Pay Dirt

22

"I'm not stupid." Ayshas lower lip stuck out when she pouted. "You weren't at work late last night."

"I was."

"Don't lie to me, Norman. I drove by the bank and your car wasn't parked there."

"I was there until ten-thirty." He devoutly prayed that she hadn't driven by before that, but as she had attended an Ash Lawn meeting, a special fund-raiser, he figured she wouldn't have gotten out until ten-thirty or eleven. "Then I dropped the papers off at Hogan Freely's and he wanted to talk. I couldn't very well give my boss the finger, could I?"

Red-faced, Aysha picked up the phone and dialed. "Laura, hello, Aysha Cramer. I'm calling for Norman. He thinks he left his Mark Cross pen over there from his meeting last night with Hogan. Have you found it?"

"No. Let me ask Hogan, he's right here." Laura returned to the phone. "No, he hasn't found anything either."

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"No trouble at all. Tell Norman to rest."

"I will, and thank you. Good-bye." She hung up the phone carefully, then faced her husband. "I apologize. You were there."

"Honey, what's the matter with you? Everything is going to be fine. I'm not going to run off or keel over from a heart attack or whatever you're worried about. We're both under pressure. Let's try to relax."

"It's Kerry, I'm worried about Kerry! I know you can handle the job, but I don't know about—"

He put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. "I married you, didn't I?"

23

"Never, never am I speaking to you again!''Mrs. Murphy hissed.

"One more," Dr. Parker cooed as she hit up the cat with her rabies booster. "There we go, all over."

Ears flat against her head, hunched up and livid, Mrs. Murphy shot off the examining table. She raced around the room.

"Murphy, calm down."

"You lied to get me here, "Mrs. Murphy howled.

The doctor checked her needles. "She'll stop in a minute. She does this once a year and I expect she'll do it next year."

"I'll remember when the year rolls around. I wont get in the truck." Murphy, ears still flat back, sat with her back to the humans.

"Come on," Harry cajoled her.

The sleek tiger refused to budge or even turn her face to her friend. Humans give the cold shoulder. Cats give the cold body.

Scooping her up with one hand under her bottom and the other around her chest, Harry said, "You were a brave girl. Let's go home."

As they rode back into town, Mrs. Murphy stared out die window, back still turned toward Harry.

"Now, look here, Murphy, I hate it when you get in one of your snits. These shots are for your own good. After what you and Tucker did last year, I can't dream of hauling you in to Dr. Parker together. It cost me $123 to replace the curtains in her waiting room. Do you know how long I have to work to make $123? I—"

"Oh, shut up. I don't want to hear how poor you are. My rear end hurts."

"What a yowl. Murphy—Murphy, look at me."

The cat hopped down and crouched on the floor.

Harrys voice rose. "Don't you dare pee in this truck. I mean it." She quickly pulled to die side of die road, got out, and opened the passenger door. She walked into a field, Murphy in her arms. "If you have to go, go here."

"I'm not doing anything you ask me to do." She hunched down amid the daisies.

By die time Harry rolled into Crozet, both cat and human were frazzled. Harry pulled into die market. When she opened the door, Mrs. Murphy nimbly squeezed past her and rushed to the door.

"Open up, Pewter, open up. She's torturing me!"

Harry pushed open the glass door and die cat ran between her legs. Pewter, having heard the complaint, hurried out to touch her nose and have a consoling sniff.

"What happened?"

"Dr. Parker."

"Oh." Pewter licked Mrs. Murphy's ears in sympathy. 7 am sorry. I'm sick for a day after those nasty shots."

"Once, just once, I want to go to the doctor with Harry and watch her get the needle. "Murphy fluffed her tail.

"Arm or rear?"

"Both! Let her suffer. She won't be able to sit down, and let's see her

pick up a hay bale." Murphy licked her lips. "When she opens the door, let's run over to Miranda's. I want to hear her holler."

"Where's Tucker?"

"Susan's."

"There she goes." Murphy trailed Harry's sneaker, and when the door opened, she shot out, followed by Pewter, less speedy. "Follow me."

Harry thought Mrs. Murphy would go to the truck. When the cat zigzagged to the left, she knew this was going to be one of those days. She placed the lettuce and English muffins in the seat of the truck and walked after them. If she ran, then Murphy would run faster. The culprits ambled behind the post office.

"Murphy!" Harry called when she reached the alleyway. She could see a tiger tail protruding from under a blue hydrangea near the alley. Every time she'd call Murphy's name, the cat's tail would twitch.

From opposite ends of the alley drove Kerry McCray in one car and Aysha and Norman Cramer in another. Kerry pulled in behind Market's store and immediately behind her came Hogan Freely, who pulled in next to her. Norman, driving, paused for a moment. Too late to hurry away. Aysha steamed as Harry came up to the window.

"Hi, Harry." Norman called loudly to those behind her, "Hello, Hogan. Hi, Kerry."

They nodded and entered die market.

"If you roll on down the alleyway, go slow. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter are on die rampage."

"I'll pull up behind the post office." He smiled. Aysha did not. "Anyway, we're out of paper towels."

"Norman."

"Just a second, honey. I'll be right back."

Wordlessly, she opened her door and followed him. Damned if she'd let him go in there with Kerry alone.

Harry, torn between conflicting desires, was rooted to the spot. She wanted to catch Murphy. On the other hand, she was only human. What if Kerry and Aysha went ballistic again? Mrs. Hogendobber, in her apron, came out of her back door. Harry motioned her over, quickly explained, and the two tried not to run into the store.

"Doyou believe those two?" Pewter giggled.

"I'm insulted. She's supposed to get down on her hands and knees and beg me to come back to the truck. "Murphy pouted.

Inside the market everyone grabbed a few items off the shelves so as to not look too obvious. As luck would have it, Susan Tucker and Reverend Jones walked in.

"How's your golf game?" Herb asked Hogan.

"Driving's great. The short game…" Hogan turned down his thumb.

"I'm sorry to hear about the losses at the bank. I know how much that must weigh on you." The reverend's voice, deep and resonant, made the listener feel better already.

"I have turned that problem inside and out. Upside down. You name it. And still nothing."

Aysha and Norman joined them. Kerry hung back, but she wasn't leaving. Susan joined die circle and Harry stayed a step back with Kerry. Mrs. H. walked behind the counter with Market.

"It's in the computer," Susan blurted out.

"Susan, the computer techies checked our system." Norman grimaced. "Nothing."

"The Threadneedle virus." Susan beamed. "Harry and I—"

"No, wait a minute," Harry protested.

"All right, it was Harry's idea. She said diat the moneys were noticed missing within a day or two of the Threadneedle scare—"

"We nipped that in the bud." Norman crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's just it," Harry offered. "Whatever the commands were, there must have been a rider, something to delay and then trigger a transfer of money."

"Like an override." Hogan rubbed his chin, a habit when his mind raced. "Uh-huh. I wonder. Well, we know the problems not in the machine, so if we can figure out the sequence, we'll know."

"It could be something as simple as, say, whenever you punch in the word Threadneedle, a command is given to take money," Susan hypothesized.

"Now, ladies, with all due respect, it isn't that easy. If it were, we would have found it." Norman smiled weakly.

Aysha, eye on Kerry, chimed in. "Let's go, honey, we'll be late for Mother's dinner."

"Oh, sure."

"I think I'll fiddle around tonight at the bank. I work best at night, when it's quiet. You've given me an idea, you two." Hogan glanced from Susan to Harry.

Norman rolled his eyes. Both Aysha and Kerry noticed. Keeping his voice steady, he said, "Now, boss, don't scramble my files." This was followed by an anemic laugh.

"Don't worry." Hogan grabbed his grocery bag. "Those pastries, Miranda—too much." He left.

Norman and Aysha followed.

Kerry, fighting back her urge to trash Aysha, smacked her carton of eggs on the counter so hard, she broke some of them. "Oh, no, look what I've done."

Susan opened the egg carton. "You sure have. Kerry, it's never as bad as you think it is."

"Thanks," came the wobbly reply.

"Where's Tucker?" Harry asked of Susan.

"Back at the house."

"I'm going out to get Murphy. She won't speak to me. Mrs. H.—"

"Yes."

"Vet day. If I can't convince that furry monster to go home with me, will you keep an eye on her? She'll go to the post office or your back door."

"I'll put her in the store with Pewter. Murphy can't resist a bite of sirloin," Market offered.

He was right. Both cats waltzed through the back door about an hour later.

Late that night with the lights out, Murphy told Pewter what she had heard at the bank. They sat in the big storefront window and watched the fog roll down.

"You've never spent a night in the store," Pewter observed. "It's fun. I can go out if I want since Market put in a kitty door like yours, but mostly I like to sit in the window and watch everything."

"It was nice of Market to let me stay. Nice of him to call Harry too. I suppose she thinks I'm learning a lesson. Fat chance. I'll remember the date."

