Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

“I’ll see that it does, if I have to sit on Ronnie.”

Ronnie Haslip, the treasurer, guarded the hunt club money the way Cerberus is said to guard the passage to the Underworld.

“I’ll have to ask Mom and Dad.”

“Tell you what. We’ll go with you.” Sister sounded encouraging, so Tootie wiped her eyes.

They found Mr. and Mrs. Harris chatting with other parents at the tent housing the bar, which was becoming a bigger draw as the day went on.

Gray quietly suggested that they slip away for a moment. Then he presented Tootie’s case as Sister watched in admiration.

Jordon listened intently. “Tootie, pardon my French, but what would you learn cleaning up dog shit? And I’m nervous about what’s been happening at the hound shows. I want you safe.”

Tootie fought her emotions. Her father respected logic; he was uncomfortable with emotion. “Dad, we aren’t going to any more hound shows. I’d be right here. I’m safer here than in the city.”

“She can learn quite a bit with us, Mr. Harris.” Sister’s deep alto already had a soothing effect. “First she would learn responsibility. You two have drummed that in her head but she’d learn even more. She would learn how animals communicate; they do have languages. She’d learn some accounting, because she’d have to keep track of expenses. She’d ride the green horses. And she’d fall in bed each night exhausted, so there’d be no danger of partying.”

Rebecca was tuned in to her daughter in ways that her husband, good man that he was, was not. “Is it possible for her to keep up with her German?”

“Of course,” Sister replied. “One of our whippers-in, Sybil Fawkes, is fluent in German. And if she needs lessons, Sybil will find the right person.”

Jordon’s mind was moving along. “Isn’t she the daughter of the philanthropist Edward Bancroft?”

“She is.”

“Hmm.”

“Where would she live?” Rebecca asked.

“I’d be happy to have her live with me, as long as she doesn’t play loud music in the house.” Sister laughed.

“And what would her board cost?” Jordon’s mind rarely strayed far from money.

“Mr. Harris, not a penny. And the club would pay her minimum wage so she would be learning to manage her own money.”

Jordon stalled. “It’s dangerous, riding green horses.”

“Well, what about seven dollars an hour?” Gray had Jordon’s measure. “That’s quite good for a young person just starting out.”

“Dad, please.”

“Sweetheart, what do you think?” The father had the great good sense to ask his wife before announcing his decision.

“She loves it, Jordy. And Tootie’s not one to vegetate intellectually. She’ll keep studying.” A meaningful pause followed. “She’s her father’s daughter. That mind never stops.”

This had the desired effect. Jordon was caught between three beautiful women, one of whom was his wife. He did what any smart man would do; he agreed.

“Oh, Daddy, I love you!” Tootie threw her arms around her father and then hugged her mother.

“We’ll take good care of her,” Gray said in a low aside to Jordon. “You can be sure of that.”

As Gray and Sister once again walked toward his car, about a half mile away in the large soccer parking lot, Sister mused, “Val will pitch a fit.”

“Honey, she’ll wind up on the farm, too.”

“She has a very good summer job.”

“My money is she won’t last a month.”

“We’ll see.” They walked along, both of them pleased to have made Tootie so happy.

“Damned shame about Felicity’s parents,” said Sister.

“That kid’s learning hard lessons early. She’ll be stronger for this. If nothing else, she knows who loves her for herself.”

“Before Tootie came up I was thinking.”

“Yes?” He smiled slightly.

“Mo Schneider, Hope Rogers, and Grant Fuller—I’m assuming he’s dead, too. Despite all the searching by police, there’s not a trace of him, and it’s been a week.”

“He could have amnesia,” said Gray.

“Possibly. Let’s set Grant aside; maybe he’ll show up in Aruba. But Mo and Hope each had connections to the hunt world and to the Thoroughbred world. So did Grant.”

“Thousand and thousands of people fall into one of those categories. Fewer into both, I’ll give you that.”

“I think these terrible events are connected.”

Gray shrugged. “Janie, people do commit suicide. As for Mo—well, he got what he had coming. But Grant missing? That’s bizarre.”

“He must have known something.”

“The question is, What did he know?”

CHAPTER 13

The Bryn Mawr Hound Show fell on the same weekend as the Custis Hall graduation. Missing it disappointed Sister, for if the Virginia show was all trumpets and cymbals, Bryn Mawr was mellow woodwinds. But she couldn’t be in two places at the same time, and after the events at the last two hound shows, she was almost relieved to stay home.

On the Monday after graduation, Tootie, with help from Val, moved into RayRay’s bedroom at the end of the long upstairs hall. How wonderful it felt to have life back in that room!

Tootie didn’t want to unpack, she wanted to get right to work, but Sister told her to get her things in order first; they’d have plenty to do tomorrow. Val would be driving back home, and she thought the two friends would like time together.

Usually, chore day was Thursday but Sister had odds and ends that wouldn’t wait, so she hopped in the car, hit up Southern States and Whole Foods, stopped by Keller & George to drop off an old watch for repair, and lingered over new watches.

Arriving at the little café early, Sister drank an ice cold Co-Cola and read yesterday’s Times of London, her favorite newspaper despite its steep subscription rate (close to two thousand dollars a year) but worth every penny for the pleasure.

“Ah.” She looked over the top of the paper, removing her reading glasses.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Ben Sidell sat opposite her.

“You’re not. I was early. Chaos at home. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.” She filled him in on Tootie’s moving in and Val’s help. Felicity and Howie were also moving into the vacant Demetrios farm, closer to Sister, that Crawford Howard had purchased because it abutted his land.

“Sounds like everyone’s settling in.” He smiled.

“And there will be a marriage ceremony the last weekend of June.”

“Good.” His brown eyes were merry. “Better to be married than not, I think.”

“In Felicity’s case, certainly.” She smiled.

“In general.” Ben leaned back. “Studies show that men who marry live longer and are happier than men who do not.”

“And women?” She arched a silver eyebrow.

“As it happens, the statistics are not the same. Single women appear to get along just fine.”

“Sure, because they don’t have to do double the housework.”

“Don’t more men do housework now?” Ben rubbed his chin. Judging by the light brown stubble there, he had left home this morning without shaving. “They must. Women are making more money, so they don’t have to put up with deadbeats anymore.”

“Well, I hope so. Ray wouldn’t do laundry if he had to go naked.” She laughed. “He did do the dishes, though.”

Ben noticed the sports page sticking out from under the Sunday paper. “May I?”

“Sure.” She slipped it to him.

After they ordered he commented wryly, “A lot of cricket photos. I don’t know as I will ever understand that game. It takes forever to finish a match.”

“Can you imagine living when people had enough time for games to last three days? Remember, cricket started out as a kind of farm sport, or perhaps I should say a sport of the lower orders. I actually quite like it.”