Let Sleeping Dogs Lie (30 page)

No matter what happens in our life if you’re hunt staff, hounds and horses must be attended to. Sister, Shaker, O.J., and Tootie, due to the long delay at Oakside, finally reached Roughneck Farm at 6:00
P
.
M
. The hounds, subdued, ate warm kibble, then quietly returned to their lodges and sleeping quarters. Rickyroo, Hojo, and Iota, Tootie’s horse, and O.J.’s mare, told everyone in the stable. Back at Oakside, Sister had asked Kasmir if he would take Phil’s horse and Mercer’s wonderful Dixie Do, to his farm. With Alida’s help, Kasmir loaded them up.

At Tattenhall Station, the Indian gentleman watched as Alida brushed the horses and comforted them.

“My man can do that,” Kasmir offered.

“They know something’s wrong. Sometimes a bit of attention helps.” Alida ran her fingers along Dixie Do’s neck.

Kasmir bedded the stalls himself thinking here was a woman not afraid of work and one who was sensitive as well.

Gray called Sam and told him the news. He met his brother as soon as Ben Sidell released him from Oakside. They both drove to Daniella Laprade’s. She took the grim news with steely calm, asked where her son’s body was, and wanted to know when she could see him. Gray called Ben Sidell, who called back in twenty minutes,
saying she could see her son now. Mercer wouldn’t be sent to Richmond until tomorrow, assuming the weather improved.

So Gray and Sam drove their aunt to the county morgue. Using only a cane, Daniella stood firm as the large file cabinet, for that’s what it looked like, was opened and the body slid out, feet first on the slab.

Both nephews stood on either side of her in case she collapsed.

“He was a good son.” She then looked up at Gray. “Who did this?”

“Aunt D, we don’t know.”

“You’d better find him before I do. And it was a man. Women don’t kill like this. Hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both brothers said.

Then she turned and walked out, barely using her cane.

Later, Sister, O.J., and Tootie, in the library at Roughneck Farm, discussed the remaining weekend.

O.J. leaned on soft cushions on the sofa. “I understand if you cancel Saturday’s hunt, Sister. Perhaps you should.”

“Mercer loved hunting. You all drove all the way from Kentucky. I think he’d want the hunt to go on. You know I’m a stickler for things being done properly. I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would be slighting him.” Sister stood up. “Let me call Walter. Best to discuss this with my Joint Master.”

Walter had by now been informed of everything. As Sister sat at the desk, Tootie mulled over the awful happenings while talking to O.J.

“It’s a strange coincidence,” Tootie said. “The first pogonip and now this one and both—well, awful.”

“Two murders.” O.J. felt suddenly very tired.

“Three.” Sister had hung up the landline. “You didn’t know our local vet, Penny Hinson, but three. It can’t be a coincidence. It can’t be.” She then returned to her chair, falling into it, also exhausted.
“Walter agrees with me. Mercer would want the joint meet to continue and Saturday is the big day at the Bancrofts’. Always a beautiful fixture.”

“Yes, it is,” O.J. agreed.

They heard the back door open. The dogs ran to the kitchen, where Gray walked in from the mudroom.

“Gray.” Sister rose to greet him. “Let me get you a drink.”

He kissed her. “Thank you, honey.”

Neither O.J. nor Tootie said anything until Sister handed him his drink and he was comfortably seated in an armchair. She held up an empty glass toward O.J.

“I believe I will.” O.J. joined Sister at the bar. “I don’t know why but I want an old-fashioned.”

“Let’s make two.” Sister asked Tootie, “You’re twenty-one. Anything?”

“No, thanks.”

Once they were all seated and Gray had some restorative scotch in him, Sister asked, “How did it go?”

“No tears. No raised voice. She’s really a terrifying old woman.” He took another deep sip. “But I feel for her. She looked at him and said he was a good son. Then she wanted to know who killed him and told Sam and me to find the killer before she did.”

O.J. frowned. “Like a Greek tragedy.”

“In a way, yes.” Gray set his drink on a coaster. “You know, I keep thinking about that old barn, the House of Horrors barn. Whoever killed Mercer had a kind of sick sense of humor.”

O.J. murmured, “I guess.”

“And whoever killed him knew the place,” Sister added.

Tootie curled her legs under her. “And the killer took advantage of the rotten weather. It doesn’t seem like a planned murder.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sister agreed. “You’re right about there being something spontaneous about this. The pogonip provided the chance and he or she was tremendously bold.”

