Probable Claws

2

December 27, 2016

Tuesday

An earlier dusting of snow reflected the small round lights of various colors, strung from shops. The shopkeepers were upbeat. Even the Salvation Army bell ringers were smiling. With New Year’s around the corner more sales could be expected. Bargain hunters walked briskly from shop to shop in the small Crozet downtown, more like a crossroads, really.

Bending over an old, lovely, much-used large drafting table, Harry noticed the flow of people outside the storefront windows of Gardner’s Design. The shop, marked by a compass over a T-square painted on its hanging sign, was next to the well-lit art shop, and provided good parking, which was always a problem as the old stores had been built close to the road. The no-longer-used railroad station, originally the draw for business, still stood by the tracks.

Gary Gardner, trim white mustache, in his early sixties, bent over the table. Large sheets of paper were held down by tiny sandbags and his T-square, which was affixed to the top of the drafting table.

“Harry, if you’d just give me the word, I would create La Petite Trianon for you. Imagine working in such divine surroundings? You might even decide to keep sheep.” He tapped her hand with a pencil.

“Gary, I’d need to wear a bonnet. That would never do. For one thing, the cats would destroy the ribbons.”

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, sitting on the floor, quickly defended themselves. “Never!”

Tucker saw her moment. “Ha. Then they’d chew the straw.”

“You’d herd the sheep. You’d create more havoc than we would.” Pewter curled her lip.

“My job is to herd,” the corgi responded with pride.

“Well, our job is to dispatch vermin. How do you know mice won’t make a nest in a big bonnet when it’s not on Harry’s head? Think what might happen when she’d tie the bonnet on her head?” Mrs. Murphy sounded perfectly serious.

“No Trianon?” Gary’s eyebrows shot upward. “Harry, you disappoint me, but only a little. Your workshed, as you can see, has two large rooms, plenty of space to use the long desk against the wall, lots of windows and skylights for natural light, and an across-the-wall pegboard. You can hang up everything.”

“That is useful.”

“And you’re sure you aren’t going to buy a band saw?”

“No. I don’t want to use gas- or electrical-powered tools. They’re too fast for me. Know what I mean? I’d rather do it the old way.”

“The eighteenth-century way.” He grinned at her.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” She shrugged and then looked at his one wall, built-in bookcases that he had designed, identical squares, bursting with books. “Have you read all those books?”

“I have but I’ve had decades to do so.”

“What about those boxes on the bottom, the ones that look like fat old books? My father used to have those file boxes, as I recall,” she asked.

“Building codes for the counties where I’ve designed a house or a barn. I can fit two per square as you see. Breaks up the visual monotony. Every file box is a year. You’d be surprised how often those codes are changed. Of course now you can download them, but I do prefer the files.”

“Do you have the codes from when you worked for Rankin Construction?”

Rankin Construction was a large, third-generation company in Richmond. They had started before World War One and changed with the times. Now they built high-rises, stripped old tobacco warehouses, made pricey condominiums as well as office buildings.

“Yes, up until I left thirty years ago. I’m sure Rankin has kept everything.”

“Did you like working on those large projects? You never talk about them.”

“Well, I like architecture, old and new materials. I like efficiency and soundness. And Rankin is a good company but as it grew and grew, more and more layers of people meddled with my work. More and more building inspectors at every phase of the project. I learned to hate it so I packed up, moved here, and took my chances.”

“You certainly hit the top. Your homes are featured in all those glossy magazines.”

“Harry, I am just as happy creating the perfect work space for a good woman as I am putting together a two-million-dollar showplace. Why anyone wants to live in something like that is beyond me but hey, the commissions are good.”

“You have sure helped us a lot with those old school buildings, and we are keeping the name, too, ‘The Colored School.’ I think it’s important to be truthful.”

“Me, too. Working with Tazio Chappars is a joy,” he said, referring to a young architect who was making her way in the world to whom he was a mentor.

Dazzling Tazio, half Italian and half African American, took the best from both. She was also a person with a big heart. In a snowstorm years ago she had rescued a yellow Lab youngster abandoned and starving. Like most people she had no intention of owning a dog, and a big dog at that. But Tazio and Brinkley were a happy part of Crozet. If you saw one you saw the other.

Harry nodded. “She is talented, isn’t she?”

