The Purrfect Murder

“We’re home.” Little Mim threw open the cottage door, painted royal blue, as were the shutters.

“In the back,” Blair called out.

The wives came out on the patio to find two happy men, wreathed in smoke, drinks in hand.

“I want to show Harry and Fair what we’re doing.”

Blair stood up, kissed Harry on the cheek. “Let me get the plans.” He disappeared inside, then reappeared, unrolling the plans on the wrought-iron-and-glass table.

“It’s a two-pronged attack.” Little Mim pointed to the south side of the cottage, where one bedroom now existed. “We can use the existing door so we don’t have to tear out stone, and we’ll create a master suite on that end, which will be warmer in winter than building on the north side.” She moved her finger to the west, to the patio on which they now stood. “Here we’ll build a great room and a new patio. No point in missing all those gorgeous sunsets over the Blue Ridge. I mean, I just love Aunt Tally’s view, so this will be our smaller view.”

“What will you do when Aunt Tally finally goes to her reward? This place will be wonderful,” Harry wondered aloud.

“We’ll move into Rose Hill, of course, and then we have to decide whether to make this part of a farm manager’s package or to rent it. Always nice to produce a little income.” Little Mim, though rich, respected profit and thought squandering resources sinful.

This view was shared by her mother except in practice. If Big Mim wanted something, she bought it. Her daughter would search relentlessly for the best bargain and, if she couldn’t find it, would do without.

“This farm isn’t what it used to be.” Blair slipped his arm around Little Mim’s small waist. “Given her age, Aunt Tally has done yeoman’s labor, but we want fields of corn, better grades of hay, cattle, and you know, Harry, you’ve inspired us to try a small vineyard.”

“I have?”

“You certainly have.” Little Mim smiled. “I remember when I was a girl how this place hummed. Tractors running, fences being painted, stone fences being repaired. Fabulous Thoroughbreds playing in the pastures. Aunt Tally bred great horses. Remember?”

“I do.” Harry nodded, as did Fair. “And Aunt Tally always gave us a Dr Pepper or Co-Cola.”

“You taught me a lot when I was your neighbor.” Blair smiled warmly at Harry. “Now that Mim and I are married, I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I want to be right here with my beautiful bride. I think with a little luck and a lot of hard work, we can make a bit of money. Neither of us believes in hobby farming.”

“Good for you.” Fair slapped him on the back. “Besides, with Little Mim’s whole political career in front of her, having you here will help. You see things differently than we do, because you weren’t raised here.”

“He’s so smart.” Little Mim was besotted with her gorgeous husband.

“When do you start?”

“Tomorrow morning. Mark Greenfield’s company has the project. He doesn’t waste money.”

“No. That’s a wise choice.” Harry liked Greenfield ICF Services. “The trick is to get Tony Long as your county inspector, not Mike McElvoy.”

Blair exhaled. “That’s a roll of the dice. You should hear Carla Paulson, Folly Steinhauser, Penny Lattimore, or even Elise Brennan on the subject of Mike. Elise, whom I’ve never seen show temper, blew like Mt. Vesuvius on the subject.” Blair shook his head. “Well, we’ll just deal with it when we deal with it. My concern right now is that the stonework matches the original.”

“That will be tough,” Fair said.

It would, too, but stonework would be the least of their problems.

9

Amazing how heavy your boots get when they’re caked with mud.“ Harry lifted up a foot, displaying the red clay embedded in the sole.

Fair lifted up his right foot, his work boot covered with wet red clay, too. “Could be worse.”

“Like what?”

“Oil sludge. Then we’d slip across the field.” He pushed his baseball cap down over his eyes, for the sun was fierce. “Your black-seed sunflowers are about ready.”

“Grey Stripe, too.” Harry, hands on hips, surveyed the seven-foot giants, their massive golden heads pointed straight up to the sun. “You know,” she grabbed his hand, “I love this. I wish I’d quit work at the post office years ago.” She paused. “Course, I don’t know if I’m going to make a dime, but I truly love it.”