"She fooled you. She took you to the vet on Sunday. Special trip."

Mrs. Murphy thought about that. "She's smarter than I think. Wonder what she had to pay Dr. Parker to make a special trip to the office?"

When Hogan pulled into the bank, his headlights were diffused in the thickening mist. The cats could just make him out as he unlocked die front door and entered. Within a minute the lights went on upstairs, in a fuzzy golden square.

"Diligent," Pewter said. She licked one paw and wiped it over an ear.

Lights turned off in other buildings as the hours passed. Finally only a few neon lights shone in store windows or over signs; the street lamps glowed. The cats dozed, then Mrs. Murphy opened her eyes.

"Pewter, wake up. I heard a car behind us."

"People use the alleyway."

A door slammed, they heard the crunch of human shoes. Then a figure appeared at the corner. Whoever it was had walked the length of the alleyway. They couldn't make out who it was or even what gender, as the fog was now dense. In a moment, swirling gray swallowed the person.

Inside his office Hogan kept blinking. His eyes, exhausted by the screen of the computer, burned. His brain burned too. He tried all manner of things. He punched in the word Threadneedle. He remembered the void commands. He finally decided he would review clients' accounts. Something might turn up that Norman had missed. An odd transfer or an offshore transfer. He could go through the accounts quickly since he knew these people and their small businesses. He was at the end of the Hs by midnight. An unfamiliar yet familiar name snagged him.

"Huckstep," he said aloud. "Huckstep." He punched in the code to review the account. It had been opened July 30 in the name of Michael and Malibu Huckstep, a joint account. Of course—the murdered man. He must have intended to stick around, if he opened an account. That meant he had an account card with his signature and his wife's. He was going to go downstairs to check the card files, but first the buttons clicked as he checked the amount in the savings account: $4,218.64. Not a lot of money but enough. He rubbed his eyes and checked his wrist-watch. Past twelve. Too late to call Rick Shaw. He'd call him first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile he'd go down and check those signature cards. He stood up, interlocked his fingers, and stretched his hands over his head. His knuckles cracked just as the bullet from a .357 tore into his shoulder. He opened his mouth to call out his assailant's name, but too late. The next one exploded his heart and he crashed down into his chair.

Back in the store, the cats heard the gunfire.

"Hurry!" Mrs. Murphy yelled as they both screeched out the kitty door. As they ran toward the bank, they heard through the dense fog footsteps running in the opposite direction, up at the corner.

"Damn! Damn!'"The tiger cursed herself.

"What's the matter?"

"Pewter, we should have gone around back to see the car."

"Too late now." The smallish but rotund gray cat barreled toward the bank.

Arriving at the front step only a couple of minutes after the gunfire, they stopped so fast at the door that they tumbled over one another and landed on a figure slumped in the doorway, a smoking .357 in her hand.

"Oh, NO!" Murphy cried.

24

Kerry McCray lay slumped across the front doorway of the bank. A small trickle of blood oozed from her head. The acrid odor of gunpowder filled the air. The pistol was securely grasped in her right hand.

"We've got to get Mrs. Hogendobber." Mrs. Murphy sniffed Kerry's wound.

"Maybe I should stay here with her. "Pewter kept patting Kerry's face in a vain effort to revive her.

"If only Tucker were here." The tiger paced around the inert form. "She could guard Kerry. Look, Pewter, we'll have to risk that she'll be safe. It's going to take two of us to get Mrs. Hogendobber here."

That said, the two sped through the fog, running so low to the ground and so fast that the pads of their paws barely touched it. They pulled up under Mirandas bedroom window which was wide open to catch the cooling night air. A screen covered the window.

"Let's sing, "Murphy commanded.

They hooted, hollered, and screeched. Those two cats could have awakened the dead.

Miranda, in her nightdress, shoe in hand, came to the window. She opened the screen and let fly. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter dodged the missile with ease.

"Bad shot! Come on, Mrs. H., come on!"

"Pewter?" Miranda squinted into the fog.

The tubby kitty jumped up on the windowsill followed by Mrs. Murphy before Miranda could close the screen.

"Oh, please, Mrs. Hogendobber, please listen to us. There's terrible trouble—"Pewter said.

"Somebody's hurt!" Murphy bellowed.

"You two are getting on my nerves. Now, you get on out of here." Miranda slid the screen up again.

"No!" they replied in unison.

"Follow me. "Murphy ran to the door of the bedroom.

Miranda simply didn't get it even though Pewter kept telling her to hurry, hurry.

"Watch out. She might swat," Murphy warned Pewter as she snuck in low and bit Miranda's ankle.

"Ouch!" Outraged, Mrs. Hogendobber switched on the light and picked up the phone. As she did, she noticed the cats circling her and then going back and forth to the door. Their distress affected her, but she wasn't sure what to do and she was mad at Murphy. She dialed Harry.

A dull hello greeted her.

"Your cat has just bit me on the ankle and is acting crazy. Rabies."

"Mrs. Hogendobber—" Harry was awake now.

"Pewters here too. Screeching under my window like banshees and I opened the window and they jumped in and—" She bent down as Pewter rubbed her leg. She noticed a bit of blood on

Pewters foreleg and paw where the cat had patted Kerry's head. "Pewter has blood on her paw. Oh, dear, Harry, I think you'd better come here and get these cats. I don't know what to do."

"Keep them inside, okay? I'll be right over, and I'm sorry Murphy bit you. Don't worry about rabies—she's had her shots, remember?" Harry hung up the phone, jumped into her jeans and an old workshirt. She hurried to the truck and cranked it up. As she blasted down the road, she stuck some gum in her mouth. She'd been in too big a rush to brush her teeth.

In seven minutes she was at Miranda's door. As Harry entered the living room Murphy said, "Try again, Pewter. Mother's a little smarter than Miranda."

They both hollered, "Kerry McCray's hurt."

"Somethings wrong." Harry reached for Pewter's paw, but the cat eluded her and ran to the front door.

"Rabies." Miranda folded her arms across her bosom.

"No, it isn't."

"That tiger, that hellcat, bit me." She dangled her ankle out from under her nightdress. Two perfect fang marks, not deep but indenting the skin, were revealed.

"Come on," Murphy yowled at the top of her lungs. She scratched at the front door.

"These two want something. I'm going to see. Why don't you go back to bed. And I do apologize."

"I'm wide awake now." Miranda returned to her bedroom, threw on a robe and slippers, and reappeared. "I can't go back to sleep once I've been awakened. Might as well prove that I'm as crazy as you and these cats are." With that she sailed through the open door. "I can barely see my hand in front of my face. How'd you get here so quickly?"

"Drove too fast."

"Come on. Come on." Murphy trotted up ahead in the gray mists, then back. "Follow my voice."

"Harry, we're out on Main Street and they're headed for the railroad tracks."

"I know." The air felt clammy on her skin.

"Is this some cat trick?"

"Shut up and hurry! "Pewter's patience was wearing thin.

"Something definitely is agitating them and Murphy's a reasonable cat—usually."

"Cats are by definition unreasonable." Miranda stepped faster.

The bank loomed in the mist, the upstairs light still burning.

The cats called to them through the fog. Harry saw Kerry first, lying facedown, right hand outstretched with the gun in it. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter sat beside her.

"Miranda!"

Mrs. Hogendobber moved faster, then she, too, saw what at first seemed like an apparition and then like a bad dream. "Good heavens."

Harry skidded up to Kerry. She knelt down and felt for a pulse. Miranda was now next to her.

"Is she all right?" Mis. Murphy asked.

"Her pulse is regular."

Miranda watched Pewter touch Kerry's head. "We've got to get an ambulance. I'll go in the bank and call. The door's open. That's odd."

"I'll do it. I have a funny feeling something is really wrong in there. You stay here with her and don't touch anything, especially the gun."

Miranda realized as Harry disappeared into die bank diat she'd been so distraught at the sight of the young woman, she hadn't noticed the gun.

Harry returned shortly. "Got Cynthia. Called Reverend Jones too."

"If this is as bad as I think it is, then I suppose Kerry needs a minister." Miranda's teeth were chattering although the night was mild.

Kerry opened her eyes. "Mrs. Murphy."

The cat purred. "You'll be fine."

"After the headache goes away, "Pewter advised.

"Kerry—"

"Harry—" Kerry reached to touch her head as she rolled onto her side and realized a gun was in her right hand. She dropped it as if it were on fire and sat straight up. "Oh." She clasped her head with both hands.

"Honey, you'd better lie back down." Miranda sat beside her to ease her down.

"No, no—let me stay still." Kerry forced a weak smile.

A coughing motor announced Herb. He pulled alongside the bank and got out. He couldn't see them yet.

"Herbie, we're at the front door," Miranda called loudly to him.

