The Tell-tale Horse

by Rita Mae Brown

  Sister, Shaker, Betty, and Sybil closed in behind the two girls.

  Cabel kicked Tootie hard with her boot and pushed her into Val, who was struggling to keep the gushing wound from bleeding into both her eyes.

  Then she turned, running upward, the thump of her boots on the wooden stairs echoing through the vast interior. Sister passed the girls and charged after her.

  “Boss,” Shaker bellowed, “leave her to heaven. Let’s get out of here.” He reached over, took Val’s hand, and led her down to the next level as Betty covered his back, glancing backward and upward in case Cabel would fire again. She had three bullets left.

  Sister, fighting her rage and her desire to fight, turned and came down in one leap, the sound as she landed booming through the mill, and grabbed Tootie, who was limping from the vicious kick and bullet graze. “Can you put weight on it?”

  Tootie could, but she moved too slowly. Sister swiftly bent over, put one arm through Tootie’s legs, lifted her up with the other, and swung her on her back in a fireman’s carry.

  Sybil, turning around, stopped, let Sister pass, then descended behind her like Betty, looking upward and back.

  Had Cabel wanted to, she could have halted her ascent and nailed at least one of them, but she waited until she reached the top, right over the waterwheel, where another small half door was closed.

  She called down to them as they reached the lower landing, ten feet above the ground floor. Her gaze was fixed on Ilona, knees bent under her like a resting horse, upper body bent back.

  “I spared you girls. You love one another. Friendship is the purest love in the world. Trust me, kids, sex is a poison that infects everything. As for you, Jane Arnold”—she took careful aim—“drop Tootie.”

  Sister turned around, bent low so Tootie could slide off. “Go ahead. I’ll take my chances.”

  “You’ve got brass ovaries.” Cabel looked down the barrel, lining up Sister. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Tootie, get down. Go with the others,” Sister commanded.

  “No.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Tootie. Go! You’re young. If it’s my time, it’s my time.”

  “No.”

  “Tootie, get out of the way,” Cabel ordered.

  Val, stock tie ripped off, pressed it to her head as she turned around to climb back up.

  Shaker spun around, snatching the bottom of her coat. “No you don’t.”

  “Tootie,” Val pleaded.

  Cabel couldn’t get a clear shot. “Goddammit, if only we could have a proper duel.” She pointed the gun upward. “You’ll live a bit longer, you old bitch.” Laughing, she opened the door, crouched, put one leg out, and then turned. Sister and Val had finally reached the floor. “Remember, friendship is the purest love. I’m going to be with Ilona.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Walter had hopped into one squad car to lead them to the body. Ben jumped in too. Gray and Charlotte acted as hosts for the breakfast but he kept checking the back window. Lorraine, apprised of the situation, kept the food coming. Ramsey Merriman, ordered by Ilona to go to breakfast, also kept looking for her. Gray couldn’t stand it anymore—Charlotte Norton did a better job than he did anyway—so he threw on his coat and walked outside, reaching the bridge just in time to see Cabel Harper crouching in the half door. The wide flat blades of the waterwheel rolled past her. She smiled and leaned forward, holding the edge of the door with her left hand. Simultaneously she stepped forward with her left boot and pushed off with her right. For one precarious moment she was poised on the wide blade of the waterwheel like a small car on a Ferris wheel. She put the gun to her temple and fired.

  Her body hit the next blade, and the next, and then soared outward, her cap coming off and her wig with it, plunging into the water below, mists swirling above the surface.

  As the small bedraggled party came out of the big mill door they couldn’t see the bubbles rising and popping from the millrace. Gray blinked, then rushed to them.

  “Gray, Gray!” Sister called to him as he approached. “Call Walter.”

  Gray saw the blood all over Val’s face and her bloodstained shirt, saw Tootie limping, blood on the side of her leg. He reached into his inside pocket and dialed Walter. Then he threw his arms around Sister, holding her tight.

  “Honey, honey. I need to breathe. I’ll tell you everything later. Let’s get these girls into Walter’s bathroom.”

