Empress snuffled, tail starting to feather. Voicemail came alongside her and within five seconds both opened at once. Yeovil and Einstein came alongside. They ran for one solid hour. Damn near killed the humans, but the work was so exciting. Somehow those Waldingfield people kept the hounds in sight. The spectators, the young ones, kept up. The older ones fell back. The veterans in Gators and the other ATVs also kept up.
The rabbit shot out of the territory, literally passed the monument erected by the First Massachusetts Cavalry and crossed the road. Dr. Rijke had to blow back his beagles. Amy and Alan had to break them off the line. Voicemail gave up before Empress, who was a hound possessed. Einstein, the youngest, and Yeovil hurried to the horn. For Empress the party was unfortunately over.
Arlene, Nattie, and Jake, who had convinced Madam to go off the dirt road, a bit muddy now, and onto the pasture, waited at the top of the slight rise.
“Best run I ever saw,” Jake declared.
“It’s been a terrific weekend,” Arlene said. “But Jake, I’d have to agree, best run I ever saw. We all dream of a run like that.”
Nattie, jaw dropped, simply held the reins lightly in his hands.
Three tired people gathered the four hounds, turning for the long walk back.
“Let’s let them get ahead. If anyone poops out, we’ll pick them up,” Arlene suggested.
Those spectators in Gators and ATVs cheered when the happy beagles passed them. Dr. Rijke lifted his proper soft black hunt cap. Amy was too tired to do anything but smile, and Alan was dying for a cigarette. Of course, he wouldn’t smoke one, but right about then the hit of nicotine would have been heavenly.
By the time the Waldingfield people had reached the kennels, everyone there had heard about the run. Harry and Susan wished they had seen it but their run was plenty good and rule one was to take care of the animals first.
Clare, hands on hips, beamed as Amy, Alan, and, lastly, Dr. Rijke walked by. “Think you beat me.”
“Everyone wins at Hounds for Heroes.” Alan tapped his black baseball cap with his crop.
“We made thirty thousand, ten thousand more than last year.” Amy grinned. “Everyone did win, but I have to admit, best run I’ve ever whipped-in to, the best.”
“Are your legs jelly, because mine about are.” Harry, who knew the Waldingfield people well, laughed.
Jeff Walker, Amy’s husband, who had been helping both Bobbitts, hound Masters, ran up to her, put his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. Her legs felt a little better.
Harry, seeing Madam and the humans, left them all to go to the barn. She wanted to freshen the shavings for Madam and wipe her down, as the girl had been in the light rain all day. Arlene started to help her unhitch the placid mule.
“I’ll do it. You’re the director. Go on over to the kennels.”
Nattie stepped up. “I’ll help.”
Turned out he was a good man with driving gear, more to handle than riding tack.
Jake walked with Arlene as they replayed the day.
“Where’d you learn about driving?” Harry asked Nattie.
“Lexington, Kentucky. My mom has fine harness horses.”
“Ah.” Harry nodded, for that meant his mom knew a great deal.
Madam, wiped down, put her face in her food bucket, which had two scoops of delicious, sweet feed.
After seeing to the mule and the canary cart placed in its parking spot under roof, Harry, too tired to sprint, walked back to the cabin, where she put Tucker on a leash and walked her away from everyone.
“I could go with you,” Mrs. Murphy offered.
“Stay inside. It’s raining,” Tucker prudently advised.
Pewter, one eye now open, muttered, “You spoil that dog.”
“She’s a good egg.” Mrs. Murphy watched embers glow in the fireplace.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Tucker returned. Harry wiped the dog’s feet and brushed her corgi’s fur, for the rain fell a bit harder now. She then fed the dog and cats juicy scraps she’d taken from the Institute kitchen.
She really did spoil them all. A human would have enjoyed the scraps.
As they ate, she freshened the water, put four logs in the fire as an open square, and put twigs in the middle with old papers she’d brought from home. As the embers pulsated, she didn’t need to use a match. The twigs caught, so Harry then placed logs over the square she’d built. This would warm things up nicely and she’d put more logs on after the dinner.
