie, who had known the two older women since seventh grade at Custis Hall, quietly reassured him. “They’re always this way.”

“Okay.” He smiled.

Betty patted his arm. “Weevil, when you’ve been friends with someone for decades, it all comes out…the good, the bad, the ugly. You know, ugly with shoes.”

“I beg your pardon?” He blinked.

“I don’t know if it’s a Southern expression but it’s an American one. Another one is ‘She doesn’t wash her fruit.’ ”

“What?” He laughed.

“Means someone is crazy.” Betty laughed with him. “Come on now, Canadians must have silly expressions.”

“Mrs. Franklin, we are totally reasonable people.” He busted out laughing and they all laughed together.

“Well, Betty, you and Bobby have given us something to think about.”

“My thought is, there’s money to be made and money at stake.” Betty then changed the subject. “We ought to leave fifteen minutes early tomorrow to get to Kingswood.” She cited a newer fixture.

“Right.” Sister then suggested to Weevil, “Leave the youngsters back. We don’t know this place that well and even though we have the tracking collars, let’s wait until next time.”

“Right-O.” He grinned. “British expression.”

Betty fired at him, “I thought you were Canadian?”

“I am, but we’re closer to the Brits than you are.” He smiled.

CHAPTER 21

February 27, 2020 Thursday

Swirls of sleet demolished hope of warmer weather. Sister, leading the small Thursday group, picked her way down a steep hill made sloppy by the sleet. Sam and Gray rode immediately behind her, as did Kasmir and Alida. Freddie Thomas followed them, along with the treasurer, Ronnie Haslip. Most members had watched the early-morning weather report and snuggled back in bed. Staff does not have that luxury.

Aces led the pack, now at the foot of the hill. Young, he was coming into his own.

“Fading,” Diana alerted them.

Dasher, her littermate, nose down, trotted determinedly. “Here.”

The older hounds paused for a moment. Aces knew better than to forge ahead. One respects one’s elders, regardless of species…well, some species.

“Got to be Charlene and she’s heading home.” Dasher recognized the red vixen’s signature scent.

“What’s she doing over here at Kingswood?” Barrister wondered.

“Hard to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she found something good to eat.” Zorro sniffed then walked over to an opened sardine can, which made his point. “Bet you Cindy Chandler put these out, including on the border between the properties. Good way to get foxes to travel.”

Charlene was traveling at a faster pace, for she knew the sleet somewhat intensified scent. Any moisture gives scent a bit more tang unless it’s a driving hard rain or blizzard. In the prime of life, the beautiful red vixen had heard the hounds before she smelled them and they her. So she gobbled the last of the sardines, a delicious treat, then started for home, but home was After All Farm. Given the drive of the pack, she’d need to duck in somewhere closer.

Heads down, the riders trotted across the unkempt meadow on the Kingswood side of the large open space. Made by alluvial deposits over the centuries it, too, held scent. Not that the humans could smell it, but the old human hunters learned a bit about scent over the years. Mostly they learned that nobody knew what the hell it was. Sure, it’s the odor of one’s game, but why on a day like today is it heating up just enough, whereas on another day, seemingly the same weather, nobody can find a thing?

Betty now rode in the unkempt field on the north side of Hangman’s Ridge. Tootie, thinking ahead, galloped to the far side of the ridge, footing awful, but was ready for a run that might head east. Weevil hung right behind his hounds, who now ran, speaking loudly.

By the time Sister and the field reached the narrow deer path on the north side of the rough stuff, everyone felt grateful to still be mounted. Footing proved awful.

Charlene crossed the high flat plateau with the enormous hangman’s tree in the middle, scooted across it to shoot down the south side, scattering minks who had come back too early, being as fooled by the weather as the humans, as she ran. The minks hurried to their dens. Opportunists, they liked coming down the ridge to the Roughneck Farm side and snapping up leftovers, but they needed to be careful of the house dogs. If weather turned dreadful, there were enough outbuildings to duck into that no little thief need be inconvenienced. These minks descended from the minks at Pattypan Forge and returned there for most of winter. Aunt Netty proved such a boor, the younger ones left early.