Free Fox Tracks by Rita Mae Brown Page A

the subject of tobacco. “Air-cured or fire-cured can affect nicotine content. I looked that up, too. I sure remember the fire-curing. Hey, did I tell you the fox we put to ground ran into the old curing shed at Kasmir’s property? Still gave off that wonderful fragrance. You know, that smoky sweet smell that makes you want to close your eyes and dream?” She caught her breath. “But back to the subject at hand: nothing about American Smokes.”
    “So you’ve been researching tobacco, types, curing, all that? May I ask why?”
    “Two murders occurred in tobacco shops, both with Cuban owners, no money was taken. All of this compels me in a strange way. I know this is really crazy but I almost feel I owe it to Adolfo Galdos. He was a true gentleman.”
    “Doesn’t sound strange. Events happen in life that galvanize our sense of honor. This is one.”
    “Don’t hear that word much anymore: honor.”
    He nodded. “When I walked over to take you back to the hotel, after the police released you and Tootie, they didn’t know if anything was missing from the humidor or the safe. Did they ever find out if anything had been taken?”
    “The paper said nothing. Same in Boston. I’ll bet the police, the Feds, good old Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms crawled all over those stories.”
    “It will all come out in the wash.”
    “I just hope no other bodies come out with it.” She looked out into the darkness. “Our first real winter storm.”
    “Want to make a bet on how long the power lasts?”
    “No.” She cut off her computer. “Let’s think good thoughts.”
    “Right. I stopped by the home place thinking I might see my brother. Thought Sam might have heard something about Crawford bitching about your tangle at the Hunt Ball. Sam wasn’t there, but the place was pin tidy.”
    Gray and his brother lived in the Lorillard home place, a lovely large clapboard house maybe four miles from Sister’s place as the crow flies, the Bancroft’s land coming between the two farms. Gray spent more and more time at Sister’s. Neither one mentioned living together. Gray liked getting away, keeping an eye on his brother. He soaked up memories when home. Sister enjoyed her independence, but she was equally happy when Gray stayed with her. Perhaps someday they’d cohabit. Sister was not a needy woman. She liked her own company.
    “Don’t you have to go to the bathroom?”
the calico cat asked the dogs.
    “Why?”
Rooster picked up his head.
    “Soon it’ll be bedtime. If you go now, you won’t have to go in the middle of the night.”
Golliwog feigned concern.
“It’s snowing hard. The dog door might be covered over and you won’t get out! If you end up going in the house, you know she’ll have a running fit.”
    The Doberman rose with a little groan.
“You’re right.”
    Eyes half-closed, Golliwog waited on the back of the sofa until she heard the dog door flap shut. Then she shot off the sofa.
    Sister turned her head as the cat sped toward the kitchen, but she didn’t think too much of it.
    Golliwog pressed through the animal door from the kitchen into the mudroom, then positioned herself right by the next animal door, cut into the mudroom entrance. The heavy plastic flap had a magnetic strip so when animals went in and out the door would fasten shut, thereby keeping out the heat, cold, rain, and snow.
    She waited. Given the bad weather, neither dog wished to be out in it, so it wasn’t too long before Raleigh stuck his head through the door to enter. Golliwog gave the sleek black dog a nasty rap on his tender nose.
    “That hurt!”
Raleigh cried out.
    “Die, dog!”
Golliwog puffed to twice her size, ego to match.
    “I’ll get in. I’ll break her neck,”
Rooster growled. Golly, having heard the threat, moved to the side. When Rooster stuck his head through, he didn’t see her at first, and out came the claws. Golly drew blood this time.
    “Ow, ow, ow!”
the harrier howled.
    Hearing the commotion, Sister