The Purrfect Murder

The Purrfect Murder

Rita Mae Brown

BANTAM BOOKS NEWYORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

Cast of Characters

Mary Minor “Harry” Haristeen—Formerly the postmistress of Crozet, she now is trying to make a go of it with farming. She turned forty in August, doesn’t seem to mind.

Pharamond “Fair” Haristeen, D.VM.—Harry’s husband is an equine vet, and he tries to keep his wife out of trouble, with limited success.

Susan Tucker—Harry’s best friend since cradle days often marvels at how Harry’s mind works when it works. The two of them know each other so well that they could finish each other’s sentences.

Mrs. Miranda Hogendobber—Miranda observes a great deal but keeps most of it to herself. She’s in her late sixties, devoutly Christian, and mothers Harry, who lost her own mother in her twenties.

Marilyn “Big Mim” Sanburne—The Queen of Crozet sees all and knows all, or would like to, at any rate. She despotically improves everyone’s lot but is good-hearted underneath it all.

Marilyn “Little Mim” Sanburne, Jr.—She’s finally emerging from her mother’s shadow, which displeases her mother while it pleases everyone else. Most especially pleased is her new husband, Blair Bainbridge.

Jim Sanburne—The mayor of Crozet, his daughter is the vice mayor; he’s accustomed to being in the middle of wife and daughter. Jim is a regular guy, which puts him in sharp contrast to Big Mim, who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Aunt Tally Urquhart—This wild woman, in her nineties, must be a devotee of the god Pan, for she’s in her glory when pandemonium reigns. She’s Big Mim’s aunt and delights in shocking her prim niece.

Deputy Cynthia Cooper—She’s smart, in her late thirties, and Harry’s neighbor. She, like Fair, tries to keep Harry out of trouble when she can. She likes law enforcement.

Sheriff Rick Shaw—He’s the dedicated public servant, insightful but by the book. He wearies of the politics of his position, but he never wearies of bringing criminals to justice. He likes Harry, but she gets in the way.

Olivia “BoomBoom” Craycroft—She was widowed in her early thirties and, being quite beautiful, always trailed troops of men behind her. One of them was Fair Haristeen, who had an affair with her when he was divorced from Harry, whom he’s since remarried. BoomBoom can be forceful when necessary.

Alicia Palmer—A great movie star, now in her late fifties, she’s thrilled to be back on the farm in Crozet. She’s also thrilled that she’s found BoomBoom, for they truly connect.

Tazio Chappars—This young architect finds herself in terrible trouble and she can’t remember what happened.

Paul de Silva—He’s Big Mim’s stable manager and in love with Tazio. When she’s carted off to jail he’s beyond miserable.

Dr. William Wylde—Respected, responsible, and good-natured, this OB/GYN delivered half of Crozet.

Benita Wylde—Will’s wife is an avid golfer and learns some painful lessons about life. She rises to the occasion.

Margaret Westlake—She manages Dr. Wylde’s office.

Sophie Denham—She is the senior nurse in Dr. Wylde’s office.

Kylie Kraft—She is the junior nurse in Dr. Wylde’s office and is known for going through men like potato chips.

Dr. Harvey Tillach—This physician loathes Will Wylde.

Mike McElvoy—Every county has at least one building inspector. Albemarle County has two, but Mike is the one who sets everyone’s teeth on edge.

Carlo Paulson—She’s a good-looking middle-aged lady and is building a new house. Tazio Chappars is the architect, and Mike McElvoy is the inspector. This makes for a sulfurous triangle.

Folly Steinhauser—She also built a huge house within the last two years and has learned to detest Mike McElvoy. She’s quite rich and not unwilling to challenge Big Mim. Her husband, Ron, is possessive but slowly failing, as he’s a lot older than Folly. He misses a lot these days.

The Really Important Characters

Mrs. Murphy—She’s a pretty tiger cat with brains, speed, and a reasonably tolerant temperament. She knows she can’t really keep Harry, her human, out of trouble, but she can sometimes get her out once she’s in a mess.

Tee Tucker—This corgi, also devoted to Harry, has great courage and manages to live with two cats. That says a lot.

Pewter—The gray cannonball, as she does not like to be known, affects disdain for humans, but she loves Harry and Fair. However, if there’s a way to avoid a long way or trouble, she’s the first to choose the easy path.

Simon—Living in the barn with all the horses pleases this opossum, who also likes Harry, as much as he can like humans. She gives him treats.

Flatface—Sharing the loft with Simon, the great horned owl looks down on earthbound creatures, figuratively and literally. However, in a pinch, Flatface can be counted on.

Matilda—She’s a big blacksnake and the third roommate in the barn loft. Her sense of humor borders on the black, too.

Owen—Tee Tucker’s brother belongs to Susan Tucker, who bred the litter. He doesn’t know how his sister can tolerate the cats. When in feline company, he behaves, but he thinks the cats are snobs.

Brinkley—This smart yellow Lab loves and adores Tazio.

Since Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter live on a farm, various creatures cross their paths, from bears to foxes to one nasty blue jay. They love all the horses, which can’t be said for some of the other creatures, but then, the horses are domesticated. Pewter declares she is not domesticated, merely resting in a house with regular meals.

1

Morning light, which looked like thin spun gold, reminded Harry Haristeen why she loved September so much. The light softened, the nights grew crisp, while the days remained warm. This Thursday, September 18, there was only a vague tinge of yellow at the tops of the willow trees, which would become a cascade of color by mid-October.

The old 1978 Ford F-150 rumbled along the macadam road. The big engine’s sound thrilled Harry. If it had a motor in it, she liked it.

Her two cats, Mrs. Murphy, a tiger, and Pewter, a gray cat, along with her corgi, Tee Tucker, also enjoyed the rumble, which often put them to sleep. Today, all sitting on the bench seat, they were wide awake. A trip to town meant treats and visiting other animals, plus one never knew what would happen.

Harry had just turned forty on August 7, and she declared it didn’t faze her. Maybe. Maybe not. Fair, her adored husband, threw a big surprise birthday party and she reveled in being the center of attention, even though it was for entering her Middle Ages. She wore the gorgeous horseshoe ring her husband had bought her at the Shelbyville Horse Show. She wasn’t much for display or girly things, but every time she looked down at the glitter, she grinned.

“All right, kids, you behave. You hear me? I don’t want you jumping on Tazio’s blueprints. No knocking erasers on the floor. No chewing the rubber ends of pencils. Tucker.” Harry’s voice kept the command tone. “Don’t you dare steal Brinkley’s bones. I mean it.”

The three animals cast their eyes at her, those eyes brimming with love and the promise of obedience.

Tazio Chappars, a young architect in Crozet, won large commissions for public buildings, but she also accepted a healthy string of commissions for beautiful, expensive homes, most paid for by non-Virginians. The houses were too flashy for a blue-blooded Virginian. However, Tazio, like all of us in this world, needed to make a living, so if the client wanted a marble-clad bathroom as big as most people’s garages, so be it.

As Harry parked, she noticed a brand-new Range Rover in the small lot. It had been painted a burnt orange. She walked over to admire it.

“Good wheels,” she muttered to herself.

Good indeed, but the closest dealer was ninety miles away in Richmond, which somewhat dimmed the appeal. If that didn’t do it, the price did.

Before she reached the door, a stream of invective assaulted her ears. When she opened the door, the blast hit her.

“Wormwood! I don’t care what it costs and I don’t care if termites get in it. I want wormwood!” An extremely well cared for woman in her mid-forties shook colored plans in Tazio’s face.

“Mrs. Paulson, I understand. But it’s going to slow down the library because it takes months to secure it.”

“I don’t care. You’ll do what I tell you.”

Tazio, face darkening, said nothing.

Mrs. Paulson spun around on her bright aqua three-hundred-dollar shoes to glare at Harry. Harry’s white T-shirt revealed an ample chest, and her jeans hugged a trim body with a healthy tan. Mrs. Paulson paused for a minute because, even though not of Virginia, she had divined that often the richest people or the ones with the oldest blood wore what to her were migrant-labor fashions. Carla Paulson wouldn’t be caught dead in a white T-shirt and Wranglers. She couldn’t fathom why Harry would appear in public looking like a farmhand.

She knew Harry in passing, so she switched into “lunch lady” mode.

Tazio stepped around her drafting table. “Mrs. Paulson, you remember Harry Haristeen; her mother was a Hepworth. Her father, a Minor.” Tazio knew perfectly well that Mrs. Paulson didn’t know the bloodlines, but the simple fact that Tazio recited them meant “important person.”

Not that Harry gave a damn.

Extending her hand, radiating a smile, the well-groomed woman purred, “Of course I remember.”

Harry politely took her hand, using the exact amount of pressure all those battleaxes at cotillion drilled into her year after year. “I can see you’ve hired the most talented architect in the state.” She paused. “Love your new wheels.”

“Isn’t the interior beautiful? Just bought it last week.” Carla Paulson brightened. She checked her diamond-encrusted Rolex. “Well, I’ll call later for another appointment. Oh, before I forget, Michael McElvoy said he’d be out at the site tomorrow at eleven.”

Tazio wanted to say she had an appointment then, which she did, but if one of the county building inspectors was going to be at the construction site, then she’d better be there, too. Michael lived to find fault.

“Fine. I’ll be there.” Tazio smiled and walked Mrs. Paulson to the door, while Mrs. Murphy and Pewter jumped on the high chair and onto the drafting table. Those pink erasers thrilled the cats. Tazio even had special white square ones that squeaked when bitten.

Brinkley, a young yellow lab rescued by Tazio during a snowstorm at a half-completed building site, chewed his bone. Tucker lay down in front of the wonderful creature and put her head on her paws to stare longingly at the bone.

Once Carla Paulson exited, Tazio exhaled loudly.

“Murphy, Pewter, what did I tell you?” Harry warned.

Murphy batted a square white eraser off the table. Both cats sailed after it.

“Don’t worry about it. I have a carton full of them back in the supply closet. In fact, I’ll give you one.” She took another breath. “That woman is plucking my last nerve. I thought Folly Steinhauser was high-maintenance and Penny Lattimore a diva, but Carla is in a class by herself.”

“I can see that.”

Tazio slyly smiled. “The diamond Rolex watch is so over the top.”

“Better to wear plain platinum. Worth more and not showy. In fact, most people think it’s steel.” Harry leaned on the drafting table. “But if Carla owned a platinum Rolex, she’d have to tell everyone it wasn’t steel and ruin it, of course.”

“Harry,” Tazio laughed, “you’re so Virginia.”

“Oh, look who’s talking.”

“I’m from St. Louis, remember.”

“Doesn’t matter. You mentioned that gaudy watch. I didn’t.”

Tazio was half Italian, half African-American, and all gorgeous. Her family, prominent in St. Louis, had provided her with the best education as well as a great deal of social poise, since her mother was on every committee imaginable. From the time she was small, her mother had marched her to different parties, balls, fund-raisers.

“I’m worn out, because she keeps changing her mind. Well, I’ll grant, she’s been consistent about the wormwood, but every time she changes something the cost spirals upward. It’s not my money, but you move a window an inch and either Orrie”—she named the head of construction by his nickname—“or I have to call the building inspector. Michael McElvoy, as you heard.”

