Pay Dirt

"Don't take the name of Our Savior in vain."

"Sorry. Hey, here comes Herbie."

The reverend stopped to chat with the men, then entered the building. "Cheap transportation. Those things must get fifty miles to the gallon. If gas taxes continue to rise, then I might get one myself. How about a motorcycle with a sidecar?"

"You going to paint a cross on it? A little sign to hang on the handlebars, 'Clergy'?"

"Mary Minor Haristeen, do I detect a whiff of sarcasm in your tone? Haven't you read of the journeys of St. Paul? Imagine if he'd had a motorcycle. Why, he could have created congregations throughout the Mediterranean, Gaul even. Sped along the process of Christianization."

"On a Harley. I like that image."

"You two. What will you come up with next?" Miranda sauntered over to the counter.

"Imagine if Jesus had a car. What would he drive?" Herbie loved to torment Miranda, and since he was an ordained minister he knew she would have to pay attention to him.

"The best car in the world," Miranda said, "my Ford Falcon."

"Might as well go back to sandals." Harry joined in the game. "I bet he'd drive a Subaru station wagon because the car goes forever, rarely needs to be serviced, and he could squeeze the twelve disciples inside."

"Now, that's a thought." Herb reached down to pat Tucker, who walked out from under the countertop.

Blair rejoined them. Norman too.

"I'm sorry. I'm a little edgy." Norman cast down his eyes.

"Norman, you've got one woman too many in your life, and that's not including Ottoline." Mrs. Hogendobber was forthright.

He blushed, then nodded.

Blair lightheartedly said, "All those men out there looking for a woman, and you've got them to spare. How do you do it?"

"By being stupid." Norman valiantly tried to smile, then left.

"Well, what do you think of that?" Miranda exclaimed.

"I think he's about to check into Heartbreak Hotel," Harry replied.

"Depressed." Blair opened his mailbox.

"Now, now, if he loves Aysha, he'll work it out." Herb believed in the sacrament of marriage. After all, he'd married half the town.

"But what if he doesn't love her?" Harry questioned.

"Then I don't know." Herb folded his arms across his chest. "All marriage is a compromise. Maybe he can find the middle ground. Maybe Aysha can too. Her social climbing tries even my patience." _t

As Herb left, Cynthia Cooper arrived. "Thanks for your notes."

"Couldn't sleep. Had to do something."

"I was up all night too," Blair added. "If I'd known that, I would have come over."

"You devil." Cynthia would have died to hear him say that to her. "Well, we checked out the signature card handwriting with the signature on Mike Huckstep's income tax statements and driver's license application with the graphologist from Washington. They are authentic. And Mrs. Huckstep's signature is not his handwriting. He didn't forge a signature. It's not Kerry's signature either. Two people signed the card."

"How'd you find out so fast?"

"Wasn't that fast. Try getting the IRS to listen to a tiny sheriffs department in central Virginia. Rick finally called up our congressman and then things started to move. The DMV part was easy."

"Did Mike actually go into the bank and sign cards?"

"Well, no one at the bank remembers seeing a man of his description. Or won't admit to it."

"Coop, how did he sign?" Blair asked.

"At gunpoint?"

"Have you been able to question Laura yet?" Mrs. H. inquired. "She might remember something."

"She's cooperated to the max. Once the shock wore off, she's helped as much as she can because she wants to catch Hogans murderer. Dudley and Thea are doing all they can too. Unfortunately, Laura says she's never seen anyone matching Huckstep's description. Hogan would occasionally discuss bank problems with Laura, but usually they were people problems. The tension between Norman Cramer and Kerry McCray disturbed him. Other than that, she said everything seemed normal."

"And there's nothing peculiar in anyone's background at Crozet National?" Mrs. Hogendobber played with her bangle bracelets.

"No. No criminal records."

"We're still at a dead end." Harry sighed.

"You know, Harry, you're the only person who has seen die killer," Cooper replied.

"I've wondered about diat."

"What do you mean?" Blair and Miranda talked over each other but basically they said die same thing.

"Whoever was riding that motorcycle when it almost side-swiped Harry at Sugar Hollow was most likely our man. Unless Huckstep rode out and rode back later."

"And all I saw was a black helmet with a black visor and someone all in black leather. A real Hell's Angel."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Miranda wanted to know.

"I did. I told Rick and Cynthia. I've racked my brain for anything, a hint, an attitude, but it happened so fast."

After Blair left to go riding around the countryside, Cynthia stayed on for a little bit. People came in and out as always, and at five the friends closed the post office to go home.

Susan Tucker drove over with Danny and Brookie. They left Harrys house about eight. Then Fair called. The night cooled off a bit, so Harry gratefully drifted off to sleep early.

The jangle of the phone irritated her. The big, old-fashioned alarm clock read four-thirty. She reached over and picked it up.

"Hello."

"Harry. It's Fair. I'm coming over."

"Its four-thirty in the morning."

"Norman Cramers been strangled."

"What?" Harry sat bolt upright.

"I'll tell you everything when I get there. Stay put."

35

Cinnamon-flavored coffee perfectly perked awakened Harry's senses. She'd brought the Krups machine into the kitchen from the barn. It was so fancy, she thought it was too nice to keep in the stable. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker ate an early breakfast with her. The owl, again furious at the invasion of privacy, swept low over Fair's head as he trudged to the back door.

"What happened?" she asked as she poured him a cup and set out muffins on the table.

His face parchment white, he sat down heavily. "Bad case of torsion colic. Steve Alton's big Hanoverian. He brought her over to the clinic and I operated. I didn't finish up until three, three-thirty. Steve wanted to stay with her, but I sent him home to get some sleep. I came in through town and turned left on Railroad Avenue. Not a soul in sight. Then I passed the old Del Monte plant and I saw Norman Cramer sitting in his car. The lights were on, and the motor too. He was just kind of staring into space and his tongue was hanging out kind of funny. I stopped and got out of the truck, and as I drew closer I saw bad bruises around his neck. I opened the door and he keeled over out onto the macadam. Called Rick. He arrived in less than ten minutes—he must have gone a hundred miles an hour. Cynthia made it in twenty minutes. All I'd done was put my fingerprints on the door handle. I didn't touch the body. Anyway, I told them what I knew, stayed around, and then Rick sent me home."

"Fair, I'm sorry." Harry's hands trembled. "If you'd been earlier, the murderer might have gone after you."

"I'll see those dead eyes staring out at me for a long, long time. Rick said the body was still warm." He reached for her hand.

"If I make up the bed in the guest room, do you think you can sleep?"

"No. Let me take a catnap on the sofa. I've got to get back to the clinic by seven-thirty."

She brought out some pillows and a light blanket for the sofa. Fair kicked off his shoes and stretched out. He wistfully looked at Harry as she reached to turn off the light. "I love being in this house."

"It's good to have you here. I'll wake you at six-thirty."

"Are you going back to sleep?"

"No. I've got some thinking to do." He fell asleep before she finished her sentence.

36

Harry used the tack room as an office. She pulled out her trusty yellow legal pad and wrote down everything Fair had just told her. Then she described what she knew about the killer of Mike Huckstep and Hogan Freely. Whether or not the same person or persons killed Norman was up for grabs, but he was head of the accounting department at Crozet National. Her guess was the three murders were tied together.

She wrote:

1. Knows how to operate a computer.

2. Knows the habits of the victims.

3. Knows the habits of the rest of us, although nearly caught after killing Hogan Freely.

4. Kills under pressure. A quick thinker. Knocked out Kerry before Kerry could see him, then set her up as the killer… unless killer is Kerry's accomplice. A real possibility.

5. Works in the bank or knows banking routines perhaps from another job. Might have key.

6. Possibly knows Malibu. May use her as bait. Perhaps . Malibu is the killer or the killers partner.

7. Feels superior to the rest of us. Fed media disinformation about the Threadneedle virus and then watched us eat it up.

8. Can ride a motorcycle.

At six Harry picked up the old black wall phone and called Susan* Tucker. Murphy sat on the legal pad. The cat couldn't think of anything to add unless it was "armed and dangerous."

"Susan, I'm sorry to wake you."

"Harry, are you okay?"

"Yes. Fair's asleep on the couch. He found Norman Cramer strangled early this morning."

"What? Wait a minute. Ned—Ned, wake up." Susan shook her husband.

Harry could hear him mumble in the background, a pair of feet hitting the floor, then the extension picked up.

"Harry."

"Sorry to wake you, Ned, but I think this might help Kerry since you're her lawyer. Fair found Norman Cramer strangled in his car in front of the Del Monte plant. About three-thirty this morning. He didn't know he was dead. He opened the door and Norman keeled over onto the pavement. Fair said huge bruises around his throat and the condition of his face pointed to strangulation."

"My God." Ned spoke slowly. "You were right to call us."

"Is everyone crazy? Is the murderer going to pick us off one by one?" Susan exploded.

"If any of us interfere or get too close, I'd say we're next." Harry wasn't reassuring.

"I'm going to call Mrs. H. and Mim. Then I've got to wake up Fair. How about we all meet for breakfast at the cafe—seven-thirty? Umm, maybe I'd better phone Blair too. What do you think?"

