Рита Браун - Hounded To Death

A silence followed.

Barry, finally unbuttoning his vest, answered softly. “You think like a fox. You feel things—or sense things—the rest of us can’t. It’s not circumventing logic as much as surmounting logic. Your mind works in ways ours do not.” There was a pause, followed by a long draft. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find you’re right.

CHAPTER 24

September 9, Tuesday, hounds met at Mudfence Farm. Try as they might, they couldn’t get a thing. No master or huntsman likes a blank day, but it’s foolish to keep hounds out, especially young hounds, when scent is so poor. They worked hard for an hour and a half. Then, when heat came up fast, Shaker wisely lifted the hounds.

Back in the kennels, glad for the high fans in the ceiling, hounds slept on their benches.

With Shaker’s help, Sister had finished washing the feed room down and cleaning the runs. She’d taken care of Aztec and HoJo. She already missed Tootie and Val, who had driven back to Princeton late Sunday.

“Boss, think I’ll ride Kilowatt Saturday.”

“You forget Thursday?” She was teasing him: The club always hunted Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

“No, just thinking about Skidby.”

“We accomplished a lot with that work party. Enthusiasm for the new fixture is so high we’re hunting Skidby on Saturday instead of an old fixture. Means, of course, we can’t take young entry.”

“Figured as much.” Shaker, while not a political person, had been in hunt service long enough to appreciate some of his master’s decisions.

“Much as we need to get the young entry out, we also need to keep the Fishers and the members happy. And it’s only once, maybe twice, during the cubbing season.”

“Ever wish we could just hunt?”

She winked at him. “Can. Staff hunt.”

This type of hunt involved only staff members, no field. Often it was to work the young hounds, but just as often it served to tune up staff work. No matter how many decades staff hunted as individuals, everyone could stand to scrub off the rust spots during cubbing.

“I say we hunt from the Demetrios farm and head toward Crawford’s.” He let out a guffaw, since Crawford had closed his land to the Jefferson Hunt.

“We could sell tickets to that hunt.” She could just imagine Crawford’s eruption. Better yet, imagine the eruption in his kennels.

“Pay attention to me!” yapped little Valentine, born May 28 during the storm.

Victor, her littermate, did just that. “Tag, you’re it.”

Within seconds, the five puppies were chasing one another, giving what they considered tongue while Violet looked on, rapidly tiring of motherhood.

Sister and Shaker, walking in from an adjoining run, laughed.

“That reminds me.” Sister strode toward the kennels and walked into the office.

After years of association, Shaker knew she’d tell him whatever it was that she remembered after she wrote it down or performed the act. He hummed to himself as he followed her into the office.

She picked up the old phone and dialed. “How you doing?”

Felicity, on the other end, replied, “I’m doing.”

“Any minute now?”

“I hope so, Sister. I can’t stand much more of this. I wish Howie were here, but he’s at work. Matt Robb said he’d give him the day off when the baby’s born.”

“That’s very thoughtful for someone to do for a new worker. Howie’s only been at the construction company since graduation.”

“I know. The whole Robb family has been so good to us. How’s hunting?”

“Today was a blank. But it will get better. The first day of cubbing was pretty good.”

“That’s what Tootie and Val said.” Her voice rose up. “And the skull.”

“No one will forget that.” She changed the subject. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“I’m closer than Howie. Aren’t they working up in Orange County on a house?”

“A two-million-dollar house! I can’t imagine that.” Felicity, watchful of money, thought unnecessary expenditure ghoulish. “How much do people need?”

“Quite a lot—some, anyway. Before you rush to judgment on whoever is paying for this house, remember inflation. These days I couldn’t afford to buy the house where I live. Impossible.”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“That’s the interesting thing about age. The value of money is set when you’re young. So I think a dollar should have the buying power it did in the fifties and sixties.”

“It should.” Felicity, despite her discomfort, enjoyed the conversation.

“Well, honey, what I was saying is that if your water breaks, call me. You have my cell. You have Shaker’s cell. We can get to you in ten minutes if we break the speed limit. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t.”

They chatted a bit more, and then Sister hung up.

Shaker remarked, on hearing her end of the conversation, “We could deliver the baby. We’ve delivered enough puppies and foals.”

Sister laughed. “I expect we could, and we’d be a hell of a lot cheaper.” She grabbed an iced tea out of the small refrigerator, passed it to Shaker, and took one for herself.

“Tight with the buck, that kid.” Shaker popped the top of the can.

“In the main, that’s a good thing, but if you’re too tight, you can miss some of life’s pleasures.” She sat on the edge of the desk. “It’s all a balancing act, isn’t it?” She took a long swig of the commercial sweet tea, which wasn’t half bad.

“I keep trying to find the middle ground.”

“Me, too. Sometimes I hold it for months, and then sooner or later I go a little too much one way or the other. Balance.” She repeated her theme.

“Heard Athena last night. Haven’t heard her much this summer.” He referred to the great horned owl who lived on the farm.

Athena and Bitsy would get together for chats, and Bitsy’s voice allowed Sister and Shaker to pinpoint the two owls, so very different in size, call, and temperament. Bitsy was always thrilled to gossip, whereas Athena preferred to observe.

“It’s a beautiful song, the great horned. Liquid, low, and a touch of melancholy.” She finished the can of tea. “I was thirsty. I keep meaning to ask you: Did you go into the caves at Skidby?”

“Not into them, but we made a trail around them and marked the entrances.” He grimaced. “I don’t like going underground. I could never live in New York City and ride the subway.”

I’m not overfond of it either.” She felt herself revive a bit; she’d been up since four in the morning, and it was now eleven. “Had a thought when I woke up this morning.”

“Just one?”

“Yep, I’m slowing down.” She laughed at herself. “But it’s an interesting one. You remember when we cleared trails at Skidby that Barry received a call from Fonz?”

“Yeah, Grant Fuller was hanging on a meat hook in a slaughterhouse.”

“That’s just it, Shaker. It was a slaughterhouse Grant used to own, and my thought was maybe he still owned it. Either he sold it to a shill or kept an interest.”

“Possible.”

“Of course, Tennessee is a long way from Virginia—well, it seems a long way—so this isn’t Ben’s case. Anyway, I called and left a message for him—no reason to wake him up—to see if he could find out if Grant still owned all or part of the packing company and the slaughterhouse.”

“And if he did?”

“If he did it might mean nothing. Then again, it certainly would give him a conduit for fresh horse meat. I know it’s illegal, but he was making dog food. If he paid off his employees, who would know? Right. Humans can’t smell the difference between beef byproducts and equine.”