“Well, you know you won’t make any money on the grapes. You have to let the fruit hang until it falls off this first year.”

“I know. Seems so wasteful, but if Patricia Kluge tells me what to do with my Petit Manseng, I’d better do it. The foxes will be happy.”

“Yes, they will. They’ll start eating the grapes even before they fall.”

“The one that makes me laugh is Simon.” Harry mentioned the opossum who lived in the hayloft along with Matilda, the blacksnake, and Flatface, the owl. “He’s got a sweet tooth.”

Matilda—no sweet tooth there—was actually on her hunting range. The large circle that she made around the barn and the house took up spring and summer. She’d return to her place in the hayloft in another three weeks. Right now she was hanging from a limb in the huge walnut tree in front of the house. It pleased her to frighten the humans and the animals when they finally caught sight of her. Nor was she above dropping onto someone’s shoulders, which always provoked a big scream. Then she’d shoot off.

Harry and Fair walked over to the pendulous, glistening grapes. Although the vines would produce better with each year, Harry was delighted with what her first year had brought.

Fair draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Abundance.”

“Lifts the heart. I was worried that yesterday’s hard rain would just pepper these guys right off the vine.”

“Tougher than you thought.”

They turned for the barn. The four mares and foals lazed in their pasture. The three hunt horses and Shortro, a gray three-year-old saddlebred, munched away, pointedly ignoring the youngsters born in March. Every now and then, a little head would reach over the fence to stare at one of the “big boys.”

Tomahawk, the most senior of the hunters, looked back at the bright chestnut filly begging him to play with her along the fence line.

“Worm” he said, returning to the serious business of eating.

“Momma, do you know what he called me?” The little girl romped back to her mother, a patient soul.

“Oh, he gets all grand and airy. Pay him no mind.” She touched noses with her child.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, who were walking ahead of the humans, heard the exchange.

Pewter called out, “He’s a meanie.”

“Shut up, fatso.” Tomahawk raised his head.

“When’s the last time you got on the scale?” Pewter noticed a big belly.

“Pewter, leave him alone,” Mrs. Murphy counseled. “If you irritate him he’ll start picking the locks on the gates. That’s the only horse I’ve ever known who can actually open a kiwi lock.”

A kiwi lock, shaped like a comma, slipped into a round ring secured on the post. A smaller ring then flipped up on the comma to securely hold it in place and to prevent horses from opening the lock, something for which the species evidenced a marked talent. Tomahawk would work the kiwi with his lips. Granted, it took him at least an hour—his determination remarkable—but he would finally release the little ring, then pluck the kiwi out of the big ring and push the gate open with his nose. Off he’d go, tail straight out, to rush around the pastures. After doing this enough times to become both tired and bored, he’d walk into the barn, go to his stall, flop down on his side, and sleep, complete with musical snoring.

It infuriated the other horses that they couldn’t pick the locks.

Just as Harry and Fair reached the barn, Coop drove up in an old beat-up pickup truck she’d bought so she could haul stuff. A deputy’s slender salary prevented her from purchasing a new truck, much as she lusted after one.

“Hey,” Harry greeted her.

“Didn’t get you on the phone, so I thought I’d come over.”

“Need a hand with anything?” Fair asked.

“No. I wanted to tell you we’ve heard from Will Wylde’s killer.” She paused, while the other two held their breath for a moment without realizing they were doing so. “No name. No anything except he—I assume it’s a he—says he has the list of all Will’s patients over the years and he is going to do to them what they did to the unborn.”

“What?”

“Dropped off an envelope sealed with Scotch tape—obviously he’s smart enough not to lick the envelope. Dropped it in Rick’s mailbox at his house. Smart there, too. Too big a risk to leave it at the station, even in the middle of the night.”

“Good God.” Fair was aghast.

“He could be bluffing.”

“Harry, he could, but I keep coming back to someone on the inside. It’s not that hard for a nurse or office manager to steal files. Everything is on a disc. How hard is it to copy it and give it to our killer?”