"Yes, to both," Susan answered.

"Good enough. We'll see you there." Ned paused. "And thank you again."

Harry called Mrs. Hogendobber, who was shocked; Big Marilyn, who was both shocked and angry that this could happen in her town; and Blair, awakened from a heavy sleep, was in a daze.

She fed the horses, Mrs. Murphy, and Tucker. Then she woke Fair. They freshened up.

"Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, this is going to be a difficult day. You two stay home." She left the kitchen door open so the animals could go onto the porch. She left each of them a large bowl of crunchies.

"Take me with you, "Tucker whined.

"Forget it, "Mrs. Murphy said impassively. "As soon as she's down the drive, I've got apian."

"Tell me now."

"No, the humans are standing right here."

"They don't understand what you're saying."

"Better safe than sorry."

Harry kissed both pets, then hopped in the old truck while Fair climbed into his big Chevy truck. They headed for the downtown cafe'. He had called the clinic. The horse was doing fine, so he decided to join the group for breakfast.

"Follow me," Murphy commanded once the truck motors could not longer be heard.

"/ don't mind doing what you ask, but I hate taking orders," Tucker grumbled.

"Dogs are obedient. Cats are independent."

"You're full of it."

Nonetheless, Tucker followed as Mrs. Murphy scampered through the front meadows and the line of big sycamores along the creek diat divided the pastures.

"Where are we going?"

"To Kerry McCray's. The fastest way is to head south. We can avoid the road that way too, but we'll have to cross the creek."

"You get your paws wet?"

"If I have ft"was the cat's determined reply.

Moving at a sustained trot, the two animals covered ground rapidly. When they reached the big creek, Murphy stopped.

"It's high. How can it be high with no rain?"

Tucker walked to a bend along the bank. "Here's your answer. A great big beaver dam."

Mrs. Murphy joined her low-slung friend. "I don't want to tangle with a beaver."

"Me neither. But they're probably asleep. We could run over the dam. By the time they woke up, we'd probably be across. It's either that or find a place to ford downstream, where it's low."

"That will take too long." She inhaled deeply. "Okay, let's run like blazes. Want me to go first?"

"Sure. I'll be right behind."

With that, Mrs. Murphy shot off, all fours in the air, but running across a beaver dam proved difficult. She had to stop here and there, since heavy branches and stout twigs provided a snaggy surface. Murphy could hear movement inside the beaver lodge. She picked her way through the timber as fast as she could.

"Whatever happens, Murphy, don't hit the water. They'll pull you under. Better to fight it out on top of the dam."

"I know, I know, but there are more of them than us and they're stronger than we are. "She slipped, her right front leg pushing into the lodge. She pulled it out as if it were on fire.

Slipping and sliding, Murphy made it to the other side. Tucker, heavier, was struggling. A beaver head popped up in the water at the other end of the dam.

"Hurry!" the cat shouted.

Tucker, without looking back, moved as rapidly as she could. The beaver swam alongside the dam. He was closing in on Tucker.

"Leave her alone. She's trying to cross the creek. We mean no harm, "the pretty tiger pleaded.

"That's what they all say, and the next thing that happens is that men show up with guns, wreck the dam, and kill us. Dogs are the enemy."

"No, man is the enemy. "Mrs. Murphy was desperate. "We don't belong to a person like that."

"You may be right, but ifl make a mistake, my whole family could be dead. "The beaver was now alongside Tucker, who was almost to the creek bank. He reached up to grab Tuckers hind leg.

The dog whirled around and snarled. The beaver drew back for an instant. Tucker scrambled off the dam as the large animal advanced on her again. On terra firma both Tucker and Mrs. Murphy could outrun the beaver. They scorched the earth getting out of there.

At the edge of the woods they stopped to catch their breath.

"How are we going to get back?" Mis. Murphy wondered aloud. "I don't want to travel along the road. People drive like lunatics."

"We'll have to find a place to ford far enough downstream so the beaver can't hear us. We can't swim it now. The lodge will be on alert."

"It's going to take us over an hour to get home, but we'll worry about it later. We can be at Kerry McCray's in another ten minutes if we run."

"I've got my wind back. Let's boogie."

They dashed through the fields of Queen Anne's lace, butterfly weed, and tall goldenrod. A small brick rancher came into view. Two squad cars were parked behind Kerry's Toyota. Its trunk lid was up.

"Ihope we're not too late. "Murphy put on the turbocharger.

Tucker, a speed demon when she needed to be, raced next to her.

They made it to the cars as Kerry was being led out of her house by Sheriff Shaw. Cynthia Cooper carried a woven silk drapery cord with tasseled ends in a plastic bag.

"Damn!" Murphy snarled.

"Too late?"Tucker, having lived with Mrs. Murphy all her life, figured that the cat had wanted to explore before the cops arrived.

"There's still a chance. You jump on Cynthia when she reaches to pet you and grab the plastic bag. I'll shred it as quickly as I can. Stick your nose in there and tell me if Kerry's scent is on the rope."

Without answering, Tucker charged Cynthia, who smiled at the sight of the little dog.

"Tucker, how did you get over here?" Tucker clamped her powerful jaws on the clear plastic bag, catching Officer Cooper by surprise. "Hey!"

Yanking it out of Cooper's hand, Tucker raced back to Mrs. Murphy, who was crouched back in the field, where Cynthia couldn't see her.

The minute Tucker dropped the bag under Murphy's nose, she unleashed her claws and tore for all she was worth. Cooper advanced on them, although she didn't know Murphy was there.

Tucker stuck her nose in the bag. "It's not Kerry's scent."

"Whose scent, then?"

"Rubber gloves. No scent other than Normans cologne."

"Mrs. Murphy, you're as big a troublemaker as Tucker." Cooper disgustedly picked up the shredded bag.

"If you had a brain in your head, you'd realize we're trying to help. "Murphy backed away from Cynthia. "Tucker, just to be sure, go sniff Kerry."

Tucker eluded Cynthia's grasp and ran over to Kerry, who was standing by the squad car.

"Tucker Haristeen." Kerry's eyes filled with tears. "At least I've got one friend."

Tucker licked her hand. "I'm sorry."

Rick moved toward Tucker, and the dog spurted out of his reach. "Tucker, come on back here. Come on, girl."

"No way. "The dog barked as she rejoined Mrs. Murphy, lying flat on her belly in the orchard grass.

"Let's head back before they take us to the pound for punishment."

"They wouldn't do that. "Tucker glanced back at the humans.

"Coop might. "Murphy giggled.

"Kerry's scent isn't on the cord. After checking, I'm doubly positive."

As they leisurely walked back toward their farm, the two animals commiserated over Kerry's fate. The killer planted the murder weapon in the trunk of her car. Given Kerry's threats to kill Norman, which every human and animal in Crozet knew about by now, she had as much chance of being found innocent as a snowball in hell. Even if there was doubt about her shooting Hogan Freely, there would be no doubt about Norman.

By the time they reached the creek, they both felt down.

"Think we're far enough away from the beaver?"

"Murphy, it's not that deep downstream. If we fool around and try to find a fording place you can clear with one leap, we'll be here all day. just get your paws wet and be done with it."

"Easy for you to say. You like water."

"Close your eyes and run if it's that bad."

Tucker splashed across the creek. Murphy, after ferocious complaining, followed. Once on the other side, Tucker had to wait for her to elaborately shake each paw, then lick it.

"Do that when we get home."

Mrs. Murphy, sitting on her rear end, had her right hind leg straight up in the air. "I'm not walking around with this creek smell on me."

Tucker sat down since she couldn't budge Mrs. Murphy from her toilette. "Think Norman was in on it?"

"That's obvious."

"Only to us. "Tucker stretched her head upward.

"The humans will accept that Kerry killed him. A few might think that he was getting too close to the killer in the bank—or that he was her accomplice and he wimped out."

"Kerry could have killed him and used rubber gloves. It's possible that we're wrong."

"Doesn't everything come down to character?"

"Yes, it does."

"Tucker, if Norman wasn't the person behind the computer virus, do you think he was the type to track the killer? To keep on the case?"

"He wasn't a total coward. He could have unearthed something. Since he works in the bank, he'd tell someone. Word would get around—"

Mrs. Murphy finished her ablutions, stood up, and shook. "True enough. But we've got to trust our instincts. There men have been killed with no sign of struggle. I could kick myself from here to Sunday fir not running into the alleyway to see the car. I heard the killer's car the night Hogan was shot. Both Pewter and I did."

"I've told you before, Murphy, you did the right thing." Tucker started walking again. "/ don't think the murderer will strike again unless it's another bank worker."

"Who knows?"

37

Harry, Fair, Mrs. Hogendobber, Susan, Ned, Blair, Big Marilyn, and Little Marilyn watched out the cafe window as Cynthia Cooper drove by in the squad car. Kerry McCray sat in the back seat behind die cage. No sooner had the dolorous spectacle passed than Aysha Cramer, pedal to die metal, roared past the cafe' in her dark green car. Fair stood up, and as he opened the door, a crash could be heard. Within seconds Rick Shaw screeched by, a cloud of dust fanning out behind him. He hit the brakes hard, fishtailing as he stopped.

