Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

“If only we knew about what.” Sister, in the last seven weeks, had come up with nothing but frustration regarding Hope.

“I’m hanging on to these numbers.”

“Do you ever feel her spirit is calling to us?” Sister asked, voice low.

“Like the spirits on Hangman’s Ridge?” Betty paused. “You bet I do.”

Later that same day, Sister wondered if spirits were at work or at least Hope’s spirit.

The next day, Sister saw Paul Rogers in one of the aisles at the pharmacy. There’d been no service for Hope, a not uncommon practice regarding suicides. Depending on the denomination, some suicides are not buried in consecrated grounds.

As she and Paul had no activities in common, once Hope left him, Sister rarely caught a glimpse of him.

She stepped down the aisle. “Paul.”

Startled slightly, he looked up at her. “Sister Jane.”

“I know we aren’t close, Paul, and divorce divides more people than just the formerly married couples, but I hope you’re all right.”

Grateful for the overture, he relaxed his shoulders. “Doing okay.”

“Most separations are acrimonious. Perhaps in time you both would have remembered each other’s good qualities.”

“Hope cheated on me.” His voice was flat. “I snooped. I’m pretty good with the computer so I got into her e-mails.”

“I’m sure you were upset.” Sister did not enlighten him with her views on monogamy.

“Grant Fuller.” He nearly bit the words. “I think it started when he showed her around the distilleries.” He tossed an orange box of Motrin into his cart. “Ended at the Mid-America Hound Show. Guess it was unpleasant. You know, she called me up to tell me it was over. How does that figure?” He sounded both bitter and still in love.

“Well, I don’t know. Did you tell the sheriff ?”

“Yes.”

Back out on the road, she knew that she did the right thing in not revealing her personal information regarding Hope.

Today was Saint Vladimir’s feast day, July 15. He lived from 955 to 1015. Originally a pagan with a penchant for violence, when he converted to Christianity in 989 he put aside violence as much as a prince could do in the tenth century. He also put away his many mistresses to marry Anne.

Sister thought neither she nor Hope capable of emulating Vladimir. But carrying on with Grant Fuller? That surprised her.

CHAPTER 15

On Thursday, August 7, the heat was shimmering off the hay fields and the dirt roads by seven-thirty.

“Too hot to have been born,” Sister grumbled, as they walked twenty couple of hounds, including three couple of the second T litter: Thimble, Twist, Tootsie, Trooper, Taz, and Tattoo.

The youngsters had behaved so well that Sister and Shaker thought they could all go out together. They’d been walking in couple straps since late spring; then, by early June, they had gone out uncoupled but only four at a time. On a sweltering morning, young hounds would be less inclined to shoot off—or so the humans reasoned.

Sybil, on vacation with her sons at Prince Edward Island, would be home the end of the month. So this morning Tootie took the right side, Betty was on the left, Sister brought up the rear, and Shaker, as usual, walked in front.

“I can never figure out why I want the hounds behind me when I’m on foot but in front of me when I’m on a horse.” Shaker had tied a bandanna around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

“That is a puzzle,” Sister agreed.

The hounds walked toward the foot of Hangman’s Ridge. They were taken a little farther every day to prepare them for cubbing, which would begin after Labor Day. The youngsters had proved so obedient that the humans now thought they could relax.

Then, too, the heat created a lassitude. Even if one was bucking hay, there was a languor to the work.

“Aren’t you surprised that Val stuck to her desk job?” Betty asked Tootie.

“Kinda. She likes the money, though.”

“There is that,” Betty agreed. “Saw Felicity yesterday. She’s really feeling pregnant. Two months to go. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that by the last month you have to walk leaning backward.”

“Carrying to term through summer’s heat.” Sister shook her head.

“Remember all this, Tootie.” Betty laughed. “If you get pregnant try to do it in summer. Then you’ll deliver in spring. It’s much easier.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” Tootie smiled. “You know, what did surprise me was Val coming back for Felicity’s wedding. If it weren’t for you-all and Val, I don’t think anyone would have been there. Val still thinks Felicity is throwing her life away, but she doesn’t say that to Felicity anymore.”

“Both sets of parents will live to regret being so narrow-minded.At least, I hope they will.” Sister still couldn’t believe those people.

“Hell, some people never grow up. Look at Crawford.” Shaker’s loathing of Crawford had not dimmed with time.

Twist, tail up over her back just as incorrect as it could be, whispered to Taz, “Let’s run!”

“Where?” Taz was the literal type.

“Up the ridge. We’ve never been there. The others say it’s haunted.” Twist’s ears pricked up slightly.

“Ha.” Taz dismissed it.

“Don’t break from the pack,” Diane, overhearing, advised the two girls. “There are all kind of ghosts in the world—humans, hounds, horses—as you’ll see in good time.”

But the thrill of rebellion was rising in Twist’s chest. She nudged Taz and then charged toward the ridge. Taz followed.

Tootie started to run after the two bad girls but remembered what Sister had drilled into her: Keep the bulk of the pack together. She dropped her lash and stood still on her side, as did Betty.

Shaker, voice soothing because the other youngsters wanted to follow, crooned, “Relax. Relax. Come on now. Come along.” He turned and the pack followed.

Tattoo and Tootsie hesitated a moment, but Sister pointed the knob end of her whip toward the two young entry—“Don’t even think about it”—and they ducked their heads, trying to look inconspicuous.

When the pack returned to the kennel in good order in a half hour, Diane said sternly to the second litter of T s who remained, “When those girls come back I will tear them a new one.”

“Can’t do it,” Cora remarked. “They’re in the wimpy girls’ run.”

“I can think about it. And we can all give them a piece of our minds when they come back.”

Shaker, on his way out of the kennels, called over his shoulder, “I’m going out on Soldier Road, just in case.”

“All right then, we’ll go up the ridge,” Sister agreed.

“Shaker, I’ll go with you, just in case. Might be easier, what with two of them to cajole or catch,” Betty said.

“Good idea.” He sprinted toward the old 454 Chevy half-ton.

“Tootie, let’s go.” Sister swept out the door as Tootie opened it for her.

Raleigh and Rooster were waiting patiently outside the kennels, ready to go.

“Boys, you stay here.”

“But we’ll know where the hounds are before you do,” Raleigh protested, to no avail.

“Ass kissers,” called Golly, lounging on a large tree limb in one of the huge pin oaks by the kennels.

“Regurgitator,” Rooster called up, his lovely harrier voice resonating. “My, my, what a big word for a dumb dog.” Golly lorded it over both of them.

“You have to come down out of that tree sometime, Golly, and when you do I’ll get you.” Rooster raised the fur on his neck for effect.