His footsteps came closer. He appeared out of an envelope of thick gray fog. "What's going on?"

"We don't really know," Miranda answered.

Kerry replied, "I feel dizzy and a little sick to my stomach."

Herb noticed the bank door was wide open.

Harry said, "It was open. I used the phone inside, but I didn't look around. Something's wrong."

"Yes—" He felt it too. "I'm going in."

"Take the gun," Miranda advised.

"No. No need." He disappeared into the bank.

"Should we go with him?"Vevntt wondered.

"No, I'm not leaving Mother." Murphy continued purring because she thought the soothing sound might calm the humans.

"What little friends you are." Kerry petted the cats, then stopped because even that made her stomach queasy.

"They found you and then they found us—well, it's a long story." Harry sat on die other side of Kerry.

"Herb, what's the matter?" Miranda was shocked when he reappeared. His face, drained of all color, gave him a frightful appearance. He looked as sick as Kerry.

"Hogan Freely's been murdered." He sat heavily on the pavement almost the way a tired child drops down. "I've known him all my life. What a good man—what a good man." Tears ran down his cheeks. "I've got to tell Laura."

"I'll go with you," Miranda offered. "We can go after the sheriff arrives."

"Kerry." Harry, shaking, pointed to the gun.

Kerry's voice wavered. "I didn't kill him. I don't even own a gun."

"Can you remember what happened?" Harry asked.

"Up to a point, I can." Kerry sucked in air, trying to drive out the pain. "I was over at Mother and Dads. Dad's sick again, so I stayed late to help Mom. I didn't leave until a litde past midnight, and I was crawling along because of the fog. I passed the corner and thought I saw a light in Hogan's office window. It was fuzzy but I was curious. I turned around and parked in the lot. I figured he was up there trying to find the money like he said he was going to do and I was going to surprise him, just kind of cheer him up. I walked up these steps and opened the door, and that's all I remember."

"What about sounds?" Harry asked.

"Or smells?''Pewter added. "Murphy, let's go in and see if we can pick up a scent. Harry's all right. No one's around to hit her on the head and Kerry won't do anything crazy."

"Okay."

The two cats left.

"I remember opening the door. I don't remember footsteps or anything like that, but somebody must have heard me. I didn't think I was making that much noise."

"Luck of the draw," Herb said. "You were going in as he was going out."

The sirens in the distance meant Cynthia was approaching.

The two cats lifted their noses and sniffed. "Let'sgo upstairs. "Mrs. Murphy led the way.

As they neared Hogan's office, Pewter said in a small voice, "/ don't think I want to see this. *

"Close your eyes and use your nose. And don't step in anything."

Murphy padded into the room. Hogan was sitting upright in his chair; his shoulder was torn away. Blood spattered the wall behind him. A small hole bore evidence to the bullet that killed him. Murphy could smell the blood seeping into the upholstery of the chair.

Pewter opened one eye and then shut it. "/ can't smell anything but blood and gunpowder."

"Blood and gunpowder. "Mrs. Murphy leapt onto his desk with a single bound. She tried not to look into Hogans glassy stare. She liked him and didn't want to remember him like this.

His computer was turned off. His desk drawers were closed. There was no sign of struggle. She touched her nose to every article on his desk. Then she jumped back to the floor. She stopped by the front of his desk.

"Here."

Pewter placed her nose on the spot. "Rubber. Rubber and wet."

"From the misty night, I would think. Rubber won't leave much of a print and not in this carpet. Dammit! Rubber, blood, and gun-smoke. Whoever did this was no dummy."

"Maybe so, Murphy, but whoever did this was in a hurry. The computer is off but still warm." Pewter noticed Hogans feet under the desk. "Let's talk about this outside. This place gives me the creeps."

"Okay." It bothered Murphy, too, but she didn't want to admit it.

As they walked back down the stairs, Pewter continued. "If someone wanted to dispatch Hogan Freely, there are better ways to do it."

"I agree. So, he was getting close to the missing money."

As the cats passed through the lobby, Rick Shaw entered. He saw them but didn't say anything.

The blue and red flashing lights of the squad car and the ambulance reflected off the fog.

Kerry, on a stretcher, was being carried to the back of the ambulance.

The cats stood next to Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber. Herb, with a slow tread, turned to enter the bank. Cynthia, pad out, was taking notes.

"Herb, I'll go with you."

"Good."

"We'll wait here." Harry pulled Miranda back as she was about to follow. "You'll have nightmares."

"You're right—but I feel so awful. I hate to think of him up there, alone and—"

"Don't think about it and don't let Laura think about it either when you go over there with Reverend Jones. It's too painful. She doesn't have to know all the details."

"You're right." Miranda lowered her eyes. "This is dreadful."

"Dreadful—"Mrs. Murphy whispered, "andjust beginning."

25

The hospital smell bothered Harry, reminding her of her mothers last days on earth. She avoided visiting anyone in a hospital if she could, but invariably duty overcame aversion and she would venture down the impersonal corridors.

Kerry was being kept for twenty-four hours to make sure she suffered no further effects from her assault. The doctors treated any blow to the head as serious. Cynthia Cooper was sitting next to Kerry's bed when Harry entered the room.

"How you doing?"

"Okay—considering."

"Hi, Coop."

"Hi." Coop shifted in her seat. "Hell of a night."

Kerry fiddled with her hospital identification wristband. "Cynthia went with Rick and Herbie to Laura Freely's. Laura collapsed when they told her."

"Who's with her until Dudley andThea can fly home?" Dudley and Thea were the Freelys' adult children.

"Miranda spent the night there. Mim's with Laura right now. The ladies will take turns even once the children return. There's so much to do and Laura is sedated. She can't make any of the decisions that need to be made. I think Ellie Wood Baxter, Port, and even BoomBoom will work out a schedule." Cynthia stretched her legs.

"Kerry, I dropped by to see if you needed anything from home, what with your dad being sick. I'm happy to pick up stuff for you."

"Thanks, but I'm okay."

"Cynthia—?" Harry's eyebrows pointed upward quizzically.

"I'm here to see she doesn't make a run for it. The .357 in her hand was the gun that killed Hogan. And it's registered to Kerry McCray."

"I don't own a gun." Kerry teared up.

"According to the records, you bought one at Hassett's in Waynesboro, July tenth."

"Are you arresting my friend here?" Harry tried to keep her voice light.

"No, not yet."

"Cynthia, you can't possibly believe that Kerry would kill anyone."

"I'm a police officer. I can't afford emotions."

"Bullshit," came Harrys swift retort.

"Thanks, Harry. We're not close friends, and here you are— thanks." Kerry flopped back on the pillows, then winced because she felt the throb in her head. "I never bought a gun. I've never been to Hassett's. On July tenth I worked all day as usual, handling new accounts."

Cynthia firmly said, "According to records, you showed your driver's license."

"I never set foot in that gun shop."

"What if Kerry is the one who masterminded the bank theft? Maybe Hogan is starting to figure out her m.o." Cynthia used the police shorthand for modus operandi. "She's getting nervous. She knew he was working late in that bank that night. Millions of dollars are at stake. She kills Hogan."

"And hits herself on the head hard enough to knock herself out—yet still keep the gun in her hand?" Harry was incredulous.

"That presents a problem." Cynthia nodded. "But Kerry could have an accomplice. He or she hits her on the head so she looks innocent."

"And I could fly to the moon." Harry sharply inhaled. "This summer is sure turning to crap."

"How elegantly put." Cynthia half smiled.

"Forget being an officer and be one of the girls just for a minute, Coop. Do you really think Kerry killed Hogan?"

Cynthia waited a long time. "I don't know, but I do know that the .357 is the same gun that killed Mike Huckstep."

"What?" Harry felt her throat constrict.

"Ballistics report came back at six this morning. Rick's lashing everyone on. Same gun. We'd like to keep that tidbit out of the papers, but I doubt the boss can. His job is so damned political."

"Huckstep and Hogan Freely." Harry frowned. "One's a Hell's Angel and the other's a bank president."

"Maybe Hogan had a secret life?" Kerry spoke up.

"Not that secret." Harry shook her head.

"You'd be amazed at what people can hide from one another," Cynthia replied.

"I know that, but at some point you've got to trust your instincts," Harry replied.

"Well then, what do your instincts tell you?" Cynthia challenged her.

"Hogan was getting close and that means the answer is in the bank."

"Think you're right."

Kerry moaned. "My goose is cooked, isn't it?"

Cynthia stared hard at her.

26

Because of federal regulations, the bank could not be closed on Monday. In fact, if Hogan had been shot during banking hours, the way the law reads he would have been left there and business would have continued while the sheriff worked. People would have had to step over the body. These stringent rules against closing a bank were born in the 1930s when banks bolted their doors or folded like houses of cards. As is customary when legislators cook up some ameliorative law, it never covers the human condition. The employees of Crozet National worked with black armbands around their left arms. A huge black wreath hung at the end of the lobby, a smaller one on the front door. Out front, the Virginia state flag flew at half mast. Mary Thigpen, the head teller for twenty-five years, kept bursting into tears. Many eyes were red-rimmed.

