Рита Браун - The Tell-Tale Horse

Crawford folded his hands together. “Good. I won’t take up more of your time.”

“Before you go, I have a question for you. Do you intend to rent the Demetrios place?”

“I’d like someone who can farm. The house needs some fixing too.”

“Allow me to suggest a young couple, very young but clean-living and hardworking, Felicity Porter and Howard Lindquist. They’ll be married this summer, so I guess I should think of them as the Lindquists. He’ll be working with Matt Robb’s construction company, so he has the skills to repair the buildings.”

“Felicity’s not going to college?” He was incredulous, worried. “Night school. Piedmont Community College.”

“What a waste. That girl belongs at an Ivy League school.”

“Most people feel that way, and you’re in a position to help them. Obviously, they haven’t a cent, although she is working part-time for Garvey Stokes and that will be full-time when she graduates. He’ll be making some money but they don’t even have a car yet.” She held out her hands as a supplicant. “If they repair the house and paint the interior, would you consider a significant reduction in rent? They’re good kids and”—she smiled—“they’re in love.”

He perceived the situation. “I’ll talk to young Lindquist.” He half smiled too. “Thank you for your suggestion. If I don’t get someone in that place it will slide into ruin.”

“They’ll be good neighbors.”

“Well, I don’t know Howard but I think Felicity is mature for her years, very sensitive.”

This time he stood up; Raleigh and Rooster stood too. Golly, lounging on the back of the den sofa, couldn’t be bothered to see a guest out, even an unwelcome one.

Sister walked Crawford into the wide center hall, built to allow a breeze to cool the house in Virginia’s sweltering summers, and to the front door, with its overhead fan and glass panels on either side.

“Awful thing about Faye Spencer,” Crawford said.

“Yes, it was.”

“Vajay is the man most under suspicion, but Ramsey Merriman had a lot to lose.”

Sister perked up. “Have you told Ben?”

“Yes. I don’t like saying stuff like that, but under the circumstances Ramsey should pay the consequences for his affairs.” He shook his head. “Bragged about it. Said he seduced that Indian girl on one of his trips with High to Washington. Said High never suspected or perhaps never cared, I don’t know. Then he said he tried to talk the woman into sex with him and Clayton. They’d pay her thousands. She refused and cut him off. What a fool. Anyway, he called and cussed me out and so did Ilona. I did the right thing.”

“Yes, you did.”

As she watched him drive away in his metallic dark-red Mercedes, she felt more confused than ever but she had accomplished two important things: She found a home for the kids because she knew Crawford would respond to them, and she put loyal people around one who was not loyal.

Always keep your enemy in front of you.

CHAPTER 27

Had Sister known her enemy had been in front of her all the time, the day might have been different. Some things are so unthinkable one doesn’t see them, even though they’re as close as the nose on your face. Not only do individuals suffer from these blind spots, entire nations do as well.

The lulling lap and spray of the water off the three-story waterwheel at Mill Ruins was beautiful, spellbinding. Century after century, people in the western world took this sound for granted. Only in the twentieth century did it finally subside, along with the clack of wagon wheels and shod hooves on cobblestone streets, vendors shouting their wares as they toddled down country roads, the constant swish of large overhead fans in the South, the ringing of church bells to signify the hour. A few places preserved these sounds so tourists could imagine themselves in another time.

Time without end people kill one another. If sounds and sights change, this dolorous fact does not.

It was Saturday, March 8, and twenty couple of hounds waited on the party wagon. The mercury at quarter to nine read 48 degrees, the barometer falling, good sign.

March, a breakheart month, raises the average person’s hopes for spring. Daffodils, early ones, display their yellow heads, and crocuses cover lawns or dot woods tucked back where old foundations remain from prior centuries. Buds swell a tiny bit on the trees, the red glow apparent to those who study nature.

Then a snowstorm or a freezing rain will pound down as Old Man Winter once more reminds all creatures that he is not ready to relinquish his grasp.

Foxhunters liked that, of course. Better to keep that scent on the ground, for the warmth would lift it up over hound noses. But even the most dedicated foxhunter eventually longed for spring, the cascade of white apple blossoms, pale pink cherry blossoms, and deep magenta crab apple blossoms, the fragrance filling entire counties. Redbud bloomed along with peaches and pears, tulips held sway for a while, and the world rejoiced in new life.

Even Sister, who inevitably passed through a period of mourning after the season ended, discovered rejuvenation in her garden at last.

Today the field swelled with the regulars and visitors too. Tedi and Edward brought guests from Marlborough Hunt in Maryland. The Merrimans and Cabel, parked side by side, burst with good spirits. The Custis Hall girls turned out in full force along with Charlotte Norton and Bunny Taliaferro. Charlotte joked that if she was a golf widow in the summer her husband could be a foxhunt widower in winter.

Gray was repenting his promise to ride with his brother on a steeplechaser fresh off the circuit. Even before he mounted up, Gray noticed the nervousness of the rangy bay.

“You’re crazy to ride these horses right off the circuit, Sam.”

“It’s the only way I’m going to know how he’ll go in company. I know how he goes alone and he’s a good horse, Gray. Just a little up.”

As the brothers bickered, Lorraine Rasmussen chatted with Felicity on Parson. Sister had mentioned to Lorraine that Parson was a suitable and kind horse but that Felicity couldn’t afford him once out of school.

Henry Xavier ignored Ronnie Haslip’s taunts that his diet wasn’t working. It was, but slowly.

Donnie Sweigart surprised everyone by showing up on a horse lent him by Ronnie Haslip. Donnie borrowed clothes from Shaker, since they were the same size; he even found a pair of boots that would fit. He looked quite nice.

He’d fallen for Sybil Fawkes and knew the only way he was going to be in her vicinity was if he learned to foxhunt. He could ride some and Bobby Franklin, bearing that in mind, knew he’d have to keep an eye on him. If nothing else, Donnie had guts.

Sybil noticed. She walked over on Bombardier. “Donnie, did you discover the hardest part of foxhunting is tying your stock tie?”

He smiled shyly. “Did. Pricked my fingers too.”

“I wish I could hold out hope that it gets easier but I’m forever fiddling with it, folding the ends over the wide center knot, pressing the stockpin through.” She glanced over to see where Shaker was in his preparation, for she had a job to do. “I’m delighted to see you out here.”

“If nothing else, I’ll provide amusement.”

“There will be plenty of that. Always is.” She reached down and touched his shoulder with her gloved hand. “Takes courage to foxhunt, and we all know you have that. Hope I’ll see you after the hunt.”

“Sure thing.” Donnie was floating on air.

Back at Ronnie’s trailer, a crop snaked out from the open tack room as Ronnie neatly stung Xavier’s bottom. “Could show a movie on that butt.”

“You spend too much time looking at men’s asses,” Xavier growled.