Sour Puss

"She tore up the leather upholstery in Nancy's Thunderbird. She's grounded."Mrs. Murphy related this story with undisguised glee, for Miss Prissy had ruined Mrs. Newell's new sports car.

"Why doesn't she just die, she's so damned old?"

"Tucker, why doesn't Aunt Tally die? They're too mean."Pewter giggled.

"What's cooking?" Harry asked the muscular Realtor.

"I've got clients from Belgium. They want me to find a farm with soil suitable for grapes. I tell you, I can't sell land that grows grapes fast enough. The word is finally out on Virginia wine. Obviously, a lot of time the best pieces are between friends. I'm trying to keep one step ahead of Rollie Barnes." He rubbed his hands together. "You haven't heard of anyone getting ready to sell, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

"What about Aunt Tally? She's sitting on nine hundred acres at Rose Hill. The windows are gone in some of those outbuildings. Course, they're stone; they'll outlast all of us, as will Aunt Tally."

"They look blind, those buildings." Harry leaned over the hood of his car. "She's not going to part with an acre. You know, Urquharts buy land, they never sell it. Now that Little Mim and Blair are going to live there after they're married, she won't surrender an inch."

"Well, I wouldn't, either." He exhaled through his nostrils. "This couple has big bucks, too."

"I'll sniff around."

"You've got a good nose." Bo's light eyes complemented his handsome features. "What do you think about Arch taking over Spring Hill Vineyards?"

"Well," she considered this question, one Fair had scrupulously not asked. "If Rollie lets him alone, he'll make it one of the best vineyards in the state, for starters. Arch is an ambitious man."

"So is Rollie."

"Yeah, but I don't know if he has the sense to leave people alone to do what they do best. Some people can't stop meddling."

"Big Mim." He half-smiled. "Although, in her defense, she improves most situations."

"And she gives out cookies."Tucker appreciated Big Mim's generosity toward dogs.

"Notuna."Pewter sniffed.

Before she could complain more, the blue jay, who had been perched on the stable cupola, opened wide his beautiful wings, lifted off his pretty perch, and dove straight for Pewter. He zoomed within an inch of Pewter's wide-domed skull.

"Fat ass!"he screamed, his squawk raucous.

"Jesus Christ." Bo jumped.

Harry jumped too. "Blue jay on steroids. He torments the cats."

"Cats? What about me?" Bo looked skyward.

Pewter ran under the shadow of the bird, who was gaining altitude. Mrs. Murphy ran, too.

"/will kill you!" Pewter raged.

The saucy fellow turned a graceful arc, then zoomed toward the two felines, who crouched. Sensibly, he did not go as low as his initial surprise attack. The cats leapt in the air, Mrs. Murphy higher than Pewter.

"Worthless. Worthless as tits on a boar."He then reclaimed his perch on the cupola, where he sang loudly to the world. "/am the mightiest bird in the kingdom, in the universe. I fear no one."

Harry and Bo stared up at him, his chest puffed out, his beak open. He ranted and sang. A low"hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo" should have alerted him, but his pride and volume blocked out Flatface's pronounced irritation.

Awakened by his song, which was harsh to her musical ears, Flatface ruffled her feathers. She slept in the cupola. Harry had fixed it so Flatface could nest up there. She could fly through the loft barn doors, which Harry usually left open at least a crack, even in winter. Also, one side of the cupola was opened enough for her to get in and out. Silence, big talons, a frightening beak, and remarkable intelligence are the weapons of all owls but are heightened in the great horned owl.

Flatface, furious, flew out from the cupola. The blue jay didn't hear her until she closed over him, grasping him in her talons.

"Drop him on me,"Pewter shrieked with excitement.

"Holy shit." Bo was mesmerized.

"Flatface lives in the cupola. I think he plucked her last nerve." Harry breathlessly watched the drama.

Flatface, slowing, opened her wings wide and opened her talons, dropping the blue jay about six feet over Pewter's head. Mrs. Murphy danced on her hind legs.

The blue jay, feathers scattering, plummeted toward the two awaiting cats. He managed to open his wings and pull out of the free fall just as Pewter snatched at him.

Her reward was some exquisite tail feathers.

The blue jay hurried away as Flatface flew back into the barn."That will shut his trap," she said as she nestled in her cupola.

Simon, who watched from the hayloft doors, called up,"You showed him."

The blacksnake, Matilda, emerged from her nest in the back hay bales—she had laid eggs in a depression next to her nest. She cast a glittering eye at Flatface, then another at Simon before returning to her place. She was old and accordingly large, as fat around as a big man's wrist. Being a reptile, she lacked sociability. She did not, however, lack fangs, and although nonpoisonous, a deep bite from her jaws could send a human into shock. Thanks to Matilda and Flatface, not one mouse twaddled about in the hayloft. The cats might have a deal with the tack-room mice, but as far as Matilda and Flatface were concerned, one mouse equaled one hors d'oeuvre.

Matilda did say,"Good work."

Flatface turned her head almost upside down and winked.

Outside, the humans, cats, and dog were still talking about the blue jay's come-uppance.

"Near-death experience." Harry was on the side of her cats.

"I know some people who need a near-life experience." Bo chuckled. "Like Toby Pittman. One weird dude."

"Maybe he wears his weirdness on the outside. The rest of us wear it on the inside."

"I hope that means you're kinky."

"Bo, you think about one thing." Harry laughed at him.

"Know anything else that's as much fun?"

"Mmm. I'll give that deep thought." She waited a moment. "What do you think about Arch coming here from California?"

"Hell of a deal at his age to be responsible for a large operation. But I think he came back for you, too."

This startled Harry. "Why? Over is over."

"For some people; not for others," Bo wisely replied. "You know, he didn't know you were getting remarried. You'd think someone would have e-mailed him."

"Maybe." Harry thought a long time. "But my experience is men don't usually keep up with relationships. Arch's only friend here, if you can call him that, is Toby. All his old buddies are in Blacksburg or down in Chatham where he was raised."

Bo checked his watch. "I lied. I've been here longer than fifteen minutes. Must be the company." He climbed back into his SUV, perfect for showing clients country properties. "Keep me in mind, now, if you hear of anything."

"I will."

He closed the door, started the engine, rolled down the window. "Damnedest thing, that owl. Isn't that the way, though? I mean, something just hits you, right out of the blue?"

10

Late that afternoon, Deputy Cooper, at her desk, received a call from Cory Sullivan, an acquaintance who worked for the sheriff's department in Blacksburg. Many women in law enforcement share a special bond, as there are still men out there who belittle their involvement in the profession.

"Cooperation." Cory pronounced this as "Cooperation," accent onCooper.

"Cory, what's cooking?"

"Three wrecks. No fatalities. One break-in at a convenience store, the perp on meth. One missing person, which is why I'm calling you."

"Another day in paradise." Cooper Picked up her yellow pencil.

"Yep."

"Who's missing?"

"Professor Vincent Forland."

As Cooper wrote this down she clarified the information. "The viticulture expert?"

"How do you know him?"

"He was the speaker at a panel here a couple of days ago. Give me what you've got."

"His housekeeper called at two-thirty, alarmed that he hadn't returned from Charlottesville. According to her, he is extremely punctual and he told Mrs. Burrows, that's the housekeeper, that he would be home by noon."

"Two and a half hours. Kind of jumping the gun."

"Not according to her. She said she called Kluge Vineyards and they said he left at seven this morning."

"Guess he didn't give them an itinerary?"

"No. Just told Patricia Kluge that he would make a few calls along the way."

"Anything else?"

"The guy was unnatural. Never had a speeding ticket or a parking ticket."

"That's major." Coop laughed.

"Mrs. Burrows is very upset, so see what you can find out up there."

"Sure. Come up and visit sometime."

"Same here. I have tickets to Tech football next fall but, hey, don't wait that long."

After Coop hung up she checked all the accident reports in the county since seven in the morning. She checked with the state police to see if there had been any accidents on I-64 or 1-81, Professor Forland's probable routes. There hadn't been any that involved him.

Then she called tow and wrecker services in case he'd had car trouble. He could be sitting at a gas station or at a car dealer's service center. Maybe he was too upset or busy to inform Mrs. Burrows, but that wasn't her concern. Her concern was tracking him down.

On the fourth wrecker-service call she hit pay dirt. Big Jake's Towing Service had towed a Scion bearing Professor Forland's plates from the underground parking lot at Queen Charlotte Square. It had been Parked in a reserved spot, and the owner of that parking space was one step ahead of a running fit on coming in to work to find her slot filled.

Big Jake, aptly named, walked Cooper to the chain-link fenced-in area where cars

were impounded until their owners forked over the cash to release them.

Big Jake handed her the keys. "You sure got here fast."

"Just hit the flasher button." She smiled at him. "Where did you find the keys?"

"Behind the sun visor."

"Did you open the trunk?"

"No."

She walked to the trunk. "Big Jake, I don't know what's in here, so fair warning."

He nodded, stepped to the side as she popped the lid. A banker's box filled with notes, a flashlight, and an emergency kit seemed a pathetic amount of stuff.

Putting on thin latex gloves, she opened the car door and checked every cubbyhole and compartment. The day turned from crisp to cold, the usual April inconsistency. She flipped down the sun visors.

"You expecting trouble?"

"I don't know. I sure hope not." She hunkered down to check under the seats. From under the driver's seat she pulled out Professor Forland's thick, square, black-rimmed glasses. She then replaced them exactly where they had been. "Who comes in and out of here?"