By now the remainder of the group hurried outside to join Fair, who was running at top speed toward the site of the wreck. Aysha had deliberately sideswiped Cynthia Cooper's squad car, forcing the deputy off the road. Cynthia, ever alert, stayed inside the car and locked the doors. She was talking on the radio.

"I'll kill her! Unlock this door! Goddammit, Cyndüa, how can you protect her? She killed my husband!"

Rick pulled in behind Cooper. He leapt out of the car and hurried over to Aysha.

"Aysha, that's enough."

"You're protecting her. Let me at her! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

As Rick and Fair struggled with Aysha, who would not release the door handle, Mrs. Hogendobber quoted under her breath, " 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord'—"

From inside the car Kerry screamed, "I did not kill him. You killed him. You drove him to his death!"

Aysha went berserk. She twisted away from the two men, strengthened by blind rage. She picked up a rock and smashed the back window of the car. Fair grabbed her from behind, slipping his powerful arms inside hers. She kicked backward and hit his shin, but he perservered and, with Rick, Ned, and Blair, pulled her away from the car. She collapsed in a heap by the side of the road. Aysha curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth and sobbing.

Cynthia prudently used fhe moment to pull away.

Rick motioned for the men to help him put Aysha in his car. Fair picked her up and carried her. He placed her in the back seat. She fell over and continued weeping.

Big Marilyn walked around to the other side of the car. Ned stepped in. "Mim, I'll go. If she loses it again, you may not be able to restrain her."

Til get in the front with Sheriff Shaw. We'd better get her to Larry." Larry Johnson, the old town doctor, and his partner, Hayden Mclntire, treated most of the residents of Crozet.

"That's fine," the sheriff agreed. "I've had to tell many people terrible news, but I've never been through one like this. She ran right over me and jumped into her car."

"Takes everyone differently, I guess." Harry felt awful. "Better call her mother."

As if on cue, Ottoline sped down the road, slammed on the brakes, and fishtailed in behind her daughter's car. She got out, leaving her door open.

"This doesn't bring him back." Ottoline slid into the back seat of Rick's car.

"I hate her!" Aysha sobbed. "She's alive and Norman's dead." She scrambled out of the other side of the back seat. Ottoline grabbed for her, but too late. Aysha stood by Deputy Cooper's car, screaming, "Why didn't you put her in jail after she shot Hogan Freely? You left a killer out among us, and now…" She collapsed in tears.

Ottoline, by now out of Rick's cruiser, helped her to her feet.

Rick hung his head. "There were extenuating circumstances."

"Like what?" Ottoline snarled.

"Like the fact that Kerry McCray had a goose egg on her head and was knocked out cold," Cynthia answered.

"And she had the gun that killed Hogan in her hand!" Aysha lurched away from her mother. She faced Rick. "You're responsible. Norman is dead because of you."

"Come on, honey, let me take you home." Ottoline tugged at Aysha.

"Aysha," Harry said coolly, "did Norman have a close friend in the bank?"

Aysha turned a bloodshot eye on Harry. "What?"

"Did he have a buddy at Crozet National?"

"Everyone. Everyone loved him," Aysha sobbed.

"Come on now. You're going to make yourself sick. Come on." Ottoline pushed her toward her car, the driver's side door still hanging open. She imparted a shot to Harry. "Your sense of timing is deplorable."

"Sorry, Ottoline. I'm trying to help." (

"Harry, stick to postcards." Ottoline's tone was withering.

Harry had to bite her lip.

As Ottoline with Aysha, and Cynthia with Kerry, drove away, the remaining friends stood in the middle of the street, bewildered. Market and Pewter were running toward them along with Reverend Jones. Harry cast her eyes up and down the street. She could see faces in every window. It was eerie.

Fair brushed himself off. "Folks, I've got to get back to the clinic. If you need me, call." He slowly walked to his truck, parked in front of the cafe'.

"Excuse me." Blair trotted to catch up to Fair.

"Oh, my, we forgot to pay," Little Marilyn remembered.

"Let's all go back and settle up." Harry turned for the cafe" and wondered what the two men were talking about.

38

A dejected Cynthia Cooper returned to her desk after depositing Kerry, in a state of shock, at the county jail. Fortunately, there were no other women in custody, so she wouldn't be hounded by drug addicts, drunks, or the occasional hooker.

Cynthia was plenty disturbed. The phones rang off the hook. Reporters called from newspapers throughout the state and the local TV crew was setting up right outside the department building.

That would put Rick in a foul mood. And if Rick wasn't happy, nobody was happy.

She sat down, then stood up, then down, up, down, up. Finally she walked through the corridors to the vending machines and bought a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes. She stared at the bull's-eye in the middle of the pack. She'd better damn well get lucky. She peeled off the thin cellophane cord, slipped off the top, tore a small square in the end, and turned the pack upside down. The aroma of fresh tobacco wafted to her nostrils. Right now that sweet scent smelled better than her favorite perfume. She tapped the base of the pack and three white cigarettes slid down. She plucked one, turned the pack right side up, and slipped it in her front shirt pocket. Matches came down the chute with the pack. She struck one and lit up. Leaning against the corridor wall, she didn't know when a cigarette had tasted this good.

The back door opened, and she heard the garble of reporters. Rick slammed the door behind him, walked past her, grabbed the cigarette out of her mouth, and stuck it in his own.

"Unfiltered," she called out to him.

"Good. Another nail in my coffin." He spun on his heel and returned to her. She had already lit another cigarette. "I should have arrested Kerry right away. I used her for bait and it didn't work."

"I think it did. Even if she killed Norman. He was her accomplice. Cool. Very cool. He married Aysha to throw us off."

"So you don't buy that Kerry McCray took the wind out of Norman's sails?" Rick gave her a sour look.

Cynthia continued. "It was perfect."

"And Hogan?"

"Got too close or—too greedy."

Rick took a long, long drag as he considered her thoughts. "A real cigarette, not some low-tar, low-nicotine crap. If I'm gonna smoke, then I might as well go back to what made me smoke in the first place."

"What was it for you?"

"Camels."

"My dad smoked those. Then he switched to Pall Mall."

"How about you?"

"Oh, Marlboro. At sixteen I couldn't resist the cowboy in the ads."

"I would have thought you'd have gone for one of those brands like Viceroy or Virginia Slims."

"The murder weapon was on the seat of Kerry's Toyota."

Cynthia said. "As for Virginia Slims, too nelly… know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. As to the cord… it'll come back no prints. I'll bet you a carton of these babies."

"I'm not taking that bet, but, boss, no prints doesn't mean Kerry wasn't smart enough to wear gloves. She's been threatening to kill Norman for days."

"That's just it, Coop. Smart. If she was smart enough to team up with Norman, to invent the Threadneedle virus, she wouldn't be dumb enough to get caught with a .357 in her hand or that cord in her possession." Rick nearly shouted. "And there's the unfortunate problem of Mike Huckstep."

"Yeah." She thought a minute. "Think she'll get out on bail?"

"I hope not." A blue, curling line of smoke twirled out of his mouth. "She's safer in there and I can keep the reporters happy with the news she's booked for murder."

"Safer?"

"Hell, what if Aysha goes after her?"

"Or she goes after Aysha?"

"More likely. This way we can keep everyone out of our hair for a little bit."

"You're up to something." Coop had observed Rick's shrewdness too many times not to know he was springing a trap.

"You're going to talk Frank Kenton into flying out here from San Francisco."

"Fat chance!"

"We'll pay his way." He held up his hand. "Just leave the wrangling about money to me. Don't worry about it."

"You think he can identify Malibu?"

"He can take a good look at Kerry. That's a start."

"But Kerry never lived in San Francisco."

"How do we know? We'll question her and cross-examine her and it's possible, just possible, that something will slip. I think if she sees him, it will scare the devil out of her."

"Or someone else." Cynthia stubbed out her cigarette in the standing ashtray filled with sand.

"That too. That too. So, topgirl, get on it."

"What's this topgirl stuff?"

"Dunno, just popped into my head."

39

BoomBoom Craycroft dashed into the post office. The place had been a madhouse all day as people hurried in and hurried out, each one with a theory. Pewter curled up in the mail cart. She missed her friends, but she was glad to catch the human gossip.

"Guess you heard I was pushed off the road by Aysha. How was I to know Norman had been killed and she was chasing Kerry?"

"None of us knew, and you look none the worse for wear. The Jag seems okay too." Harrys tone was even.

"My guardian angel was working overtime." BoomBoom opened her mailbox. "These bills. Have you ever noticed they come right on time but the checks never do? Then again, the stock market being what it is, who knows from quarter to quarter how much money they have? I hate that. I hate not knowing how much money I've got coming in. Which reminds me. Did you know the bank found $250,000 in Kerry's account?"

"Oh?" Mrs. Hogendobber came over to the counter.

"I just came from there. The place is a beehive—$250,000! She certainly didn't make that much at Crozet National. And it wasn't in her account yesterday. If she'd been patient, she could have had it all, unless, of course, she's a small fry and this is a payoff."

"BoomBoom, who told you? I'd think the bank or at least the Sheriff's Department would want to control this information."