All the talk about Kerry so outraged Norman that he shouted, "She's innocent until proven guilty, so shut up!"

Rick Shaw had taken over the second floor, squeezing the accounting department, but they managed. The blood splattered on the wall of Hogan's office made Norman woozy. He wasn't the only one.

Mim Sanburne came by after her turn with Laura Freely to inform everyone that the funeral service would be held that Thursday at the Crozet Lutheran Church. The family would receive Wednesday night at home.

A subdued hush followed her announcement.

Over at the post office Harry asked Blair to help while Mrs. Hogendobber organized the food for Wednesday night. Dudley Freely proved incompetent due to shock. Thea, the older Freely child, was better at making some of the decisions forced upon her by the event. What kind of casket, or would it be cremation? What cemetery? Flowers or contributions to charity? She fielded these questions, but sometimes she would have to sit down, fatigued beyond endurance. She didn't realize a great emotional blow is physically exhausting. Mim and Miranda did. They took over. Ottoline Gill and Aysha handled the phone duties. Laura languished in bed. When she regained consciousness she would sob uncontrollably.

Rick and Cynthia tried to question her, but she couldn't get through even a gentle interrogation.

Rick pulled aside Mim outside the post office, as they had both driven in to get their mail. "Mrs. Sanburne, you knew Hogan all his life. Can you imagine him involved in some kind of scheme to defraud people—"

She cut him off. "Hogan Freely was the most honest and generous man I've ever known."

"Don't get huffy, Mrs. Sanburne, I've got two murders on my hands. I have to ask uncomfortable questions. He could have been involved in the theft and had his partner or partners turn on him. It's not an uncommon occurrence."

"I'm sorry, but you must understand. Hogan loved this town and he loved banking. If you knew the people he took chances on, the people he helped get started in business, well, he was about a lot more than money."

"I know. He helped me get my mortgage." Rick opened the door for Mim as they stepped into the post office.

Mrs. Murphy, crouched on the little ledge dividing the mailboxes, waited for Rick and Mim to open their boxes.

Rick opened his first and the tiger reached into his box, swatting his hand as he withdrew his mail.

"Murphy." He walked to the counter and looked around the corner of the boxes.

She looked back at him. "I wanted to make you feel better."

"That cat going to grab me?" Mim called.

Harry lifted her from the small counter, ideally suited for sorting into the rows of postboxes. "No, I've got her right here in my arms."

Tucker, head on her paws, said, "Murphy, nothing is going to make people feel better right now."

Rick chucked the tiger under the chin. "If only animals could talk. Who knows what she saw the night Hogan was murdered?"

"I didn't see anything because of the fog and I missed a chance to identify the killer's car. I wasn't so smart, sheriff."

"You did the right thing, Murphy, you found help, "Tucker lauded her.

Rick left, Mim gave Harry and Blair the information about the family gathering and the funeral, and then she left too.

Harry moved with a heavy tread. "I feel awful."

Blair put his arm around her shoulders. "Everyone does."

11

"We're going to be late." Norman checked his watch as he paced.

"I'm almost ready. I ran into Kate Bittner at the 19th Hole, and you know how she can talk."

He bit his tongue. She was always late. Running into someone at the supermarket was just another excuse. A car turning into the driveway diverted his attention away from pushing Aysha on.

Ottoline, in full regalia, stepped out of her Volvo station wagon.

"Oh, no," he said under his breath.

Ottoline came in the front door without knocking.

"Norman, you look ashen."

"I'm very tired, Ottoline."

"Where's my angel?"

"In the bathroom, where else?"

She squinted at him, her pointy chin sticking out. "A woman must look her best. You men don't understand that these things take time. I have yet to meet the man who wants an ugly woman on his arm."

"Aysha could never be ugly."

"Quite." She click-clacked down the hallway. The bathroom door was open. "You need different earrings."

"But, Mummy, I like these."

"Too much color. We're going to pay our sympathies. This may be a gathering, but it's not a party."

"Well—"

"Wear the drop pearl earrings. Discreet, yet they make a statement."

"All right." Aysha marched into the bedroom, took off her enameled earrings, and plucked out the pendant pearls. "These?"

Exasperated, Norman joined them. "Aysha—please."

"All right, all right," she crossly replied. "I'm ready."

"I hope you'll be made president of the branch now." Ottoline inspected her son-in-laws attire. He passed muster.

"This isn't the time to think about that."

Her lips pursed. "Believe me, there are others not nearly so scrupulous. You need to go into Charlottesville and talk to Donald Petrus. You're young, but you're the obvious person for the job."

"I don't know if that's true."

"Just do as I say," she snapped.

"There are others with more seniority," he snapped back

"Old women."

"Kerry McCray."

"Ha!" Aysha finally entered into the conversation. "She murdered Hogan Freely."

"Like hell she did. She'll be found innocent."

Ottoline tapped her foot on the floor. "Innocent or guilty… she's irrelevant. You must seize the day, Norman."

He looked from mother-in-law to wife and sighed.

28

Harry hated these dolorous social events, but she would attend. Sad as such events were, not to pay one's last respects meant just that, no respect.

She hurried home from the post office. Miranda had spent the day dashing back and forth between the mailboxes and her kitchen. Luckily, Blair had helped drive food over to the Freelys' and had run errands for Miranda, because the mail load, unusually heavy for a Wednesday, kept her pinned to the post office more than she had wished.

Once home, Harry hopped in the shower, applied some mascara and lipstick. Her short hair, naturally curly, needed only a quick run-through with her fingers while it was wet.

"What's she doing in there?"Tnckst languidly rolled on the floor, ending up tummy in the air.

"Tarting herself up."

"Did she remember the blusher? She forgets half the time, "Tucker noted.

"I'llgo see. "Mrs. Murphy quietly padded into the small bathroom. Harry had forgotten. The cat leapt onto the litde sink and knocked die blusher into the sink. "You need some rose in your cheeks."

"Murphy." Harry reached down and picked up the square black container. "Guess this wouldn't hurt." She touched her cheek with the brush. "There. A raving beauty. I mean, men quiver at my approach. Women's eyes narrow to slits. Kingdoms are offered me for a kiss."

"Mice! Moles'. Catnip, all at your feet. "Mrs. Murphy enjoyed the dream.

"Who's there? Who's there?" Tucker barreled toward the back door.

Fair knocked, then stepped over the litde dog, who immediately stopped barking.

"Hi, cute cakes." Fair smoothed his hand over Tucker's graceful ears, then he called, "It's me."

"I didn't know you were coming," Harry called from die bathroom.

"Uh, I should have called, but it's been one of those days. Had to put down Tommy Bolenders old mare. Twenty-six. He loved that mare and I told him to just go ahead and cry. He did, too, and then I got teary myself. Then that high-priced foal over at Dolan's crashed a fence. Big laceration on her chest. And Patty has thrush."

Patty, a sweet school horse at Sally and Bob Taylors Mountain Hollow Farm, had taught two generations of people to ride.

Harry joined him. She wore a long skirt, sandals, and a crisp cotton blouse.

"I don't think I've seen you in a skirt since die day we were married."

"That long, huh?" She paused. "Now, Fair, you should have called me because I'm supposed to go to the Freelys' with Blair and—"

Fair held up his hand in the stop position. "We'll both take you."

"He may not take kindly to that notion."

He held up his hand again. "Leave him out of the loop for a minute. Do you take kindly to it?"

"If you both behave."

"How about this. "Tucker wagged her non-tail. "Mom's being escorted by the two best-looking men in the county. The phone lines will burn tonight."

"BoomBoom's will burn the brightest." Mrs. Murphy was now sitting next to Tucker.

"You'll be pleased to know that I called Blair on my way over, since I anticipated this."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"What if you'd said no? Then I'd lose a chance to see you, and in a skirt too."

Another vehicle came down the driveway. Tucker ran barking to the door. She stopped quickly. "Blair, in the Mercedes."

Harry kissed the cat and dog and walked outside with Fair. They both got into Blair's Mercedes and drove off.

"How do you like that? "Tucker watched the red taillights.

"/ like it a lot. It proves that Fair and Blair can both learn to get along and put Harrys interests first. That's what I care about. I want someone in Mom's life who makes her life easier. Love shouldn't feel like a job."

29

Flowers, mostly pastels and whites, filled every room of the Freely house. Laura sat in the big wing chair by the living room fireplace. At moments she recognized people. Other times she lapsed into an anguished trance.

Dudley, subdued, greeted people at die door. He'd pulled himself together. A few people cold-shouldered Ned Tucker since they heard he'd taken Kerry McCray's case.

