The Hounds And The Fury

CHAPTER 30

Personal cataclysms take many forms. All provide the same result: you’re tossed into the air. Some people fall hard, others hit the ground but rise and learn, a few land on their feet, and fewer still bounce back higher than they had been cast down.

Sister usually fell into the last category. Yesterday’s event, though distressing, energized her.

“People are like teabags. You never know how strong they are until you put them in hot water,” she said to Shaker as they finished power washing the feed room. “Betty and Sybil are strong.”

“Hell of a way to find out,” Shaker grunted. “I should have been with you when he first knocked you off Aztec.”

“First of all, honey chile”—she used the Southern nomenclature with warmth—“how could you know? You pulled the hounds from danger. You did the exact right thing. From the safety of the woods, there’s no way you could know. It all turned out right.” She paused. “He used an old dirty polo trick, actually. He put his knee behind mine and kicked my leg up high and hard. Over I went.”

“No polo where’s he gone—unless they play with pitchforks.”

“By the grace of God.”

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help,” Sister smiled. “Sybil, Betty, and I are lucky, lucky women.” She shrugged, tears filling her eyes.

Shaker misted over, too. “You never know, do you? You never know what’s around the corner.” He rolled the power washer back to the corner. “We could eat off the floor.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Boss, I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you yesterday, what with the police and all. I did pop my head in last night to see that you were okay.”

“Three-ring circus, wasn’t it?” She rolled up a hose.

“How did you know?”

“At first, I didn’t. Iffy’s behavior kept me focused on her. I’m convinced she tried to shoot Gray. Wasn’t a hunter catching the last days of deer season. Can’t prove it, but I believe it to be so.”

“Gray was on to her.”

“Well, he was on to someone cooking the books. He couldn’t discuss it, but I knew something was amiss. I thought maybe Garvey was stealing the cream. That idea soon faded, but Iffy could have worked with Garvey and discovered she was going to take the fall. A lot of thoughts flitted through my peabrain.”

“But she was guilty?” His thick eyebrows moved upwards.

“Yes, she was—and what’s even more disgusting is she killed Angel. Jason gave her the scopolamine, the stuff that’s used for motion sickness and arthritis.” She walked into the kennel office, Shaker following. “Tell you one thing, Ben Sidell is good. He put his nose down and followed every scent trail.”

“Thorough.”

“That he is. He figured out the insurance scam. I had no idea about that. Ben and his staff interviewed every living patient on Jason’s roster. Jason did save lives, but there were people on his roster who feigned symptoms, including Alfred DuCharme. They were never sick in the first place. Jason wrote up treatment in collusion with the phony patient, and the money rolled in. When Ben went through his patient roster, since some called Jason, that tipped him off to the fact that he was under suspicion, but he was confident he’d covered his tracks.”

“Two crimes?” Shaker dropped in the chair by the desk, turning it so he could face Sister as she sat behind the desk.

“More than that. One attempted murder. I’m counting Iffy shooting Sam. One murder: Angel. Then Iffy’s murder. A brilliant insurance scam, two million dollars pilfered from Aluminum Manufacturing. The insurance companies will get involved with their own investigation, but Ben’s estimate is that Jason sucked up about nine million dollars.”

“Nine million!” Shaker exclaimed.

“It’s obvious you haven’t seen a hospital bill in a long time. Jason specialized in cancer. The diagnostic tests, the chemo and radiation if needed, the operations if needed, the aftercare, the pharmacy bills. It’s insane. Really, it’s easier to die. It’s certainly cheaper.”

“I’ll remember that.” His wry smile was engaging.

“Here’s the thing I don’t understand. By all accounts Jason was a good doctor. Why wasn’t that enough? Doctors make a good living. But he must have had some kind of instinct, some sixth sense of who could be corrupted. Someone might have a few cancer cells on the skin. He’d talk them into letting him invent a major cancer, and they’d split the insurance money. He even went so far as to perform some operations, not cut-open-the-chest stuff, but still, in-office procedures on healthy people. Mostly he threw patients into a fake radiation and chemo program and raked in the money. Walter—who is tremendously upset, by the way—said it’s not that hard to acquire x-rays and records. He thinks Jason took those of deceased people. He’d x-ray his ‘patient’ later, and lo and behold, the tumor or the cancer would be in remission. The cleverness of it, the attention to detail—it’s almost admirable.”

