Рита Браун - Full Cry

“But that’s just it,” Sister became animated. “They already have. If everything’s running smoothly, seems to me, you don’t have to kill people.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Get rid of people or partners, and the money is all yours, if it’s about money. And when you think of it, why two drunks and one, well, working-class guy. Doesn’t seem to me much money there. Sorry to call Anthony a drunk. Seems disrespectful somehow.”

“He was.” Sister gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I keep remembering his laugh, the time he threw the basketball from half court when the buzzer sounded in the game against Lee High his senior year. Jesus, what happens to people?”

“Life,” Betty said.

CHAPTER 36

Back at Roughneck Farm, Sister had just hung up the phone after a glowing conversation with Gray. She glanced out the kitchen window. Snow was falling heavily.

She reached across the counter to turn up the radio, 103.5. Mozart’s “Turkish Rondo” played.

“Always makes me think of fat people dancing.” She laughed, then performed a rumba across the uneven heart pine floor.

“Mental!” Golly giggled, but followed Sister, batting at her legs.

Raleigh and Rooster, ever attuned to Sister’s emotions, jumped out of their fleece-lined dog beds to dance with her. Raleigh turned in circles as Rooster hopped on his hind legs, only to suffer a whack from Golly on his swishing tail.

“Hey!”

“Anything that moves is fair prey to Golly, Killer Queen Among All Felines!” The calico sang her own praises.

As the short musical piece continued, the four became sillier and sillier, each influencing the other until the music stopped. Sister, laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks, dropped to her knees, hugged the squirming dogs, wildly happy, then scooped up Golly as she stood up. She held the cat like a baby, burying her face in her longhaired tummy. If anyone else did this, Golly would rearrange his or her face. She purred.

“Are we nuts or what?” Sister then turned the cat over, putting her on her shoulder.

“Yeah!” Raleigh danced to the next selection on NPR, another Mozart.

“So ungainly.” Two tiny streams of air from Golly’s nostrils brushed Sister’s hair.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard since we ran up on Donnie Sweigert drenched in fox pee! Course, I couldn’t laugh then.”

“Never did bag a deer,” Raleigh said.

“Weather,” Rooster, doing his best to dance, replied. “Messed up the last of deer season.”

The phone rang again.

“Gray, did you miss me?” She insouciantly spoke into the mouthpiece.

His heavy voice lifted a second. “I did. But I called to tell you that Dalton Hill just phoned me to say he’s with Sam on Garth Road in Charlottesville. He stopped when he noticed Sam’s Toyota off the road right there where you turn to go back to the Barracks,” he said, referring to the famous show stable, its turnoff being right after a deceptive curve in Garth Road. “He said Sam is drunk, blind drunk.”

“Oh. Gray, I’m so sorry. Would you like me to come over?”

“Well, I’ve got to get my brother.”

“I’ll pick you up. One of us can drive Sam’s truck back if it’s not wrecked.”

“Weather’s bad.”

“I’ve driven in worse.”

By the time Sister and Gray had reached Sam and Dalton, Dalton had managed to dislodge the truck, which was now parked on the shoulder.

Sam, sprawled on the front seat, was out cold.

“Dalton, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Dumb luck. I happened to be heading home this way. Given Sam’s record, I thought if the sheriff found him, he’d lose his license for good.”

“And be put in jail.”

“Perhaps that’s not a bad thing.”

Gray took a deep ragged breath. “I know,” he said as he fought back tears. “I thought he’d beat it this time. I really did.”

“Gray, drive my truck. I’ll drive the Toyota with Sam in it.”

“No, we’ll do it the other way around. If he comes to and pukes or gets belligerent, you won’t have to deal with it or clean it up.” He paused as snowflakes whitened his salt-and-pepper hair. “This is it. This is the last time I help him. I can no longer be my brother’s keeper.”

“Gray,” Sister put her hand on his shoulder. “You did more than your share for him. More than your share by far.”

Gray dropped his head, then looked up, “Getting worse, the storm.”

“I can follow you to wherever you’re taking him.”

“Thanks. We’ll turn left at Owensville Road, and I know you’ll go straight to get home.” Sister smiled. “Thank you, Dalton.”

“No need.” He nodded and climbed back into his Land Cruiser, a vehicle that can get through just about anything.

Sister followed Gray as he negotiated the twisty road, snow blowing across it as the winds intensified. She was sick at heart for Gray and for Sam, too.

Gray helped his brother to bed at the old home place. He and Sister took off Sam’s clothes, tucked him in, and put a wastebasket by the bed in case he did get sick and couldn’t make it to the john.

“I’m not staying with him. I’m afraid I’ll kill him when he wakes up.”

“Good decision.” She looked down at Sam, oblivious to the grief he was causing, and felt a rustle of anger at him. “Come home with me. You don’t have to entertain me or vice versa, but tonight’s the kind of night when you need a friend.”

He lightly placed his hand on the back of her neck. “You’re a good woman, Jane.”

That night as the winds howled, Sister held Gray as he fell asleep. She stayed awake for another hour and thought about the miseries people inflict upon others when they won’t be responsible for themselves.

CHAPTER 37

China lined the two cupboards. Glasses sparkled next to them. A glass display case up front across from the checkout counter protected antique pieces. On the left side of these treasures, men’s furnishings and ladies apparel stood out from the paintings and paneling. On the right side hung hunt whips, both knob end and stag horn, professional thongs—eight-plaited or twelve-plaited—and beyond, bridles and saddles, their vegetable-tanned leather emitting a satisfying fragrance.

A change of venue usually stimulated Sister’s brain. So that morning she took Gray and drove the ploughed-out and ever-overcrowded ribbon of Route 29 north to Warrenton, a town she loved, where the courthouse alone was worth the two-hour drive, to visit Horse Country. Fauquier County, its rolling foothills, restrained estates, was currently braving an onslaught of Washington, D.C., money. Like lemmings, Washingtonians scurried out Route 66 West, hooking left on Route 29, down to Warrenton. This trip without heavy traffic could be accomplished in an hour or even less; with traffic, it was anyone’s guess. Like Loudon County, infested with developments where verdant land used to delight the eye, Fauquier staggered and faltered. The money was too good: people sold or subdivided their estates.

Each time Sister drove up to Horse Country to visit Marion Maggiolo and her staff, like a family really, Sister felt her credit cards burning in her pocket.

Gray, spirits somewhat restored, rejoiced in Sister’s company. Marion, who knew Gray from his days of hunting in Middleburg, was pleasantly surprised to see how attentive he was to Sister. The two friends caught up for a while before Marion went back to her office and Sister started shopping.

She picked out a blue tattersall vest, and a shirt off the men’s pile, then she discovered a pair of gloves that had been handmade in England. A true glover put these together: it wasn’t two or even four pieces stitched together, but over twenty. The stitching was done in such a way that the threads never touched the inside of the hand. Between the third and last fingers a special patch was sewn on, just where the reins rubbed. The soft inside palm also had another layer, cut to conform to the lay of the thumb. The spectacular gloves made of Capibara leather carried a spectacular price. Sister touched them, pressed them to her nose, put them back, picked them up.