Thea, with the assistance of Mrs. Hogendobber, Mim, and Little Marilyn, accepted condolences, shared memories, made sure that people had something to eat and drink. Ottoline Gill, relishing her self-appointed position, led people to Laura and then quietly led them away toward the food table. Everything was well organized.

In the dining room, Market Shiflett kept replenishing the food supply at his own expense. Hogan had helped him secure his business loan. In the parlor, Aysha and Norman talked to people. From time to time Norman glanced at the front door. He looked miserable. Aysha looked appropriately sad.

Harry's arrival with the two men riveted people's attention until Kerry, released from the hospital that morning, arrived with Cynthia Cooper. At the door she greeted Dudley, who waved off Ottoline. He listened intently, then took Kerry directly to his mother. Ottoline was scandalized, and it showed. A hush fell over the room.

"Laura, I'm so terribly sorry."

Laura lifted her head in recognition. "Did you shoot my Hogan?"

"No. I know it looks bad, but I didn't. I admired and respected him. I would never have done anything so horrible. I'm here to offer my deepest sympathy."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Jim Sanburne took control of the situation. "Folks, we've got to reach out for the best in each other. We'll get through this, we'll celebrate Hogan's life by being more like him, and that's by helping other people."

"And by catching his killer!" Aysha glared directly at Kerry until Norman squeezed her upper arm—hard.

"Hear. Hear." Many in the room shared this sentiment.

As people gathered around Aysha, more people poured into the house. There was barely room to turn around. Norman slipped out. Kerry observed this and left, too, after saying good-bye to Laura. Cooper followed her at a discreet distance.

Norman was lighting a cigarette. He stood, forlorn, in the green expanse of the manicured lawn.

She slipped her arm dirough his, surprising him. "I must see you."

"Soon." He offered her a cigarette.

A car was heading toward them. He adroitly extricated diem from die approaching light. "Maybe we'd better walk away from the house."

As they walked off to the side yard, Kerry pleaded, "I can't live this way, Norman. Are you going to tell her or not?"

"Tell her what?"

"That you're leaving her."

"Kerry, I told you I can't handle a crisis in my home life and at work at the same time. And right now you're looking down the barrel of a gun." He stopped. "Sorry, it's a figure of speech. Let me get through this thing at work and then I can attend to Aysha."

"Attend to Aysha first," she pleaded.

"It's not that easy. She's not diat easy."

"I know diat. She used to be my best friend, remember?"

"Kerry"—he flicked the cigarette into the grass—"maybe I should give my marriage a chance. Maybe the stress at work has blunted my, uh—kept me from feeling close to Aysha."

Kerry, shaking lighdy, said, "Please don't do that. Don't jerk me around. Aysha cares only for Aysha."

"I don't want to jerk you around, but I'm in no condition to make a major decision, and neither are you. Monday I passed Hogan's office. Blood was splattered on the wall. It made me sick. Every time I went downstairs I passed the mess. If you'd seen the blood, you'd be shook too." He shuddered. "I can't take this."

"Time isn't going to make you love Aysha."

"I loved her once."

"You thought you did."

"But what if I do? I don't know what I feel."

Kerry threw her arms around him and kissed him hard. He kissed her back. "What do you feel now?"

"Confused. I still love you." He shrugged. "Oh, God, I don't know anything. I just want to get away for a while."

He reached out and kissed her again. They didn't hear the soft crunch moving toward them.

"Kerry, you slut." Aysha hauled off and belted her. "A murderer and a slut."

Norman grabbed his wife, pulling her away. "Don't hit her. Hit me. This is my fault."

"Shut up, Norman. I know this bitch inside and out. Whatever I have, she has to have it. She's competed with me since we were tiny. It just never stops, does it, Kerry?"

"I had him first!"

The shouting grew louder. Harry and Miranda walked out of the house because of the shouting just as Cynthia Cooper stepped out from behind a big oak. She moved toward the trio.

"You didn't want him. You were going to bed with Jake Berryhill at the same time."

Kerry's face was distorted in rage. "Liar."

"You told me yourself. You said you knew that Norman loved you and he was sweet but he was boring in bed." Aysha relished the moment.

Kerry screamed, "You bitch!"

Again Norman pulled them apart with the help of Cynthia. He was mortified to see her.

"For God's sake, keep your voices down. The Freelys don't deserve this!" Harry's lips tightened as she ran over.

"Norman, tell her you're leaving her."

"I can't." Norman seemed to shrink before everyone's eyes.

Kerry's sobs transformed into white-hot hate. "Then I hope you drop dead!"

She twisted away from Cynthia, who caught her. "Time for a ride home until you are formally charged." She pushed Kerry into the squad car.

Norman meekly addressed the little group. "I apologize."

"Go home," Harry said flatly.

Aysha turned and preceded Norman to their car as her mother pushed open the front door. Ottoline called out to her daughter and son-in-law, but they avoided her.

Miranda folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "Norman Cramer?"

—

Re-inking the postage meter meant sticky red ink on her fingers, her shirt, and the counter too. No matter how hard she tried, Harry managed to spill some.

Mrs. Hogendobber brought over a towel and wiped up the droplets. "Looks like blood."

Harry snapped shut the top of the meter. "Gives me the willies—what with everything that's happened."

Little Marilyn came in with a brisk "Hello." She opened her mailbox with such force, the metal and glass door clacked into the adjoining box. She removed her mail, sorted it by the wastebin, then stopped at the counter. "A letter from Steve O'Grady in Africa. Don't you love looking at foreign stamps?"

"Yes. It's a miniature art form," Miranda replied.

"When Kerry and Aysha and I went to Europe after college, we stayed in Florence awhile, then split up. I had a Eurailpass, so I must have whisked through every country not behind the Iron

Curtain. I made a point of sending them postcards and letters more so they could have the stamps than read my scrawl. We were devoted letter writers."

Miranda offered Little Marilyn a piece of fresh banana cake. "You three were best friends for so long. What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing in Europe anyway. We wanted to do different things, but no one was angry about it. Kerry came home first. She was in London and got homesick. Aysha lived in Paris and I ended up in Hamburg. Mom said either I was to get a job or marry the head of Porsche. I told her he was in Stuttgart, but she wasn't amused. You know, I still have the letters we sent to one another over that time. Aysha wrote long ones. Kerry was more to the point. It was this business with Norman that broke up the three musketeers. Even when I was married and they were single we stayed close. Then, when Kerry was dating Norman and I was divorcing the monster, we went out together."

"Maybe Norman has hidden talents," Harry mused.

"Very hidden, "Mrs. Murphy called out from the bottom of the mail cart.

"Kerry thought so. They always had stuff to talk about." Marilyn laughed. "As for Aysha, she got panicky. All your friends are married and you're not—that kind of thing. Plus, Ottoline lashed her on."

"Panic? It must have been a grand mal seizure." Mrs. Murphy stuck her head out of the mail cart.

Pewter pushed through the animal door. "It's me."

"Iknow,"Murphy called back. Pewter jumped in the mail cart with her.

"Isn't it a miracle the way those two cats found Kerry?" Marilyn watched the two felines roll around and bat at one another in the mail cart.

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform," Mrs. H. said.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter stopped.

"You'd think they'd realize that the Almighty is a cat. Humans are lower down in the chain of beings."

"They'll never get it. Too egocentric." Pewter swatted Murphy's tail and renewed the combat.

"I ought to get out those old letters." Little Marilyn headed for the door. "Be interesting to see who we were then and who we are now."

"Bring them in someday so I can look at the stamps."

"Okay."

Miranda cut another piece of banana bread. "Marilyn, do you believe Kerry could kill someone?"

"Yes. I believe any of us could kill someone if we had to do it."

"But Hogan?"

She breathed deeply. "Mrs. H., I just don't know. It seems impossible, but…"

"Where did Kerry work in London—if she did?"

"At a bank. London branch of one of the big American banks. That's when she found her vocation, at least that's what she told me."

"I never heard that." Harry's mind raced.

"She's quiet. Then again, how many people are interested in banking, and you two are acquaintances at best. I mean, there's nothing shifty in her not telling you."

"Yeah," Harry weakly responded.

"Well, this is errand day." Marilyn pushed open the door and a blast of muggy air swept in.

So did Rick and Cynthia.

"May I?" Rick pointed to the low countertop door separating the lobby and mailbox area from the work area.

"How polite to ask." Mrs. Hogendobber flipped up the countertop.

Cynthia followed. She placed a folder on the table and opened it. "The owner of a bar in San Francisco where Huckstep worked sent me these." She handed newspaper articles about George Jarvis's suicide to Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber.

Harry finished hers first, then read over Miranda's shoulder.

