Whiskers in the Dark

by Rita Mae Brown

  Once in his spacious bedroom on the second floor, the room pleasantly warm, Ewing disrobed, pulling on a light wool navy robe. The windows overlooked the rear garden of Cloverfields, the mountains beyond, the outline just visible in the starlight. The small graveyard reposed below. He always looked out to his wife’s beautiful tombstone of a recumbent lamb with a cross between its front legs.

  “Isabelle, times are changing, changing so fast. You were always better at seeing these things than myself.” He smiled, thinking of her often terse but accurate assessment of events, of people.

  Ewing felt intelligent women possessed insights men did not. Isabelle left the business to him, yet she wasn’t upset when Catherine took an interest in it. Still, she counseled her older daughter to keep her thoughts to herself, as Catherine also learned from her father.

  And as he now sat on the edge of the bed, it was Catherine who filled his thoughts. He would have her read the Constitution tomorrow. Of course, they couldn’t discuss it publicly, but they could between themselves. Better for no one to know what he now knew. Once Virginia’s governor, Edmund Randolph, and the others came to their conclusion, and he felt sure they would ratify the document after fulsome and tiresome discussion, then he could say he had read the same in a broadsheet distributed after the state’s vote.

  He was in his late forties, becoming old, although he felt good. When his time came Cloverfields would be held in common by his daughters but not by their husbands. Unconventional as this was, it was a form of dower rights, which could then be again passed on to their children. He needed to talk to their husbands but not yet. He liked John and Charles enormously, saw how happy both sons-in-law made his daughters, but neither man was a businessman. Catherine was. Rachel would follow Catherine’s lead.

  This new world, this new form of government: He prayed it would hold. He prayed his girls would thrive once he was united with Isabelle. Even if there was another war with a foreign power, he believed Catherine would find a way not just to survive it but to capitalize on it.

  As he rested his head on the pillow and pulled up the covers, he prayed for that amity that Washington had written about and he prayed for peace even as he knew France was falling apart and his nation would be urged, seduced even, to help the power that had been so critical to its victory. The country simply could not be drawn into European wars. With that thought and a prayer for his family, he fell asleep.

  14

  September 26, 1787

  Wednesday

  Fall coolness filled the air, invigorating horses, cattle, and humans. The birds tended to their nests as those migratory birds took wing. Others had already left Virginia, being able to read the weather and the seasons far better than humans.

  Catherine patted Reynaldo as Crown Prince came over for a kiss. Both boys stood in their paddocks, the sun an hour over the horizon. Jeddie had fed them as Barker O had fed the driving horses in the adjoining stable. Little Tulli was grooming two ponies that were now in service for Catherine’s two-year-old and Marcia, some months older. Rachel laughed when Catherine put Marcia on the pony, but Catherine’s view was that a lady who could ride and ride well was much sought after. So she was giving Marcia a leg up.

  “Tulli, how are you this morning?”

  “Sweet Potato wouldn’t come to me until I rattled the feed bucket.” The slight boy grinned at the pony.

  Catherine could never remember whether Tulli was seven or eleven. He never seemed to grow, which, given that he labored in the stable, might not be a bad thing. Healthy, she was sure he suffered no wasting disease. He was just little.

  She walked outside, pausing for a moment to study the blooded horses. She’d made her reputation on breeding and training those horses. No need to brag. All Catherine had to do was saddle up and ride them. Their quality dazzled people, as did Catherine. She entered the driving stable, with a much larger tack room than in the other stable. It also housed the carriages and took up a large part of the very large building.

  Barker O looked up as Catherine softly walked in, a driving bridle in his hands.

  “Miss Catherine.” He held the bridle for her to see. “English leather.”

  “Yes.” She knew that, of course.

  “It’s expensive and we are missing two bridles and missing one for the plow horses, too.” He didn’t mention that the money he kept in his stable coat was also gone.

  “What? No one has been in the stables. No visitors of late. What’s going on?”

  “Ralston stole them.”

  “Oh, Barker O, he can’t be that stupid.”

  Barker O blew air out of his nostrils. “Stupid. A liar. I gave him a pretty good beating. He’s been sent back to his cabin. His momma can deal with him.”

  “You did this yesterday? I heard there was a mess at the stables but I couldn’t get to you, as I had promised Charles and Rachel to go to St. Luke’s. I had no idea it was this serious.”

  “He’s no good. Lies all the time.”

  “Has he stolen before?”

  “Could have lifted something from someone or even carried off tools, but no reports. But this has been going on for a couple of weeks now. He doesn’t care.”

  “Why?”

  “Money. He can sell it and make money. Especially the English bridles and the English steel bits. The best in the world. No doubt about that. Jeddie accused him of stealing. That’s when the fight started. I heard the noise, came over. Separated them and Ralston turned on me.”

  “He is stupid, but what does he want with money? He has what he needs, doesn’t he?”

  Barker O hung up the bridle. “He thinks he’s going to be rich as a jockey. I can’t watch him. He’ll steal again and I’ll beat him again but it won’t do any good. What if he steals a horse?”

