Рита Браун - Crazy Like A Fox

“It is creepy.” Shaker exhaled so loudly that Raleigh, asleep, lifted his head.

Rooster was knocked out cold.

“Bear with me. If it is a ghost, it is beyond our powers to understand. If it is a live human being, there’s something we don’t know. This is too unusual. I have never heard of anything like this in any century vis-à-vis other hunts. You read about furious landowners, dukes in a snit, someone chasing hounds with a broom, that sort of thing. But a horn call following a hunting call, distant, mellow—beautiful, really. Never. A dead person appearing. Never.”

“Here’s my prediction: We’ll be back at Chapel Cross in about two weeks. By mid-October, you usually go a bit farther for the fixtures. Beveridge Hundred, that’s close to Old Paradise. If we hunt there and we hear the cowhorn again, then I’d say we have a true mystery,” he confidently said.

“Good point.”

—

While Master and huntsman exchanged views in the kennel office, Yvonne sat down at her computer. She’d rearranged some furniture at the dependency, created a small office overlooking the garden in the back. Mums, zinnias popped with color on the first day of October.

Before hitting “send,” she thought a moment about yesterday. When she and Vic used to come for Parents’ Day at Custis Hall, they’d only attended one hunt. Tootie asked them to do so. Vic complained the whole time. Their other visits involved the usual meetings, entertainments, campus strolls for parents. Yvonne was beginning to realize why Tootie loved what she did.

Vic threatened her through his lawyers to her lawyers that he would willingly go to court to prove she was in no way instrumental to the success of his now many business interests. He’d put her name on the documents to please her. Really, she deserved perhaps two million. He felt that was generous.

She didn’t raise her voice; she listened to her lawyers present the offer, as they were legally bound to do. She had been critical to his success, and she knew it. This wasn’t just ego, or a woman trying to prove she was as good as a man. She had been there every step of the way. Those steps added up to triple-digit millions, real power in the state of Illinois as well as a national platform, thanks to the magazine and cable stations.

Yvonne, as the younger woman, watched Oprah Winfrey and Sheila Johnson rise. She admired them, learned from them, kept her nose clean, literally—no cocaine, and the modeling world was full of it. Not terribly social, she watched everyone and everything. Coming from a solid middle-class family, she had acquired a good education at Northwestern University. But it was her looks that put her on the map. She was smart enough to use them.

When Vic came courting, he was one of many. Over time she warmed to him because of his drive, his commitment to economic parity and opportunity for African Americans, and his energy. Also, he allowed her, while dating, to advise him on the fashion section of his new magazine. Her advice was golden. She began to love him.

Not anymore. She hit “send.”

“You reap what you sow.” She half smiled, then repeated herself. “You reap what you sow, Victor.”

Tomorrow, starting with the morning news, her prophecy would be devastatingly apparent.

—

Back at Roughneck Farm, Sunday night, Gray listened as Sister once again ran through her thoughts concerning Weevil. Gray was patient, a little curious.

She concluded with, “I don’t know what the game is, but if Weevil or whatever is out there wanted to scare people, don’t you think he’d be jumping out saying, ‘Boo!’?”

“Let me fix you a drink.” He kissed her cheek, walked to the bar, dropped two oversized ice cubes into a glass, made her an old-fashioned. “Here. Sit down and sip.”

She took the glass. “This will drive me bats, absolutely bats.”

Gray, Scotch in hand, joined her on the sofa. “It is driving you bats.” He changed the subject. “I’m glad we bought that ice machine. Such big ice cubes.” He rattled his glass. “Almost orchestral.”

She smiled at him. Gray could always make her feel better, calmer, more focused. She returned to her obsession. “Any ideas?”

“One.” He leaned toward her. “I’ll ask Aunt Daniella to tell me more. I know she’s holding back. She loves to be wheedled. Maybe she does know more.”

“If anyone knows more, she will.” Sister smiled. “I said I would do this, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. I’ll see if Ben Sidell will let me go through the old files on Weevil’s disappearance. And I’ll see if Marion has come up with something.”

“She’d have called you.”

“You’re right, but I know she’s out there digging.”

“Digging. 1954. Where is the body?” Gray took a long sip.

“Maybe the ghost will show us.”

“You know, you made a good point about whoever or whatever this is not being interested in frightening people. From what I gather, the man—or the apparition—didn’t threaten Tom?”

“No. Just asked a few questions.” She stared out the window. “And he knew we were having a joint meet.”

“Can’t be that hard to find out. He was a huntsman. He understands cubbing. He knows the territory.” Gray put down his drink. “I’m not saying he’s a ghost, but whoever he is, he knows something about hunting.”

She looked into the night, stars now visible. Golly, stretched to the max on the coffee table, snored, a little tiny snore. The dogs slept on the rug.

“Gray, a man disappeared in 1954. He appears to have returned. Why did he disappear? Lots of theories, but no facts. All assume he was murdered. If Weevil is a ghost, he can take revenge if he so chooses. But the time is probably past. Whoever killed him surely is dead—or at death’s door, being two years older than God. Which reminds me, Tom said Weevil recalled some hunt details from his time carrying the horn. Said he teased Tom about whipping-in.”

This made Gray shake his head. “You know, it’s crazy. Flat-out crazy.”

Sister agreed, then said, “If it’s not about revenge, all being dead, what’s left?”

He blinked. “Love?”

“Wouldn’t his love or lovers be dead?”

“What if she had his child? What if the child, who would now be in his or her seventies, was alive? What if there are now grandchildren? Curiosity? Love?” He then thought a bit more. “Money. Some sum that never materialized for Weevil, but was promised. Or maybe he did have the money, or whatever it was of great value, and managed to hide it before he was killed.”

“A premonition?”

“Considering what we’ve learned about Weevil, just the little bit, it wouldn’t take much to have a premonition. Sounds like a lot of men were after his hide.”

“What about a woman?”

“ ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ ” He nodded.

“Given any of those possibilities, what happens if one of us gets in the way?”

Gray, voice low, remarked, “ ‘Gone to Ground.’ Perhaps, we, too, will be gone to ground.”

“With one exception. When the fox goes to ground, he’s safe. I don’t think we would be safe.”

“I don’t think we would be either.”

CHAPTER 17

“Thin gruel.” Sister sighed at the papers she had organized on the table.

Betty, nose to a typed page, agreed. “We hardly ever see truly typed pages anymore. All this stuff was done before correcting tape. Whoever typed these reports was good.”

“H-m-m.” Sister returned to the papers. “The photographs, well, beauties all.”

“Right. Wish there were more photos. I can’t imagine that the women suspected of having affairs with Weevil willingly had their pictures taken.”

“No. The officer on this case did his homework. Look.” She pushed a photograph to Betty. “The illegal still site at Old Paradise. Ha. They knew it was operating. A suspected burial ground. Nothing, of course.”