Mystery
![Rita Mae Brown - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000APFFSW.jpg)
Thrill of the Hunt: A Novel ("Sister" Jane)
A blackmailer targeting wealthy members of "Sister" Jane Arnold's club has turned the hunters into the hunted in this thrilling mystery from New York Times bestselling author Rita Mae Brown.
"Cunning foxes, sensible hounds, and sweet-tempered horses are among the sparkling conversationalists in this charming series."-The New York Times Book Review
It's the start of fox-hunting season and Sister is training a new generation of hounds in eager anticipation of Opening Hunt. But before they make it to that exciting day, several members of the hunt club receive ominous videos in which they appear to be doing scandalous, career-ending deeds. The videos are doctored, but does it matter? The unknown blackmailer promises to publish the clips if they don't get paid, and even the most upstanding citizen can be brought down by the court of public opinion.
While Sister and her friends try to unmask the dastardly mind behind the videos, mysteries abound in their beautiful Blue Ridge Mountain town home. Two men die, apparently by suicide, shocking a community that never saw their deaths coming. And rumors abound that Old Paradise, the estate being lovingly restored by Crawford Howard, houses a secret stash of gold from its original owner. Does someone want the treasure badly enough to kill for?
Sister and her fellow Jefferson Hunt Club members, including friends both two- and four-legged, are on the case-and with any luck, they'll catch the criminals before the first horn sounds on opening day.
"Cunning foxes, sensible hounds, and sweet-tempered horses are among the sparkling conversationalists in this charming series."-The New York Times Book Review
It's the start of fox-hunting season and Sister is training a new generation of hounds in eager anticipation of Opening Hunt. But before they make it to that exciting day, several members of the hunt club receive ominous videos in which they appear to be doing scandalous, career-ending deeds. The videos are doctored, but does it matter? The unknown blackmailer promises to publish the clips if they don't get paid, and even the most upstanding citizen can be brought down by the court of public opinion.
While Sister and her friends try to unmask the dastardly mind behind the videos, mysteries abound in their beautiful Blue Ridge Mountain town home. Two men die, apparently by suicide, shocking a community that never saw their deaths coming. And rumors abound that Old Paradise, the estate being lovingly restored by Crawford Howard, houses a secret stash of gold from its original owner. Does someone want the treasure badly enough to kill for?
Sister and her fellow Jefferson Hunt Club members, including friends both two- and four-legged, are on the case-and with any luck, they'll catch the criminals before the first horn sounds on opening day.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for the mysteries of Rita Mae Brown
Out of Hounds
"Jane ‘Sister' Arnold . . . and her friends are now in their sixties and early seventies, but they remain as spry as ever. . . . Animal lovers and those curious about the elite world of fox hunting will be rewarded."-Publishers Weekly
Scarlet Fever
"The richness of this novel rests in the varied characters. . . . The descriptions of the countryside are so vivid that it makes one want to take a trip there and bring your horse."-Mid-South Horse Review
Homeward Hound
"With deep and broad knowledge of the sport, the area and the people and animals who inhabit it, [Brown] infuses Homeward Hound-and the entire series-with unmatched authenticity, Southern charm, beloved characters and engaging storylines."-The Free Lance–Star
Crazy Like a Fox
"Without a doubt, Crazy Like a Fox is [Brown's] best mystery to date . . . and earns top marks for everything from plot to pace to charcters."-In & Around Horse Country
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
"Cunning foxes, sensible hounds and sweet-tempered horses are among the sparkling conversationalists in this charming series."-The New York Times Book Review
Out of Hounds
"Jane ‘Sister' Arnold . . . and her friends are now in their sixties and early seventies, but they remain as spry as ever. . . . Animal lovers and those curious about the elite world of fox hunting will be rewarded."-Publishers Weekly
Scarlet Fever
"The richness of this novel rests in the varied characters. . . . The descriptions of the countryside are so vivid that it makes one want to take a trip there and bring your horse."-Mid-South Horse Review
Homeward Hound
"With deep and broad knowledge of the sport, the area and the people and animals who inhabit it, [Brown] infuses Homeward Hound-and the entire series-with unmatched authenticity, Southern charm, beloved characters and engaging storylines."-The Free Lance–Star
Crazy Like a Fox
"Without a doubt, Crazy Like a Fox is [Brown's] best mystery to date . . . and earns top marks for everything from plot to pace to charcters."-In & Around Horse Country
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
"Cunning foxes, sensible hounds and sweet-tempered horses are among the sparkling conversationalists in this charming series."-The New York Times Book Review
Short Excerpt Teaser
CHAPTER 1
September 11, 2020, Friday
The bottom rim of the setting sun touched the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the golden light, like a veil, slid down over the western side of the ancient mountains.