No one had time to clean up for the dinner as the hunting ran overtime. Also, awards needed to be given. A few speeches were made but were kept mercifully short.
One couldn’t have asked for a better dinner or awards ceremony.
Arlene handed out awards. Clare received a third place, which pleased her. By the time all was finished, including bottles of bourbon, scotch, wine, and vodka, people were ready for bed or to leave if clear-eyed and if the drive home wasn’t too long.
“I’ve got a headache. Just wore myself out,” Clare said to Arlene, next to her.
“Wait a minute.” Arlene fished in her purse, handing her two pills. “Knock it right out.”
Clare thanked her and checked her watch as she slipped out the back door. Most everyone’s cars were parked in the front, so they left that way. Some with cabins at the end of the cabin line left by the back, hoping the run through the rain would be shorter. It wasn’t.
“Susan, I’m going to throw a light rug over Madam. She has to be dry by now. Will you put more logs on the fire?”
“Of course.”
Harry opened the door, the rain falling hard enough that she was glad she had a good raincoat. People scurried about for their cars, their cabins. What a happy group.
No one would suffer from insomnia this Sunday night.
* * *
—
Monday morning, those with hounds in the kennels cleaned them and cleaned the kennels. Some put their hounds in their trucks or cars, as each competitor only brought four. A few pulled a little hound wagon, but most hounds sat in someone’s lap.
Harry and Susan walked over to say goodbye to Arlene, who had to oversee it all.
Clare’s beagles were unattended.
“I’ll see where she is.” Arlene made sure the hounds had food and water.
“I’ll come along.” Harry fell in with Arlene as Susan stayed back to talk to Dr. Rijke, Amy, Alan, and Jeff.
Arlene knocked on Clare’s cabin door. There was no answer, so she slightly opened it.
“Looks like she isn’t packed yet,” Harry noticed.
“That’s not like Clare. I didn’t think she tied one on,” Arlene said.
They called in the Institute hall. They checked back at the kennels. No one had seen her.
“Ah, here’s Madam’s transportation. Arlene, let me help load the mule.”
“I’ll help. Maybe Clare’s in the barn.”
“Who knows? She’s around somewhere,” Harry replied.
Once in the barn, Harry put Madam’s halter on, walking her out for Geoff Ogden, who owned her. Not really a mule man, he had fallen in love with the sweet girl years ago and, like all love stories, or most love stories, they wound up together.
Madam happily walked into the aisle, and as Geoff, leading her, passed the space for the canary cart, he glanced over, then half laughed. “Someone had too much to drink, I fear.”
As Madam’s hoofs reverberated on the aluminum walk-up ramp to the trailer, Harry looked at the cart.
“Arlene.”
Arlene came over. She poked Clare. “She’s dead.”
Harry checked her pulse. Her wrist was cold. “Good God. What’s going on here?”
Clare was emphatically dead.
33
April 30, 2018
&nbs
p; Monday, 6:00 P.M.
Harry, Susan, and Arlene remained at Aldie until the ambulance removed Clare’s body. Death appeared to be from natural causes. However, the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department wanted to ask a few questions. Deputy Mark Jackson returned to perform this duty since he was on the Jason murder case. Two deaths at Aldie close to each other was unusual. As Clare was relatively young, an autopsy would be performed.
After he left, the three women repaired to the cabin, where Harry let out the two cats and the dog for a quick run through the rain. Tucker and Mrs. Murphy flew to the barn, having heard everything. Pewter chose not to get her paws wet.
“Would you like a drink? We’ve got water, cola, and iced tea. I can also make hot tea over the fire. Brought my teapot and hanging rod,” Harry offered.
“No, thanks. I’d like to sit for a moment.” Arlene dropped into a chair.
Harry pulled one up for Susan, then sat on the cooler. No one said anything for a few minutes.