"Control information? You were born and bred in Crozet. You know better than that," BoomBoom hooted.

"How'd you find out?" Mrs. Hogendobber was pleasant.

"Flirted with Dick Williams." She mentioned a handsome bank officer who was always solicitous of the ladies but most especially of his wife, Bea. BoomBoom added, "Well, actually it was Jim Craig who told me and Dick, politely, mind you, told him to hold his cards close to his chest for a while. So I batted my eyes at both of them and swore I'd never tell. Who cares? It will be on Channel 29 tonight."

And with that she breezed out the door.

"What an airhead."

"You don't like her because she took up with Fair after your divorce."

"You don't like her either."

"That's true," Miranda confessed.

Pewter popped her head up over the mail cart. "She's a fake, but half the people you meet are fakes. What's one more?"

"Do you want to come home with me tonight?"

"Harry, I would love to come home with you." Pewter hopped out and vigorously rubbed Harry's legs.

"Lavish with her affections," Mrs. Hogendobber observed. The older woman sat down. "I feel so tired. I shouldn't be. I got enough sleep, but I can't keep my head up."

"Emotions. They're exhausting. We're all ragged out. I know am.

Before Harry could sit down with Miranda, Susan opened the back door and stuck in her head. "Me."

"Come in," Mrs. Hogendobber invited her. "You usually do."

Susan dropped into the seat opposite Miranda. "Poor Ned. People are calling up, outraged that he's defending Kerry McCray. The fact that every citizen has the right to a trial before their peers escapes them."

"Trial by gossip." Mrs. Hogendobber shook her head.

"If people want to be ugly, there's not a lot you or Ned can do about it. If I were in trouble, I'd sure want Ned as my attorney."

Susan smiled. "I should count my blessings. After all, my husband wasn't killed, and what are a few hate calls?"

"I bet Kerry doesn't even have a toothbrush," Miranda thought out loud. "Girls, we should go over to her house and pack some clothes for her. This is the United States of America. Innocent until proven guilty. Makes no matter what public opinion is, she's innocent under the law until proven guilty. So we shouldn't shun her."

The other two sat quietly.

Finally, Susan replied, "Miranda, you always bring us back to the moral issue. Of course we'll go over there after work."

40

"This place is pin tidy." Mrs. Hogendobber put her hands on her hips. "I had no idea Kerry was such a good housekeeper."

"Remind me never to invite you to my place." Cynthia Cooper carefully packed some toiletries.

Harry, Mrs. Hogendobber, and Susan called Cynthia before going over to Kerry's. The Sheriff's Department scoured the place, so Rick Shaw said okay to the ladies' visit as long as Cynthia accompanied them.

He didn't know that Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tee Tucker accompanied them also.

While Susan and Harry threw underclothes, T-shirts, and jeans as well as a good dress into a carryall bag, the animals went prowling.

"There've been so many people in here, so many scents." Tucker shook her head.

Mrs. Murphy spied the trapdoor to the attic. Pewter craned her neck at the door.

"Think we could get up there? "Pewter asked.

"I'll yodel. Mom hates that worst of all. "Tucker laughed, threw her head back, and produced her canine yodel which could awaken the dead.

"My God, Harry, what's wrong with your dog?" Cynthia called from the bathroom.

Harry walked into the hallway to the bedrooms and beheld Tucker yowling in the key of awful. Mrs. Murphy circled around her legs. Pewter was frozen under the attic trapdoor.

"IfI go any faster, I'll make myself dizzy "The cat slowed down.

"You three are pests. I should have left you home."

"Oh, yeah?" Murphy reached up with her claws on Harry's jeans, wiggled her rear end, and climbed up Harry so quickly that the young woman barely had time to complain about the claws.

"Ouch" was all she could say as Mrs. Murphy reached her shoulders, then stood on her hind legs and batted at the attic door.

"Ifshe doesn't get it, she's comatose, "Pewter wryly noted.

Susan stuck her head out in the hallway. "A human scratching post. What a good idea. What does she see up there?" Susan noticed Murphy's antics.

"A trapdoor, stupid, "Tucker yapped.

"Hey. Hey, Cynthia,"Pewter called, as did Susan.

Cynthia and Mrs. H. walked out as Susan called. Susan pointed to the trapdoor. Harry cocked her head to one side to see it and then Mrs. Murphy jumped off.

"Did I tell you that your animals were here when we arrested Kerry? Tucker ran off with the plastic bag in which we had the cord, the suspected murder weapon, all sealed up. She dropped it in the field. Mrs. Murphy used her claws like a chainsaw. What a mess. Fortunately, I retrieved it before she damaged the evidence. This place has to be five miles from your house."

"I'm going to start locking you two up. You hear?"

"We hear but we aren't listening, "Murphy sassed.

Pewter was impressed. "Didyou really do that?"

"Piece of cake, "Mrs. Murphy bragged.

"You couldn't have done it without me. "Tucker was jealous.

Susan brought a chair in from the kitchen, stood on it, and opened the trapdoor. A little whiff of scorching-hot air blasted her in the face.

After searching around, they found a ladder in the basement. Cynthia went up first, with a flashlight from her squad car. "Good. There's a switch here."

Mrs. Murphy, who loved climbing ladders, hurried up as soon as Cynthia crawled into the attic. Tucker, irritably, waited down below. Harry climbed up. Pewter followed.

"Even the attic is neat," Cynthia noted. "You know, I don't think our boys were up here. Don't repeat that. It makes the department look sloppy, and guess what, they were sloppy."

"It's easy to miss what's over your head."

"Harry, we're paid not to miss evidence," Cynthia firmly told her.

"I'm coming up too," Susan called up.

"Well, don't knock down the ladder when you get up here, Susan, or we'll be swinging from the trapdoor."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Susan appeared in the attic. "How can you breathe?"

"With difficulty." Harry grimaced.

"What's up there?" Miranda called from below.

"Not much. Two big trunks. An old pair of skis," Harry informed her.

"A large wasps'nest in the eave. "Mrs. Murphy fought the urge to chase wasps. The buzz so attracted her. The consequences did not. "Let's open the trunk."

Cynthia pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and gingerly opened the old steamer trunk. "A wedding dress. Old."

Harry and Susan, on their knees, looked in as Mrs. Murphy gracefully put a paw onto the satin. Cynthia smacked her paw. "Don't even think about it."

"Lift up the dress. "The cat held her temper.

"Bet this was Kerry's grandmother's. It's about that vintage." Susan admired the lace.

"Harry, take that end and I'll lift this one," Cynthia directed.

They lifted up the beautiful old dress. Underneath were old family photo albums and some letters from overseas.

Harry picked up a pile neatly tied in a ribbon. The postmark of the top letter was Roanoke, Virginia, 1952. The pile under that was from overseas from the mid-1980s. They were addressed to Kerry's mother. "I think this is her mother's stuff. She probably brought the trunk over here after Barbara McCray died. Do you need to go through it, you know, read the letters and stuff?"

Cynthia rooted through the rest of the trunk, then carefully replaced everything. "I don't know. If Rick wants me to do it, I can, but I'll ask first. Right now we've got a lot on her."

"It's circumstantial," Susan quietly reminded her.

"That $250,000 is a lot of circumstance." Cynthia sighed and closed the lid of the trunk.

Pewter, squatting on the second trunk, directed them. "Hurry up and open this one. It's hot up here."

"Go downstairs, then,"Mis. Murphy told her.

"No, I might miss something."

Cynthia gently lifted Pewter off the trunk. "Heavy little bugger."

Mrs. Murphy laughed while Pewter fumed.

Cynthia lifted the lid. "Oh, boy."

Harry and Susan looked into the trunk. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, on their hind legs, front paws resting on the trunk, saw it too.

"Her goose is cooked!" Mis. Murphy exclaimed.

A black motorcycle jacket, black leather pants, and a black helmet were neatly placed in the trunk.

"You know, I had hoped it wasn't her." Cynthia softly closed the trunk lid.

"Me too." Susan sadly agreed.

"It looks bad, but—" Harry lost her voice in the heat, then regained it. "But she'll get a fair trial. We can't convict her over a motorcycle helmet."

"I can tell you, the Commonwealth's Attorney will sure try," Cynthia said.

Susan patted Harry's shoulder. "It's hard to accept."

They climbed down the ladder, Mrs. Murphy first, and filled in the expectant Mrs. Hogendobber.

"Well?"Tucker inquired.

"Motorcyclegear in the trunk. "The cat, dejected, licked Tucker's ear. Grooming Tucker or even Harry made her feel useful if not better.

"Oh, dear" was all Mrs. Hogendobber could say.

Pewter clambered down to join them. "Kerry's going to be stamping out license plates."

41

Norman Cramer's funeral was as subdued as Hogan Freely's was grand. Aysha, disconsolate, had to be propped up by her mother, immaculate in black linen. Ottoline couldn't bear Aysha's grief, but as she and her daughter were the center of attention, she appeared as noble as she knew how. Although part of it was an act, part of it wasn't, for Ottoline lived for and through her daughter.