"Me, Fatty Hazlette, Kerry, the other driver."

"Anyone touch this car?"

"No, just me. I was the one who towed it in."

"Thanks." She pulled her cell out of her jacket pocket and called Rick. "Boss, I think we've got a major problem."

11

A fence board popped off due to a combination of age and too much attention from a naughty mare. Harry, using the claw of her large hammer, pried off each end, carried the two pieces to the dump pile behind her large equipment shed. The sun was setting and she hurried to finish the job.

The pile, used for wood bits, would be picked over. Odd bits of wood can often be useful, and Harry, true to form, wasted precious little. At the end of the fall, the ground still soft, she'd scoop out what remained using the big bucket of the front-end loader. This would be burned in a pit and then covered over. For fun, she'd stick in a couple of potatoes, carrots, and onions wrapped in tinfoil. Later she'd use the rake, pull them out, and eat them for supper.

The pile today consisted of three or four wood pieces and a little wagon with the wheels off, placed to one side. Early spring meant the debris pile was sparse.

Conscious of fire, the pile was thirty feet away from the equipment shed on lower ground. One couldn't see it unless one walked behind the shed and looked down. Harry was as tidy as Fair, a good thing because it's the little things about another person that drive you up the wall.

A flatbed load of cured fence boards rested on pallets on the far left side of the big shed. She hoisted a board on her shoulder and returned to the paddock. She nailed it in place, enjoying the helpfulness of the mares and foals. She'd paint it in the early evening when the horses were back in the barn. Otherwise she'd have zebra-striped foals.

Dozing in the hayloft, Mrs. Murphy raised her head. A car was turning off the state road, a half mile away. She heard the tires crunch on the bluestone.

Tucker, standing dutifully beside Harry, pricked up her ears.

"Cooper."She recognized the tire tread.

Pewter, asleep on the tack trunk, dreaming of today's adventure, heard nothing. Little dust motes floated upward in the air each time she exhaled. Martha sat and watched, a tiny bit of peppermint she'd found on the floor in her paws. The foals liked peppermints. Harry had dropped one, stepped on it, and figured she'd clean it up when she came back in.

By the time Harry's ears, good for a human, picked up the sound, Coop was a quarter mile from the barn, sound zinging clear on the clear day.

She tapped the last nail in place. She'd put on a little dab of wood putty later. She sunk in the tiny nail heads and didn't want the depression to show. She wouldn't use nails with large flat heads, because the playing horses might scratch their faces. Like all young mammals, foals couldn't always distinguish between playing and playing that might be dangerous.

"Hey, girl." Coop closed the door to the squad car.

"Back at you." Harry slipped the hammer into her belt. "I've got deviled eggs. I've never known you to pass up food."

Coop laughed. "Word is out."

"At least your stomach isn't. You stay in good shape." Harry complimented her as they pushed open the screen door.

"Volleyball and running."

Mrs. Murphy, on her feet now, stuck her head out the opened loft doors. Harry would close them come nightfall, leaving them open enough for air to circulate, but as the nights warmed, she'd eventually leave them wide open.

Tight barns sickened horses.

Simon, a broken Pelham chain in his paws, lay fast asleep.

Mrs. Murphy marveled at his penchant for anything shiny. He already had one broken Pelham chain, but he thought this one even better.

She shook off the last of the hay, looked straight down. Too far. She trotted back to the ladder, shimmying down, then dashed into the kitchen just as Harry put out the deviled eggs, butter, sandwich meats, cheese, lettuce, and sliced tomatoes, along with a big jar of Hellmann's mayonnaise.

A loaf of whole-grain bread rested on the thick cutting board, a bread knife alongside.

"Miranda?"

"Her latest. She says it's seven-grain. Have you ever kneaded bread?"

"No." Coop sliced two pieces for Harry, two for herself.

"Makes your hands and forearms strong. Think about laundrywomen throughout the centuries. My God, their forearms had to be bigger than bodybuilders'."

"When you think about it, we live soft lives."

"Pretty much." Harry, lean as a slab, knew that despite her farm labors she enjoyed electricity, central heating, the best dental care in the world, and all manner of vaccinations to prevent disease.

"Turkey,"Tucker informed Mrs. Murphy, who smelled it the second she slipped through the cat door into the kitchen.

"If we're good, you know one of them will give us some."Mrs. Murphy sat by Harry's right side, Tucker on Harry's left.

"I'm here on business." Cooper reached for the mayonnaise jar.

"What did I do now? Or maybe it's these two beggars here." Harry glanced down at the attentive animals. "Where's Lardass?"

"Out cold in the tack room,"Mrs. Murphy informed her.

"When she finds out there was turkey, she'll turn into a big grump."Tucker giggled.

Ice cubes clinked in the tall glasses. Harry put them on the table, then two Cokes. She finally sat down.

"Thanks." Coop poured her Coke, the fizz rising. "Professor Forland didn't stop by here today, did he?"

"No, why?"

"His car was towed from the underground Queen Charlotte parking today, but no sign of Professor Forland."

"Odd."

"He'd parked in a reserved space. I should say the car was parked in a reserved space. Big Jake towed it, and so far no call from the professor about his car. And his housekeeper called. He told her he'd be home, and she said he is very punctual."

"Maybe he had a heart attack or something."

"Called all the hospitals, rescue squads, state police. Nada."

She noticed how pretty the paprika looked on the deviled egg yolk. "Well, something's wrong."

"Did he ever stop by during his visit?"

"He came to look at my Petit Manseng." She pronounced the French perfectly.

A wry smile played over Cooper's lips.

"God, you'll soon be as fussy as the rest of them."

"No, I won't."

"These are good."

"Hey, Miranda left a cheesecake with a chocolate bottom crust and raspberry sauce on top, French raspberries. She said the market had had a run on strawberries and raspberries shipped in from Florida and Georgia."

"Spring comes a lot earlier there."

Harry rose, returning with the cheesecake. Then she got up again.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Coke and cheesecake don't go. I'm making tea."

"Okay." Cooper happily assented. "So what happened when Professor Forland looked at your vines?"

"Nothing. He said they were healthy and he wished me luck."

"Hmm."

"Ever notice he looked like a worm?"

Cooper thought. "He did, didn't he?"

12

After a long Thursday morning, Fair stopped at the small coffee shop in Crozet. The days, incredibly busy, had flown by. It seemed like he'd checked fencing with Harry on Saturday and suddenly it was Thursday. Before he had his cup to his lips for a needed jolt of caffeine, Rollie Barnes pushed through the door. Seeing Fair at the counter, he sat next to him.

"Hello, Rollie, how are you today?"

"Cold. I thought Virginia was the South," Rollie grumbled.

"It is, but you're hard by the Blue Ridge Mountains."

"Kyle, I need a double shot," Rollie called to the owner, and then swiveled on his stool toward Fair. "Low pressure."

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't drink this much coffee. I'll get the jitters later, but I've been up since three-thirty this morning and I'm about beat." Fair wasn't complaining so much as stating fact.

"Something going on?"

"Too many people are turning horses into rich pastures. In spring if folks don't watch their horses they can founder. And I'm delivering foals that aren't Thoroughbreds. Late ones."

"Guess you heard Professor Forland is missing."

"Harry told me when I came home last night."

"Thanks." Rollie eagerly grasped the large mug when Kyle slid it to him.

"Doesn't make much sense. He doesn't seem like the kind of man to go on a bender."

"You never know about people. Everyone's got secrets." Rollie sounded learned.

Fair uttered the words that were music to Rollie's ears. "You're right."

Kyle, who'd been listening to theories about the professor's disappearance all week in the news, said, "Wouldn't believe the stuff I've heard." He paused. "He's captured by Al Qaeda. He is Al Qaeda. He's run off with Dinny Ostermann's wife. It goes on."

"People can talk." Rollie pointed his finger at the door to the coffee shop. "Who knows what goes on out there?"

Fair tapped his head. "Who knows what goes on in here?"

"Nutcase?" Kyle's brow furrowed.

"The professor?" Rollie propped his elbow on the counter.

Kyle leaned over the counter. "Or whoever snatched him."

Always one to look on the bright side, Fair added, "Oh, he might show up. Embarrassed maybe."

The door swung open at regular intervals. The lunch crowd started at eleven and didn't taper off until two in the afternoon. Kyle appreciated a large lunch clientele.

Fair slid his money across the counter. Rollie pushed it back. "I owe you a cup of coffee. You were right about the colt."

"How's the little fella doing?" Fair smiled broadly. He loved babies.

"Pretty good. 'Course, my wife spends more time with him than with me. She's so soft-hearted."

"That's why she married you." Fair honored him by teasing him.

Rollie thought about that a minute. "Might be right. You know, I wonder sometimes what the world would be like without women. Apart from being dull."

"We'd kill each other," Fair simply stated.

"Is this a woman-as-civilizing-force discussion?" Kyle cracked as he motioned for his waitstaff to pick up the pace.

"They are." Rollie placed a crisp ten-dollar bill on the polished counter.

Kyle, having had his troubles with women, grumbled, "What the hell do they want? Maybe they do make the world kinder, I don't know, but I can't figure out what they want."

"Whatever they tell you," Fair, accustomed to Harry being forthright, advised.

"They say one thing one day and another thing the next." Kyle put his hand on his hip. "It drives me crazy."

"Everyone, man or woman, wants to feel special," Fair said. "You have to figure out what that person really needs and then figure out what they want. The two aren't always the same, you know."

Rollie stared at Fair, taking his measure as if for the first time. "Guess you do."

