Betty hunkered down.“Wouldn’t take the Widemans much to repair the foundation. Really. It’s in darned good shape.”
“That, a few windows, and a thorough cleaning, St. John’s of the Cross will be as good as new.”
They walked back, getting on the ATV.
Once home that afternoon, Sister did call the Widemans. The lady of the house, Anselma, seemed very grateful for the news and said she was so looking forward to the hunt on Tuesday, November 29.
Sister hung up. Thanksgiving Hunt loomed before her. The two weeks since Opening Hunt flashed by in part because time always seemed to move faster after Opening Hunt, and partly because of the activity around Custis Hall, unpleasant as it was. She’d been working overtime, but hadn’t thought much about the second High Holy Day. Here it was about to splat on her head. Well, chances were it wouldn’t be blank.
She dialed Charlotte, informed her of the slave church, and thought she might want to tell Professor Kennedy. If the little lady wanted to see it she’d buzz her over, but she’d let Charlotte decide.
Then she reaffirmed that Valentina, Tootie, and Felicity could spend Thanksgiving with her, off campus for the holiday weekend. All three elected to stay back over Thanksgiving vacation. They wanted to foxhunt. Charlotte thought it a wonderful idea that they stay with the master.
Word got around, so other club members took in girls who wanted to stay and hunt.
Pamela Rene had promised her parents she’d be home for Thanksgiving. She already regretted it.
After finishing up her calls—she averaged twenty to thirty a day, most of them having to do with hunt activities—Sister threw on her sweater, her ancient Filson tin coat, the tan faded to wheat in spots.
Raleigh and Rooster followed along. Golly, hating wind, stayed inside, and the minute the dogs were out the door she ate some crunchies from their bowl. She liked her food better but getting away with something appealed to her.
Shaker sat in the kennel office, head bent over the small red books published by the Master of Foxhounds Association of America. These were the stud books, a treasure for any breeder.
“Shaker, I thought you used the computer for that.”
“Down.”
“Again?” He nodded and she asked, “How old is that computer?”
He tapped the dark screen.“Five.”
“Is it really? I quite forgot. Guess I need to buy one for Christmas, don’t I?”
“I like the one you bought yourself.” He grinned impishly.
“Well, then I know just what to get. You know, five years, can’t complain. These things change so fast. I guess this Gateway is now a dinosaur.”
“Computers turn over too fast. Think of the old truck Peter Wheeler willed to us. Runs like a top. Stuff should be like that.”
“The 454 engine will go on when we’re all dead. It’s the brakes, the clutch, the alternator, the radiator that fritz out. Patch, patch, patch.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Bought you the topos. Marked. Lots of jumps to build but not too much in the way of clearing. Between you and Walter’s work crew, two days. Maybe one if enough people come out.”
“November 29 is around the corner.”
“So is Thanksgiving. We’ll be over at Foxglove. Should be a little scent anyway.”
“Never know. November is tough.”
“Hey, how’s the little girl doing?”
He knew she meant the fox they’d relocated. “She’s fine. I’m pretty sure she’s Inky’s. I saw them together last night at twilight, up by the round hay bales. Sitting on top of them surveying their domain.”
“Good.”
“Anything more?”
“’Bout what?”
“The Zorro stuff.” He realized, close as they were, she couldn’t read his mind.
“Nothing new.”
“Stalled out?”
“I don’t know. Legwork. Ben has to find and put together tiny pieces of tile until he gets the crime mosaic, if you will. He said that most times who the killer is is obvious but in something like this, not at all.”
“His riding is getting better.”
“So it is.”
Shaker pondered a moment.“You know, Boss, I think Lorraine is just about perfect. If only she foxhunted. That’s my one complaint. Not that I say much. But I look at Ben. If he can do it, she can, too. Course, you have to want to do it.”
Sister knew Lorraine was taking lessons from Sam Lorillard in secret. She wanted to surprise Shaker for Christmas Hunt.“Well, maybe one day she’ll take a notion,” she nonchalantly replied as she sat on the edge of the desk, picked up a stud book from 1971, flipping it to Green Spring Valley. She read absentmindedly, then glanced at Shaker. “Funny thing.”
“What? Their entry?”
“No, chemistry. You and Lorraine have good chemistry.” She closed the small red book. “I keep coming back to this thing with Al Perez. Everyone liked him. Good chemistry. He was an agreeable man. Not charismatic but nice, and he extended himself to others. People miss him. They grieve over his death. And they miss his skills at Custis Hall. He was good at extracting money from the alumnae. So I ask myself, again, why? Circumstances?”
“Amy Childers could have hung him in a fit of jealousy.” He said this without conviction.
“No. If she were going to do him bodily harm she would have done it when their relationship ended. I suppose Ben had to ask her uncomfortable questions but Amy didn’t kill him.”
“Circumstances or he crossed someone. You’re on the scent, girl.” He smiled; his teeth were straight. He knew her well.
C H A P T E R 1 8
Tuesday, November 22, was the last day of classes until Monday, November 28. The brevity of Thanksgiving vacation ensured that many Custis Hall students stayed put.
A few left the previous Friday, having turned in their papers, taken tests early. Pamela Rene was one of those. Her father sent the company jet for her, which impressed some students, infuriated others. Pamela took it as a birthright but she really didn’t want to go home.
Professor Kennedy came to say good-bye to Charlotte before her own departure.
The two women sipped sherry. A misting rain coated the windows, small panes, original to the building.
“We’ve grown accustomed to you, Frances.” Charlotte used Professor Kennedy’s first name once the older woman had given her permission to do so.
“I’ve met some interesting people and I can’t thank you enough for setting up the meeting with Sister Jane and the Widemans.”
“I look forward to seeing St. John’s of the Cross myself, but I expect it will be from the back of my horse, first time, anyway.”
Professor Kennedy placed her sherry glass on the silver tray. She smoothed down her skirt.“Charlotte, I will have this report to you by the first of the year. It’s painstaking. I want to do the best job for you that I can because this will be the template that future generations refer to and utilize.”
“I know we’ll be excited to read it.”
She touched her tight bun for a second.“Refresh my memory, who has keys to the cases?”
“I do. Knute, as treasurer, has a backup key. Teresa knows where I keep my key. Jake Walford, in charge of buildings and grounds, has his own key.”
“No one else?”
“No, why?”
She paused; a pained expression crossed her well-formed features.“I hesitate to discuss this. Part of me thinks I should wait until my report, wait for the fallout, but …”
“Yes?” Charlotte’s heart beat faster.
“The man who is dead. Did he have a key?”
“No.”
Professor Kennedy’s faced seemed inscrutable. “Those cases would be easy to pry open. You’d know, though.”
“Professor Kennedy, what’s the problem?”
Speaking quickly and low, Professor Kennedy plunged right in.“There are irregularities among your artifacts.”
“In what way?”
“I believe some of the items are not authentic.”
Charlotte took this in.“I see. Do you think they were not from the Custis family when they were donated to the school?”