Рита Браун - Claws And Effect

"You don't see cats smoking," Pewter smugly said, secure that this proved yet again the superiority of cats.

Murphy kept pacing. "Rick's not just here to deliver the news. Mom wouldn't be first for that."

"Yeah, that's true," Tucker agreed.

"Harry, I think we'd better cancel having the Cramers hunt tomorrow. It's too dangerous. And I'm going to have Coop stay with you at night until-" He noticed Little Mim walking toward the post office.

"The Cramers?" Mim's voice rose. "Do I know the Cramers?"

"No." Harry quickly spoke for she, too, saw Little Mim. "They hunt with Orange and Middleburg."

"Must be good." Mim wanted to know what was going on.

"Mrs. Sanburne." Rick leaned over. "We're close to our killer here. I know you like to be in on everything but right now I would expose you to danger, serious danger. The reason I'm here with Harry is that she was struck over the head at the hospital."

Mim raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, since Miranda had sworn her to secrecy when she told her, but Mim had figured it out anyway. Rick continued. "I can't take a chance. The killer or killers may think she knows more than she does."

"And I don't know anything." Harry shrugged. "Wish I did."

"What do the Cramers have to do with Harry?"

"Well, uh, we were going to hunt together tomorrow. They're in the hospital business and-"

"Mrs. Sanburne, I promise you I'll fill you in as soon as we're-" He paused, searching for the right words. "Over the hump. Now could I ask you to intercept your daughter before she gets in here? Just give me two minutes with Harry."

Mollified slightly, Mim stood up, walked over, flipping up the divider, and caught Marilyn just as her hand was on the doorknob. She ushered her back toward the car across the street.

"Rick. Let the Cramers hunt. It will be the straw that breaks the camel's back. We've got Graham, we've got Dennis. They're military men. They're horsemen. They know what they're doing. They can protect the Cramers. Dennis is riding down with them in their rig and he'll ride back. I really believe we can shake our gorilla out of the tree tomorrow."

"It's a hell of a chance." Rick ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He knew Harry had a point but he hated to risk civilians, as he thought of them.

"Coop, I know we can do this. I wouldn't use the Cramers as bait if I didn't think it would flush him out," Harry pleaded.

"Yeah, Harry, I know, but I just saw Tussie Logan."

Rick and Coop stared at one another.

Rick puffed, then put down his cigarette. "Okay."

44

The Hunt Club hounds met at Tally Urquhart's farm at ten in the morning. Rose Hill, one of the oldest and most beautiful farms in Albemarle County, was a plum fixture, fixture being what meeting places are called.

The home itself, built of bricks baked on-site in the mid-eighteenth century, glowed with the patina of age. Tally herself glowed with the patina of age at ninety-two. She said ninety-two. Mim, her niece, swore that Tally was a hair older but at least everyone agreed she was triumphantly in her nineties.

Tally would stride into a room, still walking mostly upright, shake her silver-headed cane, a hound's head, at the congregation and declare, "I am two years older than God so do what I say and get out of my way."

And people did. Even Mim.

Years ago, back in the 1960s, Tally had been Master of the Jefferson Hunt. Her imperiousness wore thin but her ample contributions to the treasury ensured a long mastership. She finally retired on her eightieth birthday, amid much fanfare.

Everyone thought Mim would vie to be Master but she declined, saying she had enough to do, which was true. But truthfully, Mim wanted to keep her hunting pure fun and if she were Master it would be pure politics. She practiced that in other arenas.

Jane Arnold found herself elected Master and had remained at her post ever since.

A chill from the mountains settled into the meadows. Harry's hands were so cold she stiffly fastened Poptart's girth. She had introduced Laura and Joe Cramer to Jane per custom. There was no need to introduce Graham Pitsenberger, Joint-Master of Glenmore Hunt, nor Lt. Col. Dennis Foster, the Director of the Master of Foxhounds of America Association.

Master and staff didn't know the true reason for their company. Jane graciously invited these guests to ride up front with her.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If Joe and Laura were up front, nothing much could happen that she could foresee. If they fell behind, well, anything was possible.

Aunt Tally waved everyone off, then hurried back to the house before the chill could get her. Also, she was hosting the breakfast and it had to be perfect.

Dennis and Graham had conferred by phone before the hunt. Each man wore a .38 under his coat, low near the belt so the gun could be easily retrieved if needed.

Susan, Little Mim, and Harry rode behind Big Mim, who rode immediately behind the Cramers and the two men. It would never do to pass Big Mim in the hunt field, but since her Thoroughbreds were fast and she was a consummate rider, there was little chance that would happen.

The hounds hit right behind the cattle barns and within minutes everyone was flying up the hill behind the barns, down into the narrow ravine, across the creek, and then they boomed over open meadows which would soon be sown with oats.

Sam Mahanes rode in the middle of the pack, as did the bulk of the field. A few stragglers, struggling at the creek, brought up the rear.

Dr. Bruce Buxton rode back with the Hilltoppers since he was trying a new horse. Being a cautious rider, he wasn't ready to ride a new horse in the first flight.

They flew along for fifteen minutes, then stopped. The hounds, noses to the ground, tried to figure out just where Reynard lost them. A lovely tricolored female ran up a large tree, blown over in a windstorm, its top branches caught in the branches of another large tree. The angle of the fallen tree must have been thirty degrees. The top of the tree hung over a large, swift-moving creek.

Finally a brave hound plunged into the creek and started working on the other side.

"He's on this side," the hound called out to his companions.

"I knew it!" the tricolor female, still on the tree, shouted. "He ran up this tree and dropped into the creek. Swam to the other side. Oh, he's a smart one, he is."

Within a minute the whole pack had crossed the creek. The humans and horses, however, slipped and slid, trying to find a negotiable crossing. Jane, leading the humans, rode about one hundred yards downstream to find a better place. She motioned for the others to follow her quickly for the hounds were streaking across the meadow.

Laura Cramer, sitting her horse beautifully, jumped down the bank, trotted across the creek, and then jumped out. Her husband followed. Mim, of course, rode this as though she were at Madison Square Garden. Everybody made it except for a little girl on a pony. The water swirled up over the saddle. She let out a yell. Her mom retrieved her, and both walked back home, the kid crying her eyes out, not because she was cold and wet but because her mother made her stop hunting. She didn't care if she caught a cold. It would mean she might miss some school. Mothers could be mean.