Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 35

The U.S. Geological Survey maps, old, edges torn and frayed, covered the kitchen table. Sister, Gray, Tootie, and Weevil bent over them. The maps, forty years old, still proved accurate with topo lines, roads, creeks, and rivers. The maps of the westernmost territories, Chapel Cross, remained unchanged. The ones closer to the so-called home territories were out of date thanks to more roads and development, but still geologically correct.

“Used to be one of Farmington’s best fixtures.” Sister pointed to a spot on an easternmost map where her territory adjoined Farmington Hunt Club’s. “Now, of course, it’s a high-end housing development but when Port Haeffner was alive you could ride for miles and miles over lush pastures, some woods. Well, this is progress. So they say.”

“I remember the cockfights at the back of Port’s farm. My grandfather bred fighting chickens. Illegal now—fighting. You can still breed them.” Gray laughed. “I was too little to go in and also a little black boy wouldn’t have been there unless he was handling the fighting chickens, but I remember people turning into the drive wearing tuxedos and evening gowns. A different time.”

“People dressed up for cockfights?” Tootie couldn’t believe it.

Sister pulled over another map. “Did. I was never much for it myself, but at least the fighting cock has a chance. A Perdue chicken never does. Now look here.”

Three pairs of eyes followed her finger. Four if you count Golly on the table as she felt her insights would be precious. The dogs flopped on the floor.

“Site One.” Weevil put his finger next to Sister’s, which stayed on the spot where Rory was found.

Weevil then moved his finger to where Shaker hit his head, Dragon carried the right hand. “Site Two.”

Gray’s finger on the Carriage House, which of course was clearly visible on the old map. “Site Three.”

“Site Four.” Tootie fingered the place just behind the dependency at Beveridge Hundred.

“Close enough. I’m not counting Hangman’s Ridge right now. Too far. It’s Chapel Cross we need to figure out. For one thing, I believe the body had to be there at least for a time.”

“Under the snow?” Weevil asked.

“Possibly. I think Gregory was either retrieved, very difficult given conditions, maybe killed near the crossroads. One could somewhat follow the roads if going very slow,” Sister posited.

Gray, arms across his chest, studied the four sites. “If the body was left under the snow, which remained for the better part of a week, it would be preserved.”

“It would.” Tootie agreed. “But wouldn’t the killer have to come back and get it? In daylight? How could he find it in the dark under the snow?”

“Good question. It might be possible with a ski pole, something like that. Let’s say he had a rough idea where the body was and punched around for it or it was inside something. He would still risk being seen. With the workers at Old Paradise, your mother and the Van Dorns driving in and out of Beveridge Hundred, plus Kasmir and Alida at Tattenhall Station, no way could this be done in the daytime.”

“Nighttime would be dicey. People do go out at night. A car or a truck parked off the road might be seen and a person poking around near the crossroads with a ski pole would be a dead giveaway. Forgive the pun.” Sister put her finger smack on the crossroads. “I say the body was moved during the blizzard.”

“That’s taking a hell of a chance.” Gray sat down and the others did likewise.

“Yes. So whoever this is is very bold, but we were all in that snowstorm. Nature definitely was on his side. If he retrieved the body that fell near the crossroads, he’d need to carry it back to the trailers. He had nowhere else to go,” Sister said.

“Tattenhall Station.” Weevil threw that out. “Open a door, throw the body in, come back for it later. There have to be places to hide a body in there. We know there’s a huge freezer in there.”

“You’re right.” Gray nodded. “Kasmir outfitted that whole kitchen for the club, but we’d moved the breakfast to Boxing Day so he locked Tattenhall.”

“Right.” Weevil was disappointed, as he thought he’d found the answer.

“Why couldn’t the killer drag the body into his trailer? No one was poking around trailers. Then he could take it home or to a freezer somewhere or even bury it under snow at a safer place.” Tootie, like everyone, tried to think of all possibilities.

“Given the rate of snowfall, he wouldn’t even need to bury the body. He could dump it somewhere and the blizzard would take care of the rest. He’d have to dump it where he could dig it up without prying eyes.” Gray considered where to dump a body so no one would know.

“I think we’re getting close. So I think either he threw the body in the woods where we found the first hand, came back later. It would be easy to get up there and easy to hide your truck or whatever. The owners live in New York. If a truck drove up that rutted road in the woods, who would know? That’s where we found the first hand. Or as Tootie said, he stashed Gregory in his trailer, then off-loaded him to a large freezer.” Sister again pointed to those places on the map.

