Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 15

March 11, 2019 Monday

8:00 PM

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. I could help you eat the chicken,” Golly offered, her fluffy calico tail slightly lifting and falling.

Sister, knowing the cat shouldn’t be on the kitchen table, never could resist her company so she reached across to tickle her ears.

The Doberman, Raleigh, under the table, lifted his head then dropped it back again.

Rooster, the harrier, did likewise, for the dogs knew there was no hope of ever resting on the table. There was hope of food falling off of it, however.

But Sister wasn’t eating, rather drinking hot green tea.

As the heat rose, Sister stared down into the cup. “I can’t help it. I am suspicious of green tea. But it is restful.”

“So is chicken,” the cat retorted.

Humans deluded themselves into thinking that animals did not understand language but they did. Studies had proven that a dog can have a vocabulary of perhaps up to a thousand words, depending on breed. And studies in a Hungarian university revealed that animals recognized different languages, and being like humans did not necessarily understand them, but they could hear them.

Golly wasted no time on this. Humans, lovable as some may be, were a lower life-form than herself. The dogs, occasionally likable, were beneath contempt. Her tail lifted and lowered at a faster pace.

Sister took a sip. Her kitchen phone, an old dial landline, rang.

Rising, she picked it up then sat down. “Hello.”

“Are you busy?” Marion’s distinctive voice came through.

“Drinking green tea. I don’t like this stuff but it helps me sleep.”

“So does bourbon.” Marion laughed.

“What’s cooking, babydoll?” Sister asked.

Marion launched into the visit earlier by Detective Serena Neff. “It was all very low-key, but still.”

“Mmm. She interviewed the girls, I assume.”

“She did. Once again, Jean reported that she and Harry left at closing but she had emptied the jewelry case, putting the items behind it, on the shelves with the sliding doors.”

“Not in the safe?” Sister queried.

“Takes a lot of time and all these years we have never had a problem. Anyway, Roni checked everything out, locked up. That’s it. No contradictions or even, umm, discomfort. But after Detective Neff left, Martha was the first to say something is not right. We all agreed.”

“I assumed he fell. But if he was killed the big question is, why would anyone kill Harry Dunbar?” Sister wondered. “Doesn’t seem likely, strange as some of this is.”

“And why was the Erté ring in his pocket?” Marion replied.

“Did Roni know if the ring was on the shelf when she locked up?”

“No,” Marion quickly answered. “Jean swears she put it there and I expect she did. Closing up is a routine we all know, and again, there would be no reason for Roni to check if the case was empty of the jewelry. She would assume it was on the shelves, locked.”

“I guess there’s the word, assumed. Would Harry have known of its location?”

“No. Plus no one was in the store.”

Sister took a sip of tea, placing the cup on the saucer. “You don’t know that.”

“What? Both Jean and Roni said no one was in the store.”

“He could have been hiding. You have two bathrooms plus the back storage room. He could have been in there, Marion.”

“What? To steal an Erté ring, which he really couldn’t have known where it was? Plus Jean said he left with her.”

“Did he know how to get back into the store? Do you hide a key?”

“No.”

“He observed Jean closing up,” Sister logically posited.

“Possible. Not probable but possible. Then again, Sister, why the Erté ring? A man steals an Erté ring?”

“I agree. Even if Harry were a jeweler, I can’t imagine anyone stealing the Erté unless a devotee of the man’s work or even a scholar. Well, I take that back. A scholar isn’t going to steal a ring.”

“This will drive me crazy,” Marion stated.

“Well, thanks a lot. Now you’re driving me crazy.” Sister reached over to hold Golly’s paw; the cat was patting at her teacup.

“I wonder if anyone has Erté’s prints or paintings, around here, I mean.”

“You’d know or Nancy Bedford would know. She has a keen aesthetic sense and knows everyone.” Sister mentioned an officer of the Museum of Hounds and Hunting.

“He lived in Albemarle County. Sniff around.”

“I will,” Sister replied firmly.

“I know I’ve dumped this on you but you sometimes see things I don’t.”

“And vice versa.”

“How was your hunt?” Marion finally asked.

“Cold. Spring is sort of now you see it, now you don’t, and it’s mostly don’t. We were over at Little Dalby, a smaller fixture. Not much going on though we had a small run.”

“Warrenton and Casanova are adding a week to the season since there really wasn’t a season thanks to all the rain and snow.”

“I’m thinking about hunting to March 31. As you know, we stop on the Saturday closest to St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t want to run a heavy vixen, but breeding got delayed this year. Foxes didn’t want to go out in the downpour any more than we did. I’ve only seen a few traveling in pairs.”

“But even if they had bred on schedule, doesn’t the vixen stay near the den? Not too much chance of running her down.”

“Usually, but I’m already taking care of next year’s fox cubs in my mind. Still, I think I will extend the season. For all I know, the rains will continue.”

“How is everything else? Members okay? No hot gossip?”

“If there were hot gossip no one would tell me. Weevil stepped up to the plate. He’s doing a lovely job with hounds.” She then told Marion about Shaker’s crooked vertebra, Morris Taylor smashing through Cindy Chandler’s fence. Crawford Howard having hired a historian for Old Paradise. Stuff like that.

“Morris Taylor. Didn’t he run an insurance company with his brother?”

“No. He tried to do that to please their father but hated it. Became a nuclear physicist, which makes his slide more unsettling somehow.”

“It was the Taylors who blew up at Harry Dumbar over the eighteenth-century furniture, right? Did I get that right?”

“Right. Years ago.”

“Well, I know Drew because he comes into the shop, and I’ve seen his brother once or twice years back. I did mention the Taylors and the Blys from Culpeper to the detective, as enemies. Perhaps that’s too strong a word.”

“Oh, not with the Taylors but it seems unlikely that Drew Taylor would drive to Warrenton to kill Harry even if he knew he was there. That whole mess was a long time ago. Can you imagine people killing over furniture?”

“No. But I can imagine them killing over money.”

“Or an Erté ring?”

“Then the killer would have taken the ring,” Marion sensibly added.

“You’d think. You’ll get the ring back, won’t you?”

“Once this case is settled.”

“And I’ll make you a ten-dollar bet. The ring will be snatched up for more money. Maybe even a bidding war. People are weird about stuff like that.”

“How about if we leave it at people are weird?” Marion laughed.