Harry started to giggle. “Lucky you.”

“Oh, well, everyone has their problems. You came to pick up the numbers on the different heating systems for St. Luke’s. Got ‘em.” She walked back to her large, polished mahogany desk, about ten feet from the drafting table. Picking up a folder, she said, “Here. Digest it, then let’s go over it before the next vestry meeting.”

Harry flipped open the folder. “Jeez.”

“Lots of choices, and each one has pluses and minuses.”

“Herb have a copy?” Harry mentioned the pastor of St. Luke’s, Rev. Herb Jones.

“I thought we should put our heads together first. Anyway, he’s on overload because of the St. Luke’s reunion next month.”

The reunion would be Saturday, October 25. Each October, St. Luke’s held a gathering of all its members. Many who had moved away from central Virginia returned, so the numbers ran to about three hundred.

“Okay. I’ll get right on this. Be nice to have this installed before the reunion, just in case the weather does turn cold.”

“With luck the old boiler ought to hold out for another month or two. First frost usually hits us mid-October. We’ll make it, I hope. You know, that old furnace is cast iron. A welder will need to dismantle it to get it out of there. That will take days. They don’t build things like they used to,” Tazio said with a big grin.

Harry finally noticed Tucker. “What did I tell you?”

Tazio walked back to the supply room, returning with a dog treat called a Greenies. She handed it to a grateful Tucker. “Made in Missouri.”

“Well, then it has to be good.” Harry laughed. “Come on, kids.”

“I want the eraser.” Mrs. Murphy carried the item in her mouth.

Harry had reached down to pluck it from those jaws when Tazio said, “Keep it. Really. I have a carton.”

“Thanks. You spoil my buddies.”

“You don’t?” An eyebrow arched over one green eye.

“Well…”

“If you spoiled Fair like you spoil these three, he’d be fat as a tick.” Tazio mentioned Harry’s husband, who was six five, all muscle.

“You know, I don’t think Fair will ever get fat. For one thing, if he doesn’t work it off, he’ll worry it off.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a worrier.”

“Maybe not in the traditional sense, but he’s always thinking about the future, investigating new technology and medications. His mind never stops.”

“Neither does yours. That’s why you were made for each other.”

“Guess so. All right, madam. I’ll get back to you.” She paused. “Speaking of made for each other, you and Paul seem to be.”

Tazio shrugged and blushed.

Harry opened the door and the three happy friends scooted out ahead of her. She got in the Ford, ran a few errands, then turned west toward the farm. Once down the long driveway, she could see her field of sunflowers, heads straight up to the sun, her quarter acre of Petit Manseng grapes ripening. How perfect.

2

One acre of sunflowers towered over another acre of Italian sunflowers, their beautiful heads turned toward the sun. The centers, heavy with seeds, barely moved in the light breeze, which lifted the leaves on the wide, hollow stalks.

Harry pulled the truck alongside the barn, cut the motor, and hopped out. Before returning to her chores, she stood, hands on hips, admiring the rich yellows of the big sunflowers and the subtle greenish white of the Italian variety. A twelve-foot grass swath ran between the sunflower acres and the grapes, pendulous beauties drooping on the vine. Since this was their first year, the grapes would not be picked but allowed to winter on the vine. This would thrill the foxes and birds.

“Come on.”

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed.

“I need a nap.” Pewter hesitated.

“I’m sure you do,” Mrs. Murphy agreed.

The tiger’s ready reply made Pewter suspicious. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker must be hiding something.

Harry walked along, Tucker alongside her, Mrs. Murphy behind, and Pewter bringing up the rear.

“Thought you wanted a nap,” Tucker called over her shoulder.

“Decided I needed the exercise.” Pewter’s dark-gray fur shone, a sign of her overall health.

As they walked through the sunflower rows, insects buzzing, Harry paused, ran her fingers over a large head, then moved on. “Time for some rain.”

A huge fake owl on a stake had thwarted some birds, but the blue jay paid no mind. Consequently, he’d eaten so much over the last month that his speed suffered. A red oak in the pasture next to the sunflower acres provided him with a refuge. He unfurled his topknot once the cats came into view. Lifting off, he circled the party once.

“Pissants.”

Pewter glanced up. “Butt ugly.”

The jay swooped low, just missing Pewter as he emitted what he’d eaten earlier. Satisfied, he returned to the red oak.

“One day,” Pewter grumbled.

“Least it wasn’t a direct hit.” Tucker tried to look on the bright side. The dog swiveled her large ears, then barked, “Susan.”

The cats stopped, turning their heads to listen for the Audi station wagon. It was a quarter mile from the house, but they, too, could hear the motor. Few humans can distinguish the unique sounds each set of tires produce, but for the dog and cats this was as easy as identifying someone wearing squeaky shoes.

As the wagon approached the house, Harry finally heard it and turned to behold an arching plume of dust. “Damn, we really do need rain.”

They walked briskly toward the house.

Susan met them halfway. “Hey, sugar.”

Sweeping her arm wide, Harry beamed. “Can you believe it?”

Susan stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “Promiscuous in fertility and abundance.”

“Worried about rain.”

“Me, me, me.” Susan bent down to scratch Tucker’s ears.

“More.”

“Me, too.” Pewter rubbed against Susan’s leg, so she petted the gray cannonball.

Harry slipped her arm through Susan’s as they stood there for a moment admiring the yield. “Agriculture is still the basis of all wealth. Can’t have industry or high tech if people can’t eat.”

Susan nodded. “Course, most people have forgotten that.”

Harry smiled as they walked back to the house, the blue jay squawking after them.

As they passed the barn, Simon, the opossum, stuck his head out of the open loft doors. “Save me some cookies.”

Harry and Susan looked up at him, for he was semi-tame.

“If I don’t eat them first.” Pewter giggled.

“You need a diet, girl.” Mrs. Murphy arched an eyebrow.

“Shut up.” Pewter shot in front of everyone to push open the screen, then squeezed through the animal door into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, Harry poured sweet tea and put out some fruit and cheese.

Susan approached the reason for her visit to her best friend. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?” Harry leaned forward.

“Folly Steinhauser pledged to pay for the entire St. Luke’s reunion on October twenty-fifth.”

“What!”

“She did.”

“But she’s only attended St. Luke’s for two years. I mean, she’s only lived here for two years and,” Harry thought a moment, “been on the vestry board for one.”

“Herb was politically shrewd to call her to the board.”

“Well, Susan, if she’s going to cough up what will amount to thirty thousand dollars, give or take, I don’t wonder.”

“He didn’t know that originally.” Susan closed her eyes in appreciation as she sipped the tea, a sprig of fresh mint from the house garden enlivening the taste. “He was smart because she’s a come-here and she knows how to talk to the other come-heres.”

“I wasn’t aware that one talked to them. I thought, dumb rednecks that we are, we simply listened to their cascade of wisdom.”

“Don’t be snide.”

“All right, then. How about I’m tired of them telling me how they do it up North.”

“Harry, they aren’t all from the North.”

“Oh?”

“Some are from the Midwest.”

“That’s just as damned bad.” Harry burst out laughing.

“You are so prejudiced. Now, shut up and do listen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She sighed. “Maybe turning forty has allowed me to enter the realm of crankiness.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I will listen to you.”

“Folly’s on the board of Planned Parenthood, and she’s gotten the other new girls—Carla Paulson, Penny Lattimore, and Elise Brennan—to all pitch in with stuff for the silent auction. She’s even gotten some of the doctors who work at Planned Parenthood to give a free consultation.”

“Do we have to get pregnant first?”

“They aren’t all OB/GYNs, smart-ass. Come on, now, give Folly some credit. This is wonderful and takes so much pressure off Herb. Every year he had to scramble to get the money for the reunion.”

“That’s a sore point with me. I’ve said for years, charge enough to cover the food.”

“He won’t do that. Herb says everyone should come home to St. Luke’s without feeling they have to write a check.” Susan reminded Harry of what she already knew.

“Fishes and loaves.”

“Boy, there have been some years when we’ve had to pray for a miracle, but this year it’s delivered.”

“Well,” Harry cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table, which would have infuriated her long-departed mother, “it is, it is, but it irritates me that these people want to buy their way in.”

“To St. Luke’s?”

“Susan, you’re a political creature. You know as well as I do that the Episcopal church and the Lutheran church are the two most socially prominent churches. Worship is one thing. Mixing with people who can help business or make you feel like you’re with the A group is another.”

“Where does that put us?” Susan sliced a thin wedge of Brie, positioning it on a large Carr’s cracker.

“We were born to it. I don’t feel socially prominent. I don’t care about that stuff. I think it hurts people’s feelings.”

“It does, but people need their little groups. It comforts them.”

“You’ve been reading Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France again.” Harry smiled, as both she and Susan read voraciously, and not fluff.

“Mmm, no, but I remember it well enough. Back to your point. Yes, it can hurt feelings. Being excluded from a group is painful.”

Harry shrugged. “Find another group.”

“Stop being thick. We need to thank Folly at the next board meeting, and I suppose whatever she wants to do in the future we’d better go along on at least one project.” Susan stopped. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “That reminds me. Stay put.” She rose and hurried out the door, the screen door flapping behind her, Tucker running along. She came back and placed Tazio’s papers in front of Susan. “Haven’t even looked at them.”

“She’s written a cover letter for you.”

Harry leaned over Susan’s shoulder as they read the letter together. “She’s right.”

In the letter, Tazio proposed that in the long run it would save money to also replace the furnace in the offices and at Herb’s house when they replaced the furnace in the church. “The cost of materials and labor would rise over the years as surely as the sun rises in the east. Do it now” were her polite but forceful last sentences.

“She is. Once the workmen are there, just do it all and then every dwelling or business will be on the same system. But, oh, the expense.”

“Well, if Folly’s given us thirty thousand dollars, why can’t we work really hard to keep the reunion costs down and throw the excess toward the heating overhaul?” Harry suggested.

“Makes perfect sense, but Folly would have to agree to it. After all, she earmarked the money for the reunion, and she won’t want to cut corners on a social do.” Susan quickly perused the different systems that Tazio included in the folder. “Willikers, I need a course in engineering.”

“I know.” Harry poured more tea from the large pitcher. “Jesus had it easy. All He had to do was walk around Judea in His sandals. No buildings to maintain. No cars.”

“Harry.” Susan shook her head.

“Of course, you’re deeply shocked.”

“No. I think Christ had it easier than we do because He was born before the credit card.”

Harry choked on the tea she’d just swallowed. Tears filled her eyes. Susan leapt up to slap her on the back.

Once recovered, Harry wiped her eyes and murmured, because she still had difficulty speaking, “Kill me. You’ll kill me.”

They both laughed.

Susan then said, “As you know, Planned Parenthood is mostly Democrats, so Ned has close ties. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point Folly will want something for them.”

Ned, Susan’s husband, was serving his first term as a representative to the state legislature.

“I hope not. Religion and politics don’t mix.”

“James Madison showed us the way on that, but, Harry, you know as well as I do that religion is currently being used to divert us from the true political issues. Not that Planned Parenthood is religious, but it is a target of right-wing Christians.”

