Lost & Hound, page 17
“Good. His head is getting better. Was when I saw him.”
“Better than it looks. His vision is still blurred. The eyebrow bone hurts but he is clearheaded. He can’t remember picking up his mail or driving into the garage. He can’t even remember the rain, but he can remember stuff before that.”
“So it just seems to be, what, a few hours that he can’t remember?”
“I think so.” Sister grabbed a small washrag and dried the bit, a simple D snaffle. “I wonder if he caught a glimpse of who hit him. Or sensed it.”
“Given where the wounds are, probably not,” Betty answered. “Whoever it is is still out there.”
“All the more reason for a guard.”
“Too bad you can’t sneak Atlas in.” Betty hung up her bridle, making the figure eight with the throat latch over the noseband up to the headband.
“I go every day to give him the Atlas report. Even if only for a minute. He doesn’t need rehab. He can walk, his arms are fine. Of course, they’ll give him some more tests, but I bet he could come home by the end of the week. He wants to go to the symphony.”
“Well, maybe he can.” Betty thought if anyone bumped his head, though, it would be awful. “He’ll look like a holy man with the bandage wrapped around his head.”
“I told him to grow a beard. Will divert people’s attention from his head and left eye.”
“Sister, it won’t.”
“Doesn’t mean he can’t try. He is planning the seed order. Really, he was sitting up in bed with his notebook, thinking how to raise money. As always, he comes up with good ideas. He said we can put on our website that we can ship anywhere, but if someone is in a hurry we can fly the seeds to them.”
“They would have to be in a big hurry.”
“Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont. They’re about to run out of planting time. Snowstorms in October are not that rare. Same with upstate New York, but his idea is worth thinking about it, Cameron could fly stuff.”
“Boy, that would be expensive.” Betty sat down, having hung up her bridle. “Expensive.”
“Yes, but if the person paid the gas, maybe Cameron would do it for free. His labor, I mean.” Sister finished her bridle. “It’s a thought. A long shot, but the point is, Ronnie is on the mend. Then he had ideas about stationery.”
Betty sat up straight. “Yes.”
“You don’t need to buy anything. His idea is that you and Bobby create stationery for our club. Regular-sized paper, correspondence-sized, fold-over cards. Use our logo, the fox mask with the two tails underneath. They can pick the color for their paper and the color of the ink.”
“We could probably do that, but Sister, there is no way Bobby and I can afford to give away expensive paper for free.”
“He knows that, and so do I. But maybe you could do the actual printing for free. Or at a nice discount. Like twenty-five percent.”
“I’ll talk to Bobby about it. A discount is more realistic than free printing. You’d be surprised what it takes to keep a big press like ours in shape. In essence, it’s like a car. Okay, not quite as complicated, but it’s a big press.”
“I’ve seen it. You know whatever you all come up with is fine. But if you go talk to Ronnie about it, that will keep him focused.”
“Is he worried?” Betty frowned.
“He’s not talking about it, but he’d have to be an idiot not to be worried. Ronnie is not an idiot.”
“Right.” Betty let out a long stream of air. “If only we had an idea what this is about. Does Ben say anything?”
“No. The most likely cause would be robbery.”
“I don’t know. I have a terrible feeling that’s not the case.” Betty reached over for Sister’s hand as she had sat down. “We’ve got to do something.”
“The only thing we can do is make sure someone is in the house with him, sticks with him. The department can only afford protection for so long.”
“Well, they can damn well afford surveillance. I pay enough taxes.”
“If we received the full benefits of our taxes, Albemarle County would be the wonder of the nation.” Sister laughed. “But I’m with you. If a few of us talk to Ben I think we can convince Ronnie to hire security until we know more. That isn’t cheap but we can’t protect him. I mean, we can be with him, but we aren’t professionals.”
“Right. I’ll keep my .38 close.”
“I’ve got my gun in my glove compartment. I’ve always had a gun there, because if an animal is run over, people just leave it there to suffer. At least I can put an end to its misery.”