“Very. Talented and practical, my two favorite qualities. Okay.” He pointed back to his drawings, hand drawn. “The fireplace in the corner will heat the building up once the fire is going, but I suggest a small propane fireplace in the opposite corner diagonally kept on a low flame. Your pipes won’t freeze.”

“What pipes?”

“The pipes for your bathroom.”

“I don’t need a bathroom.”

“Harry, I know you can pinch a nickle until the Indian rides the buffalo, but you do need a bathroom and you will thank me for tucking one into this structure. The other thing is I’ve made the ceilings fourteen feet high. A fan will push warm air down. It’s not wasteful and the reason I’ve done that is over here; look, you have a quarter of the top space for storage. Just a small loft space. You can slide lumber up there or file boxes. It will be out of sight but protected.” He paused. “Skylights in a high roofline always look good. Even the loft has a skylight.”

“You can never get enough natural light.”

“Trust me on the storage space and on the bathroom.” His voice registered quiet command.

She sighed, sat on a high chair. “I’ll have to talk to Fair.”

“Your husband told me to give you the best shed in the county. And he said he wanted a cedar shake roof with clapboard siding. He swore he would keep it painted.”

“He did?”

“Indeed. You married a most agreeable man.” He beamed.

She beamed right back. “I did.”

“I don’t know why he puts up with you. He knows you don’t give us enough home-cooked food. And he’s a vet,” Pewter complained.

“An equine vet,” Tucker corrected her.

“So what. He knows how sensitive my system is.”

“Pewter” was all Mrs. Murphy could say because Pewter could and did eat anything.

Her girth testified to the effectiveness of her digestive system.

“I should have fresh food. Nothing mixed into commercial food. And you don’t know if that stuff came from China. Death!” Her eyes grew large.

Before the other two could vouch for the food not containing ingredients from China, a tap on the window drew their attention.

Gary motioned for Deputy Cynthia Cooper to step in.

She opened the door, closed it. “Getting colder out there.” Then to Harry she said, “Saw your wagon.”

“My stickers are updated.” Harry smiled at her neighbor.

“Yes they are. Passing by. Another hour and I’ll be off work. Gary, how are you doing? Is she being a good client?”

“Harry is always thoughtful and”—he paused—“cost conscious.”

Cooper laughed. “What a nice way to say cheap.”

“I am not cheap. I’m careful. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

“I’m teasing you,” Cooper replied. “You are tight with a buck, true, but you are generous with your time, food, your hospitality. You’re always ready to pitch in and help.”

Not expecting a compliment, Harry took a little time then said, “Thank you.”

“She’s right. You put your shoulder to the wheel,” Gary agreed.

Gary, tiny sandbags in hand, lifted off the first sheet of large drawing paper, placing it under the others.

Harry’s gaze wandered back to the square bookshelves covering one wall, so pleasing to the eye. He placed his treasures throughout his shelves. Snow globes had been stuck into many squares, smooth rocks from wherever he had gone rafting, one huge empty hornet’s nest took up an entire square, a giant tooth reposed in another square, and tiny rubber dinosaurs peeped out from many places.

One globe always tickled Harry, a flamingo in a snow globe looking startled when you turned over the globe and snow fell on the pink bird.

Across the room hung an artillery officer’s sword from the war of 1861–1865. The gilt still gleamed, the red sash with large tassels looked impressive. One could imagine them swinging when the officer walked in full dress regalia. A photograph of the fellow hung alongside the sword. This was Gary’s great-great-grandfather, a slender young man with a serious mustache. How young he looked—but then, all wars are fought by the young.

“You and your snow globes.” She smiled.

“Given the weather, we’re in a snow globe,” he replied.

“Got that right.” Cooper nodded.

Harry returned to the drawings. “Forgot to ask you what else you’re working on. Saw some of the redo for Nature First.”

“Ah. I quite like how that is turning out. What did you think of the enameled bookshelves and cabinets?”

“Gorgeous.”

He grinned. “I think so, too. It’s been a fun project.”

“Where did you get the idea for the slanting walls?”

“Flipping through some of the books on the shelves. Something will jump out at me and I start to fool with the idea.”

“So you saw Pirate, her puppy?”

“He’s hard to miss. I’m glad she has him. Nature First goes up against some deeply vested interests. A big dog will be a deterrent if some large corporation hires a goon.”

“Nature First does take them on,” Cooper agreed.

“You think someone would harm her?” Harry was aghast.

