The Hunt Ball by Rita Mae Brown Page B

Madame du Barry and made a note never to do that again.
    Valentina looked sleek in her Catwoman outfit and Felicity settled on being a witch.
    Pamela, two rows back, as Little Bo Beep, touched Tootie on the shoulder with her shepherd’s crook. “You’ll answer to me, you little black sheep.”
    Her devotees giggled.
    Bill, sitting behind the driver, was unaware of the exchange.
    â€œYou’re so tiring,” Tootie called back.
    â€œYou’re so chicken,” Pamela replied.
    â€œShove it.” Valentina, next to Tootie, turned around, speaking over Felicity, immediately behind them.
    The buses finally made it to the top, cars behind them. The boys poured out first, darting to the girls’ bus.
    â€œClose your eyes!” Terry Durkin, one of the leaders, told them. There was no need to close their eyes as they were plunged into unrelieved darkness. Charlotte and Carter parked behind the Custis Hall bus. Amy parked behind them. Knute pulled up behind Amy.
    As the girls approached the tree they began to peek and turned on their little sparkly flashlights from the black widow.
    Felicity screamed as she drew closer. All the girls opened their eyes and screamed at the sight of two corpses hanging from the tree. One was dressed as Lawrence Pollard, the first man hung, in 1702, because of a real estate swindle. The other corpse was dressed as Zorro, wearing the mask.
    Only Tootie refused to scream. “Mannequins.”
    Valentina peered up. “Yeah.”
    Felicity remained frightened. “Zorro looks real.”
    â€œOh, he does not,” Valentina said. “You are so—”
    â€œWho strung up the second victim?” Terry asked another boy, who shrugged.
    Tootie walked under the corpses, followed by Valentina. They pressed their tiny lights upward. The Miller School chaperones assumed the boys had gilded the lily. The boys also assumed one of their number had done so.
    Inky stuck her glossy head out from under the mountain laurel. She was fifty yards from the huge tree. The effluvia of a freshly hung human assailed her nostrils. Fresh death. The small muscles that go into rigor mortis first hadn’t even tightened up.
    Tootie, directly underneath, could smell him, too. She gazed up into bloodshot eyes bulging through the openings in the silk mask. This was no fake.

C H A P T E R   7
    D elia delivered seven healthy puppies. Sister had fallen asleep sitting on a low chair next to the brood box; a long heat lamp, overhead, glowing with dimmed light.
    The dog hounds gave cry when the first screams were heard flying down from Hangman’s Ridge like an arrow of fear.
    Sister opened an eye, then closed it again, smiling. She imagined the girls spooked up on the ridge, the Miller School boys proud of their accomplishment. The next set of screams aroused the gyps sleeping out in the toasty large boxes on stilts in the large runs. The boxes had porches, the interiors filled with fresh straw. All the outdoor runs, dotted with spreading old trees, provided room to play or sleep. Younger hounds lived inside the main brick kennels. The arrangement gave each hound plenty of personal space so tempers didn’t flare from overcrowding.
    The continued screams awakened everyone.
    Again Sister opened an eye, sighed, then opened both eyes. The sound of two sirens in the far distance presaged something terribly wrong. She patted Delia on the head, hurried to the small bathroom off the office, splashed water on her face, dashed outside, hopped into her pickup, and drove up Hangman’s Ridge.
    She reached the back side of the ridge just as the sheriff’s squad car crested the Soldier Road side. The blue lights washed over the two hanging corpses. She knew immediately that one of the hanged men was real. Swaying slightly, his back to her, the angle of his neck gave it away. The young people, some crying, stood at their respective buses, the chaperones attempting