Outfoxed (28 page)

CHAPTER 56

A sudden wind swirled snow in Lafayette's eyes, up into Sister's. Shaker, just ahead, struggled down a steep deer trail snaking to Edmond's Creek. The coyote trotted along the rocks, then bounced down to the bottom of them and into the creek. He should have been easy to track but the hounds couldn't find scent and Shaker couldn't find tracks.

By the time Lafayette reached the bottom of the incline, Shaker reached the other side of the creek.

Lafayette called to Shaker's horse.
“A storm's coming up fast.”

“What'll I do?”
Keepsake, being tried out by Shaker and a bit green, worried.

“There's nothing you can do. They won't smell it until it's almost upon them or until they see the clouds piling up in the west. Shaker will get you home; don't worry.”

Sister patted Lafayette's neck. The weather kept everyone away, including the Franklins, who couldn't get the trailer down the driveway since Bobby didn't have a snowplow. The wind piled up drifts, which though not large were large enough to risk getting stuck.

She loved staff hunts. Not that she didn't enjoy her field—she did. But those days when she didn't have to shepherd people, when she could just fly or sit and listen to hounds turn back to her, those days made life worth living.

Standing out like a resplendent cardinal in the snow, Doug waited upcreek for the hounds to find. He, too, checked for tracks. When Shaker looked his way Doug shook his head. The huntsman rode downcreek, Sister shadowing him on the opposite bank, portions of which were steep.

“Nothing.” Shaker shook his head.

“Me, too.”

“Right under our noses.”
Cora lifted her eyes back to the boulders. She felt he was hiding there but how he escaped detection she couldn't say.
“Let's go back up.”

“I don't think he'll allow it,”
Dasher said.
“And if they don't smell the storm, we'll have more to worry about than the coyote.”

The barren trees began to bend and sway. Doug noticed the scudding clouds first. He pointed to the western sky. Both older people glanced up.

“Damn, those clouds are rolling in fast,” Shaker exclaimed.

They had hacked to Foxglove to cast hounds. From the kennels Foxglove was two miles on the trails. At the point where they now stood they were halfway between both farms.

“Makes sense to head home.” She smiled at her hounds. “I'm proud of all of you.”

“He's in the rocks.”
Cora wanted to circle back.

“Good girl.” Sister praised her as she turned Lafayette on the narrow path, walking back to the creek crossing. Once on the other side the three humans walked through the forest, Shaker and Sister up front and Doug in the rear.

They hadn't ridden a half mile when the wind began to whistle. Heavy frock coats, a vest, shirt, and silk underwear kept their upper bodies warm, but their legs began to feel it. Each had learned the trick of slipping a flat heat pack in the toe of their boot, which helped keep their toes from freezing. There was no help for one's hands, since a rider must feel the horse's mouth.

Sister wore silk liners under her string gloves but her hands ached in the cold. She didn't complain about it, nor did Shaker and Doug. Came with the territory.

Their ears began to sting. Snow blew off the conifers. As if the heavens unzipped, all at once the snow fell, fat flakes falling quickly. Within minutes their helmets, shoulders, and backs were covered in snow. The hounds' backs began to turn white.

“If we cut down into the ravine, we'll be out of the wind,” Shaker suggested. “It might take a little longer, as it's rough going, but this wind—” He raised his voice to be heard above the roar.

“Worth a try. Damn, how did this thing come up so fast?”

They picked their way down the folds of the ravine, holly bushes and mountain laurel sharing the banks with hardy firs. Once down in the bottom they followed the creek westward.

“I can't hear myself think.” Sister bent low to avoid a branch.

Doug looked at the edge of the ravine. The snow spilled over the top like a white-powdered waterfall.

The creek widened into a roundish shallow frozen pool where a small tributary fed into it, ice encrusting the creek bank edges. They halted to allow hounds and horses to drink, as the tributary was still running strong. The water emerged from the other side of the pond, but the ice was closing in fast.

“Funny how you get thirsty when it's cold. Wouldn't think so.”
Dragon gulped the icy water.

“I'd like bacon-bit kibble right now.”
Dasher sighed, taking a few steps into the deeper end of the pool. He'd pushed through the ice crust at the edge of the pond. He felt something odd among the pebbles, metal. He dug at it, moving it closer to the other hounds.

“Whatcha got?”
a large tricolor asked him.

“I don't know but I'm not giving it to you.”
Dasher reached down in the water, picking up the object with his mouth.

“I'd let you play with my toy.”
Dragon came over.