  “There’s a bathroom in the barn,” Tootie reminded Sister. “We won’t have to deal with people there.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Betty came up and quietly slipped her hand into Sister’s while Gray held the other one. They walked over the bridge. Val supported Tootie with her free hand, her other hand pressing her stock tie against her forehead.

  Sybil moved up to help with Tootie so Val could keep the compression on her head. She fished in her pocket for a handkerchief, handing it to Val.

  “Mrs. Fawkes, I can’t use this. It’s embroidered,” Val said, ever sensitive to value.

  “It’s hardly as important as your wound.” Sybil shoved the handkerchief at her and took her bloody stock tie.

  Shaker had stopped to peer down at the bottom of the millrace. The mists swirled, as clear patches opened up, then closed again. He caught up with the others. “She’s up against the end of the race.”

  Sister grimaced. “Let the sheriff’s department fish her out.”

  “Who’s going to tell Ramsey?” Gray had told them exactly what he saw as they reached the barn.

  “Oh, let it wait a bit. Let it wait.” Betty felt so exhausted she could hardly lift one foot in front of the other.

  “I’ll tell him.” Shaker looked down at the center aisle of the barn paved with rubber bricks. “Can’t have him running all over looking for his wife.”

  “Shaker, wait until Ben gets back. Ramsey might lift the body. Ben should see Ilona before she’s disturbed,” Gray said sensibly.

  Walter arrived within minutes, driven by Ben in his deputy’s squad car. Shaker flagged him down. Ben cut the motor and the two men flew out of the car. As Walter examined the girls, Shaker led Ben to Ilona’s body, also pointing out where Cabel lay, slightly moving under the water as though alive, her body hitting the end of the race and moving away for a foot, then pushed by a paddle to hit the end of the race once more. The opening and closing mist made the sight even more eerie.

  “Val, I need to stitch this up. It’s going to hurt. I have procaine, which I’ll rub on, but it’s still going to hurt.”

  “Just do it, Master.” Val also felt exhausted as she sat in the chair in the tack room.

  “Sybil, my bag’s in the front seat of the truck. Would you mind fetching it?” He turned to Tootie, boot still on. “Luckily the bullet tore your boot more than it tore you. It’s the kick that is raising up the knot on your shin.” He felt her skin under her breeches.

  Sybil hurried off as Sister stood in front of Tootie, back to her, and pulled off the damaged boot. Tootie bit her lip as it came off.

  “Put ice on that,” Walter ordered. “Might take a week to get your boot back on, but it’s not bad.” He walked over to the refrigerator, took out an ice tray, dumped half of it in a clean work towel, and handed it to the diminutive Tootie. “’Course, you’ll have to repair the boot.” He smiled.

  Sybil returned with Walter’s bag. He washed Val’s wound, quickly smearing it with procaine and giving it a few minutes to work while he threaded a needle. Val held a clean rubdown towel on the gash, red seeping through the rough white cloth.

  “Did you know that a horse’s skin is thinner than a human’s?” Sister decided conversation might help.

  “I did.”

  “You are so-o-o smart.” Tootie was feeling better.

  Val eyed the threaded needle. “How many stitches, do you think?”

  “Five at the most. I make a nice tight stitch. There will be a scar but it won’t be bad. All right, take that bandage away. Let me clean this
one more time.” Sister handed him a prepared antibacterial wipe that was in his bag. “Now, if this hurts we need to give the procaine more time.” He carefully wiped the wound, still bleeding but less so. He checked the ragged edges. “Going to be swelling from the blow. You might not get a black eye though, since she hit you high on the forehead.”

  “I can feel what you’re doing but it doesn’t hurt much.”

  “All right then. If you can hold still, this will take three minutes. I’m fast!” He smiled reassuringly at her.

  The small group had watched countless horses stitched up, even doing it themselves sometimes, so watching Val didn’t faze them.

  Sister held her hand. Tootie held the towel filled with ice against her shin.

  Tears rolled down Val’s cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “I know you’re not crying.” Walter smiled as he pierced her skin for the third stitch. “Body’s natural reaction. Girl, you took one helluva hit. If she’d smashed your brow, she could have damaged your eye.”

