Full Cry

by Rita Mae Brown

  Shaker simply said, “I don’t get it.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Sister raised an eyebrow.

  He raised the palm of one hand. “I’m not looking to pick a fight. I just don’t get it. How can any man not go crazy for a woman?

  Look, Xavier, I like the heck out of you, but I don’t want to kiss you.“

  Xavier laughed. “Dee says I’m a good kisser.”

  “Braggart.” Sister now laughed.

  Tedi stubbed out her cigarette, feeling mellow from that delightful hit of nicotine.

  “Gentlemen, I’m old enough to be your mother. By virtue of that, I can say what I think. What I conclude from my long and eventful life is that our knowledge is constricted by ideology and religion. We don’t know why anyone is heterosexual, much less homosexual. But I know this: to deny love is to deny life.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “You’re right.” Lorraine smiled at her.

  “Tedi, I’ve never heard you speak like that.” Xavier put his arm around the lovely lady.

  “Well, for one thing, Edward isn’t here—not that he reins me in, but let’s just say he guides me away from controversy. Oh, when we first married, and he was running the company, we’d have to entertain, and, well, I was raised a Prescott. Prescotts speak their minds. Poor Edward. He’d say after one of those affairs, ”Honey, I don’t think they’re ready for you.“ ” She grinned. “I just smoked a cigarette and now I feel glorious. Glorious!”

  They laughed.

  “Shorten your life.” Roger winked.

  “Aren’t you sick of it?” Xavier smacked his hand against the counter. “Everyone tells you what to do and how to do it! Bad enough the government robs us at every turn, but now we have the health Nazis.”

  Lorraine, a more serious type and not a foxhunter, demurred. “But Xavier, it has been proven that cigarette smoking can cause lung cancer.”

  “And caffeine will put you over the edge,” Xavier replied. “Sugar rots your teeth. I could go on. Given Sari’s young years, I’ll leave out all the sexual fears and propaganda. I mean, bad enough we got off on Ronnie.”

  “What was that?” Roger cocked his eyebrow. “Got off?”

  “You are twisted.” Xavier punched him.

  Roger shied away from the second punch. “Hey, who’s twisted? But I’m with you, X. People gotta do what they do. If smoking eases the nerves, hey, smoke. If bourbon at six takes the edge off a rough day, sip with pleasure. We all need a little help.”

  “Foxhunting,” Sister firmly spoke.

  “That’s her answer to everything.” Shaker laughed.

  “But it’s true.” Color flushed her cheeks. “When are you most alive? Hunting.”

  “That’s true,” Tedi agreed.

  “For us,” Xavier amended the sentiment.

  “Everyone needs something that pushes them physically and mentally. Safety numbs people.” Shaker, having seen a fair amount of danger in his work, believed this.

  “That’s why you see people in their eighties and even nineties in the hunt field. Not only did they stay healthy from the sport, they get up in the morning and can’t wait to get out there. Unless the good Lord jerks my chain, I intend to go to my nineties.” Xavier patted his girth. “Better lose a little weight first. Dee keeps reminding me. She works out. I intend to, but, well, those donuts look so good. You know the rest.” Xavier laughed.

  The phone rang. “Roger’s Corner.” His head came up; he looked at the gathering. “Thanks.” Roger hung up the phone. “Clay Berry’s warehouse is on fire. That was Bobby Franklin.”

  “Jeez,” Xavier’s mouth dropped. “The water will turn to ice. Oh, Jesus. Guys, I’ve got to get down there.”

  “Is he insured with you?” Shaker asked.

  “Yes. Maybe we can help get stuff out of the warehouse.”

  Shaker turned to Lorraine. He had planned to make supper for her and Sari, just to prove he could. “Lorraine, I’d better go.” Then he asked Sister, “Will you take Lorraine and Sari home?”

  “Of course. Then I’ll come down.”

  “No.” Shaker’s voice deepened. “I mean it, boss. We need you in one piece. I’ll call you.”

  Tedi called Edward on her cell, then she, too, left.

  Driving down the snowy road, Lorraine asked, “Sister, would you mind taking me back to the farm? Alice is home, so she’ll be able to feed her cats and chickens. Shaker will be exhausted when he gets back. I’ll fix supper.”

  “I don’t mind a bit. It’s a wonderful idea.” She was grateful Clay had brought her her silver fox fur coat. In the great scheme of life, that coat was a paltry thing, but she loved it. It’s funny how one becomes attached to objects. Big Ray bought her that coat for her fiftieth birthday.

  “I hope they can stop the fire. There’s so much in those warehouses,” Lorraine fretted.

  “Let’s hope it’s in one of the small satellite buildings. Poor Clay.” Sister felt a creeping dread, but she attributed it to the fact that she’d just driven past Hangman’s Ridge. In this tempestuous weather, she thought she heard a howling from atop the ridge. The wind plays tricks on you like that sometimes.

  CHAPTER 23

  Flames shot into the night sky, an eerie sight with snow falling. The heat was so intense that Shaker and Xavier couldn’t get within fifty yards of the small brick building.