“America’s falling apart.” Harry leaned back in her chair, swallowing again to ease the ache in her throat. “It’s such an old trick and it amazes me that people fall for it. Get them lathered over something superficial but emotional so they won’t notice that our interstates need repair, we’re so in debt it’s horrifying, and we’re in a mess in the Middle East that will now last generations. And you know what? I intend to grow my grapes and sunflowers. I want to harvest the timber we share. I’m done worrying about the world. It will get on just fine without me.”

“It’s a vain hope to be left to private concerns.” Susan, like Harry, wearied of the manufactured crises as well as the genuine articles. Back to my point: be good to Folly.“

“I’m always good to Folly.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I’m nice to her.”

“Harry.”

Harry’s voice rose. “I am nice to her.”

“I’ve known you since cradle days. You can’t stand the woman.”

“She doesn’t know that.” Harry sighed.

“Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t know how we do things in these parts. So keep being nice to her.”

“I will. Speaking of not liking someone, Carla Paulson was cussing out Tazio. She shut up when I walked into the office. There’s a piece of work.”

“Is, isn’t she?” Susan hid her smile behind her hand, even though it was just the two of them.

“A three-dollar bill.”

“She has enough of them. You know, Harry, this is a case of what your mother would say: ‘Praise a fool that you might make her useful.” “

Harry sighed. “Mother was so much better at those things than I am.”

“It’s not too late to learn.” Susan sliced more Brie, handing one cracker to Harry. “You’re not rude. It’s just that sometimes you say what you think too directly.”

“I know.”

“You can say the exact same thing with more flourish.”

“I know. Fair tells me the same thing.”

“So at the next board meeting, shine on Folly.”

Another car pulled up in the driveway, a county squad car, and Tucker barreled outside to say hello to their next-door neighbor, two miles away as the crow flies.

Officer Cynthia Cooper stepped in; she’d been driving home after work. “Heard there was a tea party.”

“We’re plotting revolution.” Susan got up before Harry could and fetched a glass, plate, and utensils.

“What’s up?” Harry liked Coop.

“Two wrecks at Barracks Road Shopping Center. One robbery at the bank up on Rio Road, and you’ll love this.” She leaned toward them. “He pulled out a gun and dropped his driver’s license on the floor. How dumb is that?”

“Not as dumb as the guy who rammed the stand-alone kiosks at Wachovia.” Harry laughed, naming a large interstate banking chain.

“He did get money, but it sure was easy to trace the car.” Coop laughed, too.

The three enjoyed one another’s company.

Susan told Coop about Folly’s generosity. Coop asked if she could pile up a truckload of manure for her garden.

Her cell phone played “Leader of the Pack.”

“Thought you were off duty,” Harry said.

“Am.” Coop flipped the small phone open. Hearing the sheriff’s voice, she simply said, “Chief.” Then she was ominously silent, getting up from the table with the phone still to her ear.

Harry and Susan stood up, too, as Coop hurried for the door.

They ran out with her as she flipped the phone closed.

“Can we help?” Harry asked.

“No. Will Wylde has been shot.”

Dr. Will Wylde, OB/GYN, was on the board for Planned Parenthood.

The two best friends watched Coop peel out of the drive. Thoughtfully, she didn’t hit the siren until she reached the paved road.

“Antiabortion nut,” Susan uttered through taut lips.

“So it would seem,” Harry replied.

Susan turned to Harry. “Why would anyone else want to shoot Will Wylde?”

“I don’t know, Susan, I really don’t know, but I have learned that the obvious answer isn’t always the correct answer.”

3

The Madison office complex, a pair of inoffensive brick two-story buildings with basement offices as well, was tucked in between Route 29, Route 250, and the back way into Farmington Country Club.

Dr. Wylde’s office was there, making it convenient for his patients, most of whom lived in the western part of the large county. He lived in a lovely home on the country-club grounds, golf being his passion, as well as that of his wife, Benita. Convenient for him, too.

Coop stood on the roof of the building catty-cornered to Wylde’s office. Sheriff Rick Shaw stood with her, the heat seeping up through the thick soles of their shoes.

“No shells?” Coop asked.

“No. Too smart for that.” Rick paused. “Kind of like a rapist using a condom.” He paused again and, knowing Coop as he did, knew she wouldn’t take that the wrong way.

She knelt down so her eye would be level with the top of the roof. “The trajectory of the wound will no doubt confirm your thoughts. And it makes sense, because if he shot from an office window, he’d need to move through the office. Can’t do that and go undetected. All these offices are full up.”

“He’d have to walk down the hall with a rifle or get inside the office and assemble it quickly, if the weapon was one that can be broken down. I expect it was.” Rick watched the emergency squad finally place the body in the ambulance; they’d had to wait for Rick’s officers to thoroughly inspect everything. “So he came up here—easy enough, since few people use the stairs—waited, fired, walked down, and drove away.”

“Car parked on the side of the building near the stair door?”

“Yep. Macadam. No print.”

“And no one saw anyone drive away?”

“Coop, that’s just it. Cars pull in and out of here all the time. No one saw any vehicle leave in a hurry, and no one knew Wylde was shot until probably five minutes after he was hit, which makes me think the perp may have used a silencer. No one came out of either building. So whoever drove out, it just looked like business as usual, or so it seems. The only people identified so far who drove off the lot close to this time are Dr. Harvey Tillach and Kylie Kraft, one of the girls in the office. She came right back with four frosties for everyone.”

“They’re a mess in Will’s office, but that’s understandable.”

“What if the killer had help on the inside?” Rick kept trying to put the pieces together.

“Ah.” Coop once again appreciated her boss’s mind.

“The antiabortion extremists have become more sophisticated and patient. I say extremist because I don’t think most antiabortionists are willing to kill doctors to prove their point; it does the reverse.”

“Can’t say you revere life, then take it away.” Coop nodded. “Well, boss, this one’s going to bring the press down like vultures, as well as every local and state politician on both sides of the issue. And in the process, people will forget that Will was a talented OB/GYN, who also performed terminations.”

He turned toward the door leading out onto the roof. “I know.” He opened the door for Coop and they both descended the stairwell, their steps reverberating.

Before going outside, Coop stopped a moment and knelt down. Rick knelt beside her and reached in his deep breast pocket for a small plastic Ziploc.

“Could be nothing.”

“One smoked Virginia Slims cigarette is still worth bagging.” He used the tweezers she handed him, plucked it up, and dropped it in the bag, sealing it.

“Not my brand.”

“Mine, either.” He paused. “I didn’t know you had a brand. I thought you just bummed fags off me.”

“That’s a low blow.” She stood up, her left knee creaking even though she was in her thirties. “I’ll bet five bucks this didn’t belong to Wylde’s killer.”

“Why?”

“Men don’t smoke Virginia Slims, number one. Number two, I know of no case where a woman has killed a doctor who performs abortions. It’s always men.”

“This could be a first.” Rick pushed open the door into the bright light.

“Take the bet?”

“Sure, what’s five bucks?” They crossed the parking lot and entered the building. Then turned right to Will’s office.

Margaret Westlake, the office manager, who was in her early forties, stood to greet them. Her eyes, puffy and bloodshot, testified to her tears.

Sophie Denham, the senior nurse, in her early fifties, had a paper cup in her hand as she stood over Kylie Kraft, a young nurse verging on hysterics.

Sophie glanced at the sheriff and deputy. “Thank God you’re here.”

“I want to go home,” Kylie wailed.

“Gave her a Valium,” Sophie, hands shaking slightly, informed them.

Having seen their fair share of hysterics, Rick replied, “Terrible shock. I know Officer Sharpton took your statements. Deputy Cooper and I will carefully go over them. On the outside chance that something occurred to you since he was here, I thought I’d come in.”

The three looked mutely at one another, but both Margaret and Sophie were sophisticated enough to recognize that Rick came by to scope them as well as the territory. Anyone with contact to Will Wylde was potentially a suspect.

“Did Dr. Wylde gamble?” Cooper asked.

Margaret, surprised, answered, “No. Why?”

“If a person falls behind on the debts, this can be the payback,” Cooper quietly informed them.

Sophie blinked. “As far as I know he didn’t gamble.”

Reaching for Cooper’s slender hand, Kylie moaned, “Can’t I go home?”

“Not just yet,” Cooper said as Kylie dropped her hand, disappointed and beginning to get a little fuzzy from the sedative.

“Women?” Rick questioned.

“No.” Margaret shook her head.

“There was that rumor about the first Mrs. Tillach,” Sophie added, then instantly felt disloyal to the deceased doctor.

“There was a creature given to fantasy.” Margaret’s lip curled upward slightly. “Typical Charlottesville rumor. Everyone smacks their lips but no one actually ferrets out the facts. The entire episode was repellent.” She calmed herself, then added, “Sheriff, given that this appears planned—I mean, no one broke in here waving a gun and screaming—I have to think it’s political.”

“Could be political if someone did come in screaming. Dr. Wylde was on the hot seat.” Cooper said this in a kind fashion.

“That he was.” Sophie’s eyes teared up.

“Ever mention names of people he thought were violent?” Rick asked.

Margaret, folding her arms across her chest, said, “If only it were that simple, Sheriff. The short answer is no. The antiabortionists who incline toward destructiveness are never your neighbors, because you can hold them accountable. What these antiorganizations do is bus people in for demonstrations, throw packets of blood at the doctors—”

Kylie interrupted with a wail, “And us.”

Margaret ignored her, feeling that one dealt with pain and suffered by holding it together and never, ever, by blubbering or seeking pity. “I’m not saying local people didn’t join in barricading our office, but you can pretty well bet the killer is not a local. At least that’s one woman’s opinion.”

“And one I certainly respect.” Rick nodded to her. “Ladies, this is a vicious blow. I am so sorry for you all, for Will’s family. I promise you we will get to the bottom of this.” He paused. “In the future, either Deputy Cooper or myself may call upon you again. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.”

“We’ll be glad to help in any way,” Margaret replied.

“Indeed.” Sophie wiped her eyes again.

Rick opened the door into the corridor. Cooper followed, but as they reached the front door, she turned and hurried back to Will’s office. She rapped on the door.

Margaret unlocked it. “Come in.”

“Channel Twenty-nine just pulled up with the mobile unit. You might want to lock this door again and go somewhere in the office where they can’t see you.”

Kylie started to rock back and forth and cry again.

Margaret turned to Sophie. “Let’s get her back in the supply room and cut the lights.”

“I expect they’ll be out of here in an hour. They’ll want to talk to people in other offices and then they’ll probably go shoot footage of his house or the hospital. But if you want to avoid their questions, sit tight for at least an hour.”

“Thank you, Deputy Cooper.” Margaret closed the door and cut the lights.

Rick turned as Cooper joined him on the raised outside steps. “And?”

“Going to lock up and hide in the supply room.”

He nodded. “That will give them a little time. Until tomorrow, at least.” He watched the small crew quickly set up. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Benita before someone else does and certainly before this breaks. You know once they’ve got the video shot, they’ll interrupt any show going.”

“Damn.”