The residents of Crozet, stunned at this last murder, sat motionless in the pews. Laura Freely wasn't there, which was proper, as she was in deep mourning. Reverend Jones spared everyone the fluff about how death releases one to the kingdom of glory. Right now no one wanted to hear that. They wanted Kerry McCray tried and sentenced. If hanging were still in the penal code, they'd have demanded to see her swing. Even those who at first gave her the benefit of the doubt were swayed by the money in her account, and the motorcycle gear in her attic.

Mrs. Hogendobber constantly told people the courts decide, not public opinion. No one listened. Susan, as Ned's wife, was particularly circumspect. Harry said little. She couldn't shake the feeling that the other shoe hadn't yet dropped.

She sat in the fourth pew in the front right side of the church, the pews being assigned on the basis of when your family had arrived in Albemarle County. The Minors settled here over two centuries ago. In fact, one of the Minors founded Crozet's Lutheran church and was buried in the old graveyard behind it. The Hepworths, her mother's family, were Church of England, and they held down their own front-line pew in the Tidewater.

She sat there even when the service ended and the congregation filed out. She scrutinized their faces in an unobtrusive way. Harry scanned for answers. Anyone could be in on this. She imagined each person killing the biker, then Hogan, and finally Norman. What kind of person could do that? Then she imagined Kerry's face. Could she kill?

Probably anyone could kill to defend oneself or one's family or friends, but premeditated murder, cold-blooded murder? No. She could so easily picture Kerry bursting into fury and killing Norman or Aysha, but she couldn't imagine her tracking him down or hiding in the back seat of his car, popping up, asking him to pull over, and then choking the life out of him with a rope. It didn't fit.

She walked outside. The overcast sky promised rain but had yet to deliver. Blair and Fair were waiting for her.

"You two a team or something?"

"We thought we might go to the cemetery together. It will keep us from squabbling, now, won't it?" Fair shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you two up to something?"

"What a distrustful thing to say," Blair mildly replied. "Yes, we're up to being gendemen. I think we both are ashamed of how we acted at Mim's. We've decided to present a united front in public and spare you further embarrassment."

"Remarkable." Harry dully got in the car.

42

Labor Day marked the end of summer. The usual round of barbecues, parties, tubing down the James River, golf tournaments, and last-minute school shopping crammed the weekend.

Over two weeks had passed since Norman was strangled. Kerry McCray, her defense in the hands of Ned Tucker, was freed on $100,000 bail, raised by her much older brother, Kyle, who lived in Colorado Springs. He was shocked when informed of events, but he stuck by his sister. Kerry, ordered by Ned to keep her mouth shut, did just that. Kyle took a leave of absence from his job to stay with her. He feared Kerry would be badly treated. He swore on a month of Sundays that the motorcycle gear was his. When it came back from the lab, no blood or powder burns had been found on it. Most people said he was lying to save his sister's skin, ignoring the fact that in the early seventies he'd had a motorcycle.

The sun set earlier each day, and Harry, much as she loved the soft light of fall and winter, found the shorter days hectic. So often she woke up in the dark and came home in the dark. She had to do her farm chores no matter what.

Fair and Blair took polite turns asking her out. Sometimes it was too much attention. Mrs. Hogendobber told her to enjoy every minute of it.

Cynthia Cooper and Rick Shaw relaxed a little bit. Cynthia hinted that as soon as schedules could be coordinated, they had a person who could sink Kerry's ship.

Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and even Pewter racked their brains to think if there was a missing link, but no one could find it. Even if the humans could have understood the truth about scent, which never falters—one's scent is one's scent—and even if they could have understood that Kerry's scent was not on the murder weapon, chances were they would have discounted it. Humans tend to validate only those senses they perceive. They ignore any other species' reality, and, worse, they blot out any conflicting evidence. Humans need to feel safe. The two cats and dog were far wiser on that score. No one is ever safe. So why not live as much as you can?

The avalanche of mail at the post office on Tuesday following the holiday astonished Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber.

"Fall catalogues," Harry moaned. "After a while they get heavy."

Little Marilyn walked through the front door and up to the counter. "You must hate holidays."

"Nah." Harry shook her head. "It's these catalogues."

"You know what I've been doing?" She put her purse on the counter. "I've been rereading the letters Kerry and Aysha and I sent to one another when we were abroad and the letters Aysha sent to me when I returned home. I can't find anything unbalanced in Kerry's letters. It's what you would expect of two young women right out of college. We wrote about where we went, what we read, who we met, and who we were dating. I guess I've been searching for some kind of answer to how someone I've known so long could be a murderer." She rested her head on her hand. "No answers. Of course, I still have a shoebox left. Maybe there will be something in there."

"Would you mind if I read them too?"

"Harry, that's private correspondence." Miranda frowned.

"That's why I'm asking. Marilyn can always say no."

"I'd be happy for you to read them. Maybe you'll catch something I've missed. You know how the keys you're looking for are always the ones right under your nose. You wanted to see the stamps anyway."

"In that case, would you mind if I joined you?" Mrs. Hogendobber invited herself, and, naturally, Little Marilyn said she wouldn't mind at all.

Two cups of coffee and a slice each of Mrs. Hogendobber's cherry pie later, the ladies sat in Little Marilyn's living room surrounded by shoeboxes. Mrs. Murphy squeezed herself into one where she slept. Tucker, head on her paws, dozed on the cool slate hearth.

"See, nothing special."

"Except that everyone expresses themselves well."

Harry added, "My favorite was the letter where Aysha said you should lend her a thousand dollars because you have it to lend."

Little Marilyn waved her hand. "She got over it. Well, I've finished the last. Might as well put these back in order."

Big Marilyn knocked on the door. Her daughter lived on a dependency on her mother's estate. Dependency, although the correct word, hardly described the lovely frame house, a chaste Federal with a tin roof and green-black shutters. "Hello, girls. Find anything?"

"No, Mother. We were just putting the letters back in place."

"You tried, that's the important thing." She breathed deeply. "What an inviting aroma."

"Cherry pie. You need to sample it. I'm branching into pies now. Market sells out of my doughnuts, muffins, and buns by eight-thirty every morning. He says he needs something for the after-work trade, so I'm experimenting with pies. Don't think of this as calories, think of this as market research."

"Bad pun," Harry teased her.

"Just a tad." Mim held her fingers close together as Miranda blithely ignored her and cut out a full portion. As she did so, a drop of cherry sauce plopped on a letter.

"Clumsy me."

"Don't worry about it," Little Marilyn instructed her.

Mrs. Hogendobber placed the knife on the pie plate, then bent over. She carefully wiped the letter with a napkin. "Hmm."

"Really, Mrs. Hogendobber, don't worry about it."

"I'm not, actually." Miranda handed the letter to Harry. Queer.

Harry studied the airmail envelope from France, postmarked St. Tropez, 1988. "Always wanted to go there."

"Where?" Mim inquired.

"St. Tropez."

"One of Aysha's. I don't think she missed a city in France."

"Look closer." Mrs. Hogendobber pointed to the postmark.

Harry squinted. "The ink."

"Precisely." Mrs. Hogendobber folded her hands, as happy in Harry's progress as if she'd been a star pupil.

"What are you two talking about?" Mim was nosy.

Harry walked over and placed the letter in the elder Marilyn's lap. Mim pulled out her half-moon glasses and held the letter under her nose.

"Look at the color of the ink." Harry cast her eyes around the piles of letters for another one from France. "Ah, here's one. Paris. Look at the color here. This one is from Kerry."

"Different, slightly but different." Mim removed her glasses. "Aren't inks like dye lots? This letter is from Paris. That one from St. Tropez."

"Yes, but postal inks are remarkably consistent." Harry was now on her hands and knees. She pulled out letters. "The letters from 1986 are genuine. But here, here's one from Florence, December 1987." Harry handed that letter to Little Marilyn while giving her one from Italy the year before.

"There really is a shade of difference." Little Marilyn was surprised.

Within seconds Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber were on their hands and knees tossing the letters into piles segregated by year.

"You two are fast. Let me help." Little Marilyn joined them.

"Want to work in the P.O.?" Harry joked.

Mim stayed in the chair. Her knees hurt and she didn't want to admit it. Finally they had all the piles sorted out.

"There's no doubt about this. Kerry's postmarks are authentic. Aysha's are authentic until 1987. Then the inks change." Harry rubbed her chin. "This is strange."

"Surely, there's a mistake." Mim was confused by the implication.

"Mim, I've worked in the post office since George took over in 1958. This postmark is forged. Any good stationer can create a round stamp. That's simple. Aysha nearly matched the inks, probably from the postmarks on letters she'd received from Little Marilyn and Kerry in Europe, but different countries have different formulas. Well, now, think of stationery itself. Haven't you noticed how the paper of a personal letter from England is a bit different from our own?"

"Then how did the letters get here?" Big Marilyn asked the key question.

"That's easy if you have a friend in Crozet." Harry crossed her legs like an Indian. "All she had to do was mail these letters in a manila envelope and have her friend distribute them."

"Much as I hate to admit it, when George was postmaster, he let a lot of people behind the counter. We do too, to tell the truth, as you well know. It wouldn't take much to slip tbese letters into the appropriate boxes when one's back was turned. Some of the letters are addressed to Little Marilyn in care of Ottoline Gill."