  As the firemen worked in both bitter cold and searing heat, Shaker found Sheriff Ben Sidell. “Sheriff, anything I can do?”

  “No. They’ve contained it. Thanks to George’s quick thinking, they saved the big warehouse,” Ben said, referring to Fire Chief George Murtagh.

  “Bad night for it.”

  Ben pulled the collar of his coat up higher around his neck. “Don’t guess there’s ever a good one. They keep coating the big warehouse with water on this side; ices right up and then melts again. Weird.”

  “Any idea?”

  “No, George said he won’t know much of anything until he can get the fire out. The building passed inspection, but the wiring is old. All it takes is one mouse to bite the wrong set of wires.” Ben stared at the men holding the hose. “You know, it’s warmer nights I dread the most. There are more fights, stabbings, and murders in summer when it’s so bloody hot out. I know if I get a call on a bitterly cold night, someone’s kerosene stove blew up or someone hit a patch of black ice.” He sighed. “Either way, usually someone’s dead.”

  “You can smell the furniture burning.” Shaker wrinkled his nose.

  “This one closest to the railroad tracks has furniture being shipped out. Clay said it was loaded. Next shipment was Tuesday.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  Ben’s eyebrows rose for a moment. “No. Thanks for asking.”

  Shaker walked over to Clay and Xavier.

  “Sorry, Clay.”

  “Shaker.” Clay’s eyes welled up. “Thank you for coming on down.”

  “X and I kind of hoped we could pull stuff out.”

  Clay shook his head. “Wooden crates, wooden furniture, upholstery, pfff!” He threw up his gloved hands. The furniture and valuables had been packed in wooden crates.

  “Sister wanted to come down, but I told her to go home.”

  This made Clay’s eyes tear up again. “God bless her.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Shaker asked.

  “No.” Clay shook his head. “This stuff will smolder for days.”

  “Izzy okay?” X asked.

  “Crying her eyes out. I told her we’d be fine.”

  X’s deep voice deepened more. “There will be a lot of upset people, but we’ll do all we can. As soon as I can, I will cut a check to replace the building. I don’t anticipate problems with the carrier. They’ll send someone down, but that’s protocol these days.”

  “You know, I’m not there yet.” Clay bit his lip. “I’m glad you are, but I can’t think that far ahead.”

  “Don’t worry.” X meant it. He was a succes
sful man because he backed up his word. He really did care about the people who insured through him.

  As Shaker walked back to the truck, the wind shifted slightly in his direction. Tiny red and gold sparks flew upwards as white flakes fell down. He inhaled smoke carrying the unmistakable odor of flesh. He’d smelled that once before as a young man. An old house had burned down, its owner having fallen asleep in bed with a lit cigarette.

  He returned to Ben.

  “Ben, there’s meat in that building.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “Come with me.” Shaker led Ben to where he had picked up the scent; the wind was still blowing in that direction. “Take a deep breath and you’ll cough. Smoke burns the hell out of your throat.”

  Ben inhaled, coughed, but he smelled it. “Wonder if Clay had any kind of refrigeration unit in there.”

  “Talk to George first. I mean, that’s what I’d do.”

  Ben nodded. “You’re right.”

  Ben headed toward the busy fire chief as Shaker climbed into the old Chevy, turned over the motor and sat to let the engine run a minute. If anyone was in there, he or she were burned to a crisp. Who would be in the storage house? He hoped it was a raccoon. A big one might give off a powerful odor if killed or burned.

  Shaker headed out of town. He called Sister on his phone, installed in the truck.

  Sister asked, “You okay?”

  “Nothing for me to do. Clay’s holding up. X’s real calm. That helps him, I guess. Ben sent me home.” Shaker listened to the crackle on the phone as he drove through a patch of bad reception.

  “Strange. When I drove by Hangman’s Ridge, I—” She stopped herself. “Well, that place sometimes presages bad tidings.”

  “See another ghost?” This was not said in jest, for once she had seen a ghost there. A year later, he had, too, even though he hated to admit it.

  The souls who had been hanged on the huge oak on top of the ridge, sent to justice since the early eighteenth century, were unquiet. Many had seen or heard them; even Inky skirted the place if she could. Being a fox, her senses were far keener than a human’s. She had seen more than one ghost—all men—necks unnaturally stretched.

  “I just heard howling, but it’s windy. Picking up.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, uh, forgot what I was going to say.” She hadn’t actually, merely changed her mind.

  “Alzheimer’s?”

  “Halfzimers,” she fired back as she hung up.

  She had been going to ask him if he wanted her to bring Sari up to the main house so he could be alone with Lorraine. Then she realized the supper was a surprise, and, also, Sari looked up to Shaker. Removing her from the picture wouldn’t be fair. If romance was going to blossom, there was time for that. Sister didn’t have to put a log on the fire. She repented of that image the moment she thought it.

  CHAPTER 24

  After that Sunday’s church service many hunt club members gathered at the grand, modern Berry residence. Clay’s wife, Izzy, graciously met everyone at the door and invited them in. Despite their travails, she served coffee, tea, cakes, and cookies.