“That’s a nicer word than ‘shit.” I’ve got to watch my language.“ He took a deep breath, lifted his chin, and strode toward the television crew. He made the time-out sign before the camera rolled. ”Dinny, I’ll give you a statement, I’ll keep you in the pipeline, but I have got to get to Benita Wylde before she hears of this. All right?“

Dinny Suga, who was pretty and petite, knew enough about the community to know she had to respect this or she’d never get another good story out of Shaw again. Even though she’d worked for Channel 29 for only a year, she was becoming part of the community, one she was learning to love—if for nothing else than the fact that no one would dream of calling her Asian-American. She was just Dinny Suga.

“I understand.” She looked to her camerawoman, nodded, and the light blinked over the top of the minicam.

Sheriff Shaw gave a terse statement that the murder had occurred at around two-thirty p.m. No suspect had been apprehended, and, yes, Dr. Wylde had been targeted in the past for harassment.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Dinny, give me an hour. If she’s not home, she’s on the golf course, most likely.”

“Okay.”

Within twenty minutes, Rick and Coop were zipping toward the back nine in a golf cart. When members started to wave at them as they roared through their games, they quickly discerned this was the sheriff and his number-one deputy; something had to be really wrong.

Benita, back on 13, had just hit a gorgeous approach shot, which her three bosom buddies admired. When she heard the cart, saw who was in it, she dropped her club. There’d been enough threats on Will’s life these last ten years. She just knew. So did the others.

She said nothing as Rick stopped and climbed out.

“Benita, I am so sorry to tell you this.”

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Rick nodded. “Yes, yes he is.”

Coop, now also out, walked up alongside Rick.

“How?” Benita remained calm, although she was as white as paste.

“Sniper. One shot clean through the heart. At least he didn’t suffer.”

She fought her tears. The rest of the foursome—Folly Steinhauser, Alicia Palmer, and BoomBoom Cray croft—quietly came up to Benita’s side.

Alicia put her arm around Benita’s waist and said, “Let me drive you home, honey.”

“Yes.” Benita’s voice faded.

“The reporters.” Folly’s mind worked quickly. “Girls, we need to be there to get rid of them.”

“We can take turns.” BoomBoom, who was tall, commanding, and beautiful, knew how to handle most situations, as did Alicia, a former movie star in the seventies and eighties.

“You’re right,” Folly agreed.

“Before anyone leaves, Benita, if you can stand it, it would be very helpful if you could answer a few questions.”

“Yes.” A tear splashed on her lemon-colored golf shirt.

“Have there been threats recently?”

“No. In fact, we were just talking about that last night. We thought that maybe those nutcases finally realized violence is counterproductive.”

“Any problems apart from the abortion extremists? A disgruntled employee or unbalanced patient, debts?” No.

“Any old enemies from the past that you can recall?”

She thought as she knelt down to pick up her club. “Harvey Tillach. Harvey hated him, but they avoided each other.”

No reason to inquire about why Harvey hated Will Wylde, since everyone knew that Harvey, also a doctor, had accused Will of seducing his then wife. An accusation that Will hotly denied, but the damage had been done, because rumors take on a life of their own.

Although, in truth, sexual peccadilloes rarely elicited the tongue-clicking found in the Puritan states. The people upset were the people directly involved. Most Southerners assume nature is taking its course and best to stay out of it.

Alicia, firmly but with respect, said, “Sheriff, let me take her home. This is a staggering blow.”

He nodded, then added, “Benita, I’ll need to question you again. I truly am sorry.”

“I know, Rick, I know you are. Everybody loved Will.”

BoomBoom said to Rick and Coop, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do, including strangle the killer.”

Coop had grown fond of BoomBoom. “You’ll have to get a ticket and stand in line for that. But if we need you, I’ll call. Right now, do anything you can for Benita. It’s going to be tough. A media circus.”

Folly shook her head silently, fearing the onslaught, as Alicia gently led Benita to one of the golf carts.

As the two carts drove off, Rick turned to Coop. “She’s a good woman. She deserves better.”

The sheriff and his deputy knew the wife is often a prime suspect in the husband’s murder. But these two didn’t think Benita Wylde had killed her husband. For one thing, she was on the golf course at the time of the murder. For another thing, it was a happy marriage. Whoever did kill the doctor knew the layout of the office buildings, his schedule, and could drive away without calling attention to himself.

They climbed back into the squat golf cart. Rick drove, the noisy little engine competing with the usual sounds of a late afternoon on a prestigious golf course.

Coop flipped open her notebook. “Want to give me names to question?”

“In a minute. The first thing we’ve got to do is pull in as many people as we can on this case. Right now it’s a local murder. If the FBI agent for our territory decides this is a civil-rights violation, then we have to deal with the agency.”

Coop grimaced, since the feds often treated local law-enforcement people like water bugs. “Been there. Done that. Remember the fuss five years ago when the pro-life people barricaded Will’s clinic? Boom! Civil-rights violations, because he couldn’t operate his business. Let’s hope this is just murder.”

“Yep, sure as shooting.” He realized what he’d said but grinned despite himself. “Sorry.”

4

Death and destruction didn’t seem to shake up country people quite as much as it did their city cousins. The cycle of the seasons, the thrilling rebirth of spring and the rich harvests of fall, allowed people to know that death and life weave together each day. Not that anyone celebrated the untimely death of Dr. Will Wylde, but the people it sent off into the deep end were only those hovering on the precipice anyway. His family and friends, overwhelmed by deep grief, remained calm. It had always been in the back of their minds that this could happen, but nothing really prepares one for the dolorous reality.

Carla Paulson was all but suffering grand mal seizures because of the shooting. Weeping, she called Tazio Chappars, informing her that she wouldn’t be at the construction site today, Friday, but she advised—which meant ordered—Tazio to go.

The house, which was situated on a three-hundred-foot-high knoll, commanded 270-degree views. The 90-degree area behind the house was filled with large rock outcroppings, which blocked the view in that direction. Carla, who was determined to improve nature, had worked on drawings with a San Francisco landscape company to stick wondrous plants in crevices. Eventually, the outcroppings would underline Carla’s vibrant creativity That was the plan. Surely, a spread in Garden Design would follow.

Interior work goes more slowly than the initial framing up and roofing, and this house proved no exception.

Tazio and Mike McElvoy stood in the cavernous living room while the marble, green-veined and hideously expensive, was being placed around the fireplace. The Italian workmen had a gift for the task.

With arms folded across his chest, Mike watched Butch Olivera supervise. One tiny crack meant another slab would be cut, which would mean more delay, more expense. Carla would spend money, but she possessed little tolerance for other people’s mistakes. Then, too, she harbored the not entirely unfounded suspicion that she might be charged more than the “old families”—or “tired blood,” as she dubbed those Virginians only too ready to recite their pedigree. Her pedigree was her bank balance; it was also a crowbar to open doors and windows.

“Lattimores used the same marble when they built Raven’s Roost.” Mike enjoyed passing on these tidbits. “She’s already adding a wing. Penny can’t stop building.”

Tazio had been a guest of the Lattimores from time to time, so she already knew this. She simply smiled. Why take away Mike’s little moment? “Penny and Marvin are a bit more understated than the Paulsons.”

“Christ.” Mike shook his head. “Waste. That’s what I see but, hey, gives me a job.”

“Me too.” Tazio smiled, hoping this meeting wouldn’t be lengthy, for Mike liked to hear himself talk.

The more he talked, the smarter he thought he was—not that he was stupid, but he needed attention.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.”

They walked through the living room, which was being painted then sponged to create a dappled effect. They passed from there through the “transition room,” as Carla called it. It was really a discreet bar. Then they moved into a truly magnificent country kitchen.

The appliances weren’t in yet, of course, but the cabinetry was up. Carla’s ideas for the kitchen proved she could get it right if she just thought things through. She did spend money here, but it wasn’t quite so gaudy. The cabinets, glass fronted, had six panes of beveled glass.

The wood, a lovely warm simple pine, had been lightly stained. The floors, beautiful blue slate with radiant heat underneath, set off the whole room, which was full of light.

“Every time Carla drops one piece of glass, poof.” Mike spread his fingers wide to indicate the flying bits.

“Yes, but it does look fabulous.”

“Does. Didn’t use Buckingham slate, did she?”

“No. For some odd reason, she thinks anything local can’t be that good. She wants wormwood for the library. Good old cherry, walnut, or mahogany won’t do. Well, mahogany isn’t local, but you know what I mean.”

“Do.” He stopped in front of the space where the six-burner stainless-steel Vulcan stove with grill would be placed. “Before I get into this, what do you think about Wylde’s murder?”

“Terrible.”

“Think the antiabortionists did it?”

“Well, I don’t know, but it certainly seems most likely. What do you think?” she asked, knowing what he really wanted to do was expound.

“Loony. Smart loony though. Cased the buildings. I mean, you have to do something like that exactly right or you’re toast yourself. You know, the way things are today, I’d never go into women’s medicine if I were in medical school.”

“You mean OB/GYN?”

He nodded. “All it takes is one mistake and everyone’s down your throat. Can you imagine the cost of insurance?”

“You’re right, but an OB/GYN usually has happy customers. There aren’t that many problems in pregnancy. I’d hate to be in oncology.”

“Got a point there.” He paused, put one hand on his hip. “What do you think of abortion?”

“That it’s a woman’s decision.”

“You don’t think it’s taking a life?”

“No.” She held up her hand. “Mike, I can’t imagine anyone dancing in the street saying, ”Hooray, I just terminated a pregnancy,“ but isn’t it better than just outright killing girl babies like they do in India and China?”

“That is pretty terrible.”

“I read in the Manchester Guardian from March 2007—I saved the issue because it was so upsetting—that the rough guess is that in the last ten years, God knows how many million girls have been destroyed either in the womb or at birth.”

His eyes popped. “God.”

“In some places in China the ratio of males to females is one hundred twenty-eight to one hundred. That spells disaster. It also points to mass violence, because most crimes are committed by males between the ages of fifteen and twenty-nine. Didn’t the governments of those countries think of that? And how will they find enough jobs for all those men? It’s a sure bet they won’t want to work in day care. They’re planting the seeds for their own overthrow, especially China.”

“You’ve made quite a study of it.”

“Oh, well, I was forced into it by Folly Steinhauser. When I designed her house last year, she peppered me with Planned Parenthood information plus everything else she could find.” Tazio shrugged. “At first I resented it, I’ll be honest, but then I actually became interested. Global warming is caused as much by overpopulation as by cars. I mean, who drives the cars? Who uses electricity, furnaces? If you have six billion people, you have more emissions. If you have 7.2 or 9 billion by the end of this century, what do you think will happen? And what about the water table?” She threw up her hands.

“Never really thought of it that way.” Mike reached into his back pants pocket for his small notebook. “Funny, all those people breeding so easily, and Noddy and I never could. We’re still in the game,” he smiled, “but you know we don’t have but so much longer.” He flipped open his notebook. “All right…”

A car drove up outside, and Carla emerged from her burnt-orange Range Rover. “Hello,” she called as she walked through the front door.

“In the kitchen,” Tazio called back, then under her breath said to Mike, “She said she was too upset to come.”

Wearing lime-green driving loafers with tiny rubber pebbles on the soles, Carla silently walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were swollen. “There you are.” She turned to Mike. “What do you think?”

“Coming along. We have a problem here. You need a larger out-take for the stove you’re putting in.”