"Well, I guess we know who her friend was," Harry said.

"Why would her mother participate in such subterfuge?" Mim was astounded. But then, Mim was also secure in her social position.

"Because she didn't want anyone to know what Aysha was really doing. Maybe it didn't fit the program," Harry answered.

"Then where was she and what was she doing?" Little Marilyn, eyes wide, asked.

43

Little Marilyn turned over the letters to Rick Shaw that night. He emphatically swore everyone to secrecy when he arrived. Mim demanded to know what he was going to do about it, where it might lead, and he finally said, "I don't know exactly, but I will do everything I can to find out why. I won't set this aside—just trust me."

"I have no choice." She pursed her lips.

After he left, the group broke up to go home. Quietly pulling aside Harry, Little Marilyn nervously asked, "Would you mind terribly—and believe me I understand if you do—but if not, would you mind if I asked Blair to drive over to Richmond with me for the symphony?"

"No, not at all."

"You see, I'm not sure of your status—that's not how I meant to say it, but—"

"I understand. I'm not sure either."

"Do you care for him?" She didn't realize she was holding her hands tightly. Another minute, and she'd be wringing them.

Harry took a deep breath. "He's one of the best-looking men I've ever laid eyes on, and I like him. I know you like his curly hair." She smiled. "But Blair's diffident, for lack of a better word. He likes me fine, but I don't think he's in love with me."

"What about that fight at the party?"

"Two dogs with a bone. I'm not sure it was as much about me as about property rights."

"Oh, Harry, that's cynical. I think they both care for you very much."

"Tell me, Marilyn, what does it mean for a man to care for a woman?"

"I know what they say when they want something—" Little Marilyn paused. "And they buy presents, they work hard, they'll do anything to get your attention. But I'm not an expert on love."

"Is anybody?" Harry smiled. "Miranda, maybe."

"She certainly had George wrapped around her little finger." Then Little Marilyn brightened. "Because she knew the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

They both laughed, which caused Mim and Mrs. Hogen-dobber to turn to them.

"How can you laugh at a time like this?" Mim snapped.

"Releasing tension, Mother."

"Find another way to do it."

Little Marilyn whispered to Harry, "I could bash her. That would do it for sure."

Harry whispered back, "You'd have help."

"Mother means well, but she can't stop telling everyone what to do and how to do it."

"Will you two speak up?" Mim demanded.

"We were discussing the high heel as a weapon," Harry lied.

"Oh."

Little Marilyn picked up the thread. "With all this violence— guns, strangling—we were talking about what we would do if someone attacked us. Well, take off your heels and hit him in the eye. Just as hard as you can."

"Gruesome. Or hit him on the back of the head when he runs," Harry added.

"Harry." Mim stared hard at her feet. "You only wear sneakers."

"Do you remember Delphine Falkenroth?" Miranda asked Mim.

"Yes, she got that modeling job in New York City right after the war."

"Once she hailed a cab and a man ran right in front of her and hopped in it. Delphine said she held on to the door and hit him so many times over the head with her high heel that he swore like a fishmonger, but he surrendered the cab." She waited a beat. "She married him, of course."

"Is that how she met Roddy? Oh, she never told me that." Mim relished the tale.

Harry whispered again to Little Marilyn, "A trip down Memory Lane. I'm going to collect Mrs. Murphy and Tucker and head home."

Once home, she called Cynthia Cooper, who was already informed of the bogus inks and postmarks.

"Coop, I had a thought."

"Yeah?"

"Did you go by Hassett's to see if anyone there remembered Kerry buying the gun?"

"One of the first things I did after Hogan was killed."

"And?"

"The paperwork matched, the driver's license numbers matched up."

"But the salesman—"

"He'd gone on vacation. A month's camping in Maine. Ought to be back right about now."

"You'll go back, of course."

"I will—but I'm hoping I don't have to."

"What are you up to?"

"Can't tell."

"

44

Cynthia Cooper never expected Frank Kenton to be attractive. She waited in the airport lobby holding a sign with his name on it. When a tall, distinguished man approached her, an earring in his left ear, she thought he was going to ask for directions.

"Deputy Cooper?"

"Mr. Kenton?"

"The same."

"Uh—do you have any luggage?"

"No. My carry-on is it."

As they walked to the squad car, he apologized for how angry he had been the first time she phoned him. Gruff as he'd been, he wasn't angry at her. She declared that she quite understood.

The first place to which she drove him was Kerry McCray's house. Rick Shaw awaited them, and as they all three approached the front door, Kerry hurried out to greet them, Kyle right behind her. Frank smiled at her. "I've never seen you before in my life."

"Thank you. Thank you." Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Lady, I haven't done a thing."

As Frank and Cynthia climbed back into the squad car, Cynthia exhaled. "I'm half-glad Kerry isn't Malibu and half-disappointed. One always hopes for an easy case—would you like lunch? Maybe we should take a food break before we push on."

"Fine with me."

Mrs. Hogendobber waved as Cynthia cruised by the post office. The deputy pulled a U-turn and stopped. She ran into the post office.

"Hi, how are you this morning?" Miranda smiled.

"I'm okay. What about yourself?"

"A little tired."

"Where's Harry and the zoo?"

"She's up at Ash Lawn with Little Marilyn, Aysha, and Ottoline."

"What in the world is she doing there, and what is Aysha doing there? Norman's hardly cold."

Mrs. Hogendobber frowned. "I know, but Aysha said she was going stir crazy, so she drove up to gather up her things there as well as Laura Freely's. Marilyn's lost two docents, so she's in a fix. Anyway, she begged to have Harry for a day, since she knows the place so well. Harry asked me and I said fine. Of course, she's not a William and Mary graduate, but in a pinch a Smithie will do. Litde Marilyn needs to train a new batch of docents fast."

Cynthia stood in the middle of the post office. She looked out the window at Frank in the air-conditioned car, then back to Mrs. Hogendobber. "Mrs. H., I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course."

"Call Litde Marilyn. Don't speak to anyone but her. She's got to keep Aysha there until I get there."

"Oh, dear. Kerry's out on bail. I never thought of that." Miranda's hand, tipped in mocha mist nail polish today, flew to her face. "I'll get right on it."

Then Cynthia darted into Market Shiflett's, bought two homemade sandwiches, drinks, and Miranda's peach cobbler.

She hopped in the squad car. "Frank, here. There's been a change of plans. Hang on." She hit the siren and flew down 240, shooting through the intersection onto 250, bearing right to pick up 1-64 miles down the road.

"You'll love the peach cobbler," she informed a bug-eyed Frank.

"I'm sure—but I think I'll wait." He smiled weakly.

Once she'd maneuvered onto 1-64, heading east, she said, "It's a straightaway for about fifteen miles, then we'll hit twisty roads again. I don't know how strong your stomach is. If it's cast iron, eat."

"I'll wait. Where are we going?"

"Ash Lawn, home of James Monroe. We get off onto Route 20 South and then hang a left up the road past Monticello. I'm hitting ninety, but I can't go much more than forty once we get on the mountain road. Another fifteen, twenty minutes and we're there." She picked up her pager and told headquarters where she was going. She asked for backup—just in case.

"She's a real cobra."

"I know."

Cynthia turned off the siren two miles from Ash Lawn. She drove down the curving tree-lined drive, turning left into the parking lot, and drove right up to the gift shop. "Ready?"

"Yes." Frank was delighted to escape from the car.

Harry noticed that Little Marilyn was unusually tense. She hoped it wasn't because she was failing as a docent. Harry shepherded her group through the house, telling diem where to step down and where to watch their heads. She pointed out pieces of furniture and added tidbits about Monroe's term of office.

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker had burrowed under the huge boxwoods. The earth was cooler than the air.

Aysha was underneath the house collecting the last of Laura Freely's period clothing as well as her own. Ottoline was helping her.

Cynthia and Frank walked to the front door as nonchalantly as possible. Harry was just opening the side door to let out her group as Cynthia and Frank entered through the front.

As it was lunch hour, the visitors to Ash Lawn who would be in the next tour group, which was Marilyn's, had chosen to sit under the magnificent spreading trees, drinking something ice cold.

Harry was surprised to find Cynthia there.

"This is Frank Kenton from San Francisco."

Harry held out her hand. "Welcome to Ash Lawn."

"It's okay, Harry, you don't have to give him the tour." Cynthia smiled tensely.

Little Marilyn, having been warned by Miranda, contained her nervousness as best she could. "Should I call her now?"

"Yes," Cynthia replied.

The candlesticks shook in their holders as Little Marilyn walked by. After a few minutes she returned widi Aysha and Ottoline.

Aysha froze at the sight of Frank.

"That's Malibu," he quietly said.

"No!" Ottoline screamed.

Aysha spun around, grabbed Harry, and dragged her into die living room. Ottoline slammed the doors. When Cynthia tried to pursue her, a bullet smashed through the door, just missing her head.

"Get out of here, all of you!" Cynthia commanded.

Marilyn and Frank hurried outside. Marilyn, mindful of her duty, quickly herded the visitors down to the parking lot. The wail of a siren meant help was coming.