  Betty, who used to think Izzy was nothing but a gold digger, actually warmed to her thanks to this ordeal.

  The dreadful news, depressing everyone, concerned the charred body found in the burned storage unit. Shaker spared people the details of his picking up the scent. Ben Sidell also kept his cards close to his chest.

  The situation was distressful enough without people hearing what a burned corpse looks and smells like. The corpse at the morgue would be, they hoped, identified through dental records. Dr. Larry Hund was usually called to solve any mysteries involving teeth.

  Marty, balancing cup and saucer, leaned over to whisper to Tedi, “Does Clay have enemies who hate him enough to commit arson?”

  “It would appear he does,” the elegant Tedi responded, the Hapsburg sapphire gleaming on her third finger.

  “Awful.” Marty shook her head.

  Sam Lorillard briefly paid his respects. Knowing how close Clay and Xavier were, he didn’t stay more than fifteen minutes.

  Gray, always a calming presence, brought the hostess a mimosa. So busy tending her guests, she’d forgotten herself. Sister watched him, blushing slightly when he smiled at her.

  Dr. Dalton Hill was there, which made Sister warm a little to him. As he was getting to know people better, he became less stiff. The fact that he expressed sympathy for a hunt member, new though he was, impressed her. Foxhunters should stick together.

  Walter, five inches taller than Ben Sidell, leaned on the fireplace mantel to the right of the fire screen. He asked the sheriff, “Gaston working?”

  “Mmm.” Ben nodded that the county coroner was on the case, then took a step away from the fireplace to get away from the heat.

  “Pathologists always have the right answer—a day late,” Walter said with a rueful smile, stepping away with Ben.

  “Not your thing, Doc?”

  “No. I like contact with people. I want to help. We live in such a cynical age, probably, it sounds corny, but I genuinely want to help and heal.”

  Ben smiled up at him. “Me, too.”

  “Neither of us will ever run out of business,” Walter replied.

  “Gentlemen, may I intrude?” Sorrel Buruss joined them.

  “You’re anything but an intrusion.” Walter bowed slightly to the lovely widow, now cresting over that forty-year barrier.

  “Xavier’s been so tireless. On the phones half the night, this morning. The investigation for the carrier, Worldwide Security, is flying down from Hartford tomorrow. X wants Clay to get up and running as fast as he can.”

  “X is a good man to have in your corner,” Ben agreed. His cell phone beeped. “Excuse me.” He walked away from the group and listened intently. “Thanks, Gaston. I’ll be right down.” Then he returned to Walter and Sorrel. “Walter, would you like to come on down to the lab with me?”

  Walter knew what he meant. “Of course.”

  Sorrel knew, too. Prudently, she asked no questions but observed the reactions of others as the sheriff and Walter left together.

  One by one, the well-wishers left.

  Sister—Rooster and Raleigh in the truck front seat—drove home. The plowed roads remained slick in spots. The sun shone, and the whiteness dazzled.

  Not a churchgoer, although she grew up an Episcopalian, nature was Sister’s church. Looking at the mirrored ponds, ice overtop, the dancing tiny rainbows glittering on snow- and frost-covered hills, the churning clear beauty of Broad Creek as it swept under Soldier Road—these things gave her a deep faith, an unshakeable belief in a Higher Power, or Powers. Sister wasn’t fussy about monotheism or the intellectual comforts of dogma. To see such beauty, to observe a fox in winter coat, to inhale the sharp tang of pine as one rode fast underneath, to listen to Athena call in the night, to feel the earth tight underneath giving way to a bog festooned with silver, black, and beige shrubs shorn of raiment, such things convinced her that life was divine.

  Even later when Walter called to inform her that the still unidentified corpse had not died of smoke inhalation, her faith in God’s work remained undiminished. Of all God’s creations, the human was the failure. Still, she hoped, in good moments, that with effort and a dismantling of grotesque ego, we might join the rest of nature in a chorus of appreciation for life itself.

  She fed the dogs and put a bowl of flakey tuna on the counter for Golly.

  “Pussycat, would you kill another cat for tuna?”

  Golly, purring, lifted her head, small bits of red tuna in her whiskers. “No. I’d box his ears though.”

  Sister stroked Golly’s silken fur as the cat devoured the treat.

  Then she slipped on her old Barbour coat over a down vest and walked outside. The sun set so early in the winter, the long red slanting rays reaching from west to east over the rolling meadows. Her horses nickered as she passed. She looked at the broodmare, Secretary’s Shorthand,
wishing the animal had caught. Secretary looked bigger than usual, but the vet had done an ultrasound two weeks after breeding, and again five weeks after the breeding. It seemed she was not in foal. But sometimes ultrasound doesn’t give the right information. Horses can fool people. Secretary was a muscular, good-looking chestnut, and Sister desperately wanted a foal from her.

  She rapped on Shaker’s door.

  “I know it’s you,” he called.

  “‘Tis.”