Fox Tracks

CHAPTER 23

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Donny growled at Art, sitting behind the wheel of his truck.

“But you said you all moved off.”

“We did,” said Donny, shifting in the passenger seat. “We got on another fox, but Walter and Gray rode back to the house. I know they came back to the shed. I told you this.”

“I’m not stupid!” snapped Art. “But I want to make sure. That big shed is perfect. You didn’t see anyone there.”

“No, and I couldn’t very well ride back there by myself and make sure, could I? Come on, Art, think. I also couldn’t ask Walter and Gray what they were up to. We’d better find another place.”

Art, sitting inside his truck, Donny in the passenger seat, fiddled with the vehicle’s radio, tuning in a twangy song about bad luck. “I hope the boss doesn’t find out,” he said.

They talked in Art’s truck, motor running, at Roger’s Corner. People often bought fried chicken, potato salad, and brought it back to their vehicle to eat. There was no place to sit at the convenience store. Donny’s half-ton 1992 Ford F-150 van was next to Art’s Topkick.

Donny reached over to turn down the country-and-western station. “Listen to me. Shut up. If he finds out anything, it will be because Walter and Gray talked. Then we can say we didn’t want to bother him about it, he’s got a lot on his mind. Listen to me, Art. Don’t turn up the goddamned radio station! Shut up. Act normal. We need to find another place to store the cigarettes until it’s time to ship them. Let me think.”

“Kasmir Barbhaiya has so much property he doesn’t know what to do with it, and it’s close. Or there’s Tattenhall Station.”

Donny stroked his chin. “Tattenhall Station is vulnerable.”

Art was getting surly. “Why?”

“Too many people drive by,” said Donny. “It’s a crossroads and the railroad tracks slow them down. If we’re seen there too many times, it might tip off someone. Also, sometimes Jefferson Hunt is allowed inside.”

“Walter and Gray don’t know what’s going on. They’ll forget this in time.”

“I hope so. We have a couple of choices. We can rent a large storage unit. People come and go in those places all the time. The problem is that tobacco in such large quantities even though boxed throws off a strong odor.”

“Where else could we put it?”

“We could buy up some rolls of insulation. It’s light, easy to lift. The main barn at Old Paradise is in good shape. Maybe Margaret goes in there, but I doubt it. Alfred doesn’t bother it either. That road’s so-so. It’s passable. Better than the road to Walter’s shed. Also, people expect you to be on the property.”

Art shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So we put the cigarettes there in the barn after we pick them up down in Russell County. Put them up in the hayloft and place rolls of insulation around them, or heavy canvas. Crawford’s promised to pump money into your parents’ farm so it will look as though you’ve started work on the barns—especially if you leave a few rolls of insulation still wrapped up inside in the center aisle. That should work, at least until we find a better place.”

Art squinted, placing his hands on the steering wheel. “I can bring in some two-by-fours. Might work. We’d only be in and out about every two weeks. I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

“People think you’re making ’shine. Your family won’t look too closely. They’d rather not know. And it is your property.”

“Not as long as Mom, Dad, Alfred and Margaret are alive.”

“You know what I mean. Once Crawford writes those checks to your folks, we’ll have to look elsewhere because your father will get workers to put up fencing out there pronto.”

“Can’t do that until spring.” Art relaxed his grip on the wheel. “Sounds like a plan.” He took a deep breath. “I just don’t want any trouble with the boss. The money’s good. He can be touchy. I think about Carter, you know.”

“Mmm. Bullet lodged in the back of his rib cage. They think he was shot through the heart.”

“When did you hear that?” asked Art, agitated again.

“Today’s paper. Report from the medical examiner’s office.”

“You think the boss had him killed?” Art’s throat tightened.

“What I think is that Carter shot his mouth off to the wrong person. Might not have been the boss. How do we know he didn’t trash-talk some of the guys down in Russell County? That’s a hard bunch.”

“Mmm.” Art rolled his tongue over his front teeth. “They might be a hard bunch, but I don’t think they followed Carter all the way to Albemarle County to shoot him.”

“Maybe not.” Donny took his point.

“The boss is playing for much higher stakes than we are.”

Donny sighed. “You’re right. All I want is enough money to buy a good engagement ring and put some aside. I’d like to start my own business someday.”

“You? I never thought of you running a business.”

“People fool you.”

Art half smiled. “They do. Look, I don’t want to wind up like Carter Weems. We’ve done a good job. It’s just bad luck that Walter and Gray got into the shed.”

“Foxes got there first,” said Donny.

“Think Walter will call Ben Sidell?”

“I don’t know. None of his property was harmed.”

“Nothing we can do but wait it out.” Art frowned.

“And buy insulation and two-by-fours,” added Donny.

Gray hadn’t wanted to tell Sister about the shed at Walter’s breakfast. He waited until later. She listened with great interest.

“We’re one step closer,” said Sister. “Though to what I couldn’t say.”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” said Gray. “It isn’t our affair. And we don’t know for sure that tobacco contraband is stored there.”

“Why else would tobacco be in Walter’s shed? It’s a tight shed, too, even though it looks like hell.” A thump upstairs drew her attention. “I am going to catch that cat at her mischief. She’s put a hole in my alpaca sweater, torn up every piece of paper she can find. This cat needs a serious talking-to.”

As Sister climbed the stairs, Raleigh and Rooster lifted their heads from their paws, then put them back down again. So many times they’d been blamed for the devious cat’s depredations. This time, she would be caught red-handed.

Gray turned on the television, but before he could settle down, Sister came back down the stairs with a black hair dryer, long nosed, in her hand. Golly had knocked it on the floor. Now it didn’t work, not even a tiny whir.

“Can anyone tell me why a cat wants a hair dryer?”

Gray started to laugh, then Sister did, too.

The dogs barked, hearing a car pull up outside.

“I’m home,” Tootie called out a minute later, as she came into the kitchen.

Smiling, Sister leaned down and kissed Gray. “Everything happens at once.”