“He. Aunt D says women don’t kill like that.” Gray spoke, having picked up his drink again.

“She’s right,” O.J. agreed.

The phone rang, Sister got up to answer it. After listening to Greg for a bit, Sister asked, “Eclipse? Eclipse, not Matchem?”

“Yes.” On the other end of the line, Greg Schmidt’s voice was positive.

“Eclipse.” She then recited. “Pot-8-Os, Waxy, Whalebone, Camel, Touchstone, Orlando, the second Eclipse, Alarm, Himyar, then Domino. That line. That Eclipse line?”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“I suppose you’ve heard by now all that’s transpired?” said Sister.

Greg replied, “Tedi Bancroft called me. I’m so very sorry.”

“Yes, I am, too. Greg, does anyone else know this, know Midshipman’s line back?”

“I couldn’t rightly say.”

“Thank you.” Sister hung up the phone, turned to the others and stated definitively, “Benny Glitters.”

Daniella appraised Mercer’s house as she directed Gray and Sam in the large bedroom. “A place for everything and everything in its place,” she said.

“We won’t have the body for at least a week, I would think, Aunt D.” Gray stood in the large well-lighted closet.

“I want to select his clothes while it’s on my mind.” She leaned on her cane, the wheelchair in the living room should she tire.

Sam, allowed to go in to work a few hours late this morning, knelt down in the closet as his aunt shuffled through Mercer’s shined shoes. “Not a speck of dirt, even on the soles,” Sam observed.

“His idol was Cary Grant,” Daniella said with uncharacteristic warmth. “Mercer always said if a man can dress half as well as Cary Grant he’ll be smashing.”

“True,” Gray agreed. “Duke Ellington wasn’t bad either.”

“Those were the days, those were the days,” she intoned with a kind of wonderment. “Gray, I don’t want him buried in a black suit. The undertaker can wear a black suit, not my boy. He needs color. So”—she flicked her cane right under a navy suit, chalk pinstripes—
“he always looked good in this and we can use an eggshell white shirt and, oh, the tie, the tie will be what makes it—that—and the pocket square.”

“A rosebud on the lapel,” Sam volunteered.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She liked the idea. “Regimental stripes, so many regimental stripes, but I think for this, his last social occasion, we should use a solid-color silk tie. I say a glorious burnt orange or a cerise. Something that just says ‘Mercer.’ ”

“Right.” Gray, though not a man for a bright tie, did agree. “And the pocket square can be a darker color or a different color. Mercer always said matchups were boring.”

Daniella nodded. “Yes, he did. Now Sam, the rosebud. If we use the cerise tie it could be pink, now that’s bold, I think. If we use the burnt orange then I say a creamy white, not stark, and we won’t know until we go to the funeral home. We’ll have to hold the colors up to his face.”

This thought did not appeal to Mercer’s cousins, but dressing her son was of paramount importance to the ancient lady. They would do it. Both nodded.

A knock on the front door quieted them.

“I’ll get it.” Gray strode out of the room, glad for a moment out of the closet.

Opening the door, Phil—strained, drained, but composed—greeted him. “I thought you all would be here. The cars are here. I came to help.”

The two men walked to the bedroom.

Phil bent down to hug Daniella. “I am so sorry, so very very sorry. Whatever you want, just ask.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

She kissed him and said, “I am not going to cry. Phil, don’t you cry either.”

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a linen handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We are going to celebrate him. Perhaps it’s easier for me because I know I will be joining him before you all do.”

“Auntie D, don’t say that.” Phil’s eyes teared up again.

“It’s the plain truth. The boys are helping me assemble his wardrobe. I think we’ve got it. Sam, why don’t you carry his clothing over to my house? In fact, we can all repair there for a drink and to plan the service.”

“Yes, but while we are here, I thought perhaps I could be of special service,” said Phil. “I know he had quite a few contracts lined up. Usually the bloodline research for the breeding season is over by now so everyone has been billed. But if anything is outstanding, I will call the client.”

Gray nodded his assent. “You know most of them anyway.”

“Do you know where he kept his important papers? You know, insurance, stuff like that?” Sam asked Daniella.

“He used his computer but he backed up every single thing. I told him all he was doing was making extra work. Just stick to the paperwork and throw out the computer.” She paused. “Phil, let Gray call Sheriff Sidell. We want things done properly.”

