Рита Браун: Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

“Right, Dixie had one-fourth Quarter Horse blood. We don’t have any Quarter Horse tracks here, as you know. A very nice horse and”—she inhaled sharply—“back to Eclipse. Mercer knew! He knew if the DNA was what it was supposed to be, and you can trace male ancestors back a few centuries, he’d find Matchem. Dixie would go back to Matchem. He figured out that Navigator and Benny Glitters had been switched. Both were handsome bay horses much resembling each other.”

“But when did he know?” Gray looked to see if there was a date at the top of the page, tiny print along the top. “He knew Wednesday.”

“Let me call Ben.”

“Before you do, should we call Meg and Alan?”

“Not until we are 100 percent sure. There’s no point in creating uproar at Walnut Hall or worse, danger. A killer can board an airplane as easily as someone else and we don’t want to jeopardize anyone at Walnut Hall. We know he was here to kill Penny and Mercer. Let’s wait.”

She rose, phoned Ben, told him what they had, and her fears for the wonderful people at Walnut Hall. Finally, she sat back down. “We’re between the Devil and the deep blue sea.”

Gray put his large, strong hand over hers. “Janie, don’t go out tomorrow.”

“Sweetheart, I have to. It’s a big Saturday joint meet. O.J. and Tootie are up there at Horse Country buying out the store with the rest of the Woodford gang. We can’t disappoint them. And I suspect we are safer in the hunt field than inside.”

“Mercer wasn’t.”

She thought long and hard. “True, but the pogonip provided opportunity. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be clear.”

“All we have is circumstantial evidence. With a little luck, maybe we can flush him out in the open. Ben can’t make an arrest just yet, but we can help him. It seems impossible and yet …” Gray gazed off in the distance for a moment. “And yet it makes sense.”

“Let me make a suggestion. Have Sam take Daniella to the home place. Just the outside chance that she might get close to figuring this out and endanger herself—because I know she’ll pick the phone right up for a loud accusation.”

“Kill Daniella? That’s crazy,” Gray said.

“Exactly. But he is now a little crazy.”

CHAPTER 30

Smoke curled upward, then flattened out from the two chimneys at the Lorillard Farm. Given Saturday off by Crawford so he could help his aunt, Sam fed the wood-burning stove. The fireplace in the living room also roared. The mantelpiece had the flourish of a Grecian scroll. The fire screen, almost as old as the house, had a hunt scene in metalwork across the center. Made at Pattypan Forge along with the fireplace utensils, it bore witness to the artistic urges of those long-dead workers.

Aunt Daniella, wrapped in a rich cashmere shawl, watched him feed more large heavy oak logs to the living room fire, then replace the screen. “You could have ridden today. Mercer would have liked that.”

“Mercer would have liked it but Crawford wouldn’t. He hunts on Saturdays, too.”

She pursed her lips, a thin line of dark lipstick spread on them. “Foolish”—she took a breath—“but entertaining. Mercer never could get him interested in racing. You’d think someone with that big an ego would have jumped right in.”

“A big ego but also a big brain. Very few people make money racing. Crawford believes in profit.”

“Foxhunting is hardly profitable,” she fired back.

“No, but he feels he gets a lot of bang for his buck. His words.”

“Common. Such a common expression.” She sniffed. She shifted in the comfortable chair placed before the fire. “While I enjoy your company, Sam, I don’t see why I must be here. I’m perfectly fine at home.”

“Of course you are, Auntie D, but the sheriff thought you might be tempted to go back into Mercer’s house before they do.”

“He gave us permission to select his funeral attire and Ben allowed Phil to take the current billing file since we have copies and”—she paused—“is there anything else?”

“No.” He lied, nor was he about to tell her about Gray taking the miscellaneous file, which he had already replaced. Gray had gone early to Mercer’s house, before the hunt. “Auntie D, did Mercer ever talk to you about horses’ bloodlines?”

“All the time.” She smiled.

“Did it ever interest you?”

She tugged at the corner of the cashmere shawl. “Not so much, although last week he was completely transfixed—transfixed, I tell you—with DNA stuff. Related to bloodlines, but he started off about a horse bone that is seven hundred thousand years old. He was so caught up—truly caught up and excited—I let him rattle on. That was the only way with Mercer. Even as a child. Remember when he decided to become the marbles champion of central Virginia? I told him there was no marbles champion.” She waved her hand. “So he trooped down to the county courthouse and wrote out a plan for a marbles tournament, handing it to the county commissioners.” She laughed.

“I remember he beat me all the time.” Sam stood up, thinking this would be a good day for hunting as opposed to marbles. “But he didn’t call your attention to anything peculiar last week?”

“Not in so many words, but he was troubled. Penny Hinson’s murder deeply upset him.” She sighed. “He was too sensitive. And overly curious about other people’s lives.” She spoke a bit louder. “Oh, I told Chantal to stay in Atlanta. No need to return. We’ll take care of my boy. I think she was offended but she can be claustrophobic. Well, she makes me feel claustrophobic, although I know she means well.” She gave Sam a sharp look. “Is there no making peace with her?”

“You can answer that better than I. I’m polite.”

“Mmm.” She pursed her lips together, one of her signature expressions.

As the two talked, Sam didn’t let on that Ben didn’t want Aunt Daniella left alone until the department had a bit more clarity, which he hoped might occur today.

Meanwhile, Uncle Yancy had returned to the Lorillards’ mudroom. Knowing two people sat in the house, he was circumspect. That quickly evaporated as Aunt Netty popped up through the hole he’d dug in the floorboards, casting away the rag pile.

“How cozy.” She beamed.

“Netty, what are you doing here?” Burled up in old saddle pads, he lifted his head.

“I wanted to see your place. You have two dens over here, plus this room. My, aren’t you living high? Anyway, I miss you.”

He knew that was a major fib. “What do you want, my beloved?”

“A little warmth. My den at Pattypan is cold.” She was half telling the truth.

“How can it be cold? You’ve got the den lined with straw and grass, every rag you could find and the old roof and sides still stand. That cuts the wind.”

“It’s the chill, Yancy. I feel such a chill.”

He stated flatly, “Life gets colder.”

They shut up and listened intently as Sam had walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, then closed it.

“Does he ever throw out anything good?”

Yancy whispered, “Juicy bones, coffee grounds which are too bitter, but he’s been eating a lot of soybeans and he throws out the shells. I’ve gotten fond of them.”

“Enough for two?”

“Netty, you are not living with me. You’ll try to throw me out again and I’m not leaving.” He paused. “And I’m not leaving Sam. He’s a sweet fellow but sad, so very sad. Every now and then I’ll show myself and he stands still as a statue. I make him happy.”

She frowned. “It doesn’t do to care too much about humans.”