Рита Браун - Homeward Hound

“You know I was talking to Sister. She brought up something I would not have considered.” Ronnie leaned forward. “She said whoever strung up Gregory did it before the hunt, in the dark of the early morning, and he was smart and strong. Probably used a pulley.”

“Why would she say that about the early morning?” Dewey wondered.

“Because his tongue wasn’t down on his chest.” Ronnie added this detail. “She said she talked to Ben, who told her the longer a body is hanging, the longer the tongue gets. Gravity just pulls it down.”

“That’s a vile tidbit.” Alida grimaced.

“Is but it’s those little details that often lead one to the right conclusion. At least I hope it does,” Ronnie said.

“My conclusion is this is about the pipeline. No special insight there.” Dewey put his hands around the heavy Styrofoam cup. “Did you read in the papers where Soliden has moved the pipeline farther south?”

“We did.” Alida spoke for her and Kasmir.

“I think Gregory was going to do that anyway.” Ronnie threw that out. “He knew what a mess it would be going up against Crawford and you, Kasmir. Two powerful men. Then again, it really wasn’t the best thought-out route. Too much floodplain, too many historic properties, and then when Crawford brought out the ground-penetrating radar, that did it, although Gregory was gone by then.”

“Why didn’t Luckham just say so up front?” Alida asked.

“Corporate politics. He had a board to answer to as well as the drilling company, which wants the shortest route possible. As for his senior management, I expect they were with him,” Ronnie answered.

“Ronnie, then why kill him?” Dewey asked.

“Damned if I know.”

“What would you do if you did?” Dewey looked at him.

“Go to Ben. Look, what evidence we have points to this being someone in our hunt club or someone close. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake. They always do,” Ronnie replied.

“Just so he doesn’t make it during a hunt.” Alida pulled up the collar of her hunt coat for the temperature was dropping rapidly.

CHAPTER 37

Pale light cast iridescence over the light snow. Watching it, Sister wondered how that could be. Was there enough sunlight behind the clouds to reflect? Whatever it was, the sparkle was beautiful, as was the stillness.

She, Betty, Tootie, and Weevil walked out the hounds Friday morning with Shaker driving behind. He swore he could drive without messing up his neck. As Skiff was working for Crawford, she could only be with him in the evenings and early morning. But Shaker, like most huntsmen, proved tough and determined. Sister watched him climb into the truck without saying a word.

As hounds walked over the road into the wildflower field, one could hear the soft click, click of the snow.

Ardent stood up on his hind legs to bat at snowflakes. The other youngsters thought this was a good idea. Hunt staff laughed at their high spirits.

“I like it when it hits my tongue.” Aero trotted forward.

“Melts,” Audrey replied.

The older hounds walked along happy to be out, thinking the young ones were silly kids but it did look like fun.

Weevil wore Wellies and heavy socks, as did Tootie. Sister wore Thinsulate L.L.Bean hiking boots but she stuffed her pants into the boots. Betty, feet usually hot, also wore a high pair of boots but these were French Le Chameau, terribly expensive but she’d bought them thirty years ago and they were as good as the day she purchased them.

Betty’s motto was “You get what you pay for.”

As she wasn’t a well-to-do woman, she watched her money. If she spent a large amount, the object better be long-lasting; hence the old yellow Bronco.

Shaker hit the horn.

“Hold up,” Sister called out. “He’s having a fit. He wants us to come back and walk on the road.”

“This is one way to keep him from driving.” Betty put her hands on her hips, warm in gloves.

Betty had the secret to staying warm, a high metabolism.

“Madam?” Weevil turned to face his Master behind him.

“If he pounds on the steering wheel, that will be worse than his driving. And here I thought I was being smart. Come on, let’s turn around and get on the road.”

Tootie smiled, looked over at Ardent. “There will be snowflakes everywhere.”

“Good!” The small hound smiled.

“Doesn’t take much to make you happy.” Dreamboat came alongside the little boy. “I think I’ll try it.”

The two of them hopped along side by side as the humans and hounds enjoyed the spectacle.

Tootie moved forward, reaching the wide farm gate first. The snow, only two inches at this point, didn’t bunch up under the gate. Tootie unhooked the Kiwi latch, held the gate; all walked through, then she closed the gate.

A jump was up ahead in the fence line but on foot a gate was easier than climbing over. One never realized the true size of a jump until you tried to get over it on foot.

Sister waved at Shaker, who did not wave back. He crept behind them.

A half mile later they reached the bottom of Hangman’s Ridge. Not only did they not wish to go up there, it was a climb on foot, it was creepy. It wasn’t that easy on horseback, either.

“Let’s hold up for a minute.” Weevil reached into the tool apron, short, around his waist, fetching cookies.

Calling each hound by name, he handed the animal a cookie.

“Milk-Bones.” Dragon complained.

“I like Milk-Bones.” Ardent chewed a large one.

“Greenies. I want Greenies,” Dragon bitched.

“Greenies are expensive,” Pickens said.

“How do you know?” Dragon smarted off.

“I heard Sister and Shaker talk about costs. We get Greenies for special occasions. You’re spoiled.”

“Got that right.” Dasher agreed.

“Bugger off.” Dragon growled, then left the hound circle, veering slightly off the road as the others, sitting, watched him.

“Dragon!” Weevil knew how hardheaded this hound was.

Give him an inch and he would take a mile. Some animals are like that.

“Horn. Deer horn.” Dragon grabbed what he thought was an antler piece.

“What the hell?” Betty stepped toward the hound.

“It’s a crop, a stag-handled crop under the snow.” Tootie wondered how it got there.

“Dragon, I’ll take that now.” Weevil held out his hand and Dragon turned his head sideways so he wouldn’t have to look Weevil in the eye.

Sister walked up to him, grabbed the crop. “Drop it.”

He did. “It’s mine. I found it.”

“This is beautiful. Two silver collars.” Sister held the large crop in her hand, then turned it. “There are engraved initials on the top collar, the widest collar.”

Betty, not worried about the hounds for they were good hounds despite Dragon’s attitude, came over to inspect. “G.E.L.”

“What’s it doing here?” Tootie, surprised as were they all, blurted out.

“I have no idea but I’ll stand here, well, wait—that might not work. Don’t know when Ben can get here. Weevil, give me your lad’s cap.”

Sweeping it off his head, he handed it to Sister. She walked over to where Dragon found the crop, placed his hat there.

“I’ll get you a new one. You all take the hounds back to the kennel. I’m going to call Ben Sidell from the truck.” She hurried to the truck, opened the door, reaching for the phone, an old phone but serviceable, affixed under the dash.

The others could see her dialing as she was talking to Shaker.

Hounds, aware of the emotions, quietly went back to the kennel, where Weevil, Tootie, and Betty put them up.