Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 13

“You’ve learned to build a fire, Mom.” Tootie complimented her mother on the fire she’d built, flames roaring upward in the old stone fireplace.

“Good thing.” She smiled. “Thanks again for bringing more wood. I didn’t think I needed it.”

“You will. This week, m-m-m, weatherman says the January thaw will end, then winter will slam us again. Look how much wood you’ve used already.”

“Not quite half.”

“The worst is always January and February. Can get bad storms in March, but it’s so bitter especially in February. Funny though, the night sky is beautiful in February.”

Yvonne smiled. “I wouldn’t know. I never saw the night sky all those decades in Chicago. Seems like eons, and then other times I can feel the wind off the lake. That I do miss, looking out on Lake Michigan from our thirtieth-floor apartment. The calm calmed me and when the waves rolled in I wondered should I be more energetic, too.” She stopped, shrugged. “Silly.”

“I never miss it. I don’t belong in cities.” Tootie sat in a comfortable club chair by the fireplace. She could see out the window. She placed her hands on the padded arms of the chair covered in chintz, lifting herself up but not standing, hovering for a moment before dropping back. “We placed that dog box exactly right. Does it need fresh straw?”

“No. I fluffed it up plus I threw in some old towels.”

“Mom, you don’t have any old towels.”

Yvonne waved her right hand. “I have towels that displeased me so I bought new ones, a sort of mango shade, so when I dry off I hold it up to my face and like the reflection.”

“Mom.”

“The small red fox that visits me likes the towels. Sometimes he curls up on the towels and the straw for a nap. He sure eats a lot of grape balls and Jolly Ranchers. Sometimes I see a gray fox in and out, but that one doesn’t usually stay. The red fox seems like a visitor.”

“What about the Van Dorns’ dog?”

“Misty? She’s two years older than God. I don’t think she even has the will to bark anymore.” She paused. “Although Misty can eat.”

“Springer spaniels are such a beautiful color.”

“Tootie, I’m surprised you don’t have a dog. Everyone else does. You certainly live in the right place for one. Don’t you ever get lonely? Strike that. You don’t. I pushed you too much to be social.”

“Raleigh and Rooster visit me, plus I work with all the foxhounds. Maybe when I’m finished with school. Or a cat. I like cats. Don’t you like to watch the red and the gray that come here?”

“Very much. I never realized how beautiful they were until I viewed them close up. Are you sure you don’t want something to drink or a sandwich?”

She considered this for a moment. “If you have a ginger ale, I’d drink it.”

“Well, I do.” Yvonne got up, walked into the small country kitchen, grabbed a Canadian Dry out of the fridge, popped the cap, threw ice in a glass, poured it, then thought she’d have one herself. She carried the drinks in on a little tray.

“Mom, you’re getting fancy.”

“I was always fancy. I had servants to do all this then. I really don’t miss that. I never knew what peace and privacy was until I left your father. Course I never knew how much work the average person did either.”

Tootie drank her ginger ale, feeling the bubbles tickle her tongue. “Forgot to tell you. Dad texted me.”

“What?”

“This morning. I didn’t know he could text.”

“I’m sure one of his new girlfriends has taught him how. She must be all of eighteen.” Yvonne couldn’t help it then. She laughed. “Sorry.”

Tootie intellectually understood how brutal the divorce was, how emotional, but it was the emotions she couldn’t fathom. How could you let anyone under your skin like that? Then again, Tootie had remained remarkably free of romantic entanglements, even though in her early twenties. She had a capacity for deep friendship. It was the love stuff that she shied away from.

“Could be. Anyway, he apologized for asking me to choose sides, for cutting me out of his will. Not that I believe him.”

“I hate that bastard, but for your sake I hope the day comes when he actually acts like a father.”

Tootie didn’t care what he did. “He wanted to know if you’ve invested any of your money. He wanted to know if you were buying a house. Stuff like that.”

“Ha. Our monies were together but I kept a small account of my own, an investment account. I did pretty good if I do say so myself. He never gave me credit for it. Well, did you text him back?”

Tootie nodded as she reached for her soda again. “I didn’t say much but I told him I had no idea what you were doing with your money. Then he texted right back saying you never told him anything about your gambles—”

“Gambles! I put money on Facebook straight up. I also pulled my money out of Enron before there was a hint of trouble. I can’t explain it. I just had a feeling.”

“The other thing he said was he read about Gregory Luckham disappearing. He thinks the pipeline will depress land values badly if it goes through.”

“That means he has money in drilling stock, energy stocks. He’s afraid they’ll be volatile. He’s so transparent.” She knocked back her soda. “But the threat of the pipeline has frozen people buying. No one knows what to do. Betty Franklin and I talk about it.”

“Sister, Weevil, and I rode over Tollbooth Farm and Mud Fence Farm yesterday. Sister figured we knew that territory better than the people who own it. Well, not Weevil, but he’s learning. Nothing, although we did see a gray fox at Tollbooth. It was creepy seeing where they’d dug out Rory.”

“Yes it is. I try not to look at it when I drive to town. Much of it is melted down now. Oh, look.” Yvonne put her fingers to her lips.

Sarge slipped in the dog box. The two women slowly rose, slowly walked to the window to watch the little fellow eat kibble sprinkled with dog food. Now that it was warmer, Yvonne scooped out a bit of canned food because it wouldn’t freeze. He chewed away, blissfully happy, then he batted around one of the old rubber balls she’d thrown in there.

“Now what’s he doing?” Yvonne wondered.

“Batting something around, something like a tiny hockey puck. He likes to play. I think most animals do. We do.” Tootie grinned, watching the happy fox who at that moment looked up, saw both of them, stopped, thought about it, then returned to the tiny puck. He’d swat it against the side of the dog box, dig in the straw to recover it, place it between his paws, throw it upward. He’d miss it, try again, and when he connected he’d really give it a swat.

The puck was the Saint Hubert’s ring, although Tootie and Yvonne couldn’t see that. What he was playing with looked like a small stone. They sat back down.

“Another?”

“No thanks. I can’t drink as much in winter as summer.”

“I guess I’ll find out. My first Virginia summer.” Yvonne leaned back, content to hear the fire’s crackle, happy that her daughter visited her.

“You like it out here at Chapel Crossroads, don’t you?”

“You know, I really do. If someone had told me I’d be sitting in the sticks of central Virginia in my fiftieth year and loving it, I would have said they were crazy.”

A wry smile played on Tootie’s beautiful lips. “Mom, you’ve been spending too much time with Aunt Dan.”

A pause followed this observation. “All right, just a year off—or two. Fifty-two.”

They both laughed.

“How are your lessons?”

“Cold. I don’t see how you can ride in winter. I’m in that indoor arena and my hands are ice.”

“Sam’s a good teacher.”

“Old Buster is a good horse.”

Tootie looked at the old wall clock. “Gets dark so early. I can never get used to it. Maybe you need a dog, Mom.”

“Maybe. Once I really feel settled I’ll think about it. Right now I have a fox.”

Yvonne got up to look at the doghouse. Sarge had gone. “Back to his den, I expect.” She sat back down. “How are you and Weevil working together?”

“Pretty good. I tell him about each fixture before we get there. He’s an incredible rider. Amazing really.”

Yvonne asked no more. It was obvious to her that Weevil was dazzled by Tootie, but then most men were, just as most women swooned for Weevil, who was drop-dead gorgeous. Yvonne was not one to push Tootie, but as her mother she prayed the day would come when what her own mother called “a suitable boy” would show up. No parent wants their child alone in life. She thought Weevil was playing the long game.

So was the killer.