“Why?” Carla walked into the alcove where the stove would be located, looking up at the four-inch opening.

“Six inches.”

“Why?”

“That’s the code for this type of stove. You could change the stove, of course.” He knew perfectly well she wouldn’t.

“Why didn’t you know this?” Carla turned on Tazio.

“I thought I did.”

“She did.” Mike came to her defense. “This has been under discussion for the last two months.”

“Is it code yet?”

“Yes and no.” He hesitated. “Let me put it this way: it will be in writing by the time your stove gets here, and then the kitchen will be finished and you’ll have to tear things up, make a mess, wash all this glass. Just do it now.”

Face reddening, Carla took it out on Tazio. “I expect this done in the next week, and if you can’t get Arnie back”—she named the fellow responsible for ductwork—“I expect you to do it yourself!”

“Now, Carla, it’s not her fault.” Mike winked at Tazio, which Carla saw.

“I don’t give a damn! I want it done and I want it done now, and if there’s anything else, Mike McElvoy, find it now, because I’m not backtracking.”

He stiffened. “I’m doing my job.”

“Sure. That’s what everyone says, but I know you can do it better for some people than for others.”

“That’s not true.”

She turned silently on her heel and walked out.

Mike called after her, “Carla, I resent that.”

She stopped, wheeled to look at him. “You know, Mike McElvoy, you’re not as smart as you think you are, and I’m on to you.”

As Carla left, Tazio noticed Mike’s hands shaking as he slapped shut his Moleskin notebook. “I hate that bitch.”

“Join the club.” She did wonder why he’d misinformed Carla, though. The building code didn’t change that quickly. This house was under way. The county couldn’t make the code retroactive. There was nothing wrong with her four-inch outtake duct.

He took a deep breath. “Can’t let it get under my skin. You know how these people are. I thought Penny Lattimore was a pain in the ass. Hell, she’s an angel compared to this one.”

Tazio, no fan of Mike’s, did appreciate his task. “Call her tonight. Spread a little oil on the waters.”

“I can make her life more miserable than she can make mine.”

“That you can, but how often do you want to attend special hearings or, worse, testify in court if she brings suit against the county? She’s the type, you know.”

Jamming his notebook back in his pocket, he grumbled, “Right.” He paused. “You know, I’m against abortion. But I tell you, Carla Paulson makes a strong case for free abortion on demand. If only she’d been flushed out of the womb.”

Shocked at Mike’s harsh statement, Tazio wondered what was happening in his life to make him so crude.

5

Rain poured at long last. At times Rev. Herb Jones’s cats, Elocution, Cazenovia, and Lucy Fur, could barely see out the window. Dutiful, the three felines attended every vestry-board meeting. Sometimes, Harry’s cats and dog also attended, but not this morning, Saturday, September 20.

Harry, Susan, Folly, BoomBoom, and Herb eked out a quorum. Nolan Carter, the local oil supplier, was in Tulsa on business. Marvin Lattimore, Penny’s husband, was also out of town on business. He bought used airplanes, from Piper Cubs to 747s, refurbished them, and sold them to rich individuals and to corporate clients. For the heck of it, five years back, he’d started a small charter airline, and business had boomed.

“We should table this until Marvin can study the figures,” Folly insisted.

“We can’t put this off indefinitely.” Tazio didn’t think Marvin knew all that much about heating systems, but Folly was dazzled by him. This fact was not lost on Penny Lattimore, although Ron, Folly’s usually jealous husband, didn’t seem to notice. Twenty years older than Folly, Ron Steinhauser—brash, controlling, opinionated—had begun to slump into a slower gear. At seventy-five, he’d pushed himself hard, drunk too much at times, and finally his body was rebelling.

“When does Marvin come back from Moscow?” Harry asked the obvious question of Herb.

“Next week. I’ll be sure he gets the study, and I will also be sure he knows we are operating under some time constraint. The last thing we want is for the furnace to be torn up when a cold snap hits us.”

Folly listened to Herb, then replied with a lilt of humor in her well-modulated voice, “Doesn’t seem likely.”

BoomBoom said, “One October—first week, I think—we had a freak snowstorm, and the weight of the snow with the leaves still on the trees brought down branches all over Virginia. You could hear the creaking and breaking.” She paused a moment. “Actually, we don’t have to wait until next week. We can e-mail this to Marvin.”

“Good idea.” Susan nodded.

Folly, not an obstructionist, had never lived in a structure built shortly after the Revolutionary War. She had little sense of how cold it could get even with a half-decent heating system. “Well, do be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. We want Marvin on board.” She smiled at her little pun.

“We do.” Harry smiled at Folly, trying to do as Susan asked.

“All right, then.” Herb turned to BoomBoom. “You do it.”

“Happily,” BoomBoom agreed.

It was not lost on the group that Herb asked BoomBoom instead of Folly to communicate with Marvin. Obviously, he’d heard the gossip, too.

Shortly thereafter, the business part of the meeting frittered away and the group focused on what they really wanted to talk about: Dr. Will Wylde.

Herb glanced at his agenda, noted the request for smokeless tapers, and figured it could wait. He was amazed that he’d kept the lid on it this long.

A gust of wind splashed so much rain on the hand-blown windowpanes that it sent the cats jumping off the ledge. They joined the group.

“Usually, these political killings, well, someone wants to take credit. The newspaper or TV station receives an acknowledgment. Hasn’t happened.” Folly plucked an orange out of a large bowl.

“Maybe they’re waiting, or maybe they want people to think this was the work of a single crazy” BoomBoom got up and left the room, calling over her shoulder, “Tea or coffee?”

“Both.” Susan rose to help her. “Anyone for iced tea?”

Folly raised her hand.

Harry said, “I hope this doesn’t kick off a wave of violence across the country—doctors being targeted, clinics blown up.”

“I do, too.” Herb leaned back in the old club chair, Lucy Fur now on his lap. “Benita…” He shook his head, tears welling up. “Remarkable.”

“She is.” Folly also teared up. There was no need to recount that Folly, BoomBoom, and Alicia were with Benita when Rick told her what had happened. Everyone knew.

Susan and BoomBoom reappeared with two trays of drinks.

“What does Ned say?” Folly asked Susan as she poured tea.

Without taking her eyes off the cup, Susan said, “It was funny in a way. They happened to be in session, and when the news crept into the chamber, thanks to a zealous page, the men who came in on the coat-tails of the far right, vociferously antiabortion, couldn’t distance themselves fast enough. Ned said as much as he mourned Will Wylde; it was all he could do not to laugh out loud at these opportunistic buffoons.”

“Ned’s pretty conservative.” Folly did not yet have the feel for Virginia politics. In her mind, Democrat equaled liberal.

“About financial issues, he certainly is. He’s live and let live on everything else.”

Herb smiled at Folly and said, “Ned’s what you might call an old-time Southern Democrat. Well, let me amend that: he’s a new-time Southern Democrat. He’s not racist and he’s not pushing women back in the kitchen, but he’s part of the old-time religion.”

“Which is…” Folly arched an eyebrow.

BoomBoom, smiling, handed a plate of cookies over to Folly, who passed it on. “When you go into the voting booth you ask one question, ”Is it good for Dixie?“ ”

Folly, thinking this was a joke, laughed. “Oh, BoomBoom, you don’t mean it.”

The others in the room realized it was best to shut up.

Tazio returned to the murder. “Yesterday I was at the Paulsons’ house, meeting with our fave, Mike McElvoy, and I was surprised to learn he’s antiabortion. But he seemed genuinely upset about Will.”

“He’s a perfect ass,” Folly said venomously.

“That insults mules.” Harry was surprised at Folly’s emotion. “He’s a dumb human.”

“Ego,” BoomBoom simply said.

“Give a little man a little power and he abuses it every time.” Tazio had Mike’s measure.

“Carla’s on the floor about Will. She’d gotten to know him socially. He was her doctor, too. She’s a mess.” Folly shrugged. “But you know Carla, she’s not one to let slip the opportunity to call attention to herself.”

Herb laughed despite himself. “We can pray that Carla… um… Let me think about this.”

That lightened the mood.

“Carla’s like Teddy Roosevelt. She wants to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral.” Susan used the famous quote.

Herb looked at BoomBoom, then Folly. “Girls, thank you for being with Benita. Boom, give my thoughts to Alicia, too.”

“I will. The kids fly in today, and that will be a big help.”

“Will Junior is the spitting image of his father.” Harry liked the whole Wylde family.

“Funeral date?” Folly wondered.

“Can’t do anything until the coroner releases the body.” Susan knew a bit about this procedure, since Ned was a lawyer. “In the case of any suspicious death it takes longer, but I expect the funeral will be next weekend, if all goes as it should.”

“Oh, no, that’s the fund-raising ball for Poplar Forest, in Bedford County, September twenty-seventh. Everyone has to be there.” Folly’s face registered disappointment.

Poplar Forest was Thomas Jefferson’s summer home, which was in the process of a painstaking restoration.

“Even if it is, the funeral will be in the morning and the fundraiser’s at night,” Tazio logically reminded her.

“But people will be… you know,” Folly countered.

“Let’s not worry about it until we know. And if the funeral is in the morning, we can all remind people that Will would want us to have a good time and to raise as much money as we can that evening. After all, he was a strong supporter of the restoration and sponsored a table.”

Susan frowned. “In a way, I still can’t believe it.”

Folly, head of the ball committee, added, “Benita won’t be there, but she’s encouraged the office staff to go and to fill out the table. An empty table at a fund-raiser looks forlorn, and as you said, Will would want the project supported.”

“One good thing that’s come out of this dreadful event is that every priest, pastor, and preacher is meeting tonight at the Greek Orthodox Church out on Route 250. Even though we don’t agree about abortion, we all agree that a killing such as this is the work of man, not the will of God,” Herb interjected.

“Gods may come and go, but greed and the lust for power remain.” Harry listened to the rain.

“That’s hardly a Christian statement.” Susan knew Harry hadn’t meant to be disrespectful.

“Well, I meant that the Egyptians worshipped a slew of gods, as did the Greeks, Romans, and Norsemen throughout history. Whenever they’d want to justify something, they’d declare it was to serve Ra or Thor. Whoever shot Will is pretty much part of the common herd. You twist religion to serve your own ends.”

“Harry, that’s so cynical.” Folly neatly piled up her orange rind.

“Realistic.” Susan shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t strive to rise above it.” Herb reached for a large chocolate chip cookie. “I have never wanted riches or power, but I certainly weaken when it comes to cookies.”

The people laughed, but Lucy Fur patted at Herb’s hand. “Poppy, what about your diet?”

Sheepishly, Herb broke a bit off the cookie to give to Lucy but regretted it, since Elocution and Cazenovia zipped right over; they liked chewy dough.

“All right,” Herb sighed, sharing his cookie.

After the meeting Susan drove Harry back to the farm.

Harry found the rhythm of the windshield wipers hypnotic. “Funny crack about Carla wanting to be the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every funeral.”

6

“This is the second time in two days that you’ve questioned me,” Harvey Tillach, beefy-faced but not unattractive, grumbled.

“I appreciate your continued cooperation, especially over the weekend,” Rick simply replied.

“Didn’t know you worked Saturdays.”

