Рита Браун - Hotspur

“Well, you’d better start squinting, buddy, because Sister just took off.” Ken clapped his leg on his horse and shot off after her.

“Damn, that’s what we get for talking!” Ron knew he should have paid more attention to what was going on.

Hounds, now in the cornfield, pushed another fox. This run was brief but invigorating. Hounds, master, and huntsman were well pleased.

They gathered themselves up, riding back to the mill ruins and their trailers.

Sister chatted with Bobby as they walked back. He rode up to her and the Hilltoppers mingled in with the field, always a treat.

“Bobby, as I recall, your childhood nickname was Bruiser. Did it scar you for life?”

He laughed. “No. What made you think of that?”

“Nicknames. I overheard the Three Musketeers back there talking about nicknames. Ron said he thought Guy had to live up to the name Hotspur after Nola gave it to him. Do you really think it was inspired by Shakespeare?”

“I don’t know.”

“He was impulsive.”

“Quick with his fists.”

“Wonder if we’re missing something?”

“Like premature ejaculation?”

“Bobby, that thought never crossed my mind!”

What did cross her mind was Shakespeare’s Hotspur saying, “Why, what a candy deal of courtesy this fawning greyhound then did proffer me!” She felt the killer was handing her and everyone else a candy deal of courtesy.

CHAPTER 35

“Amputate. It’s the only way to save her,” Dr. Middleton gravely said.

Walter and Sister bent over the stainless-steel table where the anesthetized vixen lay. Using Sister’s instructions and a Havahart trap, Walter had caught the red fox with the infected paw.

He’d watched her limping about down by the ruins. When she went off her feed he knew the infection was worsening.

“How much of her paw do you think you’ll need to remove?” Walter stroked the animal’s beautiful head.

“I won’t really know until I get in there and see how far the infection has spread. It’s in the bone, and that worries me. Her white cell count is hitting the stratosphere. I’ve got to do this now.”

“Of course, we must save her. I’ll pay all expenses,” Sister said. She loved all foxes, and this perfect young vixen with her spotless white tip had to be one of Target’s daughters.

“My concern is she won’t be able to survive in the wild.” Dr. Middleton removed his glasses.

A compassionate veterinarian and also a foxhunter, Chris Middleton was a trusted figure in the community.

“She’ll have to live in a kennel, then,” Walter replied. “I can build her a wonderful home with a doghouse, plus I’ll dig a big den for her, too.”

“You’ll have to dig two feet down, lay in the chain-link fence. Even with one paw she’s going to try to dig out.”

“By the time she’s ready to come home, she’ll have everything she needs.” Walter rubbed her ears.

“All right, then. I’ll get to work.”

“Do you mind if I stay?” Walter asked.

“No. Be glad to have you.” Chris was already scrubbing up.

“Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it, much as I’d like to watch.” Sister reached over and patted the vixen’s side. “You’ll get through this, miss. You’re in good hands.” She looked at Walter and smiled. “Maybe I should say a pair of good hands.”

“He’s smarter than I am.” Walter smiled back. “I only had to learn one animal inside out. He had to learn dozens.”

“Bird bones. Now, that’s something.” Chris pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. “Walter, scrub up. I might need you.”

“Okay, boys. Walter, call and give me a report.” Sister opened the large, heavy swinging doors, passed down the short hall and back into the waiting room.

Sybil Fawkes, trying to get out the front door with her arms full of a large bag of cat food, was surprised when Sister appeared to open the door for her. “Where’d you come from?”

“Operating room.”

“Not a hound, I hope, or Raleigh?”

“No. Walter managed to trap that injured vixen at his place. Chris’s working on her now.” She flipped up the hatchback of Sybil’s Mercedes wagon.

“Thank you. Usually the girl at the front desk will help me, but today everybody’s busy.” She exhaled heavily. The forty-pound bag of food seemed heavier than usual. She closed the hatch. “Sister, I wanted to tell you that I know I’m not Doug Kinser, but I’m learning a lot out there.”

“I’m grateful for your help and I think you’re doing very nicely.”

“Thank you. I get nervous, you know.”

“No one day is like any other. If you think about it, this is a sport that has no time-outs, no manicured playing field, no time limits. And when I watch other sports, you know how I love baseball and football, I watch man pitted against man. At least, usually it’s men.” She smiled. “But with us, it’s man against fox. Guess who wins?”

“Humbling.” Sybil noticed the dogwoods turning red. “Won’t be long till Opening Hunt.”

“No. I’d guess the first frost is two weeks away, max.”

“Sister, thanks for all you’ve done for Mom and Dad. Me too.”

“Your mother and father helped me get through Ray’s death, and then Big Raymond’s. That’s what friends do, and I am so lucky to have you all for my friends. This is an odd time. Or maybe it’s me. I hope everyone at After All is—”

“Coping?” Sybil filled in for her. “Horrible as it was to find Nola, in a way it was also an ending of sorts. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I called on Frances this morning. She’s bearing up, but she hates that there are people who think Ralph brought this on himself somehow. Maybe it’s easier to think that.”

“Why?”

“Blame the victim. It eases the threat. People are always looking for easy answers, aren’t they?”

“Do you feel threatened?”

Sybil paused, then looked Sister straight in the eye. “Yes.”

“Has anyone verbally threatened you?”

“No, but”—she fumbled around for a moment—“I feel watched. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel a tension building.”

“Yes.” Sister knew exactly the feeling.

“And Ken said to me after Ralph’s service, that night, he said this all gets back to Nola and Guy. And then he really upset me because he said some people might think I killed Nola for the inheritance.” Her creamy complexion darkened. “I nearly slapped him, even though he doesn’t believe it. I don’t know when I’ve been that upset. Never.”

“I would be, too.”

“Have you heard that, Sister?”

She didn’t lie. “Yes.”

“You don’t believe it—do you?” Sybil’s voice rose, plaintive.

“No. If you were going to kill Nola you would have done it when you two were teenagers. Like normal siblings.” She smiled, hoping to relieve Sybil.

Tears filled her light blue eyes. “The times I told her I hated her. That I wished she were dead. The time I threw a bottle of Coke at her head. God.”

“You were kids. She gave as good as she got. What about the time she sewed shut the legs on all your breeches just before Opening Hunt?”

“Oh that!” Sybil smiled.

“The time she put ginger under your horse’s tail. That was a rodeo show.”

“I still don’t know how I hung on.” Sybil brightened. “I look at my two boys and wonder how I’ll live through their teens.”

“You will. Everyone lived through your teens and my teens, and well, that’s just how it goes.” She put her hand on Sybil’s forearm. “You said you felt watched. Is there anyone in particular?”

“It’s kind of a general feeling. I guess some people really do think I killed her. Maybe others wonder if I’ll crack under the strain. They don’t think I’m a murderer, or should I say murderess, but you know. Hard times and all that. And maybe I’m supersensitive. I’m jumpy. I can’t help it. I feel this . . . this . . . awful creepy something. Like there’s a monster hiding under my bed.”