Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 7

A fox topped the huge Christmas tree in place of a star. Garlands swirled around the conifer, sweet smelling. The decorations were hand-painted clothespins; each looked like a hunt member as well as their horse. Christmas balls also hung on the tree.

Tattenhall Station, filled with people, reverberated with sound, talk, music, glass tinkling. The breakfast moved from Christmas Hunt was now in full swing on Boxing Day, December 26.

The road, not plowed but tamped down, could easily be driven. Kasmir had the parking lot plowed out, huge pile of snow at the edge. If anyone stepped outside, which smokers did, they noted the size of the snow pile. They all smoked faster than usual for it was too cold to stay out for a languid smoke.

Sister stood by the tree, her champagne glass in hand. Gray pulled up a chair for her as she had been on her feet for an hour already.

Freddie Thomas pulled up a chair to sit next to her. “Refresh your champagne?”

“No thanks. You know I’m not much of a drinker, but it’s hard to resist Cristal.”

A big smile, Freddie nodded, then smile fading. “You’ve fielded so many questions about Gregory Luckham, would you like me to run interference?”

“Freddie, thank you. People are concerned. All I can do is listen.” Relief flooded her face for she was grateful to Freddie and more stressed than she realized.

“People don’t mean to be a pest. Even though Ben Sidell is a member, being questioned by the sheriff, m-m-m”—she held up her hands, palms upward—“discomforting.”

“I’m getting a small taste of what Ben deals with daily.” Sister finished her divine champagne.

“We’re lucky to have him. Everyone thinks this is about the pipeline, not that everyone wishes him dead, but it is the overriding issue.”

“Yes.” Sister exhaled. “Freddie, it seems to me no matter what the issue is these days, people take sides and are uncompromising.”

Dewey walked over noticing Sister’s empty glass. “Madam?”

“No thank you, Dewey.”

“I’m running interference.” Freddie smiled at Dewey.

“I’ve noticed everyone all over our Master.” He shifted his weight to the other foot. “I liked him. I’d see him at big fundraisers in Richmond. He’d tease me that I was trolling for clients so I’d ask him if he wanted to buy a home in the country. Didn’t know him in a business sense like Ronnie, but I thought he was a good guy.”

“Let’s hope he still is,” Sister piped up. “Perhaps he’s safe somewhere but unable to contact anyone.”

“Really?” Freddie was intrigued.

“What if he suffered a concussion? Lost his memory?” Sister opined. “Look at all that stuff now publicized about football players.”

Freddie replied. “I was reading, maybe it was in the Wall Street Journal. It was some time back but there are far more concussions in women’s sports, much higher numbers.”

Dewey, clearing his throat, said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Excuse me, maybe someone wants to buy or sell property.”

“So you are trolling.” Freddie looked up at him.

“Just testing the market.” He executed a small bow and left.

“Tough business, real estate,” Sister commented.

“Any time you work on commission, it’s tough,” Freddie wisely agreed.

Everyone wondered when they would be hunting again and their Master reassured them that if they could get their trailer in and out, they’d hunt so long as the snow could support fox and hounds. Had to give your game a sporting chance.

Aunt Daniella, next to the bar in an upholstered chair, held court, tumbler of fine bourbon in hand. Sam and Gray kept their eyes on that glass, refilling it when necessary. One needed to keep the old lady happy. And she was, laughing, telling stories, flirting with Weevil, offering advice to Tootie about careers. Aunt Daniella expressed an opinion on everything.

Then again, she’d lived long enough to have one on just about anything.

Ben Sidell leaned against the bar, Ronnie with him. People came by, talked about the bizarre disappearance of Gregory Luckham, then moved on.

“Ronnie, I wish I had something to tell you.” Ben looked out toward the large railroad station door. “Who knows when this snow will melt? And now the weatherman is calling for more. We’ll keep searching. You know that.”

“You think he’s out there under a snowdrift?”

Ben thought a moment. “That would be the logical conclusion. However, I’ve been in law enforcement long enough to keep the door open. Most crimes are straightforward. Some are not. There really is such a thing as a criminal genius. He could be held somewhere for reasons unknown to us. Until we find a body, pick up hard information, I try to keep an open mind.”

