The Hunt Ball (6 page)

C H A P T E R   6

T
he ivy climbing over the brick buildings of Custis Hall swayed gently in the light breeze.

This October 29 the twilight surrendered to darkness after a sunset of flame gold and violet.

The air already carried a bite to it. Revelers slipped through the various quads. The parking lot behind the Great Hall was filled with faculty cars, administration cars, and one white Miller School bus disgorging the boys in costumes. One fellow came dressed as Queen Christina of Sweden, an interesting twist since she often dressed as a man. The other young men wore clothes reflecting manly images: pirates, cowboys, spacemen, Batman, Spiderman, a robot, generals from all epochs, Richard Nixon, and a few desultory ghosts.

William Wheatley, head of the theater department, prided himself on the high level of teaching in his department.

Tonight, the girls specializing in set design made him proud. Bill was nearing retirement. This year would be his last hurrah.

Al Perez, one of the chaperones, dressed as Zorro, stood outside the massive front doors to greet the partyers. Valentina Smith, as senior class president, stood next to him. Charlotte Norton flanked her. The other uncostumed chaperones—Amy Childers, Knute Nilsson, Bunny Taliaferro, and Bill Wheatley—moved through the crowd, stopping to talk to students. From time to time, Knute would slip out back to check the parking lot. The kids were ingenious in sneaking weed and booze.

Green light bathed the outside doors. Inside, three-foot wall sconces flickered with fake flames, while the other sconces were held by dismembered hands à la Cocteau's
Beauty and the Beast.
The girls had done good work.

The light from both the permanent and the theater-built sconces infused the Great Hall with splashes of light in ponds of shadow.

A giant spiderweb hung overhead with a large black widow, her red eyes complementing the red hourglass on her body. She slid up and down the main strands of her web, causing shrieks from the costumed humans below. Smaller spiderwebs, dusted in various colors, blacklit, added to the scary decor. Witches flew about on brooms, the whir of motors distinguished as they passed over. The moan of a werewolf swelled into a howl and blended into the screams. A fake moon rose behind the stage constructed for the band.

Outside, the darkness contrasted with the false moon inside the Great Hall. Betty and Bobby as well as Crawford and Marty left at ten-thirty, bidding Zorro, who guarded the front doors, good-bye. The kids would dance until midnight, then load up on school buses, go to Hangman's Ridge, then back to the dorms after an hour there.

The Miller School boys were dazzled by the technical display.

At midnight, the sconces were extinguished. The spider's eyes glowed in the blackness. She slid down to the center of the web, and from her silkjets came a stream of little sparkly flashlights, which clattered to the floor. The girls who built all this picked them up first and turned them on. Tiny blue lights, red lights, white lights beamed. The other students, now down on their hands and knees, scooped up the lights. Dots of light danced as the spider moved back up to the corner, the witches flew about one last time, jack-o'-lanterns cackled, and the ghosts groaned.

Charlotte and her husband, Carter, stood by the doors to send the revelers off while Bunny Taliaferro and Bill Wheatley rounded them up. Al Perez and Amy Childers, squabbling at low volume, shepherded everyone out to the parking lot.

School buses painted in school colors awaited the kids. The Custis Hall bus was parked immediately behind the Miller School bus. Bill Wheatley was already on the Custis Hall bus.

“Honey, I should be home by one-thirty,” Charlotte said as she kissed Carter on the cheek.

“Oh, what the heck, I'll go with you.” He grabbed her hand, and they walked to the station wagon as Zorro waved and sprinted by to his car.

As Charlotte settled behind the driver's seat, she leaned over, kissing Carter on the check. “Thanks, honey.”

She turned on the motor and slowly backed out. As they drove out the winding, tree-lined road they noticed Zorro walking in the opposite direction.

“Al must have forgotten something,” Charlotte smiled. “If he ever lost his Palm Pilot he wouldn't know his own name. As it is, he usually forgets something. Makes me laugh. At least he can laugh about it, too.”

They glided through the large stone gates, turning onto the state road. Within five minutes they'd turn onto Soldier Road.

Given the darkness of the night and the few cars in front of them it took twenty minutes to reach Hangman's Ridge from the Soldier Road side. The dark, dank mists hung in the lowlands, covering the last wild roses of the year. Cumulus clouds, gathering in the west, were moving toward the ridge.

“Sister said she'd clean up the bushes on this old road off Soldier Road.” Charlotte held the steering wheel firmly as they bounced in the ruts. “She's a good sport about this. We didn't want to come in from the other direction. We'd disturb the hounds.”

“Bet the boys have the usual—spaghetti in pots masquerading as brains, grapes as eyeballs. The boys aren't as imaginative as the girls. Course, they might surprise me.” Carter watched the clouds move in swiftly, black against black.

“Guts, gore, screams,” Charlotte laughed.

