Рита Браун: Out Of Hounds

Betty, of course, started. “I had no idea. Not even a hint.”

“No one did, Betty. You’d think seeing all his new purchases year after year we would have figured out he had a sideline apart from antique jewelry.” Sister wrung out a sponge.

“So you think he’s been stealing for years? Art?” Tootie asked.

“Stealing, but I don’t know what. I doubt he stole jewelry, because clients would have sooner or later figured that out. Someone might recognize old pieces. You know, like the Erté ring Yvonne bought last Christmas. It wasn’t stolen, of course, but many foxhunters would recognize it because the deceased owner wore it to hunt balls. That sort of thing,” Sister said.

“He could have pried out the jewels, replacing them with fakes. That would bring a lot of money,” Weevil suggested. “It would, but the people he sold to, like Delores Buckingham, would have everything appraised by a local jeweler. He couldn’t afford it.”

“His jewelry ran to the thousands. Thirty thousand and more for those pieces with big jewels. True old pearls. Think of Antique Hunt jewelry, the stuff E. B. Stutts has. Horns, lovely gold stock pins, lots of crops. Some of it can be a thousand or more but most of it is affordable.”

Betty, using a clean cloth now, wiped down the cleaned bridle. “E.B. can find Jasperware. Do you know how much I want a teapot and creamer, sugar boat? Oh, I love that stuff.”

“Carter’s competition would have been Marion at Horse Country but he wisely left the hunting stuff, the expensive jewelry, to her. Although once he offered a pin owned by the late Mrs. Markey, of her racing colors, all in precious stones. But in the main he did not go for that. And shocking as all this is, he did have a great eye.” Sister gave him credit.

“What were her colors?” Tootie asked.

“Devil’s red and blue. But those were sold to a Brazilian investment group,” Sister replied.

“You can do that? Sell your colors?” Tootie was aghast.

“Yes.” Sister shrugged. “Remember Citation raced under that devil’s red and blue. He’s my hero, Citation.” Sister smiled. “Back to Carter. How did you all know Gray and I were trapped at Pattypan Forge?”

Weevil wiped his hands. “We didn’t. Betty, Tootie, and I had hounds marching toward the Old Lorillard place and they stopped. Just stopped. I could see how intently they listened and then they turned and ran back. I thought maybe they picked up another line. Once I got near I could see Cardinal Wolsey and Aztec, but I couldn’t see you all clearly. Knew something was wrong, then hounds blasted into the forge and he took a potshot at me.”

“For me, I saw Weevil’s horse ground-tied.”

“Same here. Saw Iota and Aztec. Something wasn’t right. All I had was rat shot but it would help.” Betty added, “Of course, we didn’t know who it was because of the black breathing mask, he was all in black with a black lumberjack cap. Hadn’t a clue. But once I jumped into the forge, he heard me and, well, you were there. So I knew he had a gun.”

“You all were incredibly brave,” Sister again praised them, overwhelmed.

Betty laughed. “It’s odd, Sister, but I have been more frightened taking a four-foot drop into a hard-running creek. Anyway, I had a gun.”

“Me, too.” Tootie smiled. “When the mask came off I couldn’t believe it.”

“Evil often wears a friendly face.” Sister sighed.

“That’s the truth.” Betty lifted her saddle onto a sawhorse to start cleaning it. “Think of those people who foster children or take in the elderly then steal from them or the government. The funds for medications alone are enough to motivate someone with no ethics.”

“They’ll cheat on food, too.” Tootie had read of such low behavior.

“Well, ‘Thou Shalt Not Steal’ is one of the Ten Commandments. We’ve been doing it for thousands of years.” Weevil took a toothbrush to the bit.

“Funny. I thought of that commandment days ago after a painting theft. I guess Sunday School was good for both of us.”

Weevil smiled. “Sure didn’t like it at the time but now I’m glad my mother made me go. You’ve got to learn ethics somewhere.”

“One hopes.” Betty sat down to clean the underside of her saddle. “You know, I’m exhausted.”

“Emotion does that to you.” Sister looked out the window. “Is this spring ever going to really be spring?”

“It’s only mid-March.” Betty reminded her. “Some years the forsythias have bloomed by now. Other years we’ve been buried under two feet of snow. The changing seasons, well, they’re changing.”

“Gray and I truly owe you.” Sister again returned to gratitude. “I hope I can find a way to let you know how much I care, how much I trust you, and…” She teared up. “…how much I love you.”

Betty put her arms around her best friend. “You’d have done it for any of us.” She kissed her on the cheek. “The hell with social distance. We’re all together, anyway.”

Weevil laughed. “You two could be a sitcom.”

Sister wiped her eyes. “Weevil, you could be a movie star. Tootie, too. I’ll spare you hugs and kisses, but when this is over, watch out.”

They all laughed.

—

By six everything was in its proper place, cleaned up, hounds checked again. Betty crawled into her unbeatable old Bronco and drove home to her husband, to whom she told everything.

Running through the rain, Tootie said, “Weevil, come on with me. No point in driving in this.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He ducked his head in his truck, a three-quarter ton, two years old, to fetch the box that Carter had put there a few days ago before all this.

Once inside her delightful cabin with a clapboard addition, she threw him a towel. He wiped his face.

“I’ve got a Crock-Pot Mom brought over. I’ll turn it on. I need to call Mom before Betty does.”

“Why would Betty call your mother?”

“She won’t be able to resist.” Tootie smiled.

Before she could call, Sister rang up. “Tootie, Gray made dinner if you’d like some. And Ben Sidell will be here tomorrow at two. He’d like to see us.”

“Okay.” Then, after declining dinner, Tootie called Yvonne.

Twenty minutes later she walked into her kitchen, where Weevil was stirring the pot. “Smells wonderful.”

“That took longer than I anticipated. Mom had a fit. I told her I was fine. I told her you were here, which made her feel better even though Carter is in custody. And I’m hungry.”

“Me, too.”

They ate the beef stew brimming with carrots, potatoes, peas, and parsley. Neither talked much about Carter. Done is done. Sooner or later the truth would be known. They talked about the hounds, about Tootie’s studies, about Weevil’s mother, who lived outside of Hamilton, Canada.

Finished, Weevil made a fire in the stone fireplace; laid in the mid-eighteenth century, it had warmed many people.

“Mom brought wine. I don’t drink, as you know, but she said you have to have wine, scotch, bourbon, gin, and vodka, as well as mixers. I actually have those drinks.”

“No thanks. If I take a drink I’ll fall to sleep. Apart from the rain and cold, it’s been quite a day. To make it more interesting, I have a little present for you that Carter found for me.”

“Carter.”

“He found exactly what I asked for, so crook that he is, I hope you like it.” He walked to his hanging Barbour, reached into the pocket, and retrieved a small box wrapped in silver paper, the ribbon being navy blue.

She took it. “Weevil, you don’t have to give me presents.”

“You’ve been a terrific whipper-in.”

She slyly smiled. “Does that mean you’ve bought something for Betty?”