Fox Tracks

CHAPTER 24

“Where were you yesterday?” Sister said over the phone to Ben Sidell. She’d called the sheriff to check in, and just maybe troll for information.

“Nonni threw a shoe,” he said. “Couldn’t get the blacksmith out late Friday. I hate to miss a Saturday hunt.”

“I guess you heard what happened?”

“Heard it was a good hunt. Walter called me and told me about his shed.”

“What do you think?” she asked, twisting the phone cord and looking out the kitchen window.

“What do you think?” He teased. “Used to store tobacco.” He continued in a more serious vein. “I’ve already checked with the tobacco shop in Seminole Square, the one in Barracks Road and the one up Route 29 toward Ruckersville. I asked them why they don’t sell contraband.”

“That’s an interesting question. One would think as an officer of the law, your question would be the reverse.”

“For that, Sister, I would go into the shop with a deputy and a search warrant, but I don’t think any of those folks are selling contraband.”

“Why not?”

“For the very reasons they told me,” said Ben. “Virginia has the lowest cigarette tax of all fifty states. There’s a little profit to be made, but not enough to court the risk. They were all pretty straightforward about it.”

“But the tobacconists know about some illegal activity of that sort?”

“How much they know is up for question. I called the biggest shop down in Richmond; that owner estimated the black market profit is in the millions.”

“Crime does pay,” Sister mused.

“It does, sometimes even when you get caught,” said the sheriff. “With that kind of money, a man can buy the best lawyers there are. Maybe he serves a short term in a minimum security prison. More than likely the fellow pays a fine, which seems huge to us but is a pittance compared to what he’s hidden away, usually out of the country.”

“I won’t repeat your answer to this, but these kinds of crimes—selling illegal tobacco or moonshine—do they really hurt the state?”

“No. They hurt the corporations that abide by the law, especially the smaller ones. Those entities are so huge, often international, they can afford to abide by the law. It’s the smaller companies or the start-ups that get squelched, as they often lack the funds to comply with the latest regulation. It’s hard for us in central Virginia, for instance, to think of moonshine as a small business, but it is. The larger profits from moonshining are due to no taxes, but who does that hurt? Well, our wonderful delegates in Richmond tell us this hurts the state because of reduced revenue. If they’d get out of people’s way maybe they’d be motivated to create revenue by other means and I wouldn’t be risking my men, blowing the county’s money on wild goose chases.”

She appreciated that he was direct with her and she genuinely liked the man. “Where would you rather put your energy?”

“Sister, I want to bust every child molester in this county. What I’d really like to do is kill them, but I can’t do that. I’d like to reduce personal abuse, much of it directed toward women, children, and animals. And given the time, I would love to focus our department on fraud, especially at the corporate level.”

“Banks?”

“Banks, yes, plus, there are a few companies we’ve kept our eye on. We can’t catch them, but I’m convinced they are cooking the books. I just don’t have enough people on the force. And you’d be surprised at how much theft goes on inside a bank. When the person is caught they are usually released. It is not reported as a crime because it will shake client confidence. I want to nail ’em. Also, there’s plenty of white-collar crime right here in Albemarle. You don’t have to go to New York City to find it. And they’re a lot smarter, way smarter than the people who commit crimes of impulse.”

“Ben, if you do catch them, they’ll get off with a slap on the wrist, right?”

“Every now and then justice really is served, but it is frustrating for me and the team. I’ve got good people in this department. They put up with a lot and they aren’t exactly well paid.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because I really believe in law enforcement. If we are equal before the law then we have a stable and fair society. People can deal with pain better than injustice. I believe that.”

“But you must pursue this contraband case, right?” asked Sister. “Well, I guess it’s not a case yet.”

“I think it is,” said Ben, surprising her.

“You do?”

Ben trusted his master. “I’m pretty sure Carter Weems was part of it. We checked out his past convictions, all of them in North Carolina. Transporting illegal liquor, transporting tobacco up north. He got off over and over with a decent lawyer, and I know he couldn’t afford the lawyer. How could he? He blew his money. But whoever he worked for helped him out, and I expect his contacts were wide. If Weems hadn’t been a drunk, he could have been a real player.”

“Networking.” Sister laughed.

“Works in every business,” Ben said.

“I’m so glad I talked to you,” said Sister. “You make me think.”

“Back at you. You know this county better than I do. You know all the skeletons in those closets.”

“Some, but when I think about it, they are all skeletons of personal pain, the desire for social approval. For my generation, such events as a child out of wedlock, infidelity, or being homosexual oppressed people terribly.” She laughed again. “Well, not everybody.”

He laughed, too. “Hey, two fox dens in Walter’s shed? Why?”

“It’s not really two dens. It’s two entrances and exits and there will likely be more outside. Foxes aren’t the best architects in the animal kingdom, but they see the possibilities. For instance, when we draw down Broad Creek over at After All, have you ever noticed the den openings right above the creek, two or three feet above the water? They’re dug right into the creek bed.”

“I have,” said Ben. “I always wondered what the foxes did when the water rose.”