“True.” Fair was more computer literate than Harry, but she was pretty good at doing agricultural research on her computer.

“Thank heaven,” Harry whispered, “I’ve never had an abortion.”

“Me, either. But there are so many women who have and no one knows. Apart from the danger if he does make good on his threat, what about the mess in their personal lives?”

“Are you going to make this public?”

“Well, that’s not my decision, but I don’t see how Rick can keep it quiet. It’s important to the case, and people must take precautions.”

“This could destroy marriages, careers.” Harry wiped the sweat pouring down her brow. “There are an awful lot of women in this county keeping a secret.”

“Exactly.” Coop leaned against the truck’s grille. “We’ve got to catch this guy.”

“If he starts killing women, you will, but let’s pray he trips up before that.” Fair felt sick about the threat.

“Why now?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?” Coop respected Harry’s mind.

“Why kill now? Will Wylde has been practicing medicine in our county for three decades. What’s set off this person?”

“Could be he’s found out his wife or girlfriend had an abortion and didn’t tell him,” Fair stated logically.

“Or it could be his mind is deteriorating in some fashion,” Harry thought out loud.

“Like drugs?” Coop had seen plenty of what booze and drugs can do to the human brain.

“That, but sometimes the mind goes when it’s diseased and the person doesn’t know. He thinks his thoughts and actions are normal. That’s the truly frightening thing about being crazy: so often the person doesn’t know. And sometimes a head injury can change a person’s personality,” Fair informed them.

Harry turned to Coop. “You might want to check the experts on this. I guess psychiatrists would be a good place to start.”

“I will. Either way, if this guy is a raving lunatic or a political fanatic, we’ve got major problems.”

“Coop, come on in. It’s sweltering out here.” Harry touched Fair’s hand.

As they walked into the house, Matilda, eyes glittering, swayed gently on her limb. Mrs. Murphy glanced up at her but said nothing.

They were grateful to come into the kitchen, the large overhead fan cooling the room. Harry refused to put in air-conditioning, because she thought going from cool air to the hot outside all the time made you sick. Fair knew in time he could wear her down. As it was, the fans in the house helped, but sometimes all they did was push around humid air.

“The statement?” Coop gratefully took a beer offered her by Fair as she queried Harry.

“We drove over this morning after church. Harry tried.” He shrugged.

“It’s the talk of the town: the murder and the face-off between Big Mim and Little Mim.” She swallowed straight from the bottle. “Perfect.”

“A cold beer on a hot day, one of life’s little pleasures.” Fair sipped his, too.

After Cooper left, Harry called Little Mim and gave her the news so she could be calm when she heard it from the sheriff.

“Mother is probably being briefed by Rick as we speak,” Little Mim replied, trying to push down the rising terror.

Rick had learned the hard way to keep Big Mim informed. Part of it was because she felt she ran the town along with the western part of the county; part of it was because she knew a great deal that a sheriff might not know and could be helpful. In this case, she was blissfully ignorant of her daughter’s dilemma.

“She’ll come out both guns blazing.”

“She will.” Little Mim reached down to touch Doodle’s glossy head. Touching the dog reassured her, calmed her. “Harry, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it, but, Little Mim, please, please be careful, and whatever you do, don’t lose your temper with your mother.”

Easier said than done.

10

Yesterday’s rains had scrubbed the sky, and the cleanness of the air intoxicated Mrs. Murphy as she sat on a paddock fence post, gazing at the twilight. Pewter perched on another fence post, and Tucker sat on the ground.

Around the time of the autumnal equinox, the light began to change slightly, the winds from the west began to hum low over the mountains, and summer’s thick haze melted as if on command. Even the humans noticed.

The nights grew cooler, the days shorter. Animals stepped lively, the vital business of securing food for the winter taking precedence for squirrels and other hoarders. The foxes, who usually found fresh supplies, created bigger caches just in case.

This Sunday evening, the fiery sunset splashed red gold across the western horizon. It was all the more dramatic as the Blue Ridge Mountains deepened from blue to cobalt in front of Apollo’s show. Now streaks of pink and lavender enlivened the deepening velvet of oncoming night.