“Saint Hubert said when he heard the voice of God in the eighth century that we should allow no animal to suffer nor should we kill a mother with children. We should take care of wildlife, animals, God’s gifts.” Betty liked the story of Saint Hubert. “If you think about it, his teaching is the basis for Western culture’s relationship with animals.”
“It’s a wonderful story about the cross of gold between the stag’s antlers.” Sister smiled. “Oh, the other thing is Ronnie insists the stamps mean something. He thinks it’s the year, 1987.”
“I’ll visit tomorrow,” Betty promised. “Today got too crazy. I can’t carry my gun into the hospital but I am going to carry it elsewhere. I believe someone wants to kill Ronnie. I don’t think the attack is motivated by robbery, wanting his stuff.”
Sister hated the idea but she couldn’t refute it. “We don’t know enough.”
“We know enough that we have to protect him.”
CHAPTER 25
October 19, 2022, Wednesday
“He can’t do it. I understand.” Sister sat in the clean office in the kennel.
In the corner a fireplace blazed. The kennels, built in the early part of the twentieth century, had fallen into disrepair. Sister’s first husband’s uncle, a passionate foxhunter, bought the estate, remodeling the kennels but keeping the good features. The office’s corner fireplace remained, as did the crown molding. The beautiful brick archways fanned off the center of the building, which contained the office, draw pen living quarters, and medical rooms. These walkways, in front of the huge fenced-in yards, added symmetry. The central building itself was larger than one noticed until walking inside and realizing the structure was about forty feet. What you saw standing in front of the kennel was the door to the office. A door to the right opened to the feed room. The draw room to the side of that had a door opening to the outside. So three doors faced you. Once inside, the living quarters impressed with their size, a large overhead fan centered in the high ceiling turned in both the boys’ side and the girls’. The ceiling fan pushed the warm air down in winter, reversed in summers. The aisle from the feed room to either side of the hounds’ quarters was wide. One could easily push a wheelbarrow down for cleaning. High windows, opened by a crank, allowed air to circulate. Low windows invited a dog to crash through.
After feeding, cleaning, assisting any hound in the medical room should one need help, the humans could sit down in the office.
Behind the Louis XV desk, out of place but fabulous, Sister had stud books in front of her.
Weevil and Tootie faced her in the wing chairs.
“You really don’t know about a hound until you see him hunt if you can.” She looked up. “You know the great names like Orange County Melody 1999, gone now but I was fortunate enough to hunt with Orange when she was in her glory. Other hounds I know only by reputation.”
“Meaning today or generations back?” Weevil, keenly interested in breeding, asked.
“Both. If I have seen a hound hunt, I check the pedigree, and say she goes back to Bull Run Dawson, a great hound from 1981, even though that’s far back, I’d try that.”
“But don’t you think it’s best if you have hunted behind hounds or seen them hunt?” Tootie asked.
“I do, but there are only so many hours in the day. I wish I could go over to Tennessee and Kentucky more often. Or hike all the way to upstate New York to hunt with Genesee Valley. The older I get it seems the more I have to do. People talk about retirement. I have no idea what they’re talking about. I have less time now than I ever had.”
“You can get to Piedmont, Orange, or Middleburg. Warrenton. Old Dominion. Even Blue Ridge up there on the border,” Weevil mentioned.
“Sometimes. Over the years I have hunted with those hunts. Had a cracking good time, too. And don’t forget Green Spring Valley or Radnor or Elkridge Hartford. Those hunts have long histories, often beautiful grounds, and kennels plus lots of terrific staff. I know I’m getting old but I still learn. And why am I babbling about this? We need to find the right girl for Giorgio.”
“Ah.” Weevil nodded. “He isn’t the fastest.”
“No. But we don’t need blazing speed in our territory. Far better to have terrific stamina with a great nose and cry. Not that I’m against speed, but if hounds are too fast and your territory isn’t flat, you leave the field behind. And people will sooner or later go to other hunts.”
“Do you think people would really leave Jefferson Hunt?” Tootie was surprised.