"The real story is that this man Jarvis, a member of the Bohemian Club, pillar-of-the-community type, was homosexual. No one knew. He was being blackmailed by Mike Huckstep and his girlfriend or wife—we aren't sure if they were really married— Malibu. She must be a cold customer, because she would hide and photograph Mike cavorting with his victims and that's how the blackmailing would start."

"The wedding ring said M M." Harry handed the clipping back to Cynthia.

"I'm not jumping to conclusions. We've checked marriage records in San Francisco for June 12,1986. Nothing on Huckstep. It's like finding a needle in a haystack. Checked the surrounding counties too. Given enough time, we'll get through all the records in California."

"Those two could have stood before the ocean and pledged eternal troth." Rick was sarcastic. "Or gone to Reno."

"We've sent out a bulletin to every police department in the nation and to the court of records for every county. Nothing may come of it, but we're sloggin' away."

Cynthia pulled out an eight-by-ten glossy blow-up of a snapshot. "Mike."

"Looking better than when he roared up to Ash Lawn."

"No one has claimed the body," Rick informed them. "We buried him in the county plot. We've got dental records to prove it was really him. We had to get him in the ground, obviously."

"Here's another. This is all Frank Kenton found. He said he called everyone he could remember from diose days when Mike tended bar."

A figure, blurred, her back turned, stood in the background of the photo. "Malibu?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Hogendobber put on her glasses. "All I can see is long hair."

"Frank knows little about her. She worked part-time at the Anvil, the bar he owns—caters to gay men. Malibu might as well have been wallpaper as far as the patrons were concerned, plus she seemed like the retiring type. Frank said he can't recall ever having a personal conversation with her."

"Did he know their scam?" Harry stared at the figure.

"Eventually. Huckstep and Malibu left in the nick of time. I suppose they left with a carload of money. They moved to L.A., where they probably continued their 'trade,' although no one seems to have caught them. Easy, I guess, in such a big city."

Rick jumped in when Cynthia finished. "We believe she was in the Charlottesville area when Mike arrived. We don't know if she's still around. Oh, one other sidelight. We've pieced together bits of Mike's background. His social security number helped us there. Frank Kenton had the number in his records. Mike was raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Majored in computer science at Northwestern University, where he made straight As."

"The Threadneedle virus!" Harry clapped her hands.

"That's a long shot, Harry," Rick admonished, then thought a minute. "Puts Kerry right in the perfect place to call in."

Harry folded a mail sack. "If she was smart enough to create their scam or to link up with the computer genius, she sure was dumb to get caught. Somehow it doesn't fit."

"The murder weapon sure fits." Cynthia took a piece of banana bread offered by Miranda.

"Now, you two"—Miranda's voice was laced with humor— "you're not here to show us a photograph of someone's back. I know you have two murders to solve. You'd put most of your effort into finding Hogan's killer, not the stranger's killer. So you must believe they are connected and you must need us in some fashion."

Rick's jaw froze in mid-chew. Mrs. Hogendobber was smarter than he gave her credit for being. "Well—"

"We're trustworthy." Miranda offered him another piece of banana bread.

He gulped. "No question of that. It's just—"

Cynthia interrupted. "We'd better tell them."

A silence followed.

"All right," Rick reluctantly agreed. "You tell them, I'll eat."

Cynthia grabbed a piece of bread before he could devour the whole loaf.

"We've had bur people working on Crozet National's computers. It's frustrating, obviously, because the thief has covered his tracks. But we did find one interesting item. An account opened in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Michael Huckstep."

Harry whistled.

Miranda said, "Mr. and Mrs.?"

Cynthia continued. "We pulled the signature cards. But we can't really verify his signature or hers."

"Can't you match it to the signature on his driver's license?" Harry asked.

"Superficially, yes. They match. But to verify it we need a handwriting expert. We've got a lady coming down from Washington." She paused for breath. "As for Mrs. Huckstep's signature… it doesn't match, superficially again, anyone's handwriting in the bank."

"When did he or she open the account?" Harry asked.

"July thirtieth. He deposited $4,218.64 in cash." Rick wiped his mouth with a napkin supplied by Miranda. "The bank officer in charge of opening the account was Kerry McCray."

"Not so good." Harry exhaled.

"What if…" Mrs. Hogendobber pressed her fingers together. "Oh, forget it."

"No, go on," Rick encouraged her.

"What if Kerry did open the account? That doesn't mean she knew him."

"Kerry declares she never opened an account for Mr. and Mrs. Huckstep even diough she was on the floor all of July thirtieth," Rick said heavily. "There's a number on each new account, an identifying employee number. Kerry's is on Huckstep's."

"Is the missing money in his account?" Harry queried.

"No," both answered.

Cynthia spoke. "We can't find a nickel."

"Well, I hate to even ask this. Was it in Hogan Freely's account?" Harry winced under Miranda's scornful reaction.

"No," Rick replied.

"For all we know, the money that disappeared on August first or second could be sitting in an account whose code we can't crack, to be called out at some later, safer date," Cynthia added.

"Maybe the money is in another bank or even another country," Miranda said.

"If two million or more dollars showed up in a personal account, we'd know it by now."

"Rick, what about a corporate account?"

"Harry, that's a bit more difficult because the big companies routinely shift around substantial sums. Sooner or later I drink we'd catch it, but the thief and most likely the murderer, one and the same, would have to have someone on the inside of one or more Fortune 500 firms," Rick explained.

"Or someone inside another bank." Harry couldn't figure this out. She didn't even have a hunch.

"Possible." Cynthia cracked her knuckles. "Sorry."

"What can we do?" Miranda wanted to help.

"Everybody tromps through here. Keep your eyes and ears open," Rick requested.

"We do that anyway." Harry laughed. "You know, Big Marilyn asked us to watch for registered letters. Could be stock certificates. Nothing."

"Thank you for the information about Threadneedle." Rick stood up. "I don't think Kerry could pull this off alone."

Miranda swallowed.

As if reading her thoughts, Harry whispered, "Norman?"

"We're keeping an eye on him." Rick shrugged. "We've got nothing on him at all. But we're scrutinizing everyone in that bank down to the janitor."

"Keep your eyes open." Rick flipped up the Dutch door coun-tertop and Cooper followed.

"If people will kill for a thousand bucks, think what they'll do for two million." Cynthia patted Harry on the back. "Remember, we said watch. We didn't say get involved."

As they left, both Miranda and Harry started talking at once.

"Telling those two to'stay out of it is like telling a dog not to wag her tail, "Mrs. Murphy said to Pewter.

"'Ceptfor Tucker, "Pewter teased.

Tucker replied from her spot under the table, "/ resent that."

31

"Where does this stuff come from?" Dismayed, Harry surveyed her junk room.

Calling it the junk room wasn't fair to the room, a board-and-batten, half-screened back porch complete with Shaker pegs upon which to hang coats, a heavy wrought iron boot scraper, and big standing bootjack and a long, massive oak table. Dark green and ochre painted squares of equal sire brightened the floor. The last line at catching the mud was a heavy welcome mat at the door into the kitchen.

Twice a year the mood would strike Harry and she'd organize the porch. The tools were easy to hang on the walls or take back out to the barn depending on their original home. The boxes of magazines, letters, and old clothes demanded sorting.

Mrs. Murphy scratched in the magazine box. The sound of claws over shiny, expensive paper delighted her. Tucker contented herself with nosing through the old clothes. If Harry tossed a sweatshirt or a pair of jeans in a carton, they really were old. She was raised in the use-it-up wear-it-out make-it-do-or-do-without school. The clothes would be cut into square pieces of cloth for barn rags. Whatever remained afterward, Harry would toss out, although she swore one day she would learn to make hooked rugs so she could utilize the scraps.

"Find anything?"Tucker asked Mrs. Murphy.

"Lot of old New Yorker magazines. She sees an article she wants to read, doesn't have time to read it then, and saves the magazine. Now, I'll bet you a Milk-Bone she'll sit on the floor, go through these magazines, and tear out the articles she wants to save so she'll still have a pile of stuff to read but not as huge a one as if she'd saved the magazines intact. If she didn't work in the post office, Gossip Central, she'd work in the library like her mother did."

"My bet is the broken bridle will get her attention first. She needs to replace the headstall. She's going to pick it up, mumble, then put it in the trunk to take to Sam Kimball."

"Maybe so. At least that will go quickly. Once she buries her nose in a book or magazine, she takes forever."

"Think she'll forget supper?"

"Tucker, you're as bad as Pewter."

"She fooled us both, "the dog exclaimed.

Harry, armed with a pair of scissors, began cutting up the old clothes. "Mrs. Murphy, don't rip apart the magazines. I need to go through them first."

"Give me some catnip. I can be bought off." Mrs. Murphy scratched and tore with increased vigor.

Harry stopped snipping and picked up the magazine box. It was heavier than she anticipated, so she put it back down. "I was going to shake you up."

"Catnip." Murphy's eyes enlarged, she performed a somersault in the box.