  At a race down on the levels outside of Richmond on the James last spring, William, a rider for Yancy Grant, lent to him by Maureen Selisse, rode off with Black Knight, Yancy’s good horse. In the process William pulled Jeddie off Reynaldo, who was already a step ahead of Black Knight. Jeddie broke his collarbone and William and Black Knight disappeared. The horse showed up later, skin and bones with his front teeth knocked out. Yancy, having lost money on the race and with Maureen turning on him as well, couldn’t help the animal he loved. He asked Catherine to take Black Knight, which she did. He stood out in his paddock sleek and glossy. She had to feed him mash because he couldn’t tear up grass effectively without front teeth. He’d had the reputation of being a handful, but at Cloverfields he was sweet, interested in the goings-on.

  Catherine knew Barker O was telling her to get rid of Ralston. He could not say that outright.

  “Hasn’t this come on rather suddenly?” she asked.

  “His mind is on women. But that’s not—” He thought a moment. “Miss Catherine, I think William is back somewhere. And I think Ralston knows and the two of them are up to something.”

  “William! Why in God’s name would he come back? We all thought he made his run to freedom.”

  “He did. But I think he’s back for money. Big money. William knows Sheba ran away with jewelry. And Maureen’s people hate her. My feeling is William is back to steal from Big Rawly. He must know Maureen is gone for a while. I think Ralston, well, I think they are talking.”

  This stunned Catherine. “Where could he be? It’s not as though people don’t know who he is.”

  “Lot of places to hide at Big Rawly. And there’s the caves down by Ivy Creek.”

  “If I tell Father, he’ll sell Ralston. He doesn’t like to split up families but no one can afford a thief and troublemaker.” Barker O didn’t reply and she continued. “But if we turn him out, literally, give him a chit so he can pass, he might lead us to William. William broke Jeddie’s collarbone. I don’t mind getting even.”

  A big smile crossed Barker O’s face. “I expect Jeddie
will take care of that if he can.”

  “Does DoRe know?” she asked.

  DoRe was Barker O’s counterpart at Big Rawly. The horsemen at all the estates knew one another, kept in touch, most especially because of breeding. A good breeding outcross could be a step up for the man who suggested and oversaw the match.

  “Haven’t seen him, but he might have a notion. It’s hard to keep these things quiet. You know, Miss Catherine, it’s not so much talk as it’s a feeling. Someone notices a pretty girl sneaking off at night or someone notices a young man falling asleep on the hay wagon. A feeling.”

  “Yes. Much as I hate to lose tack, I don’t want any harm to come to our horses. I will never forget Black Knight when he arrived. Never. You know, Barker O, I believe I could kill someone over hurting a horse.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Barker O would be happy to squeeze the life out of someone, but if that someone was white, he’d hang for it even if right. If it were another slave, maybe. He’d seen Ailee when she and Moses were helped by Bettina and Father Gabe, the healer, as they hid during the winter down in the caves. You don’t do a woman like that. Seemed like nothing good ever happened at Big Rawly.

  “What I will do is talk to my husband and to Charles. They may know how we can trim Ralston’s wings without endangering the horses or losing more tack. I will go to them first and then tell you. Thank you for telling me.”

  “Anything that has to do with the horses,” he simply replied.

  Catherine left him, hurrying up to her father’s office, for she knew he had materials for her and was anxious for her to read them. She thought it might be another letter from Baron Necker from France. Whatever it was, she also figured she’d be in the office all day. Well, she’d talk to her husband and brother-in-law after that. One way or the other, they’d figure out what to do about Ralston.

  But Ralston beat them to the punch. He was already out the gate.

  15

  April 19, 2018

  Thursday

  Digging into the bag of dog food, securely kept in a trash can with a tight lid, Harry inhaled the pleasant odor. She dipped the scoop in, filled it, then emptied it in two ceramic bowls, names painted on the sides.

  “I hate waiting on them,” Pewter moaned.

  “It’s easier to feed them first since the trash can is out on the covered porch. Our food is in the cupboard. Anyway, that’s the way she likes it.” Mrs. Murphy watched as Harry closed the kitchen door leading out to the porch, a waft of cold air sneaking in with it.

  The slender woman hurried over to the cupboard, opened the door, pulled out a delicious-smelling bag of kitty food with a hint of bacon. She put this in two ceramic bowls on the counter, names also on the sides. Then she opened a small can of special moist food, spreading that into each bowl.

  Pewter’s face was in the bowl before Harry could wash out the can. Then she made herself a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold tea that could wake up the dead.

  Fair, called out early as a mare was foaling, had left her a note. Harry could sleep through most anything. She never heard him go.

  The TV, new, on the wall, presented the weather. At least no snow was forecast, but neither was it going to be much warmer.

  A blip on her cellphone caught her attention. She noted that Susan had just called her. The landlines proved better as Harry was at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Cell service depended on where you were on the farm. For the best reception, she’d need to go outside. She picked up the old wall phone with the long cord, dialed, and sat back down to her tea.

  “What?”

  Susan’s voice, clear, replied, “Amy Burke Walker texted me to go to the Middleburg newspaper. So I did. A long article about the murder.”

  “Now?”