“Chapel Cross really is the hub of it.” Gray exhaled. “And I think Rory saw some of this, which makes me believe the body was put onto a trailer. He never made it.”

“I think you’re right.” Sister agreed.

Weevil, head in his hands for a moment, lifted it up. “We all agree you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face, speaking of hands.” The others nodded and he continued. “What if he wounded or silenced Gregory in some way close to the crossroads. Rode next to him as Gregory and Pokerface were behind Ronnie. As they all approached the chapel, he pulled Gregory off the horse. Pokerface walked with Corporal to the trailer. So did the killer, who then put his horse up as the snow kept everyone occupied, wanting to get out. He crossed the road, dragged the corpse to the almost empty lot, and threw him inside the trailer. We were all together and staff always parks in the same place. He knew where we were. He knows the drill.”

“Yes, he does.” Sister quietly agreed.

“Which makes this more confusing and frightening. Why cut off Gregory’s hands?” Tootie wondered.

“If we knew that, we’d know why he was killed, I think, but we might not know who killed him,” Sister added.

Weevil spoke up as Golly patted his hand with her paw, hoping he might rise and get her a treat. “Maybe we have this a little backward. Maybe the hand in the cotton glove, the left hand, was originally at Beveridge Hundred. The ring came off or was pulled off. An animal dragged it to Old Paradise.”

A long silence followed this.

Gray then said, “Well, it is more logical that a hand with flesh would be carried than a ring or that the ring would be stripped off at the Carriage House and carried back. I can’t think of a wild animal that would carry a ring. Then again, foxes can be peculiar or birds who like bright things might.”

“Do you think my mother should be alone in the house? Sam should come over and stay with her. The Van Dorns’ house is far enough away that someone could sneak in and out and she doesn’t have a dog.” Tootie worried.

Sister, who had risen to fetch treats for Golly, the spoiled rotten cat, said, “Yes. That’s a very good idea. Would you like to call her or would you want one of us to do it?”

“I think she’ll listen to me.” Tootie then pulled out her cellphone. “But if she doesn’t, I’m handing the phone to you, Sister, and if she still doesn’t listen, Gray will talk her into it.”

Tootie dialed her mother as the others listened.

“She believes me but she wants to talk to you.” Tootie handed the phone to Gray.

“Fishies. Thank you.” Golly gobbled her treats as Gray talked to Yvonne.

“Would you like me to call my brother?” A silence followed this as Gray listened. “Of course. I’ll do it right now.” He handed the phone back, got up, and walked into the library to call his brother on the landline.

The three looked at one another. Then Sister said, “I’m going to call Ben Sidell and ask him to check every hunt club member’s big freezer if they have one. Oh, and while I talk to him, Tootie, pull a bowl of cold chicken potpie out of the refrigerator. I’ll heat it up when I’m done with Ben.”

“I can do that.” Tootie walked to the refrigerator, Weevil with her as he took the bowl from her hands.

“How about I do it?” He looked into the bowl. “I’ll heat this up and if she wants a piecrust, we’ll have to improvise.”

“Oh, Sister will be happy with the insides. Me, too.” Tootie smiled up at him as she stood by the stove watching him pull out a big pot, which she indicated was stored in the oven.

After a good ten minutes, Gray came back, observed the impromptu supper, got a wonderful loaf of homemade bread from the bread box. Sister did things the old way: bread boxes; crust made from scratch; real butter, not the fake yellow stuff.

Finished talking to Ben, Sister observed the activity. “Weevil, if you give up hunting, you might have a career as a cook.”

He smiled his blinding smile. “Oh, I’d just be a short-order cook. Nothing special.”

“Those bangers and mash were fabulous.” She looked to Gray cutting the bread in thick slices. “Well, I’ll fetch drinks. By the way, Ben agrees. He will check freezers. I told him to get the keys from Margaret to the Gulf station or from Arthur, her cousin. Millie had a big freezer in there. He checked outbuildings but he needs to go inside.”

Millie DuCharme, married to one of the DuCharme brothers, ran a little café at the Gulf station for years.

“There’s only one problem with the freezer search.” Gray inhaled the light aroma of the chicken potpie, a good meal for a cold night. “It will tip off the killer.”

“You think?” Tootie stirred the potpie while Weevil searched for fresh parsley in the fridge.

“I do. It means we have part of the puzzle put together,” Gray replied.

He was right.