Рита Браун - Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

In his commanding voice, Crawford said, “There is another way.”

The eleven other trustees stared at him as did the headmistress, Isadore, and the two other school administrators present.

“How?” Charlotte asked.

Never averse to being the center of attention, Crawford paused for a moment, then launched in. “We can’t create scholarships without creating more infrastructures as has been noted.” He couldn’t bring himself to credit Sister but she enjoyed that he had to acknowledge her concerns. “Custis Hall can create outreach programs. There’s no reason why we can’t rent space for early evening classes, weekend classes in Charlottesville, Waynesboro. Bringing in students who don’t live on campus is cheaper than construction. Yes, it takes planning and we would need to augment salaries for those on the faculty willing to do this. But even if we had to hire some new people, it’s more cost-effective than housing twenty or thirty new students on campus.”

A long silence followed this, then everyone talked at once, sparked by Crawford’s vision.

Sister, who always made a point of sitting next to him on the principle that you keep your enemies close, touched his forearm. “Brilliant, Crawford. Thank you.”

He nodded, then looked up as Phil called over the chatter, “Crawford, the old Chetwynd offices are serviceable in downtown Charlottesville. They need a bit of rehab but I could do that as a gift to Custis Hall if the board pursues this.”

Charlotte pounced but softly. “Phil, that is extraordinarily generous. Well, Crawford, you’ve given us all something exciting to consider. I don’t want this to slip away, frittered away in committees, so may I ask the following to be done for our next meeting? Crawford, would you examine our curriculum and determine what you think would be suitable for satellite locations or even e-courses? Most all students have access to a computer now.”

Apart from the reception to his idea this flattered Crawford, who assumed she’d always limit his input to financial matters. “Of course.”

“Phil, given your family’s long association with the area, might you explore other potential locations?”

“Are you willing to decentralize enough so that we could offer classes in Waynesboro and over by Zion Crossroads?” Phil inquired. “In that way, we could bring in students from western and eastern counties. Zion Crossroads could serve Louisa, Fluvanna, possibly even Orange. There are a lot of bright kids out there.”

“Hear. Hear,” Mercer said.

“Mercer, are you willing to secure, or even procure, the numbers of students in area schools who score in the top ten percent at their school, the ones with good grades?”

“Of course, but Charlotte, there are kids who aren’t doing well scholastically who would if we could just reach them.” Mercer truly cared.

The headmistress smiled for she, too, wanted to find those diamonds in the rough. “You’re right, but we may have to work up to that or find an efficient way to identify them. I know test scores aren’t always the answer; the answer is and always will be educators who take an interest in their students, which brings me to you, Lucas.” She addressed Lucas Diamond, who had worked in the State Education Department. “Find those teachers.”

He looked up at the ceiling, then around the table. “Well, if you all can do what you’re going to do, I will do my part.” Then he laughed.

“What about me?” Mary Wainwright asked plaintively.

“Mary, this board and me in particular are going to shamelessly abuse you.” That got everyone’s attention. “Once we have a plan, you are going to give a concert to raise money.”

All eyes were on Mary as she dramatically breathed in, then said saucily, “I will raise so much money you’ll be able to build a satellite campus.”

The room cheered. Sister thought it was the best board meeting she’d ever attended.

As it broke up, knots of people conferred and she found herself with Phil and Mercer by the long polished sideboard against the wall.

“Hey, to switch the subject, Sister, I know Lafayette is getting on. That fellow has to be fourteen or so, right?” asked Phil.

“We’re both getting up there.” She smiled at the thought of her aging horse.

“Keepsake and Rickyroo must be close to their early teens, too, if I recall,” Phil continued.

Mercer teased, “I feel a horse deal coming on.”

“I have a two-year-old and a three-year-old. One is by Guns and Roses and the other by St. Boniface, out of solid mares but they don’t have the speed for the track. They have good minds. Why don’t you come have a look?”

Crawford joined the group. “Phil, thank you for bringing my hounds back the other day.”

Knowing the history between Crawford and The Jefferson Hunt, Phil said, “It was Sister’s idea.”

As this transpired, Mercer glanced at his iPad, which showed he had a new e-mail. He checked on the message. “Sister, thank you,” Crawford said, doing the right thing.

“Crawford, they hunted wonderfully well under Shaker and they are in good flesh. Very handsome hounds.” Sister smiled.

Clearing his throat he responded, “Thank you.”

“What the hell?” Mercer exclaimed, then looked up. “Sorry.”

“Well, what the hell?” Sister teased him.

“Justin Sautter, with the help of Meg and Alan, have gone through the family papers and found a note about the delivery of Benny Glitters’s slate memorial. Roger Chetwynd”—Roger was old Tom Chetwynd’s son—“Lucius Censa, the Chetwynd’s stable manager, and a Negro worker accompanied the memorial. The Kentucky forensic people said the skeleton is that of an African American male, early forties, old break in the left leg. Anyway, they think the skeleton might be of the man who accompanied the slate memorial from here in Virginia to there. They also found a note in Lela’s hand about the slate and the man escorting it, whom she described as a ‘fine dark man with an adorable little dog.’ I’ll bet that was my grandfather!” Mercer said with excitement.

“I thought your grandfather walked into a whorehouse and never walked out,” Phil remembered.

“Am I missing a good story?” Sister leaned toward Mercer.

“Grandpa Harlan did,” said Mercer, “but I didn’t mention that the whorehouse was in Lexington, Kentucky.”

Phil calmly replied, “Mercer, even if it is your grandfather, why would he end up in a grave with a horse and a dog? It makes no sense.”

“It makes sense to someone,” Mercer’s voice rose.

“I’m sure they are all dead,” Phil replied.

“Well, they may be but that doesn’t mean someone who is alive doesn’t know,” Sister stated as Crawford, Mercer, and Phil looked at her.

“If you all will excuse me, I’m going to concentrate on the living.” Crawford withdrew.

“Me, too.” Phil smiled.

Mercer drew close to Sister. “You’re right. Someone might know. Wait until I tell Mother. I want to know who killed my grandfather and why. Mother’s become very intrigued, too.”

“I can understand that, Mercer, but you don’t know for sure that this body was your grandfather’s. As it was 1921, he must have had late children.”

“He did and my father, his son, had me in his middle years. In my family, we stay, um, virile and healthy a long time.”

“I hope so.” She winked at him.

CHAPTER 7

Cold seeped into Uncle Yancy’s bones. At ten, for a red fox he was old. Quick thinking and cleverness kept him alive when other foxes fell by the wayside. He wondered when his spouse would leave her earth, a spacious den. A nag, Aunt Netty had plucked his last nerve and he had moved out. She said she threw him out. Over the last three years Netty’s expulsions became an annual event based, she said, on his messy ways. She prided herself on a clean den. His version was she didn’t know what she wanted and had turned into an old crank.