CHAPTER 9

The vents whooshed out cooling air. As Sister plumped up pillows behind her so she could read, she was grateful she’d installed central air-conditioning ten years ago and she wondered why she’d been so stubborn about having it before.

Raleigh slept stretched out on the floor and Rooster was curled up in a nearby doggie bed. Doggie beds liberally dotted the house. Golliwog thought she’d read with Sister, so she sat next to her as Sister opened a recently published history of the Hapsburg Empire. She didn’t expect to find a mention of the sapphire, but she used the index to find the times Elizabeth’s name appeared. As this was a scholarly work the tone was dry. She picked up the notebook she always kept beside her bed on the nightstand and wrote down to find a good biography of the last empress of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

The phone rang at nine-fifteen, which meant it was an old friend. No one else dared call after nine in the evening since Sister retired early and rose before sunup.

It was Shaker, and he told her about Ralph’s squeamishness about seeing Nola’s grave while cubbing.

“Actually, Shaker, it probably isn’t a good idea to go over there. I’m glad you called my attention to it. How was Ralph?”

“Seemed a little jumpy.”

“He loved Nola.”

“I remember that was how I figured out Ron Haslip was gay—he didn’t have a crush on Nola.” Shaker laughed, mentioning a hunt club member they all liked who, after years of pretending otherwise, finally came out.

“Guess you’re right. A man would have to have been homosexual or dead not to have responded to her.”

“Xavier warned me that Crawford’s up to his tricks.”

“I’ll just bet he is.” She pressed her lips together. “Hey, it’s supposed to be bloody hot again tomorrow. Let’s not walk out hounds with horses. Tell Doug. We can start up day after tomorrow—six, six-thirty in the morning. Let’s try to beat the heat. Anyway, I could use tomorrow to catch up on my errands.”

Doug, as professional whipper-in, was responsible for the staff horses, so he needed to know the schedule change.

“One more day won’t hurt them.” Shaker meant the horses. “Do you want to walk out on foot in the evening?”

“Tell you what, let’s just give everyone a rest. I’ll call Betty. We could all use a day off.”

She hung up, then dialed Betty, who was madly clicking away on her channel surfer, furious that she and Bobby paid money for a satellite dish with 128 channels and there wasn’t one damn thing worth watching. Betty, too, was glad for a day off.

Sister then picked up her book again, but the pages soon blurred. She hadn’t realized how tired she was from working in the blistering heat all day. She turned out the light as Golly artfully arranged herself around Sister’s head.

“Golly, will you settle down.”

“Then stop hogging the pillow,” the cat complained, but she did stop wiggling.

The memory of Aunt Netty cutting a shine made Sister giggle. Then she thought about Alice’s distress and a pang of guilt shot through her for disliking Alice. She remembered that Guy’s nickname was Hotspur. She thought of Henry Hotspur, Sir Henry Percy, the bold supporter of Henry IV of England.

She opened her eyes. “Damn.”

“Now what’s the matter?” Golly shifted.

“Golly, will you stop crabbing?” Raleigh rolled over onto his other side.

Rooster, snoring, missed the exchange.

“When something pops into my head like that, it’s leading somewhere.” She sat upright, which irritated Golly. “Am I trolling the depths of my subconscious? Do I even have one? I ask you animals, is there a subconscious or is it a human invention? And if I have one, you have one. We aren’t that far apart.”

“Glad you recognize that.” Golly moved to the other pillow. She knew when Sister’s brain clicked on she’d be up and down half the night writing notes in her book.

“Gang, I don’t know about a subconscious, but I do know about memories. You either remember something or you don’t. Repressed memories are something lawyers use to get criminals off scot-free. But there is imagination. Indeed. And Henry Hotspur is riding right at me, right out of Shakespeare’s imagination and my own. I think he’s got a message. I hope I can figure it out.” She clicked on the light, making a few notes.

“Why do humans read?” Raleigh asked.

“To cure insomnia,” Golly replied.