“I love this time,” Mrs. Murphy purred.

“Me, too. The big moths come out,” Pewter said.

“You’ve never caught a moth, not even a rosy maple, and they sit still on boxwoods for a long time,” Tucker taunted Pewter.

“I didn’t say I wanted to catch one. I like to look at them and smell them.” The gray cat lifted her chin. “Since when have you caught anything, bubble butt?”

“I don’t hunt, I herd.” Tucker’s large brown eyes were merry. “If you’d jump down, I’d herd you.”

“You and what army? One swipe from my razor-sharp claws and your nose will look like a plowed field.” Pewter lifted the fur on her back for effect.

“Shut up,” Mrs. Murphy snapped. She was intently looking way across all the fields toward the creek that separated Harry’s farm, which had always been in her paternal family, from the farm that Cooper rented, which originally belonged to Herb Jones’s ancestors.

Pewter widened her pupils. She then saw the shuffling movement about a half mile away. The bear that lived up in the hardwoods behind the farm was moving toward the high ridges. They knew this bear; she’d had two cubs, which would be full grown and on hunting missions of their own by now. Sometimes the families would stay close, but usually they established their own hunting territories. Fortunately, this year game was plentiful.

“Think she’d remember us?” Pewter whispered.

“Sure. Bears are smart.” Mrs. Murphy respected the large, usually gentle bear.

Then again, she was grateful that grizzlies lived in the west and not Virginia. The native bears usually kept to themselves and were no bother, although they might rip out the side of a clapboard house if a bees’ nest was behind it.

“I can’t see,” Tucker complained.

“Runt.” Pewter giggled.

“You can be hateful, you know that?” Tucker sat down, resting her head on the lowest plank of the three-board fence.

A slight rustle picked all their heads up. Talons extended, Flatface, the great horned owl, flew not one inch over Pewter’s head. It scared the cat so badly, she soared off the fence post, rolling in the fragrant white clover.

“Hoo hoc” The huge bird laughed, tipped a wing in greeting, and continued on her way.

Tonight would be perfect for hunting.

“That was mean!” Pewter scrambled to her feet, tiny bits of grass stuck in her claws.

“You know how she is.” Tucker marveled at how silently the winged predator could fly.

“Makes me think of Matilda and Simon. Those three live in the loft and everyone gets along,” Pewter said. “How they can get along with her, I don’t know.”

“They get along because Flatface rules the roost, forgive the obvious statement,” Mrs. Murphy replied. “And Simon really is a generous fellow. He’ll share treats with Flatface. Matilda doesn’t like the sweets, but the owl will eat them. Course, Matilda usually goes into a semi-hibernation state. Have you noticed she’s been on that tree limb for two days?”

“She’s waiting for a victim.” Tucker smiled.

“Oh,” Pewter said airily, “she doesn’t scare me. You can hear the leaves when she drops. I always know it’s her.”

Neither Mrs. Murphy nor Tucker responded. Each was praying Matilda would drop on the fat cat and they’d be there to witness the explosion.

The sky turned from deep blue to Prussian blue and finally to black. The stars glittered brightly, and the three friends picked out blue ones, pink ones, yellow ones, and stark white ones. They hadn’t seen the stars this bright for the last three months, since the summer’s haze dropped its veil over the sky, even at night.

“Whenever a human is murdered, the apple cart is upset. Ever notice?” Tucker mused.

“Like dominoes set on end. Push one and they all fall down,” Mrs. Murphy commented. “But if a dog was shot, we’d be upset. We’d want to find out who did it and make them pay.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Pewter, back up on the fence post, picked the tiny grass bits from her claws. “Even if a human gets caught, they get off most of the time, if they’re rich. If they aren’t rich, they sit in jail, get three squares a day. All that manpower wasted.” She spat out a green tidbit. “I say, shoot their sorry assts. Hairy was reading the paper out loud and said it costs about $100,000 per year per prisoner. Think of the catnip that would buy.”