“Nine million dollars.” Shaker fixated on the loot.

“Think what we could do with that money?” Sister sighed, then glanced out the window. “Sun’s up.”

“Clearing up.” He rose and walked to the hot plate. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea.”

“Angel loathed Iffy. How could Iffy kill her without Angel knowing? I mean, Angel wouldn’t take motion sickness stuff from Iffy, I don’t think.” Shaker returned to the main subject.

These two, working cheek by jowl for decades—for Shaker had been hired as a young man to whip-in—had long ago divested themselves of connecting every sentence to the one prior.

“Angel had some arthritis, common enough in someone eighty-four. Walter suggested an over-the-counter remedy. Remember, Ben had questioned him thoroughly when the news about Angel came back from the labs. First he visited Margaret DuCharme. Later, after he saw me he questioned Walter, and Walter said he’d recommended cream with scopolamine in it. No big deal; we could go down to Rite Aid and buy a jar. Iffy mentioned to Angel that much faster relief could be had by putting a patch behind her ear.” Sister gratefully accepted her tea, the bag steeping. “She said this in front of Garvey. I mean Iffy was smart, and she was bold. Garvey told Ben that Iffy told him to try it if he stiffened up, and also to take shark cartilage pills.”

Shaker blushed. “I take them. Glucosamine and chondroitin, too. Works.”

“The things I find out.” She put the teabag on her teaspoon and wrapped the string around it to squeeze out the excess water, then dropped the spent bag into the wastebasket.

It landed with a plop.

“Try it.”

“Long as it isn’t a lethal dose.”

“Doesn’t it have that stuff in, soopy—”

“Scopolamine.” She pronounced each syllable. “There’s no way to know, but the logical conclusion is that Iffy brought in a patch loaded with the stuff and told Angel to put it behind her ear. If she didn’t, no one would know it was murderous. Who else would use it? Iffy would have to find another way to kill Angel as Angel’s suspicions of Iffy’s stealing intensified. But Angel did put the patch on. Iffy timed it, walked into Angel’s office forty minutes later—remember, Angel’s age played a part in the speed of this stuff—and she removed the ear patch.”

“But where’d the two million go? Iffy was tight as a tick.”

“Went to Jason, who obviously wasn’t.”

“Jesus. She killed for that bastard?”

“She was in love with him. We’ll never know what he promised her. Marriage?” She shrugged.

Shaker absorbed this. “Iffy in love.”

“Hard to imagine.”

“He must have really played her.” Shaker shook his head in disbelief and disgust.

“We can all be fools in love. I guess it just proves that Iffy was human.”

“I guess.” He sipped his tea. “Lorraine’s got me off coffee completely now. She says tea is better for me.”

“Reckon it is.” She rose and looked outside the window up to the house. “Gray’s still asleep. Light’s not on upstairs. Poor guy; he’s exhausted. First he finds the coverup at Garvey’s. Then Sam gets shot. Then he’s in the dark until I nearly bought the farm yesterday. I was lucky Jason didn’t shoot me. He was slick; I’ll give him that.”

“Why wouldn’t he shoot you?” Shaker quickly amended that. “Not that I wanted him to.”

“Ha. You say.” She teased him and sat back down. “Ben only had him on insurance fraud. Iffy was the embezzler, not Jason. He received the proceeds of her ill-gotten gains, but he was technically innocent. If he’d shot me yesterday he’d have had a much tougher time in court.”

“He shot Iffy.”

“We know that, but Ben still would have to prove it. And it wouldn’t be easy. Jason’s big bucks could have hired a lawyer that would make Sherman’s march look like trespassing.”

“That’s a fact.” Shaker appreciated the wiles of high-paid lawyers, thanks to a divorce many years earlier.

“That was my first clue that Jason was our man.”

“Damn. I sure didn’t have any idea. All I knew was that Iffy had been planted over Jemima Lorillard. How do you get to Jason from that?”

