The Tell-Tale Horse: A Novel by Rita Mae Brown (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Tell-Tale Horse by Rita Mae Brown "New York Times"-bestselling author Brown continues her popular Foxhunting series, as a cold-blooded killer threatens the life of Sister Jane. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Its February, prime foxhunting season for the members of Virginias Jefferson Hunt Club, when a shocking event alarms the community. A woman is found brutally murdered, stripped naked, and meticulously placed atop a horse statue outside a tack shop. The theft of a treasured foxhunting prize inside the store may be linked to the grisly scene, and everyone is on edge.With few clues to go on, "Sister" Jane Arnold, master of the Jefferson Hunt Club, uses her fine-tuned horse sense to try to solve the mystery of this "Lady Godiva" murder. But Sister isnt the only one equipped to sniff out the trail. The local foxes, horses, and hounds have their own theories on the whodunit. If only these peculiar humans could just listen to them, theyd see that the killer might be right under their oblivious noses–and that Sister could become the killers next victim. Praise for The Tell-Tale Horse:SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE BESTSELLER"[A] charming and engrossing series . . . Sister Jane Arnold is Master of the Foxhounds as well as one of the most entertaining amateur sleuths since those of Agatha Christie."–Booklist"Intriguing . . . Fans of the series will be fascinated with Janes evolution under Browns hand. With each book, Jane becomes more real–and more human–in the readers imagination."–Richmond Times-Dispatch"Grabs readers from the opening scene and gallops through to the very surprising end."–Horse Illustrated Author Biography Rita Mae Brown is the bestselling author of the Sneaky Pie Brown series; the Sister Jane series; A Nose for Justice and Murder Unleashed; Rubyfruit Jungle; In Her Day; and Six of One, as well as several other novels. An Emmy-nominated screenwriter and a poet, Brown lives in Afton, Virginia. Review Praise for Rita Mae BrownThe Hounds and the Fury"A genteel Virginia foxhunting club makes a delicious setting for murder. How pleasant to linger among the settees and brandy snifters waiting for the bodies to pile up!"–Memphis Commercial Appeal"An intriguing story."–Associated PressThe Hunt Ball"The hunt must go on, its grace and glory personified by the foxes, hounds and horses that provide these thrilling scenes with their on-the-ground perspective."–The New York Times Book Review"Score another triumph for Rita Mae Brown–and for Sister, who helps run another two-legged predator to ground."–Richmond Times-DispatchFull Cry"A great ride with heroine Sister Jane Arnold."–Pittsburgh Post-Gazette"A quality tale that is over all too soon."–Charleston Post and CourierHotspur"Dashing and vibrant . . . The reader will romp through the book like a hunter on a thoroughbred, never stopping for a meal or a nights sleep."–Publishers Weekly (starred review)"Brown combines her strengths–exploring southern families, manners, and rituals as well as the human-animal bond–to bring in a winner."–Booklist Review Quote Praise for Rita Mae Brown The Hounds and the Fury "A genteel Virginia foxhunting club makes a delicious setting for murder. How pleasant to linger among the settees and brandy snifters waiting for the bodies to pile up!" Memphis Commercial Appeal "An intriguing story." Associated Press The Hunt Ball "The hunt must go on, its grace and glory personified by the foxes, hounds and horses that provide these thrilling scenes with their on-the-ground perspective." The New York Times Book Review "Score another triumph for Rita Mae Brownand for Sister, who helps run another two-legged predator to ground." Richmond Times-Dispatch Full Cry "A great ride with heroine Sister Jane Arnold." Pittsburgh Post-Gazette "A quality tale that is over all too soon." Charleston Post and Courier Hotspur "Dashing and vibrant . . . The reader will romp through the book like a hunter on a thoroughbred, never stopping for a meal or a nights sleep." Publishers Weekly (starred review) "Brown combines her strengthsexploring southern families, manners, and rituals as well as the human-animal bondto bring in a winner." Booklist From the Hardcover edition. Excerpt from Book CHAPTER 1 Dots of brightness sparkled in the night from electric fairy lights shaped like tiny candles on the denuded dogwoods lining the driveway. Slashes of yellow light spilled onto deep snow from the high windows in the ballroom. The brick Georgian building had settled into the landscape over the years, so that people viewing this scene from outside might have thought themselves in the eighteenth century. The