Mrs. Murphy laughed. “That’s why eighty percent of them are in there, selling human catnip.”

“I don’t understand it,” Tucker confessed.

“Neither do the humans. They want to feel good about themselves and waste money.

Doesn’t solve squat.“ Pewter, crabby since Flatface scared her, enjoyed moaning about this.

“Well, that’s the nature of the beast. We aren’t going to change it,” Mrs. Murphy wisely noted. “They never really address an issue until it’s a full-blown crisis. Kind of like the War between the States. They knew at the Constitutional Convention they had to resolve slavery as well as some major economic differences between the North and the South. Eighty years pass. Nothing. And then hundreds of thousands die, to say nothing of the million and a half horses and mules. It’s not any different now, whether it’s crime or global warming.”

“Are you reading over Harry’s shoulder again?” Tucker asked.

“Yep.” Mrs. Murphy watched a shooting star. “So here’s my question: where’s the crisis? Will Wylde is shot dead. That doesn’t mean that’s the crisis. See?”

“No, I don’t see.” Pewter turned to look at her friend.

“Murder is common, let’s face it.” The tiger cat watched some rabbits at the far edge of the pasture. “For all we know, this is a garden-variety murder dressed up in politics. Everyone jumps to conclusions. My hunch is… well, it’s like the equinox: the earth tips on its axis. Something is tipping but we don’t know what. And if it doesn’t involve our humans, I don’t care.”

“Tipping like a power shift?” Tucker asked shrewdly.

“Could be,” Mrs. Murphy said.

“You know as well as I do, Murph, that Harry will stick her nose in it. She can’t help herself. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, it killed the human who made up the statement.” Pewter had always hated that axiom about curiosity.

“Let’s not talk about killing. It’s such a beautiful night, I want to enjoy it,” Tucker pleaded.

They inhaled the night’s sweet fragrance, enjoying one another’s company for five minutes.

Flatface returned to the barn with a squirming mouse in her talons, which finally ruined the mood. Mrs. Murphy hoped it wasn’t a portent, but it was.

11

“Why didn’t you tell me the other day!” Carla, hands on hips, spoke crossly to Mike McElvoy.

“Because I didn’t check it out. Tazio and I focused on the kitchen.”

“So now you’re telling me, let me get this right, egress—”

He interrupted her, further infuriating her. “Forget the terminology; you need a door in the guest bedroom to the outside.”

“Why? I’ve been in hundreds of houses, and there are no exterior doors from guest bedrooms.”

“And I’ll guarantee you those houses were built before 2000. The county changed the code.” Mike, sleeves rolled up on his plaid shirt, shrugged.

“What’s the point? To make more money for the construction crew? You aren’t getting any of it. The county’s not getting any of it.”

“The point is in case of fire, whoever is in that room can get outside in a heartbeat. It’s not the flames that kill you, it’s smoke inhalation.” He paused dramatically. “What’s extra expense compared to a human life?”

“Don’t try that on me.” Carla, lips glimmered with iridescent pink lipstick, stared at the wall of the guest bedroom. “Tazio should have known. I’ll skin her alive.”

“That’s between you and Tazio, but if you want to come out to the truck, I can show you the code book. It’s formidable, and every time there’s a change, architects and construction bosses have to memorize it plus how it affects other things. I know you think I’m thick, Carla; you treat me like a redneck.” His directness surprised her. “But I’m not. I have every item in that book memorized, and furthermore, you’re not the only kid on the block. Every one of these jobs has to be cleared, and every single person, like yourself, is in a God-awful hurry.”

“How dare you call me by my first name. I never gave you permission.” This said by someone who knew her etiquette even when she chose not to practice.

“I’ll call you whatever I want.”

“I’m going to report you to the county commissioners.”

“Go right ahead. And when you do, remember that I will put your job last on the list. You won’t finish this house until next year.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I’m promising you that I’ll drag this out forever.” He stretched the syllables in “forever.”

“I’ll get you fired, you arrogant ass.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll get yourself an ulcer.”

