Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

Without missing a beat, Sister appraised the situation and called out “Tally Yogi” and then “Reverse.”

Following her command, the field turned around, without waiting for the field master to lead. Instead, it was up to the last person to lead them back out, until the field master could come up front.

Shaker followed the field while Sybil gratefully moved back into the woods.

The bear sat down for a breather.

The last person happened to be Lorraine Rasmussen, a novice, but she did her best to lead them out.

Once into the small clearing, with little fire stars dotting the area brilliant red, Shaker brought hounds through, followed by Sister.

The field waited as Shaker and Sister conferred.

“Tally Yogi?” He laughed.

“Better than ‘Tally bear.’ ” She grinned, then added, “Let’s lift. The temperature has already come up to the low seventies, I swear it.”

“Okay, Boss.” Shaker felt this was the right decision.

They turned toward the west. The Bancrofts had cut many paths through their farm over the decades, a godsend to the hunt staff.

They emerged from the woods, three-quarters of a mile up from the hog’s back they’d jumped to get into After All farm. The jump in the fence line here, three large stacked and tied logs, looked formidable, but horses would rather take a solid obstacle than an airy one so over they went.

Walking through the wildflower field, Jerusalem artichokes not yet opened, black-eyed Susans thinking about blooming, Queen Anne’s lace filling the field with white, the group was nearing the southernmost part of Hangman’s Ridge. A last finger of the glacier that created the Blue Ridge Mountains also piled up Hangman’s Ridge. The unusual top, smooth as glass, had slopes covered in creepers, thorns, and all manner of prickly bushes. The southern side looked as though it had been sheered off with a knife, but bushes grew out of the rocks and tiny little lichens gave a green-gray cast to the rocky terrain. A path from Soldier Road, which ran east of Hangman’s Ridge a mile from the ride, was the closest one could get to the top from this side, although smaller animals could zigzag up the face, depending on their agility.

Tootie, scanning the southern rocks, had learned from Sister to read “everything.” By that Sister meant to read the wind, the temperature, the soils, the kinds of rocks and animals, the angle of the sun, the plants, the birds, and the tracks. Never stop experiencing nature, for one feels as much as one sees and hears.

A faded blue baseball cap with an orange V in the center, hanging near the top, caught her eye. “How’d that get there?”

Val, amused, looked up; then she and Tootie noticed at the same time.

“Holy shit!” Val exclaimed, but there was no Felicity to collect a dollar this time. Felicity was only a week away from delivering her baby.

Since there was room for her to do so without jostling, Tootie rode past the other people to Sister, where she whispered something.

Sister, face suddenly ashen, turned to the field. “Gray, will you lead everyone back? I’ll be with you shortly.”

Gray counted hound heads. He knew whatever this was did not involve picking up a lost hound.

Then Sister quietly drew alongside Ben and they rode back to Val, whose exclamation had unfortunately drawn other eyes to the blue baseball cap with the V for Virginia on it.

Although it was above them and so high they had to squint, people who looked hard could see a skull and some hair, sticking out from under the cap, wedged between the base of a slender bush and the rock. An old frying pan was also wedged in a rock outcropping.

Sister told people to move along.

Ben stopped below the point and stared up. “If this belongs to the foot, we might get an ID from the teeth. From here all of them look to be there.”

“And grinning at us,” Sister added grimly.

CHAPTER 22

“How can these body parts show up when there’s no missing person’s report?” Back at Roughneck Farm, Val, ever logical, chatted as she cleaned tack.

Working on the tack hanging from the other hook, Tootie said, “The sheriff checked for central Virginia.”

“Someone is missing somewhere.” Val stated the obvious.

“Like the Jimmy Buffett song, ‘It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere’?” Sister came in the back entrance of the barn after throwing hay for the horses.

“Was kinda cool, wasn’t it?” Val tossed her blonde ponytail.

“As long as you weren’t the head.” Sister entered the tack room as the girls stood in the aisle with the tack hooks, buckets in front of them full of water.

“Gray,” Sister called out. Gray was walking across the peagravel walk from the kennels to the barn.

“Yes, master,” he said teasingly.

“Will you call your brother and find out if he knows if any of the street drunks are missing? I have a hunch, thanks to the frying pan, that the man under the cap lived rough.”

“Good idea.” Gray checked his watch. “He’s still at work.” Flipping open his cell, Gray punched the speed dial button. “Sam.”

On hearing the voice of his big brother, also his roommate, Sam replied, “What do you want me to pick up on the way home?”

“Nothing. Do me a favor. Ask around to see if any of the street people are missing.”

“They go missing a lot and usually turn up later after a colossal bender. But yeah, I’ll ask.” Sam knew his brother would give him details later, no need to talk overlong at work because Crawford might notice.

That man noticed the smallest thing.

“Crawford hunt his hounds today?” Gray’s voice carried a note of sarcasm.

“Don’t ask.”

“All right, tell me later, but if you hear anything before I get home call my cell.”

“Must be important.”

“Could be.” Gray flipped his cell shut. “He’ll get on it.”

“Good.” Sister sank down in a worn chair.

“Don’t you think the sheriff has asked the street people?” Val called from the center aisle.

“Sure, but they’ll be more inclined to speak to one of their own—one of their former own, I should say—rather than to a badge. Dammit, I hate this,” Sister replied. “Sometimes street people get tired of being moved along by the cops, tired of being helped by the Salvation Army, so they head out into the country. Like I told Gray, it’s just a hunch.”

The two young women looked at each other. They’d never heard Sister speak quite like that.

“You hate not knowing.” Gray humored her.

“That’s a fact. But have you considered that Hangman’s Ridge is my land? First a foot, now a skull and a frying pan. I want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Me, too.” Gray put his arm around her.

“Creepy,” Tootie said, as she cleaned the bit with fresh water. “The foot was bad enough, but the head—that really creeped me out.”

“Way gross, but still we’ll be telling our grandchildren about the skull hunt.” Val did enjoy drama.

Tootie giggled. “I can’t imagine you as a grandmother.”

“I can’t either,” Val agreed. “Hey, let’s call Felicity when we’re done and tell her. Better: Let’s go over.”

“If you go, I made a big casserole, since I figured we’d be eating together. You can take some to her. Will you be back for supper?”

The two conferred. “I’ll take it to her, but we want to eat it with you,” Val said.

“All right.”

Two hours later, Sister was pulling weeds in her garden. The ability of weeds to thrive when perfectly beautiful flowers die never ceased to amaze and irritate her. Golly supervised. Raleigh and Rooster slept under the Japanese maple. The kids had driven over to see Felicity. Gray was in the den, cheering on Syracuse, his alma mater. There could never be enough football for Gray but especially Syracuse football. Sam had graduated from Harvard and spent a year at Michigan law before transferring to the Darden School at UVA. He was a rabid Michigan fan. The air at the old home place sometimes thickened with sulfur as the two brothers discussed their teams.