“Sometimes.” The genial sheriff nodded, then leaned forward slightly. “The acoustics are incredible. Can’t hear the guns. Can’t hear the downpour outside, either.”

“Still coming down in buckets?” Harvey’s light eyebrows raised.

“A day for accidents.” Rick sighed, hoping none of them would be fatal.

As Harvey snorted agreement, the manager of this exclusive gun club ducked his head in the office. “You two need anything—a drink, hot or cold?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Nicky.” Harvey smiled.

“Me, too.”

“All right, then. Holler if you need me.” He shut the door.

Central Virginia Gun Club was snugged right up to the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Boasting clays, skeet, a fabulous indoor range, and organized pheasant hunts, as well, the waiting list was years long. The owner pushed women’s names up the list, since if the Second Amendment was to be saved it would only be with the help of women. A few of the men moaned, but most of them realized how imperiled their constitutional rights had become.

Two former Olympians were on the staff, one wildlife conservationist, and a variety of groundsmen and gamekeepers. Classes were quite popular; the place hummed.

“You’ve been a member of CVG a long time?” Rick asked.

“Twenty-three years. Last year we all traveled out to Reno for a clay competition and, you know, the air is different. Had to swing that gun up a little faster,” he recalled. “Do you mind getting to the point?”

“Sure. You ever shoot handguns?”

“Rarely. I’m a clays guy. Don’t think I’ll be out today, but I can still work on my hand-eye down at the range.”

“How long have you competed?”

“Since med school. I was at New York University. Not much outdoor sports. I stumbled on an indoor firing range, so you can say I started out with a handgun. Got completely hooked. Also started playing squash then. It’s easier playing squash in Manhattan than tennis. Better workout, too.”

“That’s what I hear. And you met Will Wylde when you moved here?”

“We both started at Martha Jefferson at the same time.” He named one of the area’s hospitals.

“Did he enjoy shooting?”

“No, although he did admire my Purdy.” Purdy was an exquisite brand of shotgun. “I’ll bequeath it to my daughter. Thirteen and she’s club champion for clays. Men or women. No wasted motion.” He meant her technique.

“It’s something you can do together.”

Harvey laughed. “Well, she beats the pants off her old man, but we have a lot of fun together. She’ll even go duck hunting with me. I’m very, very blessed.”

“You and your first wife had no children?”

“No.” His voice shifted, became more clipped.

“Ever see her?”

“No. She moved to Savannah.”

“Remarried?”

“One of the richest men in Georgia. That woman can smell a bank account a mile off.”

“Remind me: you own shotguns but no rifle?”

“I own a few rifles. Jody and I are going to Idaho this winter, going to pack in the mountains and hunt elk. A first for both of us, so, yes, I own rifles.”

“Can you repair your own equipment?”

This surprised Harvey. “I could. I used to have my own repair workshop, but as my practice increased I just didn’t have the time.”

“What’d you do with all your tools?”

“Sold them to Mike McElvoy. He’s good, too.”

“I didn’t know Mike was an enthusiast, if that’s the right term.”

“He’s not. He likes the money and the quiet, I suppose. At least, that’s what I liked, but I’m glad I sold my equipment. I wanted to spend more time with Babs and Jody.”

Babs was his second wife.

“Could you get a silencer if you wanted one?”

A pause followed this question. “I believe I could.”

“Illegal.”

“So’s dope, and you can buy that on the streets, at the barber’s, in restaurants. Supply and demand.”

“Don’t I know it.” Rick slouched back for a moment in the chair. “Will Wylde was killed by a rifle with a silencer.”

“Makes sense. Don’t expect me to utter the formulaic phrases concerning his death. I’m not that big a hypocrite.”

“Yes.” Rick had gotten a blast from Harvey during their first questioning session, the evening of the murder. “Remind me again of the circumstances of your rupture.”

“I already told you.” Irritation flashed across Harvey’s face.

“Tell me again,” Rick coolly commanded.

“Like I said”—Harvey’s tone registered his continued irritation—“we started out at Martha Jefferson together. A whole group of us just beginning our careers were there, and we had a pretty lively social group. Of course, we worked like dogs, too, but when we weren’t working we partied hard. Will and I were close then; so were our wives. It helped that we weren’t in competition. He was OB/GYN and I was in oncology. Back then most of us hadn’t started our families, so we had more time to stay up late.”

“Anyone other than you interested in guns?”

“Not that I know of. Golf was the big sport. You don’t need to be entirely sober to play golf, but you’d better damned well be sober if you have a firearm in your hands.”

“Where do you think it all went wrong?”

“Will was attracted to Linda,” he named his first wife, “and she returned the compliment. If you’ve ever seen photographs of Linda, you know she is a knockout. Always will be. Her vanity will ensure that. I was accustomed to men wanting her. I just wasn’t accustomed to her wanting them back.” He paused a moment and then gallantly referred to his current wife. “Mind you, Babs is no slouch.” He folded his hands together. “You want to know the secret of happiness? Marry the right woman.”

“I did.” Rick smiled.

The two men relaxed for a moment.

“Lucky us.” Harvey smiled back.

“How did you find out about them?”

“She told me.”

Rick hadn’t expected that. “She did?”

Harvey threw up his hands. “Oh, I’d caught her in some lame excuses about staying out late. She fessed up. I’ll give her points for honesty.”

“Did you confront Will?”

“Damned straight I did. He lied through his teeth. Affected shock, then hurt, then anger. Quite the performance.”

“How long did your marriage last after that?”

“About two minutes.”

“Given the size of the medical community in this county, the various fund-raisers for disease cures, you must have run into Will and Benita a lot.”

“I did. I was polite. I am a Virginian, after all.”

“A special breed,” Rick sardonically added, since he, too, was one.

“No point in making everyone around you uncomfortable. Babs likes Benita. Well, who doesn’t? Obviously, they weren’t close.”

“How’d you meet Babs?”

“Blind date, would you believe it? At the end of the date—she lived in D.C. then, and I’d drive up to go to the Kennedy Center with her—well, anyway, she looked at me and said, ”You’re not the first man to be betrayed by his wife and best friend. If you stay bitter, they win.“ I drove all the way back to Charlottesville furious. I mean bullshit mad. I got up the next morning and I was going to call her and tell her just what I thought about that statement. When I heard her voice on the line, I knew she was right. I asked her out. Any woman sensitive to me that way, telling me the truth, I wanted to know her.”

“And Will?”

“He knew better than to cast one sidelong glance at her. I swear I would have killed him, and I know I’m under suspicion now.”

“Harvey, did it ever occur to you that Linda lied to you?”

“Why?” His eyes grew larger, since it never had once crossed his mind.

“Some women like to hurt men, like power over us. Maybe she was one of them. She wanted to hurt you.”

As this sunk in, Harvey breathed deeply, then said, “She richly succeeded, but I’m grateful. I found the right woman, and she gave me a daughter who is truly the joy of my life.”

“You never could forgive Will, assuming Linda told you the truth?”

“No. Betrayal is betrayal. Maybe someone else could forgive, but I couldn’t.” He folded his hands together. “In time the wound healed. Scar faded. It’s still there, but I don’t much notice it.”

“You had motive and the skill to kill him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One clean shot straight through the heart.”

“An easy death.” Harvey struggled with conflicting emotions. “So be it.”

“Did you kill Will?”

“No. Wouldn’t it have made sense for me to kill him a long time ago?”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

7

The rain continued, slackening at times only to pick up again. Harry, frustrated since she wanted to paint the tack room in the barn, decided to clean out the trunks in the center aisle. She no sooner opened the first one by the tack room than she closed it.

“It’s too damp.” She looked at Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, all looking up at her. “Let’s make a run for it.”

“Use the umbrella.” Pewter didn’t like getting wet.

“The one in the tack room?” Tucker asked.

“Yes,” Pewter said.

“Has holes in it,” Mrs. Murphy answered.

“Then why doesn’t she throw it out?” Frustrated, Pewter walked to the end of the barn, knowing she’d be drenched by the time she reached the porch door.

Tucker laughed. “Pewter, you know Harry never throws out anything.”

“What can anyone do with a Swiss cheese umbrella?” the gray cat wondered.

“She’ll convince herself that the silk can be cut up and used to patch things.” Mrs. Murphy jumped back as a gust of wind sent rain inside the large open double doors.

“You might want to wait,” Tucker advised Harry, who had jumped back also.

“Know what? Let’s sit in the tack room until the worst of this passes.”

Before the sentence was completed, all three animals rushed to the tack room.

Once inside the cozy little place—its odor of cleaned leather was pleasing to Harry—she knelt down to turn the dial on the small wall heater.

“Chill in the air.” Pewter snuggled on a lambskin saddle pad.

“September can fool you.” Harry dropped into the director’s chair by the old desk.

The phone, an old wall unit, rang. Harry picked it up, smiling when she heard Miranda Hogendobber’s voice. The two had worked together for years at the post office.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Waiting out the rain in the tack room.”

The older woman’s voice was warm. “Going to be a long wait. I called to see how you’re doing. Haven’t seen you at all this week.”

“Busy as cat’s hair.” Harry smiled as Mrs. Murphy hopped onto her lap. “What about you?”

“Pretty much like you. Not enough hours in the day.” She paused. “I liked it better when we saw each other Monday through Friday.”

“Me, too.”

“Isn’t it awful about Will Wylde? I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shock, but I’m starting to think evil is the norm and good is unusual.”

Miranda paused. “Oh, I hope not, but people have changed. They’ll say and do things we would never have done way back in my day.”

“True enough, but I expect even then there were murderers, cranks. You just didn’t have twenty-four-hour media to inundate you. Actually, I think coverage encourages more crime. Just sets nutcases right off. They become antiheroes.” Harry noticed a mouse pop out from behind the tack trunk up against the wall, the one containing her special coolers. “I haven’t seen the news or read the paper today. Spent the morning at a vestry-board meeting. Anything new?”

“No. Mim’s in a tiz.” Miranda mentioned her old friend, Big Mim Sanburne, a very wealthy and imperious resident of Crozet.

Although only a size 4, Mim was called Big because her daughter—same name—was called Little.

Many whispered “the Queen of Crozet” behind Big Mim’s back.

“About Will?”

“She can’t stand things like that. I know there are times when she can pluck my last nerve, but she does have a strong sense of justice. She’s been on the phone canvassing everyone since she found out.”

“What does she think she’ll find that Rick won’t?”

“She believes people will tell her things they might not tell the sheriff, especially other women.” Miranda summed up Big Mim’s thoughts.

“She has a point there,” Harry conceded.

“And the other thing is, she’s furious at Little Mim, so furious she won’t speak to her.”

This past summer Little Mim had married a male model, Blair Bainbridge. Her mother spent a small fortune on her daughter’s exquisite wedding, a second marriage at that, and she expected obedience. But then, Mim expected obedience from everyone.

“Now what?” Harry, like everyone else in Crozet, was accustomed to family spats.

“Little Mim won’t make a statement declaring a woman has a right to choose and this murder is horrible.”

Harry was incredulous. “I can’t believe that.” She thought a minute. “Well, no one has come forward to say they shot Will because he terminated pregnancies. She may be prudent.”

