Рита Браун - Outfoxed

“How was practice?” Betty strongly supported Jennifer’s field hockey efforts.

“Okay.” Jennifer whispered, “Mom, Dean Offendahl got busted at school for drugs. He says I’ve been buying from him but I haven’t.” Betty shot her a dark look and Jennifer hurriedly added, “He’s pissed that I don’t hang with him anymore. Honest.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Betty whispered back. Inside she wondered if there’d ever be an end to this. If she’d ever trust Jennifer again.

Finally all the loose ends were tied up, the meeting was adjourned, and the members headed for the bar. Jefferson Hunt had no clubhouse. Meetings and events rotated among member’s homes and large meetings such as this one were held at a new country club, Dueling Grounds, built on the old dueling grounds. Since the club was competing with older, more prestigious clubs it offered better facilities and encouraged people to come in and see what was available.

The bar, paneled with wormy chestnut, old hunt prints on the wall, was inviting.

As was the custom in Virginia, paid staff did not attend membership meetings. Shaker and Doug didn’t mind, as neither man had much tolerance for the windiness that accompanies such gatherings.

“Sister.” Walter leaned over to speak to her. “I’ll take good care of Peter’s home.”

She smiled up at him. “You’ll fill up that barn in no time. Have you ever noticed people start with one horse and wind up with a herd? I think it’s some kind of progressive disease. You might want to do research on it.”

He laughed. “All right.”

She lowered her voice, which, considering the noise, wasn’t necessary. “Thank you again for dropping by the other day. Peter was a dear friend. I appreciated your sympathy.”

“He saved me after Dad . . . died. I wish I’d known him as long as you did. He used to call you his movie star.”

“He did?”

Before they could continue, Georgia Vann joined them and the conversation steered toward Thanksgiving hunt breakfast. The club needed to borrow utensils.

Crawford avoided Bobby, who did likewise. He told everyone that he and Martha were engaged. To celebrate his good fortune he bought a round of drinks for everyone.

Cody and Jennifer had Perrier as Jennifer told her tale of woe to her sister.

Sarcasm dripping, Cody said, “I’m so glad you’re preparing Mom and me but what’s the deal?”

“No deal.” Jennifer shrugged.

“You might as well tell me now because I’ll find out later and then, li’l Sis, I’ll really be mad. Like I don’t care how long you cry you ain’t gettin’ no help from me.” She sounded like a country-and-western song, which was her intent.

“He’ll say I slept with him.”

“Did you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“For drugs?”

Jennifer reddened. “Not exactly. I liked him. How was I to know he’d turn into such a butthead. When I stopped screwing up and screwing him, he—” She shrugged. “Getting even.”

“Mom and Dad are going to be really embarrassed.” She thought a moment. “Can’t you talk him out of it?”

“How? He got busted in the locker room selling a gram of coke. I can’t get him out of it.”

“Does he still want to go to bed with you?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged again.

“I’m not suggesting you comply but—” She shook her head, trying to come up with solutions. “Has he named other people?”

“Oh yeah. By the time he’s done half of Lee High will be tied and fried. Barbecue.”

“His dad’s a lawyer. I suppose that will help him but it won’t help you or anyone else.” She took in a deep breath. “Let’s talk to Walter. He’s a doctor. He’s smart. Maybe he’ll help us. If nothing else he can testify that you’re making every effort to keep clean.” She put her hand under Jennifer’s elbow, heading her in the direction of Walter.

“There’s one other thing. Dean knows I slept with Fontaine.”

Cody went white. “You idiot.”

CHAPTER 59

The sting of not being chosen to be joint-master faded as Crawford focused on Martha. Winning her back meant a great deal personally and socially.

This euphoria somewhat dissipated when Ben Sidell walked through the office door to announce that the .38 found in the ravine was registered to Crawford Howard.

“Are you accusing me of killing Fontaine Buruss?” Crawford sputtered.

Calmly, deliberately, the sheriff replied, “I am informing you that a thirty-eight registered to you, purchased last June, was the gun that killed Fontaine Buruss.”

Rising from his chair, Crawford said, “I didn’t even know the gun was missing.”

“Where do you usually keep it?” Without being invited to do so, Ben sat down in a chair by the coffee table. He opened his notepad.

“In my trailer.”

“What trailer?”

“My horse trailer.”

“Why would you keep a thirty-eight in your horse trailer? I thought foxhunters didn’t shoot foxes.”

Walking around his desk and leaning against it, facing the sheriff, Crawford, quickly in control of himself, replied, “In case I find a wounded animal. In case there’s an accident in the field. You know, a horse breaks a leg.”

“I see. Then why was the gun in your trailer and not on your person? I’d think you’d notice its disappearance promptly.” His tone was even, his voice deep.

Embarrassed, Crawford folded arms across his chest. “I anticipated being asked to carry the gun but when I wasn’t, I put it in the medicine chest in my trailer.”

“Why would you be asked to carry a gun?”

“One or two staff people usually carry a thirty-eight under their coat or on the small of their back. Just in case.”

“So you bought the gun last June—just in case.”

Crawford’s voice rose. “I thought I would be asked to become joint-master. My rival, as you know, since you’ve questioned everyone, was Fontaine Buruss. Jane Arnold was to have made her decision at opening hunt. However, the death, the murder of Fontaine, convinced her to delay that decision until next season.”

“You’re disappointed?”

“Hell, yes, I’m disappointed but not enough to remove my rival.”

“Why couldn’t you both serve?”

“It would have never worked.”

“Why not?”

“Fontaine was a lightweight. A bullshitter. What he wanted to do was seduce women.”

“I was under the impression he was successful without being joint-master.”

“Sheriff, this is Virginia. We’re both outsiders. It took me a while to realize that M.F.H. behind one’s name ranks right up there with F.F.V. Of course, if you have both you have everything.” He caustically winked.

“Tell me again of your whereabouts during opening hunt. You were unaccounted for for twenty minutes.”

“We went over that.”

“Refresh my memory.” Ben smiled at him, a cold glint in his eye.

“My horse went lame. I turned back. When I reached the small creek, Tinker’s Branch, I was afraid Czapaka would jump it and I didn’t want him to do that if he was lame. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me at first but I picked up his front feet and found a stone. I removed the stone, walked him a bit with me off. He was sound. So I got up and rejoined the group.”

“And no one saw you?”

“No. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“Crawford Howard, I am booking you under suspicion of the murder of Fontaine Buruss. You have the right to remain silent. . . .”

CHAPTER 60

Crawford Howard strolled out of the county jail within four hours thanks to his lawyer, the best money could buy. The bail, set at two hundred thousand dollars, was paid with Crawford waggling his finger at the bailiff saying that the money would be back in his pocket within the month.