Mrs. Murphy leapt up. "Mom. Mom. Are you okay?"

Tucker, without a sound, scooted out from under the boxwood and shot toward the house.

Mrs. Murphy squeezed through the front door which was slightly ajar. Tucker had a harder time of it, but managed.

Cynthia was crouched down, her back to the wall by the door into the living room. Her gun was held at the ready. "Come on out, Aysha. Game's up."

"I've got a gun in my hand."

"Won't do you any good."

Aysha laughed. "If I shoot you first it will."

Ottoline called out, "Cynthia, let her go. Take me in her place. She's lost her husband. She's not in her right mind."

Cynthia noticed the cat and dog. "Get out of here."

Mrs. Murphy tore out the front door. Tucker waited a moment, gave Cynthia a soulful look, then followed her feline friend.

"Tucker, around the side. Maybe I can get in a window."

They heard Harry's voice. "Aysha, give yourself up. Maybe things will go easier for you."

"Shut up!"

The sound of Harry's beloved voice spurred on both animals. Mrs. Murphy raced to the low paned window. Closed. Ash Lawn was air-conditioned. Both cat and dog saw Harry being held at gunpoint in the middle of the room.

Ottoline stood off to die side of the doors.

"Tucker, these old windows are pretty low. Think you can crash through?"

"Yes."

They ran back fifty yards, then turned and hurtled toward the old hand-blown window. Tucker left the ground a split second before Murphy, ducking her head, and hit the glass with the top of her head. Mrs. Murphy, her eyes squeezed tight against the shattering glass, sailed in a hairbreadth behind Tucker. Broken glass went everywhere.

Aysha whirled and fired. She was so set on a human opponent, she never figured on the animals. Tucker, still running, leapt up and hit her full force, and she staggered back.

Ottoline screamed, "Shoot the dog!"

Mrs. Murphy leapt up and sank her fangs into Aysha's right wrist while grabbing on to her forearm with front and hind claws. Then she tore into the flesh for all she was worth.

Aysha howled. Harry threw a block into her and they tumbled onto the floor. Tucker clamped her jaws on a leg. Ottoline ran over to kick the corgi.

Mrs. Murphy released her grip and yelled, "The hand, Tucker, go for the hand." Tucker bounded over the struggling bodies. Ottoline's kick was a fraction of a second too late. Aysha was reaching up to bludgeon Harry on the head. Tucker savaged Aysha's hand, biting deep holes in the fleshy palm. Aysha dropped the gun. Ottoline quickly reached for it. Tucker ran quiedy behind her and bit her too, then picked up the gun.

Harry yelled, "Coop! Help!"

Mrs. Murphy kept clawing Aysha as Tucker eluded a determined Ottoline, her focus on the gun.

Coop held her service pistol in both hands and blew out the lock on the doors. "It's over, Aysha." She leveled her gun at the fighting women.

Harry, a bruise already swelling up under her left eye, released Aysha and scrambled to her feet. She was struggling to catch her breath. Ottoline ran up behind Coop and grabbed her around the neck, but Coop ducked and elbowed her in the gut. With an "umph" Ottoline let go.

Aysha started to spring out the door, but Harry tackled her.

Coop shoved Ottoline over to where Aysha was slowly getting up.

"You were so smart, Aysha, but you were done in by a dog and a cat." Harry rejoiced as Tucker brought her the gun.

"It's always the one you don't figure that gets you." Cynthia never took her eyes off her quarry.

Rick Shaw thundered in. He grasped the situation and handcuffed Aysha and Ottoline together, back to back, then read them their rights.

"Ow." Aysha winced from where Mrs. Murphy and Tucker had ripped her hand.

Harry squatted down and petted her friends. She checked their paws for cuts from the glass.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Why not?" Aysha insouciantly replied.

"Well, then how?" Cynthia queried.

"I have a right to remain silent."

"Answer one question, Aysha." Harry brushed herself off. "Was Norman in on it?"

Aysha shrugged, not answering the question.

Ottoline laughed derisively. "That coward. He lived in fear of his own shadow." Ottoline turned to Rick Shaw. "You're making a big mistake."

Aysha, still panting, said, "Mother, my lawyer will do the talking."

Harry picked up a purring Mrs. Murphy. "Aysha, your letters to Marilyn from St. Tropez and Paris and wherever—you faked the postmarks and did a good job. But it's much harder to fake the inks."

Ottoline grumbled. "You can't prove that in a court of law. And just because I delivered fake postcards doesn't make my daughter a criminal."

Aysha's eyes narrowed, then widened. "Mother, anything you say can be used against me!"

Ottoline shook her head. "I want to make a clean breast of it. I needed money. Stealing from a bank is ridiculously easy. Crozet National was very sloppy regarding their security. Norman was putty in my hands. It was quite simple, really. When he weakened, I strangled him. As he slowed by the canning plant I popped up out of the back seat and told him to pull over. He was harder to kill than I thought, but I did have the advantage of surprise. At least I didn't have to hear him whine anymore about what would happen if he got caught."

Mrs. Murphy reached out with her paw, claws extended. "Aysha, are you going to stand there and let your mother take the rap?"

"I hate cats," Aysha spat at the little tiger who had foiled her plans.

"Well, this one was smart enough to stop you," Cynthia sarcastically said.

"That's enough." Rick wanted to get mother and daughter down to the station to book them. He pointed toward the squad car. As they were handcuffed back to back, walking proved difficult.

"Did you kill Hogan Freely too?" Harry asked Ottoline.

"Yes. Remember when we were in Market Shiflett's? Hogan said he was going to work late and bang around on the computer. He was intelligent enough that he might have—"

"Mother, shut up!" Aysha stumbled.

"What if Hogan had figured out my system?" Ottoline said, emphasizing "my."

"There is no system, Mother. Norman was stealing from the bank. Hogan threatened him. He killed Hogan and his accomplice inside the bank killed him. Kerry was his partner. He betrayed me."

"He did?" Ottoline's eyebrows jumped up. She thought a second, then her tone changed as she followed Aysha's desperate line of reasoning. "What a worm!"

"Aysha, we know you worked at the Anvil. You can't deny that." Harry, still quietly seething with anger, argued as she followed them to the squad car.

"So?" .

Ottoline went on rapidly, babbling as though that would get the people off the track. "I had to do something. I mean, my daughter, a Gill, working in a place like that. She was just going through a stage, of course, but think how it could have compromised her chances of a good marriage once she returned home, which she would do, in time. So I begged her to write postcards as if she were still in Europe. I took care of the rest. As it was, she had drifted away from Marilyn and Kerry so they didn't know exactly where she was. Sending fake postcards wasn't that hard, you see, and her reputation remained unsullied. I don't know why young people have to go through these rebellious stages. My generation never did."

"You had World War Two. That was rebellion enough."

"I'm not that old," Ottoline frostily corrected Harry.

"Ladies, these are good stories. Let's get to the station house and you can make your statements and call your lawyer," Rick prodded them.

Frank Kenton followed Cynthia. As he opened the door to her squad car he gave Aysha a long, hard look.

Defiantly, she stared back.

Til live to see you rot in hell." He smiled.

"I like that, Frank. There's a real irony to that—you as a moral force." Aysha laughed at him.

"Don't lower yourself to talk to him," Ottoline snapped.

"She lowered herself plenty in San Francisco," Frank yelled at Ottoline. "Lady, we'd have all been better off if you hadn't been a mother."

Ottoline hesitated before trying to get in the back seat of the squad car. Rick held open the door. The way the two women were handcuffed, they couldn't maneuver their way into the car.

"This is impossible." Aysha stated the obvious.

"You're right." Rick unlocked her handcuffs.

That fast, Aysha sprinted toward the trees.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" Rick dropped to one knee while pulling his revolver.

Cynthia, too, dropped, gun at the ready. Aysha made an easy target.

Tucker dug into the earth, flying after Aysha. Passing the human was easy for such a fast little dog. She turned in front of Aysha just as Rick fired a warning shot. Harry was going to call the dog back but thought it unwise to interrupt Tucker's trajectory.

Aysha glanced over her shoulder just as Tucker crouched in front of her. She tripped over the little dog and hit the ground hard.

Cynthia, younger and faster than Rick, was halfway there, when a wobbly Aysha clambered to her feet.

"Goddamned dog!"

"Put your hands behind your head and slowly, I said slowly, walk back to the squad car."

Ottoline, crying uncontrollably, slumped against the white and blue car. "I did it. Really. I'm guilty."

"Shut up, Mother! You never listen."

A flash of parental authority passed over Ottoline's face. "If you'd listened to me in the first place, none of us would be in this mess! I told you not to marry Mike Huckstep!"

"I don't know anyone by that name!" Aysha's whole body contorted with rage.

Ottoline's face fell like a collapsed building. She realized that in her frantic attempt to save her daughter she had spilled the beans.

45

Reverend Jones was the last to join the little group at Harry's farm for a potluck supper hastily arranged by Susan. He greeted Mrs. Hogendobber, Mim, Little Marilyn, Market, Pewter, Ned, Blair, Cynthia, Kerry McCray, and her brother, Kyle.