faint music would have put an end to that reverie. No Mozart, but everything else a hunt ball could wish. The swirl of elegant people inside added to the beauty of the scene. It was Saturday night, February 16, and the Casanova Hunt Ball was in full swing. Only stars and tiny glittering lights offered relief from the blackness of a new moon, and it was bitterly cold. Perhaps that, too, fed the frenetic energy inside, for the moon always pulls on humans whether visible or not. Jane "Sister" Arnold, Master of Foxhounds of the Jefferson Hunt, her escort, Gray Lorillard, and a large contingent of Jefferson members had come to the Casanova Hunt Ball. The two clubs enjoyed warm relations as well as a touch of competitiveness. The Jefferson Hunt members, whose own ball had been marred by a drunken scuffle and torn bodices, relaxed here. Surely nothing so tacky could happen at Casanova. Seated at the masters table were Bill and Joyce Fendley, joint masters of Casanova; their daughter, Jeanne Clark, now also a joint master; and her husband, John. Sister and Gray, Marion Maggiolo, and the entire Bancroft clan filled out the rest. Every table on the ballroom floor hosted at least one couple from JHC. Libations flowed, the dance floor was jammed, and Sister danced every dance as the gentlemen in attendance lined up to squire the master. Being Virginians, they performed this duty without thinking about it. No lady should ever sit out a dance unless she chooses to do so. Age, looks, and bloodline certainly improve a ladys chances of further engagements, but all belles have to be treated as great beauties. Its the custom. In Sisters case, the gentlemen truly enjoyed dancing with her. Seventy-three, a trim six feet, with shining silver hair and buoyant spirits, she had the gift of making a man feel like a man and she was a wonderful dancer. Joyce Fendley, passing her on the floor, called over her partners shoulder, "Dont you ever wear out?" Sister laughed. "If I did, I wouldnt tell you." As the music ended, High Vajay, head of the Vajay family and a stalwart of the Jefferson Hunt, held out his gloved hand for Sister. His family called him Lakshmi, but the Virginians, fearful of murdering his given name, had nicknamed him High. It suited him, for he was tall and reed-thin, with salt-and-pepper hair, a handsome man who reveled in the high life. His wife, Madhur, now Mandy, had been Miss Cosmos in 1990; at thirty-nine, her stunning beauty had only intensified with age. Their children, eight and ten years old, were tucked in bed at home, two hours southwest of Fauquier County, where everyone was gathered. "Master, you move like a panther," High purred. "Means I have claws." She smiled up at him, a pleasure for her since she often looked a bit down at a fellow. "Ive seen them." He held her tighter. He had, too; there were moments in the hunt field when she had to wield her power, lest a hound, horse, or human be endangered, usually in that order. After their waltz, High walked Sister back to her table, where she and Gray sat down at the same moment. The band took a break. "What a party." Gray grinned, his military mustache calling attention to his white teeth. "Anytime Im with you, darling, its a celebration." He kissed her on the cheek. For a year and a half theyd been keeping company, as Sisters generation politely called it. They drew closer each day, but neither one was prepared to say I love you. But they did love each other. In fact, many of the people in this room loved each other, but they may not have recognized the feeling. Americans focus on romantic love, particularly the pursuit stage, glossing over the sustaining bonds of friendship, a condition Sister often thought of as love made bearable. She enjoyed the members of her club and loved a few with all her heart. There were Tedi and Edward Bancroft, friends for most of her life. She loved Betty Franklin, her first whipper-in, a prized position and sometimes a dangerous one. Betty Franklin, in her forties, stood talking to a group of people while Bobby, her husband, returned from the bar with her tonic water and lime. Sister cast her eyes about the room and smiled, perhaps not realizing how very much she did care for many of those assembled but realizing she was happy: blissfully, rapturously happy. Marion Maggiolo, owner of Horse Country, the premier emporium for foxhunting needs and other equestrian pursuits, swept back to the table, her thick gray hair, once liver chestnut, offsetting her perfect complexion. No woman could look at Marion without envying her incredibly creamy skin. The rest wasnt bad either, for she knew how to put herself together, displaying the creative eye so evident in her store displays. Ladies may wear only black or white gowns