A Hiss Before Dying

October 25, 2016 Tuesday

Harry stared at the case filled with original jewelry, beaded belts, handmade items, some heirlooms, gorgeous Plains Indian clothing, saddlebags, other treasures. “Liz, where do you find these things, especially the beadwork items? These bracelets and belts are incredible. The colors of the beads seem saturated.”

“South Africa and our own west. Each tribe has its own way of doing things. The Crow, the Sioux, the Flatheads, the Crees, the Cherokees. Everyone has their style just as the tribes do in South Africa. Such painstaking, beautiful work.”

Harry moved to another glass case, then stopped abruptly. “Where did you get this?”

“You know what it is?”

“I do.” Harry pointed to a brass rectangle with a large 9 in the middle and Garth in script, ornate, underneath.

“Hootie Henderson brought that in. Actually, he brought a handful. Look.” She pulled out a drawer and took out a small leather bag, emptying the passes on top of the counter. “Fabulous, aren’t they?” Hootie, an older farmer, had cleaned out his attic in a worker’s house once on Cloverfields in its prime.

“Did Hootie say how he came by these slave passes?”

“Found them in the attic wall upstairs. He put up new insulation, found this, found some old accounting books. He figured no one would pay for the accounting books but they might buy these, as they really are pretty and the history means so much.”

Harry allowed Liz to pour some of the passes into her cupped hands. “I wonder who wore them or kept them safe in a deep pocket.”

“Garth’s people. You know, I hate to see things like this stored away at a museum, only brought out for special shows. It is our history. I think more of us should be part of it. We may have different viewpoints but we share it,” Liz declared with feeling.

“Even white people? You wouldn’t be offended if I wore one?” Harry was fascinated.

“No. I have one.” Liz pulled up her necklace with the pass, Number Seven. “Lucky seven.” She paused, then continued. “It’s history—something we should never forget,” she repeated, emphasized. “I know you’d never think of it as mere ornamentation.”

“Has anyone bought one?” Harry felt her heart beating faster.

“Last week a well-dressed fellow bought one. He knew what it was.”

“And was he African American?”

“As African American as I am. We had a good talk about it all. Obviously well educated, and I got the feeling rich, rich and important.”

“Liz, I must call Coop. You read in the paper about the unidentified man found at Sugarday?”

“Yes. Strange, really, that anyone would be out there.”

“Liz, do you remember the number you sold your rich customer?”

“Number Five,” Liz answered instantly.

Harry pulled out her phone, reached Cooper, and Liz listened, mouth agape.

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t either, and it took a minute for it to register. She’s coming over…well, you heard, to see if you can identify him.”

“I don’t have to go to the morgue, do I?” Liz looked ashen.

“No. But try to remember everything that you can.”

The two sat quietly behind the counter. Within fifteen minutes Cooper sailed through the door, as Liz’s shop was in Barracks Road Shopping Center and the detective had been just on the county line.

Cities and counties operate separate governances as well as separate law enforcement agencies. Liz’s shop was in the city and therefore under the protection of the Charlottesville police. Cooper, a deputy in the sheriff’s department, Albemarle County, had every right to question Liz, as the body was discovered in the county. As it was, the two departments cooperated as opposed to engaging in useless competition. One would be surprised at how much needed to be covered in both jurisdictions, most of it having to do with traffic and domestic violence.

Liz stood up. “Cooper, what can I do?”

Gently, the tall blonde woman put her cellphone on the counter. “Now, Liz, this isn’t too bad. Don’t worry. He hadn’t been dead long. Do you recognize this man?”

Liz gasped. “He’s the one who bought the chit, the pass.”

“Can you tell me anything? Even the smallest detail may prove useful.”

Liz repeated what she had told Harry, who remained quiet.

“Do you remember what he wore?”

“Not that sweatshirt. He was in a good suit, expensive. He wore a gorgeous silk rust-colored tie that was exquisite. I asked him where he bought it and he said Ben Silver in Charleston, South Carolina. He knew which beaded bracelets and belts were from South Africa and which were North American. He also knew, and this surprised me, that the deerskin fringe dress behind me on the wall, dyed quills on the top and the sleeves, as from the last quarter of the nineteenth century. He recognized the design, knew it was Sioux. He pegged the price at $25,000 without asking me. I thought at first he was a collector. He did mention, not to make a point, that he worked in fine art. He was somewhat acquainted with American tribal work but declared he was no expert. He was based in D.C., traveled everywhere, and loved seeing Native art as well as Rubens. Knew the high-class galleries in the west, especially Santa Fe. A nice fellow. I thought, anyway.”

“Liz, you’ve been helpful.”

“You don’t know who he is? No missing persons or stuff like that coming through the department?”

“No, and given how you described him and his appearance, that is doubly strange.” Coop turned off her phone.

“Rich people don’t disappear unnoticed,” Liz flatly stated.

