“That’s not easy.”
“Didn’t say it was.” She sat back down. “But it’s not foxhunting. You need to appreciate hounds a wee bit. Wouldn’t hurt to know something about quarry.”
“How did that get you to Jason?”
“The fox knows how fabulous hound noses are. You and I know. Jason didn’t. He stupidly buried Iffy over Jemima, but he only dug down about three feet. He knew Sam and Gray’s schedule. He was smart about that. And he was smart enough not to just throw her over a ravine somewhere because the vultures would circle round soon enough. His one bit of luck was the twenty-four-hour thaw. Guess he would have kept her in the freezer until there was one otherwise.”
“Ugh.”
She laughed. “I know; that was mean. Anyway, he was lucky there. But hounds can smell six feet down. Not even snow is going to stop them if the ground isn’t frozen deep. I suspect by planting Iffy at the Lorillard graveyard he thought to throw suspicion on Gray should Iffy come to light—which she did, a lot earlier than Jason expected. Since Iffy didn’t like Gray, the reverse could also be true. It’s not locked down, but I do think Jason was shrewd enough to do something like that. He had to get rid of the body somewhere; might as well create confusion with it.”
“He showed he couldn’t be trusted when he whipped-in to Crawford, pardon the expression.” Shaker meant that Jason’s performance couldn’t be called whipping-in.
“Oh, and wasn’t that a moment?” she gleefully recalled. “Crawford called Ben last night to say he knew nothing about Jason’s crimes. Ben called me, and we had a good laugh.”
“He didn’t. I mean I hate his guts, but I don’t think he was part of it.” Shaker grimaced.
“Never underestimate the greed of the rich.” She drank a large gulp. “But I agree. I don’t think he knew anything. Couldn’t really be part of it, anyway. Too busy chasing hounds all over Jefferson County.”
They both laughed.
She got up again to check the bedroom light. “Still out. I’m glad he stayed last night.”
“I was shook up. You really must have been rocked.”
“Jason thought the boar would kill me. He would still be clean of murder if he was caught. Like I said, I was lucky. It’s funny; you know, it didn’t really hit me until I finally got home. Gray came with me, and I walked into the kitchen. Golly ran up with Raleigh and Rooster. Hit me like a brick.”
“That would be a hard way to die, gored to death.”
“Even if I didn’t die; imagine the damage?” She exhaled. “Scares me, those pigs. Always has.”
A pair of headlights shone into the windows.
Shaker stood up, holding his heavy cup. “Betty.”
“What’s she doing out here? She should be primping for church.” Sister stood up, too.
Betty cut her lights, got out, hurried through the cold, and knocked three times on the kennel door, which she then opened. “I couldn’t sleep.” She threw herself on Sister. “We almost lost you.”
Sister hugged Betty. “Honey, we might have lost you, too, or that beautiful Magellan.”
They were all crying again, wiping each other’s tears, then laughing.
“Big girls don’t cry,” Shaker laughed as he reached in his pocket for a clean handkerchief and handed it to Betty.
“You need it as much as I do,” she sniffled as she laughed.
“I’ll be manly and use the back of my hand.”
This sent them into fits of laughter—the laughter of relief, companionship, and deep love.
Betty hugged them both, then clicked the hot plate back on.
“You really came for tea,” Shaker kidded her.
Betty sat on the edge of the desk. “My legs are still shaky.”
“Know what you mean,” Sister confessed.
“Gray asleep?”
“Yeah. Rory stayed with Sam last night. It will be another three weeks before he can lift his arm up to get a shirt on. Wound stopped draining, though.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. At least that’s what they tell us.” Betty hopped off the desk to rummage through the teabag box, filled with odds and ends of tea. “What’s this?” She held up a gray packet.
“Pickwick. Strong. Don’t sell it in America,” Sister informed her.
“Are you going to miss church?” Shaker asked.
“I left Bobby a note to go without me.” Betty poured hot water into the cup, the Pickwick bag already releasing dark color. “Wasn’t Sybil incredible? Cool as a cuke.”
“Two toughest whippers-in in North America,” Shaker bragged.
“I’ll remind you of that when you tear me a new one out there.”
“Now, Betty, it’s been a long time since I cussed you.”
“I believe when we return you refer to it as a blessing.” She smiled. “But it has been a long time.”
“I’m lonesome,” Dragon howled from his sick bay quarters.
“I’ll see to him.” Shaker left.
“I spoke to Sybil last night,” said Sister. “She’s all right. She said what ran through her mind is that her boys no longer have a father, and she didn’t want to leave them motherless. She knew she had to aim true.”
“You know some women give up foxhunting when their children are small. Too dangerous,” Betty mentioned.
“Why would you want your child to grow up seeing you shy off from a little danger now and then? Teaches them to be wimps.” Sister had firm opinions about these things.
“Come on, you big baby.” Shaker opened the door to the feeding room, Dragon at his heels.
“You’re healing up nicely,” Betty complimented him.
“I want to hunt.” Dragon sat down.
“And I hear you ate some of Iffy’s bones.” Betty gravely pointed a finger at him.
“Dry as toast.”
Betty didn’t know what he’d said, but he made her laugh.
“I almost forgot. Gray gave me a titanium stock pin!” Sister said, excited. “Garvey had it made.”
“No kidding.” Betty was impressed.
“I’ll wear it next hunt.”
“Whose feast day is it? If I’m not going to church I want to know in case anyone asks.”
“You’re an Episcopalian,” Sister dryly replied. “However, it’s the day of St. Vincent of Saragossa, who was roasted on a gridiron, among other tortures, and died in 304 AD.” She thought a moment. “Awful way to go.”
“Think of Angel. Although it wasn’t awful. Peaceful really—but still, she was murdered.”
“She was, but when it’s your time, it’s your time. Iffy was the agent of her murder, and were she alive, she could be punished. But still, it was Angel’s time.” Sister took a deep breath, then handed her cup to Betty for more tea.
“Wasn’t Donny Sweigart a surprise?” Betty returned to yesterday’s drama. “When I heard back at the trailers I was surprised. He’s not but so smart, and I never took him seriously. I was wrong. He has courage. He helped save Sybil.”
“True enough. He could have stayed hidden. After all, he had two strong incentives.” Sister reached for the refilled cup.
“To save his life, you mean, since Jason didn’t know he was there. If he’d known there was a witness he would have shot him.”
“Good reason.” Shaker blinked.
“The other reason being that our dear Donny has been baiting foxes. He hasn’t set traps yet. He’s been putting out frozen globs of blood,” Sister told them.
“What good does it do frozen?” Shaker snorted.
“Well, that’s just it, but he figured the fabled January thaw has to happen. They enjoy the treat. He’ll put out more in the same place, but in a trap. Voila.” She paused. “He’s even using the discarded blood he picks up from the hospital. To save money buying chickens.”