Crazy Like A Fox

CHAPTER 18

“West Indian, George Trumper,” Aunt Daniella, perfectly calm, told Sister and Gray. “It’s an old men’s cologne, established in 1875. Favored by rich men, as is Creed. One of those things where if you know, you know. If you don’t, you’re farther down on the ladder. Edward Bancroft would know of it. Weevil imitated the rich when he could. Cologne is affordable.”

Sister and Gray had driven over immediately after her call.

“No one else mentioned it. Tom Tipton vaguely recalled a scent.”

Aunt Daniella thought about this. “Tom might recognize the fragrance but not know what it was. Also, from your report, it sounds as though Tom was terrified.”

“Unlike you.” Sister smiled at the nonagenarian.

“I am very close to the red exit light. Nothing scares me.”

“Nothing ever did.” Gray complimented her. “Mother used to say of all of the family, you were the strongest.”

“Ah” was all Aunt Daniella said, her lips, dark red lipstick, parted slightly.

“He wanted to know who was alive?”

“Just as I told you. Tom Tipton. Randall Farley in assisted living.”

“According to Marion, who has canvassed the two Northern Virginia hunts where Weevil started out, of his contemporaries, all gone.”

“H-m-m. How is Tom, by the way?”

“Still a little shaken, but recovering. I spoke to Sara Bateman, who is keeping tabs on him,” Sister replied.

“Good fellow, Tom. I always thought he would rise higher than he did.” She wondered. “Mercer would mention Tom from time to time, as he remembered him from his childhood. Said Tom had been kind to him.”

Mercer, her son, was a good rider, as were all the Lorillards and Laprades.

“It’s a funny thing, Aunt Daniella.” Sister spoke to this. “Carrying the horn is very different from whipping-in. Some people find they can’t do it. Some can do it but much prefer whipping-in. I actually think the whippers-in often see more. They certainly see more foxes.”

“No doubt.” The old woman nodded.

“Aunt D.” Gray called her by her nickname. “Have you any idea why he is here? Why he has showed himself?”

“No.”

“Did you think he was a ghost?” Sister inquired.

“He seemed as alive as the three of us. He looked like Weevil, smelled like Weevil, spoke like Weevil. A flatterer, as always.”

“And Weevil mentioned Evangelista Bancroft?” Sister questioned.

“He said he had loved her and that she, in his words, ‘had her ways.’ He also declared Evangelista had secrets.” A long pause followed this. “Don’t we all? Would you want to know anyone who didn’t have secrets?” A sly smile followed this.

Gray, having fixed his aunt her double bourbon, himself a light Scotch, and a Perrier with lime for Sister, cleared his throat. “Speaking of secrets. Now don’t fuss at me. Did you have an affair with Weevil?”

“Of course I did. If anyone else asks me I will lie, lie through my teeth, but to you and you,”—she inclined her head toward Sister—“I will tell the truth. It was one of those mad things. The kind of affair Cole Porter wrote songs about. We parted friends. I was in no way prepared to settle down, and neither was he.”

“Aunt Daniella, you couldn’t have married him back then. The miscegenation laws.” Gray recalled the law forbidding whites and blacks to marry.

“I didn’t say I would marry him. I said settle down. They couldn’t arrest us for that, plus I can easily pass for white. However, everyone here knew I was not.” She waved her hand dismissively. “When are people going to realize you can’t control human behavior? Do you think for one instant Weevil and I were the only young, attractive people in the state of Virginia enjoying each other’s bodies? Ha.”

“Did you think he was a good man?” Sister drove to the heart of it.

“Yes. Weevil was the grasshopper. Remember the story about the ants and the grasshopper? The grasshopper fiddles, sings, and dances while the ants work, prepare for winter. Winter comes, the grasshopper will die, but the ants save him. That was Weevil, and I declare, someone would have saved him. If he were ninety-four as I am, some woman somewhere would be ministering to him. But he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and in his own way, he could be uncommonly sweet.” She paused. “Almost feminine, really, his sensitivity to other people.”

“Do you think he had a feeling he would be murdered? Do you think he felt it?” Sister continued.

“I don’t know. By the time he disappeared our frolic had ended. Oh, I would see him, but time had passed and in its way, passed us by.”

“And what did you think of Evangelista?” Gray jumped in.

“Gorgeous. Impossibly rich. A creature of her time and place. A snob. It’s interesting that her brother isn’t. Edward is an open fellow.”

“You didn’t tell Weevil that Edward was alive,” Gray remarked.

“Edward was at Dartmouth back then. He wasn’t really our contemporary. His father, as I’m sure you heard, broke up the relationship and packed Evangelista off to Europe. Paris, London, Moscow. God knows where she traveled once there. She did marry upon her return, but I can tell you, she didn’t love him. He was well-bred and rich. She did what she was raised to do, except she never had children.” Aunt Daniella held up her glass, which Gray promptly refilled, giving her the tiniest twist of orange.

“What’s this?”

“A little twist just for you. You have lemons, oranges, and limes sitting at the bar.”

“For show.” She grinned. “Love the color.”

“Back to Evangelista. How had she changed?” Sister plucked the lime out of her Perrier and sucked on it for a moment.

