Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 9

Rooster whined as Raleigh nudged Rory’s face with his nose. The Doberman vainly tried to bring him back to life.

“Oh, no!” Tears filled Sister’s eyes.

Ben, thinking quickly, put his hand on her arm as she began to kneel down. “Don’t, Sister. I am so sorry but you can’t touch him. He will need to go to the medical examiner’s. I have to treat this as a possible wrongful death.”

She bowed her head, couldn’t fight the tears, so now her dogs licked her face. “Of course. Forgive me. Ben, he fought so hard. He fought long odds.”

Tootie, horrified, couldn’t speak.

The sheriff, fond of this woman whom he greatly respected, draped his arm over her heaving shoulders. “I am sorry. What can I do to help you?”

She lifted her head, wiped her tears. “Let me tell Gray first so Gray can go to his brother. This will devastate Sam. They went through hell and high water together.”

“Yes. Anything you ask. I will need to speak to Sam as soon as possible. So often, well, in the case of murder or an accident, the first responses from friends and family can be helpful. Before they are completely composed.”

She nodded. “You understand my worry.”

“I do indeed.” He looked into those eyes, eyes you could fall into. “Sometimes I hate my job.”

She brushed a cold, gloved hand against his cheek. “I know you do. You’re a good man. We’re lucky to have you in this county.”

—

The mudroom door opened, then closed. Raleigh and Rooster pushed through the doggie door. Sister followed once her gear hung on the pegs. Tootie had returned to her cottage.

Golly looked up from her plush bed in the corner, prepared to say something hateful to the dogs but immediately knew something was wrong. The dogs told her what they knew.

Sister walked down the hall, the long Persian runner absorbing her steps. Gray, at the desk in the library, looked up.

“Honey.” He was on his feet.

Her posture, her face, alerted him. He thought perhaps one of the horses had died or a hound. Sister took those losses as hard as those of her human friends.

“Gray, Rory is dead.”

“Dear God.” Gray’s face became ashen. “He, he”—he swallowed—“was he drunk?”

She shook her head. “No one will know until the medical examiner is finished with the body.” She sat on the sofa, folded her hands in her lap, as he sat next to her. “Ben and his crew were back at Tattenhall Station. Tootie was with me to pick up leftover stuff from Boxing Day. We saw the SUV. Well, I figured rightly that Ben and his people returned as the weather cleared. Anyway, Ben had fallen in the ditch alongside Chapel Cross, which I saw as we left Kasmir and Alida. He couldn’t get out. Tootie and I pulled but Jackie, Carson, and Jude ran out from the graveyard. Finally we got him out and then Raleigh and Rooster leapt into where he had just been and started digging better than two backhoes. Carson got into the ditch and started removing snow with his hands. I couldn’t breathe. I thought ‘Gregory Luckham’ but he wasn’t wearing a parka. He was in hunt kit, at least the last time anyone saw him. This entire episode is, well, no matter. It was Rory. He was not a natural color, frozen as he is, but he looked”—she paused—“he looked peaceful.”

“I need to go to Sam. He’s at work. Will you call Crawford? Given the circumstances, I’m sure he will let me take my brother home.”

“Of course.”

Gray left the library, grabbed his heavy coat, and was down the drive while Sister called Crawford, who was shocked, mentioned that he hadn’t seen Rory since Christmas Hunt but that wasn’t unusual given his work schedule and yesterday was his day off.

“Hey.” Sam looked up as his brother strode into the barn. “Brushing the snow off before I put him in his stall. Damn stuff sticks like Silly Putty so I guess I’m not brushing I’m dislodging it. What’s the matter? You look awful. Did Aunt Dan die?”

Gray shook his head. “She’s eternal. Rory.”

Sam suddenly stopped. “No. That can’t be true.”

“I’ll put the horse up. Get your coat. We’re going home.”

“I can handle it.” Sam’s lower jaw jutted out.

“Maybe you can handle it but I can’t.”

