Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

CHAPTER 21

Pookah was a small weedy hound, a throwback, for her sister looked a proper American hound. She ate her kibble from the trough. Fortunately, the kennels had a small kitchen where Shaker and Sister could heat up foods and keep medicines in the refrigerator. The two humans had worked together for years. Given the cold and the long run, they decided to warm some chicken broth, along with gallon bottles of corn oil and canned food for hounds who needed a little help keeping on the pounds. A hound or horse can burn off weight quickly with hard hunting. So can people.

Master and huntsman watched the young gyps gobble everything. At the hunt breakfast, Sister hadn’t gotten to eat much and was still hungry. She opened the fridge, pulling out a power bar.

“How can you eat those?” Shaker grimaced. “They taste like cardboard.”

“Well, they do, but if I eat a candy bar it’s too much sugar. Once we’re finished here, I’ll heat a little lasagna. Gray made some last night to soothe his nerves. He makes the best lasagna.”

“Crazy days,” Shaker acknowledged. “Hearing Daniella holler for revenge, I don’t know. Does that sort of dramatics ever solve anything?”

“I don’t know, but I guess for her it would.” Sister peeled back the bar’s foil wrapper, taking a small bite. It did taste like cardboard.

“Thimble,” Sister admonished the dog as she had bumped her sister Twist to grab more food.

“She takes too long,” complained Thimble, but she moved back to her spot. “If she doesn’t eat it fast, I will.”

“Chatty Cathy.” Sister laughed. “You know, most times I’m glad I don’t know what they’re saying. It’s probably something like ‘Here comes that old dame again.’ ”

“I would never say that,” said Twist, lifting up her elegant head. “I love you.”

“Me, too,” came the chorus from the youngsters.

This made both Sister and Shaker laugh.

“That huntsman can ride, can’t she?” Sister admired competence in all pursuits.

“Yes. She seems nice enough. You were smart, well, you are smart, to invite Crawford and Marty to the breakfast.”

“I will kill him with kindness,” said Sister. “My mistake in the past was to let him anger me. I confess I should never have socked him at the Masters Ball in New York City. Even if he had it coming.”

“Oh, that was years ago.” Shaker wished he’d been there.

“He’ll never forget.”

“Sister, that man probably never forgot the first time his own mother insulted him. I call it injustice collecting.”

She took another bite, hungry as she was. “Mmm. A big ego. As long as you tug your forelock, he’s fine, and you know, Shaker, he earned that ego. The man built an empire, starting with strip malls in Indiana and branching out from there. Only Kasmir exceeds him in accomplishment. Sure, the Bancrofts are rich, but that’s inherited wealth, and I hasten to add, they use it wisely. Edward managed the family company for decades so he didn’t sit on his butt and collect dividends, yet it isn’t the same as starting from scratch and building an empire. That takes guts, faith, and incredible energy.”

“And luck.” Shaker crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re right about that.” She smiled, covering the bar with the foil wrapper.

Pookah watched every move. “If you’re done with that, would you mind if I chewed it up?”

Noticing soulful eyes turned upward to her, Sister looked at the power bar. “Sweetie, if I give you this there will be a nasty fight. However”—she walked back into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of little meaty chews, returned, and sprinkled them all over the broth-drenched kibble—“More treats.”

“You spoil those hounds.”

“And you don’t?” She poked him. “I can’t eat this thing now, but maybe I will later.”

Shaker half closed his eyes, shook his head. “Boss, how would you feel if I contacted what’s-her-name?”

“Cynthia Skiff Cane, she goes by Skiff.”

“Right. I have a hard time remembering names. Anyway, if she needs anything I’ll do what I can. I like her. She must have whipped in somewhere. I don’t recall hearing of her as a huntsman and I know pretty much who’s who.”

“Go ahead. I don’t know who she is or where she learned her stuff either. Anyway, it is in our best interest and her best interest to try to get on even terms with Crawford. You know, he still hasn’t named his outlaw pack. I would have thought that would have been the first thing he did when he broke away from us.”

Hunts are forbidden to rent land but one hunt may lease a fixture or territory to another hunt. All the rules can get confusing.

“Don’t know. But you all can’t have the same territory. No way the MFHA will abide that and he doesn’t rent territory from us.”

