The Hounds and the Fury (9 page)

CHAPTER 12

T
he large silver commercial horse van pulled into Roughneck Farm at three in the afternoon.

Matador, who had passed his vetting with flying colors, stepped off the ramp, stopped, and took in his surroundings. Ears forward, eyes bright, beautifully conformed, he lowered his head when Sister held out her hand to him. She brushed his muzzle, then stroked his ears.

“Boss, he’s a beaut,” Shaker exclaimed.

“For his price he ought to be.” Sister smiled, but she, too, found the flea-bitten gray dazzling, flea-bitten referring to the brown flecks in the gray coat.

Horsin’ Around, one of the many good commercial haulers in the country, covering coast to coast, knew Sister and the farm.

“How’d he load, Hank?” she asked the driver.

“No problem. He’s a real nice horse.”

The staff horses in their various paddocks and pastures viewed the newcomer with curiosity.

Lafayette called out to him, “
Pretty is as pretty does.”

Matador turned his head toward the other gray in the barn, snorted, but said nothing. He figured he’d show them.

Keepsake, half thoroughbred and half quarter horse, a friendly guy, simply said,
“Good shoulder.”

“Good shoulder is one thing. He’d better damn well take care of our master.”
Rickyroo stared at the charismatic animal.

Aztec, youngest of Sister’s hunt horses, said,
“Sister Jane has been riding horses since she was four. I expect she knows a good one when she sees him.”
He paused for effect.
“After all, she picked us, didn’t she?”

Sister handed the cashier’s check to Hank with a fifty-dollar tip. She took the clipboard and signed the paperwork. “January 4. Already four days into the new year.”

“Time flies.” Hank took back the clipboard and thanked Sister for the tip.

Shaker was leading the new fellow into the barn as Hank pulled out.

Sam, in Gray’s Land Cruiser, came down the drive. He bounded into the barn. “Had to see ’im.”

“Well?” Sister raised an eyebrow.

Sam walked around him, stroked his neck, then stood behind as Shaker led him to his stall. “I liked him when I rode him. He really is your kind of horse. Bold.”

“Your word is dipped in platinum.” Sister dropped her arm around his shoulder.

Shaker closed the bottom half of the stall door. He leaned over the top half as Matador checked his surroundings.

“Well, I’m not hunting him until the footing improves. We’ll exercise him, but I do want to give him every chance to get settled and show his best.”

“How about some hot coffee, or what about hot chocolate?” Sister invited Sam into the house.

“Thanks, but I’m heading home. I’m going to work on the kitchen cabinets. Went in at six this morning. Rory and I are working all hours to get the hounds settled along with the other chores.”

As they walked outside to the car, Sister discreetly dug into her pocket for money. She’d gone to the bank earlier. “What are you doing with Gray’s pride and joy?”

“He wanted me to pick up distressed oak. He’s driving my wheels.” Sam smiled. “Hope the car lives long enough to get him home.”

As he slipped behind the wheel of the expensive SUV, Sister stuck five hundred dollars in the front of his coat. “There’s more coming.”

“For what?” Sam fished in his pocket to hand it back. She gently held his wrist. “Part of your finder’s fee. I appreciate you telling me about the horse, and, of course, I appreciate you keeping your brother from other women.”

He sighed. “If I don’t take the money you’ll send it to me as a check.”

“You got that right.”

He grinned. “Gray doesn’t know other women exist.”

“Oh la!” She rolled her eyes.

“While we’re on the subject, I’ll work for food. I’ll muck stalls, groom—I’ll recite poetry even, if there’s a woman out there who’d have me.”

“Funny, isn’t it, Sam? Time was when you trailed clouds of women. None of them did you much good.”

He quickly interjected, “I didn’t do them much good, either.”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other. There’s a lid for every pot. Look at Shaker.”

“Lucky man.”

“Be patient.”

As Sam drove off, Sister hurried back into the stable to admire Matador. “Well, let’s bring these other actors inside.”

As she and Shaker led in the other horses they talked about Thursday’s draw, who to take. The sun touched the horizon. They were glad to be with the horses and one another.

This was not the case at Aluminum Manufacturers. Iffy, buried in paperwork for Farmers Trust, grimaced each time Gray passed her door.

Each time Gray asked her for information, she gloried in retarding his efforts.

She’d erupt, sulk, and use her cane to stomp around, eventually complying with Gray’s request.

She left the office at five. Damned if she’d work late.

No sooner had she passed through her back door when the phone rang. “Hello. Garvey, what do you want?”

“Hate to call you at home, but Sonny called after you left.”

“It was five. Quitting time.” She glowered.

“I’m fine with that. But why I’m calling you at home is because someone must have told the state president of the bank that we were performing an internal audit. He told Sonny to hold approval until Gray finished the audit.”

“Bullshit.” She exploded. “Sonny is president of Farmers Trust for our region. He has the power to make the loan.”

“Sonny’s madder than hell. Look, we’ve got to speed up this audit.”

