“They’re getting like the government, sending paperwork.”
“To me.”
“Then you give it to me!”
“Some of it.” She poked him with her forefinger.
“Think Clay could have gotten away with it?” asked Shaker, returning to the dramatic events.
“He snapped. But he was sloppy, too. Wouldn’t it have been smarter to keep paying off Mitch and Anthony and then dispose of them later, somewhere far away? Makes me believe the pressure was already getting to him. Maybe Izzy was greedier than we know, or maybe Dalton got cold feet. Sounds like Dalton’s the type.”
Shaker’s eyes twinkled. “Committing perfect murders now, are you?”
“Me?”
“You said Clay could have handled this better than he did.”
Her face reddened.“You’re right.”
“Maybe it’s easy,” he said.
“What?”
“Murder. Stealing, other stuff. Maybe you think about what’s right for you, and you don’t think about what’s right for the rest of us. What’s the difference between Clay Berry and Kenneth Lay? Sure, boss, Kenneth Lay didn’t kill anyone, but is the impulse different?”
“It’s tricky, Shaker. I break rules. I go over the speed limit if I think I can get away with it. Maybe that’s the same impulse you’re talking about: a self-centeredness.”
“Not the same,” he replied.
“Okay, take another kind of rule: sexual behavior. I broke the rules when I was younger. Maybe I’m breaking them now. What’s the difference between that, and, say, thinking you’ll sell OxyContin because people want it? Is it a fixed set of morals? Are they written in stone? Is sexual behavior on a different plane than financial behavior? If you start to think about it, you’ll run yourself crazy.”
“No, you won’t.” His voice was firm. “Sex is about our animal self. That’s nature. Money, that’s man-made. Animals defend their turf, but we’ve created elaborate owner-ships that pass from generation to generation. In nature, each animal has to be strong enough to defend his or herterritory, like the mountain lion we ran up or the badger. We’ve bent the natural rules and we keep bending them. It’s one thing to have an affair, it’s another to kill three people.”
“You’re right, but when I think about this stuff, I get dizzy. And when I started to figure out this really was Clay’s doing, it made me sick. It was under my nose, but I didn’t want to see it. I finally did, though.”
“Hard to look at an old friend in a new way.”
They chattered until all hounds were fed, yards picked up, runs cleaned and washed down.
Then they left the kennels, passing the paddocks, including the mare paddocks.
Secretary’s Shorthand stood in the snow, nuzzling a light bay foal who was wobbly, but nursing.
“Boss, what’s that foal doing in there?”
Sister, despite her bruises, climbed over the fence, Shaker right behind her. They walked up to the contented mare.
“She didn’t show!” Sister was amazed and thrilled.
“Hardly bagged up either.” He reached over and squeezed one of Secretary’s nipples; a stream of rich milk oozed out. “She’s producing okay.”
“Delivered the baby herself!”
Shaker laughed, face radiant.“They do it in the wild all the time, but I didn’t think she was in foal either. Sometimes they fool you.”
Sister nodded, slipping her arm around his waist.“Life. New life!”
4. THE HUNT BALL
C H A P T E R 1
A shining silver shroud covered the lowlands along Broad Creek, deep and swift-running. The notes of the huntsman’s horn, muffled, made his direction difficult to determine. Three young women, students at prestigious Custis Hall, followed the creek bed that bordered a cut hayfield. A gnarled tree, bending toward the clear water as if to bathe its branches, startled them.
“Looks like a giant witch,” Valentina Smith blurted out.
They stopped to listen for hounds and the horn. Smooth gray stones jutted out of the creek, the water swirling and splashing around.
“Can you hear anything?” Felicity Porter, slender, serious, inquired.
“If we move away from the creek, we’ll hear better.” Valentina, as senior class president, was accustomed to taking charge.
Anne“Tootie” Harris, one of the best students at Custis Hall, was just as accustomed to resisting Valentina’s assumed authority. “We’ll get even more lost. Broad Creek runs south. It divides the Prescott land from Sister Jane’s land. If we keep going we’ll eventually reach the big old hog’s back jump in the fence line. If we turn right at that jump we’ll find the farm road back to the kennels.”
Angry that she hadn’t paid attention at the jump to where the rest of the riders disappeared into the fog, and now angry that she hadn’t paid attention to the flow of Broad Creek, Valentina growled, “Well, shit, Tootie, we could go into menopause before we reach the hog’s back jump!”
“One dollar, potty mouth.” Felicity held out her hand with grim satisfaction.
“Felicity, how can you think of the kitty at a time like this? We could be lost for days. Why, we could die of thirst and—”
“Val, we’re next to Broad Creek,” Tootie deadpanned.
“You two are ganging up on me.” Val tossed her head; her blonde ponytail, in a snood for riding, swayed slightly.
“No, we’re not.” Felicity rarely ran off the rails, her focus intense. “The deal when we started hunting with Jefferson Hunt was that each time one of us swore, one dollar to the kitty. I’m the bank.”
Valentina fished in her tweed jacket.“You’ll probably end up being a banker, F. I can see it now when you make your first million. You’ll count the money, put it in a vault, and not even smile.” She did, however, hand over her dollar.
Felicity leaned over to reach for the dollar, their horses side by side. She folded it in half, neatly sticking it in her inside jacket pocket. Felicity knew she wasn’t quick-witted. No point in firing back at Valentina.
With Felicity and Valentina it was the tortoise and the hare. With Tootie and Valentina it was the hawk and the hare, two swift-moving creatures with opposing points of view.
“Come on, I’ll get us back to the kennels,” Tootie promised.
In the far distance the hounds sang, voices ranging from soprano to basso profundo, from tenor to darkest alto. The heavy moisture in the air accounted for the variation in clarity. The girls would hear the hounds moving toward them, then it would sound as though the hounds were turning.
“Coach will tear us a new one.” Valentina did not reply to Tootie’s suggestion, speaking about the coach’s wrath instead.
“Coach? What about Mrs. Norton?” Felicity thought the headmistress’s disapproval would be more severe than Bunny Taliaferro’s, the riding coach, although Bunny naturally leaned toward censure.
“Wonder if they know we’re not with the field? I mean, it’s possible they’re still in the fog, too. Sister Jane would get really upset if she thought we were in trouble.” Valentina inhaled deeply. “If they don’t know, let’s swear never to tell.”
“The Three Musketeers.” Tootie half-smiled.
“All for one and one for all.” Valentina beamed.
“But you always manage to be first among equals, Val. It’s not exactly all for one and one for all. It’s all for Valentina and then maybe Val for all,” Tootie said, shooting a barb.
“Tootie, you can really be the African queen when you’re in a mood. You know?” Valentina raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, right.” Tootie, an exceptionally beautiful green-eyed African American, shrugged it off.
“Will you two get over yourselves? If we don’t find our way back, we’re in deep doo-doo. If we do find the field, we’re still in deep doo-doo but maybe not as deep.”
“Felicity, say shit and be done with it.” Val took out some of her discomfort on her sober classmate.
“One dollar.”