Рита Браун - Homeward Hound

“We can’t all fit in the old hound truck. Come on, get in the Bronco. We can wait on the road for Ben.”

The snow continued to fall. Sister and Shaker sat in the truck as the Bronco sat behind them.

Twenty minutes later Ben, driving a sheriff’s department SUV, pulled behind the Bronco, cut the motor, got out as Betty, Weevil, and Tootie also got out.

Sister, seeing them, also opened the door.

“Here.”

Ben examined the crop. “Show me where you found it.”

Except for Shaker, they walked down the road to the spot where Dragon pulled it off the ground, Weevil’s hat keeping the deer antler outline in the snow covered.

Ben knelt down, stood back up. “This would make more sense if you’d found it on the other side of the ridge.”

“Yes.” Sister agreed. “If anyone had driven up the ridge before the hunt here, we would have known. To put the body up he had to come from the other side in the dark. This is almost as if it’s been cast aside.”

Looking at the crop again, Ben nodded. “No tooth marks. Not that I can see. The team will look it over.”

“We found the body. Everyone had to come down this side of the ridge. Well, they went up this side, too. Obviously, there was confusion, distress. Anyone could have walked back here, I suppose, to drop it. What was he doing with it in the first place?”

“Sister, if I knew that, I’d be a lot closer to solving this mess.” Ben sighed. “Do you think you’ll hunt tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The snow’s supposed to stop. We might get a few flurries tomorrow but if there’s any way, you know I’ll go. It’s from Tattenhall Station. I hope you can hunt tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

“It’s occurring to me that maybe, and this is a beautiful crop, he couldn’t bear to part with it. Then realized he must. Who among us would go up and look at the collars of an old, beautiful crop? Crawford has one with gold collars.”

“He would.” Ben looked closely at the crop.

“Whoever this is took off Gregory’s boots. Apart from knowing quality, he, well, I think he’s supremely confident we’d never think of who it is.”

Ben leaned against Shaker’s truck for a moment and the injured huntsman ran down the window. “Sheriff.”

“Good to see you, Shaker. This is odd, isn’t it?”

“Odd. Gruesome. Almost like he’s playing with us.”

“Yes.” Ben agreed.

The others crowded around.

Betty asked, “Any luck with freezers?”

“No. I sent out my team. Members of the hunt club have been cooperative. Margaret got the keys to the Gulf station. I’d hoped that might be the place but no.”

“Is it possible the body was wrapped in plastic, something like that, so no fibers or hair would come off? Even one strand of hair would do it,” Weevil asked.

“It is. This is an intelligent person,” Ben replied. “Well, I’ll take this back. Who picked it up?”

“Dragon. So there might be his tooth marks but I couldn’t see any chewing marks. I don’t think any other animal found it,” Sister said.

Ben peered closely at the crop. “Cost about four hundred dollars new?”

“Yes, the two silver collars make it expensive. An antique one would be expensive, as well. All the fine braiding on the shaft adds to the cost,” Sister added.

“Don’t forget the kangaroo thong and the cracker,” Weevil noted. “All put together, this is worth about one thousand dollars. That’s if it’s a staff thong.” He looked again. “This one’s shorter. Would cost maybe three hundred just for the shorter thong. Must have upset him to part with it, so about seven hundred dollars.”

“Arrogant. Didn’t think we’d notice and you know what, we didn’t. Then he thought better of it,” Betty replied.

“Well, we don’t go up and inspect people’s gear,” Sister responded. “It’s the arrogant part that scares me.”

What also disturbed her was she was observant and logical. She could usually figure things out. Granted, she was not used to solving murders regularly, but still. She felt stupid. A ripple of fear coursed through her. What she didn’t know could hurt her.

CHAPTER 38

Powdery snow rested on the ground. Two and a half inches would allow all creatures to easily move. The sky promised more flurries.

Staff eagerly awaited everyone at the trailers to mount up since conditions favored long runs once scent was found. Given those conditions, the fact that the season would be over in five weeks plus morbid curiosity, anyone who was upright hunted today at Tattenhall Station.

“They take too long,” Aztec complained.

Outlaw, next to him, snorted. “Want to take bets on who comes off today?”

“No.” Aztec felt the reins loose on his neck. “It’s amazing some of them stay on. Look at how a few of them have put on weight. If they go off they’ll never get back up.”

“Christmas. They stuff themselves like pigs. Not all of them but a few. Then spring draws near and they start these awful diets.”

“Luckily, Sister stays the same.” Aztec looked around. “What are they doing back there?”

“Putting on spurs,” Outlaw replied. “Makes them think they have control. Hey, if I want to go, I’ll go. If not, you can’t make me. Of course, I love Betty. She never asks me to do anything foolish.”

“Same here but sometimes things happen. Like Showboat locking up. He’s a good horse. He likes Shaker. The smell just locked him up.”

Outlaw pawed the snow. “Dead stuff. I’m not saying I like that smell but dead human stuff smells different.”

Aztec considered this. “Maybe so, but here’s the thing. If it’s dead, it isn’t going to hurt you. I’d be a lot more frightened of a mountain lion.”

Outlaw stopped pawing, started to agree with his friend, then sighed with relief. “Thank God. They’re all mounted.”

“Good day. Just feels right.” Aztec moved forward as Sister pressed lightly with her leg.

“Hope so.” Outlaw obeyed Betty’s instructions. “We can compare notes back at the trailers.”

Weevil headed for Old Paradise as Crawford, riding up front with Sister, had agreed to a joint meet. He needed to get his hounds out. They hunted well with Jefferson Hounds.

Skiff rode next to Weevil, who carried the horn for both packs. He offered this honor to her but she thought hunting with this large a field would be useful for him.

Shaker, in the car with Yvonne and Aunt Daniella, kept up a running commentary that the ladies vowed never to repeat.

Sam agreed to whip-in, which he usually did for Skiff. He took Weevil’s former position as tail whip. He could have stood on ceremony, rode with Tootie or Betty—he was entitled—but he wanted to make sure the pack would hold together.

The first jump in Crawford’s fence line, all new stone fencing, was easily cleared. The jump was the same height as the exorbitantly expensive stone fence, except the stone top was six inches lower. On this depression was laid a log. If a horse rubbed the jump, their hooves wouldn’t touch stone but wood, which was just a bit more forgiving.

“I’ll stay away from the buildings if I can,” Weevil told Skiff.

“Good idea. We’ve got a fox in the old stable. There are others under some of the outbuildings. If we hit a line it’s possible we’ll wind up at the outbuildings, but no reason to start there.”

He nodded, put his horn to his lips, and blew “Lieu in” as well as saying it.

Hounds eagerly rushed to a small thicket in a tight roll of the land near the road. Weevil’s idea was to head south, then, after covering all of Old Paradise, to move west to the woods’ edge.