"Aren't you the acrobat?" Harry put the box on the oak table. She looked at the hanging herbs placed inside to dry. A large clutch of catnip, leaves down, emitted a sweet, enticing odor.

Murphy shot out of the box, straight up, and swatted the tip of the catnip. A little higher and she could have had a slam dunk.

"Catnip!"

"Druggie." Harry smiled and snapped offa sprig.

"Yahoo. "Mrs. Murphy snatched the catnip from Harrys hands, threw it on the table, chewed it a little, rolled on it, tossed it up in the air, caught it, rolled some more. Her antics escalated.

"Nuts. You're a loony tunes, out there, Blue Angels."

"Mother, she's always that way. The catnip brings it out more. Now, me, I'm a sane and sober dog. Reliable. Protective. I can herd and fetch and follow at your heels. Even with a bone, which I would enjoy right now, I would never descend to such raucous behavior. "

"Bugger off,"Mrs. Murphy hissed at Tucker. The weed made her aggressive.

"Fair is fair." Harry walked into the kitchen and brought out a bone for Tucker before returning to her task.

As the animals busied themselves, Harry finished off the box of clothing. She reached into the magazine box and flipped through the table of contents. "Umm, better save this article." She clipped out a long piece on the Amazon rain forests.

"Someone's coming "Tucker barked.

"Shut up. "Murphy lolled her head. "You're hurting my ears."

"Friend or fie?" the corgi challenged as the car pulled into the driveway.

"Do you really think a foe would drive up to the back door?"

"Shut up, yourself. I'm doing my job, and besides, this is the South. All one's foes act like friends."

"Got that right, "the cat agreed, rousing herself from her catnip torpor. "It's Little Marilyn. What the heck is she doing here at seven in the evening?"

"Come on in," Harry called. "I'm doing my spring cleaning, in August."

Marilyn opened the porch door. "At least you're doing it. I've got a ton of my stuff to sort through. I'll never get to it."

"How about an iced tea or coffee? I can make a good pot of hot coffee too."

"Thank you, no."

"If you don't need the iced tea, I do." Harry put down her scissors.

The two humans repaired to the kitchen. Harrys kitchen, scrupulously clean, smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon. She prided herself on her sense of order. She had to pride herself on something in the kitchen, since she couldn't cook worth a damn.

"Milk or lemon?" Harry wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Oh, thank you. Lemon. I'm going to keep you from your chores." Marilyn fidgeted.

"They'll wait. I've been on my feet all day anyway, so it's good to have a sit-down."

"Harry, we aren't the best of friends, so I hope you don't mind my barging in on you like this."

"It's fine."

She cast her eyes about the kitchen, then settled down. "I don't know what to do. Two weeks ago Kerry asked me for a loan. I refused her. I hated to do it, but, well, she wanted three thousand dollars."

"What for?"

"She said she knew her father's cancer was getting worse. If she could invest the money, she could help defray what his insurance won't cover. She said she'd split the profit with me and return the principal in a year's time."

"Kerry's a lot sharper than I thought."

"Yes." Litde Marilyn sat stock-still.

"Have you told Rick Shaw or Cynthia?"

"No. I came to you first. It's been preying on my mind. I mean, she's in so much trouble as it is."

"Yeah, I know, but"—Harry held up her hands—"you've got to tell them."

Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the kitchen counter, said, "What do you really think, Marilyn?"

"She's hungry." Harry got up to open two cans of food for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker. Tucker gobbled her food while Mrs. Murphy daintily ate hers.

"Thanks for hearing me out. We were all such good friends once. I feel like a traitor."

"You're not. And horrendous as the process is, that's what the courts are for—if Kerry is innocent, she'll be spared. At least, I hope so."

"Don't you know that old proverb? 'Better to fall into the hands of the Devil than into the hands of the lawyers.'"

"You think she's sunk, don't you?"

"Uh-huh." Little Marilyn nodded in the affirmative, tears in her eyes.

32

Every spare moment she had, Kerry punched into the computer in a back office. Cynthia told her she could go to work. She'd be formally arraigned tomorrow. Rick told the acting president, Norman Cramer, to allow Kerry to work. He had a few words with the staff which amounted to "innocent until proven guilty." What he hoped for was a slip on Kerry's part or the part of her accomplice.

The thick carpeting in die officer branch of the bank muffled the footsteps behind her as she frantically pulled up records on the computer. Norman Cramer tapped her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Fooling around. Kind of like you, Norman." Kerry's face burned.

"Kerry, this is none of your business. You'll interfere widi Rick Shaw's investigation."

What neither of them knew was that Rick was monitoring

Kerry's computer. An officer down in the basement saw everything she called up.

"Hogan Freely's murder is everybody's business. And I'd rather be chewed out by you than not try and come up with some clue, any clue."

His sallow complexion darkened. "Listen to me. Forget it."

"Why don't you and I go outside and talk?"

"And risk another scene? No."

"I knew you were a coward. I hoped it wasn't true. I really believed you when you told me you'd leave Aysha—"

He sharply reprimanded her. "It's not appropriate to discuss personal matters at work."

"You won't discuss them at any other time."

"I can't. Maybe I know things you don't and maybe you should forget about me for a while. You shouldn't have come in today. It upsets everyone." He spun on his heel and walked away.

Steam wasn't hotter than Kerry McCray. She followed him. "You sorry son of a bitch."

He grabbed her arm so hard he hurt her as he half pushed, half dragged her down the narrow corridor to the back door. He practically threw her down the steps into the parking lot. "Take the day off! I don't care if Rick Shaw thinks it's okay for you to be here. I don't. Now, get out and chill out!" He slammed the door.

Kerry sobbed in the middle of the parking lot. She walked over to her car, opened the door, and got inside. Then she put her head on the steering wheel and sobbed some more.

Mrs. Hogendobber passed on her way from the bank. She hesitated but then walked over.

"Kerry, can I help?" she asked through the rolled-down window.

Kerry looked up. "Mrs. Hogendobber, I wish you could."

Mrs. Hogendobber patted her on the back. " 'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to diem diat hate you… For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? Do not even the publicans die same?'"

Kerry recovered enough to remark, "Make that Republicans."

"There, there, I knew you'd perk up. I find the Bible always helps me in time of need."

"I think it was you as much as your quote. I wish I could be as wise and as calm as you are, Mrs. Hogendobber." She opened her glove compartment for a tissue. "Do you believe I killed Hogan Freely?"

Miranda said, "No." She waited for Kerry to finish blowing her nose. "You just don't seem like the type to me. I can imagine you killing Norman in a lover's rage, but not Hogan." She paused. "If you live long enough, honey, you see everything. You're still seeing many things for the first time, including a two-timing ex-boyfriend. After a while you know what's worth getting het up over and what just to let go. He married Aysha. Let him go. Reading the Good Book and praying to the Lord never hurt anyone. You'll find solace there and sooner or later the right man will come into your life." She inhaled. "It's so hot. You'll fry in that car. Come on over to the EO. and I'll make you some iced tea. I have some chocolate chip cookies, macadamia nut ones too."

"Thank you. I'm wrung out. I think I'll go home and maybe I'll take your advice and read the Bible." She wiped her eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't give it a second thought." Miranda smiled, then turned for the post office.

Kerry drove off.

Mrs. Hogendobber waited until there was no one else in the building to tell Harry about the episode. Crozet, being a town of only 1,733 people, didn't miss much. A few noticed Kerry's pursuit of Norman down the corridor. BoomBoom Craycroft saw him push her out of the building and fifteen people coming and going saw Mrs. Hogendobber consoling Kerry in the parking lot. Variations of the events made the rounds. Each telling exaggerated Kerry's unhappiness and surmised guilt until she was suicidal. Norman's handling of her seemed tinged by heroism to many.

By the time Little Marilyn drove up to Ash Lawn to relieve

Aysha, the tale was worthy of a soap opera, but then, maybe daily life is a soap opera.

Everyone at Ash Lawn was working double duty since Laura Freely would not be returning for the remainder of the year. Trying to schedule and work in Ottoline, who substituted for Laura, frazzled Little Marilyn, in charge of the docents.

Marilyn combed her hair and straightened up as Aysha finished a tour for a group of sightseers. More were coming, but Marilyn had about ten minutes before she would gather up a new group to commence the tour.

Aysha related her version of the Norman-Kerry episode. Her gloating offended Marilyn Sanburne, Jr.

"She's the loser. You're the winner. Be gracious enough to ignore her."

Aysha threw her shoulders back and squared her chin, prelude to some pronouncement of emotional significance tinged with her imagined superiority. "Who are you to dictate manners to me?"

"I used to be your best friend. Now I wonder."

"You're on her side. I knew it. Oh, don't women just love a victim and Kerry paints herself as a real martyr to love—she's a murderer, for chrissakes!"

"You don't know that and you don't have to wallow in it."

