Cat On The Scent

43

Tommy Van Allen's memorial service on Thursday, intended to be a subdued affair, scandalized Crozet because his widow chose not to attend. It wasn't because she was too shocked to fulfill this last duty to her husband. She just didn't care. She'd already returned to Aiken and she had given Rick Shaw carte blanche to ransack Tommy's records. She also allowed him to impound the Porsche for a week. He promised to send it on to Aiken after it had been searched.

Big Mim hosted a small luncheon after the memorial for Van Allen. Her prize-winning peonies picked that moment to open.

Miranda Hogendobber strolled through Mim's magnificent gardens, which undulated down to the lake. The catamaran, Mim's Vim, gently bobbed in the water. The reverend escorted her.

“Young people today have no discipline.” Mrs. Hogendobber's hazel eyes were troubled. “Jessica Van Allen should have come to the funeral. God knows she'll inherit all his money.”

“Miranda, if people no longer dress as they should it's an outward sign that they've lost all sense of propriety. Dress isn't superficial.”

“I quite agree.”

“Even Harry, who does have manners, falls down in the dress department.”

“Poor dear. She has to be dragged kicking and screaming to shop. Susan and I are considering putting silver duct tape over her mouth on our upcoming foray.”

“Not like my dear departed. Her motto was, Shop until you drop.” Herb Jones chuckled.

They sat on the wrought-iron bench, two old friends together. “What's become of the world, Herbert?”

“I don't know. Maybe every old person asks that question. But it's a cruder and more vulgar world than the one I knew as a boy. And it's more violent.”

“We thought the violence would end with World War II.”

“Now we turn it back on ourselves.” He drank in the refreshing sight before him. “If nothing else, the gardens are flourishing.” He patted Miranda on her gloved hand. “Your tulips this year could have won national awards.”

“Do you really think so?”

“You outdid yourself.”

A sharp voice interrupted their enjoyment. “You two spooning?”

“I haven't heard that word since grade school.” Herb burst out laughing.

Tally Urquhart, moving slowly, but moving, descended upon them. “Just what are you doing down here, off by yourselves? You don't appear to be grieving.”

“Are you?” Miranda, usually not at all saucy, had been emboldened by Herb's praise.

“No. I've grieved enough in my life. After a while you learn to say good-bye and be done with it. When your number's up it's up. I should have been dead years ago, but here I am.”

“You'll outlive us all.” Herb stood up, offering her his seat.

Tally balanced on her silver hound-headed cane, lowering herself next to Miranda. “The sheriff is taking Tommy's and Blair's cars apart.”

“Yes, we heard that, too.” Miranda shifted her position to face the vinegary lady.

“Won't do a bit of good.”

“Why is that?” Herb mildly inquired.

“Because science, machines, fingerprints, oh, it's all very impressive. The how fills page upon page. But it's the why that matters.”

“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Hogendobber mused while watching two children paddle a dark green canoe at the far side of the lake.

“Such as, why doesn't Blair Bainbridge call on Marilyn? He doesn't appear to be in love with anyone else. She's certainly the most eligible young lady in the entire county.”

“I think Harry is the most eligible young lady.” Miranda surprised herself by contradicting Tally.

“She hasn't a sou,” Tally grumbled, then half smiled. “But she's a far more interesting soul than my great-niece. Don't tell Mimsy, though.” She laughed in earnest.

“We ought to get Harry out of that post office. She's too intelligent for that job.”

“Thank you, Herbert,” Mrs. Hogendobber said with unaccustomed sarcasm.

“Miranda, your husband was the postmaster. It's something else entirely.”

“Oh?”

“She graduated from Smith College in art history.” Herb hoped this would explain his point of view without further insulting the memory of Miranda's husband.

“I graduated from Mary Baldwin,” Tally said, “and I never worked a day in my life. Of course, we weren't expected to then.”

“You did work,” Miranda said.

“Of course I worked. I worked harder than a stevedore but you know what I mean. For money. I think it's better now.”

“You do?” Herb pressed.

“Yes. People ought to be able to pursue their talents.”

“My point.” Herb beamed. “Harry is not pursuing her talents.”

“But perhaps she is,” Tally said. “She enjoys life. She appreciates the clouds and the peonies and us. She has before her every day at the post office the peerless entertainment of the human comedy.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Of course not, Herbie, you're thinking of your next sermon.” Tally flicked her cane out at him. “Now, what are we going to do about Little Mim and this Bainbridge fellow? She'll perish if she doesn't land him. I tell her she's better off alone but I don't think a young woman like Marilyn believes that.”

“Nor do I.” Herb folded his hands behind his back.

“Naturally. Men need women. Women don't need men.” Tally sounded triumphant.

“Fiddlesticks.” He restrained himself from saying bullshit.

Harry headed down to join them. “Why is everyone suddenly shutting up?”

“Because we were talking about you,” Tally replied.

“Only good things.” Miranda smiled.

“That's a relief.”

Mim trooped down to the lake a few moments after Harry's arrival. “What are you all doing down here? I need you in the garden. You all are the social spark plugs of Crozet.”

The small gathering looked at one another with resignation, then Miranda piped up. “And what are you doing here, Mim, dear?”

“Came here to get away from all of them.”

They laughed together, which lightened the unexpressed tension and worry.