Catch As Cat Can

12

Flaming torches lined the long, curving driveway to Dalmally, Mim Sanburne's estate. The pinpoints of red-orange against the twilight created the eerie sensation of going back in time. Cool night air arrived with the sunset. The temperature plunged to fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit and would probably wind up close to freezing.

BoomBoom arrived shimmering in a raspberry chiffon evening gown, with a silver fox stole wrapped around her shoulders. Thomas would have cut the motor and leapt out of his Mercedes sports car to open the door for her, but Mim, leaving nothing to chance, had hired a valet parking service from Charlottesville. She demanded that no car jockey take the expensive cars for a joyride. The valet company signed a contract to that effect. Mim always made a point of marshaling staff before a party and reading them the law, the law of Virginia and Mim's law. Her Aunt Tally and her mother had taught her this.

Not all the guests wallowed in riches. Tracy Raz drove Miranda in her Ford Falcon. People laughed, saying that Miranda would be buried in that car, which itself was over forty years old. Slimmed down, a smiling Miranda emerged from the car. She wore a red gown, almost medieval in style, which looked fabulous on her. She wasn't afraid to show off a bit, now that she had lost so much weight. As she passed along the receiving line, Big Mim, Little Mim, Jim, and Aunt Tally murmured to one another how youthful Miranda looked. Tracy, too, had lost some weight, scaling down to one hundred and seventy, what he had weighed when he made All-State from Crozet High.

As Miranda and Susan had helped Harry make up and dress up, the young postmistress dazzled as she glided along the receiving line. A simple royal-blue sheath, with a plunging neckline made all the more daring by long sleeves, was perfect on her. Diego, in white tie at her shoulder, couldn't take his eyes off her.

Nor could Fair Haristeen. Vowing to himself that he would win his ex-wife back before midsummer, he smiled, walked over, and made a point of engaging Diego in conversation.

As they chatted, Lottie Pearson arrived with a subdued Donald Clatterbuck in tow. Uncomfortable in white tie, obviously rented at the last minute, Don smiled sheepishly as people recognized him, which took a moment. Don hadn't even dressed up for his high-school graduation. As Roger O'Bannon had been a buddy, Don was dumbfounded by the news of his death. He wasn't at all sure he should be at Big Mim's. Lottie threw a fit when he tried to back out so he reluctantly accompanied the forceful woman.

Thomas bent over and breathed into BoomBoom's ear, “Americans must learn never to rent evening wear. Good clothes last your whole life.”

“Provided you stay in shape, which you have,” she breathed right back into his ear, the color rising in his cheeks.

“Ah, Diego.” Thomas waved him over. “I didn't see you come in.” He bowed low to Harry. “The beauty of Virginia's countryside is exceeded only by the beauty of her women.”

Even BoomBoom, mouth slightly agape, blinked and said, “Mary Minor, if only your mother could see you now.”

Harry laughed. “I'm not sure she'd believe it.” Noting Thomas's and Diego's puzzled expressions she hastily added, “Mother despaired of transforming me into a proper lady. She would have been happier with a daughter like BoomBoom.”

“Harry, don't say that. Your mother loved you.”

“Boom, she loved me but she would have rather gone shopping with you.”

They laughed as Lottie Pearson, dragging Don, flounced by. Not able to resist Diego's handsome face, she stopped and made a point of introducing Don. The two Uruguayans made Don feel immediately at ease. They even pretended interest when Don held forth on the wonders of taxidermy. Lottie ignored him. He was occupied anyway. She wanted to corral Diego but had to settle for talking to him with Harry. She'd never thought much about Harry one way or the other but at that precise moment, Lottie loathed Harry Haristeen. Even the sidelong, knowing glances to Fair fell short of their intention. Fair did not pull Harry away from the dark handsome man nor did he make an effort to assist Lottie in her flirtations.

“I know you all are wondering how I could come here tonight after Aunt Tally's but, well, I called Reverend Jones and he said I should follow my heart. After all, the O'Bannons aren't close friends and Roger, poor fellow, could be a pest. It's not like he was family and, well, people do die. What about all those football players who drop before they're forty?” Her hand fluttered to her throat. “And you know how Big Mim gets if you miss one of her parties.”

“We know,” Harry and Fair said in unison, then blushed. The years together often meant their thoughts were similar.

“Is Big Mim such a dragon?” Thomas's pleasant voice coated each word like honey. “She's so gracious.”

