“Our president doesn’t.”
“Mr. Standish, he makes compromises every day, even if he denies them. So did every prior president.”
“Did you vote for Trump?”
“Did you?”
“Never. I’ll vote Democratic.”
“You think they aren’t hypocrites?”
This made him squirm. “The rich are the problem. The corporations are the problem.”
“Given your refusal to answer my questions, I will assume women and children are the problem as well as any man who doesn’t think like you.”
“I never said that.” He raised his voice.
“You can’t go around attacking people’s pleasures. I am sure Mr. Barbhaiya will press charges. He is his own man. If you want to succeed in politics, focus on the big issues. Creating an uproar over less important matters might arouse emotions, gain you followers, but you’ll be like every other half-wit who lies his way into office, sits on his fat ass, and does nothing.”
“I’ll make things better.” He paused. “You are not what I expected.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smiled, an irresistible smile. “Now let me ask you something that has nothing to do with politics. If you masterminded a plan to steal valuable art, million dollars’ worth of art, what would you do with it?”
“I would, uh…” He paused. “Find a black market.” He thought again. “Not in America. How can you hide a million-dollar painting?”
“I agree. When you go home, look up on your computer Sir Alfred Munnings. Four of his paintings have been stolen within a month. Not a trace of them or even a lead as to who has stolen them. Equine art, much of it about foxhunting and racing, I should add. Worth millions, some of his works are over three, four million apiece, the big ones.”
“Big as in size?”
“Yes.”
He stood up. “I will think on what you’ve said.”
“Ditto. You can come to a hunt anytime you wish. I will have someone drive you around. I bear you no ill will, Mr. Standish, but I will fight if I must.”
As he drove away in a fairly new Honda Accord, a nice car, she watched the exhaust curl out of the tailpipe.
“Ah, Raleigh and Rooster, even the politically correct emit carbon dioxide. And you know, there is no way to live out in the country without driving distances. No public transportation. Not much of anything. One has to be self-reliant. Oh well, come on. I’ve made my list. I know something about our killer. I think of the mastermind as the killer; even if he didn’t strangle anyone, he gave the orders. My hunch is, not only does this person understand equine art, he is part of or at the edges of the horse world or the art world. Not a happy thought.”
Unbeknownst to her, other unhappy thoughts lurked just around the corner.
CHAPTER 29
March 9, 2020 Monday
Matchplay and Midshipman, two almost five-year-old Thoroughbreds walked along the farm road. Weevil and Tootie worked with them. Both horses had hunted, Midshipman a touch older than Matchplay. Next year they’d be ready for consistent hunting, the big hunts. Following behind rode Sister on Matador and Betty on Outlaw. They’d trotted a half mile, walked, trotted again up hills, and now walked once more.
Sister believed trotting or walking up hills muscled up hindquarters, aided balance. Most any horse can negotiate a flat arena or show ring. Jumping over uneven territory, jumps set where they could be set, called for a bold animal, steady nerves. Those drop jumps could get you.
The four wore turtlenecks, old short jackets over that. Spring nudged forward but the swollen red buds on deciduous trees had yet to open. Daffodils popped up and in some places the forsythia burst open. The temperature rested in the high forties, pleasant, but one needed a jacket and gloves, warm long socks under boots helped.
“Have you been watching the news?” Betty asked Weevil, to her left.
“Not much. What’s the latest?”
“Some public officials are predicting we will be hard hit by the coronavirus. Others are saying it’ll be like a bad cold, don’t worry. But since this subject comes up for every news report, I’d bet things are not good,” Betty answered him.
Tootie piped up. “Mom says once the doctors get on the air, especially those who are government appointees, people will take this seriously.”
“The only thing I can gather is that the virus transmits easily.” Sister looked up at a startling blue sky. “On a day like today it seems that nothing could go wrong.”
She had told them about Jordon Standish’s visit. They all gave him credit for coming to her face-to-face even if it was to try to avoid charges. His programs seemed far-fetched but possibly not to a suburban person or someone in a city. They exhausted that topic on the way from the stable. The return called for other topics.
“Is your mother going to hunt closing hunt?” Weevil asked Tootie.
“She swears she is. Sam said he will take her to Horse Country Wednesday. She’s determined to look perfect.”
“That won’t be hard.” Betty smiled. “Say, Sister, have you heard anything from Crawford?”
“No. Sam mentioned that he is obsessed with finding the painting. Good luck to him.” The older woman now rode Matador on the buckle.
“So the high-priced detective hasn’t turned up anything?” Weevil wondered.
“Actually he did. They finally identified the driver found in Kentucky. The men killed had all worked in Atlantic City in the casinos. Still don’t know about the driver at the Gulf Station.”
“Cardsharks,” Betty said with satisfaction.
“Yes, but each had been arrested in Virginia for petty theft, stealing from convenience stores, holding them up. Over time, as they served their time, they were sent to Goochland to learn to work with horses. Not all were incarcerated at the same time, but it’s possible they knew one another.”
“Sister, that’s something.” Betty dismounted as they’d reached the stables. Once inside each of them untacked their horse, wiped down the animal, no one was really sweaty, threw on a blanket, then repaired to the tack room to clean the tack. The working tack was cleaned as thoroughly as the tack reserved for hunting.
As they worked away Sister told them her conclusions, the thoughts she’d written down yesterday.
“Maybe the mastermind was at the prison facility, too. Maybe that’s how he gathered his team,” Betty thought.
“Could be.” Weevil cleaned the simple D-ring bit with fresh water, then wiped it with a clean rag, paying attention to every detail. “It’s fate how people meet both good and bad.”
“I believe that,” Betty chimed in. “I often think everyone you meet has a message for you.”
“My message for you is hand me that girth.” Sister poked fun at her.
“Hey, you’re lucky I didn’t hand you a Fennell’s lead shank.”
They heard a car engine then it cut off. A knock on the door revealed Carter.
“Come in.” Sister motioned for him.
“Well, this is a busy crew.” He smiled. “Our hunting season may be over. There’s talk of shutting things down.”
“So far no one has said or done anything,” Sister replied. “We’ll hunt from Foxden tomorrow. I don’t want to fuel panic and you know how people can get. I’ll wait and see.”
“I’m driving down to my boat tomorrow,” Carter informed them. “If this does fire up, I want to make sure everything is shipshape.”
“How often do you go?” Tootie was curious.
“I check once a month in the winter but when the weather warms up I sometimes stay down there for weeks. Anyway, thought I would check in.” He looked at Weevil, winked, then left.