Рита Браун: Full Cry

“I was joking.”

“But it’s a great idea, I mean it. Oh, please propose it at the board meeting. And Betty’s right here next to me. I’ll tell her all about it so you have two passionate supporters.”

“Really? I mean, really?” His tone rose.

“I mean it. You are so creative.”

“Actually, that’s not why I called.” He breathed in, a moment of anticipation and preparation. “You are not going to believe this. I just heard it from Marty Howard at the Subaru dealership. She was picking up her Outback, and I was dropping mine off for its sixty-thousand-mile service.”

“I’m waiting. . . .”

“I’m setting the stage.” He loved to tease a story. “Anyway, we chatted. I so like Marty, and I will never know why she puts up with that man, but that’s another story, so—waiting with bated breath?”

“Yes. So is Betty, whose ear is also jammed to the phone.”

“Ah, a larger audience. Well, here it is. Ta da!” He sang the “ta da.” “Ready?”

“Ronnie, I’ll slap you the minute I next see you.”

“I might like it. Well, my dear master, Crawford Howard has hired Sam Lorillard to train his steeplechasers.” The silence was so long Ronnie raised his voice. “Sister, did you hear me?”

“I’m trying to fathom the information.”

“Can you believe it?”

“No.”

Betty shook her head. “Me, neither,” she said into the mouthpiece.

“Isn’t this gossip too good to be true?”

“I’ll say.” Sister released her hold on Betty’s waist.

Betty reached for the phone. “May I?”

“Of course.” Sister then pressed her ear to the earpiece as the women reversed positions, Betty’s arm around Sister’s thin waist. “Ronnie, it’s the Big Betts here.”

“Cleavage.”

“As if you cared.”

“I do care. I’m a highly attuned aesthetic being.” He was proud of Betty losing twenty-five pounds last season, and she was working hard on the last ten. “Knowing you, you’ll pepper me with questions.”

“Right. Since I haven’t heard a breath of this, and I know you didn’t either or I’d already know, shall I assume Crawford didn’t talk to any of the gang?”

“Yes.”

“Did Marty say how he hired Sam?”

“She did. We must have talked twenty minutes. The landscape business always slows down to nothing in winter, so she had all kinds of time. Anyway, madam, what she said was, and I quote, ‘Crawford called trainers in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and South Carolina, all the big names. They swore that Sam had oo-scoobs of talent.’ ”

“Did she really say ‘oo-scoobs’?”

“Yes.”

Betty replied, “I thought only Southerners used that expression.”

“She’s acclimating. Anyway, I asked her if she knew about Sam’s history.” He paused. “She said she knew he’s fought his battles, hit the bottom, but he’s recovered.”

“Recovered?” Sister spoke into the phone.

“His brother, Gray, who made all that money in Washington, D.C., put him in a drying-out center. He was there for a month.”

“So that’s why we haven’t seen him passed out on a luggage cart down at the train station?” Betty mentioned one of the favorite hangouts of the county’s incorrigible alcoholics. The downtown mall was another.

“How long has he been dry?” Sister again spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Do you want the phone back?” Betty asked.

“Actually, you ask better questions than I do.”

“According to Marty, Sam has been sober four months. She said that they extensively interviewed him. They also spent two hours with Gray, and they’re satisfied that Sam’s the man for the job. Crawford intends to get into chasing in a big, big way.”

Betty took a long time. “Well, I hope it all works out.”

“But you don’t think for a skinny minute that it will, do you?” Ronnie sounded almost eager.

“Uh, no.”

Sister took the phone back, “What do you think?”

“I think there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Sister sighed, then brightened. “In that case, let’s hope Crawford’s bank account is as big as we think it is.”

After they hung up the phone, Sister and Betty just looked at each other for a moment.

Betty finally said, “He is good with a horse, that Sam.”

“And with a woman.”

They said in unison: “Jesus.”

CHAPTER 2

Heavy snow forced Sister to drive slowly to the Augusta Cooperative, usually just called the co-op. Since the Weather Channel predicted this storm was going to hang around for two days, she figured she’d better stock up on pet food, laying mash, and kerosene for the lamps, in case the power cut. She also took the precaution of putting the generator in the cellar. Shaker did likewise for the kennel, as well as for his attractive cottage, also on the property of Sister’s Roughneck Farm. In these parts, such a structure was called a dependency.

Last year, Sister broke down and bought a new truck for her personal use. The truck used to haul the horses and hounds, an F350 Dually, could pull a house off its foundation, but those Dually wheels proved clunky for everyday use. Installed in her new red half-ton truck was a cell phone with a speaker so she didn’t have to use her hands.

“Shaker.”

“Yes, boss.”

“I’m on my way to the co-op. Need anything?”

“Mmm, late thirties, early forties maybe, good sense of humor, must like hounds and horses and be in good shape.”

“Get out.” She laughed.

“Mmm, pick up some Espilac if they have any,” he said, referring to a milk replacer for nursing puppies. “And if you want extra corn oil for kibble, might could use some.”

“Okay. I’ll drop it in the feed room at the kennel. Oh, hair color preference?”

“Bay or chestnut.”

“I’ll keep my eyes wide open, brother.”

Ending the call, she maintained a steady fifty miles an hour. The snowplows kept the main arteries clear, and even the secondary roads remained in good shape. If the storm kept up, the volume of snow would overwhelm the state plows, the dirt roads would become difficult to negotiate, and even the major highways would be treacherous. Sister knew that as soon as he hung up the phone, Shaker would pull on his down jacket, tighten the scarf around his throat, jam that old lumberjack hat on his head, and crank up the huge old tractor with the snowplow. He’d keep their farm road open, not an easy task; it was a mile from the state road back to the farm, and there were the kennels and the farm roads to clear out, plus the road through the orchard. Apart from being a fine huntsman, Shaker was a hard worker who could think for himself.

She pulled into the co-op’s macadam parking lot, trucks lined up, backs to ramp. The ramps, raised two feet above the bed of a pickup, made it easy for the co-op workers to toss in heavy bags of feed, seed, whatever people needed. Huge delivery trucks fit the ramps perfectly. A man could take a dolly and roll straight into the cavernous storage area.

Each section of the co-op had its own building. The fertilizer section off to the side even housed a shed for delivery and spreading trucks. The special seed section was to the right of the fertilizer building. Catty-corner to both these buildings stood the main brick building, which contained animal food, gardening supplies, and work clothes.

As Sister pushed open the door to the main section, she saw many people she knew, all doing the same thing as she.

Alice Ramy, owner of a farm not far from Sister’s, rolled her cart over. “Heard you chased an interested quarry today. I always did think Donnie Sweigert’s elevator didn’t go all the way to the top.”

“Poor fellow. He was stiff with fear.” Sister laughed. “He thought the hounds would tear him apart.”