“She appeared in good health. After all, she ran with her beagles,” Susan offered.
“She did,” Harry concurred.
“A heart attack or a stroke can hit you at any time. She was what, late forties?” Arlene wondered.
“Fifties,” Susan said with finality. “She had a good face-lift. I can always tell.”
Harry glanced at her friend. “You can. I can’t.”
“I never thought of Clare as vain.” Arlene raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t think she was. Face-lifts are a lot more routine these days. I mean people say, ‘It’s not the real me, it’s the best me,’ ” Susan replied. “No one really wants to look old.”
“I guess.” Harry sighed.
“Well?” Susan held her palms upward. “Whatever took her away, I doubt it was a result of a face-lift.”
“That’s the truth. She looked like she was sleeping,” Arlene murmured.
“But here’s the thing. What was she doing in the cart?” Harry asked.
Arlene gave her a sharp look. “Maybe she wanted to visit Madam.”
“Why would she crawl into the cart?” Harry’s mind ever worked. Logic, there had to be logic.
“Maybe she thought she’d left something in the barn or cart and when the party was over, the dinner and all, she went back to look. The deputy searched her room. Suitcase not packed. The other deputy said her purse was in her truck. So?” Susan was at a loss.
“So,” Harry started explaining her point of view, “there are ways to kill people to make it look natural if you know what you’re doing. Any doctor or nurse can kill pretty much with impunity. We have doctors and nurses hunting hounds.”
“Oh, Harry, Dr. Rijke didn’t kill Clare,” Arlene responded.
“Of course he didn’t, but I’m simply saying we don’t know that it was a natural death because, if you think about it, the circumstances aren’t natural. She leaves the Institute. Nothing unusual there. Doesn’t return to her cabin, or if she did, she didn’t pack. No goodbyes or anything, which to me means she’s coming back. So why was she going to the barn?”
“She rather liked the mule. Really,” Arlene posited.
“Well, it’s too bad Madam can’t talk.” Susan was frustrated. Madam wasn’t there to talk, but Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Ruffy were.
Mrs. Murphy jumped into the cart, sniffing everywhere.
“Anything?” Tucker and Ruffy wondered.
“A lingering perfume.” Mrs. Murphy again sniffed everything. “And some mud from her boots.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ruffy said.
“Why?” Mrs. Murphy leapt down.
“Dead is dead.” Ruffy rubbed against Mrs. Murphy and she felt a cold little shiver.
“Yeah, but it will upset the humans.” Tucker knew this would set off Harry.
“Don’t humans have a saying? From their Bible? ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,’ ” Ruffy questioned.
“They do,” the cat replied.
“Clare’s death is an eye for an eye.” Ruffy wagged his tail.
“Oh, dear.” Tucker sat down. “This means this will go on until everything is cleared up.” The corgi looked at the ghost beagle. “Our human won’t rest until it is. She has a sense of justice.”
“I see.” Ruffy did, too. “My human lies in an unquiet grave. If your human figures this out, perhaps she will at least be at peace, and we can go for walks, happy walks.”
The cat swept her whiskers forward. “It’s important to humans to say prayers for the dead. Not necessarily the evil dead, but they do that, too. Everyone is entitled to, what can I call it, a send-off? So if our human can figure out what happened, she can say prayers for your human.” Mrs. Murphy then asked, “Will that bring peace? Justice and peace?”
“The justice is done. But I think perhaps prayers would bring her peace.” Ruffy hoped this would be the case.
“We will do what we can,” Tucker promised.
“Then I will see you all again. I would like that.” Ruffy lifted his floppy ears.
The three returned to the cabin, Tucker scratching at the door.
When Harry let them in, Pewter pronounced with relish, “Mom has them all upset. She says it’s murder.”
The three looked at one another.
Tucker murmured, “Maybe this will be easier than we thought.”
“What’s her reasoning?” Mrs. Murphy got down to brass tacks.
