Crazy Like a Fox

CHAPTER 32

“In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek for succor, but of Thee, O Lord, who for our sins are justly displeased.

“Yet O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Savior: Suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.”

The Reverend Judy Parrish’s vestments swayed slightly in the November 12 breeze as she stood over Wesley Carruthers’s grave. A small, highly polished walnut casket rested on the side of the grave. When his body was found only bones remained. They were gathered up to be laid in this small casket.

Sister and Gray had helped Weevil with the paperwork and the legal hoops.

Beverly Blackford sat next to her son as the service unfolded. Reverend Parrish, a true shepherd to her flock even if someone wasn’t an Episcopalian, avoided bromides. She said she didn’t know what was on the other side, but she did trust God’s love and Wesley was infolded in that love.

Most of Jefferson Hunt crowded into the calm, lovely hound cemetery with its statue of the great hound Archie in the middle. Few there remembered Weevil, but all were there to honor a Jefferson member and huntsman.

Weevil was not alone, surrounded by hounds he had loved and that had loved him.

Standing behind Beverly and Weevil II, seated under a canopy, holding hands, Sister thought, hoped, the murdered man was now hunting his hounds with George Washington, Teddy Roosevelt, the young Winston Churchill, the Empress of Austria, and the Virginia Astor sisters behind him, thrilled with the chase, with viewing an eternal fox. A fancy perhaps, but since no one does know what comes next, or if there is a next, Sister’s dream of heaven was as good as someone else’s.

The service concluded, Weevil walked his mother to the house, where Kasmir had taken care of everything, given all Sister needed to do.

Sister walked with Marion Maggiolo and Monica Greenberg, who had driven down together for the service. Betty walked with Bobbie, and Tootie escorted her mother. Everyone had attended, except for Margaret DuCharme, M.D., and Arthur DuCharme. They felt it might be inappropriate, since their fathers were the killers, but they trusted that in time they could offer their condolences and respects to Weevil and his mother.

Kasmir had outdone himself. The table carried American, Indian, and English food considered necessary for after a funeral. His Oxford days served him well. The big bar was in the kitchen, a smaller one in the library where it truly resided, one in the mudroom, given all the kitchen traffic, and another in the hall by the front door.

The shockingly beautiful floral arrangements impressed as much as food and drink. Large calla lilies along with dwarf calla lilies, with a red rose in the middle of each arrangement, made those who loved flowers gasp. Kasmir, being Indian, possessed a sense of color not native to Americans and Europeans. He also understood the absence of color, and he paid for everything no matter how much Sister fought with him.

The creature who most appreciated the lilies was Golly, lurking behind one on the Sheraton side table in the dining room. She knew she couldn’t launch onto the table, but she could hide. This unnerved a few guests who, oogling the arrangements, found themselves staring into brilliant green eyes.

“I accept tribute.” Golly purred.

She actually received some treats.

The dogs were in the upstairs bedroom, which they hated, especially since Golly had the run of the house and could not have cared less that someone had been buried. They, at least, were sensitive to the occasion.

Seated close to the library door, Aunt Daniella chatted with everyone as people moved through the house.

Weevil came to her, kissed her hand. “Do you forgive me?”

“You were very convincing and yes, I do forgive you. You brought back vivid memories.” She beckoned him closer. “How did you know I was close to your grandfather?”

“There were hints in my grandmother’s letters to my step-grandmother, but when I saw you, I knew. You are beautiful.”

To be ninety-four, more or less, and be told you are beautiful…Aunt Daniella glowed and gave him a kiss.

Hours later, the guests began to leave, most on their own steam, a few with assistance.

Marion and Monica, facing a two-and-a-half-hour drive home if there was traffic, walked over to Weevil.

Monica said, “I must have walked right by you when I was working on my project at the museum.”

“I was behind the door to the Huntsman’s room,” he admitted, then turned to Marion.

“I apologize for breaking into the case.” Weevil had had no chance to really talk with her until now. “I knew the scrimshaw meant something, but I didn’t know what. I hoped it might help me flush out the killers.”