“Prudent! She told Big Mim she’s the vice mayor of Crozet, elected as a member of the Republican Party, and her mother knows perfectly well the party plank about overturning Roe v. Wade. Now, mind you, I am very uncomfortable with this, and as you know, the Church of the Holy Light is dead set against abortion.” Miranda was a member of the small charismatic church. “But I’m not eighteen. I’m far from the danger of an unwanted pregnancy. Well, anyway, you know what I think about all this. It’s Little Mim who’s the fly in the ointment. Mim says if her daughter doesn’t make some kind of statement, she is all but countenancing such a dreadful deed.”

“Mim’s right. There’s no reason that Little Mim can’t say she feels deep sympathy for the Wylde family and she finds such an action repugnant. She doesn’t have to go on about Roe v. Wade.”

“She’s dug her pointy toes in. Of course, her father made a statement immediately.”

“Saw that.”

Jim Sanburne was the mayor of Crozet and a Democrat. It complicated family life as well as the running of the town.

“And Mim says that Little Mim and Blair can’t sit at her table for the Poplar Forest fund-raisers. So Little Mim said she wouldn’t go, and Big Mim about tore her hair out by the roots. I mean, I never heard such a thing, and the only reason I heard it is I was at Mim’s to discuss her zinnias as well as this new kind of chestnut tree she is determined to plant, but that’s neither here nor there. I tell you what, sweetie, it was scalding.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“My ears are still ringing. Anyway, Big Mim said if her daughter and her son-in-law missed the fund-raiser—one dear to Mim’s heart—that she would cut her off without a penny.”

“Big Mim said that?”

“Did. Indeed she did, and I tell you what, we’ve been friends for all of our seventy-some years and I have never, ever heard Mimsy threaten her child like that. It’s beyond comprehension. I mean, over this?”

But it wasn’t beyond comprehension. Harry, Little Mim’s contemporary, knew that Little Mim had had an abortion in her sophomore year at college. No one knew except Susan and Harry, not even Miranda.

“This is pretty upsetting.”

“Yes it is, because for one thing, how can Little Mim sit at anyone else’s table? Whoever invites her will be in her mother’s bad books, and no one is that foolish.”

“What a mess.” Harry sighed. “It’s a week until the ball. Maybe it will work out.”

“I hope so, because it will cast a pall over the whole evening. As if what’s just happened isn’t bad enough.”

“Can’t you talk to Mim?”

“I can and I will. Will you talk to Little Mim?”

Harry gulped. She hated to get in the middle of things. “Yes. I’m not very persuasive, but I’ll try.”

“It’s so important. For everyone. This is a time when we all must stick together.”

After hanging up the phone, Harry regretted her promise. A promise made must be a promise kept. The rain accentuated her unease.

“I can’t just sit here. Come on. To the truck. Make a run for it, kids.”

They dashed out, splattering as they ran. Harry opened the driver’s door and lifted up Tucker as the two cats hopped in. She sat where wet paws had marked the seat, but so what.

Within twenty minutes she had pulled into the crowded parking lot of Keller George on Millmont Avenue. Other people must have decided to use a rainy day to shop.

Harry had left off her father’s old rectangular Bulova watch for repair. It was the only watch she wore.

As she breezed through the doors, she saw Marilyn Nash from Waynesboro, talking with Kylie Kraft. Both women did rescue work for their county’s respective animal shelters.

“Harry.” Marilyn waved.

“What made you come over the mountain in the rain?” Harry smiled.

“Present for Lauren.”

Lauren was Marilyn’s teenage daughter.

Kylie kept admiring the watch on her wrist, as Bill Leibenrod, the manager, folded his hands behind his back.

“I just love it,” Kylie gushed.

Marilyn, who had been admiring the gold Rolex with the heavy gold link band, said, “Fits you.”

“I have to have it.”

Harry, knowing full well that watch cost at least nineteen thousand dollars, couldn’t restrain her shock. “Kylie, do you know how much that costs?”

“I do. My boyfriend told me to buy whatever I wanted, and he gave me a blank check. Can you believe it?”

“Best to keep that boyfriend,” Marilyn noted wryly, a slight Texas twang to her speech.

She wasn’t raised in Richardson, Texas, for nothing. But there a Rolex was called a Texas Timex.

As Kylie squealed and hugged herself, red curls bobbing, Bill winked at Harry and Marilyn, moved from behind the counter, and motioned for Kylie to follow. He headed for the cash register.

“Jesus H. Christ on a raft,” Harry said under her breath. “I could build a big new hay shed for that.”

“You could. Most people couldn’t.” Marilyn laughed, because she knew how practical and tight with money Harry could be.

Harry smiled. “Marilyn, not three days ago she was flattened with grief because Will had been shot, and here she is all giddy and silly over a watch.”

“It is a very nice watch. Common enough but nice, and they do last.”

“I’ll never know,” Harry flatly stated. “I came to pick up my dad’s watch. Howard is back there somewhere.” She nodded in the direction of the closed door where the “surgeons,” as she thought of them, worked.

Both Marilyn and Harry knew Howard because he was a bird aficionado, raising many with the help of his wife. He was also a Vietnam vet and tough despite his mild exterior.

“If anyone can fix your dad’s watch, it’s Howard.” Marilyn took a deep breath. “A terrible thing, what happened to Will Wylde.” She glanced at Kylie leaning over the counter as Bill rang up the sum. “No one has ever accused Kylie of being a deep well.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“Well, will I see you at Poplar Forest?”

“You will. Can’t wait to see what you’re wearing. I know what Urbie will wear.” Harry grinned, because the men would be in black tie.

“Men have it so easy.”

“They sure do. One good tux, one good dinner jacket, white for summer, one set of tails for white tie, and, if he’s really social, a morning suit.”

“And if he’s not social, all he needs is a pair of jeans. Doesn’t even need a shirt.”

“Marilyn, we’re being abused.” Harry affected anger.

“I don’t think the men would mind if you just wore jeans.”

Harry laughed. “Well, my husband would pitch a fit, but how wonderful it must feel on a hot day to be out there without your shirt, sweating, and a soft breeze comes up. Must be heaven.”

The two women caught up, compared notes, then Marilyn walked over to the repair section of the store with Harry. They both waved as Kylie skipped out.

On the way back to Crozet, Harry’s mind returned to what she’d promised Miranda. Despite Pewter’s begging for Harry to stop at the market and pick up treats, Harry kept her mind on her worry.

Harry’s husband had been covering for another vet who was on vacation. When Fair came home, she recounted the conversation. In fact, she was so focused on talking about Little Mim, she forgot to tell him about Kylie buying a gold Rolex. He listened intently.

“Fair?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Say something.”

“I’m thinking. It’s sticky.” He sliced a succulent cooked chicken. He’d stopped on the way home and bought supper, along with treats for “the kids.”

“I don’t want Big Mim mad at me.”

“She isn’t going to be mad at you. You’re trying to bring Little Mim around.”

“What if I fail—and I probably will?”

“First of all, baby doll, don’t underrate yourself. Tell yourself you’re going to succeed. And if, for some reason, you don’t, Big Mim will know you tried your best. Here.” He handed her a heaping plate.

While they listened to the conversation, the cats, on the counter, chewed their chicken bits with delight, as did Tucker, who loved chicken almost as much as beef.

Harry, with a small voice, said, “Will you go with me? I know you can’t be part of the conversation but I’d feel better if you were close by.”

“Of course I will. You talk to Little Mim by yourself, I’ll chat with Blair. I was going to drop by, anyway, because Alicia gave me some cigars today and I thought he’d enjoy a good smoke.”

“Horses okay?”

“Fine. She dropped by the office. Actually, that damned place was Grand Central today. Only had one call, a client of Dean’s.” Dean Vargas was the vet who’d taken the weekend off. “But every time I turned around, someone was walking through the door.”

Harry exhaled. “I feel much better now. I really didn’t want to go over there by myself.” She filled her fork with sliced green beans. “These are good. Why do you think people were coming by the office on a Saturday?”

“Oh, hunt season’s started, so some people had questions about this and that, some wanted to pick up vitamin supplements, and all of them wanted to talk. The murder has upset everyone. Will was a much-loved man, and he delivered half the people we know.”

“Do you think there’s a chance his murder has nothing at all to do with abortion?”

“It’s possible.” He nodded. “Back to your conversation with Miranda: she’s right. If Little Mim won’t come around, it will make the ball difficult socially. Who would dare cross Mim and host Little Mim after this?”

“Someone who wants to challenge the queen,” Mrs. Murphy sagely noted.

8

Rose Hill, harking back to 1810, was nestled under a low ridge, this ridge being the last line before the Blue Ridge Mountains rose up in their ancient glory. Eons ago these were the highest mountains in the world.

The drive to the lovely peach-painted clapboard house, four miles from Harry’s farm as the crow flies, took a little longer on the two-lane state road.

The pink, red, yellow, and white climbing roses on the stone fences enlivened the winding drive. The rain had ended at four this Sunday morning, September 21, leaving a sheen on everything. Fair drove slowly, and Harry could see tiny raindrops tucked into the folds of the rose blooms.

She’d called Little Mim last night after supper, and Little Mim said she’d be happy to see her. Harry felt that her friend needed to give her side of the story to someone sympathetic, which Harry was, although she truly believed the vice mayor needed to make a forceful public statement.

Aunt Tally, silver-headed cane in hand, greeted them at the door. In her nineties, Big Mim’s mother’s sister had deeded her wonderful farm to Little Mim and Blair, with the proviso that she had life estate. The newlyweds lived in a stone two-story cottage one hundred yards from the main house, with a glorious formal garden between the structures. Aunt Tally’s high spirits bubbled over even more ebulliently, because she loved having them near.

Old as she was, she evidenced not a jot of slowing down, apart from the cane, which she needed thanks to years of riding and a bit of hip damage. Nor did she pop pills. Long ago, in her forties, she discovered the medicinal benefits of doping her coffee. Each morning she poured in a dollop of Bombay Sapphire gin, another hit at noon, and one true cocktail when the sun passed over the yardarm. Worked a treat.

“Aren’t you the best,” Aunt Tally enthused as Harry handed her a bottle of Bombay Sapphire adorned with a huge blue bow. “Come on in.” As she led them toward the sunroom, she asked, “What did you think of Herb’s sermon this morning?”

Fair answered, “Provocative.”

“But dead on.” She swung out her cane, then planted it on the hard maple floors.

Old maple trees still dotted the landscape of the original land grant.

“What he said about the sanctity of life was eloquent. That voice of his, you know—well, you believe everything that comes out of his mouth. Voice like Orson Welles. Maybe better.” Aunt Tally nodded as she sat down in a large, comfortable “summer” chair, which meant intricately woven willow, graced with wonderfully comfortable pillows.

“Doodles.” Harry greeted the year-old Gordon setter.

“You know, when my old buddy died I just went to pieces. Swore I’d never have another dog. Then every time I’d visit Alicia I noticed how lovely her Gordon setter was. When she gave me a puppy I was half thrilled. Now I’m all thrilled.” She smiled. “I think I’ll always have a Gordon setter.” She paused. “Where are your three hooligans?”

“In the truck.” Harry leaned back in the seductive chair. She could have fallen asleep.