Carter peered up at the sky. “You know, honey, I really do think the damned ridge is haunted.”

“It will be tonight,” she agreed.

Inky, on the far side of the ridge, heard the school buses laboring to climb up the twisting dirt road. Usually she avoided Hangman's Ridge, but the grinding of gears intrigued her. Who could be negotiating that road this time of night?

As the black fox picked her way through the underbrush, she felt a dip in temperature, a bit of breeze from the west. Hangman's Ridge ran southeast to northwest and winds would rake its long flat expanse.

The girls jostled behind the boys' bus.

“How did women wear these things?” Tootie kicked up her skirt. She was dressed as Madame du Barry and made a note never to do that again.

Valentina looked sleek in her Catwoman outfit and Felicity settled on being a witch.

Pamela, two rows back, as Little Bo Beep, touched Tootie on the shoulder with her shepherd's crook. “You'll answer to me, you little black sheep.”

Her devotees giggled.

Bill, sitting behind the driver, was unaware of the exchange.

“You're so tiring,” Tootie called back.

“You're so chicken,” Pamela replied.

“Shove it.” Valentina, next to Tootie, turned around, speaking over Felicity, immediately behind them.

The buses finally made it to the top, cars behind them. The boys poured out first, darting to the girls' bus.

“Close your eyes!” Terry Durkin, one of the leaders, told them. There was no need to close their eyes as they were plunged into unrelieved darkness. Charlotte and Carter parked behind the Custis Hall bus. Amy parked behind them. Knute pulled up behind Amy.

As the girls approached the tree they began to peek and turned on their little sparkly flashlights from the black widow.

Felicity screamed as she drew closer. All the girls opened their eyes and screamed at the sight of two corpses hanging from the tree. One was dressed as Lawrence Pollard, the first man hung, in 1702, because of a real estate swindle. The other corpse was dressed as Zorro, wearing the mask.

Only Tootie refused to scream. “Mannequins.”

Valentina peered up. “Yeah.”

Felicity remained frightened. “Zorro looks real.”

“Oh, he does not,” Valentina said. “You are so—”

“Who strung up the second victim?” Terry asked another boy, who shrugged.

Tootie walked under the corpses, followed by Valentina. They pressed their tiny lights upward. The Miller School chaperones assumed the boys had gilded the lily. The boys also assumed one of their number had done so.

Inky stuck her glossy head out from under the mountain laurel. She was fifty yards from the huge tree. The effluvia of a freshly hung human assailed her nostrils. Fresh death. The small muscles that go into rigor mortis first hadn't even tightened up.

Tootie, directly underneath, could smell him, too. She gazed up into bloodshot eyes bulging through the openings in the silk mask. This was no fake.

C H A P T E R   7

D
elia delivered seven healthy puppies. Sister had fallen asleep sitting on a low chair next to the brood box; a long heat lamp, overhead, glowing with dimmed light.

The dog hounds gave cry when the first screams were heard flying down from Hangman's Ridge like an arrow of fear.

Sister opened an eye, then closed it again, smiling. She imagined the girls spooked up on the ridge, the Miller School boys proud of their accomplishment. The next set of screams aroused the gyps sleeping out in the toasty large boxes on stilts in the large runs. The boxes had porches, the interiors filled with fresh straw. All the outdoor runs, dotted with spreading old trees, provided room to play or sleep. Younger hounds lived inside the main brick kennels. The arrangement gave each hound plenty of personal space so tempers didn't flare from overcrowding.

The continued screams awakened everyone.

Again Sister opened an eye, sighed, then opened both eyes. The sound of two sirens in the far distance presaged something terribly wrong. She patted Delia on the head, hurried to the small bathroom off the office, splashed water on her face, dashed outside, hopped into her pickup, and drove up Hangman's Ridge.

She reached the back side of the ridge just as the sheriff's squad car crested the Soldier Road side. The blue lights washed over the two hanging corpses. She knew immediately that one of the hanged men was real. Swaying slightly, his back to her, the angle of his neck gave it away. The young people, some crying, stood at their respective buses, the chaperones attempting to comfort the more obviously distressed. Tootie, Valentina, and Pamela also did what they could to help others. Felicity shook like a leaf but was in control of herself. Sister noted the remarkable poise of the three young women. Charlotte and Carter greeted Sheriff Ben Sidel as he stepped out of the car.

The rescue squad van pulled up behind the sheriff's car.

Sister waited until Ben, Charlotte, and Carter walked toward the tree, the rescue squad following at a discreet distance.

Ben spoke to Sister, “Hell of a Halloween.”

She simply replied, “Yes, it is hellish.”

Charlotte, the muscles in her face tight, met Sister's gaze as the older woman walked toward her.

Sister now faced the corpse, Zorro. She registered disbelief.

