Ron Ausman and his wife, Lei Ruckle, waved to them.
“Are you ready?” Susan called out.
“You bet,” Lei called back.
They waved, heading back toward the Institute, when Arlene saw Clare.
“Clare,” Arlene said, then turned to Harry and Susan. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Jason always hunted the hounds for the contests. I brought two couples of beagles, which I’ll hunt tomorrow. I think he would want Chesapeake Beagles to participate. He loved this fundraiser.” Clare, although grieving, was determined to show off Jason’s pack.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Arlene agreed.
Harry encouraged her. “Just seeing other beagles work, that’s exciting. And tomorrow we can all watch the bassets.”
“I love their voices.” Susan flipped up the collar of her jacket. “Getting close to sunset.”
“Well, it is a little damp. I guess there’s a front coming in.” Clare smiled, then turned to Arlene. “Let’s go to where Jason was found.”
“Twenty-minute walk, thirty if you poke,” Harry offered as they started down the path, first climbing the low rise, then walking along.
The buds seemed larger and they were. Some daffodil shoots poked up their heads, late, but it had been a hard winter and a very late spring.
They chatted about hunting, about looking forward to meeting veterans tomorrow.
Reaching the flat stretch where the tractor had been parked, Susan stopped. “We’re close. The rains since then have washed the tracks, but we’re pretty close.”
Harry walked off the road, over a mound, then dipped down again. “Here.”
As she sounded sure, the others joined her. Harry, with her fine-tuned sense of direction, was almost on the spot.
Clare peered down, saying nothing.
Arlene, consoling, said, “It was quick.”
“I hope so,” Clare, heartfelt, uttered, then turned to get back up on the farm road, the wide path. “I just wanted to see it, you know. Give me energy for the hunt. I’m doing it for him.”
As they all walked back, the sun set. The twilight lingered, as it does near the change of the seasons, on either side of the equinoxes.
Clare spoke again. “I can’t imagine why someone would kill him. I regret every time when we’d have an infrequent fight and I’d say, ‘I could kill you.’ ”
Harry fell in beside her. “Every wife says that. A husband can pluck your last nerve.”
They walked quietly, then Clare, obviously somewhat overcome, said, “The damned police. Crazy questions. Did he have a mistress! They sure asked a lot of questions about money, which I also resented. I told them we didn’t steal anything, we invested our own money, and we built a very successful car dealership that survived through hard times as well as flush.”
Arlene, more familiar with Jason’s history than Harry or Susan, changed the subject. “Did you bring any whippers-in?”
Clare’s face registered more discomfort. “No. I mean, Jason had registered for the Hounds for Heroes and I decided at the last minute to come over. I called our whippers-in but everyone was committed. So what? I was coming.”
“We can whip-in to you. Plus a brace is easy,” Harry volunteered.
Arlene smiled. “There, you have two whippers-in if you wish. I am the director and will be on the wagon, but Harry and Susan can run.”
“Thank you,” Clare replied with feeling. She looked up. “Low clouds.”
“I think the bassets will be hunting in the rain, but then again, unless it’s a downpour, it will intensify scent.”
“They have spectacular noses,” Clare mentioned.
“They do. My grandfather always said bloodhounds first, bassets second, and beagles third. Foxhounds fourth. Of course, when he and his friends would get together, this order would change according to who was hunting what. Those old guys loved their hounds,” Harry said.
“We all do.” Arlene grinned as they reached the row of cabins, bidding one another good night.
Harry opened the door enough to peek. She felt a bit of cold air at her ankles as Ruffy trotted in. The three animals slept by the fire. Susan hurried inside as Harry shut the door, which awakened her animals. They hung up their coats. Harry tossed more logs on. The cabin felt wonderful.
Ruffy sat next to Tucker. “I’d hoped you’d be here.”
“We’re not supposed to be here. We sneaked into the car.” Tucker stretched.
“We’re in the doghouse.” Pewter laughed.
“Well, I’ll go in and out and keep you posted,” Ruffy promised.
“Nothing on finding the killer, I guess.” Tucker figured Ruffy was in the middle of things.
“No. The killer is here, though.”
“What?” The tiger cat was surprised.
“Do you want us to help you catch him?” Tucker felt certain she could be of service.
“No. I want to make sure the killer doesn’t get caught.”
30
October 22, 1787
Monday
“It galls me.”
“Yes, Father.”
“We are reorganizing as a nation; you read the Constitution as well as I have, and yet there is nothing in there about postal service. How can we be an organized nation without good service? I am tired of paying these high prices for mail. The Romans could do it. Why can’t we?”
“I don’t know, Father.”
“And furthermore, I reread the papers sent me from Philadelphia. What is to prevent Congress from instituting a state religion down the road? The French still have no toleration for Protestants. And that is in writing, the intolerance, I mean. And I guarantee you one other thing.” He picked up the handwritten copy of the Constitution sent to him by Roger Davis. “Nothing in here about postage costs for members of Congress. I tell you they will get all this for free and we will pay for it. I know it.”
“Father.” Her voice was soothing and cool. “If our new representatives enumerate their privileges, they may not be representatives for long. Better to keep their powers general”—she pointed to the papers—“than to list them.”
He stopped smacking the desk. “Quite so.”
She closed the account book to begin sorting the mail. Ewing, still irritated, had paid little attention to the mail other than the cost, paid by the recipient, which also irritated him. If someone wanted to cost you money, all they had to do was send heavy mail, heavy items.
“Father, here.” She stood up and walked behind the desk, handing him a quite fat letter, the handwriting serviceable but not beautiful.
He slit the letter open with a long, narrow, silver letter opener.
“Well.” He read the first heavy letter.
“Well what?”
“From Gabriel LeSeur. He writes that one-quarter of what he owes me for the tobacco has been sent to England. I can draw on it there as it is in my account in London.” He pulled out the second paper. “A rather detailed account of sales. Now why would he send me that?” Ewing handed the accounting to Catherine.
She read the odd letter, citing half a hog’s head to DeJarnette Tobacco Shop on the right bank of the river, near the former Philip Augustus’s wall. “This is odd and the paper feels a bit odd.” She held it up to the light. “Father, hand me your letter opener.”