Fox Tracks

CHAPTER 32

Art looked stricken. “I walked outside, slipped, and the gun went off. It was an accident: Crawford is about to write a big check to my father. I’m not going to queer that deal.”

Still in hunt kit, Ben sat opposite the distraught young man down at the police headquarters, quiet on this snowy Saturday.

“You have a permit for the twenty-two. Checks out.”

“Sheriff, if I was going to kill someone, would I do it with bird-shot?”

“No. But can you tell me where you were on Thursday, when Jane Arnold and her hounds were shot at not far from your barn?”

“Well, I don’t know the time of that but I was in the garage most all the day.”

Ben didn’t know about the shotgun incident until Crawford had called the sheriff to loudly declare the libelous charges levied against him ridiculous. It took Ben ten minutes to find out what was ridiculous because Crawford’s telephone rant continued that long.

Later that evening, Ben called Sister, who’d made light of the incident. She had enough trouble losing Old Paradise and she wasn’t going to do anything to cause difficulty for the DuCharmes. Whoever fired the shots wasn’t trying to harm her, Shaker, or the hounds. She assumed those shots were a warning to stay off of Old Paradise.

“Art, do you own a shotgun?” Ben asked.

“I own two. A twelve-gauge over and under, and a twenty-eight-gauge single barrel. The twelve-gauge is so loud, such a kick, I’m going to sell it. I prefer the twenty-eight when I’m bird hunting, which I rarely have time to do.”

“Did you know about what happened Thursday at Old Paradise?”

“No. Why didn’t someone tell me or Dad?”

Ben tilted his head slightly. “That incident was reported to me by Crawford, who swore he didn’t do it. And Sister, who was following hounds, did not report it—even though hounds, Shaker, and the master were fired upon.”

“Someone aimed for them? A shotgun has a big spread. You’d think they’d be hit. Or was it a rifle?”

“Shotgun, and it was fired over their heads from the hayloft of the barn, so they think. But they didn’t see the person. I find it very odd that two firing incidents have occurred on Old Paradise.”

“Hitting Crawford was an accident. I should have unloaded the shells. I know better, but I was only walking to the truck, which was parked outside the barn.”

“Your father and mother live on one side of your family’s property and your uncle on the other. You live closer to your uncle than your father. Does this create tension?”

“No. Uncle Alfred and I get along, but I’m careful. I don’t want to hurt Dad, but neither Margaret nor I want any part of their fight. Since Margaret’s at the clinic or the hospital so much, I usually check the farm at night. I check the barns, the outbuildings. There’s nothing to steal, but sometimes people will sleep in them. With these hard times I’ve found a few folks. I do turn them out. How do I know they won’t light up and fall asleep? Our outbuildings are built with huge timbers. I don’t want a fire, especially in the barn, which I’m hoping we can rehab with that big check.”

“Did anyone other than Crawford see you trip and fall with the twenty-two?”

“Snow was coming down. Still is. Tariq Al McMillan was behind him. He called the ambulance to report Crawford had been hit, and I guess they called your department.”

“Yes, they did. Art, obviously I’m not going to arrest you. Crawford made a statement that it was an accident and he was embarrassed that an ambulance came, but he does have shot near his eyes.”

“I’m really sorry about that. Tomorrow I’ll go to his house and try to make amends somehow. I don’t know what else to do. It was a stupid mistake.”

“That it was. Right now, we’re being extra careful. We want to solve Carter Weems’s murder. No law enforcement agency wants an unsolved murder.”

“Yes, sir.”

Released, Art drove back to Old Paradise going twenty-five miles an hour, as the roads had deteriorated. It really was an accident, shooting Crawford. Firing over the heads of the Jefferson Hunt hounds was not.

He knew that Crawford would be hunting at Old Paradise Saturday, but he didn’t expect Sister. The more he’d thought about the tobacco being in that barn, the more he knew he had to move it. The chances were slim that anyone would go inside the barn, but he didn’t want to risk it. His father would blame it on his uncle. A lot of questions and snooping would result. By himself, he had loaded up his truck, parked in the closed-up barn, and was ready to go back down the ladder when he heard the hounds. Later, after the shooting, he returned and drove the truck to his house, parking it outside. Right now that seemed safer than anywhere else, and he would be ready to drive north come Tuesday.

He had to find a better storage place. He had a furniture delivery Friday on his way back from New Jersey. It gave him a cover. As for storage, he’d think of something.

After hot showers, Sister, Gray, and Tootie sat in the den. Sister had bought a DVD of The African Queen, which Tootie had never seen. Sister liked to unwind after a hunt and was looking forward to watching the movie, which she hadn’t seen for forty or so years.

She’d found out that Crawford was okay. His wife, Marty, told Sam, who told Gray. Sam drove out, drove the horses back, leaving his car there. He wouldn’t be getting it for a few days. He was lucky to get the horses back. Marty had driven the hound truck. Tariq drove with her so his Saab was at Old Paradise as well.

Sam drove the young teacher back to his lodgings at school after they both put the horses up. Marty lent him her four-wheel-drive Lexus.

On the coffee table in front of Sister rested six packs of American Smokes. From a distance, they looked fine. Close examination would reveal the card slipped inside the cellophane. Betty had given them the cards after the hunt breakfast. Sister and Tootie slipped the graphics in at the kitchen table.

Two pair of socks on, his heavy robe wrapped around him, Gray slumped in the sofa. “I don’t know why I’m so tired,” he said.

“Long hunt, hard riding, and the cold can beat you up.” Sister sat next to him while Golly curled around next to the cigarettes. “I’m tired, too.”

Tootie sat in the club chair. “I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face at the end.”

On the coffee table by the doctored cigarette packs, Golly looked over at the two dogs. “Why don’t you start smoking?”

“For what reason?” Rooster asked.

Raleigh sat up, now peering over at the cat. “Why should we smoke?”

“It will improve your mood.” The cat smiled.

“You’re the one who needs help,” Rooster replied.

“Just a suggestion.” Golly half closed her eyes but what she was thinking was if they smoked maybe they’d die soon.