Jane Arnold, "Sister," drove slowly north toward Chapel Crossroads. Raleigh, her Doberman, and Rooster, her harrier, looked out the back window, interested in all they passed.
To her left, commanding thousands of acres, reposed Old Paradise, an estate of uncommon beauty, begun in 1814. War, changes of fortune, Nature's good years and bad years, left their mark. Finally, the outbuildings and majestic home became a reduced treasure, rubble, really. The estate was being restored by Crawford Howard, a man of great wealth. At long last the house had walls, a roof, gorgeous marble steps up to the double doors. As so many drawings had been made of the impressive place, Crawford could revive Old Paradise close to its original state.
Stopping to admire the incredible palatial home, these slanting rays of the sun washed the Corinthian columns gold, then orange, lastly scarlet. The capital's acanthus leaves below the cornice now deepened from gold to scarlet, finally blood red. As the last of the light turned the capitals blood red, blood seemed to run down the tall, elegant, fluted columns.
Sister stopped, slightly shivered for a moment, then drove slowly toward the crossroads a quarter of a mile ahead. The simple church for which the crossroads was named at the beginning of the eighteenth century glowed in the sunset's aftermath, now a sugary blue fading to twilight's gray.
Old Paradise, once close to twenty thousand acres, now five thousand, remained impressive. The final touches to the interior were ongoing. All outbuildings had been restored. Crawford started there first, figuring his workers and the staff archaeologists could cut their teeth on these buildings, some as old as the house itself. The stable alone was extraordinary, as was the Carriage House, both finished in 1816. Apart from the wealth of Old Paradise, secure wealth for close to two centuries, finally frittered away, the estate displayed sensible layout, a true working farm with buildings intended to last centuries, which they did. Support beams, slate roofing, brick floors all held up. Wrought iron sagged off hinges for stalls, water troughs fell apart, but the core of those buildings stood firm. The DuCharmes, the family that owned it for those centuries, had a sense of elegance as well as pragmatism.
The founder of this extraordinary place was Sophie Marquette, a woman who stole from the British supply wagons during the War of 1812. As she was so divine-looking, officers babbled. She would show up in Maryland, or sometimes along the James River, ingratiating herself with the invaders. They had no idea, thinking the attacks on the supply wagons, the payroll, too, was the work of special army units among the Americans. Sophie was the mastermind of a small team. The woman made a howling fortune. After the war she put it to good use farming and endowing a private school for girls, Custis Hall. Eventually she did marry, picking a man for brains as well as brawn, Widmore DuCharme.
If she could see it now, she would believe she was home, except for the fact that there were cars, tractors, equipment she would have never seen. Flexible, quick to learn, Sophie would have figured it out.
Sister could never pass Old Paradise or wind up on those lovely acres without thinking of this remarkable woman. As much as she and Crawford could butt heads, she was grateful to him.
His research team, using ground-penetrating radar, found the slave graveyard, totally overgrown. They also found a smaller, seemingly disorganized scattering of bodies. They believe these were Monacans, a native tribe of Virginia who lived in the area. All was done by Crawford and Marty, his wife, to honor the deceased, giving credit as best they knew it for the lives and contributions of the deceased to this shimmering estate.
Many of the slate tombstones, restored, displayed the name of the deceased, birthdate, death date. Often a carving accompanied this. A cross, a lamb, a palm, perhaps a key or even a sphinx decorated the marker.
