Full Cry

CHAPTER 24

After that Sunday’s church service many hunt club members gathered at the grand, modern Berry residence. Clay’s wife, Izzy, graciously met everyone at the door and invited them in. Despite their travails, she served coffee, tea, cakes, and cookies.

Betty, who used to think Izzy was nothing but a gold digger, actually warmed to her thanks to this ordeal.

The dreadful news, depressing everyone, concerned the charred body found in the burned storage unit. Shaker spared people the details of his picking up the scent. Ben Sidell also kept his cards close to his chest.

The situation was distressful enough without people hearing what a burned corpse looks and smells like. The corpse at the morgue would be, they hoped, identified through dental records. Dr. Larry Hund was usually called to solve any mysteries involving teeth.

Marty, balancing cup and saucer, leaned over to whisper to Tedi, “Does Clay have enemies who hate him enough to commit arson?”

“It would appear he does,” the elegant Tedi responded, the Hapsburg sapphire gleaming on her third finger.

“Awful.” Marty shook her head.

Sam Lorillard briefly paid his respects. Knowing how close Clay and Xavier were, he didn’t stay more than fifteen minutes.

Gray, always a calming presence, brought the hostess a mimosa. So busy tending her guests, she’d forgotten herself. Sister watched him, blushing slightly when he smiled at her.

Dr. Dalton Hill was there, which made Sister warm a little to him. As he was getting to know people better, he became less stiff. The fact that he expressed sympathy for a hunt member, new though he was, impressed her. Foxhunters should stick together.

Walter, five inches taller than Ben Sidell, leaned on the fireplace mantel to the right of the fire screen. He asked the sheriff, “Gaston working?”

“Mmm.” Ben nodded that the county coroner was on the case, then took a step away from the fireplace to get away from the heat.

“Pathologists always have the right answer—a day late,” Walter said with a rueful smile, stepping away with Ben.

“Not your thing, Doc?”

“No. I like contact with people. I want to help. We live in such a cynical age, probably, it sounds corny, but I genuinely want to help and heal.”

Ben smiled up at him. “Me, too.”

“Neither of us will ever run out of business,” Walter replied.

“Gentlemen, may I intrude?” Sorrel Buruss joined them.

“You’re anything but an intrusion.” Walter bowed slightly to the lovely widow, now cresting over that forty-year barrier.

“Xavier’s been so tireless. On the phones half the night, this morning. The investigator for the carrier, Worldwide Security, is flying down from Hartford tomorrow. X wants Clay to get up and running as fast as he can.”

“X is a good man to have in your corner,” Ben agreed. His cell phone beeped. “Excuse me.” He walked away from the group and listened intently. “Thanks, Gaston. I’ll be right down.” Then he returned to Walter and Sorrel. “Walter, would you like to come on down to the lab with me?”

Walter knew what he meant. “Of course.”

Sorrel knew, too. Prudently, she asked no questions but observed the reactions of others as the sheriff and Walter left together.

One by one, the well-wishers left.

Sister—Rooster and Raleigh in the truck front seat— drove home. The plowed roads remained slick in spots. The sun shone, and the whiteness dazzled.

Not a churchgoer, although she grew up an Episcopalian, nature was Sister’s church. Looking at the mirrored ponds, ice overtop, the dancing tiny rainbows glittering on snow- and frost-covered hills, the churning clear beauty of Broad Creek as it swept under Soldier Road—these things gave her a deep faith, an unshakeable belief in a Higher Power, or Powers. Sister wasn’t fussy about monotheism or the intellectual comforts of dogma. To see such beauty, to observe a fox in winter coat, to inhale the sharp tang of pine as one rode fast underneath, to listen to Athena call in the night, to feel the earth tight underneath giving way to a bog festooned with silver, black, and beige shrubs shorn of raiment, such things convinced her that life was divine.

Even later when Walter called to inform her that the still unidentified corpse had not died of smoke inhalation, her faith in God’s work remained undiminished. Of all God’s creations, the human was the failure. Still, she hoped, in good moments, that with effort and a dismantling of grotesque ego, we might join the rest of nature in a chorus of appreciation for life itself.

She fed the dogs and put a bowl of flakey tuna on the counter for Golly.

“Pussycat, would you kill another cat for tuna?” Golly, purring, lifted her head, small bits of red tuna in her whiskers. “No. I’d box his ears though.”

Sister stroked Golly’s silken fur as the cat devoured the treat.

