“Well, someone stole Uncle Ray’s Louis XV desk. Still hasn’t been found.”
“True. But furniture theft is more rare. Then again, maybe you should rummage through Buddy’s storage unit.” He laughed. “Oh, movement is more curtailed in Pennsylvania right now and you’ll never guess what Buddy is doing?”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“Baking. He wants to bring Kathleen something he bakes when he can next visit.”
“How thoughtful.”
“Buddy’s not much of a talker. He’s a doer and he hopes if he gives her croissants or really fluffy biscuits he might win favor,” Carter declaimed with relish.
“I think he will. You’ve been helpful.”
“You do know a Munnings was stolen from Belle Baruch on July 31, 2003.”
“I don’t know enough. I know she was Bernard Baruch’s daughter, sort of an original, especially for her time.”
“Seventeen art works were stolen. The Munnings was Belle on Souriant III, thirty-nine inches by thirty-six. In 2003 it was worth one million. Belle was a fantastic rider. She commissioned the painting in 1932.”
“I take ‘an original’ meant she was gay?” Sister wryly mentioned.
“Well, I suppose,” Carter replied.
“But wasn’t Belle dead?”
“In 1964. But her sixteen thousand acre estate on the coast, near Georgetown, South Carolina, was left intact as a fundraiser. The art was there. Eleven of the paintings, including the Munnings, were recovered in 2016. Thirteen years later. Quite a story.”
“You tell it well,” she complimented him.
“What are you thinking about the thefts?”
“Money, of course. But I keep circling back to Florence Carter-Wood. I can’t quite tell you why, but I think her shadow is over this. And I think Delores Buckingham figured it out.”
“Ah.” Carter drew out the “ah.” “Who is to say, but it’s an intriguing thought.”
“We’re taking hounds out here tomorrow. Only five of us, plus we’ll be far away from one another. But I want to take hounds out one more time and put all the first-year entry in. It will be the first time they hunt all together.”
“Hope it’s a good hunt. Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
CHAPTER 35
March 14, 2020 Saturday
A cold front blew through last night and early this morning, leaving behind a definite drop in temperature and clouds, which did not promise to disperse.
Aztec, although clipped, had begun to grow out a bit, so the temperature was fine with him. Sister sat outside the kennel as Tootie opened the draw pen and eager hounds, all who were fit, trotted out to gather at Weevil’s feet.
Betty stood on one side of him while Sister stood on the other until Tootie could mount up. Gray, on Cardinal Wolsey, was next to Sister.
“Just don’t get in front of me,” Aztec ordered.
Cardinal Wolsey looked at the dark chestnut, so full of himself, saying nothing. Let the vain thing go first. Also Cardinal Wolsey was a flaming chestnut so he knew everyone would be looking at him despite the fact there was no field today. He’d still outshine the staff horses.
“I called the Bancrofts and Cindy Chandler, too, in case we wind up over there. All are fine with it.”
“How’s Edward?”
“Better. All this virus talk had Tedi worried that he might have the Covid-19 virus but he had the standard flu. They wish us luck.”
Turning to his two whippers-in, Weevil said, “We’ll start in the big pasture, head for the hog’s back. If we don’t pick up scent I’ll let the hounds tell me.
“Come along,” he called to the hounds.
Riding side by side, Gray observed the sky. “Anybody’s guess.”
Looking up, Sister said, “Well, it is, but the temperature is in our favor.”
“You were wise to take the pack out today. Who is to say what further measures will be ordered. And we are all at least six feet away, with less than ten people.”
“No one knows what they are doing. That’s how it looks to me. Then again, it is a newer kind of virus. But every TV channel or app one looks at gives confusing information. I’m shutting it out. I believe the social distancing will help, but all these predictions, how can you predict something you’ve never experienced?”
“Depends on how much the network is paying you.” Gray felt Cardinal Wolsey play with his bit. “Ready?”
“Of course.” She popped over the jump in the fence line near Tootie’s cottage.
Thimble, glistening today, her coat shining, walked with determination. Her littermates, all out today, followed her, as did the youngsters of the “B” line and the “J” line. The “T” line wasn’t that many years older than the first-year hounds.
Trooper shifted to the north slightly. He paused. Walked a bit faster, then his tail flipped.
Sister noticed his stern as she watched to see if any other hounds drifted his way. They can see a stern as easily as a human. All moved fairly close together.
“Aunt Netty.” Trooper identified the old line.
Bachelor hurried over. He took one big whiff, his eyes bright. “A red fox.”
“A nasty vixen,” Thimble informed him. “All right, you two. Let me sing first.”
Thimble let out a lovely deep baying note, followed by Trooper and Bachelor, so excited it sounded like a squawk.
“Calm down, boy. You sound like a mouse,” Trooper teased him. “Take a deep breath. Do it again.”
“Fox.” Bachelor lowered his voice as the pack hurried over to the three hounds, trotting now.
“Aunt Netty,” Zane called.
Everyone was on the line now but it wasn’t yet so hot that they were screaming.
Weevil rode behind, gave an encouraging shout as his whippers-in moved slightly in front of him on their respective sides. One of the good things about starting the cast in the big meadow was one could see.
Hounds picked up speed, as did the humans. Horses’ ears flicked forward, spirits rose.
Weevil, first over the hog’s back jump, a jump he quite liked…one can grow weary of coops…surged into the woods. The sound grew louder. Hounds ran faster.
Sure enough, Aunt Netty headed toward her den. She was far ahead but as hounds closed, her scent intensified. The old girl, irritated at hearing the hounds, put on the turbocharger, zipped to Pattypan Forge. The terrain favored her. Within minutes she slid into her den. Of course, the hounds would come to her door. Bother.
As the clouds lowered the light grew fainter inside Pattypan Forge. Hounds roared in, surrounded one of Aunt Netty’s den entrances.
“Go away,” Aunt Netty growled.
“That wasn’t a long run,” Aero complained.
“It’s not my job to entertain you,” she called back.
Weevil dismounted, walked to the den. He noticed hounds weren’t digging. Well, Aunt Netty pulled the same tricks over and over again.
“Come along.” He turned to walk back outside, noticed an old wrench on the floor.
Odds and ends, not many, for the space was vast and its abandonment occurred decades ago. Some bits of wheel, nuts and bolts were scattered but not much. Once this space housed a large forge plus a smaller one with coal dumped in a huge pile by the coal chute. The forge teamed with activity.
Hounds turned as Dreamboat gave a passing shot. “One of these days.”