“That’s a fire exit, sort of. If a fox is besieged, he or she can always go through one of the tunnels, come out and jump into the creek, which will wash away scent. Foxes adapt, not just to weather and food conditions, they adapt to the hounds. My hounds possess drive, so the foxes around here need to be resourceful. They adapt, and far more quickly than we do.”

“You don’t say?”

“You’d better believe it,” answered Sister. “The fox isn’t hampered by any belief system. He or she reads nature exactly as it is. And we are part of nature. I swear to you, Ben, they know us better than we know them.”

“Perhaps if you’re the hunted you have to.”

She considered this. “Yes. That’s why I think criminals in the upper ranks are often smarter than the rest of us.”

“They certainly aren’t hampered by morals.” He waited a beat. “Actually, that’s not quite true. In many cases, there really is honor among thieves. It’s unreasoned violence that captures our attention. Maybe because if we admit it, we are all capable of it.”

“True. Well, this has been a refreshing morning phone call. I am wide awake, alert, and ready for life.” Sister loved a challenging talk, especially with someone she respected.

“That it is. Now I need a promise from you and it’s not about foxhunting.”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t go down to Walter’s shed and don’t go to where we found Carter’s body.”

“Umm. If you tell me where the speed gun is today, I won’t.”

Ben feigned shock. “As a public servant, I can’t do that. I do know, however, that you suffer from lead foot, especially on Soldier Road.”

“Ben, you’ll make a Virginian yet.” She laughed at this Ohio transplant. “I promise. Do you mind telling me why?”

“The perp or perps could go back. I’m less worried about the shed than that abandoned road at the Lorillards’. We’ve scoured both places thoroughly, but Weems’ body lay a long time on that old road. The killer could have dropped or left behind some evidence, and it is driven down in the mud. Say you’re that person, you put your hand in your jacket pocket you wore when you killed Carter. You discover a lighter or a trinket is missing. Even a match pack. But you can’t look for it while the corpse is fresh. He may have gone back, but if he did lose something and he didn’t find it, he’ll be worried now.”

“What about Gray and Sam?”

“I told them to steer clear, too. Our budget is so tight I can’t spare anyone to watch it full time, but I sent Jake over there, to sit in that road out of the woods, oh, maybe once a week. It’s a long shot.”

“Ben, you have a lot on your mind.”

“Everyone does.” His voice was warm. “The people who coast in life are the ones I feel sorry for.”

“Well, you and I will never need sympathy then.”

After bidding him goodbye and hanging up the phone, she tossed on her old flight jacket and went outside to the kennels.

Shaker was in the boys’ big run while Tootie was with the girls.

“Everyone okay?” Sister asked Shaker.

“Asa’s a little sore. He’s taken his canine Motrin.” Shaker smiled, mentioning Rimadyl.

“This really is his last year, isn’t it? Thought it was last year, but he’s so tough and he keeps up.” She opened the gate into the enormous run, dotted with large pines and oaks. “Asa, you’ve got some aches and pains. No hunting Tuesday and Thursday. I need you Saturday.”

“I can go all day every day,” he bragged.

She looked into his soulful brown eyes. “Saturday’s tough territory.” Then she said to Shaker, “I think a few of our ‘P’ and ‘D’ girls are due in season, maybe March.”

“They are. A couple of ‘T’s,’ too.”

“Give them another year. I don’t like to breed a hound until he or she has hunted two full years, as you know.”

“Right.”

“No hurry, but think about the ‘D’s’ and ‘P’s’ you’ve hunted over the years. I’ll go back through the bloodlines. Way back. We should breed this fellow.”

“All right. We should breed Dragon, too.”

“No, his brother. Dragon is too much trouble.” She knelt down to pet Asa, then stood up. “I’ll go check our new kennelman,” she said, meaning Tootie.

She walked around to the girls’ yard, separated from the boys’ yard by a twelve-foot-wide path, easy to mow in summer.

“What are you doing in here?” Sister smiled at Tootie.

“Cleaning up, getting to know everyone,” said Tootie. She might be a college dropout, but she was far from lazy.

“I didn’t expect you to come work in the kennels.”

“I know, but I like it and I’ll do as much as I can on the farm until I get a job. And even then, I’ll still do chores in exchange for my rent.”

“All right then. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the barn.”

As it was Betty’s day to help in the barn, the two friends knocked the chores out in no time.

“Looked at the weather?” Betty asked.

“Did. Looks like it’s going to stay cold with some snow on Saturday. We should still be able to hunt this Saturday.” She closed a stall door. “Course, you never know.”

“Well, we hunt Skidby on Tuesday, Little Dalby on Thursday, and Tattenhall Station on Saturday. I wish I knew Skidby better,” Betty said of the newer fixture.

“Yeah, we lose it during deer season, and it takes years to really know a place. This will be our second year, but you know, that’s hunting.”

“I know,” agreed Betty. “Mill Ruins turned into a good day.”

“It’s full of foxes over there. We can thank Peter Wheeler for that.” The fixture’s former owner, also a former lover of Sister’s, was a bold rider who bred foxes because he loved them, then set them free.

