Hotspur ("Sister" Jane, Band 2) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

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.

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In her well-received novel "Outfoxed, Rita Mae Brown vividly and deftly brought to life the genteel world of foxhunting, where hunters, horses, hounds, and foxes form a tightly knit community amidst old money and simmering conflicts. With "Hotspur, we return to the Southern chase-and to a hunt on the trail of a murderer.
Jane "Sister" Arnold may be in her seventies, but she shows no signs of losing her love for the Hunt. As Master of the prestigious Jefferson Hunt Club in a well-heeled Virginia Blue Ridge Mountain town, she is the most powerful and revered woman in the county. She can assess the true merits of a man or a horse with uncanny skill. In short, Sister Jane is not easily duped.
When the skeleton of Nola Bancroft, still wearing an exquisite sapphire ring on her finger, is unearthed, it brings back a twenty-one year old mystery. Beautiful Nola was a girl who had more male admirers than her family had money, which was certainly quite a feat. In a world where a woman's ability to ride was considered one of her most important social graces, Nola was queen of the stable. She had a weakness for men, and her tastes often ventured towards the inappropriate, like the sheriff's striking son, Guy Ramy. But even Guy couldn't keep her eyes from wandering.
When Nola and Guy disappeared on the Hunt's ceremonial first day of cubbing more than two decades ago, everyone assumed one of two things: Guy and Nola eloped to escape her family's disapproval; or Guy killed Nola in a jealous rage and vanished. But Sister Jane had never bought either of those theories.
Sister knows that all the players are probably still in place, the old feuds haven't died, and the sparks that led to along-ago murder could flare up at any time.
"Hotspur brings all of Rita Mae Brown's storytelling gifts to the fore. It's a tale of Southern small-town manners and rituals, a compelling and intricate murder mystery, and a look at the human/animal relationship in all its complexity and charm.

"From the Hardcover edition.

Aus dem Klappentext

In her well-received novel Outfoxed, Rita Mae Brown vividly and deftly brought to life the genteel world of foxhunting, where hunters, horses, hounds, and foxes form a tightly knit community amidst old money and simmering conflicts. With Hotspur, we return to the Southern chase and to a hunt on the trail of a murderer.

Jane Sister Arnold may be in her seventies, but she shows no signs of losing her love for the Hunt. As Master of the prestigious Jefferson Hunt Club in a well-heeled Virginia Blue Ridge Mountain town, she is the most powerful and revered woman in the county. She can assess the true merits of a man or a horse with uncanny skill. In short, Sister Jane is not easily duped.

When the skeleton of Nola Bancroft, still wearing an exquisite sapphire ring on her finger, is unearthed, it brings back a twenty-one year old mystery. Beautiful Nola was a girl who had more male admirers than her family had money, which was certainly quite a feat. In a world where a woman s ability to ride was considered one of her most important social graces, Nola was queen of the stable. She had a weakness for men, and her tastes often ventured towards the inappropriate, like the sheriff s striking son, Guy Ramy. But even Guy couldn t keep her eyes from wandering.

When Nola and Guy disappeared on the Hunt s ceremonial first day of cubbing more than two decades ago, everyone assumed one of two things: Guy and Nola eloped to escape her family s disapproval; or Guy killed Nola in a jealous rage and vanished. But Sister Jane had never bought either of those theories.
Sister knows that all the players are probably still in place, the old feuds haven t died, and the sparks that led to a long-ago murder could flare up at any time.

Hotspur brings all of Rita Mae Brown s storytelling gifts to the fore. It s a tale of Southern small-town manners and rituals, a compelling and intricate murder mystery, and a look at the human/animal relationship in all its complexity and charm.


From the Hardcover edition.

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A wind devil swirled upward, sending tiny bits of stone dust glittering in the sunlight.

Even though it was the fourteenth of July, the morning proved breezy and quite pleasant at sixty-one degrees.

The staff and friends of the Jefferson Hunt were walking out hounds. Since it was seven-thirty in the morning, "dedicated friends" was perhaps a more accurate term, Sister thought to herself. The master, Jane Arnold, called Sister by all, walked behind her pack. The huntsman, Shaker Crown, a medium-build fellow, strode in front of the hounds.

Two whippers-in, Doug Kinser and Betty Franklin, flanked either side of the pack, and the dedicated friends, two this morning, tagged behind the master.

This two-mile walk down a crushed gravel road served to exercise hounds and to introduce the young entry, those hounds that would be hunting this fall for the first time, to the ways of the pack. As the summer progressed and the length of the walks became longer, fat melted off the human bodies. People looked healthier, more fit.

It amused Sister that millions of Americans, overweight and overfed, emptied their pockets on one fad diet after another. If they'd only make it a habit to walk out hounds they'd lose the pounds, save their money, and experience the most beautiful time of the day.

On any given morning, Sister saw bluebirds, indigo buntings, goldfinches, cardinals, robins, ravens, and hawks roaring over in search of breakfast-or maybe just a good time.

Rabbits, moles, shrews, even wild little sleek minks rustled in the meadows off the roadside.

Safe in the trees, cicadas, their Winston Churchill eyes surveying all, sang with deafening exuberance.