“We have a hardcore group but you can’t expect people to be loyal to you. If you have a bad year, or two, they’ll go somewhere else. Everyone generally thinks they are a better rider than they really are.” Sister laughed. “So they want to go to a fast hunt and brag about it.”
“Do they ever come back?” Tootie asked.
“Actually, some do. They realize the grass is always greener until you’re there for a time. I believe it is in every hunt’s best interest for other hunts to flourish. I have no desire to take members from another hunt. I’m happy for anyone to ride with us, cap, or even join if they can afford more than one hunt. But lure people? Pretty low, I think.” She had a strong sense of ethics about clubs supporting one another.
“You mean like Crawford stealing our members.” Tootie was trying to piece together the past.
“Well, that was a special case. He thought if he had a pack of Penn-Marydels he couldn’t lose. He’d heard how good their noses are. He had no idea how to train a pack of hounds. He’d hire people, infuriate them, and they’d stalk out. Eventually he found Cynthia Skiff Cane. She endured. He has Sam, too. Marty eventually talked some sense into him. His pack is pretty good now. Took a few years of hard work. Did he try to steal my members? No. It all worked out but he made it hard on himself.”
“It’s interesting, when we have joint meets, to watch his hounds work. Skiff is good.” Tootie liked Crawford’s huntsman.
“She is. Which brings me to Shaker. He can’t be our wheel whip because of working with Skiff. I asked him, knowing he couldn’t do it. I didn’t want him to think I’ve forgotten him. As Saturday is everyone’s biggest day, she needs him. I have asked Kathleen Sixt Dunbar if she would be interested. We’d pay her a stipend plus gas and she said she’d love it. No stipend. Just the gas. Of course, Aunt Daniella will be with her, and who knows the territory better than Aunt Dan? So now we have to buy the new Garmin Alpha 200i. I’ll face the crisis later. First the wheel whip.” She smiled. “Next, finding Giorgio the right girl.”
“I can help. I’d like to go to other hunts, on Mondays or Wednesdays or Fridays, days we don’t hunt. I can watch their hounds. Get ideas, and we can always have joint meets.” Weevil brightened.
“We can, and we should. Covid screwed that up for a few years. I’m finishing a fixture card. I’ll pop in a few joint meets. Always fun.” She smiled. “Anything I need to know? Someone need vitamins? Special foods?”
“We’re good.”
Her phone rang as they walked out the door, a brief blast of air coming inside.
“Ben. How are you?”
“Good and yourself?”
“Trying to get ready for formal hunting. We have our Opening Hunt the first Sunday in November.”
“I know. I’ve already hired a braider for my Nonni.” He took a breath. “Sister, I called because I’ve been texting the Charlotte police. They’ve been working on the Timothy Snavely case. They are finding him a source of some fascination.”
“Really?”
“He had bank accounts offshore, as well as accounts in Charlotte. He had quite a bit of money but not a lot to show for it. You know, no fancy cars, or a young wife needing jewelry.” Ben chuckled. “He was a member of the big country club in Charlotte as well as having an out-of-state membership in a club in Atlanta. But here’s the thing. He had a stamp collection. It was valuable, but he also had many stamps of reptiles and insects. He had everything that was printed for 1987. Also stamps from 1996, 2002. All amphibians, reptiles, and butterflies. They were not with his major collection.”
“His corpse, as you told me…we didn’t really discuss it…had a slit tongue.” Sister, apart from the violence of it, thought it weird.
“Like a reptile.”
“There’s some connection. Absurd as it seems.” Sister listened to the wood crackle.
“I’m going to call on Barry. But first, do you know anyone in the hunt club or among your friends who is a serious collector?”
“I’m sure there may be a few people, but I don’t know about it. Mercer Laprade was a collector but he’s been gone for a few years. I can send an email to the club.”
“No. Don’t do that. Just in case.” Ben paused for a long time. “The good news is, Ronnie will be home tomorrow.”
“Yes, we were talking about that. I’m going to see if I can convince him to hire a security service until some of these oddities become clear.”