“Why can’t Sonny face down the Big Prez in Henrico County?”

“You know, Iffy, once banks started merging, once computers replaced people who actually knew their community, it all changed. If the economy were up, I expect Sonny wouldn’t have heard a word. But interest rates are rising; the Dow is falling. You know the rest of the story. The banks are nervous.”

“I’ll talk to Sonny. No, let me just take him what I’ve done so far. We’re rock solid. I resent this.”

“I do, too.” Garvey thought a minute. “Let me handle Sonny. If you worked with Gray, how quickly could you two finish the audit?”

“I can’t work with Gray. I’m your treasurer. If I work with him that could be construed as a conflict of interest. There goes the enhanced line of credit.”

Garvey exhaled a long sigh. “Of course, it would. I don’t know where my head is.”

“Have you spoken to Gray?”

“Yes. He suggested I hire Freddie Thomas, another independent, to work with him. Even with Freddie they’ll be pushing to get it done by next week.” He sighed, irritated and worried. “The devil is in the details.”

“Always is. Is Gray still there?”

“Just left. He said his mind is tired. He’s going to be coming in at seven-thirty, and he’ll work until five.”

“Who ratted to the big president?”

“No idea.” He thought it funny that she said “ratted.”

“Why would someone call the president of Farmers Trust about us?”

“Our audit isn’t a deep dark secret. I doubt anyone called. Sonny probably mentioned it to his staff or at a meeting in Richmond. I doubt he expected this complication.”

“Rotten timing.” She took a breath, then exhaled. “There will be small discrepancies, Garvey. I mean
small.
It’s a bitch to get it to the penny. If you’d kept Gray out of this, forgotten the audit idea, you’d have had the loan the first day of business this year, I swear. I could have finished up the paperwork in a hurry before Sonny could blow his nose.” She paused again. “Turn in our last tax return. It will give Sonny and company something to read. When Gray finishes, they can compare the two. I don’t want this to drag out any more than you do. Of course, we haven’t done last year’s income tax returns. No one has. To be safe, I’ll turn in the prior three years’ returns. That’s a start.”

“Thanks, Iffy.”

On the drive home, Gray’s teeth rattled. The shocks in Sam’s rattletrap were that bad. The checking of invoices against services and goods received must be thoroughly done.

Iffy approved invoices for payment. Although he’d just begun this task, he noted that Aluminum Manufacturing had poor internal control. He suspected as much. He observed that any purchase or service over ten thousand dollars carried Garvey’s initials. Iffy could approve anything under that sum.

Iffy prepared the checks and signed them.

A quick study, he felt that by tomorrow’s end he would have some sense of regular monthly payments and services.

All businesses exhibited a pattern.

He was reviewing this when he pulled into the drive, now hard-packed snow. Sam wasn’t home, which surprised him.

He was even more surprised when Ben Sidell called him. Sam had been shot coming home from the lumberyard and had veered off the road, totaling the Land Cruiser. But Sam was alive.

CHAPTER 13

T
here should be a reality show, thought Gray, where interior decorators compete to see who can put together a hospital room that doesn’t make one gag. Bad enough to be injured or sick. Worse to be flopped in a bed, an ungainly TV jutting out overhead.

Gray sat beside his brother. Odd to be once again at Sam’s side, but this time Sam wasn’t suffering from the DTs, screaming his head off. Sister, called by Walter about the same time Ben Sidell had called Gray, had hurried down to the hospital.

Sister sat beside Gray while Walter stood at the end of the bed.

Sam had been conscious during the entire ordeal. At the sight of his brother, the first words out of his mouth were “I didn’t touch a drop.”

Walter simply nodded slightly when Sister glanced at her joint-master. “He was lucky. The bullet passed through his shoulder. It entered from the front, passed through the back just under his scapula, nicked his rib, and broke it. Lower, and the damn thing would’ve blown out his heart.”

“Did you see who shot you?” Gray reached for his brother’s hand.

“No. I came around the curve at Soldier Road, just before Roger’s Corner. Next thing I knew, I heard a pop, something hit me, and the windshield crinkled into a thousand tiny pieces.” He blinked in rapid succession for a few seconds. “It took a minute for me to know I’d been shot. It kind of delayed the pain, I mean.”

“Thank God for safety glass, or you’d be cut up.” Sister cared deeply for Sam.

“Hope it was the last of the deer hunters. Thought I’d put most of my enemies behind me.” He smiled ruefully. He sat up, winced, dropped back. “Car’s trashed. I…”

Gray butted in. “I don’t care about the car.”

Walter smiled. “That’s what insurance companies are for.”

Gray murmured, “Well, brother, what else is tore up?”

“Knee.”

Walter spoke reassuringly, “The patella’s fine, bruised. We can drain the fluid off. Sam wasn’t eager to allow any procedures done to his perfect body,” Walter remarked with humor. “But Sam, your knee will swell even more. Let’s take care of it. The needle feels like a big hornet sting, but it doesn’t last long.”