“The pipeline problem brought death threats. He didn’t belabor it but people were stupid enough to threaten the pipeline, the workers, the surveyors, and be quoted in the newspaper or on TV.”

“The feds are looking into that. My area is Gregory himself. Plus those guys don’t think local law enforcement is worth a damn.”

“Waco put paid to that.” Ronnie’s lips snapped shut.

He referred to the incident in 1993 in Texas when a religious community, nutcases to be sure, were stormed by the feds who didn’t listen to the Texas Rangers, or the truly local people like a sheriff, etc. No, they did it the Washington way, the we-are-your-government-you-peon way. Result, a lot of dead people including children.

“Hell, Ronnie, no one learned a damn thing,” Ben replied. “Plus it’s a new generation. By now Americans are used to centralized government. We locals are just for speeding tickets.”

“Nah. I know better than that or you’d have written me a ticket for when I cut you off in the hunt field.” Their amusement lightened the moment.

“The obvious cause is the man had a heart attack or a stroke, fell off. However, it is possible that someone could have been waiting for him. The blizzard gave them a rare opportunity for murder or kidnapping,” Ben said.

“The question is, how could anyone pull him off, drag him to wherever? You’d think that person would have gotten lost in the snowstorm.”

“What if they weren’t alone? Or what if they remained mounted? What if they knew the territory as well as, say, Sister?” Ben posed the question. “The crossroad would have been a good place to rendezvous, for lack of a better word. That or one of the outbuildings at Old Paradise. The storm came up so fast but they could have made it out of Old Paradise before you couldn’t see the horse in front of you.”

“Like a tag team?” Ronnie wondered.

“Yes. Given the weather conditions, it would be difficult but not impossible. The Richmond police questioned his wife. She was in shock.”

“I keep thinking, ‘Why didn’t I turn around?’ ”

“Ronnie, even if you turned around, what would you have seen?” Ben replied. “He didn’t bring his cellphone while hunting. He left it in his car. He couldn’t call you or anyone.”

“Right.”

Ronnie swirled his glass around. “Old Paradise has kept secrets since 1814 when Sophie laid the cornerstone of the house. She bought all the land in 1812 but was prudent enough to wait until the war had shifted farther south. Maybe it had other secrets before that time. Now perhaps there is another one.”

Crawford, disturbed but not miserable by Luckham’s disappearance, had attended the Boxing Day breakfast to hear what others said.

Ben smiled at him. “Where were you at Christmas Hunt?”

Crawford smiled back. “Waving them off. Then Rory and I checked out the Carriage House. I drove home. He wanted to help with the horses. Today is his day off. You might call him tomorrow. Perhaps he saw something.”

The men exchanged a few words, Crawford keenly aware that he had a strong motive if there was murder.

In the corner Charlotte Abruza asked Tootie, “How long have you known Old Paradise?”

“Almost six years. I hunted here while at private school.”

“Have you ever come upon old gravestones, markers, in the woods?”

“No.”

“A glimpse, maybe old grave markers that are worn down. Look like stones?”

“No. Miss Abruza, there are five thousand acres there. Whole sections are wooded, overgrown. Land changes over the centuries. Anything could be out there.”

“Yes. I’ve convinced Crawford to use ground-penetrating radar. If there are old graves, that should find them,” Charlotte answered. “The Monacans were here first, ancestral lands.” A somber look crossed Charlotte’s face. “Spirits.”

“Were you at the station when the storm hit?”

“No. I’d gone back. I never imagined such ferocity,” Charlotte replied. “I was lucky to make it back to my office.”

“Not at Old Paradise?”

“No. I have an office with electricity, heat, furniture in the guesthouse at Beasley Hall. If I were at Old Paradise, those necessities would be missing.”

“The stables?”

“Better where I was. Thought I might find Crawford but he was out. I’d never seen a hunt before. He suggested I go with Marty to view one. He was right. It’s quite impressive and colorful.”