Hounded To Death

CHAPTER 22

“How can these body parts show up when there’s no missing person’s report?” Back at Roughneck Farm, Val, ever logical, chatted as she cleaned tack.

Working on the tack hanging from the other hook, Tootie said, “The sheriff checked for central Virginia.”

“Someone is missing somewhere.” Val stated the obvious.

“Like the Jimmy Buffett song, ‘It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere’?” Sister came in the back entrance of the barn after throwing hay for the horses.

“Was kinda cool, wasn’t it?” Val tossed her blonde ponytail.

“As long as you weren’t the head.” Sister entered the tack room as the girls stood in the aisle with the tack hooks, buckets in front of them full of water.

“Gray,” Sister called out. Gray was walking across the peagravel walk from the kennels to the barn.

“Yes, master,” he said teasingly.

“Will you call your brother and find out if he knows if any of the street drunks are missing? I have a hunch, thanks to the frying pan, that the man under the cap lived rough.”

“Good idea.” Gray checked his watch. “He’s still at work.” Flipping open his cell, Gray punched the speed dial button. “Sam.”

On hearing the voice of his big brother, also his roommate, Sam replied, “What do you want me to pick up on the way home?”

“Nothing. Do me a favor. Ask around to see if any of the street people are missing.”

“They go missing a lot and usually turn up later after a colossal bender. But yeah, I’ll ask.” Sam knew his brother would give him details later, no need to talk overlong at work because Crawford might notice.

That man noticed the smallest thing.

“Crawford hunt his hounds today?” Gray’s voice carried a note of sarcasm.

“Don’t ask.”

“All right, tell me later, but if you hear anything before I get home call my cell.”

“Must be important.”

“Could be.” Gray flipped his cell shut. “He’ll get on it.”

“Good.” Sister sank down in a worn chair.

“Don’t you think the sheriff has asked the street people?” Val called from the center aisle.

“Sure, but they’ll be more inclined to speak to one of their own—one of their former own, I should say—rather than to a badge. Dammit, I hate this,” Sister replied. “Sometimes street people get tired of being moved along by the cops, tired of being helped by the Salvation Army, so they head out into the country. Like I told Gray, it’s just a hunch.”

The two young women looked at each other. They’d never heard Sister speak quite like that.

“You hate not knowing.” Gray humored her.

“That’s a fact. But have you considered that Hangman’s Ridge is my land? First a foot, now a skull and a frying pan. I want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Me, too.” Gray put his arm around her.

“Creepy,” Tootie said, as she cleaned the bit with fresh water. “The foot was bad enough, but the head—that really creeped me out.”

“Way gross, but still we’ll be telling our grandchildren about the skull hunt.” Val did enjoy drama.

Tootie giggled. “I can’t imagine you as a grandmother.”

“I can’t either,” Val agreed. “Hey, let’s call Felicity when we’re done and tell her. Better: Let’s go over.”

“If you go, I made a big casserole, since I figured we’d be eating together. You can take some to her. Will you be back for supper?”

The two conferred. “I’ll take it to her, but we want to eat it with you,” Val said.

“All right.”

Two hours later, Sister was pulling weeds in her garden. The ability of weeds to thrive when perfectly beautiful flowers die never ceased to amaze and irritate her. Golly supervised. Raleigh and Rooster slept under the Japanese maple. The kids had driven over to see Felicity. Gray was in the den, cheering on Syracuse, his alma mater. There could never be enough football for Gray but especially Syracuse football. Sam had graduated from Harvard and spent a year at Michigan law before transferring to the Darden School at UVA. He was a rabid Michigan fan. The air at the old home place sometimes thickened with sulfur as the two brothers discussed their teams.

Gray’s phone rang. “Better be good,” Gray said. “Third quarter, Syracuse up by six.”

“It is,” said Sam. “Jake Ingram hasn’t been seen since the end of March. Got to the point where he’d drink anything, even Sterno. Everyone figured he wandered off or died.”

“No one reported it.”

“Of course not. Sometimes people go back home or get smart and go into rehab. They don’t want to see any of the old gang. Makes sense, if you think about it.”

“Did anyone go to wherever Jake lived?”

“He lived on the street. Used to live down by the train station, but you can’t do that anymore, now they’ve built those apartments across the tracks. The guys hang around the parks or the Greyhound station or they move farther out. These days they move a lot.”

Gray called Ben Sidell, who thanked him. Then he tore himself away from the game because he knew Sister would kill him if he didn’t tell her straightaway.

After hearing the news, she looked up from under the straw cowboy hat. “Jake Ingram. Never heard of him. Well, Ben can track down his dental records. Might make for a fast matchup, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“If you don’t need me, I’ll go back to the game.”

She waved him off—for Gray, football took precedence over everything else—and said to Golly, “I hope I never have a heart attack during a Syracuse game. He’d wait until after the game to call the ambulance.”

“I’ll revive you.” Golly felt she had great powers.

“Right.” Rooster opened one eye. “She’ll smell that tuna breath and gag.”

Golly puffed up, shot out of the garden, raced to the Japanese maple, and hit Rooster with all four paws as she shouted, “Death to dogs!”

Then she prudently climbed the graceful tree as Rooster threatened from below.

Sister wiped her brow. “What in God’s name gets into her?”