Рита Браун - Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Desperately needing a drink, Sister trod toward the bar once the discussion wrapped up. She heard Phil say to Mercer, “Do you live to make life difficult?”

Mercer replied, “No, but I want to know really what’s in my Dixie Do,” he said, naming his horse.

“You know he goes back to Dixieland Band. He’s a foxhunter, Mercer. It’s irrelevant.”

“I’m on a DNA kick,” Mercer replied defiantly.

Sister thought that Mercer really couldn’t let things go. She just hoped he wouldn’t blurt out that Ben Sidell had asked them to review pedigrees. “He wouldn’t,” she thought.

Prudently, she sought out Ben once she had a cup of tea in her hand, and reported what she’d overheard. “Hopefully he’ll stick to Dixie Do.”

Ben shrugged. “I think he will, but I’ll just give him a reminder.” With that, the sheriff made straight for Mercer, grabbed his elbow, saying to Phil, “Excuse me one minute, Phil.”

“Of course.” Phil went looking for Sybil, as he wanted to know what the whipper-in thought of the day.

“Mercer.” Ben fixed his gaze on the man. “Best not to discuss DNA or anything.”

“I’m not.” Mercer’s eyes opened wide. “But I’m curious about my horse. That’s all.”

“Well, keep it at that, will you?”

Sister sidled up to Gray, who inhaled deeply. “Ah, yes, fresh fox.”

“Honey, is it that bad? I walked the Z’s to the back room. We’ll wash them tomorrow.”

“I’ve smelled expensive perfumes that weren’t as potent,” he teased her. “Hey, you can never predict what will happen.”

She put her arm through his. “That’s the truth.”

CHAPTER 27

“Those little skulls with the glowing eyes have got to go,” O.J. whispered as she rode up to the Saddlebred barn with Sister Jane.

“They are creepy,” she agreed.

Woodford rode out with The Jefferson Hunt on Thursday at Oakside for the first of two joint meets. The field numbered thirty-five people—good for a cold rainy day.

Vicki Van Mater and Joe Kasputys drove down from Middleburg again to add to the mix. Along with their horses, their two German shepherds, Ben and Gandy Man, rode along. Vicki and Joe would laugh that the dog Ben was smart enough to do police work like the human Ben. While Vicki and Joe were intelligent, neither Ben nor Gandy felt their humans were in the German shepherd league. Much as they loved Vicki and Joe, they felt they needed guidance.

While the rain wasn’t pounding, it slid inside collars and down the insides of boots if even the tiniest gap occurred. Cold feet were bad. Cold wet feet were even worse.

The Saddlebred barn emanated fright in the steady rain. The water washed the glowing skulls so the red eyes popped right out at you.

O.J. stiffened in the saddle as she caught sight of the hanging mannequin. “Dear God.”

“Startling. I bet those pony clubbers screamed bloody murder when they saw that guy hanging,” Joe teased.

Vicki gasped when she saw the hanged man.

Tedi Bancroft chuckled. “It really is awful.”

Vicki replied, “I foxhunt so I can legally trespass and enjoy countryside I can only see from horseback. I may revise my opinion.”

Joe laughed. “I’ll mark the day you revise your opinion.” He heard a hound open. “Then again, what’s a barn of horrors if hounds open?”

The hound was Cora.

The two Masters shut up and squeezed their horses into a trot.

Hounds sang out but the pace stayed at a trot. Shaker stayed behind them, rain hitting him in the face.

Kasmir, Alida, Freddie, Phil, Mercer, Ronnie, Xavier—the stalwarts—filled First Flight, along with the guests. People in this part of the world organized their work schedules so they could hunt at least one day a week—if lucky, two.

Walter usually kept office hours on Thursdays and Bobby Franklin had an appointment today. He asked Ben Sidell to lead Second Flight, which he happily did.

The field crossed a meadow, took a log jump into another meadow, then threaded through woods, tree bark turning darker. Hounds continued after their fox at the same pace.

When they reached the back of this woods, everyone noticed swirling low mist rolling up from the abutting meadow. The swirl turned into a wall, a dense ground fog. The temperature dropped so rapidly everyone felt it. This wasn’t a lower temperature in proximity to water or a dip in the terrain. The mercury headed straight down, the rain continued, but now a pip, pip, pip could be heard hitting helmets.

Joe tweaked Vicki. “Honey, just remember this was your idea.”

As the freezing fog enveloped them, hounds opened wide.

In territory she was learning, Sister stayed on the widest path she could find. Ahead, she could just make out Shaker, thanks to the scarlet coat.

Hounds turned toward them, then veered into the woods again. Staying on the path, Shaker halted a moment to listen.

Twist’s voice sounded the closest to Sister, then he, too, moved away. Sister couldn’t see a thing except Rickyroo’s ears and neck. If she stopped, everyone behind her would collide into one another. She thought moving along the outside of the woods, keeping between the trees and the back fence line might work. If nothing else, the fence line was a better guide than being in the middle of the woods in a pogonip.

Did Woodford drag this curse along with them?

No point wondering about that. She trotted along, reached the corner of the back fence and turned in what she felt was the direction back to the barn. No way to hunt in this. The problem now was getting everyone back.

Maria Johnson knew her property but she couldn’t see anything either.

Hound voices echoed in the fog, near, then far, then near again. Sister heard the horn: two beeps to tell hounds and staff where Shaker was.

She thought she heard galloping hooves, perhaps a whipper-in, but that faded away.

“Maria,” Sister called out loudly.

“Yes,” a voice replied, seemingly from the middle of the riders.

“Come up here. Can you?”

“Yes.”

As Sister waited, she felt O.J.’s horse now beside her. “Can you believe we’re in this freezing pea soup again? I blame it on you.”

“And how do I know you didn’t bring it to Kentucky?” countered O.J. “Don’t blame me if we’re in this mess again.” Her voice floated toward Sister.

“Can you see me?”

“Not well.”

“So you can’t see me flip you the bird?”

O.J. laughed. “Sister, I am shocked, deeply shocked.”

O.J. felt a horse slide by her, then she saw Maria. O.J. fell back.

Sister minced no words. “How the hell do we get back?”

“We aren’t far. I’ll ride next to you and when we have to we’ll go single file. I’ll go up front. All right?” offered the blue-eyed Maria.

Sister kept her sense of humor. “Do I have a choice?”

“Come on.” Maria asked her dark bay Thoroughbred, Annie, to walk out.

Ten minutes later they reached another fence corner. Maria turned right, still inside the fence. The freezing rain stung as it turned to sleet, lots of sleet.

People dropped their faces. Gloves became soaked. Those who did as was proper had white string gloves under their girths and pulled them out. They would become soaked, too, but the reins didn’t slip.

There was abundant misery for all.

“We’re almost there.” Maria spoke to Sister.

The next ten minutes seemed like an eon. First one trailer appeared, then disappeared, then another. But everyone did find their trailers.

“Thank you,” Sister said to the much younger woman.

“Do you need help? I can go look for hounds,” Maria volunteered.

Just then they all heard the horn close by. Giorgio appeared, Sister spied a few tricolor coats next to her. Then Shaker.