Sam didn’t realize he was shaking. Ice cold, mind numbed, he simply stood rooted.

Gray took the kind gelding, Trocadero, put him in his stall, went into the tack room, got his brother’s heavy Woolrich red plaid coat, made Sam put it on, shepherded him to the Land Cruiser, put him in the car, shut the door.

Sam, seeming to awaken, grabbed the handle. “I need to tell Crawford.”

“Sister called him.”

“Sister?”

Gray then told his brother how she, Tootie, and the dogs found Rory.

Within twenty minutes, a bit slow going on the roads, the brothers drove down the long snow-covered path to the Old Lorillard place, which they were restoring. Gray lived there half the week, then half with Sister. It worked out for all parties.

As Gray parked the big SUV he assured Sam. “We’ll get your truck tomorrow.”

“Just drop me off at work tomorrow. I am not leaving Crawford in the lurch or Skiff.”

He named the female huntsman Crawford had hired for his outlaw pack. Much as this might cost her down the road, for the MFHA viewed outlaw packs with hostility, she needed the work. She and Sam worked easily together.

“Whatever you say. Come on, let’s get the fire started.”

They walked through the back door, small mudroom with a high shelf over the door into the kitchen, a true old Virginia farmhouse, neither one noticing Uncle Yancy, the red fox, stretched out on that shelf.

Sound asleep, he heard the humans too late so he stayed as still as a rock. They passed right under him.

While the two men crumpled up newspaper, grabbed sticks of fatback, and arranged the logs, Sister, back at her farm, called Aunt Daniella.

She told her what happened.

“Where’s Sam now?”

“With Gray, who picked him up from work. They’re home now and Gray will stay with him. If there’s any doubt, Gray will pick it up first.”

“U-m-m,” Aunt Daniella muttered, knowing what “doubt” meant.

Sam, sober for over a decade, was facing a terrible blow. No one wanted him to drink.

“I think he will bear it.” Sister sighed. “There are so many questions. They’re running through my brain.”

“Mine, too.” The old woman agreed.

“Rory was a good man. He was probably helping someone. I saw him when we first rode out but not when we returned. Well, when we returned you couldn’t see anything.”

“Yes.” A moment, then Aunt Daniella said, “Did you see his body?”

“No. I saw the front of his parka, then his face. He looked at peace, Aunt Daniella.”

“If he was injured, shot, say, you wouldn’t have known?”

“No. Something is wrong here, something widening, like ripples in a pond. One man disappears. Another is found dead. One is rich and powerful. The other is anything but, but he had friends, good friends and given his background that says a lot.”

“Does. His people were violent drunks. That child was beaten simply for breathing. Well, he grew into a big, strong fellow, but the damage was done. I thought of him as a small miracle. And you know it was Sam, once sober, who worked like a dog to send Rory to the same clinic. I never really gave Sam credit for that.” She inhaled. “What’s to be done?”

“I don’t know. If I hear anything I’ll call you.”

“Ditto.” Aunt Daniella hung up the phone, and with the wisdom of the old she dialed again.

“Aunt Dan.” A voice happy to hear hers responded.

“Yvonne, I need your help.”

Aunt Daniella told Yvonne everything she knew plus how Sam saved Rory. A silence followed when she finished.

“What can I do?”

“Take more lessons. I’ll pay. I need to keep him busy.”

“You aren’t paying and that’s the end of that.”

“I need you to join us for suppers, here, at Sister’s, at your house, and even at the old home place. When Sam suffers he doesn’t eat. He needs to eat. He needs people around him. He tells me about your progress riding. I am involving you in our family. I am asking a lot.”

“You are asking very little. I would be honored to help. You’ve helped me. I’ve been self-involved about my divorce, final, thank heavens. You listen and your silences are as instructive as your words. I’m in, Aunt Dan.” She thought a moment. “What is it the foxhunters say?”

“All on.”

“All on,” Yvonne repeated.