Outfoxed Read Free

wanted to ensure the club’s future and she heard the clock ticking. Healthy and vibrant as she was, she couldn’t live forever.
    Crawford, sobered by this unwelcome news, appetite fading, pushed his iced shrimp away from him.
    The waitress at the country club quietly came to his side. “Were they not up to your standard, Mr. Howard?”
    â€œNo. They were fine.”
    â€œMight I bring you something else?”
    â€œA cup of black coffee and a shot of Springbank, ’58.”
    The country club, old and elegant, kept casks of fine single malts in the cellar. They also maintained special bourbons from Kentucky, small batches brewed by master brewers, for the discriminating palate. “Bobby, allow me to treat you to the best scotch in the world.”
    â€œNo thanks, Craw, I’ve got to work late tonight. Princess and I have ten thousand copies of a four-color brochure to finish.”
    Princess was Princess Beanbag, Bobby’s nickname for his wife, Betty, also a partner in business. Their print shop didn’t make them rich but it paid the bills and had put one wayward daughter, Cody Jean, through the University of Virginia. Jennifer, the other daughter, was in public high school.
    â€œYou’re a hardworking man. How do you stay so fat?” Crawford laughed at Bobby, who was as round as he was tall.
    â€œGood genes.” Bobby motioned for the waitress to return. “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee, too, but with cream, please.”
    â€œCertainly.” She left and soon returned with the coffees and the Springbank.
    Bobby leaned forward. “Crawford, you know I back your candidacy because I think you can preserve and even extend the territory. You can talk to the developers and get bridle paths, you can talk to landowners and explain easements and conservation issues. I admire that in you. But you have a touch of the Yankee and you can’t just go up to people and spout off.”
    â€œBullshit. Virginians are the most direct people I’ve ever met. You people say the most incredible things to one another, scathing, blistering talk.”
    â€œWhen we know one another well—very well. Until then there is the dance of politeness, Craw, and we speak in code. You think you don’t need to learn the code.”
    â€œWastes time. If I go to the gas station, I’m expected to talk for fifteen minutes to the idiot behind the pump. I haven’t got that kind of time. I have businesses to run and a big farm to manage.”
    â€œNo one has time anymore but we make time. Those casual conversations—”
    â€œCasual. Boring. The weather. Who shot John.” Crawford used a southern expression, which made Bobby laugh because he didn’t get it quite right.
    â€œThat’s how we knit our community together. It’s not about facts, issues, or how smart you are, Crawford. It’s about respect for people. Respect.”
    Crawford shifted in his seat. “Well—”
    â€œA little case in point. When you divorced Marty two years ago you cut her off without a penny. She had to fight through the courts to get any kind of settlement.”
    â€œAny man in a divorce does that.”
    â€œSome do and some don’t. But if you want to present yourself as a community leader, m-m-m”—he wiggled his hand—“better to err on the side of generosity. Look, it’s an old divorce lawyer’s routine, ‘starve the wife’ and she’ll get so worn down and scared she’ll accept far less, but, Craw, you are rich. You could have given her a decent package, walked away, and looked like a prince, especially to women, and brother let me give you the hard facts, women run this show.”
    â€œHunting?”
    â€œLife.”
    He smirked. “The hell they do.”
    â€œI can’t believe you’ve lived here for seven years and you haven’t figured that out about the South and especially