"My experience in keeping a woman — happy—and mind you, I didn't the first time around; I learned this the hard way, by losing the best woman I could ever hope for— but give her what she wants. Simple."

"The Taj Mahal." Kyle grimaced.

"Oh, Kyle. You know what I mean." Fair leaned down, since he was now standing, and lowered his voice. "Give her what she wants in bed. Take your time. Count from one hundred backward if you have to, but take your time. Bring her flowers just because. Take out the trash. Wash and wax her car. Do stuff. Tell her she looks pretty."

"You do all that?" Rollie seemed amazed.

"Sure I do. Harry's a country girl. What makes her happy? A new pair of work boots that won't hurt her feet. And some flowers with the boots are okay, too. Maybe another woman would like the money for a new dress or something, but with Harry, practicality comes first."

"When did you know you'd won her back?" Rollie was now quite interested.

"Started two years ago when I bought the dually. Helped her buy it, really, and Art Bushey, who owned the Ford dealership then, helped me. But I knew I was across home plate when I bought her that colt by Fred Astaire. He was a yearling when I bought him, correct and good mind. She melted. After that it was a matter of time."

"Two years," Kyle matter-of-factly stated.

Rollie blurted out, "You hung on for two more years?"

"I kept asking her to marry me. I knew she'd say yes eventually. No one will ever love her like I do, and I learned my lesson. She knows that."

"I don't know if I have that stamina," Kyle declared.

"Then you don't love her enough," Fair bluntly replied, which was surprising coming from him.

"He might have a point." Rollie supported Fair. "I haven't met a man yet who doesn't have to jump through hoops of fire. Once you do it, you're okay. But I mean, they'll put you through fire."

"I just don't see the point." Kyle raised his voice and a few customers turned his way.

"Because you're a man," Fair said. "Listen to me. You don't have to see the point. You just have to do what needs to be done."

"Yeah, if you try to understand a woman you'll never get to first base. Some things you can understand, but other things, ridiculous as they are, are really important to them. So, like the man says, do what they tell you." Rollie chuckled at this.

He and Fair walked out together.

"Learned something about you today," Fair warmly said. "You pay attention."

"Sometimes."

13

"Slow down,"Pewter growled, running behind Mrs. Murphy.

"No!"

Ahead, a baby bunny ran evasively to avoid the sharp claws of the tiger cat. The little fellow just made it to his warren and the comfort of his mother as the cat pounced a great final pounce.

"Brute!"the mother bunny scolded Mrs. Murphy.

"Drat!"The tiger sat down, bent her head for a better look at the large cottontail glaring back at her.

Pewter, panting, pulled up beside Mrs. Murphy."Nearly got 'im."

"We'd have our own Easter Bunny."Mrs. Murphy said this loud enough to further infuriate the mother rabbit."Maybe the Easter Bunny will have a limp," Pewter hopefully remarked.

At this, both Mrs. Murphy and Pewter exploded in laughter.

"You cats think you're superior."The mother rabbit sniffed."We'll see how superioryou are when the bobcat gets you."

"Have you seen him?"Pewter feared the medium-size predator.

"He passes by. He's a killer, that one, and one day he'll have you in his jaws."

"What a pretty thought,"Mrs. Murphy saucily replied as she turned and trotted back over the greening-up pastures.

"/hate that cat." Pewter fell in alongside her best friend.

"Nearly took me to heaven twice. Thank God for the red fox. He saved me first time out. And Tucker did the second time when that devil snuck up on me."

"You'd think you would have smelled him. He's strong."

"Upwind and a strong wind. I didn't know until I heard a twig crack."Mrs. Murphy ruffled her fur, then it settled. "/burned the wind and I still couldn't put enough distance between us. He's incredibly fast. And ruthless."

"Why'd the fox help you?"

"Because once I helped him. Also, I always tell the foxes when the hounds will be here. And now that the Bland Wade tract has been added to the holdings, or I should say the use of it all, they'll be here at least once a month, come fall."

"Younever take me when you visit the foxes."

"Pewter, you're flopped in the barn or on the sofa and you don't want to move your lardass."

"That's not true. You're selfish."

"Oh la!"Mrs. Murphy tossed this off, sweeping her whiskers forward."Pewter. Stop."

"Don't tell me what to do!"Pewter stepped on a snoozing rattler, a big one.

The membrane rolled back from her eyes and she coiled up, waving her tail, the deadly sound loud.

Both cats jumped sideways as she struck, white fangs poised for action. Then they ran like blazes. The rattler, who could be fast for a short burst despite her winding motion, had no desire to kill the cats. She looked around, sniffed, for she had very good olfactory powers, then moved to a flat rock and decided to doze again in the pleasant, warming afternoon.

The cats raced and raced, finally drawing up under a small, beautiful grove of Alverta peaches on the southeast side of the old Jones home place, a half mile from the house.

Herb had made a lovely sign that read "Homecoming."

Farther west and at a higher elevation, a small mature orchard of pippin apple blossoms lent fragrance to the last days of April.

The two felines caught their breath.

"Funny. Snakes,"Mrs. Murphy mused.

"There's nothing funny about snakes."Pewter loathed the reptiles.

"Cold blood. She could move fast because she'd been lying in the sun and it's maybe sixty-eight degrees or higher, you know. I can't imagine being cold-blooded."

"Is that what humans mean when they say someone is cold-blooded? They're a reptile?"

"Maybe. Maybe that's where it started."The sweet chatter of purple finches and bluebirds added punctuation to her words."For them, being cold-blooded is terrible. /mean, they can understand someone killing in anger or passion but not thinking it out, planning. So they call it cold-blooded." Mrs. Murphy watched a peach-blossom petal swirl down.

The cold snap had delayed everything, but once the warmth came, the peaches bloomed at about the same time as the red-buds and early dogwoods.

It would be another week or even two, depending on temperatures, before all the apple trees blossomed, although the buds kept swelling, turning the hills lapping up to the Blue Ridge Mountains white.

"Hey."Pewter noticed.

Mrs. Murphy walked to the packed-down earth for a better look. She flared her nostrils, opening her mouth, too."Someone dug here, then replaced it. Look how careful they were to try and make the turf look undisturbed."

"Sure seems like a lot of work."

"Wasn't Harry. We'd have been with her."Mrs. Murphy checked for footprints."They covered their tracks."

"You can't dig and get the earth packed like that. Whoever did this dumped earth somewhere."

They searched but found nothing.

"Could have carted it off in a truck."Mrs. Murphy found this unsettling.

Pewter, intent on searching, didn't notice a large buzzard high in an ancient poplar. The buzzard, who had a sense of humor, spread her wings for a sun bath, calling down,"Lunch."

Scared twice this afternoon, Pewter had had quite enough. She ran east toward Harry's farm. The distance between the two houses, if measured in a straight line over the uneven ground, was a little more than one mile. Running, a cat could blaze home in four minutes, but the creek, if it was high like it was now, presented an obstacle.

Mrs. Murphy, following, paused for a moment at the lovely family cemetery, a huge oak within the wrought-iron fence.

"I'm not stopping. And furthermore, why do humans put fences around cemeteries? Do they think the dead will climb out?"Pewter huffed and puffed.

"/think it's an aesthetic thing." Mrs. Murphy had never thought of why the dead were so often contained.

"/don't want to be around anything gruesome today. That rattler was enough."

"Pewter, death waits for us all."

"Yeah, well, he's going to have to wait a good, long time for me."

She was right, thankfully. But death was waiting, no doubt about that.

14

On Monday, May 1, Harry and Susan pulled out of Mostly Maples, a nursery to the trade. Harry braked hard, throwing Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker onto the floor of the 1978 Ford truck.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed.

As Harry rarely swore, the animals climbed back onto the bench seat without complaint. They, too, had seen Toby Pittman hurtle by at top speed.

"What is the matter with that man?" Susan indignantly wondered. "He's become positively unstable."

"Hell, Susan, he was never wrapped too tight to begin with. Professor Forland going missing put him right over the edge."

"Living alone."

"I beg your pardon." Harry cautiouslylooked both ways before pulling left onto Route 240 to head into Crozet. "I lived alone for years."

"Yes, but you're social. You have many friends and, of course, you have Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter the rotund."

"/am not. I'm built round."

As they were in close quarters, neither Mrs. Murphy nor Tucker corrected Pewter's illusion. It's hard to fight in a truck.

"Toby has Jed, his donkey, but that's about it. His sister hasn't spoken to him in eight years. Maybe more."

Susan changed subjects. "We got our first order!" She twisted her head to look at the cars parked at Crozet Vet. "Bo Newell's there. I didn't know Bo took Miss Prissy to Marty." She named the owner and head veterinarian of the clinic.

"That cat is a holy horror. Bo might be there to see if Marty knows anything about land for sale. Grapeland." She giggled for a second. "If Elvis had only grown wine he could have lived at Grapeland."

"Harry, you're mental."

"Yeah, but I'm fun."

"I need a hot chocolate so I can better appreciate your humorous, wonderful self."

"Susan, what's this thing with you and hot chocolate?"

"I don't know, but I want a big hot chocolate with mountains of whipped cream."

"And you're the woman who obsesses about her weight?"

Susan laughed. "That's just it. I've discovered if I drink a big hot chocolate I'm not so hungry. Another thing, if I eat a couple handfuls of Virginia peanuts, I can go for hours before I want food."

"Virginia peanuts, best peanuts in the world."

Crozet, however, was too far west and north in the state to produce the famous crop.