Clouds of black and yellow butterflies swirled up from the cow patties and horse patties dotting the verdant pastures of After All Farm, the glorious estate of Theodora and Edward Bancroft. Gleaming white fences, painted every two years, divided the pastures, and each fence line boasted a lovely coop or stone jump. Theodora, called Tedi, delighted in designing jumps and set them perfectly. Building the jumps seemed to give the wealthy but directionless woman something like a purpose in life.

As the small group walked briskly past the western pastures of After All, three old pensioners lifted their wise heads. Peppermint, the oldest at thirty-four, had taught two generations of Bancrofts to hunt.

From the other side of the pasture he nickered in acknowledgment of the humans and hounds he knew so well. Behind him Domino and Merry Andrew also stopped munching for a moment. In the background a pristine covered bridge crossed over Snake Creek. Tedi had built it in the heat of one of her architectural enthusiasms back in 1981.

"Hello, old man," Sister called, waving to the gray horse.

"Good to see you, too," Peppermint answered before turning to drink deeply from the creek.

"Good horse never forgets the pack or the master," Shaker called over his shoulder.

"Indeed," Betty Franklin agreed with a smile. She was the happiest she'd ever been in her life. She'd lost twenty-five pounds and felt like a teenager again.

Cora, the head bitch, gaily walked in front, and the young entry following tried to imitate their leader. The second-year hounds acted like the sophomores they were. Truly "wise idiots," they at least knew better than to float out of the pack.

As they walked, the hounds kicked up little puffs of gravel dust. Inquisitive grasshoppers flew tantalizingly close to their black moist noses, darting away in the nick of time.

Raleigh, Sister's devoted Doberman, flattened his ears to block out the din of the hounds. He considered himself hunt staff and if a youngster strayed from the group Raleigh pushed him back in before a human could react. Hounds, like humans, thought the better of getting into an argument with a Doberman.

Dr. Walter Lungrun, young, blond, and athletic, was walking next to Bobby Franklin, who was huffing and puffing.

"Goddamn that Betty," Bobby said, cursing his wife loudly. "Told me if I don't do hound walk and lose fifty pounds she's going to divorce me."

"She won't have to divorce you, you'll die first!" Sister called back to him.

"Probably why she wants you on these morning jaunts, Bobby. She'll inherit your enormous wealth," Walter added, knowing quite well that Bobby and Betty both worked like dogs at Franklin Printing and weren't amassing any great fortune for it.

"You notice I only drag my ass out when I know you're going to be here, Doc. If I grab my chest, you'll know what to do." Bobby winked.

Sister noticed a hound's head come up, drawn by an enticing aroma lifting off the meadows.

"Nellie, settle," Sister quietly said, and Nellie dispelled her brief notion of making a wild break for the rising fox scent.

They walked and chatted for another half mile, then returned home by the route they had come.

At the covered bridge, Shaker noticed Peppermint stretched out by the creekside. Eyes sharp, he turned to face his pack. "Hold up."

The hounds stopped.

"What's up?" Betty asked as she pushed a stray lock of blonde hair off her forehead.

"Walter, go over there and check on Peppermint, will you?" Shaker called back to the physician.

Walter, a former star halfback at Cornell, put one hand on the top rail of the fence and gracefully vaulted over it. He loped to the unmoving horse, who was being watched over by his two old friends.

Walter called to Peppermint. No response. When he reached the aged animal he knelt down and felt Peppermint's neck for a pulse.

"Oh, Pepper, what a good horse you were." He gently patted the dead animal's neck, then rose and recrossed the green meadow back to the waiting group.

He leaned over the fence and simply said, "Gone."

Sister lowered her head for several moments as the news sank in. She'd known this horse for more than three decades. As sad as she was, Tedi would be devastated.

"Shaker, Bobby, take the hounds back to the kennels," she instructed. "Betty and Walter, if you can spare the time, stay with me. We need to bury this fellow before Tedi comes out and finds him. She loved him so." Sister paused. "A last link with Nola."

"And it is July, he'll blow up fast," Shaker said under his breath. Then he called to the hounds in a singsong voice, "Come along."

The hounds followed after him, though Cora couldn't help a glance over her shoulder at the horse she remembered well.

"Walter, do you mind finding one of Tedi's men? Just ask him to meet us at the bridge with the backhoe. Button his lip. I'll tell Tedi once we've properly buried Peppermint."

Walter jogged across the bridge as Betty and Sister went to the carcass at creek's edge.

Betty knelt down to touch the large shoulder. "What a great one he was. Godspeed, Peppermint. You had a wonderful life."

Sister, with Raleigh at her side, consoled Domino and Merry Andrew before sitting down beside Peppermint. "Jesus, Betty, I'm getting old. I remember Pepper when he was steel gray. He's pure white now." She referred to the fact that gray horses, born dark, lighten in color as they age.

"Remember the time Tedi hit every fence perfectly in the hunter trials? Tedi couldn't find her distance if you gave her measuring tape. But by God, she won the blue ribbon that year. I think it was one of the happiest moments of her life." Betty continued stroking the animal's beautiful gray head. "He did it for her. Pepper didn't much like...