Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 25

A plume of blue smoke soared straight up into the cold night sky. Gray smoked a cigarette. He’d smoked a lot while in Washington, then worked hard to give it up. Every now and then he needed a puff. This was such a time.

Uncle Yancy watched from the family graveyard. His den there, perfectly comfortable, was not as comfortable as living in the mudroom. The two brothers paid little attention to the mudroom, eager to be inside. A pile of old rags, folded, along with a cardboard box, small, with fabric scraps, partially covered an entrance into the mudroom from outside. The red fox could easily slip in and out, then climb up to the handy ledge over the door into the kitchen. Warmth crept out from the kitchen as well as good smells. Eventually, Uncle Yancy believed he would find a way into the kitchen, eat leftovers, food dropped on the floor, then exit to the mudroom. Now he waited for Gray to finish his cigarette so he could go into the mudroom.

The temperature, 25ºF, accentuated the brilliant sky, almost the end of the month. Scarf pulled around his neck, a short, heavy, suede jacket lined with lambskin, warm no matter what, allowed Gray to enjoy his rebellion. Fleece-lined gloves helped, too, and his boots, Thinsulate, kept his feet warm. A lumberjack cap took care of his head.

Summer skies, hazy, while pretty, lacked the hard lines of the winter sky, the stars brilliant, the moon looming two days from full. He looked at the graveyard, Uncle Yancy behind a tombstone. The simple headstones, drenched in silver, always consoled him as a child. He thought, These are my people. And they were.

One last long puff, he crushed the red tip underfoot, looked up again, took a deep brisk breath, turned, opened the door to the mudroom. While not nearly as warm as the kitchen the change in temperature felt welcome. He unwound his scarf, hung up the expensive coat, put his gloves in the pockets. The minute he opened the door to the kitchen Uncle Yancy crawled up, slightly moving the rags. Never one to waste time, the fox jumped up on a side shelf and thence to the shelf over the door. One small window in the mudroom allowed him to keep tabs on the weather. He flopped on the shelf, pulling his gorgeous tail over his nose.

Gray walked into the small living room where his brother was reading The Winter’s Tale.

“Perfect night for this.” Sam smiled, the odor of hardwood filling the room.

Gray, lifting his feet onto the hassock in imitation of Sam, folded his hands over his chest. “I need a good book to read but I can’t make up my mind.”

“You have to be in the mood. I swore I would read Henry Adams’s The Degradation of the Democratic Dogma but I wasn’t there. Know what I mean?”

“I do. You were always the brainy one. I was happy with John le Carré.”

“Yeah, but he’s really good. Sometimes you just have to be taken away from the day.” Sam folded the play.

“I’ve been thinking about Saturday’s hunt. So far no reports from our sheriff. He calls in to Sister. She calls me.”

“Are you worried about her being there alone?”

“No. Tootie’s not far, Raleigh and Rooster would take care of anyone. And I’ll be there Wednesday. I don’t see how she can be in danger.”

“And no embezzlement?”

Gray shook his head. “Soliden is a well-run company, which is why this public relations mistake over the pipeline is so out of whack. But Freddie and I worked nonstop given that two lives are snuffed out. Obviously, the details are not for public consumption but really, Soliden is a tight ship.”

“M-m-m. You liked working with Freddie?”

“Did. It’s one thing when you hunt with someone. You get a good idea of their character, their ability to tolerate risk, but this is different. She’s sharp.” He shifted in the old well-upholstered chair. “So what do we know?”

“Rory was bashed in the head. Dragon found a hand. Left or right? I didn’t notice.”

“Me neither, but then I wasn’t that close. So here’s what I’ve come up with. The snowstorm presented an opportunity to commit a murder that had to be in the killer’s mind.”

“Right,” Sam replied.

“We know roughly the area in which the killing had to take place. From the sight of the Corinthian columns to the trailers. Right?”

“Not necessarily.” Sam sat up straighter. “What if Luckham was knocked unconscious himself or thrown down in a manner where he could neither speak nor move. He may not necessarily have been dead,” Sam continued. “What if he was left to be picked up later?”

“In that storm?”

“It presents a major problem. My other thought was what if he was dragged either dead or wounded? If whoever did this moved a bit to the side of the main group, who would have seen him? So he drags the body, drops it where he can find it even in a snowstorm, stores it, so to speak, until he can dispose of it.”

“And in the bitter cold, no decay.” Gray rubbed his chin.

“He knows the territory. When the time is right, he dumps it or he partly buries it. There are possibilities including dismemberment. I’m thinking how a hand wound up where it did.”

“Right. Not near Chapel Cross but not really that far. A body could be dumped in the middle of the night some miles away. Animals tore it up, the hand was carried. This has to be one very cool customer.”

“Yes and no. If he or she, and I doubt it’s a woman, knows exactly where he is, knows the lay of the land and where it is inhabited and not, thanks to hunting, the difficult part would be retrieving the body or even dragging it into your trailer.” Sam stopped. “Granted that’s also a big if, but what if Rory saw part of it? Think about that. We still have no idea whatsoever why Rory would be killed. What if he came over to help, sees a limp body shoved into a trailer, and wham. Then he’s dragged across the street as everyone is frantically trying to get out of there. It’s possible.”

“Okay. Let’s say it is. I left a bit early to get the house ready because I figured Sister would have people there. It would be easier to do a caravan. I was out of there. You were not. You couldn’t see, could you?”

“No, but I could hear.”

“Talk? Horses loading?”

“Right. I knew that Kasmir and Alida were still there. Makes sense since they were closer to their stable than anyone else and, if necessary, they could have put their horses in one of the Tattenhall outbuildings and stayed in the station. So they were there. I heard Freddie. I heard Dewey’s voice as he helped load the Bancroft horses and I only know that because I heard Tedi thank him. Then I heard a truck motor start up. I assumed it was Dewey after he’d helped the Bancrofts. The snow just came faster and harder. I heard trailers pull out as I was loading Trocadero. Then I heard one go in the opposite direction, the wrong direction I thought about that. I didn’t think anything of it. I was one of the last ones out except for staff and then I heard the trailer return. I think it must have been the same trailer once whoever was driving figured out he or she was going the wrong way.”

“You never heard Rory’s voice?”

Sam shook his head no. “I expect by the time I was untacking he was gone. And I had no idea he was there to help.”

“You might be on to something.” Gray, boots off, enjoyed the warmth in his feet as both men sat near the fire. “If Ben finds anything, that would sure help.”

But Ben and his crew weren’t finding anything. Granted, they still had three large quadrants yet to search but with those cadaver dogs and the handlers it seemed something should show up.