Рита Браун - The Tell-Tale Horse

Val and Tootie looked at each other, silently agreeing that they’d talk to Sister.

“There are lots of places to rent,” Val said cheerfully.

“Once I’m working full time we can afford something cheap. Howie should make some money at Robb Construction. Remember, we need a car too.”

“Forgot about that.” Val had.

“Val, I know how you feel about me, about Howie. I know you’re furious I’m not going to Princeton, should I get in.”

“We’ll get in,” Val boomed out.

“You will.” Felicity’s eyes misted again. “Thank you for standing by me even though you don’t agree with what I’m doing.”

The water boiled. Val poured hot water onto powdered cocoa, then coffee, and finally another cocoa for herself. “If I can’t change your mind, I might as well help,” she finally responded.

“I mean it. I hope someday I can pay you back.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Val smiled, handing her a cup, a spoon, and powdered milk.

“All for one and one for all.” Tootie smiled.

Felicity, who had had quite enough of talking about her future, changed the subject. “I heard about the hunt. Faye Spencer. Tell me.”

And so the grisly tale was repeated, with Felicity wretched that she’d missed the hunt just so her parents could try to grind her down.

What is it about horror that excites the mind?

Just as Val and Tootie were doing, other Jefferson Hunt members all over the county were recounting the story to their friends.

CHAPTER 24

How much do you have in the kitty?” Sister asked, as she drove Felicity to Aluminum Manufacturing.

“Seven hundred and one dollars and ninety-five cents.” Felicity enjoyed the high view the truck gave her. “Most of it from Val.”

“Cusses a lot, does she?”

“Not around you.” Felicity’s wry humor hadn’t abandoned her despite her predicament.

“Better not.” Sister slowed, turning left into the parking lot behind the brick office building.

Felicity saw the manufacturing building behind the brick building, which was obscured by rows of pines along the road. “Huge.”

“Garvey calls this the bullpit. Window frames are made here, caps for broom handles, you won’t believe the stuff they make. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Once our second grade visited a dairy.” Felicity observed a stream of white smoke curling upward from the big chimney at the rear of the building. “I mean, I knew milk came from cows and all that but I didn’t know how much happened before we drank it: machines to milk cows, what goes on at the processing plant. That’s when I became interested in how things actually get done. And profit.” She smiled shyly.

“Profit’s the hard part. There’s no way anyone can pierce the future. All decisions are based on insufficient evidence. But I do know, should you end up in business, a good rule of thumb is, whatever something costs today, it will cost more tomorrow.”

Felicity flipped down the passenger sunshade, a mirror on the reverse side. She checked her face. “Do I look okay?”

“Fresh as a daisy.”

“Should I tell him I’m pregnant? It’s kind of like lying if I don’t.” The strain was showing on her young face.

Sister cut the motor. “Yes, but wait until the interview is mostly over. Garvey’s a good man, a fair man, and if your interview has gone well—and I’m sure it will—he’ll work it out with you.”

“I like Mr. Stokes. He doesn’t do stupid things in the hunt field.”

“I like him too. Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They walked over the macadam, little bits pilling up over the years. Macadam doesn’t have a long life span. The bits crunched underfoot.

Reaching the glass door, Sister stepped forward to open it for Felicity.

The office building was rectangular, brick with lots of windows. Built in the 1930s, the entire structure, front and back, was no-nonsense. Sister appreciated function so she didn’t find the place ugly at all.

The small lobby contained samples of their products as well as colored framed photos of special projects over the years. A curved reception desk, a deep navy Turkish rug, and six Barcelona chairs offered testimony that Garvey possessed some aesthetic sensibility and was willing to pay for it. True Barcelona chairs are anything but cheap and the desk had been handmade specially by Aluminum Manufacturing, the aluminum top smooth, highly polished, and gleaming.

Bessie Tutweiler, a woman in her mid-fifties, was helping as a temporary bookkeeper and receptionist.

She pulled off her tortoiseshell glasses, hanging on a silver chain, and they dropped to rest on her ample, cashmere-covered bosom. “Sister, haven’t seen you since Moses parted the Red Sea.” She beamed.

“Bessie, that was a long time ago. I don’t even remember what Ramses wore.”

They both laughed.

“And how are you since that distant day?” Bessie inquired.

“Fine. Yourself?”

“Can’t complain.”

“This is Felicity Porter.” Sister introduced her to the older woman instead of vice versa. Sister’s manners were impeccable. “Bessie, she’s a wonderful young lady and she has an interview with Garvey.” She turned to Felicity. “This is Mrs. Thornton Tutweiler.”

Bessie stood, extending her hand, which Felicity shook.

Bessie looked sharply at Felicity, liking the package, for the still slender girl was modestly dressed in becoming colors. “Honey, you sit down and he’ll be out in a minute.” She glanced at the small switchboard, a few dots of light showing, and flicked a button that turned on an orange light on Garvey’s phone, alerting him that his appointment was in the lobby.

Sister sank into a Barcelona chair. She smiled at Felicity, who returned her smile, trying not to let nerves get the better of her.

Within a few minutes Garvey walked down the hall, entered the reception area, came rapidly to Sister, and bent over, kissing her on the cheek. “Master, you look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” She wasn’t immune to compliments.

“Best run of the season Saturday!” He took both of her hands in his. “Just the best. I try to forget the rest of it.” He reached over to Felicity, offering her his hand. “Come in, young entry,” he said, winking.

Hearing a foxhunting term relaxed Felicity a little.

When Garvey’s door closed, Bessie said, “She looks like a sensible kid.”

“A brilliant one. She has a real mind for business. And she is pretty sensible, no drugs or drinking, you know.” Sister left it at that, for Bessie would learn in good time about the rest.

“Faye Spencer.” Bessie sucked in her breath. “How awful for you. I just can’t believe it!”

“None of us can.”

“What could that lovely widow have done to deserve such a death? A nicer person you’d never find.”

Bessie put her glasses back on to check a new light on the switchboard, then removed them to look at Sister. Angel had researched and updated the office equipment, but she had died before being able to update their interior communication. Garvey kept meaning to get around to it, but that’s easier said than done. At least Bessie knew how to work the switchboard.

“Faye was a delight to all who knew her. And she worked hard, Bessie. After her husband was killed she picked herself up and kept going. Faye never asked for sympathy or favors. I hope I find out who did this. I’ll skin him alive.”

“I’ll help you.” Bessie pursed her lips. “We live in a strange and violent world, Sister. No respect for life. It’s all money, money, money.”

“Do you think Faye might have been killed over money?” Sister couldn’t lean forward in a Barcelona chair without sitting on the edge but she raised her voice a tad.