Cooper said, “Maybe he wasn’t rich.”

“I can tell,” Liz declared. “I need to read a customer the minute they walk through that door.”

“Never thought of that,” Harry replied. “And you’re still friends with me. My purchases are modest.”

Liz smiled, a relief from her surprise at having talked with a man subsequently murdered. “Your friendship is priceless.”

Harry put her arm around Liz’s waist and squeezed. “Coop, what now?”

“Thanks to Liz, I’ll call the Ben Silver shop. They may remember him if he visited in person. But if he shopped online, I can track down rust ties.”

“Thousands of transactions. Lots of rust ties.” Harry sighed. “You’d think someone would know who this man was. Did he say why he was here?”

Liz shook her head. “No. I got the impression he was simply killing time. He did say he had family from here, but they dispersed after 1865. He bought the Number Five and left.”

After Cooper left, Harry stayed back for a few minutes. “You okay?”

“I am. I’m a bit shocked that he was or is the victim, but who knows, Harry? We’re here one minute and gone the next.”

“That’s the truth.”

“It is highly irregular that a man like that would not be reported missing unless his business was, shall we say, irregular?”

“Like drugs?” Harry replied.

“Yes, but I didn’t feel that. I can’t say that I have drug radar, but sometimes one does get a feeling. I almost always know if someone is gay. I don’t know why. I’m not. I felt he was gay. Subtle. But it wasn’t that. I just had the sense that maybe his business wasn’t entirely straightforward, I don’t know.”

“Your husband would be surprised.”

Liz laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Andy has gotten used to me being a maverick. Actually, stay here while I call him.”

Andy picked up the phone, listened intently to his wife.

“Honey, you like good clothes. Tell me about Ben Silver.”

“English goods, Scottish cashmere sweaters, everything is top drawer. Low-key. Quiet money, that sort of thing.”

“Your kind of style.” She smiled.

“I have a Ben Silver cashmere sweater that is eleven years old and isn’t worn thin. Looks great.”

“How is it I didn’t know you shopped there?”

“Liz, you did. I get the catalogues.”

“Oh. I’d better pay more attention to men’s catalogues.” She thought for a minute. “But I have a husband who can dress himself, unlike so many women.”

“And I have a wife who can undress her husband.”

“Andy.”

He laughed. “See you later, sweetheart.”

She clicked off her phone. “That man. Get Fair to go online and see if he likes the merchandise.”

“Will.”

“Harry, consider it gathering information. If the man spends money you aren’t going to wind up in the poorhouse.”

All Harry’s friends knew money gathered mold in her purse.

—

Later that night, Harry and Fair sat before his enormous computer screen. Given his profession, he needed it and he spent thousands on that computer. At Ben Silver’s website, the goods or furnishings if properly described in nineteenth-century terms, were outstanding, very male, very understated.

Fair lingered over a silk-and-wool jacket with a pale aqua windowpane pattern over the basic color.

“No.”

“Honey, I’m not going to buy it, but I like it.”

“You can’t buy anything unless you try it on. Six-foot-five-inch men can’t buy online.” She stood her ground.

“You have a point there, but I could go to Charleston. You could go with me. A getaway weekend.” He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “Romance. Church bells. Palmettos. Great restaurants.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just want to go shopping.”

“If the victim shopped here he really did have money, taste, and possibly power. Powerful men don’t wear flash. Entertainers do, but real power, never. Not in the English-speaking world, and have you ever noticed a powerful man never carries a briefcase?”

This made her think. “You’re right.”

“To call attention to yourself by dress means you’re insecure. A man should be smartly turned out, but not so people gawk. Think Cary Grant.”

“Name someone alive.”

“The Prince of Wales.”

“Can you imagine his budget?” Harry laughed.

“Another one. David Beckham. He’s sometimes a little out there, but when it matters, subtle.”

“They are all three Englishmen.”

“I guess it means we Americans still aren’t quite sure of ourselves.” He laughed.

“I guess.” Harry evidenced no interest in fashion, a quality that drove her girlfriends crazy, and sometimes her husband as well.

“You mentioned that the victim recognized the beadwork in the cases and even knew the tribes who had made the items. He could tell from the work, the patterns.”

“Liz said he could.”

“A man with aesthetic training.”

“Then how does he wind up shot twice in the back on Mary and David Kalergis’s farm? It’s nuts. Furthermore, I think it upset the beagles.”

“If they could talk they might know more than we do. Scent.”

“Right,” Tucker called up from the floor.

“I am sick of dogs getting all the credit for their noses. Cats have good noses,” Pewter fussed.

“In good time, I’m sure the sheriff’s department will figure out what the murder is about. Cooper is highly intelligent, you know.”

“The strangest thing, Fair. I mean, apart from Liz having done business with the man killed. I had an overpowering urge to buy one of those brass chits. Number Eleven. Overpowering.”

He put his arm around her. “Past life?”