Free The Hunt Ball by Rita Mae Brown Page B

know, Charlotte, that you and Knute have already taken measures—is we must hire additional security. It will greatly help all, even ourselves, to see a protective presence until this dreadful thing is behind us. Our campus police are too few in number.” Diplomatically, he did not mention that the campus police were not up to the job.
    Knute spoke up, “We’ve hired Abattis Security and Jack has oriented them, given them maps, whatever they need. They are already on the job.”
    â€œStrong beginning,” Crawford said as he folded his hands. “Charlotte, I want to congratulate you on how you handled the television interviews. Being able to present yourself is an advantage. It’s print reporters like Greg Baghout who ought to be horsewhipped. His article in the paper was inflammatory, irresponsible. He insinuated that Al’s murder is connected to the issue of slavery in Custis Hall’s heritage. He’s a menace.”
    â€œMenace he may be, but until more facts are brought to light, menace he will continue to be.” Alpha Rawnsley, wise, watchful, and now worried, carefully chose her words.
    A silence followed. Charlotte asked almost plaintively, “Does anyone here have any idea how this could happen? What is going on?”
    â€œI can tell you what is going on,” Knute, face now red, said. “Someone hated Al.”
    â€œOr hates Custis Hall,” Amy Childers replied. “Wants to make us look racist.” When everyone stared at her, she added, “He was Latino, you know. We’re in the middle of this, um, slave labor stuff.”
    Charlotte looked at the attractive science teacher and thought how nine years ago, when she became headmistress, Amy had been a fresh, enthusiastic woman eager for life. She was turning into an embittered woman, entering the lists of early middle age.
    â€œFor God’s sake!” Knute threw up his hands. “That’s far-fetched.”
    â€œWe do represent the old WASP ways,” Bill intoned.
    â€œWe have the best diversity program on the East Coast”—the color rose to Charlotte’s cheeks—“second to none.”
    â€œBut not in terms of faculty hiring,” Amy bluntly stated.
    Sister, her voice deep, soothing, finally spoke. “Stereotypes die hard: the money-grubbing Jew, the lazy black, the Mafia-connected Italian, the sex-crazed homosexual. Even though this institution has reached out to the community, done a wonderful job of attracting the best students of all races, the general perception is still that Custis Hall serves rich, spoiled white girls who will go on to Mt. Holyoke. Sorry, Alpha,” she nodded to Alpha, a Mt. Holyoke graduate from the early 1970s, “Smith, Radcliffe, Wellesley, and marry a rich white boy from Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth. Now, untrue as that stereotype may be, I doubt it is cause for murder. And I doubt the lack of Hispanics or a better proportion of African Americans on the faculty or administration is cause for murder.”
    â€œWell, what then?” Amy was upset, shaken, and frustrated.
    â€œOne kills out of passion, greed, or self-protection. Normal people kill. Abnormal people hear voices or whatever and they kill for quite different reasons, it seems to me. Hanging Al Perez from Hangman’s Tree, if you think about it, was brilliant.” Sister held up her hand to forestall comments. “It’s hard to give credit to such a repulsive act when everyone is grieving, but here we are focusing on the repercussions of that act. A great deal of energy and money will be spent to calm students, parents, and the faculty. The killer has us all focused, worried. I have learned from my quarry, the fox, that things are not always what they seem. Al’s killer has distracted us from his scent.”
    â€œWhat exactly do you mean?” Bill leaned forward, eyebrows quizzically raised, since he hunted when he