Dasher didn't respond or he would have dropped his prize.

Doug dismounted. “Dasher, that's really special. Let me keep it for you.”

The handsome young hound turned his head away from Doug. Dragon bumped him to see if he could get him to drop the toy.

Sister said, “Dasher, what a good hound.”

He turned around to face her, then slowly emerged from the pool, looking crossly at any hound that looked at him. He would surrender his find to Sister but they'd better leave him alone.

She dismounted also, reaching for the gun that he gave her. “Good hound. Good hound.”

The gun, cold and wet, soaked through her string gloves. “Thirty-eight.” She shook it, then slipped it inside the large game pocket inside her coat. “I've got a funny feeling about this.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Shaker agreed.

CHAPTER 57

The storm raged for one full day. Power cut out. Those that had them switched over to generators, careful to turn off the main switch at their breaker boxes or the poor sod trying to restore power would have a most unpleasant sensation.

The transportation department of the state, playing the averages, which it had to do, didn't have enough snowplows to open the main arteries, much less the back roads. People dug out as best they could or sat home, eating canned soup off Sterno stoves. The lucky ones who had gas stoves could cook real meals.

Then as quickly as the freak storm had hit, the temperatures rose into the sixties, the sky beamed heavenly blue, snow melting everywhere. The sound of water running into downspouts, across roads, under culverts, into creeks and rivers drowned out other sounds. It was as though the earth were melting. Creeks rose to the top of their banks, overflowing in low-lying areas.

As the snows melted the grass, still green underneath, deepened to a brighter green; the leafless trees seemed to stand out against the color.

Since Crawford Howard owned a Hummer, which suited him better than his Mercedes, he merrily drove everywhere. He surprised the Vanns by bringing them food, as they lived at the edge of the county down a twisting back road. He even delivered ten bags of kibble to the kennel in case chow was low. After a morning of good deeds he emerged from his mud-bespattered behemoth, which he parked in front of Mountain Landscapes. Since Martha had an apartment downtown she could walk to work. With masses of roses in his left arm, he rapped on the door with his right hand.

“Come in.”

He opened the door. “A rose by any other name is Martha.”

“You must have bought out the store—or did you buy the store?” She laughed, rising from the drafting table. “I'd better get a tub.”

“Brought that, too.” He hurried outside, returning with a large round black bowl.

“Oh, they'll be stunning in that.” Martha took the bowl, filled it with water in the small kitchen in the office, then placed the roses inside, careful to have a few falling over the side. She placed the arrangement in the middle of the coffee table. “There.”

He sat on the leather sofa. “Quite a storm.”

“I love watching the weatherman on Channel Twenty-nine. Even with all the sophisticated radar, satellite photos—they still don't know what the weather will do. Especially here next to the mountains.”

“Hungry?”

“That means you are.”

“How about a cold Coke?” He went outside again and this time returned with a Harrods hamper basket filled with exquisite sandwiches; cheeses, including Stilton; crackers; fruits; chocolate-covered strawberries; small delicious shortbreads. He carried this largesse with two hands, it was so heavy.

Under his arm he pinned a checkerboard tablecloth, which he now spread on the floor. “Picnic. Wine for you?”

“Oh.” She surveyed the endless array of treats he kept pulling out of the basket. “I'll have a Coke with you. Let's save the wine.”

“Goodo.”

As they ate and chatted, Crawford reported on his heroic exploits delivering food, whose vehicles were stuck, the Fishers' collapsed shed roof.

She remarked that downtown didn't lose power and she enjoyed watching the snow fall over the rooftops. The Episcopal church steeple was wrapped in white. This was her favorite view from her bedroom window, Saint Luke's, and for a few hours the snow fell so heavily she couldn't even see that.

After laughter and chat he leaned toward her. “Martha, do you think people can change?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you feel that I have changed?”

“In some ways.”

“How?”

“I think you've learned that younger isn't necessarily better.” She suppressed a smile.

He blushed. “Well, yes, but I was hoping you'd see that I've become more sensitive, more responsive to others.”

“Crawford, you are trying.” She wanted to encourage him but he'd always want his way. The bully was never far from the surface.

“And I'll keep trying. I've learned from my mistakes. I want to make amends.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I want to marry you all over again.”

A long pause followed until Martha leaned over the fragrant chocolate-covered strawberries and gently kissed him. “Let me think about it. You know I love you. I never stopped loving you but I'm afraid.”

“I promise I will never do anything like that again. Only you.”