"Did you know when the English first came in the seventeenth century they fed peanuts to their cows and horses? They didn't think it was a suitable food for humans."

"Who told you that?" Harry raised an eyebrow. She couldn't believe humans would be so stupid as to sidestep a rich source of protein.

"Barbara Dixon. I was down in Dillwyn the other day and I stopped by Barbara and Gene's. You know how she gets wrapped up in history." Susan named a foxhunting couple they both enjoyed, who were in the process of restoring an early eighteenth-century house and stables.

"And she's from San Antonio. She just got seduced by Virginia." Harry laughed.

"Actually, I think she was seduced by Gene."

At that they both laughed, then Harry returned to peanuts. "Really, they wouldn't eat them?"

"No. Wouldn't eat tomatoes, either. Thought they were poisonous."

"Well, all someone had to do was pop one in their mouth and that would be the end of that," Harry said.

"Would you do it?"

"Uh, well, let me reconsider my statement."

They rolled along in the best mood because of their first order and because it truly was spring. Spring fever.

"Wonder when people realized they could eat peanuts and tomatoes?" Susan pondered.

"There's a project for you." Harry slowed to thirty-five miles an hour as they entered Crozet.

"I'll give it to Barbara. You know that once I ask her she won't rest until she finds the answer."

"Sue Satterfield is like that, too." Harry named a friend who had been a teacher and was a good friend of the Dixons.

"Maybe I should give one the tomato question and the other the peanut question." Susan touched Harry's shoulder. "Hey, don't forget about my chocolate."

"Damn." Harry had turned into the post-office parking lot. She swung around to wait for traffic to pass.

"Miss it?"

"Sometimes. I miss the people. But I don't miss the hours, I don't miss the Federal regulations. You know, Susan, this is crude, but I can't help it: we are reaching a point where you won't be able to wipe your ass without the government telling you when to do it, how to do it, and what times to do it."

Susan roared. "I'll tell that to Ned."

"Tell him, while I'm on the subject of wiping, to just wipe ninety percent of the laws off the books. They're useless, obstructionist, and furthermore costing us all far too much money. Just tend to the roads, encourage business and agriculture, keep the state police strong, and stay out of everyone's life."

"I'll be sure to tell him. That can be his maiden speech. Ought to be a big hit among a group of people whose job security depends on making more laws."

"Then what in the hell is he doing there?" She continued to look both ways. "Where are these people coming from?"

"North of the Mason-Dixon line," Susan mused.

"Can't we send them back?" Harry smiled, then glanced at the clock in the dashboard, still ticking away after decades. "Lunch. Forgot about the time."

"Then you'd better get me to the cafe before everyone sits down. I'll never get my hot chocolate."

"We can sit at the counter. While I'm waiting for these Yankees to pass you have time to write, 'will die without hot chocolate' and pin it to your blouse. The notebook is in the door pocket."

"And leave us in the car? No fair!"came the chorus.

"Pipe down. Finally." Harry pulled out, turned left, then turned immediately right into the old bank parking lot. "We could have gone into menopause waiting."

"Don't even breathe that word." Susan grimaced, notebook in hand, although she hadn't written anything.

"We're a long way away."

"Maybe so but, boy, my mother suffered, and they say it's hereditary."

"I'll buy you a hat with a little fan in it. I, personally, am not going to go through anything."

"O la!" Susan cracked the window enough for plenty of air.

Harry did the same on her side. "We won't be long."

"You always say that."Mrs. Murphy dropped her ears slightly.

"Yeah, and someone comes in and the next thing you know it's who-shot-John."Tucker used the old Southern expression for catching up with the news—news to men, gossip to women, although of course the information was exactly the same.

"Yeah. Not fair. We could die of heat prostration in here."Pewter tried the medical route, which wasn't convincing since the temperature outside was fifty-two degrees. It might get to sixty at the most inside the truck with the windows cracked.

"They're going to abandon us! Just like children in Rio de Janeiro's slums."Mrs. Murphy sounded plaintive.

"They shoot them."Pewter licked her lips with not glee so much as pride of imparting shocking information.

"They do not."Tucker was aghast.

"Yeah, they do. I heard Fair talking about it to Harry after the news. You were asleep. They shoot them because the children are criminals. I can't imagine why they steal or maim, can you?"Pewter sarcastically replied.

The animals erupted into a heated discussion about why humans kill their young as opposed to why and when animals kill their young.

As Harry and Susan walked away, Harry turned, "What's gotten into them?"

"They'll settle."

"Either that or I'll need to reupholster the seat."

"Your truck will be fine."

Small stones breaking through the crumbing old macadam crunched underfoot.

"Hey, did I tell you that Fair brought me a new pair of Wolverines and two dozen pink tulips? He is so sweet."

"Yes, he is. When did you switch to Wolverine?"

"When Timberlands slid downhill. They're so cheaply made now. I have that pair I bought in 1982—"

"The one your old German shepherd chewed the back off?"

"Yes, but I had Frank Kimball put on a new piece of leather with a roll for my Achilles tendon. It worked."

"For over twenty years. I'd say Timberland ought to get your business."

"That's just it. I went to AN, tried on a few pair of work boots, and Susan, they just aren't the same. I was so disappointed. So then I tried on Montrails at the Rockfish Gap Outfitters in Waynesboro, and they are really good but really expensive. Had to pass. Then I went to Augusta Coop and tried a pair of Wolverines. Pretty darned good and affordable, but I was so worn out by trying on all these work boots, I gave up. But I did tell Fair."

"Harry, only you can agonize over work boots. It's not the expense, you're obsessing."

"You say." Harry became enlivened. The topic of money usually had that effect on her. "The Montrails were $130! The Wolverines weren't so much less, maybe thirty dollars, but I thought they were a lot of boot for the money. 'Course, I won't know until I work in them. I'm on my feet all day. I can't do with bad work boots or ones that are going to fall apart from horse pee and poop and tractor oil. I have good reason to agonize."

"You're right." It was easier to agree.

They pushed open the door to find the usuals perched on their stools at the counter, where Hy entertained Karen Osborne. Her marriage to Pete deterred Hy not a whit.

Harry sat next to Karen, and Susan sat on the other side of Hy, since those were the only vacant stools.

Susan begged Kyle for hot chocolate, pronto.

"Karen, how are the horses?"

"Good. All the spring visitors want trail rides. I cherish my lunch hour." She smiled.

"I'll bet. I don't see how you can run a hack barn. Takes a special person. I couldn't do it, deal with people who know nothing about horses but who want to ride."

"It helps that I have good horses."

Susan called down to Karen, "In any endeavor. My mother used to say, 'A second-rate horse makes a second-rate rider,' and you sure see that in the hunt field."

Hy, in his element—surrounded by women—flattered them. "I don't see how you girls can jump those big fences."

"We don't, Hy, the horse does," Harry answered as she held up her forefinger, which meant one cup of orange pekoe tea.

Kyle nodded as he foamed the whipped cream on Susan's hot chocolate, since she was perishing before his very eyes for want of it.

The door swung open and Toby stomped in. "Hy, what were you doing in my vineyard today?"

Hy, surprised, swiveled around on his stool. "I wasn't there."

"The hell you weren't. I saw your white truck. No one else has a gold fleur-de-lis on his truck."

"Toby, if I were going to see your vineyards, I'd call on you first. I wasn't there."

"That was your truck." Toby's face reddened.

"The fleur-de-lis is small. Did you drive up to this alleged truck of mine?"

"No. I saw it from a distance, but I know your truck."

"And from that distance you determined it was my truck?"

"Liar! It was your truck. You were on my property and I damned well want to know why!"

Hy, out of deference to the ladies, stood up, stepping away from the counter as everyone held their breath. "I told you, I was not at your farm. I don't think anyone who works for me was at your farm, but I will check as soon as I return home. If they were, I will tell you immediately as well as why. Give me your cell number."

"What I'm giving you is fair warning. If you so much as put a foot on my land I will shoot you. I know why you're there. You want to ruin my grapes. You can't stand that I'm growing better grapes than you are. Stay off my land or I'll put you under it!"

"You're utterly deluded." A look of apprehension crossed Hy's face.

Toby yanked back his right fist, slamming it hard into Hy's jaw. Hy had a glass jaw. He sank like a stone, coldcocked.

Kyle flew around the corner, but that fast Toby ran out the door.

"Goddammit!" Kyle cursed.

"I'll take care of him." Karen called for one of the waiters to throw her a clean towel. She poured her water on it and knelt down, placing the wet towel on Hy's forehead.

Both Harry and Susan knelt down with her.

Kyle called the sheriff. Deputy Cooper just happened to be near the new post office. She pulled a three-sixty, hit the siren and lights to cross the road without waiting for the endless traffic.

When she opened the door, Hy was coming to, blood seeping from his mouth for he'd bitten his tongue when he was hit.

"Hy. Hy. Can you hear me?" Cynthia bent over in front of him.

"Uh-huh," he weakly replied.

She passed her hand in front of her eyes. "Follow my hand."

His eyes followed the motion of her hand as everyone in the coffee shop talked at once.

"Come on, Hy, let's put you in a booth." Kyle searched for an empty booth.

As there wasn't one, he was about to ask people to move, when Hy stood up unsteadily.

"I'm okay. Hurts, but I'm okay."

"Let me look at your tongue." Karen reached to hold open his jaw as if he were a horse.

Hy saved her the trouble by sticking out his tongue.

"Not too bad," Susan remarked, and Karen concurred.