“Walter’s done a lot with that place, but it’s so much for one person to keep up,” said Betty. “That’s one of the reasons his shed could get used.” Betty had seen Walter ride off with Gray and assumed that a horse had thrown a shoe, taken a wrong step, or that Walter or Gray had injured themselves. Naturally she asked him about it at the breakfast. Walter probably shouldn’t have told her or others what he’d seen, but he was furious about being locked out of his own shed and then discovering it had been used.

“Walter has a lot of land, and it costs a lot of money to hire help these days,” Sister said, walking the center aisle, making a last-minute check of the barn.

Betty looked up as Tootie slipped in through the center aisle doors, closing them behind her. “Hey, girl.”

Tootie hugged Betty. “I’m really home now. I’m going to live in central Virginia.”

“Our gain,” Betty said, refraining from asking about details.

Sister checked the big round clock over the tackroom door. Another big clock was in the tackroom. No master ever wants to be late for a hunt club function.

“Girls,” Sister said. “Let’s go on down to Roger’s Corner. I need milk and I don’t want to go into town.”

“Are you buying milk for that worthless cat again?” Betty teased.

“She drinks half-and-half,” said Sister.

“When I die, I want to come back as one of your cats,” Betty joked.

“I’ll go first.” Sister smiled.

“Oh, come on. Your mother’s family lives until they’re national treasures.” Betty brushed straw from her coat.

“Well, are you two coming along or not?” asked Sister. “Truck?”

“Sure.” Betty strolled past Sister. “There’s more room in the truck for my big butt.”

Minutes later, the three of them cruised out to Soldier Road.

“Miss Franklin, I’ve been thinking about your printing press,” said Tootie, from the backseat. “You’ve said people aren’t printing up invitations like they used to, and business is bad.”

“Tootie, sometimes they don’t even properly print up wedding invitations. I find that shocking.”

Sister kept her eyes on the road. “Well, Betty, if that’s shocking, I’ve got some stories for you.”

“Mostly from your past, Madam.” Betty loved Sister and loved to torment her.

“Were you really bad?” Tootie leaned forward; her hands on the back of Betty’s captain’s chair.

“She was awful,” said Betty. “She won’t tell you, but I will.”

Sister glanced in the rearview mirror. “Let us just say I did not walk on water, but there were others who were worse. At least I was discreet.”

Tootie smiled, wondering what Sister and Betty really were like when they were young. “Want to hear my idea about your business?”

“Yes,” said Betty. “It will greatly elevate the conversation.”

Tootie leaned way forward into the space between the two front captain’s chairs. “Everyone I know texts, Skypes, stuff like that. It’s great, but it’s not special. What if you allowed people to design their own cards and stationery?”

“Don’t they do that on computers? They do.” Betty responded, although intrigued.

“It never looks professional. The color is never saturated—I think that’s the word graphics people use. What if people could come to you and really design cards? I know they can select paper colors, typefaces, stuff like that, but that’s kind of cut-and-dried, too, isn’t it? I mean, what if they want to use rice paper or paper of an odd size?”

“Well, I never thought about it, but guess it is pretty formulaic.” Betty twisted in her seat to better look at Tootie.

“At Princeton, I’d go into the shops and a couple of times Val and I went into the Village. There are stores with really funny greeting cards, cards with like wheat stalks on them. Really original.”

“A letter press. What you’re talking about is a letter press.”

“Do you have one?”

“We do. It’s rarely used.” Betty thought about this. “But yes, one can do some creative things.”

“Maybe you could start by doing stuff yourself, getting it into shops, use the Internet to advertise. And make the ads funny.”

“Tootie, you just might have something,” said Betty, her enthusiasm growing.

“I think she does,” said Sister. “This is such a conformist time; everything is mass-produced. Anything personal is just about revolutionary.” She thought out loud. “Take a lot of work. Not just doing it, but getting stuff into stores.”

“We can sell some online,” said Betty. “You’d be surprised at how effective e-commerce can be, and Bobby and I haven’t taken advantage of much. We don’t really understand it and as Tootie has pointed out, we haven’t been thinking in new ways.”

“It’s hard to think in new ways when your back is against the wall,” Sister remarked.

“That’s when you should take the biggest chances,” said Tootie, who had taken the biggest one of her life to date.

As they thought, Sister kept her eyes on the road.

“Aha,” Sister half shouted.

“What?” Betty couldn’t see what was provoking the comment.

Sister pointed toward an SUV at a crossroads, parked to the side. They were one mile from Roger’s Corner on Soldier Road. The speed gun was handheld.

Betty looked at the speedometer. “You’re okay.”

“Ben told me someone would be out on Soldier Road.”

“Did he now?” said Betty. “I wish I had that cozy a relationship with our sheriff.”

“Well, I had to make him a promise that I wouldn’t go to Walter’s shed, nor where Carter Weems was found.”

They turned into Roger’s Corner. Betty said, “Janie, Ben wouldn’t ask you that if he didn’t think there was some danger.”

“I know.”

“What in the hell is going on?” Sister’s old friend asked.