“But if he did, that bugaboo might be laid to rest. I support the MFHA most times, and the times I think they’ve gone over the top, I just shut up.”

“The truth is, Sister, Virginia can do whatever she wants. The entire state can walk away from the national organization, and the threat for others of being excommunicated if they hunt with us won’t work. People will still come here. This is the center of hunting in the United States. No one can break that power.”

“Give Maryland her due.” Sister loved the Maryland hunts.

“I do, but Maryland would be neutral, just as she was during 1861 to 1865.”

“Shaker, it’s a small state. They have no choice.” Sister did her best to keep things on an even keel.

“So you’ve thought about it?”

“A secession?” Sister laughed. “Well, I suppose any Master in Virginia has had it cross their mind if something upsets them, but I think we can always work things out, whether it be with the national organization or Crawford.”

“He won’t join the MFHA.”

“I know. I’ll consider that problem later. Right now I want, if not harmony, then accommodation. His pack has joined ours three times. Once, a fine mess, a couple of years ago, and twice this year. We need to think this through and your idea of getting to know Skiff is a good one. Right now, I just want to finish out the season on a happy note.”

“Been a good season.”

“It has, thanks to these children.” She indicated the hounds.

“Wait, wait until we’re in our prime like Diana,” Pansy bragged.

“We can give everyone a rest tomorrow, then walk out Monday,” said Sister. “I wish this cold would break. Going down into the teens again tonight. The electric and propane bills are thirty percent higher than last year. Thank God for wood-burning fireplaces and the stove in the basement. By the way, how’s your stove doing?”

“Fine. Heats up the cottage and I can keep the thermostat at fifty-five degrees.”

Shaker lived in a clapboard cottage not far from the kennels and stables. He could walk to both places, which saved gas. Living arrangements and often a vehicle were usually part of a huntsman’s employment package. Every hunt differed to some degree, the richer ones able to offer more, but The Jefferson Hunt covered the basics. Also, Walter, thanks to his being a doctor, had a decent idea of the insurance coverage changes and how to adjust for Shaker.

“I’m going to head up to the house,” Sister said. “You hunted the hounds beautifully today and you handled a strange woman riding up to you and Crawford’s pack with your usual aplomb.”

“He needs good whippers-in.” Shaker identified one of Crawford’s main problems, a problem for most hunts.

“That’s just it,” she said. “No one can work for him without jeopardizing their position with the MFHA. You aren’t supposed to hunt with outlaw packs any more than you are supposed to work for them. Which is why I like your idea of finding out a little bit more about Miss Cane,” she said, taking her leave.

From the front office, she stepped into cold air and a setting sun.

Raleigh and Rooster greeted her as she neared the house.

“I’ve been so lonesome without you.” Raleigh leaned on her.

“Me, too. I’ve been bored.” Rooster jumped straight up.

Opening the door to the mudroom, bigger than the one at the Lorillard place, she hung up her barn coat and scarf. After taking off her lad’s cap, she opened the door to the kitchen.

“What a heavenly smell.” Gray had heated up the lasagna for her. She grabbed the bootjack by the mudroom door, pulling off her boots. “Oh, I do like taking my boots off in a warm room. Doesn’t hurt as much.”

Gray bent down to check the glass door on the oven. “Almost ready.”

“Honey, have I told you I love you?”

He grinned. “I can never hear it enough.”

“I saw you eating a big plate at Tattenhall Station.” She removed her vest, tie, and titanium pin, which she fastened through a buttonhole.

“And I saw you didn’t. People don’t let you sit down and eat.”

“Gray, it’s always that way. I don’t even notice anymore. At least I get a drink. Where’s Tootie?”

“Reading Handley Cross.” Gray named one of Robert Smith Surtees’s novels from the nineteenth century. “She needs a distraction.”

“I envy her reading it for the first time. Kind of like the first time you read Gulliver’s Travels or Huckleberry Finn.”

He placed the plate of lasagna before her, a drink, too, then sat across from her as Golly wove between the chairs. Golly operated on the principle that humans were clumsy. Be prepared. The dogs sat, ears up, hoping for a morsel. Not the cat. Trusting her lightning reflexes, she’d snare anything that fell from the table.

