Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

“I remember something my mother used to say: ‘Everything matters but nothing makes sense.’ ”

“Your mother was a pistol. Chip off the old block.” He smiled at her.

“Isn’t it lovely to spend time with someone who knew people you knew, such as your parents, who have gone on? Much as I love Tootie and my juniors, there’s a wealth of relationships in my life that I can’t share.”

“But you do.”

“How?”

“By being you.” He reached over to squeeze her hand, then dropped it. “Did I ever tell you that I first met Fonz in the courtroom?” He paused. “He’s a Southside Virginia boy. Came up before me years ago on charges of being drunk and disorderly. He pleaded guilty. I liked him. I threw him in the can for a weekend and made him go to AA afterward. He dried out, stayed dry, and came to my office two years after the incident to thank me. Anyway, we’ve kept track of each other over the years. I was the one who actually recommended him to Mo Schneider. I figured Fonz could handle him.”

“Such a shit Mo was.” She reached in and took a dollar out of her pocket.

“What’s that for?”

“The girls’ kitty.” She explained the kitty, then returned to Fonz. “At any rate, Mo did pay him well and Fonz made Mo look good with the hounds. Let me amend that: as good as Mo could possibly look.” She stopped herself, turning to gaze directly at Barry. “You don’t think Fonz killed Mo, do you?”

“And tied himself up?”

“Now, Barry, you’re smarter than that. He could have had an accomplice who hit him over the head and then tied him up.”

“There is that but, no, Fonz isn’t a killer.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He thought about this a long time, long enough for Sister to refill the tall frosted tea glass. “Under the right circumstances, I think ninety-nine percent of us will kill. But there really are people who will not kill, regardless of provocation. Think of the Quakers.”

“Or the Shakers.”

“Right.”

“What will become of Fonz, I wonder?”

“He’ll find a good job with a hunt club if he’s willing to move. I’ll recommend him again if he asks. By the way, if you want those four couple of hounds, I can arrange for him to bring them to the Virginia Hound Show.”

“Perfect. And Barry, I’ll pay him for all this.”

“Anyone who knows you knows that. I’ll call him before I go back to Richmond.”

“Thank you for securing those hounds for me,” said Sister. “If you say they’re good, they’re good.”

“Sweet flattery.” He sighed. “As I age, I’m much better at recognizing flattery. When I was young, filled with typical male conceit, I believed it. Now I’m afraid I’m turning into an old bore.”

“You’re never boring. People truly want to know what you think, like Ray with the market. Some people are uncanny, and your legal experience plus all the backroom stuff from the Democratic Party in the good old days? There’s a lot of gold there.” She tapped her temple.

He smiled. “Yes, I suppose, but more and more I know I must leave this earth. I’m in rude good health, it’s not that, but I am in my middle seventies. I can’t live forever, nor do I wish to do so. But on the other hand, I so love life. I hate knowing I’m on the home stretch.”

“I think of that, too. So I run harder. If I’m going, I’m going out a winner.”

He laughed. “Hell, you came in a winner.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“My intent.” He blushed.

“Speaking of Hope, do you really think most people have dark secrets or silly secrets?”

“I do.”

“I do, too. Mine are more silly than dark, but secrets they will remain.”

“Me, too. One of mine did come to light, though, when one of my old fraternity brothers unearthed a photo of when my pledge class was hazed and I was painted blue like a Pict, naked to boot.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“My dick was so hard you could have done chin-ups on it.” He laughed uproariously.

“One of those fraternity brothers must have looked good.”

“Well, I was drunk; I don’t remember any of those brothers looking that good. Nonetheless, imagine if that photo had been available on the Internet when I was in my glory?”

“Imagine the Internet when we were both in our glory.”

“Now there is a scary thought.”

The evening glowed, richer and warmer, until the two of them landed in Sister’s bed.

She awoke the next morning, made them both breakfast, and kissed him goodbye. He’d be discreet. He knew she was seeing someone. She knew the pull of old friends was powerful and sometimes sexual. Sister felt no guilt, but she truly didn’t want Gray to find out.

She now had her own new secret.

He did.

CHAPTER 9

Putting a gun to the roof of one’s mouth and pulling the trigger creates an extremely unpleasant sight for anyone coming into contact with the corpse.

When Sheriff Ben Sidell viewed Hope Rogers at the coroner’s, he was surprised at how recognizable she was. Often people intending to kill themselves get a little shaky at the last moment. But Hope must have had a steady hand. She aimed straight up and slightly back. Neither of her eyes popped out, her teeth stayed intact, but the back of her head was shattered.

Ben had questioned Hope’s husband. Paul had said he’d spent the night with his new girlfriend. Granted, she might be lying for him, but Ben thought not.

Over time in law enforcement he’d learned to read people. He could be fooled, anyone can, but he was fooled far less than most other people.

Friday, May 30, he stopped by the kennels on his way back from Roger’s Corner, a crossroads sporting a convenience store and little else. Someone had cut the lock on the outdoor ice dispenser and stolen half the ice. As crimes go, this one smacked of someone wanting to party who lacked sufficient funds. The culprit had tried to break into the store but the alarm had sounded.

Like Hansel and Gretel, a trail of beer cans would have led the way. Pity those children didn’t drink beer because birds wouldn’t eat the cans as they’d eaten the bread crumbs.

Sooner or later, Ben would find who did it, although the ice would be long gone. Meanwhile, he had more pressing matters to attend to, such as finding Sister Jane.

“Shaker, how are you?” Ben walked to the girls’ yard, which Shaker was picking clean.

“Fine. Yourself ?”

“Good. Is the master about?”

“She’s over at Skidby, and then she’s going to stop at Tattenhall Station to see how Kasmir is coming along.”

“I’ll catch up with her there.” He noticed six youngsters in the side yard. “Is that the second T litter? Can’t believe how they’ve grown.”

“Thimble, Tattoo”—Shaker pointed to a fellow with a sickle tail, a conformation flaw but it was a long way from the hound’s nose—“Tootsie, Trooper, Taz, and Twist.”

“Coming on, are they?”

“We’ll see. Boss and I will hunt them here on the farm mid-cubbing. We’ll go from there. The G litter will hunt from the get-go.”

“That’s a beautiful litter of hounds, the G s.”

“Sure is. Boss told me this morning we’ll be taking four couple of hounds from Mo Schneider’s pack.”

“Isn’t that the man who was found on a track outside of Lexington, Kentucky?”

“Yes.”

“A most unusual death.”

“He deserved it.” Shaker smiled.

“You know, I’d be out of work if people didn’t rob, bludgeon, cut up, and kill one another. The Schneider case is one I’d like to have.” He paused. “Not that I wish such a death on anyone here.”