“He thought he was clever, but he was no fox. He didn’t know squat about hounds. I mean the man hunted with us and not once during the season did he really study the hounds at work. No, he was a run and gun.” She held up her hand as if holding off a protest. “I know, I know, they pay their dues and I am grateful so long as they don’t interfere with hounds or staff, but really, how can you foxhunt and not study hounds? I will never understand it. If they want to run and jump all the time they should take up three-day eventing.”

“That’s not easy.”

“Didn’t say it was.” She sat back down. “But it’s not foxhunting. You need to appreciate hounds a wee bit. Wouldn’t hurt to know something about quarry.”

“How did that get you to Jason?”

“The fox knows how fabulous hound noses are. You and I know. Jason didn’t. He stupidly buried Iffy over Jemima, but he only dug down about three feet. He knew Sam and Gray’s schedule. He was smart about that. And he was smart enough not to just throw her over a ravine somewhere because the vultures would circle round soon enough. His one bit of luck was the twenty-four-hour thaw. Guess he would have kept her in the freezer until there was one otherwise.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed. “I know; that was mean. Anyway, he was lucky there. But hounds can smell six feet down. Not even snow is going to stop them if the ground isn’t frozen deep. I suspect by planting Iffy at the Lorillard graveyard he thought to throw suspicion on Gray should Iffy come to light—which she did, a lot earlier than Jason expected. Since Iffy didn’t like Gray, the reverse could also be true. It’s not locked down, but I do think Jason was shrewd enough to do something like that. He had to get rid of the body somewhere; might as well create confusion with it.”

“He showed he couldn’t be trusted when he whipped-in to Crawford, pardon the expression.” Shaker meant that Jason’s performance couldn’t be called whipping-in.

“Oh, and wasn’t that a moment?” she gleefully recalled. “Crawford called Ben last night to say he knew nothing about Jason’s crimes. Ben called me, and we had a good laugh.”

“He didn’t. I mean I hate his guts, but I don’t think he was part of it.” Shaker grimaced.

“Never underestimate the greed of the rich.” She drank a large gulp. “But I agree. I don’t think he knew anything. Couldn’t really be part of it, anyway. Too busy chasing hounds all over Jefferson County.”

They both laughed.

She got up again to check the bedroom light. “Still out. I’m glad he stayed last night.”

“I was shook up. You really must have been rocked.”

“Jason thought the boar would kill me. He would still be clean of murder if he was caught. Like I said, I was lucky. It’s funny; you know, it didn’t really hit me until I finally got home. Gray came with me, and I walked into the kitchen. Golly ran up with Raleigh and Rooster. Hit me like a brick.”

“That would be a hard way to die, gored to death.”

“Even if I didn’t die; imagine the damage?” She exhaled. “Scares me, those pigs. Always has.”

A pair of headlights shone into the windows.

Shaker stood up, holding his heavy cup. “Betty.”

“What’s she doing out here? She should be primping for church.” Sister stood up, too.

Betty cut her lights, got out, hurried through the cold, and knocked three times on the kennel door, which she then opened. “I couldn’t sleep.” She threw herself on Sister. “We almost lost you.”

Sister hugged Betty. “Honey, we might have lost you, too, or that beautiful Magellan.”

They were all crying again, wiping each other’s tears, then laughing.

“Big girls don’t cry,” Shaker laughed as he reached in his pocket for a clean handkerchief and handed it to Betty.

“You need it as much as I do,” she sniffled as she laughed.

“I’ll be manly and use the back of my hand.”

This sent them into fits of laughter—the laughter of relief, companionship, and deep love.

Betty hugged them both, then clicked the hot plate back on.

“You really came for tea,” Shaker kidded her.

Betty sat on the edge of the desk. “My legs are still shaky.”

“Know what you mean,” Sister confessed.

“Gray asleep?”

“Yeah. Rory stayed with Sam last night. It will be another three weeks before he can lift his arm up to get a shirt on. Wound stopped draining, though.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. At least that’s what they tell us.” Betty hopped off the desk to rummage through the teabag box, filled with odds and ends of tea. “What’s this?” She held up a gray packet.

“Pickwick. Strong. Don’t sell it in America,” Sister informed her.

“Are you going to miss church?” Shaker asked.