"Are you dizzy?" Coop inquired. She wanted to make sure he hadn't suffered a concussion.

"No."

"Headache?" she asked.

"No. What I am," he dabbed his bleeding tongue, "is mad."

"Would you like to press charges?" Coop never assumed anything.

"Yes. Throw the book at the bastard." Hy's face flamed crimson.

"Why don't we go outside in the fresh air and you can sit in the car with me, windows down. We'll go over everything." Coop then told Harry, Susan, Karen, and Kyle she'd take statements from them in time. But they didn't have to stick around. She'd find them.

As she put her hand under Hy's elbow, he said, louder than he realized, "He's been furious at me ever since I won the best new entry at the wine-tasting last year. He can't stand it."

Coop walked to the door with Hy. "Sure you don't want some ice in a towel?"

"No," Hy growled. "Toby is dangerous. I want him locked up."

"Hy, that's easier said than done, but come out in the fresh air. I'll do what I can."

"Why is it difficult? Assault and battery. Straightforward."

"Toby is clever." Coop left it at that as she opened the door.

Harry hoped to hear more of the conversation, but the door closed.

Karen Osborne shrugged. "Certifiable." She didn't say whether she thought Toby was nuts or Hy or both.

15

"Warm winters." BoomBoom leaned over the paddock where Keepsake nursed Burly.

"1990 to 1995 were especially warm. Had the drought years in there, too." Fair, having come from Big Mim's to Boom-Boom's farm, rubbed his stubble.

His thick beard irritated him because it grew so quickly. He kept an electric razor in his truck to try and keep up with it. If he had time, he shaved in the morning with a safety razor and then again when he came home from work. He felt his wife was entitled to a smooth face at night.

"It really hasn't been that cold since 2000 either. We've had a lot of snow and ice but not long periods of cold. Strange."

"Guess there really is global warming. I don't know if I read it inThe Wall Street Journal orThe London Financial Times, but there was an article about hybrid vehicles. Said those emissions would be just as hot as gasoline."

"Since you get more miles to the gallon, maybe it would slow global warming," BoomBoom, a true gearhead, replied.

Fair smiled as Burly left Keepsake to run a few circles, buck, then stop to stare at the two humans, only to repeat the process. "Personality."

"To burn." She laughed. "I've fallen in love with the little guy and I don't care if he does have big ears."

"So did Clark Gable." Fair laughed, then said, "Driving so much gives me time to think. I think we don't have any choice but to be done with the internal combustion engine."

"God, all those beautiful engines." BoomBoom's hand involuntarily flew to her breast. It didn't have to fly far. "I do love engines." She sighed. "But we can't very well destroy the planet because of it."

"It's kind of like if President Rutherford B. Hayes had declared the future of America was the whale industry because of whale-oil lamps. I expect some technology will replace the internal combustion engine, but I can't imagine what or if it will happen in my time. You know, Boom, I think the proliferation of some of the equine disease we see is the result of the warming."

"You mean West Nile?" She named a disease, often fatal, that infected horses and humans.

"That. What gives us some wiggle room there is that the virus has to go from the crow to the possum—usually a possum— and then the horse. People can get it directly from crows but not from horses. Fortunately, the fragility in the transfer of the virus means if we break the cycle in just one jump between species, we ought to knock it. But there's something coming down the pike every day, it seems." He shook his head.

"It's odd, too, that so many of these new diseases—or what seem to be new to our hemisphere, anyway—evolve so quickly." BoomBoom, a highly intelligent woman, read widely and often.

He nodded in agreement. "AIDS wins the prize there. But the old standbys are making a comeback: tuberculosis, syphilis, even measles. They return more resistant to treatment."

"No one can blame those diseases on animals. Human-to-human transmission."

"Actually, there's not much that can be pinned to animals, because so few humans in the developed nations live close to them. 'Course it's different in Asia, Africa, and parts of South America. Every time a new disease appears on the horizon, I have to laugh, because the medical profession is in such a hurry to trace it to a monkey or a snail or a lemur. It's as though humans still can't face the fact that we are perfectly capable of being agents of disease." He checked his watch. "Didn't mean to take up so much of your time."

"I've never spent a minute with you that I didn't enjoy."

He smiled. "I don't know about that, but you're kind to say it."

"How's Mim's crop this year?"

"Beauties. She bred to Polish Navy, Mineshaft, Yankee Victor, and Buddha."

"Mim has a head for breeding. Alicia says that because Mim and Mary Pat were so competitive with each other, each pushed the other higher." BoomBoom mentioned Mary Pat Reines, now deceased, an excellent horsewoman.

"She had a good year last year. She came within a hair of taking the Colonial Cup." Fair cited a famous steeplechase race. "The Polish Navy colt is a beauty, great shoulder on that guy. She says he's going to be her old-age hunter."

"Did she happen to say when old age would begin?"

"Next Thursday." He burst out laughing.

Once BoomBoom stopped laughing, she said, "This global-warming thing—I was wondering if it will speed up all kinds of infections, in animals and plants. I was reading a book on the Black Death, and the ideal temperature for the bacillus to thrive in is between fifty and seventy degrees Fahrenheit."

"Pretty much the same as the ideal temperature for humans."

"Now there's thought that not only can the rat flea carry the plague, but the human flea can, too. Something like thirty-two different flea varieties can carry the plague. Hope I got that right."

"Warming might hasten disease spread, but I think more than anything you need the right kind of host and the speed of air travel."

"What do you mean, 'the right kind of host'?"

"A large population, living in filth, bad water supply, inadequate nutrition—they become the perfect host. All it takes is one visitor from a developed nation who is physically compromised to pick up the pest, be it virus or bacillus, get on a plane, and disembark in Berlin, Paris, London, New York, take your pick."

"It's a terrifying prospect." She paused. "The panel with Professor Jenkins and Professor Forland got me to thinking—could an enemy reintroduce the plague?"

"They don't have to reintroduce it, Boom, it's here. Fortunately our hygiene is good, but given some disaster like the great San Francisco earthquake, the rats will come out of their holes. Some of those rats will carry the plague. At least, that's what I believe."

"Any word about Professor Forland?" BoomBoom asked since she'd just spoken of him.

"No. No one knows what to think."

"He's dead. That's obvious to me, anyway."

"God, I hope not." He inhaled, then exhaled. "Why? Sure, it crossed my mind, but I can't think why someone would kill him."

A light breeze ruffled BoomBoom's long blonde hair. "There are always reasons to kill someone, Fair. Greed. Jealousy. Revenge. Profit. Religion. Politics. Sex. Even sheer carelessness. You kill someone by accident, don't want to pay the consequences, so you remove the body."

"I guess. Pretty dismal."

"The history of humankind is dismal, with a few bright exceptions."

"I see it just the opposite. We've progressed in every field. There are periods of backsliding and regression, but no one can suppress progress for long."

"A long discussion." She paused. "Back to Professor Forland. The news reported his car was found in Queen Charlotte Square parking lot. There are businesses there. McGuire Woods law firm has their offices there. There are apartments. He could have had good reason to be there."

"If Rick and Coop can find it."

"Or Harry." She smiled.

"Don't even say it!" He shook his forefinger. "Don't give her any ideas."

"Me? She's as curious as a cat. She won't be able to resist trying to find out what's happened to Professor Forland."

Sighing, he leaned on the fence with both elbows. "You're right. I guess the leopard can't change her spots."

Strangely enough, Arch Saunders was using that same phrase in talking to Harry, whom he ran into picking up mail.

They hadn't seen each other alone since Arch's return. Given that he hadn't been in Crozet a full month, that didn't seem odd, as he had a great deal to do in a short time. Harry, too, was extremely busy.

At first their conversation was polite, not too personal, then Arch asked her why she remarried Fair.

She replied that she loved him and he'd grown up a lot.

"The leopard doesn't change his spots," Arch said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice.

She compressed her lips, then changed the subject. "How do you like it at Spring Hill?"

"I'm going to make it one of the best vineyards in the state." He added, "Lot to do, though. Like this morning I found downy mildew on some vines Rollie bought last fall. I didn't like the way the rootstock looked. Rollie didn't know enough to screen for it."

"Can you fix it?"

"I can control it. I can spray with Ridomil. I have to spray every vine every twenty-one days, and it's expensive. But it's the only way."

"Good luck." She opened the door to the old F-150, the cats and dog on the bench seat.

"Hi there, Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter."

"Hello,"they replied.

After good-byes, Arch watched Harry drive off. He thought she looked even better than she did when they dated.

That same afternoon, Hy Maudant called Toby Pittman.

"Toby, one of my men, a new man, Concho, did drive on your premises. He didn't see anyone so he left."

"Why'd you send him?" Toby angrily replied.

"I didn't. He's new, like I said. He's Mexican; his English is a little rocky. Anyway, he'd been visiting vineyards to schedule the use of my mobile bottling unit."

"That's half a year away," Toby said.

"Which is why I'm scheduling now. By the fall it will be too late."

"Thought you said his English was bad. Why would you send him out to make arrangements?"

Beginning to fume, Hy snapped, "Because I had a form drawn up. All Concho has to do is hand it to a prospective client. And furthermore, I said his English was rocky, not so bad he can't understand. He improves every day."

"Why would you send him here?"

"He's new! He doesn't know we don't get along. He was just going from vineyard to vineyard like he was told to do."

"You sent him to spy on me."

"You're crazy." Hy was losing patience rapidly.

"And you're a murderer," Toby accused loudly.

"What?"

"I bet you killed Professor Forland."