  “Let me finish. It’s a weekly paper. Of course, the TV stations from D.C. carried it, but this is interesting because the writer took some time to nose around. It is now four days since Jason was killed. And the writer thinks this is related to his work.”

  “Jason Holzknect’s work? He owned a Toyota dealership allied with Lexus. High and low. What could cars have to do with Jason’s murder?”

  “Okay, this is conjecture, but the writer relates that questions about contraband came up more than once about Holzknect Motors. Drugs smuggled in the hubcaps. A salesman was charged back in 2009.”

  “Jason?” Harry was disbelieving.

  “He was rich.” Susan’s voice carried a hint of reproach. “He could have been in on it.”

  “A lot of people are rich. Doesn’t mean they’re dealing drugs. He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Clare wouldn’t have let him be that stupid. I find that hard to believe.”

  “Would you find other criminal activity hard to believe?” Susan pressed.

  “I guess I would. I know, I know, that’s how crooks fool us, but I never got a weird feeling from him. He did what he said he would, worked alongside all of us, was good to his hounds. Could he have been some kind of crook? I suppose, but if he was, I sure missed it.”

  “Somebody didn’t.”

  “I wonder who the reporter interviewed?”

  “I guess I do, too,” Susan agreed. “You know we’ll be questioned again. We’re not high on the totem pole, but we are on the totem pole.”

  “What else could we be asked?” Harry was puzzled. “We were there for hours. Granted, it was pretty awful. It’s such a personal way to die.”

  “What do you mean?” Susan asked.

  “Your killer has to be so close to you. Touch you. A gun is impersonal. Sure you can hate that person’s guts, but you stand back and pull the trigger. Or even hitting someone with a car. You’re not close. This is so close. Like ancient wars, even medieval wars. You were close to your adversary.”

  “I never thought of that.” Susan considered this.

  “So it seems to me this is personal. Deeply personal.”

  “Ew, Harry. Like a betrayed wife or friend kind of personal?”

  “Don’t know. But I think it could be. The Institute is large. If someone knew the grounds, say, someone who had hunted with Jason, they could slip in and slip out. To the road through the trees. Clare could do that.”

  Susan thought, then said, “She’s strong. Reach up, pull back his head, and cut through the throat. I don’t think Clare did it. It really seemed like a good marriage, a true partnership.”

  “I don’t either, but this is something close.”

  “Oh, Harry, I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the killer would be someone at the Institute. Someone who just blends in.”

  “Susan, the killer had to be there. Had to know the schedule, the territory, and had to know him. Jason probably liked the person.”

  “Good God. How do we know this won’t happen again?”

  “Susan, we aren’t close. I swear this was something very personal and close. We’re fine. We probably know the killer and have worked with him.”

  “No way,” Susan exclaimed.

  “We rub shoulders every day with people who have killed. On TV killers get caught, but in real life not so much.” Harry spoke quietly. “If property is destroyed or money stolen, the search is on. But if it’s another human being, there’s attention, then it fades away. I think this drives law enforcement crazy, the disengagement of the public. People often have information that could be helpful to catching whoever did it. We probably do and don’t know it.”

  “That’s hard to believe. I know very little about Jason Holzknect.”

  “You don’t have to know much. We worked with him. He hunted even before he bought the dealership, when he’d come back in the States. He mentioned it to me. Well, most everyone there has hunted for years. Nothing special about that. The killer, I’d bet on this, is a beagler or a basset person. I expect Jason had it coming
, at least in their mind. You don’t kill without a compelling reason, to you at least.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?” A ripple of fear ran through Susan.

  “No, of course not.” Harry paused. “Only if we get in the way. Or get too close ourselves.”

  16

  September 26, 1787

  Wednesday

  “Thirty-two dollars and eleven cents.” Ralston closed his hand over the money.

  “You couldn’t get more?” William turned up his nose.

  “I didn’t have time to get into the big house, the other houses, or the weaving room. I know Bumbee has money in there but I needed to get out. Barker O was getting close. He beat me. He’s a smart man. He knew something wasn’t right.” Ralston looked around the woodshed a mile from the main house at Big Rawly.

  Big Rawly comprised twelve hundred acres, nothing like Cloverfields, but the land proved rich, with abundant water, plus Maureen Selisse Holloway made her millions otherwise. She built on what she inherited plus what passed to her when her husband was murdered. Gossip had it that she was the richest woman in Virginia, perhaps in all the colonies.

  This shed, tight enough for it was raining, rested on the edge of a hardwood forest. The men would cut timber, split it, and stack it to cure. Once cured, the wood would be moved up to the shed by the house, loaded on wagons, and pulled by two well-cared-for draft horses.

  Ralston had followed the creek, hiding if he heard anyone on the bluff above. He had run off from Cloverfields in the night, making it to Big Rawly in the dark. Knowing where to find William, he reached the shed, saw the old tarp left for him on the ground, and fell asleep.

  Staying out of sight proved easy for he was far away from cornfields, hayfields, buildings. A hard-running creek provided water. He’d taken bread from his mother’s larder but he would have liked something to go with it. William showed up once the sun set. The first thing he wanted to know was did Ralston get any money.