“Well, for goodness sake, bring them in.”

“Their paws will be wet,” Fair said.

“That’s what mops are for.” Aunt Tally lifted up her cane like a marshal’s baton.

“I’ll get them, honey.” Fair stood up, then left the room.

“Smartest thing you ever did, remarrying that divinely handsome man. He’s a good man.”

“He is.”

Aunt Tally, shockingly white hair in a French twist, leaned forward. “Hell to pay. I’m so glad you’ve come over to talk to Little Mim. I know you’ll try to get her to come ‘round, and I quite agree.” She shook her head. “Don’t think she’ll do it. She finally has an issue where she can square off against my niece, the tyrant, and it won’t look like a mother-daughter blowup.” She inhaled deeply. “Which, of course, it is.”

“It’s delicate.”

Aunt Tally leaned even farther forward. “I know exactly why, which is why I’m glad Fair went out to the truck. She told me everything. Riven with guilt. I understand—I do, you know.”

“Yes, Aunt Tally, you would know better than anyone how painful this can be.”

Tally had had an affair with Harry’s grandfather, a rollicking handsome devil of a man. Tally’s father put a stop to the affair and broke his daughter’s heart. The pain subsided, the scar remained.

“You and Susan are the only other people who know. Blair knows nothing, and I told her to keep it that way.”

“Right.”

“We’re here!” In raced Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter, although the gray cat, in sight of the humans, slowed down to affect a nonchalant entrance.

“I have a fuzzy toy! Wanna see?” The glistening Gordon setter immediately picked up a well-worn green froggie, which Tucker grasped for tug-of-war.

“I wouldn’t dirty my mouth with that thing,” Pewter sniffed.

“Me, neither.” Mrs. Murphy found a wet, chewed toy unappealing. “Wouldn’t mind a ham biscuit.”

“Think she has some?” Pewter showed some excitement.

“Aunt Tally always has ham biscuits and cheese straws,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

“She can keep the cheese straws” Pewter hated those things almost as much as a slobbery toy.

Fair didn’t sit down, but he said, “I’ll go over to Blair.” He patted his sport-coat pocket, where the cigars were. He couldn’t wait to try the H. Upmann Corona Junior. He also had a Romeo y Julieta Short Churchill for Blair.

Just as he left, Little Mim came in and kissed Aunt Tally as well as Harry on the cheek.

The two younger women, quite different in temperament and not good friends as children, had grown closer over the years. Both were remarried months apart, so discussing their upcoming weddings had brought out the happy side of each woman.

“Precious, there’s a tray in the fridge. Would you bring it in? And the lemonade and tea, too?”

“Of course.”

Tally’s maid—really a majordomo—had Sundays off.

When Little Mim returned, Aunt Tally gracefully excused herself under the pretext of catching up on her correspondence. Well, she did go to the den and sit at her desk, but not before she swept past the bar and poured a shot of gin in her iced tea. Sounds awful, but tasted divine to Aunt Tally. On Sundays she allowed herself some extra liquid cheer.

“I’m glad you came. Mother’s being a beast, as only she can be, but this time it’s the worst. The worst!” Little Mim launched right in.

“She does have a habit of living all our lives for us. Must get exhausting.” Harry lifted her iced tea in tribute. “In her defense, she’s often right. Look how she bore down on me for years to remarry Fair.”

“She was right about that,” Little Mim ruefully conceded. “But not about this.”

“Are you worried that it will look as though you’re breaking from the party?”

“Yes and no. We all know that right now the party looks like the Party of Hatefulness and Repression.” She flopped back in the chair, but didn’t spill a drop of her drink. “Going to take us a long, long time to overcome the legacy of Karl Rove and Company.”

“The problem was, he was effective in getting people elected. The radical Christian right is about five million people out of almost three hundred million, but they are organized and well funded. Rove gave them a political focus. The ends justify the means.”

“Do you believe that?” Little Mim raised her eyebrow, looking very much like her good-looking, perfectly coiffed mother.

“No, but millions of Republicans do. They aren’t right wing, but they’d rather have a Republican in office no matter what they have to do to get him or her there.”

“It’s going to cost us power, for a long time. Two election terms, at least. I need to walk a fine line. I didn’t come in on right-wing coattails, but I soft-pedaled. Well, you know that. You remonstrated with me.”

“We did have a good fight about that, didn’t we?”

“Ned Tucker’s always good for a fuss, too, but since he’s a Democrat that’s to be expected. He’s doing a good job down there in Richmond, and Aunt Tally counsels me not to buck him and not to run against him, so we have to divide up who will run for what and when. I fully intend to become the first woman governor of this state.”

“You will.” Harry relaxed a little.

“Give me your pitch, Harry.” Little Mim smiled slightly.

“Oh, you know.” Harry shrugged. “This terrible shooting of Will Wylde is a Pandora’s box. It’s let out fear, recrimination, wild rumor. We need to pray retribution doesn’t follow, especially since there’s no perp in sight.”

“That scares me. Although, you know, Harvey Tillach was there around the time of the shooting.”

“Well, Sheriff Shaw hasn’t arrested him. We have to assume the killer is loose.”

“Or killers. This could be the work of a group,” Little Mim said.

“Because there’s so much rumor and fear, you should speak to the press. You don’t have to come out in favor of abortion. You only need to decry violence.”

“Any statement I make, I’m going to be grilled. I’ll be forced into a discussion about abortion.” Little Mim reached for a thin lemon wedge to drop in her tea glass, which she refilled. “More?”

“No, I’m fine.” Harry felt a heavy kitty run right across her foot.

Pewter had found a little ball that emitted a glow when rolled. Mrs. Murphy ran alongside her, but Pewter, good at kitty soccer, maintained possession with fancy dribbling.

“Harry, you understand.”

“I do. I do, but it seems to me you’ll be grilled anyway, sooner or later. It’s one of those hot-button issues used to divert us from the real issues, the ones no one has the guts to solve.”

Little Mim smiled appreciatively. “I’m not afraid of them. But I’d like to sidestep or downplay all the fluff stuff.”

“Yep.” Harry leaned back and stretched out her feet. “If people want to get farted up about abortion, homosexual marriage, whatever, let them settle it in church. Doesn’t belong in politics.” She crossed her feet at the ankles just as Pewter, reversing field, leapt over them, as did Mrs. Murphy. “Do you really want to go to war with your mother?”

“Oh,” Little Mim waved her hand dismissively, “it’s always something with Mother.”

Finally Harry fired her arrow. “Are you sure your reluctance isn’t because of your history?”

Flushing suddenly, Little Mim almost barked, “Don’t tell me the personal is political. I hear that from Herself all the time. And she knows nothing.”

“All I know is this is a deeply personal issue and many women have to face it. It’s been made political. You faced it.” Harry lowered her voice.

A long pause followed where the only sounds were the cats batting the ball—since Mrs. Murphy had managed to snag it, then Pewter got it back—the dogs joyously tossing the fuzzy, and the pronounced breathing of Little Mim.

“I feel terrible. I was wrong. You heard Herb’s sermon today about the sanctity of life, but the issue is when life begins. We all agree it’s sacred, or at least Christians do.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Better never say that in public.”

“Just think what your Buddhist constituency would say.” Harry couldn’t resist the dig, although the Sangsters, remarkable souls, were the few Buddhists in Crozet.

Little Mim folded her hands. “If I’m pushed by my constituency, I will say something. But I won’t do it because of Mother. I just won’t.” Her jaw jutted outward.

“Back to feeling guilty: you were a sophomore in college. How could you have cared for a child? You weren’t ready.”

“Millions of other women do it.”

“They do, but you,” Harry chose her words carefully, “you are highly educated. You could make choices. Many of those other women really can’t, the law notwithstanding. And what comes of it? Poverty. A cycle of poverty that’s hard to break, and we all know the men tend to leave.”

“Yes, for the most part they do.”

“I don’t think men have any right to vote on women’s reproductive decisions. I feel the same way in reverse. What if vasectomy became a political issue? I don’t believe you or I should vote on it. I don’t have a right to make decisions about a man’s body.”

“But we did when we sent them to war through the draft.” Little Mim hit the bull’s-eye.

“Yes, but those days are gone.” Harry considered this. “And being drafted wasn’t about their reproductive equipment or their future as fathers.”

“Fine line, I think.”

“It’s absurd, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The times in which we live. Do you think other Americans see the contradictions and the corruption?”

Little Mim took a long sip. “I do, but no one has emerged to focus the anger, to build for the future. Most of what’s done is Band-Aids. It’s going to take tremendous courage to reform root and branch.”

“Think you can do it?”

“Yes.”

“You know, you’re a lot like your mother.”

Little Mim sat bolt upright. “No woman ever wants to hear that!” Then she flopped back. “But I suppose there’s some truth to it. I wish I were more extroverted, like Dad. I have to work at this shake-and-howdy stuff.”

“You’re doing great. Well, I’ve said what I had to say. Obviously, your mother will hear all about it.”

“She sent you?”

“No. She wouldn’t do that. Miranda asked me to talk to you, because she’s worried that this will cause social rifts, and she’s worried about the fund-raiser for Poplar Forest. She told me your mother said you couldn’t sit at her table.”

“Mother is being very petty. She also threatened to cut me out of her will. Go ahead, Mother. Just go ahead.” Little Mim waved her hand. “Aunt Tally named me as her heir, and that’s half the family fortune. It would kill Mother for me to be completely independent.”

“Little Mim, none of us is ever completely independent of our mother. Even Hitler couldn’t shake his love and grief over his mother’s early death.”

“I can try,” she uttered defiantly. “Come on, let’s go to the cottage. Blair and I are building an addition. You haven’t seen the plan.” As they left the main house, Little Mim called out, “Aunt Tally, we’re going to the cottage.”

“All right, dear. Good to see you, Harry.”

“Good to see you, Aunt Tally.”

The formal gardens, with their boxwood clipped and crisp, overflowed with fall flowers. Aunt Tally kept up the old spring gardens, summer gardens, and fall gardens laid out with such thoughtfulness back in 1834. Her additions to the original plan were to have climbing roses on every fence line and over the old stone outbuildings and to nurture shiny dark-green ivy to embrace the gorgeous stone stables.

Those stables finally housed four horses. Like all horsewomen, the first thing Little Mim did when she moved into the cottage was to refurbish the stables, fallow since 1982. Blair attacked the cottage, realizing, thanks to Harry, that horse people are in the grip of an obsession not addressed by logic.

Doodles—the fuzzy in his mouth—Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter scampered throughout the garden path, which was brick laid in a herringbone pattern. Pewter hated to leave the glowing ball behind, but outdoors provided the chance to snag a bug or maybe something bigger.

Then something bigger slithered right across her path: a four-foot blacksnake.

“Snake!” Pewter froze in her tracks.

Mrs. Murphy pounced on the tail, which made the large snake curl up.

“Don’t you dare,” Harry reprimanded her tiger cat. “Blacksnakes are friends.”

“Oh, bother.” Mrs. Murphy stepped backward.

The snake, flicking out his pink tongue, murmured, “I catch more mice than you do.” With that, he disappeared under the periwinkle ground cover.

“What an insult!” Mrs. Murphy puffed out her tail, but Harry paid her no mind.