Crazy Like A Fox

CHAPTER 12

The Sunday twilight finally gave way to darkness by eight-thirty. Athena, the great horned owl, over two-feet tall with a four-foot wingspread, wings folded, would have dozed off except for Bitsy’s gossip. The screech owl, all of eight-and-a-half-inches tall, should have been named Town Crier. Her wingspan, at twenty inches, suited her little body. This unlikely friendship had begun when both were owlets born in Pattypan Forge, the large abandoned forge at After All Farm. This well-built foundry, first stone laid in 1792, served generations of After All’s owners. People came from all over central Virginia to have iron things fabricated. The foundry fell into disuse in the 1920s as cheap axles, wagon rims, and small hooks were being made elsewhere, some even out of the country. Steel had become easily available and it was lighter than iron. Those war-torn nations after World War I produced many things cheaper later, too.

The building, interior intact, but old windows broken, had served as lodging for many creatures, Athena and Bitsy being just two. Once mature, both owls had left the forge to establish their own nests. Athena borrowed that of a great blue heron near Roughneck Farm. Bitsy made a wonderful nest up in the rafters of the stable at Sister’s farm. Neighbors and friends, they would often cruise over the pastures together, the screech owl flapping many times to Athena’s one great swoosh. She kept up, though.

Tonight, stars bright, they sat in the apple orchard.

Comet left Tootie’s cabin to begin hunting.

“Maybe we should follow him. He’ll push out mice,” Bitsy suggested.

“In time. No hurry. I’m not hungry.” She turned her majestic head. “You?”

“No. Tootie left part of a ham sandwich on the tack trunk in the aisle. I pulled out the ham. I really like ham.”

Athena chortled. “Well, you’ll have to kill pigs to get it.”

Bitsy didn’t reply as a figure quietly approached, almost creeping down the worn path to Hangman’s Ridge. Athena followed Bitsy’s gaze.

Both birds of prey observed while remaining immobile.

The human, unknown to them, reached the apple orchard, going no farther. Whoever he was, the light shining in Tootie’s cabin, as well as those in Shaker’s little clapboard house, stopped him. He studied them. He was smart enough not to get too close to the kennels as he would have set off the hounds, many lounging outside on this lovely night. The temperature, just dipping to the high 50s, felt wonderful to the hounds, as it did to the owls.

Except for the stars, the moon wouldn’t rise until about eleven-thirty and it was just a few days after a new moon, so darkness prevailed. The human pulled a paper from his jean jacket, clicked on a tiny flashlight, studied it, looked up at the surroundings again, then turned, heading back up to the ridge.

Curious, the birds followed. Their flight, silent, allowed them to spy without being noticed. They moved from tree to tree, finally stopping at the top of Hangman’s Ridge. They kept just to the edge of the wide expanse. The human never knew they followed him.

Glancing at the huge old hangman’s tree, he shivered, hurried to the path on the other side.

Athena spoke. “Never saw him before. Strange that a human would come down the ridge, then go back up again.”

“Young. Walks young,” the little owl noted.

A light wind swept across the ridge, a low moan with it.

“They never leave, do they?” Bitsy’s golden eye focused on the tree.

“Well, we will.” Athena lifted off, opening her wings, gliding down the path back to Roughneck Farm.

Bitsy, next to her, opined, “Being hanged. Imprisons them, I think.”

“They should have the sense to shut up.”

“If they’d had sense they wouldn’t have been hanged in the first place,” Bitsy said about the ghosts.

Athena didn’t argue, instead offering, “Let’s shadow Comet. Will drive him crazy.”

As they reached the gray fox just working across the pasture, crouching low, he looked up. “Don’t spoil my hunting.”

“You aren’t going to get anything,” Athena taunted him. “You’re spoiled eating all the leftovers from the cabin.”

“Gotta keep my skills up.” He stopped, crouched flat to watch three does emerge from the woods that marked After All’s property line.

Athena hooted, noting the deer, “You aren’t that good.”

—

As the owls and Comet bantered, Crawford walked into his office.

“You aren’t going to work, are you?” Marty, DVD in hand, asked. “I thought we were going to watch La La Land.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll be right there. Just wanted to check some data.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“No, really. I’ll be right there.”

As she left for the small, comfortable media room, he clicked on his computer, sat down. Scrolling along, he suddenly stopped. An icon of a devil thumbing his nose appeared. The drawing, probably nineteenth-century, was familiar to him, but he didn’t know where he had first seen it. What was it doing in his files?

He read on. The icon appeared again, with a cartoon puff coming from his mouth, a sentence inside: Got two years of files. Many thanks.

“Marty!”

Hearing the tone of his voice, she came right in. “What?”

“Look.”

She walked behind him, bent over as he showed her the devil, kept going, then read the final message. “Whoever this is even got your blueprints”—she paused—“all the drawings for Old Paradise, the ruins, the outbuildings. Why would anyone want your files?”

She thought, then answered her own question. “To see if they can figure out what comes next. Perhaps. To find a pattern in your investments, your land purchase.”

“For the last two years?”

“You’ve done a lot in the last two years. And you’ve been investigating sites for a satellite campus for Custis Hall. If someone happens to buy land you and the school are considering, that will be a nice profit.”

He flopped back in his leather chair. “Yes, it would.”

“Are you close to anything?”

“Well, I’ve looked at land around Zion Crossroads. Too expensive now, so I’ll keep looking east. As for land across the James, Buckingham County—nothing. This is all the very early stages.”

“True, but if someone had enough money to gamble a bit, early is better. But how did they get into your files?”

“I don’t know, but I need better security. Christ, I’m paying enough as it is.”

“Crawford, the Pentagon’s been hacked, the Democratic National Party has been hacked. No one is really safe—I don’t care what our government says.”

He exhaled loudly. “You’re right about that, but why would whoever did this taunt me? A devil thumbing his nose.”

“Well, he has a sense of humor.”