“That would be a big help. If he’s willing, I can recommend the better companies. As long as you don’t say I did.”
“Of course.”
“What can you do with a stamp if you don’t collect it or use it to mail a letter?” Ben wondered.
“What if it’s a sign,” Sister suggested. “Something like a bill is due. I don’t know. It has to mean something.”
CHAPTER 26
October 20, 2022, Thursday
“Beautiful photo of a monarch butterfly.” Gray studied the flat of stamps in one of Mercer’s stamp books.
Mercer had book upon book. Gray, Sister, Yvonne, and Aunt Daniella pulled out the more recent ones. Mercer organized his collections by year.
“That was made by a Maryland photographer.” Sister studied the old twenty-two-cent stamp. “I remember because it made the news.”
Yvonne, flipping through her book, which was more beat-up, remarked, “Here’s one from 2010. Sixty-four cents. Another beautiful representation.”
“Well, we’ve pored over insects, reptiles, and amphibians.” Aunt Daniella exhaled, tired. “We’ve gone back fifty years. Granted, we only stopped when encountering bugs or frogs or whatever. I don’t see why any of this matters. I take that back. Yes, two people have had collections. The dead man and Barry. Anyone collecting stamps could have these stamps.”
“True, Aunt Dan,” Gray agreed. “But the stolen stamps now returned to Barry match some of the stamps Mercer has. And what the Charlotte police told Ben about Timothy Snavely.”
“If Mercer has monarch butterfly stamps, stamps of frogs, and toads, and turtles, why wouldn’t most stamp collectors?” Yvonne felt her eyes getting blurry. “They are beautiful.”
“I’m sure plenty do.” Sister closed the stamp book she was reading. “The stamps for the most part really are beautiful, little works of art. This one I just looked up on the computer, a butterfly, was twenty-two cents and is now worth a dollar forty. You can buy this stuff online.”
“You can buy anything online.” Yvonne sighed. “And given the beauty of particularly the butterfly stamps over the years, I bet millions of collectors bought them.”
“Oh look. Here’s a butterfly stamp from New Zealand,” Aunt Daniella exclaimed. “And another one from Mexico. Mercer mostly collected U.S. stamps but I guess he thought these were especially gorgeous.”
“Bet Mexico has monarch stamps over the years because that’s where the butterflies migrate to.” Sister paused. “Not so much the reptile stamps. I mean, I don’t think reptiles migrate to Mexico. They just sleep in people’s basements and sheds.” She smiled.
“Let’s think about money.” Gray unrolled his sleeves, as he had rolled them up. “Mercer’s collection, just what we’ve looked through, the last fifty years, is considerable. He began collecting as a child.”
Aunt Daniella interrupted. “Seven. Second grade.”
“As he grew, made more money, he bought more stamps.” Yvonne eyed the books they had now placed on the coffee table. “Many of these books precede fifty years.”
“Yes. He focused on stamps from the nineteenth century once he became successful. He would always buy what our postal service released each year, say a flat or however you describe a sheet of stamps. He put his real money, as he would say, in tracking down stamps from the mid-nineteenth century. Mercer said our country didn’t issue stamps until about 1847. Think that’s what he said. I would listen to him but I don’t share the passion.” Aunt Daniella was truthful.
“What did we do before that?” Yvonne wondered.
“Hand stamps, you know, use a carved wooden block or something and stamp the envelope.” Aunt Daniella then added, “I only know that because my son would rattle on as he would put his purchases in the books, which you see. He’d use tweezers and carefully put them under protected cellophane and later clear plastic. He said you had to be careful because not all paper or plastic is the same. And also no humidity. That’s tough in Virginia.”
“He kept his stuff in a safe in the back room and once he put air-conditioning in his house…next to Aunt Dan’s, as you know…he swore he never worried about anything getting stuck. He was a little bit obsessive. That was why he was so good at Thoroughbred bloodline research.” Gray had loved his cousin. “He could also be fussy about clothing.”
