A Hiss Before Dying

November 10, 2016 Thursday

“Low to the ground.” Pewter sniffed as she looked down from the hay storage, windows open.

“True. Every dog is bred for something useful to humans. Beagles are bred to find small game,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

“Well, Tucker is low to the ground and I can’t see that Bubblebutt performs useful duties.” Pewter watched that very same bubblebutt trailing the Waldingfield Beagle pack.

“Herder. She nips heels,” Mrs. Murphy sagely commented.

“Nah. She does that to irritate.” Pewter noted the goldfinches flying in and out of bushes. “All that color. You’d think birds would want to blend in.”

“I don’t know. I guess wings make one superior,” the tiger mused.

“Certainly not. Cats are the crown of creation.” Pewter lifted her chin.

Below, Amy Burke whipped-in on the right front of the pack while her brother, Alan Webb, took the left front. At the left rear came Bob Johnson, who like Arie, the master, had such a long stride others struggled to keep up with him, apart from Arie.

Up front the radiologist walked, his horn hung around his neck with rawhide. On the right rear, Joe Giglia walked, whip with thong in hand.

Harry, Cooper, and Susan followed the beagles. The pack walked some Thursdays at Harry’s farm. She and her two friends greatly enjoyed the activity done near sunset. Chores finished for all three in their separate duties, walking the beagles provided a punctuation point for the day and daylight.

In the front of the pack of twenty-one beagles, Empress, a sturdy female with drive, per usual led her friends. The crisp air put a lift to their step. Each human wore a jacket. The harsh cold lurked about a month away but a jacket now was welcome. However, being right by the mountains one never did know. Often storms came up so quickly the weather radar didn’t report them until the fury was right on top of you.

Overhead, a whitetail hawk circled. Of course, the beagles, too big, couldn’t be snatched up but one could dream.

Harry glanced up to see the impressive bird. “I can never figure out why some raptors head south in October and others, like her, stay.”

“Pickings are good here and it’s her territory,” Susan said.

“You’ve been reading the materials MaryJo has given us for the wildlife group.” Cooper smiled.

“I have. I’ve always liked watching birds but now I’m trying to become knowledgeable,” Susan replied.

“Don’t you wonder what she thinks looking down at us?” Harry laughed.

“Bet any creature without wings looks funny.” Cooper noted Verdi, a beagle, nudging to the edge of the pack.

“Verdi,” Bob reprimanded her, for she could take a notion and scoot.

“I was just looking,” the adorable little hound fibbed.

Tucker stuck close to the three women, for if she’d dashed up front she would have upset the pack. They could tolerate other animals when hunting, ignoring house dogs, horses, cattle as they concentrated on finding and trailing rabbit scent. A walk was a different matter. Minds could and did wander occasionally and another dog might upset the applecart. A cat, especially Pewter with her smart mouth, would definitely break their concentration of staying together.

“Lot of game here,” Verdi whispered to Cyber, next to her.

“We can’t do anything about it if he doesn’t tell us to ‘Find a rabbit!’ ” Cyber groaned. “I even smell grouse. Don’t smell much of that anymore.”

They walked a mile out, along the creek, then a mile back cutting through the harvested fields readied for the winter.

Once back at the farm, all stopped as the hounds drank water, waited to be picked up and put in their small wooden trailer.

Cooper parked the black Tahoe next to the barn where the trailer was also parked. She’d picked it up from the dealer, late. Darrel dropped her off and she just ran out of time. She’d take it back to the sheriff’s department in the morning.

“I can smell the dead man’s scent.” Empress lifted her nose, for the Tahoe’s windows were open. “It’s faint, but it’s there.”

Curious, the whole pack sidled over to the Tahoe as Amy and Alan quickly walked to each side of them.

“Hold,” Amy commanded.

Empress lifted her nose. “Faint but him.”

Virgil, on his hind legs, put his front paws on the driver’s door. “Perfume.”

Empress copied him as Amy carefully pulled the beagles down so they wouldn’t scratch the black SUV. “Perfume or cologne. There was a woman in this car.”

As sister and brother quietly shepherded the beagles to the trailer, Tucker walked over, lifted her nose. She thought it was cologne but it could have been perfume.

