Рита Браун: Out Of Hounds

He jerked his thumb toward a window behind him, then made a gun out of his forefinger and thumb. She understood.

Betty slowly made her way through the bushes. She knew if she made noise or the black-clad figure saw bushes moving, he’d shoot in that direction.

She reached the edge of the thicket. “I’m over here. You won’t get away with it.”

Carter fired a shot in her direction.

That fast, Tootie, now on the other side of the forge, stood in the open window, fired her rat shot right at the black-clad figure. She hit him. He yelled and whirled around. Gray, tall and strong, pushed him to the ground as he whirled. Tootie leapt out the window, as did Weevil.

The two men subdued him as Betty appeared, her gun held level. Rat shot it might be, but if she shot his face, he’d be blind.

Weevil grabbed Carter’s wrist, his knee in the man’s back as Gray took the edge of his hand and smashed it on Carter’s throat. As Carter started to cough and double over a bit, Gray pulled him back up; Weevil took both balled-up fists and crashed them on the back of his head. Tootie, next to him now, hit him with all her might with the back of the gun. He crumpled.

Weevil reached down to tear off his mask.

“Good God,” Betty exclaimed then went to Sister and Gray. “Are you all right?”

Gray put his arms around Sister. She rested her head on his shoulder for a second then looked into his eyes. “I was scared to death he’d shoot you.”

“Betty, call Ben Sidell,” Weevil ordered, a huntsman used to commanding his whipper-in.

Tootie was kneeling down tying up Carter’s hands behind him with her crop thong. “What’s this about?”

“I made a foolish mistake.” Sister reached for Aztec to give him a pat while the hounds, having had a full discussion with Aunt Netty, came out to sit down by Weevil.

“What could you have done? I mean, he must be crazy.” Betty wanted to kick his teeth in.

Instead she reached into her pocket, pulled out a large handkerchief, stuffed it in his mouth. “I don’t want to hear what he says when he comes to.” She pulled her cellphone from her inside pocket, dialed the sheriff’s cell number.

“Are all the horses okay?” Sister asked.

Weevil whistled as Betty and Tootie called out. Their good four-footed friends came to them.

Cardinal Wolsey said to Iota and Outlaw, “You won’t believe what happened. I knew someone was following us.”

A spirited equine discussion followed.

Betty clicked off her phone. “What was foolish?”

Sister, leaning on Gray now, knew she was more shocked than she had at first realized. “I didn’t think of it until I heard his voice. We were talking on the phone about the new restrictions over this virus. Then he told me the painting of Catherine Clay-Neal had been stolen from the museum.”

“It had,” Betty replied.

“Yes, but it wasn’t made public until the next day and when I talked to O.J., she told me it was not yet in the news and how did I know? I replied that Carter told me. She said he had good connections in Lexington. I never put two and two together. He could only have known that early if he was in on it.”

Tootie, heel on Carter’s tied hands, said, “But Carter didn’t know you realized he told you before anyone else.”

Weevil, brushing his coat where the bullet had creased the arm, said, “He slipped.”

“But so did I. I called him last night to ask about famous art thefts. He knew some and we had a good talk. Then I told him what I thought about Munnings’s first wife, Florence Carter-Wood. I was getting too close.”

They heard a siren in the distance, then closer, then turned off. Ben knew exactly where they were and that the last part would be on foot. He had two young officers with him.

“Sister. Gray. Is everyone all right?” Ben reached them, looked down at Carter. “See if you two can drag him out.” He looked at the crop, knelt down to untie it, handing it back to Tootie, who’d held her hand out. “Can someone tell me what happened?”

They spoke at once as they heard Carter’s feet being dragged through the narrow path. Eventually everyone got their story out except for Cardinal Wolsey and Aztec.

“Bear down on him regarding Florence Carter-Wood,” Sister told Ben.

“I will. Then again, don’t expect anyone in custody to tell the truth. We’ll see.” He looked at the hounds. “Quite a day.”

“Yes, it was.” The hunt staff spoke over one another with the same reply in a sense.

“Does anyone need a ride back?”

“Ben, we’ll ride back. Hounds need to go,” Sister said. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. If we can pin this on him it will be quite a sensation.” Before everyone mounted up, Sister hugged each one. “Sorry, I can’t obey the six feet. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Gray shook Weevil’s hand, kissed Betty then Tootie on the cheek. “I have no doubt he would have shot me or used Sister and me as hostages. Your placing yourselves in danger saved us. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Betty stepped into Weevil’s cupped hand and mounted Outlaw. “You know, the strange thing is, I didn’t think about the danger.”

“Me, neither,” Weevil echoed her.

“Me, neither.” Tootie swung up. “You just act. You know? If you think about something too much you’re paralyzed. All I wanted was a clear shot. I knew Betty was out there. Weevil was next to me, of course. We had to subdue Carter before he pulled the trigger.”

“I owe you my life, Gray’s life. It’s a gratitude that can’t really be expressed.”

“Sister, who knows what you’ll do for us someday?” Weevil replied. “All right, children, let’s walk home.”

CHAPTER 36

March 14, 2020 Saturday 4:00 pm

Shaken or not, when hounds returned to Roughneck Farm at one in the afternoon, chores needed to be done. Each hunting hound had paws inspected before being sent to their kennels with a full stomach. Given the rain, no temperature drop but rawness, Weevil warmed up the food. The kennels, efficient, had a small stove off the large feed room for such occasions as well as for helping anyone in sick bay. Despite all, this had been a lucky year in terms of health. Not one hound came down with Lyme disease, bad sniffles, or deep cuts.

Once hounds were curled up in their bunks and the condos, Weevil and Tootie walked over the herringbone brick walkway to the stables. Laid decades ago, too expensive to do now, the brick had gained the patina of age. Rain or not, Weevil was glad for changing his boots into workboots, a rubber tread. Tootie had done likewise. The adrenaline of foiling Carter’s murderous plans had vanished. They were tired.

Walking into the center aisle, their Barbour coats dripping rain, they arrived to help put blankets on the horses, all of whom had been wiped down then left to dry off totally, which they did.

Those outside were brought in as well, although Keepsake didn’t want to leave his run-in shed. He’d hunt in the rain but he didn’t want to stand in it or walk through it. Finally, Weevil wooed him in.

Sister, surprisingly calm for a woman who had a Glock 30 pointed at her, finished up with Aztec. Betty finished, too.

“Well, let’s do the tack. It only gets more onerous if we wait.” Betty walked into the warm tack room.

The others followed, each carrying their hunt bridle over their shoulder. Then they walked back to the center aisle to fetch their saddles.

Sister advised, “Hang your saddle pads over the railing there. They’re all wet.”

Back in the tack room, bridles on bridle hooks, they worked, feeling the supple leather between their fingertips.

As they were too far apart to talk while bringing hounds back, now they did.