  “Luck.” Val tried to smile.

  Tootie thought to distract her friend. “Do you believe what Cabel said about sex poisoning a relationship?”

  “Why, do you want to sleep with me?” Val returned to form.

  “You are so conceited.” Tootie exhaled through her nostrils.

  As Walter started the fourth stitch, Sister, knowing the longer one sat the more difficult it became, answered Tootie. “No, sex doesn’t poison a relationship. People poison relationships. Sex is the excuse.”

  “Well said.” Gray nodded.

  “We’ll never really know what those two did,” Betty said. “I mean, we know Cabel killed Aashi and Faye, but Ilona helped somehow. Cabel had a hold on Ilona ever since college. Can you imagine helping your best friend kill someone? Actually, don’t answer that.” Betty wanted to let her head drop on her bosom; she needed to talk to keep awake.

  Sybil piped up. “Their sex lives certainly seemed poisonous. How do people get twisted like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Sister replied, as she dabbed Val’s tears with her own handkerchief. “Almost done.”

  “I wonder why Cabel spared us when we went down the stairs?” Tootie tried to make sense of it, tried to keep her emotions at bay.

  “God’s grace.” Sister smiled as Walter finished the last stitch, snipping the thread.

  “Wait one minute.” He smeared on a little more procaine, giving Val two tiny tubes. “Val, this is going to sting and throb. Use this for a day or two and then just endure it.” He covered his work carefully with a gauze pad, taping the ends with white adhesive tape. “Change this at least once a day, because the wound will still seep. Rub a lot of this antibacterial cream on too, because you don’t want the bandage sticking when you pull it off. Okay? Going to hurt when you wash your hair. If you can bend over a sink to wash it, that’s better than getting in the shower.”

  “I’ll wash her hair,” Tootie volunteered.

  “Thank you, Dr. Lungrun.” Val stood up and just as quickly sat down.

  Walter grabbed her when she wobbled a little. “Honey, you’ve suffered a shock. You just sit there. Need a drink or anything?”

  A little dazed, Val shook her head. “No.”

  “Gray, will you take Tootie and Val back to Custis Hall in the Land Cruiser?” Sister asked him. “I’ll drive the horses back with Betty.” She turned to Sybil. “Tell Shaker we’ve gone on.” Then she spoke to her joint master. “Walter, please take charge here. I need to get these horses back and I’m a little shaky myself. I’m not up to the crowd.”

  “I’ll tell Charlotte the girls have gone on,” Walter agreed.

  The little group left the barn. Just as they reached the trailers, they saw Shaker emerge from the mill with Ben. Sybil walked toward the men.

  Betty said, “I want to get out of here before Ramsey sees her.”

  “Yes,” Sister replied.

  The girls moved slowly with Gray to his big Land Cruiser.

  Val, voice wavering, took Tootie’s hand. “Thank you. I love you, Tootie.”

  “I love you too.”

  Once in the trailer, Sister hit the window button, calling out to Ben, “I’ll give you the details later, Ben. Trust me?”

  “Yes.” He waved, face solemn, as behind him two deputies, already wet from mist, knelt over the millrace to figure out how to haul up Cabel’s body without going in themselves.

  The motor cranked on the truck. Sister never tired of that sense of power.

  Once out on the road, Betty covered her eyes a moment. “We were pretty close to a ticket out of life.”

  “I know.”

  “Cabel always hated you. Never stopped. Never could let the past go.” Betty inhaled deeply. “Lot of people like that in the world. All it brings is misery and death.” She paused. “I never saw it coming, did you?”

  “No. Funny how the mind ignores evidence. I underestimated jealousy and hate, and I underestimated Cabel. Good actress, though. I kept looking for a male killer, not a female. I was blind, really.”

  “She just”—Betty paused, then used the southern explanation for tremendous misdeeds—“snapped.”

  “Took Ilona with her.” Sister noticed the flock of crows overhead, St. Just in the lead. “I don’t understand a lot of things in this world. I don’t even try anymore. I accept that I can’t understand and that, if there are answers, I won’t find them. I don’t know if that’s maturity or resignation.”