“As long as you do things her way.” Lottie's lips formed a pout.

Don, running his finger under his neckband, said with sense, “Ought not to criticize the hostess when you're enjoying her hospitality.”

Thomas bowed his head slightly to Don. “A Virginia gentleman.”

“Don?” Lottie said with surprise.

Harry deflected the conversation, speaking directly to Don Clatterbuck. “How's my woodpecker?”

“Frozen stiff.” He laughed.

“Woodpecker?” Thomas inquired.

“When I woke up a few days ago, I found, well, actually, my gray cat, Pewter, found a pileated woodpecker. One of those huge woodpeckers. Dead. She pretended it was her kill, which if you know Pewter is absurd, but I finally convinced her to give it to me. Made a beeline for Don. He's the best. You should see his work.” She paused and said, “Museum quality.”

Don blushed as Lottie's eyes darted about. How would she ever extricate Diego from Harry? She wanted to ask him to accompany her to a huge alumni fund-raising dinner and dance, but he was glued to Harry. She believed Harry would look much less attractive if he could see her covered in grease as she repaired her ancient tractor. Harry was just too butch.

“What's a peel—?” Diego smiled, groping for the next syllable.

“Pileated woodpecker.” Fair Haristeen's deep voice finished the word. “The largest woodpecker in America, close to twenty inches. You've seen the Woody Woodpecker cartoons?”

“Yes.” Diego laughed.

“They're based on the pileated woodpecker, which has a brilliant red crest and red mustache as well as a distinctive loud call. Woody Woodpecker borrowed a bit of that, too.”

“Can one see such a bird?” Thomas asked.

“Actually, you can. They don't hide. And they fly in an odd manner.” Fair, as a vet, held the floor, which he liked. “They flap a few times, gaining speed rapidly, then fold their wings flat to their sides and zoom like a rocket. You'll hear them before you see them. They're noisy.”

“Rapping into dead trees echoes in the woods. Fair's right. It's loud.” BoomBoom was glad they'd steered away from Roger O'Bannon's demise. She'd felt a bit detached about it as he moved in a different circle. But when Lottie brought up the subject of Roger, BoomBoom decided she was both stupid and vain.

“They eat ants in the trees.” Harry smiled at the two visitors. “You fellows don't really want to know about woodpeckers, do you?”

“I do. I'm an amateur naturalist. North America has many unusual animals.”

Jim Sanburne strode by, clapping Fair on the back. “Going coon hunting tomorrow? Jack Ragland's bringing out Red Cloud.”

“Red Cloud?” Diego was thoroughly enjoying himself, as this really was different from Embassy Row.

“Fabulous hound, brother, fabulous hound. Won about everything there is to win in this country in hunt trials.” Jim's voice carried over the room.

“Like foxhunting?” Diego asked curiously.

“Oh, you don't want to go coon hunting. It's so country.” Lottie rolled her eyes.

Jim Sanburne cleared his throat. “Music.” The one word explained coon hunting to the locals. Jim loved the sound of the hounds, those deep, high, and middling voices. It was music.

Lottie grimaced. “You can break your ankle running around in the dark.”

“That's what flashlights are for.” Harry found Lottie as welcome as prickly heat.

“Women coon hunt?” Thomas wondered.

“Yes. Anyone can go so long as the hound owners invite them. It's not like foxhunting where an engraved card is sent out. You know?” Thomas nodded that he was familiar with foxhunting so Harry continued. “People can hunt one hound or two, called a brace. They can even hunt coon with a pack, it's up to the hunter or hunters. They'll often run their hounds together so the sound is better and oh, how the sound carries at night. It will make the hair stand up on the back of your neck.”

“What happens when you find the raccoon?” Diego thought he'd like to see this unique Southern practice.

“Coon climbs up a tree, sits there, and looks at you. You can shoot him down or leave him be. I leave the coon alone so I have the pleasure of his or her acquaintance another time.” Jim folded his arms across his chest, then added, “Never sporting to kill a female, especially in spring. She might have babies back home.”

“Ah, yes.” Diego smiled.

“Does one have to pay to participate?” Thomas wanted to go.

“Not at all, brother, not at all. Tell you what, I'll call Jack right now and ask him if you all can come along tomorrow night. What about you, Harry? Fair?”

They nodded yes.

“You'll hate it,” Lottie declared.

