Рита Браун - Outfoxed

CHAPTER 40

November resembles a curveball. Just when you think you know where the ball will go over the plate it shifts on you and you’re swinging wind.

The rain morphed into tiny ice bits clicking on windowpanes; cars skidded off roads. Inky and Aunt Netty met at the base of Hangman’s Ridge. They trotted to the kennels, a half-mile distance but seeming much farther in the biting weather.

“No hound will show his face in this. They’re curled up in deep straw.” Netty thought they were spoiled.

When Sister built the main building out of cinder blocks she had dropped fluffy insulation in each row before the next row was laid over it. The result was a structure that hounds couldn’t chew to pieces when bored yet one that stayed cool in summer and warm in winter. Then, too, hounds threw off a lot of body heat, making the sleeping quarters toasty.

“We won’t need to worry about Raleigh and Golly. They’ll be in the big house.” Inky squinted through the sleet. “She takes good care of her pets.”

Aunt Netty said, “Before you were born and the blizzards hit, she put on her snowshoes and fed us.”

“Don’t most masters feed their foxes if the weather is bad?”

“Some do. Some don’t. Some believe that a fox has to survive nature’s tantrums. Others believe a little help now and then is a good thing.” Netty paused. The kennel loomed up ahead. “Might as well go right up to the chain-link fence and bark.” She trotted up. “Yoo-hoo. Cora. Archie.”

No one stirred inside.

“Do you mind if I try?” Inky politely asked.

“Go right ahead.”

“Diana. Diana, it’s Inky.”

They heard a few grumbles back in the bitch section of the kennel and then the magnetic door flap went whap as Diana, head down, pushed through. The lovely tricolor, lots of black on her saddle, hurried to the fence. She was surprised to see Aunt Netty.

“Diana, this is Aunt Netty.”

“Golly,” the hound gushed, “I’ve been on your line but I never thought I would see you.”

Aunt Netty, pleased, replied, “I know a trick or two.”

“What are you all doing out on a filthy night like this?”

“Diana, we need your help.” Inky came straight to the point. “Reynard, Netty’s nephew, was shot, then used as a drag to split the pack.”

“That’s how—“ Diana hoped Dragon wouldn’t get into more trouble, since he’d led the split faction.

Netty interrupted, her sharp features ablaze, sleet stinging her face. “We have only one clue.”

“What?”

“A rope left in the ravine to the northeast of the hog’s-back jump. This weather will blot out any hoofprints but the rope should still be there. If we help you, do you think you can get the pack to go there on hound walk?”

“The humans will never stand for it. If we bolt, I mean.”

“I think I have a way.” Netty raised her voice, as the sleet intensified. “Since Raleigh goes on hound walk you must tell him this plan. His cooperation is the key.”

Diana listened gravely as Netty mapped out her idea to be used on the first clear day.

After the sleek red finished, Diana blinked her eyes. “I’ll talk to the others.”

“Thank you.” Inky smiled.

“Diana, has anyone told you you’re much like your grandmother, Destry?” Before Diana could answer “No,” Netty chortled. “Now, that was a hound.”

The foxes melted into the darkness as Diana walked back to the kennel. She was young. Who would listen to her? But she hadn’t put a paw wrong since cubbing began. She decided to whisper to Cora while the others slept. If Cora listened, it meant two things. First, they might get the humans to the rope. Second, she had earned the respect of the pack’s strike hound.

She softly picked her way through the sleeping girls, as Sister called them, to snuggle next to the hard-muscled, lightning-fast Cora.

“Cora,” Diana whispered low. “There’s a rope in the ravine. It might have something to do with Fontaine’s murder. We need to get the humans to it. Aunt Netty has a plan.”

At the sound of Aunt Netty’s name Cora’s eyes opened wide. Diana had her full attention.

CHAPTER 41

Puffs of breath rolled out of Sister’s, Shaker’s, and Doug’s mouths like cartoon balloons. Each carried a knob-end whip with a long eight-plaited thong. A twelve-plaited thong existed but it was so expensive, almost two hundred dollars for twelve feet, that few staff members were fortunate enough to own one. At the end of the thong a brightly colored thin popper dangled.

The popper, if one were to be perfectly perfect, should be the same color as the hunt’s colors. Made in Italy, woven of silk, long poppers could be ordered from Fennell’s Tack Shop in Lexington, Kentucky, for 95 cents. Shorter ones were sold by Horse Country in Warrenton for about $1.25.

In desperation people had been known to use shoelaces for poppers, L.L. Bean duck boot laces proving the most reliable.

The knob-end whips, formed from ash, blackthorn, or even apple wood, were generally used only by staff members for walking hounds. A good knob-end was passed down from generation to generation, as was a good antler-handle formal hunt whip.

The three humans gathered in front of the kennel paid no mind to their knob-ends. Wearing down vests, thermal underwear, and other secrets of keeping warm at sunrise, they discussed who to take and who to leave in the kennel. They were as fooled by the weather, that sudden sharp turndown, as they were stunned by Fontaine’s murder.

Raleigh, called aside by Cora, listened intently.

Golly, lounging in the house kitchen, thought Raleigh loony tunes to roar out on a frosty morning, thanks to last night’s odd weather. She ate whatever crumbs were scattered on the countertops, then paraded into the pantry, where she jumped onto a shelf, throwing down dish towels until she succeeded in making a nest to her specifications in the remaining red-and-white-striped dish towels. Golly was very particular.

“Let’s just take them all, Shaker. They’ve been penned up a full day because of the weather. Doug can take the right; I’ll take the left. If our young group bolts, I think we can get them back. The longer we leave them in the kennel, the rowdier they’ll be.”

“There is that.” He pulled his lad’s cap further down on his head. “I’ve my doubts about this Dragon. Pity he’s so handsome.”

“Took his father two years to mature and settle down. Don’t give up on him yet.” She thought to herself that if he didn’t learn his lessons she would couple him to Archie. Archie did not suffer fools gladly.

“Ready?” Shaker asked Doug.

“Yes.” Doug pulled up his turtleneck.

“Okay, then.” Shaker opened the draw run gate and out they ran, invigorated by the cold and filled with purpose.

“I’ll go up front.” Raleigh danced around.

They walked in good order through the hickory-lined back lane that spilled out onto the low meadows, long grasses mixed with lespedeza, bent over by the frost and last night’s battering. As the sun rose each blade reflected its rays, thousands upon thousands of tiny rainbows.

Athena silently flew along the edge of the meadow, then disappeared into the woods.

She landed in the substantial pin oak by Netty’s den. “They’ve just plowed into the meadow at the bottom of Hangman’s Ridge.”

Netty stuck her head out of her front entrance. “Thank you, Athena. I’ll be on my way.”