“I don’t have to put up with this.” She started to brush by him.

Mike held out his arm like a barrier, then handed her a sheet of paper. “You might want to read this at your leisure. Just a few little things I’ve noticed that will need changes for you to get your certification.”

“What would you do if I moved in before that?”

“Throw the book at you.”

Carla, entertaining a high opinion of her own intelligence, actually began to use it. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“Money. What do you want in order to check these things off the punch list?”

“Are you trying to bribe a public official?” He pretended mock horror.

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re being so difficult. If it isn’t money, do you want a suite of teak outdoor furniture?” Carla’s husband, Jurgen, owned a large outdoor-furniture manufacturing plant over in Waynesboro.

“No, I don’t. Wouldn’t have the time to use it, anyway.”

“What do you want?”

“For you to study that list.” He walked past her to the hallway. “And you might reconsider how you treat this public official.”

In the living room, the painting crew was putting the finishing touches on the woodwork. Not knowing whether they’d heard the conversation back in the guest room, Mike winked as he passed them.

Orrie Eberhard, on a ladder, smiled. He didn’t like Mike, but he didn’t get in his way, either. Mike could hurt his business through rumor and innuendo. Orrie kept on the good side of him.

Carla, puce-faced, came into the living room just as Mike pulled out in his county truck. “How long have you known Mike McElvoy?”

Orrie carefully put his brush crossways on the open paint can. “Most of his life. We went through school together.”

“Did he cheat?”

“Ma’am?”

“Did he cheat on tests and stuff like that?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Do you think he’s honest?”

Orrie ignored that question, since he didn’t want the reply to come back to him. “The thing you have to understand about Mike is, his father shamed the whole family. I mean, they were lower than earthworms. Mike has some power and he likes that. He’s kind of aggressive about it.”

“What did his father do?”

“Drank himself to death. Found him dead as a doornail on the swings at the elementary school.”

“Therefore I shall assume that Mike doesn’t touch a drop.”

“No, ma’am, he doesn’t.”

“Any vices?”

“Now, Mrs. Paulson, I haven’t made Mike a life’s study. I mean, we get along okay, but he goes his way and I go mine. Plus, I don’t want him criticizing my work, even though it has nothing to do with the building code.”

“If it has lead paint in it, it does.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s true.” Orrie began to appreciate how quick she was.

“Is his marriage strong?”

“I don’t know.”

She lifted an eyebrow, still looking up at him. “Everyone has an Achilles’ heel, Orrie, everyone.”

“Well, Mrs. Paulson, for what it’s worth, I didn’t much like Mike in school and I don’t much like him now, but I get along to go along. Life’s a whole lot easier that way.”

Carla gave him a tight smile and left. She had never learned to get along to go along, and she always felt there was something vaguely immoral about it or, if not immoral, weak-willed.

Mike McElvoy wanted something. She was sure of that. Most people, if you hand them a fat envelope of cash, will take it. The question was how much. If he didn’t want cash, what did he want?

She couldn’t bear more delays on this house or the expense they would entail. Jurgen would fuss.

Carla had a sense, like many people, that there was a clear division of labor assigned by gender. Jurgen made the money. She spent it. She had to cajole him into it, but she used her arsenal of tricks to good effect.

12

“I wish I’d never said I’d do this.” Tazio slumped down in the passenger seat of Susan’s Audi station wagon.

“You really didn’t have a choice,” Susan consoled her.

“Mim’s going to think I’m disloyal. And I don’t want to put pressure on Paul,” Tazio moaned.

Paul de Silva, Tazio’s boyfriend, managed Big Mim’s stables. Tazio found him charming and irresistible. Fortunately, the feeling was mutual.

Harry was half dozing in the backseat since the ride was so smooth, plus she was surrounded by the warmth of Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, Owen—Tucker’s brother—and Brinkley, Tazio’s yellow lab.

She opened one eye. “It was Big Mim’s idea.”

“I know.” Tazio nodded. “But the way things are breaking, she might forget and take it out on me.”