to a hunt ball. Marions elegant white dress, clearly custom-made because it emphasized all of her best parts, was no exception tonight. "This ball is a triumph," Marion told Casanovas masters, now back at the table. Joyce, eyes sparkling, demurred. "We didnt do a bad job." Bill, square-jawed, draped his arm over his wifes back. "Joyce and the committee planned this better than the invasion of Iraq." "I dont wonder." Sister raised an eyebrow and the others laughed. Slinking under the weight of black bugle beads, Trudy Pontiakowski, chair of the ball, made her way to Sisters table. Her face, tight around the eyes and mouth, bore testimony to her determination to look young; the plastic surgeon did the rest. "Marion, no one is hopelessly inebriated. See?" She swept her hand to include the room. "Not yet, Trudy." Marion noted that Trudy herself was one drink away from the state she had just described. "You could have lent us Trigger. He would have been perfectly safe." Trigger was the life-sized horse that Marion and her staff rolled out in front of the store each morning, usually reversing the process at night. Joyce intervened. "Trudy, Triggers got an abscess." This made everyone laugh. Trudy, tipsy though she was, knew her master well enough to know this really meant, Shut up and leave Marion alone, so she left with a gracious nod. Marion leaned toward Joyce. "Thanks." Joyce waved her hand in dismissal. "Shes a great social organizer, but not always as tactful as one might wish." Sister laughed. "At least shes not a bulldozer." "Oh, well, we have a few of those, too," Bill noted. "How can people open their mouths without thinking? The stuff that falls out!" "Cost George Allen his Senate seat." Gray referred to a popular Republican Senator who lost his reelection bid in 2006 thanks to loose lips. "How do you keep from blurting out, Youre too dumb to have been born?" Sister asked Joyce. "Count to ten. Ten again." She added quickly, "Failing that, I do multiplication tables." "Wise." Sister sipped from her champagne flute. "I bite my tongue because I really want to say, You asshole." They all laughed. High returned with a portly middle-aged gentleman from Pune, a city two hours southeast of Mumbai, set amid rolling green hills, and addressed Sister. "Master Arnold, this is Kasmir Barbhaiya. He just arrived." He introduced Kasmir to Marion and the others. "So sorry to be late." Kasmir bowed. In white tie and gloves, his gold foxhead studs with ruby eyes twinkled. "Welcome to Casanova." Bill stood and shook hands. Kasmir, educated at Eton, Oxford, and finally MIT, spent a fortune on his clothes. Not only were they bespoke--specially made just for him--he patronized the same sartorial establishments as did the Prince of Wales. He and High had met at Oxford, their friendship ripening over the years until now they were as close as brothers. "I will repent of my tardiness by condensing pleasure in fewer hours." His dark eyes shone. As they left the masters, High looked over his shoulder to wink at Sister. "That High, hes cooking up something," Sister said, and winked back. Then she noticed Marion suddenly break into a forced social smile. Since Ilona Aldridge Merriman was approaching, she understood Marions frozen countenance. "Why, you Casanova darlins have outshone us, yes, you have, and I am so pleased to be here." Ilona deposited the Cristal shed been toting onto the center of the table. "How extravagant," Joyce murmured appreciatively. "Thank you, Ilona." Bill lost no time in motioning a waiter to uncork the liquid treasure. Two incredibly expensive facelifts over the decades did give Ilona a youthful appearance. Looks mattered to her perhaps more than to most women. She dieted with pathological precision, exercised religiously, and, to her great credit, hunted with abandon with Jefferson Hunt. Turning her light blue eyes to Marion, Ilona flashed her own false smile. "Those marvelous earrings set off your thick hair. I still cant believe you havent started to color your tresses, darlin. Your natural Details ISBN034550626X Short Title TELL TALE HORSE Language English ISBN-10 034550626X ISBN-13 9780345506269 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Illustrations Yes Year 2008 Publication Date 2008-09-30 Author Rita Mae Brown Residence Charlottesville, VA, US Birth 1944 DOI 10.1604/9780345506269 Series Number 6 Subtitle A Novel Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2008-09-30 NZ Release Date 2008-09-30 US Release Date 2008-09-30 UK Release Date 2008-09-30 Place of Publication New York Pages 320 Publisher Random House USA Inc Series "Sister" Jane Imprint Ballantine Books Inc. Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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