The Hunt Ball by Rita Mae Brown Page A

moon rose behind the stage constructed for the band.
    Outside, the darkness contrasted with the false moon inside the Great Hall. Betty and Bobby as well as Crawford and Marty left at ten-thirty, bidding Zorro, who guarded the front doors, good-bye. The kids would dance until midnight, then load up on school buses, go to Hangman’s Ridge, then back to the dorms after an hour there.
    The Miller School boys were dazzled by the technical display.
    At midnight, the sconces were extinguished. The spider’s eyes glowed in the blackness. She slid down to the center of the web, and from her silkjets came a stream of little sparkly flashlights, which clattered to the floor. The girls who built all this picked them up first and turned them on. Tiny blue lights, red lights, white lights beamed. The other students, now down on their hands and knees, scooped up the lights. Dots of light danced as the spider moved back up to the corner, the witches flew about one last time, jack-o’-lanterns cackled, and the ghosts groaned.
    Charlotte and her husband, Carter, stood by the doors to send the revelers off while Bunny Taliaferro and Bill Wheatley rounded them up. Al Perez and Amy Childers, squabbling at low volume, shepherded everyone out to the parking lot.
    School buses painted in school colors awaited the kids. The Custis Hall bus was parked immediately behind the Miller School bus. Bill Wheatley was already on the Custis Hall bus.
    â€œHoney, I should be home by one-thirty,” Charlotte said as she kissed Carter on the cheek.
    â€œOh, what the heck, I’ll go with you.” He grabbed her hand, and they walked to the station wagon as Zorro waved and sprinted by to his car.
    As Charlotte settled behind the driver’s seat, she leaned over, kissing Carter on the check. “Thanks, honey.”
    She turned on the motor and slowly backed out. As they drove out the winding, tree-lined road they noticed Zorro walking in the opposite direction.
    â€œAl must have forgotten something,” Charlotte smiled. “If he ever lost his Palm Pilot he wouldn’t know his own name. As it is, he usually forgets something. Makes me laugh. At least he can laugh about it, too.”
    They glided through the large stone gates, turning onto the state road. Within five minutes they’d turn onto Soldier Road.
    Given the darkness of the night and the few cars in front of them it took twenty minutes to reach Hangman’s Ridge from the Soldier Road side. The dark, dank mists hung in the lowlands, covering the last wild roses of the year. Cumulus clouds, gathering in the west, were moving toward the ridge.
    â€œSister said she’d clean up the bushes on this old road off Soldier Road.” Charlotte held the steering wheel firmly as they bounced in the ruts. “She’s a good sport about this. We didn’t want to come in from the other direction. We’d disturb the hounds.”
    â€œBet the boys have the usual—spaghetti in pots masquerading as brains, grapes as eyeballs. The boys aren’t as imaginative as the girls. Course, they might surprise me.” Carter watched the clouds move in swiftly, black against black.
    â€œGuts, gore, screams,” Charlotte laughed.
    Carter peered up at the sky. “You know, honey, I really do think the damned ridge is haunted.”
    â€œIt will be tonight,” she agreed.
    Inky, on the far side of the ridge, heard the school buses laboring to climb up the twisting dirt road. Usually she avoided Hangman’s Ridge, but the grinding of gears intrigued her. Who could be negotiating that road this time of night?
    As the black fox picked her way through the underbrush, she felt a dip in temperature, a bit of breeze from the west. Hangman’s Ridge ran southeast to northwest and winds would rake its long flat expanse.
    The girls jostled behind the boys’ bus.
    â€œHow did women wear these things?” Tootie kicked up her skirt. She was dressed as