Cry For The Fox (The Foxglove Corners Series Book 2) by Dorothy Bodoin

Author:Dorothy Bodoin [Bodoin, Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
Published: 2011-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

On the night I found Caroline’s body, I thought that I never wanted to see the fox trail again. The reality was that Silver Oak Road was one of my most frequently traveled routes. Time, rain, sunshine, and being in Crane’s company eventually formed an invisible barrier that separated me from that night.

One day I knew that I wanted to revisit the place where Caroline had lain in death. On the way home from school I stopped at a florist for an arrangement of asters and roses. Today I would lay all the ghosts to rest.

Caroline’s passing was strangely unmarked. From Crane I learned that there would be no memorial service for her. Thaddeus Basic had already claimed her body and arranged for the cremation. Major March had gone home to Colorado, leaving the disposition of the Fox’s Den and its inventory in the hands of a lawyer.

No one knew where Amy was. Emil Schiller had dropped out of sight on the night of the ball, and Nat might as well be invisible. Caroline’s nemesis, Alethea Venn, had chosen this week to travel to her second home in North Carolina. That left Brent Fowler. He was probably still around.

In life, Caroline had been surrounded by people. It didn’t seem possible that they had all melted into the background after her death. I suspected that the police considered Caroline’s murder an unsolved homicide and weren’t thinking about Sarah Jamieson at all.

Crane said, “They’ll keep the cases open. There’s nowhere to go with them now, but that could change anytime.”

Now I passed the horse farm with the three-board plank fence and soon found myself approaching the fox trail. When I was within walking distance, I pulled off the road and parked on the narrow, overgrown verge that bordered the woods.

Camille had told me that fox hunting took place on a regular basis all through the year, except in inclement weather. Some day soon, one sunny Saturday or lazy Sunday, the hounds would run this way in pursuit of the fox and cross over the last resting place of Caroline who had been a friend to fox and hound alike.

The torrential downpours that had pounded the earth earlier in the week had moved on to the east, leaving daily rain showers in their wake. Today’s gentle autumn drizzle was appropriate for a private memorial service. As I placed my bouquet on the trail, I said softly, “Rest in peace, Caroline.”

This was a lonely, desolate place. It would be easy to imagine Caroline’s spirit hovering near, hungering for revenge. As I tried to create another image of her, I thought of a poem that I’d read in English class when I was a student.

“Cry for joy in April, Cry for death in fall...”

Because I couldn’t remember the rest, I added my own words. Cry for all trapped and frightened little things, for Caroline herself, and for the fox who had lost his champion.

Tomorrow I would try to find the poem and retrieve the lost lines.

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