Then she slipped on her old Barbour coat over a down vest and walked outside. The sun set so early in the winter, the long red slanting rays reaching from west to east over the rolling meadows. Her horses nickered as she passed. She looked at the broodmare, Secretary’s Shorthand, wishing the animal had caught. Secretary looked bigger than usual, but the vet had done an ultrasound two weeks after breeding, and again five weeks after the breeding. It seemed she was not in foal. But sometimes ultrasound doesn’t give the right information. Horses can fool people. Secretary was a muscular, good-looking chestnut, and Sister desperately wanted a foal from her.

She rapped on Shaker’s door.

“I know it’s you,” he called.

“ ’Tis.”

“I don’t want any. I gave at the church today.” He opened the door, then noticed her face. “What?”

“Shaker, the burned body’s cause of death was not smoke inhalation. He was dead before the flames got him but they aren’t certain yet just what happened.”

“Come on in.”

The two sat. Neither could imagine what was going on. After exhausting all theories, Sister brought up Tuesday’s hunt. It was to be held at Melton, a charming old farm.

“If the wind is up, I say we make a beeline for the hollow. If not, let’s draw counterclockwise. What do you think?”

He stretched his muscular legs. “If I draw counterclockwise, from the house, you mean from the house, right?”

“Right.”

“We’ll go down the farm road and then turn right. Well, that meadow is pretty open, gets the morning sun. Could get lucky. Courting time.” He loved fox breeding season.

“I noticed.”

“Don’t start. We’re just friends.”

“That’s what they all say.” Her voice was warm. “I’m glad you have someone you can talk to, enjoy.”

“Sari’s a great kid. Wants to learn everything about the hounds.” This was the way to Shaker’s heart, as well as Sister’s. “And Lorraine knows some of the girls by name now. At first, Lorraine wouldn’t touch a hound. She was too timid, but now she goes right in. Too bad Peter Wheeler’s not still with us. If she could have gotten in the truck with Peter, I think she would have learned more than if she was riding.”

“Boy, that’s the truth.”

“Oh, that ass Crawford called me. Says we need a flyspray system in the kennels for summer and he’ll pay for it. Jesus, boss, why’d you let him be president?”

“Because if I didn’t, the club would split into two factions concerning a joint-master. The larger faction would be against him, the smaller one for him, and you and I would be well acquainted with the misery.” She paused. “Leave the politics to me, Shaker. My job is to kiss toads and turn them into princes.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You’re right. You’re right. I would never do it.”

“What you do, you do better than anyone else. So what did you say? I hope you were civil.”

“You’d have been proud of me. I said, word for word, ‘Crawford, thank you for the offer. You do so much for the club. But the chemicals will be bad for the hounds’ noses. That’s why we have those big ceiling fans everywhere, keeps turning the air, and we don’t have too much of a fly problem.’ That’s it, verbatim. How can people hunt and not know anything about a hound’s nose?” He clapped his hands together.

“Because they hunt for other reasons, and that’s fine. In any hunt field, and I don’t give a damn what hunt it is, you can count on your fingers the people who have hound sense. Those are the ones who get the most out of hunting, I’m convinced.”

He dropped his arms over the overstuffed chair arms. “I was worried when Sybil came on board that she wouldn’t have hound sense, even though she can ride like a demon. But she’s stepped up to the plate. Give her one more year. Still makes some stupid mistakes out there. I’ve got to break her of going after one hound if the hound splits off, which thankfully doesn’t happen too often. I don’t know why it’s so hard for someone to recognize the pack comes first.”

“She’ll get it. On the other hand, there’s Betty Franklin, a natural. And who would have thought years ago when, in desperation, we asked her to help us just because she had the time? Betty wasn’t even that good a rider, but by God, she worked on it.”

His eyes lit up. “I thought you were crazy. But you know, I watched her in the summer on hound walks. We were lucky we had that summer together. We knew Big Ray wasn’t going to be with us much longer, and he was a damned good whipper-in, despite his ego.” Shaker crossed one leg over the other. “Gave Betty time, and she really showed me a lot. She knew to get around them instead of going after them if a puppy squirted out, and the thing that impressed me the most, the most,” he slapped the chair arms, “she could read their body language.”

“You’re born with it. I believe that. Like a sense of direction. You’re born with it. One can be taught the basics, but some people come into this world with more. I don’t know what we’d do without Betty.”

“Rock solid.”

“Well, you know how I feel about whippers-in. If I have to hear them, something’s wrong. Nothing worse than hearing some fool rate hounds, crack whips, and charge around like a bronc rider.” She grimaced.

“Boss, sometimes you have to hear them.”

“Not much.”

He smiled. “We’re on the same page. The best staff work is like the best team in any sport. They make it look easy.”

These two friends and coworkers talked for two more hours about hunting, hounds, other great hunts they admired. Left alone, their shared passion ignited and reignited ideas, thoughts, and much laughter.