"What did I miss?"

"Idle gossip. We waited for you," Mrs. Hogendobber told him. "Fair's the only one missing. He'll come when he can."

"Did you ever find out how Aysha transferred the money?" Susan eagerly asked.

"Yes, but we don't know what she's done with it, except for the sum she transferred into Kerry's account. She fully intends to hire the best lawyer money can buy and serve out her jail term if she doesn't get capital punishment. She'll probably be out on good behavior before she's fifty, and then she'll go to wherever she's stashed the money." Cynthia sounded bitter.

"How'd she do it?" Mim asked again.

"There was a rider attached to the void command in the Crozet National computer. Remember all the instructions for dealing with the Threadneedle virus? Well, it was brilliant, really. When the bank would void the command of the virus to scramble files, a rider would go into effect that instructed the computer to transfer two million dollars into a blind account on August first. The money didn't leave the bank. Later Aysha or Norman squirreled it out. For all we know, it may still be in that blind account, or it may be in an offshore account in a country whose bankers are easily bribed."

"Where was Mike Huckstep in all this?" Blair was curious.

"Ah…" Cynthia smiled at him. She always smiled at Blair. "That was the fly in the ointment. She had everything perfecdy planned, a plan she undoubtedly stole from Huckstep, and he shows up at Ash Lawn just before her trap was set to spring. She wasn't taking any chances and she was shrewd enough to know the death of a biker wouldn't pull at many heartstrings in Crozet. She coolly calculated how to get away with murder. She told him she was enacting his plan. He signed the bank cards willingly, thinking the ill-gotten gain would be pirated into his account. They'd be rich. Norman inserted the account information into the system, not knowing who Mike really was. Meanwhile, Aysha told Mike she wanted him back. He didn't know she was married to Norman, of course. She told him how awful she'd felt running out on him, but she was afraid of total commitment, and when she realized her mistake she couldn't find him—he'd moved from Glover Street, where they used to live. She suggested he pick her up on the motorcycle and they could cruise around. Bam! That was it for Mike Huckstep, her real husband. Not only is she a killer and a thief, she's a bigamist."

"How did he find her?" Harry wondered.

"He knew her real name. Aysha got a break when he showed up at Ash Lawn strung out like he was. He called her by the name he knew best. Of course, Ottoline is claiming Huckstep must have been killed by a drug dealer or some other low life—anyone but her precious daughter."

"So, Coop, how did Huckstep find Aysha?" Susan asked.

"Oh," she said, smiling, "I got off the subject, didn't I? He must have tapped into our Department of Motor Vehicle files or he could have zapped the state income tax records. The man seems to have been, without a doubt, a computer genius."

"Imagine if that mind had been harnessed to the service of the Lord," Mrs. Hogendobber mused.

"Miranda, that's an interesting thought." Herbie crossed his arms over his chest. "Speaking of his mind, I wonder what provoked him to look for her."

"Love. He was still in love with her, despite all," Blair firmly stated. "You could see that the day he came to Ash Lawn. Some men are gluttons for that brand of punishment."

"We'll never really know." Cynthia thought Blair's interpretation was on the romantic side.

"Takes some people that way," Kerry ruefully added to the conversation.

"Guess he got more and more lonesome and—" Susan paused. "It doesn't matter, I guess. But what I can't figure out is how he knew to go to Ash Lawn."

"Yeah, that's weird." Little Marilyn recalled his visit.

"My hunch is that Aysha bragged about her pedigree, that old Virginia vice. She probably said she was or would be a docent at Monticello or Ash Lawn or something like that. I doubt we'll ever truly know because she is keeping her mouth shut like a steel trap." Cynthia shook her head. "In fact, if it weren't for the way Ottoline keeps letting things slip, we wouldn't know enough to put together a case."

"Poor Norman, the perfect cog in her wheel." Kerry's eyes misted over.

"Why couldn't Mike put his plan into effect?" Little Marilyn asked.

"A man like that wouldn't have friends inside a bank. He needed a partner who was or could be socially acceptable. I suppose the original plan entailed Aysha working inside a bank," Mim shrewdly noted,

"Aysha decided she could pull it off without him," Cynthia said. "When he showed up she shrewdly told him she'd found a dupe inside the bank. They could be in business pronto. Although Mike probably did love her as Blair believes, she couldn't control him the way she could control Norman. And she definitely had her eyes on the whole enchilada."

"I keep thinking about poor Hogan. There he was in Market's store, telling us he was going to work late that night, telling Aysha." Susan shivered, remembering.

"He scared her for sure. The fog was pure luck." Cynthia glanced over at Blair. He was so handsome, she couldn't keep her eyes off him.

Little Marilyn noticed. "Thank God for Mrs. Murphy and Tee Tucker, they're the real heroes."

"Don't let it go to your head," Pewter chided.

"You're out of sorts because you missed the fireworks." Mrs. Murphy preened.

"You're right." Pewter tiptoed toward those covered dishes in the kitchen.

"Has she shown any remorse?" Mrs. Hogendobber inquired.

"None."

"Ottoline says Aysha is being framed. She insists that Kerry is the culprit while she killed Norman to spare her daughter a dreadful marriage." Mim rose to signal time to eat. "But then, Ottoline always was a silly fool."

"Whose blood was on the saddlebag?" Harry asked.

"What blood?" Mim motioned for Little Marilyn to join her. "I don't know anything about blood."

"A few drops of blood on Mike Huckstep's saddlebags." Cynthia checked her hands and decided she needed to wash them before eating. "Aysha's. She must have had a small cut."

By now the humans had invaded the kitchen. Much as they wanted to wait for Fair, their stomachs wouldn't. Besides, with a vet, one never knew what his hours would be.

Little Marilyn had cooked crisp chicken.

"Don't forget us," came the chorus from the floor.

She didn't. Each animal received delectable chicken cut into small cubes. As the people carried their plates back into the living room, the animals happily ate.

Miranda asked, "What about Kerry?"

"Aysha was slick, slick as an eel." Cynthia put down her drumstick. "First she used the term Threadneedle because she knew Kerry worked for a bank in London, near the Bank of England, on Threadneedle Street. She figured by the time we unearthed that odd fact, Kerry's neck would be in the noose. Aysha had a fake driver's license made with her statistics and photograph but with Kerry's name, address, and social security number, which she pulled out of the bank computer in Norman's office. She bought the gun at Hassett's that way."

"Fake driver's licenses?" Miranda was surprised.

"High school kids are a big market—so they can buy liquor," Harry said.

"How would you know that?" Miranda demanded.

"Oh—" Harry's voice rose upward.

"It's a good thing your mother is not here to hear this."

"Yes. It is." Harry agreed with Miranda.

"But why would Aysha kill Norman? He was her cover," Marilyn wanted to know.

"She didn't," Harry blurted out, not from knowledge but from intuition and what she had observed at Ash Lawn.

"Norman chickened out after Hogan's murder. White-collar crime was all right, but murder—well, he was getting very shaky. Aysha was afraid he'd crack and give them away. Ottoline, terrified that her daughter might get caught, really did strangle him. I'm sure the old girl's telling the truth about that, although we don't have any proof."

"So Ottoline knew all along." Harry was astonished.

"Not at first." Cynthia shrugged. "When Mike Huckstep's body was found, Ottoline got her first seismic wake-up call. When Hogan was killed, she had to have known. Aysha may even have told her. Like I said, Aysha denies everything and Ottoline confesses to everything."

"She killed to protect her daughter." Mim shook her head.

"Too late. And planting the weapon in Kerry's Toyota—that was obvious and clumsy."

"Then it was Aysha driving the motorcycle out from Sugar Hollow?" Harry remembered her close call.

"Yes." Cynthia finished off a chicken wing as the others chatted.

"You know," Mim changed the subject, "Ottoline was forever Aysha's safety net. She never let her grow up in the sense that the woman was never accountable for her actions. The wrong kind of love," Mim observed. "Hope I didn't do that to you."

Her daughter answered, "Well, Mother, you'd be happy to live my life for me and everyone else's in this room. You are domineering."

A silence descended upon the group.

Big Marilyn broke it. "So…?"

They all laughed.

"Didyou think it was Aysha?"l?ewter spoke with her mouth full.

"No. We just knew it wasn't Kerry. At least we were pretty sure it wasn't, "Tucker replied.

"I'm happy we're alive.''Murphy flicked her tail. "I don't understand why humans kill each other. I guess I never will."

"You have to love them for what they are. "Tucker snuck over to sniff Pewter's plate.

Pewter boxed Tucker on the nose. "Watch it. I don't have to love a poacher!"

"You take so long to eat. "Tucker winced.

"Ifyou'd eat more slowly you'd enjoy it more," Pewter advised.

They heard the vet truck pull up outside, a door slamming, then Fair pushed open the screen door. The friends, intent on their dinners, greeted him. Then one by one they noticed.

"What have you done?" Mrs. Hogendobber exclaimed.

"Curled my hair a little," he replied in an unusually strong voice. "Didn't come out quite the way I expected."

"Might I ask why you did it?" Harry was polite.

"Works for Blair." He shrugged. "Thought it might work for me."

The End