Рита Браун - Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Sister handed him two envelopes, one with Phil’s name on it and one with Ignatius’s name. It is customary to tip anyone who shows a horse at a breeding establishment and customary to tip anyone who delivers a horse for you.

Ignatius, naturally, did not open his envelope. Sister had a blue chip reputation for doing right by people.

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot. I was standing here flapping my gums.” He reached up, placing the envelopes on the seat of the truck, then dashed to the back of the trailer. “Present from Broad Creek.”

“That Phil.” Sister shook her head.

Phil had sent Matchplay’s and Midshipman’s winter blankets along. It is customary to send a halter with a sold horse but as blankets can cost upwards of $300, depending on make and style, this was quite a gift.

Ignatius smiled broadly. “He says nothing is too good for the Master.”

As Ignatius drove off, the two new to-be-foxhunters watched the rig.

“I don’t want to do that again,” Matchplay declared.

“What, worm?” Aztec called over the fence.

“Get on that machine,” the young Thoroughbred answered.

“Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn.” Keepsake laughed.

Midshipman prudently said nothing.

Back in the house, the two women hung their coats in the mudroom, eagerly stepping into the warm kitchen.

“Some days I feel colder than others, even if the temperature is the same,” said Tootie.

“Weird, isn’t it?”

The two sat down to pore over the pedigrees. Gray came into the kitchen and Sister told him the two geldings had arrived. He sat down at the table with them.

“Would you all like anything hot to drink?” Tootie offered. “I’m still cold.”

“Sure,” Sister said. “Surprise me.”

“Me, too.” Gray allowed Golly to jump onto his lap. “Just got off the phone with Ben. He asked for you to call him.”

“Ah. I will after”—she turned her head—“the hot chocolate.”

“He asked me to recommend a forensic accountant. Not from the area.”

“I suppose you can’t mention the case.”

“Actually, I can. Ben wants someone to go over Penny Hinson’s books—anything relating to billing, accounts receivable, and cost of supplies.”

“Someone not from here?”

“Well, it is better, and I recommend Toots Wooten in South Carolina. She won’t miss an errant comma.” He smiled. “Being an accountant in some ways is consoling because you do find answers in black-and-white. The problem is when you start thinking life is black-and-white.”

Tootie placed three mugs on the table. “Real milk.”

“Perfect.” Gray appreciated real hot chocolate.

Sister held the mug in her hands as Gray said to her, “I’ve been thinking about Benny Glitters, what you said the other night, and I don’t think we should tell Mercer. For now.”

“He’ll run to his mother with it?” Sister’s voice lifted up.

“Yes, then who else will he tell? And God only knows what Aunt D will do.”

Sister spoke to Tootie, “While you were reading Surtees after the hunt, Gray and I pulled up Benny Glitters’s pedigree. He is Domino’s son. Then Gray got his race record. Started out pretty good, then back of the pack—pretty much what we’d heard his story was.”

“Doesn’t Mercer know all that?” Tootie inquired.

“He does, but Crawford said something at the breakfast, kind of an offhand remark. He said it wasn’t the human in the tomb that mattered, it was the horse.”

This startled Tootie. “That’s strange.”

“This is me—not Gray or anyone else—but I have a feeling I can’t shake. Penny Hinson’s murder is somehow connected to all this.”

Tootie said, “How?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Let me call Ben back.” Sister rose, walked into the library and dialed.

Whenever possible, Sister used a landline. If the government wanted to, they could put on a tap like in the old days, but all the new technology—cell phones and computers—attracted them more because more people used them. Also, they were easier to hack. Corporations could spy on one another, too. It wasn’t that she had anything to hide, it was just that she was of a generation that valued privacy.

“Ben.”

“Good of you to call,” the sheriff said. “You asked for any bloodline research on Dr. Hinson’s computers. She had the breeding for all of her patients—I guess I call them patients—who had breed registrations. In the case of a backyard horse, she listed the parents if the owners knew. But she did have all the breed registrations and she also did research as you mentioned concerning the, I can’t pronounce it—”

“Przewalski, forget the Pr, say it like a Cz.”

“I expect the only way to speak Polish right is to be born to it,” he replied good-naturedly. “Penny had looked into that; she’d investigated gene splitting. Her research was what one would expect of a woman of her intelligence and dedication. But nothing that shouts out ‘danger.’ ”

“Ben, any signs of clients with a drug addiction? Not that she would be dishonest, but sometimes clients can order drugs they don’t really need, even needles, and then they sell them.”

“No. There are bills for needles and ’bute. But again, nothing that would indicate abuse. Let me get back to her DNA research for a minute. Again, I don’t know about any of this, but is it possible to manipulate DNA?”

“In theory, yes. In practice, not so easy.” Sister inhaled. “You’re thinking, can someone duplicate the DNA of a great stallion and not pay the stud fee? Get DNA from a son or daughter? Well, it wouldn’t be an exact duplication, but when you consider that some stud fees soar well over $100,000, the motive is there.”

“It occurred to me.”

“Again, in theory, yes. In practice, no. It’s still too complicated. Too few veterinarians would be able to do this and ultimately, they could fall under suspicion.”

“So one would need to be highly specialized for that sort of trickery?”

“For now. In time these things will be simplified, like using stem cells to cure some conditions in horses is specialized, but more and more veterinarians can now do it. Also, Ben, all this takes a fair amount of investing in the technology. But something’s there. Something is right under our noses.”

He breathed deeply. “If only I had a hint as to what she had or knew that was so valuable or dangerous. But then again, Sister, Penny’s murder may not be related to her profession.” He paused. “But I’m on your train. I think it is, too.”

After that call, Sister walked back into the kitchen. “I have an idea. Let’s find every photograph we can of Domino, his sons and daughters, and Benny Glitters.”

CHAPTER 23

Aztec picked his way over timbered acres; an inviting snow-covered pasture beckoned the horse to the western side. Hounds drew through the slash. This last Tuesday in February proved that February was actually the longest month in the year, with grim, cold, sleety, snow-filled days. However, fox breeding was in full swing so frozen toes or not, a true foxhunter gladly mounted up.

Soldier Road ran east to west, with Hangman’s Ridge on the south of that paved road. When Sister hunted from Cindy Chandler’s farm, Foxglove, the ridge loomed as ominously as it did from her farm on the other side of the high, long, flat former execution ground. Driving toward Charlottesville on Soldier Road, one would arrive at Roger’s Corner, a clapboard convenience store at the first crossroads going east from the Blue Ridge. Traveling west, if you drove a four-wheel vehicle you’d eventually come to dirt roads but you could snake your way up and over the Blue Ridge Mountains, finally reaching a two-lane paved state road between Waynesboro and Verona. A turnoff on the left side of Soldier Road would take you to Route 250, a much easier passage over the Rockfish Gap.