“She says there’s no way Jason and his wife and vice president at the dealership would die so close together. There has to be a connection.” Pewter loved having the news. “Arlene said maybe the stress did Clare in. She and Jason were close. Maybe it really was a stroke or a heart attack. Mom says, no way. Susan is now fretting. She says it looks like a natural death.”
“Mom won’t give up.” Mrs. Murphy knew her human.
And the humans were at it.
“Harry, why do you do this? You drive me crazy. I say the woman had a heart attack. Maybe it was stress. Maybe she had a weak heart anyway,” Susan vented.
“It’s too convenient. Okay, a doctor could shoot her full of potassium. Granted, the needle mark would show. If it were cyanide, someone could snap it under her nose. Death would be pretty fast.”
“Harry,” Arlene gently said, “it would be pretty fast for the person snapping the cyanide.”
“Well, yeah. But then again, what if they wore a gas mask?”
“Harry!” Susan threw up her hands.
“Listen to me. I know I am nosey and maybe too suspicious, but this is suspicious. And what if she knew and trusted her killer? Jason did. So maybe whoever gave her a pill, she was tired, she had a headache, she was a little tipsy, say. It is possible.”
“Well, if that’s the case, it will show up in toxicology.” Arlene thought it through. “Then what we do, I don’t know.”
“Here are the facts. Two people who owned a company together are dead. One murdered. One, we don’t know. But here’s what I come back to and I thank Geoff and Jan Ogden for this. Jason was in the foreign service. He was posted to Ankara. Okay, Geoff was general counsel of Istanbul. Jason was moving up the ladder. Turkey is a very important ally. So what was Clare doing at this time? She was in the Navy, right?” Harry asked.
“Right,” Arlene answered.
“And she was in the Gulf of Finland. That’s a critical area.”
“And potentially dangerous. She knew Russian. I don’t know really what her duties were, but I expect because of her language skills, she had important ones and, then again, she made captain,” Arlene remarked.
“Jason spoke fluent Turkish,” Susan remembered from an old conversation. “Of course, they all spoke French. In the old days everyone in the foreign service who wished to rise or was in diplomacy spoke French.”
“Whatev
er for?” Harry asked.
“For centuries it was the language of diplomacy,” Susan, good with languages, replied. “I wish it still was, as we need two or three languages that can span the world.”
“Well, English sure does.” Harry felt quite smug about her own language.
“It’s not the same,” Susan fumed. “French can be marvelously subtle. English, well, you can be subtle but you have to work at it. We need French. We also need Chinese. If those two languages could be taught and taught early, it would help those who go into government and it would help business.”
“Russian,” Arlene said. “Maybe not as important, but Russian and Chinese. And I would have to say today, Arabic.”
“So if someone knows at least one of those, they’ll have a good career?” Harry wondered.
“They will if they keep their nose clean.” Arlene exhaled. “So Harry, what you are saying is that this goes back. Somehow this isn’t really about a car dealership or the onetime employee who smuggled drugs inside hubcaps.”
“Well, drugs can always be a motivator. So much profit.” Harry lowered her voice. “But I think this goes back to their thirties. I am missing something, but I believe Clare was murdered and I believe it is connected to Jason getting his throat slit.”
Arlene exhaled loudly again. “Remind me never to underestimate your brainpower. You could be right.”
“Don’t tell her that!” Susan nearly shouted. “I have to live with her.”
“Lucky you.” Harry half giggled despite all.
Susan pleadingly looked at Arlene. “We were placed in the same cradle together by our mothers. I can’t get away from her, and let me tell you, she has always gotten me into trouble and she can be bossy, too.”
“I am not. I am clear thinking most times.”
“I need a drink, a real drink,” Susan complained.
“I’ll drive. There’s bourbon in the cooler,” Harry volunteered.
“No.” Susan shook her head. “What truly pisses me off is now you’ve made me think there is a connection. I just want to go home and forget it.”
“We can’t forget it,” Harry replied.
Whiskers in the Dark Page 18