"You really are insane. Furthermore, he's missing. That doesn't mean he's dead."

"He's dead, all right. I know him. He would never disappear for a few days. You killed him because you're a jealous, scheming son of a bitch and you knew he was working with me. You can't stand that I'm better than you. That—"

"He visited everyone. There's no point in continuing this conversation." Hy slammed down the phone.

Fiona walked into the library from the next room. "Whatever is it?"

"He's mad. Totally insane." Hy's arms flailed in the air. "Toby Pittman accused me of murdering Professor Forland. They need to put him away."

The phone rang. Fiona picked it up.

Before she could say "Hello," Toby shouted, "If you or any of your men come on my farm I'll kill you."

"This is Fiona."

He paused. "I won't kill you, Fiona, but you must be dumber than snot to stay married to that low-rent bastard."

Now she slammed down the phone. "He called me 'dumber than snot.'"

Red flushed Hy's cheeks. He started for the door. "No one is going to insult you. I'll kill him before he kills me."

She grabbed him. "Hy, calm down. I believe he really will try to kill you."

"I'll kill him first."

"He's not worth the fuss."

Hy hit his palm with his fist. "Well, I am not putting up with him insulting my wife."

"He's off his rocker. Crazy people are more dangerous than sane ones."

And the sane ones are bad enough.

16

"Goddamned snotty Virginians. They want to see me fail. Well, I won't give the sons of bitches the satisfaction!" Rollie kicked his expensive wire-mesh designer wastebasket, sending white, pink, blue, and green pieces of paper all over the navy-blue old Chinese rug.

Arch breathed deep relief because Rollie wasn't mad at him. "Spring Hill won't fail. First, I caught it in time. Second, as we buy up land or rent it, we'll grow different varieties of grapes. That will be an insurance policy. If one type has a bad year, the others should make up for it. Kind of like the balance between stocks and bonds." He tried to use terms Rollie would understand.

He was surprised at how sensible the prickly fellow was, considering the news.

Rollie wasn't assigning blame. He appeared to grasp, tenuously, that nature had her own agenda.

"Order the stuff?"

"Should be here tomorrow morning."

"Anyone else know?" Rollie raised one eyebrow.

"I called Hy Maudant."

"Why him?"

"He's very knowledgeable. He grew up in the vineyards in France and attended their agriculture school. Also, he's established and he can tell me how best to contact other vineyards: should I make personal calls, use the phone, use e-mail. He's very helpful." His inflection rose slightly at the end of the sentence, the traditional method in English for asking a question or appearing less than certain.

"And?"

"He doesn't have any downy mildew, but he said he's found the beginnings of black rot in one lower-lying section of his vineyards. Not much, he said, but he's already uprooted those vines and begun the spraying. 'Course, he'd spray anyway."

"Why is he tearing them out?"

"Hy isn't going to take any chances, andonce the plant is infected, it's always infected."

"But if you control it, can't the vines bear decent fruit?"

"They can. Depending on when you catch the fungus, but, boss, why take the chance? Those vines aren't going to produce over the years like the clean ones. Kill them."

"Hell of a lot of money."

"Growing the perfect grape is not for the fainthearted." Arch laid it on the line.

Rollie leaned over his desk, his weight on his knuckles. "For your information, I've got a set of balls. Do you think I'm going to fold my hands because of some stupid spores?"

"No." Arch measured his words. "Nature is a brutal business partner sometimes. That's why I think spreading the risk is the way to go. The more land you have under the umbrella, the better off you are."

"Mmm, I'll buy land if it's necessary, but I'd rather buy up someone else's yield. Let them do the work."

"Kind of like a portfolio, gotta balance it out." Arch nodded. "The Ridomil should do it, but I've got to apply it about every twenty-one days depending on rainfall."

Rollie dropped back into his seat, the leather squeaking. He was about to dismiss Arch and get back to his work when a nasty idea popped into his overheated brain. "Could someone do this to us?"

"Infect our vines?"

"Yes."

"Why would someone want to do that?"

"Competition. Drive me down or out."

"I don't think anyone would do that, because of the danger of the spores spreading to their own vineyards. They can be carried on the wind during their release times."

"Could be someone who isn't making wine but who hates my guts."

"That would be one dead person. He'd have to be pretty stupid once the rest of the growers found out."

"But is it possible to infect other people's vines or crops?"

Arch rubbed his chin. "Yes. Don't think downy mildew would be the way to go, but if someone was really determined, yes, I expect they could damage grapes or any other crop, really."

"If an employee were disgruntled,he could spray water without mixing in Ridomil. That would be one way to do it. You'd think your vines were protected but they'd be vulnerable."

"A crooked person could sell infected stock," Rollie said.

Arch shifted his weight from one foot to another. "There's all kinds of ways to screw somebody."

Rollie twirled his thumbs around each other. "Professor Forland didn't say he saw anything."

"There wasn't enough leaf when he was here. There's always something ready to get your grapes. Birds, deer, foxes, too. At least the foxes just eat the lower ones. The birds and deer can clean you out."

"Can't we cover the clusters when they develop?"

"No." Arch shook his head. "You have to go to the canopy and you have to keep spraying. Shoot the deer or put up deer fences. There's no other way."

"All right." Rollie waved his hand, dismissing Arch abruptly as his phone rang.

Arch stepped outside into the high golden sunlight of early afternoon. It could have been worse. Maybe Rollie was learning to trust him a little. It made up in small measure for the sadness, anger, envy he felt when Harry drove away. She made him angry because she didn't want to talk about anything to do with their affair. Typical Harry, just stuff the emotions. And she made him sad because he knew he'd never find another woman like Harry.

17

Low blue-steel clouds roiled over the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The dampness slithered into the bones as the temperature began to slide.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker started their jaunt innocently enough. Harry was inspecting her new grapevines, since the word about downy mildew had passed quickly from grower to grower. Everything looked fine, the buds getting fuzzy and bright green. She then walked among the different types of sunflowers beginning their first great growth spurt. From there she checked her hay, then a back pasture with rich, rich alfalfa. Harry knew she could make good money on the alfalfa. She hopped the creek to walk the fields at the old Jones home place. Those pastures were enriched by the cattle Blair had kept. She put in orchard grass, alfalfa mix. She whistled while she worked. Young, healthy life was everywhere. She was on her way to the peach orchard, hoping all was well there.

Much as the animals loved Harry, they did not share her passion for grass crops. Orchards proved more interesting. They looked forward to the sunflowers maturing because of the bees and the birds. Pewter had staked her corner of the Italian sunflower patch. She felt certain she could lure her nemesis, the blue jay, there. That was a long way off, but Pewter planned ahead. Meanwhile, the bird dive-bombed her with impunity.

Bored with Harry's bucolic rapture, they returned to the creek, walking upstream toward the edge of the Bland Wade tract. Potlicker Creek coursed through the tract, its clear sweet waters deep in parts.

A doe leapt out. They chased it, their egos in excess of their abilities. Tired, the three sat down for a breather under a towering sycamore, little May apples covering the ground.

"Think a cat has ever killed a deer?"Pewter asked.

"/guess it's possible," Mrs. Murphy said.

"Never."Tucker panted still.

"And why not, dwarf dog?"Pewter sassed.

"Deer are too big and too fast."

"I can run as fast as a deer."Mrs. Murphy lifted the fur on her spine.

"For a short time, but the deer can go for miles and miles. You're built to run really fast, then cut at a one-hundred-eighty-degree angle. You can do backflips over your pursuer, if you want. Deer can't do that."Tucker thought it best to flatter.

"Ever notice how we hunt the same as foxes? Crouch, stay still, then pounce,"Pewter mused.

"It's because we hunt the same game."Mrs. Murphy respected foxes even though she was known to quarrel loudly with a few.

Tucker lifted her talented nose."Storm coming."

Pewter inhaled deeply."Fast."

"Let's go home."Mrs. Murphy started trotting south, down the foothills.

The others fell in with her. As they broke cover, they beheld the ominous clouds cresting the mountains.

"Damn!"Pewter hated thunderstorms, and the not-so-distant rumble gave her the shivers.

They flew over the wildflower meadow, dipped into the woods on the other side. They were perhaps two miles from home, but the storm was closing fast. The wind hit twenty knots out of the blue. Bam, trees began to sway.

No one spoke as they ran hard. They sped past the old black-birch stand—white birches couldn't grow this far south—then darted through a pocket meadow.

Mrs. Murphy skidded to a halt."Hold up!"

"Like hell."Pewter kept running, turned her head, saw that Tucker had stopped, her nose down in the high weeds and grass.

"Pewter, look for a den or something. We won't make it home in time,"Tucker instructed the cat, whose pupils enlarged.

Pewter didn't protest. She wanted shelter. She dashed to the edge of the pocket meadow, circumventing it in hopes of finding any old den."Nothing," she shouted.

"We'd better run, Tucker. There's a den in the big rock outcropping a quarter mile further on. It's our only chance,"Mrs. Murphy called over the wind.

"Come on!"Pewter was really scared.

The three ran just as huge raindrops smashed into freshly opened buds. Higher up, spring came later. There was no shelter from emerging leaves. Raindrops hit the ground like wet minie balls.

They reached the boulders, now black and slick, jutting outward. They dashed inside the small cave.

"No!"Pewter puffed up like a blowfish.

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker stopped in their tracks, the rain firing like a fusillade outside. Too amazed to speak, they bumped into each other as they put on the brakes.

Sitting on her haunches was a four-hundred-pound brown bear nursing two cubs, much as a human would nurse a baby. Her poor eyesight could make out the three small intruders. Her nose told her it was two cats and a dog.