“I left Bobby a note to go without me.” Betty poured hot water into the cup, the Pickwick bag already releasing dark color. “Wasn’t Sybil incredible? Cool as a cuke.”

“Two toughest whippers-in in North America,” Shaker bragged.

“I’ll remind you of that when you tear me a new one out there.”

“Now, Betty, it’s been a long time since I cussed you.”

“I believe when we return you refer to it as a blessing.” She smiled. “But it has been a long time.”

“I’m lonesome,” Dragon howled from his sick bay quarters.

“I’ll see to him.” Shaker left.

“I spoke to Sybil last night,” said Sister. “She’s all right. She said what ran through her mind is that her boys no longer have a father, and she didn’t want to leave them motherless. She knew she had to aim true.”

“You know some women give up foxhunting when their children are small. Too dangerous,” Betty mentioned.

“Why would you want your child to grow up seeing you shy off from a little danger now and then? Teaches them to be wimps.” Sister had firm opinions about these things.

“Come on, you big baby.” Shaker opened the door to the feeding room, Dragon at his heels.

“You’re healing up nicely,” Betty complimented him.

“I want to hunt.” Dragon sat down.

“And I hear you ate some of Iffy’s bones.” Betty gravely pointed a finger at him.

“Dry as toast.”

Betty didn’t know what he’d said, but he made her laugh.

“I almost forgot. Gray gave me a titanium stock pin!” Sister said, excited. “Garvey had it made.”

“No kidding.” Betty was impressed.

“I’ll wear it next hunt.”

“Whose feast day is it? If I’m not going to church I want to know in case anyone asks.”

“You’re an Episcopalian,” Sister dryly replied. “However, it’s the day of St. Vincent of Saragossa, who was roasted on a gridiron, among other tortures, and died in 304 AD.” She thought a moment. “Awful way to go.”

“Think of Angel. Although it wasn’t awful. Peaceful really—but still, she was murdered.”

“She was, but when it’s your time, it’s your time. Iffy was the agent of her murder, and were she alive, she could be punished. But still, it was Angel’s time.” Sister took a deep breath, then handed her cup to Betty for more tea.

“Wasn’t Donny Sweigart a surprise?” Betty returned to yesterday’s drama. “When I heard back at the trailers I was surprised. He’s not but so smart, and I never took him seriously. I was wrong. He has courage. He helped save Sybil.”

“True enough. He could have stayed hidden. After all, he had two strong incentives.” Sister reached for the refilled cup.

“To save his life, you mean, since Jason didn’t know he was there. If he’d known there was a witness he would have shot him.”

“Good reason.” Shaker blinked.

“The other reason being that our dear Donny has been baiting foxes. He hasn’t set traps yet. He’s been putting out frozen globs of blood,” Sister told them.

“What good does it do frozen?” Shaker snorted.

“Well, that’s just it, but he figured the fabled January thaw has to happen. They enjoy the treat. He’ll put out more in the same place, but in a trap. Voila.” She paused. “He’s even using the discarded blood he picks up from the hospital. To save money buying chickens.”

“Sister, what the hell is he doing trapping foxes?” Shaker sat upright.

“Crawford,” she replied, one eyebrow shooting upwards.

“But he’s supposed to keep an eye out on dens for us!” Betty found this almost as scandalizing as Jason’s crimes.

“After I profusely thanked him, after Ben took a statement, I walked him away from the group and asked him. He said Crawford was paying one hundred dollars a fox.”

“Highway robbery.” Shaker’s voice rose.

“So what, now we buy back our own foxes? The ones originally in our coverts?” Betty’s face was flushed.

“Had a little talk with Donny. I said I’d give him a monthly stipend, find more work for him, but he absolutely must never remove one of our foxes.”

“Where will we get the money?” Betty knew the inner workings of the club.

“I have no idea, but I’ll find it somewhere,” Sister said with resignation.

“Dammit, he has a job at Sanifirm,” Shaker cursed.

“Which Crawford is trying to buy,” Sister replied.

“Oh, that’s great, just great.” Shaker rolled his eyes.

“But Donny likes us. If we give him regular part-time work, I think all will be well.”

“How regular?” Betty stared at her teacup.

“Reading the leaves,” Sister laughed.