“Quite a day,” said Gray. “Crawford and Marty actually enjoyed themselves.”

“Marty especially.” Sister savored the delicious pasta. “She’s such a good person.”

“She is,” he agreed.

“Things settling down?” she asked, changing subjects.

“In the sense that neither Sam nor I have to deal with Nadine, yes. She’s with Auntie D and flies back to Atlanta tomorrow. She doesn’t want to see us any more than we want to see her. I’m glad it’s over. Or almost over. Mercer’s taken up his mother’s cudgel, so to speak.”

Sister told him what Crawford had said. “Preys on my mind.”

Gray crossed his ankles under the table, leaned back in his chair. “You know, it does. Whoever killed Harlan knew about the memorial slate, knew the grounds of Walnut Hill, and obviously knew Harlan and his proclivities.” He sat up, folding his hands on the table. “It’s possible that someone also knew his schedule, argued with him, and a fight at the whorehouse did him in.”

“Is. It’s also possible that Benny Glitters knew something about Harlan.”

“Vice versa.” Gray now tapped his fingers on the old kitchen table.

Finishing up, she put her plate on the floor so the dogs could lick it, while handing a piece of lasagna to Golly. After this, she washed her hands and the dish.

“Gray, I’m about to abuse you.”

“Really?” He started to unbutton his shirt.

Laughing, she put her hand on his shoulder. “That, too, but right now I need you at the computer. You can do anything.”

Smiling, he replied, “If I can’t there’s a whiz kid upstairs who can.”

In front of his big screen in the library, Sister asked, “Get Benny Glitters’s breeding.”

Didn’t take Gray long. “Domino the sire, the mare was by Hastings.”

Sitting next to him, she said, “Man o’ War’s grandfather, Hastings. An excellent pedigree. See if you can get Benny Glitters’s racing record.”

That took a little longer but finally, “Here. He started out pretty good.”

“He did, ran third in his first race, then two seconds, and then didn’t place. So they retired him. You’d think he would have been learning, gotten better. As far as we know, based on what they knew at Walnut Hill, he retired sound.”

“Maybe he just didn’t like racing,” Gray posited.

“Possible. Such a pity with that pedigree. Few if any would use him as a stud, given his race record.”

“Anything else?”

“Not right now. Thank you, honey. Something doesn’t ring true for me. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Janie, horses wash out at the track all the time. Plenty of them have successful sires.”

“I know, I know, and some like Secretariat sire okay sons but great daughters—great broodmares, who in turn sire winners. But I’m going to call Ben Sidell. You can listen.” She sat down at her desk and called. “Ben. Sister.”

“Wonderful day,” said the sheriff. “Wonderful breakfast.”

“It was. Forgive me, but I’m going to intrude on your case. Sort of.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Do you have Penny’s home computer?”

“We do. Her husband gave it to us. Didn’t have to ask.”

“Shall I assume there’s nothing amiss?”

“It’s what you would expect. Clients, ailments, treatments on the office computer and her personal computer is crammed with e-mails from friends and some research. Lots of stuff on wildlife but nothing that would set off an alarm.”

“Will you do me and maybe Penny a favor?”

“Of course I will.”

“Have your tech person sweep through for bloodline research. Before Penny’s murder, she became interested in the Przewalski horse.”

“Never heard of such a breed.”

“Well, you won’t see one in the hunt field. It’s an ancient feral horse, one hundred percent wild, and it is at least seven hundred thousand years old. We have the genome, the oldest one we have up to now anyway. It’s far older than any genome we have for humans.”

“Where did they find this?”

“In the permafrost in the Yukon. Found a foot bone. This animal is the ancestor of horses, donkeys, zebras. Somewhere between 72,000 and 38,000 years ago the line split and one line became domesticated horses. The other remained feral.”

“What do you think is the connection?”

“DNA. As an equine vet, Penny would be interested. But if you find she was looking at any pedigrees, especially of current horses or Benny Glitters, the horse in the tomb, maybe if I look at them I might be able to help discover why she was killed.”

“You think her murder is related to the one in Kentucky? The one in 1921?”

A long, long pause and then Sister said with conviction, “Actually, I do. Something tells me this all goes back to Benny Glitters.”