Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

Their celebrated courage couldn’t help them when death came from the skies. Fearing the younger minks might return, other burrowing animals still did not take over pattypan.

Uncle Yancy had hit it at the perfect time. Everyone else had settled in a den, young foxes usually establishing themselves in early November in central Virginia.

“I’m not far from a feed bucket, which is nice in bad weather.” He hoped she wasn’t going to get pushy.

“See that you don’t get fat.”

“I’ve never been fat.”

“You’ve never been old. We’re getting on, Yancy. Which brings me to my point. I’m not breeding this year. Not just because of my age, but something tells me it will be a hard spring and summer. We must be wise about these things.”

Uncle Yancy, like most males, deferred to the female. They just knew. He asked, “ What about the younger girls? Charlene, Grace, Inky, Georgia?”

“Georgia will wait another year. For one thing, she’s not far from her mother, so if Inky should produce a litter, Georgia will help. I haven’t spoken to Inky. Charlene, in her prime, will chance it. As for Grace, haven’t talked to her either.”

“What about the deer and the squirrels? Have you talked to them?”

“Some will, some won’t; most are cutting back. Bitsy isn’t.” She grimaced.

Uncle Yancy’s jaw dropped. “Bitsy’s never laid an egg in her life.”

“That’s just it. She says she wants to do it, and furthermore she’s ensconced in Sister’s barn, so there’s plenty to eat. Can you stand it, husband? More screech owls. As it is she wakes the dead.” She sniffed. “Athena can’t even talk her out of it.”

“Earplugs,” he laughed.

“Not me. I want to hear the huntsman’s horn.” She settled into the sweet grass. “This really is beautiful. I could make this even better. Why don’t you go out and clean up that blood if you aren’t going to eat it?”

Uncle Yancy’s heart skipped a beat. How was he going to get out of this? “When it comes to decorating, I lack your talent, but” —he heaved a huge mock sigh— “I’d bring in a shiny can and you’d be upset. Or I’d snore.”

“U-m-m,” she hummed. “Before I get comfortable I brought you a housewarming present.”

He stewed while she scooted out of the main entrance, returning with a lacquered mechanical pencil. “Here.”

He pushed the deep burnt-orange pencil. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Long hunt last night. Restless. Anyway, I wound up at the old Lorillard place. The graveyard enticed me. Lot of Lorillards there from way back, centuries back—and, you know, there was a fresh grave, covered in snow. I could smell the fresh earth underneath. We had that bit of a thaw. God knows, you can’t dig up frozen ground, so whoever dug the grave knew that much. Well, I started digging because I thought it might be a cache. Something we could use. But no, too deep. I did find this. Under the snow, on top of the packed earth.”

“Expensive.”

“Yes.”

“How deep do you think the cache is?”

“Three feet perhaps. The frost came back hard, so I could just get a whiff of meat.”

“Could have been the mountain lion. They’re around. They leave a big mound, and they mark boundaries with their caches.”

“I told you, the earth was packed. Not like a cache. Humans pack down that way.” Aunt Netty, seated, was cross that he didn’t instantly agree with her.

“No Lorillards died.” Uncle Yancy, like all the foxes, knew the events of humans in their hunting territory.

“Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Netty, this isn’t a good thing. It’s clever, too.”

“Well, it’s none of our affair.” Drowsy, she closed her eyes.

He viewed his partner, instantly asleep. “Damn. Double damn,” he said under his breath.

Another fox of sorts considered the facts before her. Sister now knew Iffy was missing. The radio and television newscasters had asked anyone who had seen her to report it. The newscasters didn’t speculate on why she might be missing. That would come in the ensuing days.

She sat at Big Ray’s partner’s desk in the warm den and speculated plenty.

Finally, she called Ben Sidell. A yellow legal pad filled with scribbled notes testified to her attempts to put the pieces together.

“Sister, how are you?”

“Fine. Ben, here I am again coming out of left field. Allow me to make a suggestion. Exhume Angel Crump.”

“Who’s Angel Crump?”

“She was Garvey’s assistant since the earth began. She died last year, age eighty-four, of a heart attack. Garvey walked into her office and found her slumped over her desk.”

“Why do you want her exhumed?”

“She hated Iffy. In the best of circumstances they would have clashed—personality differences—but I have to wonder if Angel harbored suspicions. Maybe the animosity was based in fact.”

“Garvey hasn’t mentioned this.”

“Ask him if Angel ever accused Iffy of wrongdoing. And mind you, I don’t know what’s going on down there. Gray can’t tell me, but I hear the strain in his voice. Iffy’s missing. I’m not a genius, but I can put two and two together.”

“I appreciate your idea. Let me talk to Garvey first. If Angel did come to him with suspicions, then I’ll put the machinery in motion. As you know, if relatives oppose an exhumation it can take some time for the legal process to sort it out.”

“I know. And it’s just a hunch but perhaps Angel’s death proved quite convenient.”

She hung up the phone, cupped her chin in her hand, fiddled on the legal pad.

Golly batted at the pencil. She liked commandeering the desk because the dogs couldn’t get on it and because she could see everything Sister was doing.

Raleigh and Rooster stretched out on the leather couch. Rooster’s head rested on Raleigh’s flank. They were dead to the world.

“January 11. You know, Golly, no saint today? That’s particulary interesting. Odd.” She’d checked her Oxford Dictionary of Saints.

“I’ll take the day, then.” Golly stopped the pencil with both paws, held it to bite the eraser.

“Golly,” Sister laughed.

“There are cat saints.” Golly managed an indignant stare as Sister wiggled the pencil from her grasp. “Who do you think kept the mice out of Little Lord Jesus’ crib? A cat.”

Sister listened to these determined meows, then burst out laughing.

CHAPTER 21

Riding down from their stable, Tedi and Edward heard the mighty rumble of the Chevy Duramax 6600 before they reached their covered bridge.

Sister and Shaker, double-checking the hound list by the trailer, also heard it.

“He wouldn’t.” Sister held the clipboard to her chest as large snowflakes began to fall. Even though Jason had apologized profusely, she thought he’d allow some time to pass for emotions to cool.

“Only one engine sounds like that.” Shaker was as surprised as Sister.

The small field assembled this Thursday morning turned their heads. The girls from Custis Hall, Bunny Taliaferro, Henry Xavier, Ronnie Haslip, Lorraine Rasmussen, and Bobby Franklin glanced at one another.

Betty Franklin walked around the trailer as her husband tightened his horse’s girth. “Do you hear what I hear?”

“I do.” Bobby frowned, a snowflake falling on his nose.

“The man must be out of his mind.”

“Arrogant.” Bobby clipped down his words. “But he did express his regrets. Sister made sure we all knew that.”