“I’d have to tear open the bag.”

“One thousand dollars a month,” Sister announced.

“Christ.” Shaker, although not bearing the weight of financial need, since he was a club employee, nevertheless cared for Jefferson Hunt and identified with it in every respect.

“Like I said, I’ll find it somewhere. And it won’t be this minute. The other thing”—she smiled—“he wants to go to court to change his name.”

“He wants to be called Jude,” Betty giggled.

“Brad,” Shaker laconically added with a twinkle in his eye.

“No. He wants to drop the junior. He said he hated being called Junior as a kid. I said I’d help.”

“Funny what affects people,” Betty mused. Then she changed the subject. “Forgot to ask you. I remember, then it slips out of my mind.”

“Old age.” Shaker lifted one eyebrow.

“Balls. We’re the same age. Too much going on,” Betty fired back. “How many spoons?”

“Sixty-one,” Sister immediately answered.

“What are you two jabbering about?” Shaker raised his eyebrows as Betty handed Sister another cup of tea.

“Every New Year’s I count all the spoons in the house. Mother used to do it. Now I do.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have an even number of spoons?” Betty pretended this was serious.

“Yes, you nitwit. Haven’t you ever lost a spoon?”

“Never,” Betty lied, face angelic.

“Spare me.” Sister laughed.

“It’s someone’s time. Sometimes I believe that and sometimes I don’t.” Betty looked from her master to her huntsman, returning to the deeper subject.

“Somerset Maugham wrote this in one of his books. I like Maugham,” Sister smiled. She was an avid reader. “A master and his servant were riding toward Mecca, and they met Death with a surprised expression on his face. The master turned his horse away from Death and raced to Samarra. The servant said to Death, ‘Why were you so startled to see my master?’ Death said, ‘I was surprised to see him here, as I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.’”

Both Shaker and Betty thought about this.

Shaker finally said, “You can’t outrun Fate.”

“Or old age,” Sister remarked. “’Course, you can slow old age down, throw marbles under his feet.”

Another set of headlights shone on the wall. The sun now cast long beautiful shadows over the snow. The stable and farm buildings glowed.

Dragon stood up.

Two doors slammed, although the second one took longer than the first.

A knock on the door soon followed.

“Come in,” Sister beckoned.

Tootie, Val, and Felicity trooped in.

Betty naturally assumed they were still upset over yesterday’s events.

“Sister, can we talk to you?” Val asked, ever the leader.

“You can, and you can talk in front of Shaker and Betty. Whatever you say stays here. We’re full of secrets.” She smiled.

Tootie looked at Shaker, then Betty, then Sister. “We need your advice.”

“We have a problem,” Val jumped in.

“No, we don’t.” Felicity showed a new, rebellious streak.

“Felicity, I can’t believe you’re saying that.” Val was ready for an argument.

“It’s not exactly a problem, it’s”—Tootie struggled—“new information.”

“It’s a goddamned problem,” Val blurted out, forgetting she was in the presence of adults, then quickly realizing it. “Sorry.”

“You owe me one dollar.” Felicity’s jaw set as she held out her hand.

“I can’t believe you.” Val pulled money out of her pocket, peeled off a dollar, and slapped it in Felicity’s hand, hard.

“Girls, it’s first light. This must be important.” Sister gently pushed them along.

“Felicity has lied to us.” Val seemed stricken.

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t know until I went to the doctor.” Felicity defended herself.

“Sure. You said you were allergic to flour!” Val’s face turned crimson.

“Val, put yourself in her shoes,” Tootie counseled.

“I’d rather not.” Val crossed her arms across her chest, then noticed that Dragon was observing every move.

Felicity finally said, in a calm voice, “I’m pregnant.”

Shaker stood up and offered Felicity his chair. That surprised her, for she hadn’t thought through all the consequences of her condition.

Betty, motherly, put her arm around Felicity’s shoulders.

Sister also stood, put her arm around Tootie, and pulled Val to her for a hug. Then she gave Felicity a big hug. “Everything will be fine.”

Sister burst into tears not because of Felicity’s news, not because of yesterday’s drama, but because deception, truth, death, and life were happening all at the same time. It was exactly as it should be.