“I certainly hope not but I wouldn’t put it past one of these huge companies to try and scare her,” Cooper replied. “Implied violence can be as effective as genuine violence.”

“Harry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Gary put his hand on her shoulder. “We happen to be living through an incredibly corrupt time. Seems like every institution, including the churches, are corrupt. Ah well, perhaps we should envy Pirate and your four-legged fellow sidekicks. They have more sense than we do.”

The door swung open. Tazio shut the cold air out behind her. Wearing leggings, high boots, a turtleneck peeping out from under her sheepskin coat, she looked great. Brinkley had a tiny wreath on his leather collar.

“Am I too late for the party?”

As the humans greeted one another so did the animals.

Gary motioned for Tazio and Cooper to sit in a chair. “Just in time. I was showing Harry my sketches for her shed. I want to recreate La Petite Trianon but she won’t have it.”

Deadpan, Taz came back, “The Taj Mahal?”

“Too foreign. Mount Vernon would fit in.” Cooper joined the play.

Harry, stroking her jaw as though in deep thought, said, “What about a yurt?”

All three at once responded, “Never. That’s not Virginia.”

“Who cares what it looks like?” Pewter fussed. “She’d better have ceramic bowls with our names on them and a small refrigerator full of prime rib.”

Tucker said, “I’m sure she’ll do it just for you.”

“Taz, Gary, come on out. I made a big pot of chicken corn soup, my grandmother’s recipe. Best thing for a cold day. Coop will be there. We can chew the fat.”

“Literally.” Tucker giggled as she stared adoringly at her human.

“Her secret is white corn, fresh parsley. I watch. She hard-boils eggs, makes the rice, she is serious about chicken corn soup. I quite like it.” Mrs. Murphy twitched her whiskers.

“Thank you. I’d love to but I have a date with Paul, which really means we’ll be with Big Mim, breeding papers all over the house.” Tazio named Big Mim Sanborne, a wealthy woman, leader of society such as it was.

Big Mim would be breeding a few of her Thoroughbred mares in the early spring. She was breeding late but she didn’t intend to race the foals. She wanted her stable manager, Paul, to turn them into foxhunters. With the exception of steeplechasing, a demanding sport for horse and jockey, Mim’s flat racing days were over. It had all gotten too complicated, too expensive, and the variation of drug conditions from state to state drove her wild. She finally said, “The hell with it.”

But by breeding in early spring the foals would arrive after the severe heat of a Virginia summer. Horses have an eleven-month gestation period.

“What about you, Gary?”

“I, too, must pass with regret. I told Hank Severson I’d meet him at his house to look at some flooring he took up from old granaries. Tell you what, he has a booming business. First he gets the job of dismantling old buildings then he resells the timber, hardware. He has a wonderful eye.”

“Does.” Harry had admired a floor Gary put in years ago at a friend’s house, granary oak, how it glowed.

“Hey, Gary, see if he has any old cherry,” Taz requested.

“Sure enough. If he doesn’t have any, he’ll find it.”

They chatted, poured over the drawings again, all of them; then the little gathering broke up. They headed for the door, the animals tight behind Harry.

Opening it, a frigid wind, sharp, sliced them all in the face.

“It has gotten colder.” Taz pulled up her heavy turtleneck, as Brinkley stood next to her.

“December.” Gary shrugged.

He’d run out to see the ladies off, had not pulled on a coat.

“Gary, you’ll freeze to death,” Cooper remarked.

A motorcycle turned the corner, slowed, making its way to the small group of people.

Brinkley barked. “I hate the sound of motorcycles.”

“Another appointment?” Harry inquired.

“No.” Gary, puzzled, shivered a moment.

The motorcycle, a large one, stopped. The driver, all in black leather, a tinted visor attached to the helmet, unzipped a pocket, pulled out a Glock handgun, pointed it at Gary, fired, paused a moment, the barrel of the gun visible to the three women, revved the engine, and sped off.

Gary, hand clutched to his heart, sagged. Cooper immediately put her hands under his armpits to steady him.

Harry ran out to see if she could read a license plate. She recognized the bike as a Ducati.

Taz moved over to help Cooper. “Let’s get him in the warmth.”

A gurgle told them it was too late.

Cooper tried to revive him. People came out of their stores. The three women managed to get him into his shop. His neighbor, Orrie Carson, rushed out, knelt down to see if he, too, could help.

“He’s dead,” Mrs. Murphy quietly announced.