She nodded. “Well, you were right.”

“I assume you want the horn back?”

“Yes,” she simply answered.

“Hold on.” He ran upstairs, grabbed it, came down—acknowledging people as he moved along—and handed her the treasure.

She ran her fingers over it. “Weevil, you were a cheeky devil to make the video for my iPhone.”

He smiled his grandfather’s smile. “Miss Maggiolo, my mother didn’t show me the letters until I was thirty. She felt I needed to know something about my people, as she put it, but I would have been too hotheaded before. So I read the letters, where the horn’s design was mentioned. It took me a year to come up with a plan I hoped would work.”

“You come up and see me at the store anytime. I’ll drive you up to Morven Park if you like, although I know you’ve seen the exhibit.”

“I would like that.”

The last guest left. Kasmir’s team cleaned up everything, except a few missed tidbits behind Golly’s lilies.

Exhausted from the day, and the emotions it stirred, Sister, Gray, Beverly, and Weevil had collapsed in the library. Raleigh and Rooster, finally free, plopped on the floor.

“Weevil, be sensible,” Beverly chided him.

“Mother, take the jewelry.”

One of the first things Sister did when Beverly arrived from Canada was to give her the silver box, which she had polished. When Beverly read the letter she wept. Weevil, mist in his eyes, comforted his mother. Now he felt, people gone, this should be resolved.

“I don’t want the jewelry, and when I die that will be one more complicated thing to figure out and bring here.”

He had told his mother he wanted to stay in Virginia.

Gray echoed Beverly. “She’s right.”

“I feel that the jewelry belongs to Mother. She is Weevil’s daughter. I’m the next generation.”

Sister spoke. “Margaret left that jewelry for future generations. She was clear about that, and prophesied that it would keep generations of Carruthers. She was right.”

“What am I going to do with it?”

Gray, quietly but with authority, for who knew money better than he, said, “You are a rich man and you, Beverly, a rich woman. Divide up as you wish; keep some in a safety deposit box, or purchase a huge vault for your home. Sell a piece—all you each need is one—invest a portion of it and use the rest for living. Neither one of you seems like the spendthrift type. This jewelry is worth a fortune. Beverly, you could also make a claim against the DuCharme estate.”

Weevil looked at his mother. She looked back.

With a deep sigh Beverly firmly stated, “They can keep their damned money.” She then turned to Weevil. “Son, your future is ahead of you. Mine is past. Keep those jewels here. If I need more than the one piece I will choose, I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, Mother, I don’t know.”

“Listen to your mother,” Sister ordered nicely.

A long silence followed this.

Finally, Weevil agreed. “All right.” He turned to Gray. “Am I really rich?”

“Indeed you are.” Gray smiled broadly.

“I told Mom I want to stay here, hunt with Jefferson Hunt. I guess I need a green card, because I’m a Canadian citizen.”

“I can help there,” Gray offered, and given his connections, he truly could.

A lot of people in Washington owed him favors.

“Madam,”—Weevil addressed Sister now as his Master—“I whipped-in at Toronto and North York. I would like to whip-in here. Since I am rich, I don’t need a salary. I don’t want to take money that can go to the hounds. Will you have me?”

“That is exceedingly generous and I would be thrilled as will be my other whippers-in.”

Weevil smiled at his mother. “Mother, I know I’m not going to change the world. I belong with horses and hounds. I belong outside, and now I can do what I love without working a full-time job. I am so grateful to the grandfather and grandmother I never knew. I’m not even sure I belong in this century, but I belong here.”

True mother that she was, a teary Beverly responded, “Son, as long as you’re happy.”

Sister couldn’t resist, she leaned toward Weevil. “If you’re going to whip-in for Jefferson Hunt, remember silence is golden.”

He replied, “And duct tape is silver.”

They all laughed. Sister felt, heard, an echo of her son RayRay, who could shoot from the lip. For the first time in her life, she knew the future of The Jefferson Hunt was secure.