“She’s not like that. She can be despotic, but she’s fair.” Susan had known Mim all her life.

“Besides, she’s taking it out on Junior.” Marilyn Sanburne, Jr., was Little Mim’s correct name. “Junior” was a term loathed by Little Mim.

“Got that right.” Susan checked her speedometer and slowed, for she was doing eighty on Route 29.

“You don’t know how fast you’re going in this car.” Tazio liked the wagon. “Good thing you slowed. Look up on the curve.”

There sat a cop car waiting to feast on speeders. It was quota time, although the local police, sheriff’s department, and state police would never, ever, admit they met a monthly quota. The state laws had been changed. Going fifteen miles an hour over the limit netted a Virginian a one-thousand-dollar fine. Out-of-state drivers could go as fast as they wanted but only pay the old lower fees determined by a judge. The results, predictably, were that troopers and cops went after the Virginians. If anything, the new law, in effect July 1, 2007, made the roads more dangerous.

“Mmm, on the one hand, I’m glad they’re out here. On the other hand, I’m not,” Susan commented. “Given the way cars are built today, the speed limits are outdated and the new laws are beyond absurd. I’m waiting for the citizen revolt.”

“Wait until you drive the autobahn.” Tazio had piloted a BMW M5 two years ago when visiting Germany.

“That will be the day.” Harry sat up straight now. “Back to this Poplar Forest do. Big Mim suggested you to head the decorating committee—”

Tazio interrupted. “Sure, so I could build the scaffolding. You know this fund-raiser is about as elaborate as a Louis the Fourteenth fete. Little did I know.”

“At least the committee has gotten the materials donated. Can you imagine the cost otherwise?” Susan checked her rearview mirror.

“Thirty-five thousand dollars.” Tazio’s voice was clipped.

“What!” Harry grabbed the back of Tazio’s seat.

“Thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry flopped back. “The fund-raiser won’t make that. Good thing the stuff is donated.”

“Are you kidding? With Folly Steinhauser heading the committee, they’ve already received fifty thousand dollars in tables. She’s nabbed corporate sponsors for those. By the time individual contributions roll in—the silent auction plus the two live-auction items—this thing could very well clear two hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s big money for central Virginia fund-raising.” Susan was astounded. “You know we aren’t unfeeling, but Southerners are taught to take care of our own. What’s left over goes to people you don’t know That’s why charities can’t raise as much here as they do in the Northeast.”

“No one told Folly. I’d like to know how she vacuumed this cash out of pockets.” Tazio smiled. “Big Mim had no idea what she’d unleashed when she handed over this charity to Folly.”

“She is overcommitted,” Harry replied.

“Big Mim could run the country.” Susan laughed. “She thought she was adding new troops by allowing Folly the glory of spearheading the Poplar Forest fund-raiser and ball. Little did she know she gave her rival a plum.”

“But she didn’t know Folly’s ambitions at the time.” Harry appreciated how intelligent Big Mim was, how subtle and political, too.

“And there we have to give the nod to Folly. She shrewdly kept her ambitions under wraps. Even now she’s not saying anything. Her deeds speak for her. She’s become a power, one that isn’t going to bow before Her Highness,” Susan said.

“Majesty,” Harry corrected.

“For Great Britain,” Tazio replied. “Later wasn’t it ‘Your Imperial Majesty’?” She paused. “Let’s not get off on that. Here’s my problem. Every person that Folly placed on the steering committee is a new person and someone for whom I have designed a house.”

“That’s why you had to take the decorating committee. Everyone knows that. Taz, especially Big Mim.” Harry petted Tucker, sound asleep, as was Pewter.

“But Folly has invited Little Mim and Blair to join her at her table,” Tazio told them.

“What!” Harry sat bolt upright again, which disturbed the two sleepers.

“Bother.” Pewter dropped her head back on Tucker’s flank.

“I wanted to see if I could hold my tongue until we were halfway to Poplar Forest.” Tazio smiled.

“You succeeded,” Harry dryly commented.