“Give me some time.” She kissed him again.

“I'll do anything, Martha. Anything.” He kissed her passionately.

“Well, I have a task for you if that's true. What I learned when we divorced was that no one wanted to hire me. The work we did together didn't count on a résumé. I could have starved. And you know, Crawford, you're very tough in business and I thought I was old business.” She kissed him again, then continued. “I was burned. Not just by you but by people I thought were my friends. I found out exactly how I was regarded socially. So I was not high on anyone's employment list nor on the dinner-party circuit. Devastating as it was, it was valuable to me. If I should go back to you I want to work. Even if I don't make what you consider money, it will mean the world to me and I think it will make me more interesting to you.”

“You're fascinating even in your sleep.”

She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, but do you understand? If you got tired of me—”

“I won't,” he interrupted, his eyes intense.

She held up her hand. “Okay, but for my peace of mind. Do you agree to my working?”

“Yes, as long as you can take vacations when I do.”

“Then I need my own business.” She sounded much calmer than she felt.

“That's not unreasonable.”

“I'd like to buy this company. I can make it work and I've learned how to bid jobs.”

He exhaled through his nostrils. “Will she sell?”

“I think she will. She'll need the money. You know how he was.”

“Yes,” Crawford replied simply.

Another pause ensued while he thoughtfully ate a strawberry. “I never really thought about what you must have gone through. I thought about it in emotional terms but not—I've been the captain of the ship. I can't imagine what it was like to look for work and I wish you had told me.”

“You were occupied.” She said it without rancor.

“What I was was a fool.” He put down the stem end of the strawberry. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I agree to your terms but it might be prudent if you approached Sorrel.”

She threw her arms around him. “You've made me so happy. You don't know how happy you've made me.”

“Does this mean you'll marry me?”

“Yes.”

 

CHAPTER 58

“We could realize an annual income of $24,000 minimum. If we spent what needs to be done to rehabilitate the place, probably $40,000, then we could realize an annual income of close to $48,000, since we could charge $4,000 a month.” Georgia Vann, treasurer, spoke. She had taken the precaution of handing out these figures along with the bids for repairs at the beginning of the ad hoc meeting to announce Peter Wheeler's generosity.

“Why can't we hire someone to clear trails and build jumps year-round and house them there? They could make the repairs and it would save some money.” Betty Franklin was trying to be helpful.

“When would they have time? I mean, if they were properly doing their job for the hunt club? It's better to hire professional roofers and painters. Look at what we've been through at the shop, hon,” Bobby, seated at a long table facing the membership, reminded his wife.

“You're right.”

“Is she always that agreeable?” a male member called out.

“My Princess, sure.” Bobby laughed and the others laughed with him.

Peter's gift, an antidote to Fontaine's murder, had raised everyone's spirits.

“Would the renter have to be a hunt club member?” Cody asked, wishing she had the money to rent it.

“We never thought of that,” Bobby responded, “but unless someone raises an objection I don't see why membership would be a requirement so long as the renter accepts this is a long-standing fixture and will be hunted regularly.”

Walter stood up. “I would be willing to rent the place right now. I would also be willing to coordinate all repairs if the hunt club will pay for them. Naturally, I'll keep up the grounds. And I'd pay $3,000 a month so long as I have full use of the barns and all outbuildings.”

A brief silence followed; then everyone talked at once.

Bobby banged down the gavel. “Does anyone wish to match Walter's offer?”

Crawford stood up. “It's a good solution for both parties. I move that we accept Dr. Lungrun's proposal. The rent to stay at $3,000 per month for a five-year period, at which time the lease can be renegotiated.”

“I second the motion.” Martha beamed at Crawford.

“Discussion?” Bobby asked. When none was forthcoming he continued: “All in favor, say aye.”

“Aye,” came the chorus.

“All opposed say nay.”

One lone nay came from Cody.

“What's that about?” her father asked.

“Just that I wish I had the money to rent it. I'm not really opposed.”

“All right, then.” Bobby smiled at her. “Motion carries. Is there other business to be discussed?”

Sister, who sat in the corner during business meetings, called out, “New doors for the kennel.”

Bobby scanned his list. “Forgot that. We need new interior doors. As you know, wooden ones last two years, if that. The tin-covered ones last about five years and our five years are up. If you'll flip over your sheet you'll see Georgia has itemized expenses and bids.”

As the discussion about replacing doors droned on, Jennifer slipped into the meeting. Still carrying her schoolbooks, she sat next to her mother.

“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.”