"I'm not."

"You look like you're gloating to me," Marilyn shot back. "Just drop'it."

Aysha's voice lowered, a signal that what she was about to impart was really, truly, terribly important and that she'd been keeping it in only because she was such a lady. "She kissed my husband at Hogan Freelys wake."

Since neither Harry nor Cynthia had ever mentioned it, Marilyn didn't know about the kissing part of the incident. As the two rivals had yelled and screamed at the top of their lungs, she certainly knew about the rest of it. She heard every word, as did most of the other mourners. "Look, I'd have been upset. I understand that. I wouldn't want anyone kissing my husband, especially a former lover. But, Aysha, get over it. Every time you react to her, she gets what she wants. She's the center of your attention, Norman isn't, and she's the center of Norman's attention and you're not. Rise above it."

"Easy for you to say. I remember in school how devious she was—so nice to your face, so vicious when you were out of sight—"

"I don't want to hear that stuff." Marilyn advanced toward Aysha a step, realized what she was doing, and stopped. "Keep this up, Aysha, and you'll be as big a bitch as your mother."

"You think you're better than the rest of us because you'll inherit your mother's fortune. If Big Marilyn were my mother, I'd be worried. Every woman turns into her mother. Mine is small potatoes compared to yours."

"I don't care about the money."

"Those who have it never care about it. That's the point! Someday I hope I have as much as you do so I can rub your nose in it."

"Your time is up. I'll take over now." Marilyn quietly walked into the front room to greet the visitors to Monroe's home.

33

Air-conditioning was a luxury Harry couldn't afford. Her house at the foot of Yellow Mountain stayed cool except on the worst of those sultry summer nights. This was one of those nights. Every window was open to catch the breezes that weren't there. Harry tossed and turned, sweated, and finally cursed.

"I don't know how you can sleep through düs," she grumbled as she stepped over Tucker and headed toward the bathroom.

As Harry brushed her teetli Mrs. Murphy alighted nimbly on the sink. "Hotter than Tophet."

Harry, mouth full of toothpaste, didn't reply to Murphy's observation. After rinsing, she petted the cat, who purred with appreciation.

Walking through the house provided no relief. She wandered into the library, shadowed by Murphy.

"Mother, this is the hottest room in the house. Why don't you put ice cubes on your head and a baseball cap over them? That will help."

"I'm hot too, sweetheart." Harry glanced at the old books her mother gleaned from the library sales she used to administer. "Here's the plan. Let's go into the barn, move the little table from the tack room out into the aisle, and think. The barn's the coolest place right now."

"Worth a try." Murphy raced to the screened-porch door and pushed it open. The hook dangled uselessly because the screw eye was long gone.

As they walked into the barn, the big owl swooshed overhead. "You two idiots will spoil a good night of hunting."

"Tough. "Mrs. Murphy's fur fluffed out.

When Harry switched on the lights, the opossum popped his head out of a plastic feed bucket. "Hey."

"Simon, don't worry. She doesn't care. We're going to do some research. "

"Here?"

"Too hot inside."

"Feels like being wrapped in a big wet towel out here. Must be even worse in the house," Simon concurred.

Harry, having no idea of the lively conversation taking place between her cat and the possum, carried the small table to the aisle, set up a fan, grabbed a pencil and yellow tablet, sat down, and started making notes. Every now and then Harry would slap her arm or the back of her neck.

"How come the skeeters bite me and leave you alone?" she asked the tiger, who batted at the moving pencil.

"Can't get through the fur. You humans lack most protective equipment. You keep telling the rest of us it's because you're so highly evolved. Not true. An eagle's eyes are much more developed than yours. So are mine, for that matter. Put on mosquito repellent."

"I wish you could talk."

"/ can talk. You just can't understand what I say."

"Murphy, I love it when you trill at me. Wish you could read too."

"What makes you think I can't? Trouble is, you mostly write about

yourselves and not other animals, so I find few books that hold my interest. Tucker says she can read, but she's pretty shaky. Simon, can you read?"

"No." Simon had moved to another feed bucket, where he picked through the sweet feed. He especially liked the little bits of corn.

Harry listed each of the events as she remembered them, starting with Mike Huckstep's appearance at Ash Lawn.

She listed times, weather, and any other people who happened to be around.

Starting with the Ash Lawn incident, she noted it was hot. It was five of five. Laura Freely was in charge of the docents: Marilyn Sanburne, Jr., Aysha Cramer, Kerry McCray. Susan Tucker ran the gift shop. Danny Tucker was working in the yard to the left of the house. She and Blair were in the living room.

She tried to remember every detail of every incident up to and including Little Marilyns visit to her concerning Kerry's request for a loan.

"Murphy, I give up. It's still a jumble."

The cat put her paw on the pencil, stopping its progress. "Listen. Whoever is behind this can't be that much smarter than you are. If they came up with this, then you'll figure it out. The question is, if you do figure it out, will you be safe?"

Harry absentmindedly petted Murphy as the cat tried to talk sense to her.

"You know, I've sat up half the night making lists. The so-called facts are leading me nowhere. Sitting here with you, Murphy, no chores, totally quiet, I can think. Time to trust my instincts. Mike Huckstep knew his killer. He walked deep into the woods with him. Hogan Freely may or may not have known his killer, but the murderer certainly knew Hogan, knew he was working that night, and had the good fortune to walk into an unlocked bank, or he or she had a key. Any one of us in Market Shiflett's store knew Hogan would be in the bank. He told us. Laura knew, but I think we can let her off the hook. I wonder if he told anyone else?"

"The thick fog gave the killer a real bonus." Mrs. Murphy remembered the night vividly.

Harry tapped the pencil on the table. "Was it planned or was it impulse?"

Harry wrote out her thoughts and waited for the sunrise. At six, since Mrs. H. was up and baking by then, she phoned her friend. She asked her to cover for her for half an hour. She needed to drop something off at the sheriffs office.

At seven she was at Rick Shaw's office, where she left her notes with Ed Wright, who was ending his night shift. By eight Rick called. He'd read the notes and he thanked her.

She sorted the mail with Miranda while telling her what she wrote down for Sheriff Shaw. On those rare occasions when she was up all night she usually got very sleepy about three in the afternoon. She figured she'd nod out and she warned Mrs. Hogendobber not to be too angry with her. However, the events of the day would keep her wide awake.

34

At the beginning of the day Harry blamed the bizarre chain of events on the fact that it was cloudy. That, however, couldn't explain how the day ended.

At ten-thirty Blair Bainbridge pulled into the front parking lot of the post office on a brand-new, gorgeous Harley-Davidson. It appeared to be black, especially under the clouds, but in the bright sunlight the color would sparkle a deep plum.

"What do you think?" Blair asked.

Harry walked outside to admire the machine. "What got into you?"

"Grabbing at summer." He grinned. "And you know, when I saw Mike Huckstep's Harley, I was flooded with memories. Who says I have to be mature and responsible twenty-four hours a day? How about twenty hours a day, and for four hours I can be wild again?

"Sounds good to me."

Miranda opened the front door. "You'll get killed on that thing."

"I hope not. Is there a Bible quote for excessive speed?"

"Off the top of my head, I can't think of one. I'll put my mind to it." She closed the door.

"Oh, Blair, she'll worry herself to a nub. She'll call her buddies in Bible study class. She won't rest until she finds an appropriate citation."

"Should I take her for a ride?"

"I doubt it. If it's not her Ford Falcon, she doesn't want to get in it or on it."

"Bet you five dollars." With that he hopped up the steps into the post office.

Harry closed the door behind her as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker greeted Blair.

"Mrs. Hogendobber, I just happen to have two helmets and I want to take you for a ride. We can float across the countryside."

"Now, isn't that nice?" But she shook her head no.

Before he could warm up to his subject, the front door flew open and a glowering Norman Cramer stormed in.

"How can you? This is in such bad taste!"

"What are you talking about?" Blair replied since the hostility was directed at him.

"That, that's what I'm talking about!" Norman gesticulated in the direction of the beautiful bike.

"You don't like Harleys? Okay, you're a BMW man." Blair shrugged.

"Everything was all right around here until the day that motorcycle appeared. How can you ride around on it? How can you even touch it! What'd you do, slip Rick Shaw money under the table? I thought unclaimed property was to go to public auction held by the Sheriff's Department."

"Wait a minute." Blair relaxed. "That isn't the murdered guy's Harley. It's not even black. Go out and take another look. I just bought this bike."

"Huh?"

"Go look." Blair opened the door for Norman.

The two men circled the bike as the humans and animals observed from inside.

"Normans losing it." One side of Harrys mouth turned up.

"If you were caught between Kerry and Aysha, I expect you'd unravel too. Scylla and Charybdis."

"Steam was coming out of his ears. And how could he say something like that about Rick Shaw? Jesus, the crap that goes through people's minds."