The Hunt Ball

C H A P T E R 8

Hounds ate at six-thirty this Sunday to the sound of the power washer cleaning the kennels. The jets of water hit the walls and floors with such force, every speck of debris and dirt was dislodged, swirling into a huge central drain, a big trap underneath it. Shaker cut off the washer.

Sister, who had slept fitfully, walked into the feeding room. Raleigh and Rooster remained in the kennel office. They got along with the hounds but it wasn’t wise to allow them into the feeding room. They hated being separated from Sister, grumbling whenever they were left.

Shaker walked back into the feeding room just as Sister did. He took one look at her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Al Perez was hanged last night at Hangman’s Ridge.” She gave him the details as she knew them.

“Jesus, there are sickos out there. Why didn’t you call me?”

“You rarely get time to yourself. I figured after the firehouse party you spent the night out.”

“Yep.” He paused. “Gruesome end, gruesome. I liked Al. He was a nice guy.”

“It wasn’t clear whether he was hung to death or dead before he was hung. I studied the body as best I could under the circumstances. I didn’t smell blood or powder burns. And my nose is pretty good.” She then apologized to her hounds. “For a human my nose is good, but no one is as good as you all.”

Trident, a lovely young hound, smiled at Sister before diving back into the feed trough.

“Why’d you go up there, or did Ben come for you?”

“Forgot to tell you that. I heard the screams. Woke me up. I didn’t think too much of it since I knew the boys had planned their Halloween surprise. Then I heard the sirens.”

“You would have heard someone drive through here.”

She replied, “No one did.” She switched gears. “How are the puppies?”

“Nursing. Delia’s a good mother. Even if you’d been sound asleep next to her, she would have warned you if someone drove through the farm. You would have known. It’s a crazy thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Sooner or later, they’ll catch ’em.”

“One hopes.” She reached for a gallon of corn oil.

Shaker opened the door for the fed group of young hounds to return to their runs. He then washed out the troughs, refilling them with kibble. Sister poured a line of corn oil over the feed as Shaker opened another run door for older hounds to enter. They rushed up to Sister in greeting, then dove for the chow.

“It’s supposed to rain Tuesday, temperature’s supposed to drop, too.” Shaker checked with the Weather Channel constantly.

“Yeah, I saw that, too. But I’m betting the rain will come in after we wrap it up at Mud Fence.” She named that day’s fixture, an old estate whose fences in the mid-eighteenth century were made of mud. The first settlers lacked the money for nails. They could fell trees and plane boards but nails were very expensive. Eventually they built snake fences once the work of clearing began in earnest. One didn’t need nails for that. Some folks had to make do with a mud fence until they could clear more land, get more timber.

“Want to bet?”

“Five dollars.”

“Bet.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “Boss, ever consider murder?”

“You mean me killing someone or someone killing me?”

He laughed. “Ever consider what drives someone to it?”

“Sure.”

“I expect any of us can kill. Just need the right or wrong circumstances.”

“We might be mad enough to kill yet we don’t. We don’t step over the line.” She listened to the hounds chewing their kibble, a comforting sound. “If one of these hounds kills another hound, why does it happen?”

“Sometimes they know a hound is weak, sickening. They take him out. Maybe that’s canine mercy killing. Doesn’t happen often.” He thought a bit more. “If there’s a fight, it’s a challenge, a top-dog thing.”

“Same with horses. They rarely kill but they can sure kick the powder out of one another if they take a notion.”

“You’re saying we murder, they don’t.” Shaker kept an eye on Dragon, growling. “That’s enough, Dragon, shut up.”

“Apart from war or self-defense, if we kill it’s revenge, that’s straightforward. Sex killing or serial killing is men against women. Sickness and anger, I reckon. Then there’s money. Always that.”

“And a challenge to authority. The top-dog deal.” Shaker’s auburn curls caught the light.

“Right. For the life of me I can’t figure out how Al Perez, a mild fellow, fits any category. Can’t see him as a sex criminal taken out by an enraged victim or father of same.” She noted Shaker’s expression. “Well, Custis Hall bursts with girls becoming women. That’s a potent cocktail for a certain kind of man. Money? He raised millions for the school. But he didn’t work on a percentage basis. Yes, he received a big Christmas bonus. Being on the board, I’m privy to the financial life of the school, but I can’t divulge details. He could have gotten resentful and figured he should get more given all that he raised for the school. It’s possible.”

“Yep.”

“As to the challenge idea. I can’t even imagine him challenging a dog.”

“People can fool you.” He whistled low to Asa, an older hound, who had finished his breakfast.

Asa walked over, put his head under Shaker’s hand. “Isn’t it a good morning?”

Sister smiled when Asa crooned. “You’re a gentleman, Asa.”

“Now, Boss, your curiosity getting up, is it?”

“Isn’t yours?”

“Some.”

“In a community as tight as ours, any death touches the rest of us eventually. I’m afraid of what we don’t know.”