Pewter trembled. What was worse, the storm or the bear?

The cubs, born in January, had been the size of rats. Their amazing growth filled them out to the point where they looked like teddy bears. They blinked, trying to make out the little visitors.

Mrs. Murphy bravely stood her ground. She realized the nursing mother couldn't spring to reach her, and bears shambled anyway. Only at a trot or a run could they move along. The cat determined she had time to talk, and if conversation proved discomfiting, she'd brave the lightning.

"Excuse us. We got caught in the storm."A searing flash of lightning underscored her words.

"/can see that" The gravelly voice betrayed no anger.

"Bears eat little mammals,"Pewter unhelpfully blurted out as she backed away.

"I'd much rather eat berries and honey. Say, you don't know where there are bees' nests, do you? Close by. Can't range too far with the children, although they're growing like weeds."

"If you go down to where Potlicker Creek feeds into Harry's Creek—that's what I call it—right on that corner is a dead oak, really big, and the woodpeckers have been at it. Huge nest of bees."

"Goody."She smiled, revealing fearsome teeth.

"Wild bees are so aggressive. Don't they hurt you?"Mrs. Murphy thought it best to keep her engaged in subjects interesting to her.

"They can't sting me. And I know how to protect my nose and eyes. Did you know that wild-bee honey is much stronger than that of domesticated bees? Now, I like both, I can tell you, but the wild-bee honey packs a powerful sweet punch."

"How's fishing been?"The intrepid tiger cat remembered how much black bears like to fish.

"Good. Crawfish haven't been bad, either. Sometimes they taste like nuts. I Just love them. I love to eat."

"Me, too."Pewter relaxed a little, but she kept one ear cocked, hoping the storm was diminishing.

"/can see that." The bear laughed.

"Seeor smell anything unusual lately?" Tucker asked, to keep the ball rolling.

"Smelted a human at the peach orchard couple of nights ago. They have such a rancid odor, poor things. So easy to track and bring down. Not that I want to kill and eat humans, mind you; even if I did, think of the chemicals. They eat all that processed food. They're a real health hazard."She wrapped her arm around one of the twins, who'd stopped suckling, falling asleep on her breast. "/don't mind humans. If they leave me alone, I leave them alone. The world is big enough for all."

The rain kept coming down, but the lightning and thunder moved down the ridge.

"Do you have twins every year?"Tucker inquired.

She laughed."No, I only have a litter every other year. I couldn't bear it," she giggled at her own pun,"more often. Being a mother is an awful lot of work."

The rain softened.

"Did you see what the human was doing the other night at the peach orchard?"Tucker asked.

"Burying another human,"the bear simply said. It was no concern of hers. The three domestic animals looked at one another but said nothing.

"Well, we'll be on our way. Thank you for giving us shelter,"Mrs. Murphy politely said.

"Yes,thank you." Pewter and Tucker both remembered their manners.

"My pleasure. I love my babies, but they prattle on. I enjoyed our conversation."

The three scampered out, running the whole way to the stable. Although soaked, once they scurried into the center aisle they were exhilarated.

"We'vegot to go to the peach orchard," Mrs. Murphy said.

"Not in this rain,"Pewter replied.

"She's right, Murphy,"Tucker agreed.

Harry tromped in from the opposite side, water coursing off her trusty old Barbour coat. "Where have you been? I looked all over for you all. I was scared to death."

Tucker ran up, sat down, and looked adoringly at Harry."Mom, we need to go to the peach orchard, if it ever stops raining."

"You all look like drowned rats." Harry took off her coat, hanging it on a tack hook to drip. She picked up a thick barn towel and wiped down Tucker. She tossed it in the Plastic wash bin, fetched another, and cleaned both cats with it. As she was rubbing down Mrs. Murphy, Simon leaned over the hayloft."What a mess."

"Thanks,"Pewter grumbled as she sat on her rear end, stretched out a hind leg straight, flaring her claws."I'll never get the mud out"

18

The next day sparkled as though the thunderstorm's dark gray clouds, like giant S.O.S pads, had scrubbed everything clean. Fields glistened, the late dogwoods bloomed even as the regular dogwoods lost their blossoms. Lilacs opened. Fresh air filled lungs, invigorating everyone.

Up at 4:30 A.M., Harry knocked out her chores by noon, hopped in her 1978 Ford pickup, and cruised over to Alicia's to see how her foal crop was doing.

When she drove along the long, winding driveway where the massive trees lent their authority to the place, she noticed the yearlings racing about in the front pasture. Last year's group of Thoroughbreds showed such promise. Harry was eager to see how the foals of two and three months were doing. She'd been so busy she hadn't much time to visit around, although she did manage to see Burly. How funny to see the long-eared little mule nursing on Keepsake, an elegant Thoroughbred. If Keepsake was embarrassed by her offspring she chose not to show it.

Alicia's colors, green and gold, were painted in a band around the middle of the white gateposts to the stable. Once at the graceful white clapboard stable, the colors, in a small band, encircled the posts, which supported the eight-foot overhang. The stable, built at the turn of the twentieth century, evidenced all the charm of pre-World War I America.

"There's Max."Tucker, on her hind legs, joyfully noted the appearance of Alicia's beloved and impressive Gordon setter.

Max, unlike Irish setters or English setters, actively guarded his human. He happily hunted, too, but at a more conservative pace than his ribald Irish cousin or his stately English cousin.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter liked Max well enough, but they were more interested in bolting out of the truck to chase the barn swallows swooping in and out of the stable.

Harry noticed both Toby Pittman's and Arch Saunders's trucks parked in the lovely large square at the front of the stable.

"Wonder what's up," she said out loud.

"Yeah, none of those guys want Thoroughbreds. Arch can't ride."Mrs. Murphy eagerly waited for Harry to turn off her motor.

The moment the motor was cut, Harry opened her door. Before she swung her leg out, the cats bounced on her lap then to the cobblestones. They flashed into the stable before even Max knew they were there.

"Ignore them."Tucker waited to be lifted out.

"/do," Max replied as he walked forward to greet Tucker.

Harry, who had called Alicia beforehand, checked around outside, then entered the barn. She walked to the office, where paneled walls were covered with gold-framed photos of Mary Pat Reines: in the hunt field; over fences at Keswick's Horse Show, Deep Run's Show, Devon; photos of her horses winning conformation shows, her steeplechasers in the winner's circle. There was one photo of a twenty-two-year-old Alicia in informal attire at a foxhunt.

Arch Saunders and Toby Pittman sat on the newly covered sofa while Alicia sat opposite them in a club chair, a scarred coffee table between them.

"Alicia, I can come back." Harry realized this was an impromptu gathering, because Alicia said she'd be alone. When Harry had called, Alicia raved about a colt she had by Distinctive Pro, a New York sire, and a filly by More Than Ready, standing at Vinery Stud in Kentucky.

"Come on in."

The men stood as Harry entered, then sat when she sat in the other club chair.

Toby returned to his subject. "He means to destroy me. All of us."

Arch grimaced but kept his mouth shut.

"Have you spoken to Sheriff Shaw?" Alicia calmly inquired.

"He won't listen to me. That's why I came to you. Everybody listens to you and to Big Mim. But Mim's mad at me. You talk to the sheriff. Get him to investigate."

"Why is Mim mad at you?" Alicia asked.

Toby distractedly tapped his knee with his forefinger. "I told her she was making a big mistake in not turning some of her land into vineyards. And I said with her wealth she could be a big player early."

"And?" Alicia knew there had to be more to the story.

"I told her that Patricia and Bill were so powerful they'll be like Nelson Bunker when he tried to corner the silver market. She said Patricia and Bill weren't like that. If they were they wouldn't have driven Professor Forland to visit other vintners."

"That's true, Toby." Alicia wondered why Toby couldn't exercise the minimum of diplomacy.

"Things were going along okay until then. I gave her my theory about Professor Forland's disappearance. She said I should be careful about making false accusations and I called her a rich bitch."

"Harry, Toby thinks that Hy plans to ruin his vines. He said Hy sent Concho to spy on his place."

"Hy knows a lot. He's smart enough to cover his tracks. He'll have the best vineyard in Virginia by ruining the rest of us!"

"Arch, you haven't said anything." Alicia smiled at him.

"Hy is very knowledgeable." Arch retained noncommittal.

Harry wondered what Arch was doing here with Toby.

"Guys, forgive me, I don't know so much about growing grapes. If Hy wanted to harm your vines, how would he do it?"

"Simple!" Toby's eyes blazed. "He'd sneak into the rows, dig up a vine, and plant an infected one. Could be infected with anything. God knows, there're enough diseases to go around. But all he has to do is introduce diseased stock. You know, Arch has some downy mildew."

"Hy dug up vines with black rot." Arch tried to introduce this as a counterweight to Toby.

It was, but Toby, too upset to appreciate it, launched off the sofa and stood up. "Ha! He put that there himself to throw us off!"

"I see." Alicia maintained a calm tone.

Arch spoke again as Toby dropped back so hard into the sofa that Arch bounced up slightly. "There's bad blood between Hy and Toby. Hy could introduce infected stock or insects, but I don't think he would, because it could backfire."

"What do you mean backfire? He would bring me down." Toby gripped the edge of the sofa cushion.

"He might bring himself down, too." Arch kept his eyes level with Alicia's. "Hy knows that one mistake, one spore on his pants leg, and he risks his own vines. That's why I think his revenge—if he really is planning to do something—will be in a different form."