Once the beagles nestled in their trailer, the eight humans repaired to the now glassed-in porch. Fair readied it for winter over the weekend.

“We can go inside,” Harry offered.

“It’s so lovely. There won’t be many days when we can even sit out here.” Amy pulled out a chair by the small round table. “It’s not cold here, a little chilly maybe but not bad.”

“Well, let me just start these warmers. Once the sun sets that mercury will plunge.” Harry positioned two tall warmers, the kind used on restaurant patios.

Immediately, the air warmed. Arie brought out his tin of cookies and a drink called The Ridge Lee Special. Harry ducked inside the kitchen, returned with a Pabst Blue Ribbon for Bob, a Corona Extra for Cooper, sweet tea for those who wished it.

“Anyone want hot tea or coffee?” Harry offered. “Food?”

“No, sit down.” Alan encouraged her by pulling out a chair.

They ate their cookies, chatted as the rays of the sun grew ever longer. The cats had moved to the opposite end of the barn. They could be seen sitting in the open second-level doors.

“Looks like you put up good hay. The cats are guarding it.” Amy laughed.

“You know, our hay crop was spectacular this year.” Harry grinned.

Arie asked Cooper, “Any progress on the murdered man?”

“Nothing dramatic, but we know he was a high-priced private detective on a case.”

“Anyone know the case?” Alan inquired.

“Not yet, but we know it involved Charlottesville. It could be something as simple, as common, as Charlottesville being a drop for drugs. The town is central to the state. The train runs through it twice a day, the passenger train. Freight more often, but the schedules are erratic. Thanks to 64,” she named the east-west interstate, “anything can be easily moved east to west, Route 29, north or south. If this isn’t an illegal something, Charlottesville a hub of distribution, it’s some kind of stopoff. But we don’t know what yet. The drug-sniffing dogs crawled over that Tahoe. Nothing. Very sad.”

“That there weren’t drugs? But he was a PI,” Susan, being logical, pointed out.

“No, not that he was carrying anything, but black Tahoes, with black-tinted windows, are a big fav with criminals, rock stars. We’re trying to put this together. Why the Tahoe?”

“Black Tahoes with black-tinted windows are also favored by our government, federal,” Bob noted. “The other vehicles are all marked. But if an important person is on the move, there are decoys, unmarked cars. This fits the bill.”

“Does.” Harry thought about it then turned to her neighbor. “What are you doing with the Tahoe?”

“Picked it up from the dealer. They know their cars better than anyone so our forensic team worked with Price Chevrolet. They took this car apart. Everything. Nothing.”

“Dogs should do their work. Humans miss too much,” Tucker announced.

Harry gave the corgi part of her cookie. “But, Cooper, what are you doing with it?”

“I was late picking it up, so I called Rick and he said drive it home, bring it in tomorrow. It’s terrific to drive. Has everything, I mean this thing is loaded.”

“Loaded and expensive,” added Harry, who kept up with such things. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like one.”

“What’s wrong with your Volvo station wagon?” Alan liked the Volvo.

“Has just over two hundred thousand miles, that’s what.” Harry slumped in her chair.

“The engine’s just getting broken in.” Arie smiled.

Harry fiddled with the Number Eleven chit around her neck.

Noticing, Bob remarked, “Isn’t that what the man we found wore?”

“He wore Number Five. I bought this from Liz. She had a whole bag full that she bought from Hootie and Martha Henderson. They found them in their attic when they did some work on the house. Found old accounting books, too, all the way back to 1786.”

“Wow. They might be valuable,” Amy said.

“Hootie will allow me to read them and I asked Tazio to help. What I’m thinking is what if slave prices are in the book? We know Ewing Garth didn’t sell anyone on his holdings here but he surely would have noticed costs. And if not that, I’m sure he would at least have noted the price of flour, fabric, medicines, stuff like that. Anyway, maybe we can get them, if they do contain that information, for the schoolhouses.” She then told them the idea about actually using the old buildings, about thinking of a fund-raiser for Save the Old Schools.

“Wonderful idea. Put the kids right back in time.” Bob smiled.