“It’ll go down.” Sam was defiant.

“Sam, trust me. Drain the knee now. I can understand you feel you’ve had enough for one night, but the knee will hurt worse than your broken rib.”

“Do like he says.” Gray squeezed Sam’s hand.

“Birds in your hand,” Sam said sharply.

“Sorry.” Gray released the pressure.

“What?” Walter didn’t understand.

“When we were kids, Peter Wheeler used to tell us when we’d hold the reins too tightly, ‘Little birds in your hands. Don’t squeeze them to death.’”

“I can ride with a bum knee. Plenty of people do.”

“Yes, you can.” Walter smiled at Sam. “Running will hurt. And if you jump, landing will be a bitch. Sooner or later, Sam, you’ll need to have the knee scoped. It’s probably a torn ACL.”

“It can wait.”

“It can, but since you have your brother here and Sister, come on—let’s drain the knee.”

Sam sank deeper into the pillow. He didn’t want to look like a chicken. Truth was he hurt, he was shaken, and he hated needles. On the other hand, get it over with, because Walter wasn’t going to give up.

“All right,” Sam grimly agreed.

“Be back in a minute.” Walter walked out to the nurses’ station, had them call Margaret DuCharme, and apprised her of the situation.

Within five minutes she arrived, along with a thin nurse who carried a porcelain kidney-shaped bowl. A long, long needle was in the bowl with a towel over it. She also carried a small packet of ice in a padded circle that would conform to the knee.

“Can you sit up and dangle your legs over the side of the bed?” Margaret asked. “I’ll put a chair under your feet, if you need it.”

Gray helped Sam sit upright.

The bullet’s path stung, his rib ached, and his knee throbbed. He closed his eyes.

“I’ve seen worse,” Margaret said reassuringly.

“Dr. DuCharme, I don’t want to cuss,” Sam said, which made her laugh.

“I don’t either. This won’t be the worst pain you’ve ever felt, Sam, but you will feel it. I’m going to stick this needle in and draw off the fluid. Then we’ll pack this ice band around your knee. You’ll be surprised at how quickly you’ll feel relief. Ready?”

Sister stood to the side, placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder. Not squeamish, she was nonetheless glad that long needle wasn’t being plunged into her knee.

Sam stiffened.

As Walter and Margaret promised, it was over in a minute.

Both doctors looked at the clear light yellowish fluid. Some blood was in it, which they know was consistent with a torn ligament.

The nurse wiggled the ice bracelet up to his knee. “There you go.”

“That’s it?” Sam’s cheeks sported a gray tinge.

“That’s it,” Margaret smiled. “I’ll check on you tomorrow. You’re tough as nails, Sam Lorillard. Always were.”

“Family trait,” Gray said as he and Walter helped Sam swivel back to rest on the pillow.

“Sam, I know you don’t like drugs, but that wound is going to throb. Your knee shouldn’t hurt as much as it did before draining. Let me give you a mild sedative. You need a good night’s sleep.” Walter’s deep voice soothed.

“No. No drugs.” Sam pressed his lips together.

“Sam, you aren’t going to get hooked. We monitor those things,” Walter reassured him.

“With all due respect, Walter, my body chemistry…well, let’s just say if there’s any kind of downer, booze, or narcotic, I crave it. I fought too hard to get where I am. I’d rather deal with the pain.”

“Can he take aspirin?” Sister asked.

“Yes.” Walter admired Sam’s desire to stay straight, although he felt he could control the situation.

As Margaret reached the door Jason Woods walked in. There was a moment, a slight tension, as they acknowledged one another. Margaret left and Jason entered.

“Sam, heard you escaped an invitation to heaven,” he joked.

“Might have been the other place.” The exhaustion had begun to show on Sam.

“Very possible.” Jason smiled, then spoke to Gray. “He has friends here, Gray. He’ll be all right. Why don’t you go home?”

“No, I’ll spend the night.”

“We’d like to keep him for at least two days, but I expect we’ll be lucky if we can keep him for one.” Walter resigned himself to Sam’s determination.

Sister kissed Sam on the cheek as he nodded off. She kissed Gray. “Can I bring anything back for you?”

“No thanks.” Gray kissed her again. “We’ll both be up and out of here come morning. I’ll be fine. You go on home. I’ll call Crawford about this so that’s taken care of.”

She walked outside with the two doctors.

“What a crazy damn thing,” Jason murmured.

“Yes.” Walter motioned for Sister to wait a moment as Jason returned to his rounds.

Walter leaned against the wall. “Sam got any old enemies left?”

“I don’t know, I expect.”

“The path of the bullet doesn’t lead me to believe it was a stray shot. Someone waited by the road and fired right when he came round.”

“He was in Gray’s car. Maybe they wanted to kill Gray.” Sister felt a ripple of fear pass through her as she leveled her eyes on Walter’s.

“Jesus.”

“We need Him now.”