"Like what, for goddamned example!" Toby raised his voice, then lowered it. "Sorry, ladies."

"That's all right, Toby. This is unsettling. After all, your livelihood could be in jeopardy."

"Like what?" Toby tried to sound reasonable.

"Well," Arch measured his words, "Toby, you can't do anything but worry about Hy, at least that's how it looks to me. So as I see it, he's winning. Your mind is not where it belongs—on your vines, on your business."

"Hard not to worry when he killed Professor Forland."

"Toby, you don't mean that," Alicia blurted out.

"Yes, I do. Professor Forland was on to Hy. He knew he was intent on ruining me." Toby offered no explanation as to how Professor Forland could know this, but then Toby, seemingly irrational, was not asked for one.

The humans were quiet for a moment, since no one knew what to say to this ludicrous accusation.

As the humans talked, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter ran the length of the stable, leaping up at the barn swallows, who swooped down to bedevil them. Great fun that it was, it became tiring.

The two cats repaired outside to take a sunbath, the mercury hovering at sixty-five degrees with not a hint of breeze. The skies, robin's egg blue, arched over a perfect spring day.

"Look at those stupid dogs,"Pewter sniffed.

"Better hope it's a cast-off shoe, or someone will pay."Mrs. Murphy wondered how any self-respecting creature could sink his jaws into one end of a shoe and tug while the other dog did the same at the opposite end.

The growling sounded ferocious.

"Ha!"Pewter laughed, because Max had dragged Tucker, who refused to release her grip, across the cobblestone walk.

Never one to lay about, Mrs. Murphy roused herself, stretched, then shook. She sauntered to Arch's truck; the window was open, but that was a higher leap than she cared to make. She knew she could do it if pressed, but no one was chasing her, nor was there anyone for whom she could show off. Instead she leapt onto the hood to peer into the interior. Then she jumped up on the cab top, leaned over to slide into the open window. Tricky, but easy for her.

His captain's chair was empty. A nice pair of sunglasses rested on the dash. The passenger seat overflowed with notebooks, soil maps, a tin containing small vials for soil samples, a laminated page with pictures of insects. A worn leather vest lined with fleece had slid onto the floor.

Nothing interested Mrs. Murphy there, so she hopped back to the hood, then to the ground, and jumped up on Toby's new green Dodge to look through the windshield. His interior, pin-tidy except for mud bits on the driver's floor, offered no tidbits. She had hoped for some Fritos or even a sandwich. The center armrest was pulled down. She repeated her feat of going from the cab top into the wide-open window.

Pewter lifted her head to watch. Curious, she sat up.

"Hey,"Mrs. Murphy called. "Come here." She had popped up the lid of the armrest.

Pewter walked over."What?"

"You gotta see this."

Pewter measured the distance to the truck's hood. Her rotundness crossed her mind. She might be able to jump on the back bumper, haul herself into the truck bed, then jump onto the cab hood. This lacked appeal.

"Openthe door."

Truck doors were easy pickings for a smart cat. Mrs. Murphy pushed forward the latch, then pushed open the door. The bell announcing the door was open while the keys were in the ignition started ringing.

"I'd cut the wires to that darned thing. How can someone be so dumb they don't know their truck door is open?"Mrs. Murphy hated the sound."Pewter, look here."

Pewter peeked into the middle armrest storage bin. A brand-new Ruger P95PR 9mm handgun nestled inside, the blued steel accentuating the efficient design of the Powerful weapon. Some ten-round magazines were also there.

"Golly,"she exclaimed.

"That could put a serious hole in someone."Mrs. Murphy felt uneasy, not because of the $445 gun but because of Toby's mental state. The animals could smell fear and agitation when they were around him.

"Run!"Pewter heard and saw Harry come out of the main entrance, followed by the other humans.

The two cats shot out of the seat, ducked under the truck, and scooted out the back. They reached the dogs before the humans noticed them.

"I know I closed this door." Toby started to slam the door shut, then noticed the center console open. "Hey, hey, there's my new gun. I thought I'd lost it. How can it be here?"

"Ghost trick," Arch said. He knew better than to make a joke about Toby's state of mind.

Alicia and Harry walked over while Toby lifted out the good-looking gun. "In my truck."

Fearing his moods, Alicia smiled. "I find things all the time. Little leprechauns live in Virginia, I swear it."

His eyes bulged a moment. He started tosay something, when Arch stepped in. "You're lucky to find it. That's a nice piece."

Toby studied the blued steel, the textured nonslip hold. "You know, the Army Tank-automotive and Armaments Command picked five thousand of these for a field assignment."

"There's even a Picatinny rail under the barrel so I can mount a weapon light."

"That's something." Harry admired good equipment.

"Well, ladies, back to it." Arch smiled and got into his truck.

Toby, still puzzled about his P95PR, climbed into his truck, placed it in the center console, and closed the lid.

After the men drove off, Alicia showed her babies to Harry, who thought they were everything that Alicia said they were.

"Who's the elegant fellow?"

"Ah, that's by Lycius. He's by Mr. Prospector out of Lypatia, who, as you know from your study, was by Lyphard. You know how much I prize that Lyphard blood. He lived a long and useful life, that stallion."

"Who is the mare?"

"Party Girl. Remember when you were a kid, Mary Pat imported that gorgeous Irish mare, Peat's Girl? She wanted to hunt her, but the mare met with an accident in the pasture, fractured her cannon bone. Not the whole way, more of a splint. Anyway, Mary Pat didn't want to pound on her even after she healed, so she turned her into a broodmare. This is the fourth generation."

Harry was impressed. "Why don't you hunt her?"

"Well, she was never made." Alicia used the term "made," which meant she was never trained. "And I haven't been back long enough to sort all this out. So I thought I'd breed her and hunt this fall something already made. Of course, when I go looking, the price will triple."

"Let me handle that," Harry offered.

"I will. You're charged with finding me a bold field hunter who is also stunning. I hate pedaling to the jumps. Give me a forward horse. And if you want to work with any three- or four-year-olds, let me know."

"I'll do it." Harry smiled, for she loved these kinds of challenges. As they walked back toward the stables and a hot cup of tea, Harry remarked, "Toby's one brick shy of a load."

"Certainly seems to be the case."

"Alicia, Toby must have indigestion from all the shoe leather he's eaten."

Alicia laughed her silvery laugh. "From putting his foot in his mouth."

Harry opened the stable door; the sunlight glinted off her wedding band. She smiled. "Will you speak to Rick?"

"I will, but I expect our sheriff knows Toby is suffering from some kind of mental distress." Alicia headed back to the large office to make a hot pot of tea.

"Why was Arch here?" Harry sat at the coffee table.

Alicia answered, "Toby wanted a witness who isn't a friend but not an enemy. That's how he phrased it. Very odd."

"It was good of Arch to come."

"I expect Arch knows Toby is falling apart. His presence did somewhat calm Toby." She paused, her beautiful face delightful to behold. "How is it having Arch in Crozet?"

Harry, relaxed with Alicia, told her, "It was funny. He showed up two weeks before my wedding. No one knew he'd made a deal with Rollie. Why would we? He was on the other side of the country and wasn't in touch with anyone in Crozet—the old gang, I mean."

"Mim knew first, of course. She called me. Then I called Susan." Harry shrugged. "It didn't seem like a big deal to me."

Alicia smiled. "Good, but I bet Susan wanted amplification."

Harry waved her hand. "Girl talk. Susan loves it. I can't stand it. Funny, she's my best friend. We're so different."

"Maybe that's why you're best friends."

"Could be. Fair asked me last night if Arch's return changed anything. Why?" Now Harry threw up both her hands.

"Harry, for a smart woman you can be dumb." This was said with good humor.

"I know." She did, too. "I told him I had fun while it lasted but that was then and this is now. I didn't bring up BoomBoom. We'd been all through that." Harry stopped, gulped. "Did I put my foot in it?"

"Of course not. No one comes into your life without a history."

"Whew."

"And Fair is divinely attractive." Alicia's eyes danced.

"BoomBoom, too. She's so... uh, womanly. I never felt I measured up. I used to wonder if I was really a woman."

"Harry." Alicia was surprised.

"Well, I'm not very feminine."

"Of course you are. You're outdoorsy. Natural." Alicia sipped more tea, then thoughtfully added, "Feminine and masculine are social constructs. Male and female are physical reality. As long as a person frets over whether or not they are feminine enough or masculine enough, they'll always be someone's victim."

"What do you mean?"

"An insecure person looks for another person or an organization to affirm them. My business," Alicia referred to her acting career, "is full of gorgeous people who really don't believe in themselves deep down."

"You did."

"Yes."

"How did you do it?"

"I had the great advantage of country life as a young person. I was grounded, literally. And I had Mary Pat to guide me at a critical time in my life." She leaned forward. "Harry, I don't think of myself as especially feminine, despite my public persona. And I don't , care. I'm happy within. If the world sees me as a middle-aged sex bomb," she laughed uproariously, "that's their problem."

"Alicia, I wish I were more like you."

"Harry, be more like you." Alicia reached over and touched her hand. "There's only one Harry Haristeen. Be that wonderful person."

When Harry finally drove back through St. James, she thought of something her mother used to say to her when she didn't immediately accomplish what she wanted. "God's delay isn't God's denial."

"Hmm." She grunted to herself. She'd lived long enough to know that friends and even strangers give one marvelous gifts and insights quite unexpectedly.

"Is she going to hum? I hope not."Pewter shifted in her seat.