“Sure,” Phil assented. “Didn’t the sheriff go through his office?”

Daniella nodded. “Yes, but they said they would be back Monday. I guess they’re shorthanded.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know.”

Mercer’s small, bright office was as meticulously planned as his closet, where items were divided by season and color. Seeing the office made Phil dab his eyes again. He got hold of himself.

“All the insurance, car title, and tax returns are in that file cabinet. I know it looks like a pie safe but it’s really his file cabinet. Phil, you know that,” Daniella said.

Having quickly contacted Ben, Gray walked into the office. “Take the billing folder,” Gray said to Phil while looking at his aunt. “Surely there’s some outstanding monies.”

“Mmm,” came her compressed reply as the monies would go to her.

Phil opened the double doors, revealing long, thin editing drawers within. “He was certainly imaginative. Did he take in his papers to the accountant for this year’s taxes—well, last year’s, I mean?”

“Yes, but he made copies of all that, too,” said Daniella. “His billings are in the top drawer, marked. Red means unpaid if there’s a red tab on the folder. Green, paid.” She touched the drawer under that. “He divided his research work up by states. So then he also alphabetized stallions in the drawers. He had cross-references and more cross-references. When a stallion moved, say, to Spendthrift Farm, he kept the former state file, made a new one, plus cited the move in the alphabetized file. His mind was so orderly.”

She ran her forefinger lower. “These drawers here are miscellaneous. In his research he’d find a name from the past, like Foxhall Keene, and he’d put that information here. But everything is clearly marked. Owners files, mare files, progeny files, and percent of winners. All broken down and cross-referenced. Phil, take the billings file, but leave everything else. We can all go over that later.”

“Quite right,” Phil agreed.

“Auntie D, would you like me to take the computer?” asked Sam. “To double-check stuff?”

“No. The Sheriff’s Department had a quick look and will return Monday. I told him Mercer backed up everything but Ben Sidell insisted. I suppose they’re right.” She sighed. “I guess a lot can be hidden in computers, not that he had anything to hide. He was an honest man.”

“I’ll go over everything the minute I get home and bring it all back by Monday,” said Phil. “I’m sure everything is in order but there are always a few laggards when it comes to payments.” He frowned for a second.

As Sam helped Daniella on with her coat, Phil opened the front door. Gray quickly walked back into the office. He opened the
pie safe, slid open the miscellaneous drawer, snatched the folder on top, sticking it under his jacket.

Once home, Gray smacked the folder on the kitchen table. “Janie! Janie!”

“In the library.”

“Come here.”

While she walked down the hall he was already recounting what had transpired. “Let’s go over this now.”

“Yes.” Sister needed no prodding.

Gray pulled up a chair next to Sister. They opened the folder.

Golly hopped right onto it.
“I love paper,”
she purred.

“Golly, get off,” Sister commanded and, of course, the cat paid her no mind. “The things I do to keep peace in this house.”

Golly leapt off as Sister had gotten up to give her tiny dried-liver treats. The aroma brought the dogs; out came large GREENIES. The three pets chewed happily.

Sister sat back down, examining each page or newspaper clipping that Gray now handed her.

“A lot of stuff here on the Aga Khan. His breeding theories.” She looked over the next paper. “The racing stables of King Edward the Seventh.”

“Here you go.” Gray slid over a genetic blueprint for Dixie Do, Mercer’s hunt horse. “One of the Broad Creek Stables horses Phil called back from the western tracks.”

“Right, Dixie had one-fourth Quarter Horse blood. We don’t have any Quarter Horse tracks here, as you know. A very nice horse and”—she inhaled sharply—“back to Eclipse. Mercer knew! He knew if the DNA was what it was supposed to be, and you can trace male ancestors back a few centuries, he’d find Matchem. Dixie would go back to Matchem. He figured out that Navigator and Benny Glitters had been switched. Both were handsome bay horses much resembling each other.”

“But when did he know?” Gray looked to see if there was a date at the top of the page, tiny print along the top. “He knew Wednesday.”

“Let me call Ben.”

“Before you do, should we call Meg and Alan?”

“Not until we are 100 percent sure. There’s no point in creating uproar at Walnut Hall or worse, danger. A killer can board an airplane as easily as someone else and we don’t want to jeopardize anyone at Walnut Hall. We know he was here to kill Penny and Mercer. Let’s wait.”