“[Rita Mae Brown] enlivens a timely tale with . . . amusing accounts of her four-legged creations and delightful descriptions of the central Virginia countryside.”— Richmond Times-Dispatch New York Times bestselling author Rita Mae Brown bounds to the front of the pack with Fox Tracks, the thrilling new mystery in her beloved foxhunting series featuring the indomitable “Sister” Jane Arnold and, among others, the boisterous company of horses and hounds. Now, as a string of bizarre murders sweeps the East Coast, this unlikely alliance must smoke out a devious killer who may be closer than they first think.   While outside on Manhattan’s Midtown streets a fierce snowstorm rages, nothing can dampen the excitement inside the elegant ballroom of Manhattan’s Pierre Hotel. Hunt clubs from all over North America have gathered for their annual gala, and nobody is in higher spirits than “Sister” Jane, Master of the Jefferson Hunt in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. Braving the foul weather, Sister and her young friend “Tootie” Harris pop out to purchase cigars for the celebration at a nearby tobacco shop, finding themselves regaled by the colorful stories of its eccentric proprietor, Adolfo Galdos.   Yet the trip’s festive mood goes to ground later with the grisly discovery of Adolfo’s corpse. The tobacconist was shot in the head but found, oddly enough, with a cigarette pack of American Smokes laid carefully over his heart.   When a similar murder occurs in Boston, Sister’s “horse sense” tells her there’s a nefarious plot afoot—one that seems to originate in the South’s aromatic tobacco farms. Meanwhile, Sister’s nemesis, Crawford Howard, will stop at nothing to subvert the Jefferson Hunt Club. There’s more than one shadowy scheme in the works in Albemarle County, and some conspirators are unafraid of taking shots at those evidencing too keen an interest in other people’s business. When Sister voices her suspicions, she, too, becomes a target. Fortunately for her, the Master of the Jefferson Hunt may rely upon the wits and wiles of her four-legged friends—including horses Lafayette and Matador, the powerful hound, Dragon, and even the clever old red fox, Uncle Yancy!   From Manhattan’s gritty streets to the pastoral beauty of Virginia horse country, Fox Tracks features the beloved characters from past Sister Jane novels in a fascinating new intrigue. This sly, fast-paced mystery gives chase from sizzling start to stunning finish!   Praise for Rita Mae Brown’s “Sister” Jane novels   “Brown is a keen plotter who advances her story with well-placed clues and showy suspects.”— The New York Times Book Review   “[Brown] succeeds in conjuring a world in which prey are meant to survive the chase and foxes are knowing collaborators.”— People   “One of the most entertaining amateur sleuths since those of Agatha Christie.”— Booklist Praise for Fox Tracks   “[Rita Mae Brown] enlivens a timely tale with . . . amusing accounts of her four-legged creations and delightful descriptions of the central Virginia countryside.”— Richmond Times-Dispatch   Praise for Rita Mae Brown’s “Sister” Jane novels   “Brown is a keen plotter who advances her story with well-placed clues and showy suspects.”— The New York Times Book Review   “[Brown] succeeds in conjuring a world in which prey are meant to survive the chase and foxes are knowing collaborators.”— People   “One of the most entertaining amateur sleuths since those of Agatha Christie.”— Booklist 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. CHAPTER 1 Brilliant strings of moving rubies rolled away in the snow. At least ­that’s how it looked to Jane Arnold, “Sister,” as she peered out the window of her hotel room at The Pierre. The taillights of all those cars crawling down Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue sparkled in the dark like rubies. When she was young, she would have seen parallel lines of headlights like diamonds coming ­toward her as well. Those days were long gone. “Do you remember when the streets were two-way?” she asked her boyfriend, Gray Lorillard, who was carefully removing items from his Gladstone bag. “­Uh-­huh.” “Do you think creating ­one-­way streets in 1966 ­really made New York traffic move faster?” “I do not.” He answered this with conviction, his handsome brow furrowed as he once more reviewed his close items. “Close” meant small clothing: undershirts, underwear, folded good shirts, and his Dopp kit, as well as a beautiful calfskin jewelry case (although men never called it that). “I don’t think it helped either,” she said, turning from the view, “but there were fewer cars then.” “Fewer people,” he mumbled, searching for something in his bag. “Goddammit.” “Is this male PMS