Free The Hunt Ball by Rita Mae Brown

more given all that he raised for the school. It’s possible.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAs to the challenge idea. I can’t even imagine him challenging a dog.”
    â€œPeople can fool you.” He whistled low to Asa, an older hound, who had finished his breakfast.
    Asa walked over, put his head under Shaker’s hand.
“Isn’t it a good morning?”
    Sister smiled when Asa crooned. “You’re a gentleman, Asa.”
    â€œNow, Boss, your curiosity getting up, is it?”
    â€œIsn’t yours?”
    â€œSome.”
    â€œIn a community as tight as ours, any death touches the rest of us eventually. I’m afraid of what we don’t know.”

C H A P T E R   9
    â€œ W hen the Good Lord jerks your chain, you’re going.” Sam Lorillard brushed Easy Able, one of Crawford Howard’s steeplechase horses, a big rangy fellow who was winning the brush races.
    Rory Ackerman scrubbed down the wash stall with disinfectant. Sam, in charge of the ’chaser stable, was fanatical about cleanliness, although this sense of organization was not reflected in his own house. “I don’t know.”
    â€œThink about it,” the wiry African American said. “You die when you are supposed to die. Now, we can all be horrified at Perez’s murder, but if he didn’t die that way, he would have gone to glory another way. It was his time and no one can change that.”
    â€œThen how do you explain that I was just about dead when you hauled me down to Fellowship Hall? You saved my life.” Rory, an alcoholic like Sam, both recovering, thought fate no substitute for free will.
    â€œYou’d have stunk up heaven with Thunderbird. God prefers better fragrances.” Sam laughed, for Rory used to reek of cheap liquor.
    The square-built dark-haired man cut off the hose while he scrubbed the wash stall walls with a long-handled brush. “Whatever the reasons, I’m glad I’m still here and I’m glad Crawford hired me.”
    â€œHe’s a funny guy.” Sam ran both hands down Easy’s forelegs. “Doesn’t know squat about horses. Likes to make a big noise, you know, be the man, but he’s all right. He’s fair. How many of our fine-born Virginians would have given you or me a chance? He did.”
    â€œThat’s the point. He didn’t grow up with us.” Rory laughed as he turned the water back on, squirting down the yellowish foam on the walls.
    â€œWell—” Sam didn’t finish as Crawford strode into the barn.
    Inhaling the scent of cedar shavings, ground to a fine grade, Crawford rubbed his hands, for this Monday morning was overcast, quite cool. “Hell of a note.”
    â€œPerez?”
    He nodded his head, yes. “Charlotte’s called an emergency board meeting tonight. Ought to be interesting.”
    Rory, quiet, continued washing. Not a horseman, but he was strong, liked physical labor, happy to do whatever Sam told him. He watched Sam because he wanted to learn, not to ride, but to learn on the ground how to properly care for a horse.
    â€œWho do you think did it, Mr. Howard?” Sam politely asked.
    â€œDamned if I know. I can’t see that Alfonso Perez was worth hanging. Milktoast. A man’s got to have balls. This ‘the meek shall inherit the kingdom of heaven’ is exactly right because they won’t inherit a damned thing on earth.”
    â€œRight.” Sam stayed on the good side of Crawford by keeping most of his personal opinions to himself. He’d tell the boss what he thought about horses, tracks, running conditions, other trainers and horses but he kept his mouth shut otherwise, if possible.
    â€œUnless this emergency meeting goes into the wee smalls,” he meant late into the night, “I’m going to hunt tomorrow. Might not be a bad day to bring out a young horse.”
    â€œWhat time, sir?”
    â€œWe