Рита Браун - Outfoxed

“Correct.”

“That’s not the tricky part.” Bobby, like most fat people, sweated easily and he was sweating now.

“I know.” Sister frowned.

“The tricky part is that once you have passed on, Doug Kinser must be the next master. Jesus, the board will hit the roof.”

“Because he’s black?” Vin questioned.

“For some, I expect their hemorrhoids will flare up,” Sister dryly replied. “But no, the real reason is the board of governors wants to govern. This removes from them the right to elect their master annually. Not so much a problem now but quite the issue when I’m dead and gone.”

“Doug would be the first black master in the country. In the world,” Bobby thought out loud. “Course, he’s only half black.”

“People don’t see it like that.” Vin tapped the eraser end of the pencil against the blue cover. “If you look the tiniest bit black, then you’re black.”

“Like the old race laws. If you have one percent Negro blood in your veins, you’re Negro.”

“Virginia had laws like that?” Bobby was appalled.

“Not just Virginia. Many states. Midwestern states. People feared mixing the races.” Vin paused. “The idea was like to like, I guess. I remember my grandma saying to me, ‘Stick to your own kind.’ There’s a logic to it,” he honestly added. “I can’t say that I agree with it but there’s a logic to it.”

“Bobby, our bylaws state that the master must be elected by the board of governors, who are in turn elected by the membership.”

“That’s what I’m saying. As long as you live, we don’t have a problem.”

“We do if I get decrepit.”

“You can still be master. You can still control the kennel and the hiring and firing. Someone else can be field master. We don’t have a problem. Oh, we’ll hear some quibbles about how you should have a joint-master but I can deal with that and so will others,” Bobby confidently predicted.

“Do we have to tell the membership of this?”

“Well—” Bobby unfolded his hands, making a tepee out of them.

“No one need know the full contents of this will so long as you enact its provisions,” Vin added. “There’s enough money annually for you to pay a salary, let’s say, put a first whipper-in at the house and he has to care for it. It could be quite comfortable.”

“Yes.” Sister’s mind was roaring along at a mile an hour. “Vin”—she leaned toward him—“I don’t mind if this will is read to the membership, but can we wait until after Thanksgiving hunt? It’s only two weeks away.”

“Of course. We can do anything you say. Do you accept the terms of Peter’s will?”

“I do and may God rest his soul. There won’t be a day of my life that I don’t think of Peter and thank him in my heart.” She couldn’t finish. She broke down.

Bobby reached in his jacket, bringing out a linen handkerchief with an F embroidered on it. “Here.” His eyes wa-tered, too.

She wiped her eyes. “Another question. Peter wishes Doug to succeed me, which really is the best plan—”

Bobby interrupted. “But he has no money.”

“We’ve got a few years left to figure out how to make sure he does have the resources to run the club. There are bigger obstacles. First, we must convince the club that the title of hunt secretary carries almost as much weight as master.”

“That’s saddling Doug with a hell of a burden,” Bobby blurted.

“It may be but it also ensures that those with a big ego and big pocketbook like Crawford might contribute generously if elected as hunt secretary. Look, once this will is read, no one but a bloody fool will try to fiddle with it. We need that land. It’s good land, too. We couldn’t possibly buy it. Not at today’s prices and it’s close to a hundred acres. The club will fall in line.” She held up her hand. “We’ll have to hear this, that, and who shot the cat but they’ll fall in. My question to you, Vin, is twofold: What if Doug should predecease me? Secondly, what if Doug were convicted of a felony?”

This got both men’s full attention.

Vin cleared his throat. “If Doug predeceases you, then you have the right to name your successor with the stipulation that it be someone Peter taught as a child.”

“And would we be within the spirit and scope of Peter’s will if, say, Doug committed a felony? I should say was convicted of a felony. Then would I have the right to name a successor? Again, someone who Peter taught.”

Flipping up pages of the will, Vin read intently. He cleared his throat again. “I think you would not be in violation of this will.”

Bobby, bolt upright now. “You think Doug killed Fontaine?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m asking a reasonable question. Personally, I hope Doug does succeed me. He will be a fine master once he gets the hang of it. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Of course, they had.

CHAPTER 53

The motor purred as Sister Jane and Bobby Franklin sat in her Durango in the parking lot of Vin Barber’s law firm. Over a foot and a half of snow had fallen last night, the temperature stayed low, and the skies threatened more snow.

“Talk to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

That directive meant tell me everything and I know plenty as it is.

Bobby sighed. “When I thought you were searching for a joint-master I supported Crawford Howard. Let me hasten to add that was a grievous error and I have since repented of my ways.”

“In florid fashion, I’ve heard.”

“Uh—yes. Anyway, Fontaine found out—not that I was actively campaigning for Crawford. I’d only verbally committed to his support and I hadn’t yet lobbied other board members. Well, Fontaine threatened to take away his business from me and to make sure others shunned my press. As you know, Fontaine did use us for most of his needs. The income from Mountain Landscapes has been steady. Crawford threw me big jobs but I wasn’t sure if all of his jobs would outweigh Fontaine’s jobs and vice versa. I believed Fontaine’s threat. I was between a rock and a hard place.”

“Let me get right to the point, Bobby, and I ask this with no malice intended: Did you kill Fontaine?”

“No. I’d much prefer to kill Crawford.”

“That seems to be the prevailing mood.”

“About me?”

“No, about Fontaine’s death. When asked, people say they wonder why Fontaine, or they say exactly as you did. Curious.”

Bobby squirmed in his heated seat, the warmth toasting his back. “How do I turn this thing down?”

“Flip it off.” She reached over and cut off the heated-seat button. “The warmth in the car is sufficient, although I love these heated seats.”

“I carry my own heat with me.” He smiled sadly. “Now look, Sister, do you honestly think I would or could kill Fontaine Buruss because he threatened my business?”

“No, but I had to ask. But you could kill him if he threatened or harmed Cody.”

Bobby’s head rocked back a moment. “Why do you say that?”

“You tell me.”

“Rumor.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Of course not.”

“All right, then, let’s look at this from another angle. Do you think Cody had an affair with Fontaine?”

Bobby really squirmed in his seat now. “He was old enough to be her father almost.”

“Since when has that stopped a man?”

A sickly pallor flooded Bobby’s broad face. “Yeah. Is this relevant?”

“For Chrissake, Bobby, if I didn’t think it were, do you think I’d sit here for the sheer pleasure of making you uncomfortable?”

“I know. I know.” He gripped the handguard as though the vehicle were moving. “Do I think Cody had an affair with Fontaine?” An agonizing silence followed; then he spoke much too loudly. “Yes. Goddammit. Yes. I could have killed him for that. She’s made enough of a hellhole of her life as it is without him digging her in deeper.” He caught his breath. “Rehab and therapy. Betty and I have to go once a month along with the kids—I’m finding out stuff I wish I didn’t know. Cody would sleep with anyone to get cocaine—more than one at a time. I’m amazed she’s alive and not suffering from AIDS. And Jennifer has always worshiped Cody. That was misplaced admiration. I hope we’ve stopped this before she really follows in Cody’s footsteps.” He wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “If they were sons, I’d have thrashed them within an inch of their lives.”