  “Both.” Betty leaned forward to watch the large flock of crows fly overhead. “Not much for crows but someone has to be nature’s garbageman.” She turned back to Sister. “You could have been killed.”

  “You too.”

  “Were you as calm as you seemed?”

  A long pause followed. “Yes.” Then she smiled. “When the Good Lord jerks your chain, you’re going. He doesn’t want me yet. Then again, what if I’m headed downtown, not uptown?”

  Betty laughed. “Won’t know until we get there.”

  After a few moments, Sister spoke, “Hindsight makes us all smart. It’s obvious now but I didn’t see it there. You know, Cabel’s hair loss, erratic behavior, loss of self-control: She was in the last stages of syphilis. You lose your mind.”

  Betty rubbed her temples. “It’s making a big comeback.”

  “She hadn’t been to the doctor in about twenty years. He had. But he passed it on to her.” She paused. “They both paid for it.”

  “Sometimes I think history should be written from the standpoint of syphilis, malaria, black plague, tuberculosis, AIDS.”

  “You’re right.” Sister sighed heavily.

  “It will take years for this to really hit those girls,” Betty added.

  “Us too. But you know, it’s the duty of the old to protect the young. The only person in that mill who should have hidden herself and wouldn’t have been shamed for it was Sybil. Her sons aren’t grown. For the rest of us—well, we did what we had to do.”

  “Not everyone thinks like that.”

  “We’re not everyone.” Sister suddenly felt a burst of emotion. “Not by a long shot. I don’t give a damn what’s popular, and I don’t give a damn about fashions, including moral fashions. The old must protect the young.”

  “I know.” Betty felt Sister’s energy lifting her own. “But we’re country people. We live close to nature.”

  “Makes no matter.” As Sister saw her Roughneck Farm sign, a flood of gratitude welled up in her. “City people are as obligated as we are to take care of the young.”

  “They don’t obey the laws of nature. They no longer know them.” Betty worried about urbanization and the destruction of the environment by people who often thought they were protecting it.

  “Well, you know what, sugar pie? Nature will one day reach into those steel towers and shake them loose. Hers is the ultimate power.”

  As they coasted to the stable, Inky and Georgia shot out from the barn, where they had been enjoying leftover sweet f
eed and a bowl of sour balls.

  Sister and Betty led one set of horses off the trailer and then a second. They cleaned them, tossed fresh blankets over them, put each in a stall with fresh warm water and delicious flakes of hay, and added a couple of handfuls of sweet feed to their food buckets.

  The routine of chores helped each woman calm down.

  A cat door, cut into the stable office and well used by Golly, had also been used by Inky and Georgia. They left behind their signature scent, a fox calling card.

  Chores done, Sister and Betty walked into the heated office for a moment to warm their hands, and both noticed the bowl of sour balls, wrappers all over the floor.

  “How do they do that? How did Inky get the cellophane off?” Sister put her hands on her hips.

  “Foxes work magic.” Betty laughed, then looked at her silver-haired friend. “Jane, I love you. I could have lost you.” She hugged Sister.

  “I love you too.” Sister hugged Betty back. “But by God, Betty, we would have died game.”

  Dedicated to

  Donna Gaerttner,

  who loves foxhounds

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Marion Maggiolo and Wendy Saunders helped enormously by fighting their way through a first draft, correcting mistakes and making good suggestions.

  For the record, the information regarding Horse Country’s security system is false for obvious reasons. The John Barton Payne massive trophy, owned by the Warrenton Horse Show, is housed there because Marion’s security system is second only to the bank’s. The bank did not have a large enough space to house this incredible bowl, ladle, and tray, known affectionately as “Big John.”

  The Warrenton Horse Show, an outdoor show held at summer’s end, is a delightful spectacle, well run and worth a visit.

  For those of you not able to make the trip to Warrenton, you can visit Horse Country at www.HorseCountryLife.com. The phone is 1-800-882-4868. You always meet people you know there even if you’ve never met them before.

  Special thanks to Danielle Durkin, my former editor, and good luck writing her own novels.