“How did you become interested in this?”
“My mother. Alcoholic.”
“My father.”
Their eyes met, a sense of understanding between them.“Is he still alive?”
“No. He killed himself when I was fifteen. He’d lost everything in a bad business deal. He drank more and more until he disappeared down that bottle. Death may have been the easy part for Dad.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What about your mother?” he asked.
“She’s still alive. My father left her. My two brothers refuse to have anything to do with her. She’s a binge drinker. She can stay dry for six months, eight months, and then she’ll buy six bottles of vodka, lock herself in the house, and drink until she’s wiped them out.” She held up her cup for more coffee. “Of course, this stuff is addictive, too. I read somewhere that Voltaire drank sixty cups of coffee a day.”
“If it would make me as intelligent as he was, I might try it.” Walter accepted a refill, too. “The Franklin girls are being released today. Right?”
“Right.”
“How do you think they’ll do?”
“They have as good a chance as any. The parents are supportive. The mother more so than the father. He’s not hostile but he still doesn’t get it. Betty said she’d spoken to you.”
“Yes, at Fontaine Buruss’s party. She asked me to check in. I’m glad I did. Your program is impressive.”
“It is and it isn’t.” She leaned back in her seat to stretch out her long legs. “I don’t like treating drugs with drugs. In some cases it’s the only treatment we have. Especially heroin users. My personal feeling is we substitute one dependency for another but if we don’t use what little we have available to us they often backslide. You know the story.” She appraised Walter. He was more handsome than she remembered from passing him in the halls. “Fortunately, that’s not the problem for Cody and Jennifer. Cody has a longer history of abuse, obviously. She’s burned more bridges behind her and has more messes to clean up. Jennifer’s rebelling and the drugs are mixed in with that so-o attractive stage of life. How does anyone survive adolescence? I didn’t smile from age eight to twenty because of my braces.”
“Good orthodontist.”
She laughed.“Thank you. Do you know Cody and Jennifer well?”
“No. I know Betty and Bobby somewhat. I grew up near here. Kids don’t pay much attention to older people. I’ve started foxhunting and that’s how I’ve come into contact with the Franklins again.”
“The girls are very beautiful.”
“Pretty is as pretty does.”
“Men don’t usually say that.”
“Then you’re talking to the wrong men.”
“Not now.”
He laughed.“Keep talking.”
“Really. My experience with men is that they are completely undone by looks. That’s why Cody has gotten away with her addiction as long as she has. There’s always a man to rescue her. Only makes it worse, of course.”
“I’d rather look at a pretty woman than not, but maybe I’ve seen enough in my life to know that if there isn’t more, it’s never going to work. You know?” He leaned forward. “One of the most fascinating and beautiful women I know is seventy years old. She walks into a room and you can’t look at anyone else. She’s electrifying and on a horse she truly is the goddess of the hunt.”
“Jane Arnold.” Tandy smiled. “Yes, Cody and Jennifer have mentioned her. She scares them half to death. I’d like to see her.”
“Opening hunt is the first Saturday in November. Ten o’clock at Sister Jane’s place, Roughneck Farm. If you’d like to come, I’ll call Sister Jane.”
“I can’t ride.”
“Don’t have to. Come and enjoy the spectacle and then eat all that good food.”
“Thank you. I don’t have my Filofax with me but if I’m free I’ll call you. I’d like to see a hunt.”
“Before I forget. Do you know where the girls get their drugs?”
“If I did, I’d tell the sheriff. Even in rehab people protect their sources. Talk about misplaced loyalty but … There’s something more going on. Cody’s not protecting a dealer boyfriend. I don’t know what it is. I just know there’s something more.”
CHAPTER 24
“You people make me sick.” Alice Ramy shook her finger in Sister Jane’s face. “You think you can do whatever you please. A bunch of rich idiots!”
“Alice, show me the hound.”
Without a reply the disgruntled Alice, as wide as she was tall, waddled out to her chicken coop. The plump bodies of chickens lay about inside and outside the coop.
Rooster, Peter’s harrier, rested amid the carnage.
“I locked the gate. I’m not touching him. You take that damn hound out of here and you pay me for my chickens!”
Sister opened the gate.“Hey, Rooster.”
The harrier pricked his ears.“I’ve been framed!”
Sister quietly approached and petted him.“It’s Peter Wheeler’s hound. He’s bred to run rabbits, small game.”
Alice grumbled.“I’ll call the animal control officer.”
“Don’t do that. I’ll take him to Peter.”
“Thank you. I didn’t kill these chickens but I’d like to eat one. I’m afraid of that harpy, though.”
“He ought to be shot!”
“Alice, if this hound had killed these chickens, he’d have eaten at least one. Have you counted your dead?”
Alice quickly counted the two roosters and seven hens.
A cluck from under the henhouse gave hope to all.
Sister knelt down.“The rest are here.”
Alice couldn’t kneel down. “How many?”
“One, two, three, uh, some are hiding behind the others but I’d say you have eight. No roosters, though.” Sister stood up, brushing off her knees and her hands. “Let me take this big Rooster home.”
“Good. He can kill Peter’s chickens!”
Sister accepted Alice Ramy’s choleric nature. She was a woman only happy when airing a complaint, some terrible thing that had happened to her. Her narcissism was such that she even shied away from the disasters of others, their shortcomings. She concentrated solely on her own dramas. Sister patted the harrier on the head, then walked around the inside of the pen. “Here you go, Alice.” She pointed to a shallow tunnel dug under the wire.
Alice thumped over.“That’s how he did it.”
“Look at the size of this hound. Look at the size of the tunnel. And look at these tracks.” Sister pointed to clear fox prints.
“Dog. I told you.”
Sister knelt down again.“Hey, sweetie, give me your paw.”
“Give it to you. Wouldn’t give it to that bitch. I was on the trail of that fox. Aunt Netty. I’d know Aunt Netty anywhere. By the time I got here, Aunt Netty had had her jubilation.”
Sister pushed the paw into the dirt right next to the fox print.“See the difference?”
“Yes.” Alice shut her mouth like a carp.
“This hound couldn’t have shimmied under the wire. My guess is he was on the fox but far behind. It’s a good day for scent.”
“What am I going to do with all these dead chickens?” Alice chose not to apologize, since she could never be wrong. She simply accepted that the fox had killed the chickens but that didn’t mean she was wrong.
“Give you fifty cents apiece.”
“Two dollars apiece.”
“Fine.” Sister reached in her jeans pocket, counted out eighteen dollars, handed them to Alice. Then she picked up the chickens, tossing them in the back of the truck. Alice threw in the two dead roosters.
“I’ll shoot that fox if I see him.”
“Put a thin strip of concrete on the outside of your chicken coop or even a hot-wire. Might work. But don’t shoot a fox, Alice. It’s unsporting. If the fox comes back, I’ll replace your chickens. Just don’t kill him.”
“Maybe.”
“When the scared chickens come out, I’m willing to bet you another ten dollars that you’re missing a chicken. Fox carted it off.”