Sometimes the chased fox would rip through the cemetery. Sister would glance at the tombstones, telling herself one day she would try to figure out the symbol's relationship to the deceased. Given the demands of being a Master of Foxhounds, she had not gotten to that yet. She told h...
September 11, 2020, Friday
The bottom rim of the setting sun touched the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the golden light, like a veil, slid down over the western side of the ancient mountains.
Jane Arnold, "Sister," drove slowly north toward Chapel Crossroads. Raleigh, her Doberman, and Rooster, her harrier, looked out the back window, interested in all they passed.
To her left, commanding thousands of acres, reposed Old Paradise, an estate of uncommon beauty, begun in 1814. War, changes of fortune, Nature's good years and bad years, left their mark. Finally, the outbuildings and majestic home became a reduced treasure, rubble, really. The estate was being restored by Crawford Howard, a man of great wealth. At long last the house had walls, a roof, gorgeous marble steps up to the double doors. As so many drawings had been made of the impressive place, Crawford could revive Old Paradise close to its original state.
Stopping to admire the incredible palatial home, these slanting rays of the sun washed the Corinthian columns gold, then orange, lastly scarlet. The capital's acanthus leaves below the cornice now deepened from gold to scarlet, finally blood red. As the last of the light turned the capitals blood red, blood seemed to run down the tall, elegant, fluted columns.
Sister stopped, slightly shivered for a moment, then drove slowly toward the crossroads a quarter of a mile ahead. The simple church for which the crossroads was named at the beginning of the eighteenth century glowed in the sunset's aftermath, now a sugary blue fading to twilight's gray.
Old Paradise, once close to twenty thousand acres, now five thousand, remained impressive. The final touches to the interior were ongoing. All outbuildings had been restored. Crawford started there first, figuring his workers and the staff archaeologists could cut their teeth on these buildings, some as old as the house itself. The stable alone was extraordinary, as was the Carriage House, both finished in 1816. Apart from the wealth of Old Paradise, secure wealth for close to two centuries, finally frittered away, the estate displayed sensible layout, a true working farm with buildings intended to last centuries, which they did. Support beams, slate roofing, brick floors all held up. Wrought iron sagged off hinges for stalls, water troughs fell apart, but the core of those buildings stood firm. The DuCharmes, the family that owned it for those centuries, had a sense of elegance as well as pragmatism.
The founder of this extraordinary place was Sophie Marquette, a woman who stole from the British supply wagons during the War of 1812. As she was so divine-looking, officers babbled. She would show up in Maryland, or sometimes along the James River, ingratiating herself with the invaders. They had no idea, thinking the attacks on the supply wagons, the payroll, too, was the work of special army units among the Americans. Sophie was the mastermind of a small team. The woman made a howling fortune. After the war she put it to good use farming and endowing a private school for girls, Custis Hall. Eventually she did marry, picking a man for brains as well as brawn, Widmore DuCharme.
If she could see it now, she would believe she was home, except for the fact that there were cars, tractors, equipment she would have never seen. Flexible, quick to learn, Sophie would have figured it out.
Sister could never pass Old Paradise or wind up on those lovely acres without thinking of this remarkable woman. As much as she and Crawford could butt heads, she was grateful to him.
His research team, using ground-penetrating radar, found the slave graveyard, totally overgrown. They also found a smaller, seemingly disorganized scattering of bodies. They believe these were Monacans, a native tribe of Virginia who lived in the area. All was done by Crawford and Marty, his wife, to honor the deceased, giving credit as best they knew it for the lives and contributions of the deceased to this shimmering estate.
Many of the slate tombstones, restored, displayed the name of the deceased, birthdate, death date. Often a carving accompanied this. A cross, a lamb, a palm, perhaps a key or even a sphinx decorated the marker.
Sometimes the chased fox would rip through the cemetery. Sister would glance at the tombstones, telling herself one day she would try to figure out the symbol's relationship to the deceased. Given the demands of being a Master of Foxhounds, she had not gotten to that yet. She told h...