“Al Perez,” Charlotte whispered to Sister.

Ben carefully checked the ground underneath, motioning for a deputy, Ty Banks, to come over. Deputy Banks, flashlight in hand, listened intently as Ben Sidel, in a quiet voice, gave him instructions.

Sister noted Inky still as a stone.

“What happened?” Ben asked Charlotte.

Briefly she explained the after-party plan by the Miller School boys, how at first they thought this was part of their night of fright, as they called it.

Ty examined the bark on the tree, and, like the sheriff, he inspected the ground underneath the corpse. Four imprints from a stepladder pressed into the earth. “Sheriff.” He wordlessly pointed to the ladder footmarks, scanning to see if footprints were visible. The earth, fairly dry except for the light dew that would turn to frost, yielded no sign of footprints.

“Yes, I noticed that, too. Was he dead before he was hanged or was he killed by hanging?” Ben thought out loud.

“He couldn't have been dead longer than half an hour,” Carter opined. “Warm, no rigor even in the small muscles.”

When the students were walked back to the buses, Carter carefully touched Al's leg to feel for body temperature. He did not touch any other part of the hanged man's body for fear of damaging evidence.

“My husband wanted to make sure Al was, well, dead. If by any chance he wasn't, we would have cut him down and done our best to revive him. I mean, Carter would,” Charlotte spoke.

“I understand,” Ben said sympathetically.

“Will you need to question the students?” Charlotte thought first of her flock.

“Not now.” Ben knew that some of the kids were aflutter from hysteria, despite the efforts of Knute, Bill, Amy, Bunny, and the other girls. “Did any of them see anything unusual?”

“No.”

Charlie Thompson, chaperone for the Miller School, quietly approached. “Sheriff, three of my boys strung up the mannequin. They were alone. I guess you'd like to interrogate them.”

“Well, that might be too strong a word. Mr. Thompson, take them back to school. I'll ring you first and then talk to the boys. Right now, these kids need your attention. You can all leave. I'll be in touch.”

Charlotte looked to her husband, then back at Ben. “Should we tell his wife?”

“No, I'll do it. I hope no one has called her,” Ben responded.

“No, I made that clear to all,” Charlotte firmly replied.

“It's the worst part of this job,” Ben flatly stated. “You all can go as well.”

As the Custis Hall people and the Miller School people left, Ben asked Sister, “Hear anyone come up on your side of the ridge?”

“No, nothing. I was in the kennel whelping room. I would have heard a car or truck.”

As the buses and cars dipped over the ridge onto the rutted road, Ben's eyes followed the receding red dots of light. “You have an opinion on Al Perez?”

“He was pleasant, competent, very upbeat. I knew him from serving on the board of directors.”

“Enemies?”

“I don't know. Charlotte would know better than I. Custis Hall is her bailiwick.” She hesitated a moment. “He didn't get along with Amy Childers—old romance—but we all have a few of those. We don't usually hang for it.”

“One hopes.”

Ben, not a country boy, learned to ride when he came to Jefferson County four years ago. He discovered that riding wasn't easy, but he enjoyed the challenge. He'd reached the point where he rode with the Hilltoppers. He was working toward riding up with first flight, taking all those exciting jumps.

He had keen powers of observation, trained powers. He also had a sense of people's character, having heard every lie known to man, so he particularly valued an honest person. Sister Jane was rock-solid honest. Her powers of observation were also highly trained. She proved a shrewd judge of character, too, where humans were concerned.

Sister raised her eyes to Al's darkening face. “Hanging is a definite form of suicide. Anyone who hangs himself truly wants to die, but you've seen the stepladder prints, as did I. Al Perez didn't hang himself. Whoever killed him wants to tie the past to the present, to scare the hell out of all of us. This is the place of public execution.”

Ty, twenty-nine, in thrall to his work, drank in every word. He'd not thought of that.

“A warning?” Ben thought out loud.

“Yes, but to whom? This is just a feeling, but the warning involves the school.”

“Why do you say that?”

Sister paused. “If this person only wanted to warn and warn publicly, he could have hung Al somewhere else, or shot him, dumping him in a public place or a well-traveled spot. But it seems you've got a fevered imagination at work.”

Ben felt the cold slice of breeze from the northwest. He reached in his pocket for a small round hard candy. He offered Sister one, then Ty. “In charge of alumnae affairs. Important post. Financially critical.”

Sister folded her arms over her chest. “I doubt very much Al Perez is an innocent victim.”

“M-m-m.” Ben was thinking the same thing.

As Sister walked back to her truck, Inky shadowed her. Inky liked Sister. It was mutual.

Sister put her hand on the door handle, stopped to call back to Ben. “Shrouds have no pockets.”

“What?”

“Shrouds have no pockets. I don't know why that popped into my mind, except that a lot of money flowed through his hands.”