Outfoxed

CHAPTER 49

Face flushed, Crawford leaned over the long table filled with paper samples. “You’re a board member. We’ve got to do something.”

“How many other board members have you spoken to?” Bobby, wary, tidied up the paper books.

“Everyone,” came the sweeping response.

“What did everyone say?”

“Georgia Vann and Lottie Fisher backed Sister Jane. Isaac Diamond sat on the fence. He said he thought I had a lot to offer but recent events have been too upsetting. Any major decision should be put on hold. Billie Breedlove is out of town and—”

Bobby held up his hand. “I get the picture.”

“No, you don’t get the picture. Now more than ever members need to know that strong leadership will continue. And we need a sound financial basis. We need an investment portfolio.”

Like most businessmen Crawford assumed he could apply business practices to foxhunting but it never quite worked that way—not so much because people were profligate but because any enterprise where Nature is one’s partner is fraught with insecurity. Nature doesn’t give a damn about profit.

“You can’t go head to head with Sister Jane.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m trying to go behind her back!”

“Crawford, that will only make matters worse. If the master says she wants to wait a year, then she waits a year.”

“She’s old. She could pop off at any time.” He slapped the table, rattling the pencils.

“Her mother lived to be one hundred and two. Her aunts made it into their nineties and everyone kept their hair, their teeth, and their faculties. You’ll die before Sister, especially if you don’t calm down.”

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

“For Chrissake, someone’s got to tell you how to behave. You can’t just stroll into a place and expect everyone to hop to your tune.”

“I’ve been here seven years.”

“And you haven’t learned a damn thing.” Bobby lost his temper. “What you’ve done for seven years is try to change this entire community to suit you instead of learning how to fit in.”

“Fit in? No one gives a straight answer. No one around here seems to be in a hurry to accomplish a damn thing. People accept bizarre behavior and say”—he changed his voice to a fake southern accent—” ‘That’s jess his way.’ No wonder you lost the goddamned war you’re always talking about. You’re a bunch of idiots!”

“Mr. Howard, this conversation is at an end.” Bobby, furious but calm, stood up.

“What the shit? You’re too good to hear this. You know it as well as I do. Nothing changes here. You might as well be set in concrete.”

“What changes is we can no longer call one another out for duels. Please leave.”

“Leave? I didn’t say you were stupid.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Betty, who had been in the back office, hurried out. “Bobby.”

“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll take it outside. I won’t wreck the place.”

Crawford, naturally, would no more fight in the back alley than he would ever learn: When in Rome do as the Romans do.

“That’s not why I came out. Peter Wheeler died this morning. Sister was with him. He was reading the newspaper,” Betty said.

Bobby’s face registered this news. He loved the old man, as did everyone.

“The land! What’s going to happen to the land?” Crawford blurted out.

“Get out of here.” Bobby put his hand between Crawford’s shoulder blades and literally propelled the sputtering man out the front door of the printing shop.

“You can’t treat me like this.”

“You’re lucky I don’t knock your teeth out. Get out and stay out.”

Crawford, halfway through the door, held his hand out to brace it against shutting. “Don’t get high-and-mighty with me. Your oldest daughter is a coke whore and Jennifer’s not far behind, you fat pig!”

Fat, he was, but also brutally strong. Bobby smashed his left fist into Crawford’s stomach. He followed with a right to the jaw that nearly lifted Crawford off his feet. The tanned, well-dressed man was rocketed out the door, which Bobby slammed and locked.

Betty, hands on hips, said, “Well done.”

“Goddamned son of a bitch will probably sue me. Jesus, I could kill him. You were right. You were absolutely right. It would never work. Why I ever supported him . . .”

“It seemed right at the time. How’s your hand?”

“Hurts.”

“Come on. I’ll ice it down.”

They heard the big Mercedes’s throaty purr. Then the car roared away.

“I’m surprised he didn’t call an ambulance. It would have helped his case.” Bobby, overcome with rage mingled with grief, put his arm around his wife. “Is that what they call our daughters? Coke whores?”