“I'm going, too.” BoomBoom, for all her perfect fingernails, clothes, etc., was a country girl, after all.

“All right. Jack should have been here tonight along with his wife, Joyce, but when I told him it was white tie he begged off. He said if I put a gun to his head maybe he'd wear a monkey suit—actually, Joyce would be the one to make him do it—but he's not wearing tails.” Jim's deep laugh rumbled. “Tell you one thing, the man can hunt. Wife can, too. And gentlemen, I'll bring along a little something to cut the night's chill, a little something we do better in the mountains than they do anywhere else.”

“Better keep your voice low.” Fair winked. “Cooper's right behind you.”

The deputy was talking to Tracy and Miranda and turned when she heard her name. “I didn't hear a thing.”

“Good. Always thought a deaf woman would be an advantage.” Jim winked.

“You mean dumb, don't you? One who can't talk.” BoomBoom winked back.

“Is that what I meant?”

“Sexist pig.” Harry stuck her finger in Jim's stomach.

“Awful. You can dress me up but you can't take me out. Come to think of it, I'm not out. This is my home.” Jim roared with laughter, then shambled off to the telephone.

“How can he say that?” Lottie fumed.

“He's pulling your leg, our legs.” Harry's eyes returned to Diego. “Every woman in this room knows that Jim Sanburne would do anything to help; his heart is bigger than he is.”

“That doesn't excuse sexism.” Lottie pursed her lips. “You make excuses for men, Harry.” The “you” was loaded with innuendo.

“Lighten up.” Don stifled a giggle. “Otherwise I'll have to give you a stuffed shirt.”

At this they all laughed except for Lottie.

Miranda and Tracy joined the group just as Gretchen, the majordomo, butler, servant, you name it, strolled through playing the glockenspiel. She repeated the same three notes, which meant time to go to the dining room.

Mim and Jim Sanburne enjoyed the resources to host a sit-down dinner for sixty guests, seven courses, each with a different wine, champagne, sherbets, and cakes at the end. Mim had grown up with wealth, never knowing anything but abundance although she'd suffered bouts of emotional famine. She married Jim Sanburne on the rebound. He was big, strong, handsome, poor. Over the years he'd proved hot as a forty-balled tomcat. His licentiousness had as much to do with his sex drive as the fact that having a rich wife isn't all it's cracked up to be. In time they worked it out. He stopped running after women, she stopped giving him orders.

After dinner the orchestra played in the ballroom, which was decorated with dogwoods, pink and white, and viburnum, providing fragrance as well as beauty. Lottie sat next to Don, who didn't ask her to dance. Finally she pulled him onto the dance floor, hissing, “Getting cold feet?”

“No, I'm just not much of a dancer,” Don replied.

Miranda had left her purse in the Falcon. Needing her lipstick, she rose from one of the small tables arranged on the sides of the dance floor. “Honey, do you have the car ticket?”

Tracy reached inside his cutaway, the inside pocket. “I do. But you sit right here. I'll get your bag, sweetie.”

“Why don't we get it together?” She winked.

The older couple strolled through the rooms to the front of the house, where they gave the attendant the ticket. He picked up a cell phone and called in the number. In the distance they heard the old engine fire up.

When the car was delivered, the parking lot driver emerged, a young, slender man with sandy hair and a thin mustache.

“Wait, don't get out. I just need to grab the lady's purse. You can take the car right back.”

“All right, sir.”

As Tracy reached in for her small, beaded purse Miranda fixed her gaze on the young man driving her precious vehicle. She noticed that his left eye sagged and there was a red scar over his eyebrow running through to below the eye. It took a moment for this to register, then she blurted out, “You, you stole my hubcaps!”

He blanched, shot out of the car, running flat out into the darkness.

Tracy tore out after him. He hadn't been a star halfback for nothing and he was still in great shape. Although the kid had a head start he was no match for the older man. When he turned to see Tracy gaining on him he misstepped and rolled, got up, tried to pick up speed, but Tracy knew how to throw a block. He leaned down and pushed off his right foot, sailing into the back of the young man. Tracy hit him so hard that the kid's body flew up in the air like a rag doll, then fell to earth with a sickening thud. Tracy was on him fast, squeezing his head in a hammerlock. A heavy object on a chain around the young man's neck popped out of his shirt when he was blocked by Tracy. It was a Mercedes star hood ornament.

“I didn't steal nothin'.”

“We'll see about that.”