“How can you do that?” Aunt Daniella asked before returning to the question. “Too tart for me. Ah, yes, Evangelista. Well, she never had children, as I said. Swore she wanted them. Said she and her husband tried. I actually think she didn’t want children. It was as though some of her colors had faded, like a salmon taken out of the stream. She performed all the duties of a woman of her class. She delighted in Tedi and Edward’s two girls, but after her return I never once saw her laugh spontaneously—or do anything spontaneous, really. It was clear she tolerated her father and vice versa.”

“Aunt D, do you think Evangelista’s father could have killed Weevil? Or Edward, for that matter?”

She looked at her handsome nephew. “No. If old man Bancroft was going to kill him, or have him killed, I think he would have done it during the affair. Same with Edward, but he was up in New England. I really don’t think Edward could kill anyone, unless defending his family.”

“I don’t either,” Sister agreed. “And he asked about Sophie Marquet’s fortune?”

“I said I thought it was a story and nothing more. Those two worthless brothers lost everything. If there had been treasure and they found it they’d have fought about that, too, and blown it. I told him Old Paradise had been sold. I did not describe Crawford as new money. He would figure that out anyway. Ah yes.” A slightly malicious smile crossed her lips. “Money talks. Crawford intends to tell us all. The vulgarity of that man, that awful new mansion. Does he think we can’t tell the difference?”

“I think, Aunt Daniella, that’s why he bought Old Paradise.”

“Gray, really? How extraordinary. As to Sophie’s fortune, Virginia bubbles over with stories of buried treasure, lost fortunes, entire estates vanishing amidst wine, women, and song. Maybe he likes the drama of it.”

“Tell me more about the gossip about Weevil and Alfred and Binky’s mother?” Sister urged.

“She was married. I can’t swear to anything. If they did carry on, they were discreet. Weevil actually could cover his tracks, usually by engaging in a flamboyant affair to divert people’s gaze.”

“One wonders what Margaret DuCharme thought of it.” Sister couldn’t suppress a smile.

“When you have as much at stake as Margaret, I guess you put up with it. I heard that was how Weevil managed to sleep with the Falconer women. He actually trotted out a fan dancer. You know, a Sally Rand type. However, people did get wind of it because the mother, not the daughter, had a nervous breakdown.” She took a long drink. “Oh, there’s no gossip like old gossip. I feel quite giddy.”

They all laughed.

Gray, who did love his aunt even when she was at her despotic worst, inquired, “Do you think Weevil could kill?”

“No. Not the Weevil I knew. If he became angry, it was over as quickly as it began.”

“Did he care about money? It seems all the women he bedded except for the fan dancer were rich,” Sister asked.

“I wasn’t rich. Not then.” She nestled in her chair. “There’s a lot to be said for marrying a man for money. Well, my dear, you married well.”

“I did. Ray was a good provider. Your nephew certainly has made his way in the world.”

“Thank God one of them did.”

“Sam isn’t going to make money, Aunt D, but he’s doing okay and he’s clean, clean as a whistle. He’s giving riding lessons, well, one so far, to Yvonne Harris.”

“I see.” Daniella tapped the edge of the side table. “Your brother could have done anything. Be rich as Croesus. Well, did he waste much of his life? He did. But you know, a thirst for alcohol runs in the family. I can drink. I watch it, but I can drink. Your mother hated the taste. Who is to say that, had I been a man, subject to a man’s pressures, I might not have turned into a drunk? But sometimes I look at Sam and he breaks my heart. All that talent.”

“True, but, Aunt Daniella,”—Sister’s voice was warm—“you can be proud of him. He works hard, takes horses that untalented people can’t ride, turns them into babysitters, and he loves the horses. He has such a big heart. You know he goes down to the train station, goes under the bridges, and talks to his old homeless buddies. He encourages them to get help. He brings them food. You can be proud.”

Aunt Daniella looked at Gray. “Does he?”

“He does.”

“Well, why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“He wanted to keep it to himself—and really, Aunt Daniella, you had your hands full with Mercer. When he had clients, you often had to entertain,” Gray reminded her.

Mercer had been a bloodstock agent. He’d died about two years before.

“Aunt Daniella, I know I asked this but let me ask it again. Did you think you talked to a ghost?”

“As I said, Weevil was as alive as the three of us. But I don’t understand how that can be. He was about thirty-two. Looked exactly as I remembered. I have no answers.”

—

Driving home in Gray’s big Land Cruiser, Sister stared out the window. “I look at the lights on in people’s houses, the twinkling lights out on the land when we get out of town, and I always wonder, what are they doing? Are they happy?”

“Me, too.”

“Honey, why is this man, or this ghost, here now? Why steal his cowhorn? Why blow it? And why is he now showing himself to his old comrades, so to speak?

“When all this first occurred, the video, we talked about holograms. I don’t know who came up with that first, but I thought, well, maybe. Why, who knows? But a prank. Now, I don’t think this has anything to do with technology. Weevil is with us.” She paused. “Gray, it can’t be good.” She watched a light go on in an upstairs bedroom as they passed Ramsay, an old spectacular estate.

“I think you’re right.”