“Little Mim and Blair at Folly’s table”—Susan counted couples—“along with the Paulsons, the Steinhausers, obviously, the Lattimores, and who else?”

“Elise Brennan,” Tazio added.

“Who’s her date?”

“Major Chris Huzcko.” Tazio cited a very attractive blond marine, who would dazzle in his “ball” uniform.

“Are they an item?” Susan was curious.

“I don’t know. At any rate, they’ll need a marine at the table if Big Mim launches artillery fire.” Tazio smiled.

“Chris can handle it,” Harry said confidently. “And you know that Tracy Raz can handle it, too.”

Tracy Raz, in his seventies, had seen combat in Korea. After his army career, he served in the CIA, and when he finally retired, he came home to Crozet and wooed his high-school sweetheart, Miranda Hogendobber. Both had married others and had lost their spouses. When Tracy returned from living in Hawaii, the embers reignited. For a man in his seventies, he was in better shape than many a forty-year-old, plus he was bull-strong.

“I assume Miranda and Tracy will be near Big Mim and Jim’s table?” Harry said.

“Yes, so we’ll have one tough army guy at one table and one rugged marine at another. Maybe the two men can keep the peace.” Tazio sighed. “Meanwhile, I’ve got Folly on one hand and Big Mim on the other. Of course, my loyalty is to Big Mim. After all, she gave me the commission to design her steeplechasers’ stable, and that was my ticket in, truly. I feel I owe her a great deal.”

“In our own way, we all do. For all her ordering us about, she does a lot of good.” Susan slowed again as she noticed everyone else doing the same. “And if you’re really worried, go talk to her, Taz. She really will understand. She knows these people have been clients, are clients. She knows you have to make a living. Go talk to her before the ball. Don’t wait until something ugly happens, and remember that she didn’t know this challenge was coming.” Susan made a sensible suggestion.

“I will.”

“What about Little Mim’s statement this morning?” Harry had heard on the six o’clock morning news that the vice mayor of Crozet stated she would do everything she could to help the authorities find and prosecute Dr. Will Wylde’s killer. She said nothing about abortion, which meant her mother would not be satisfied.

“Slight progress.” Susan noticed another cop car ahead.

She didn’t mind cars slowing to the speed limit, but it irritated her when they crawled below the limit as though that made them a better driver in the cop’s eyes.

“Wonder if they have made any progress.” Harry worried, as did they all. “Coop has worked day and night. She can’t tell me much, but I do know Rick had the presence of mind to demand patient records from Margaret Westlake. Margaret was worried, but Rick assured her the names of those who had abortions would be confidential. Kylie Kraft pitched a fit and fell in it.”

Susan lifted her hand dismissively. “Kylie Kraft is an airhead. She goes through boyfriends like potato chips. She must be good as a nurse, though, or Will wouldn’t have hired her.”

“She’s young and sympathetic. Most women having abortions are young. I can see why she’d be a valuable member of the team. Sophie Denham is a good nurse, but she’s in her fifties now.”

They rode along in a brief silence.

Tazio said, “I appreciate you two coming down here with me.”

“A break in the routine, plus I’m dying to know what you’ve planned,” Susan said.

“You’ll see.” Tazio smiled.

“Are you all building the platform and scaffolding at home, then transporting it?”

“No,” Tazio replied to Harry. “There’s a local construction company that is donating their labor. Good thing, because it makes it easier on everyone. They’ll get business out of this.”

“Good.” Harry thought if someone pitched in for a charity, those attending the function should employ their services if they liked what they saw.

Once off 29, the long road from Lynchburg down to Poplar Forest was crammed with subdivisions.

“I can’t believe this,” Susan cried.

“When was the last time you drove down here?” Tazio inquired.

“Must be two years ago,” Susan answered.

“At least the developers have taken some pains with landscaping.” Harry peered out the window. “For some of them, anyway.”

When they at last pulled into Poplar Forest, they let the animals out to go to the bathroom. Harry carried water and treats.

“You all go ahead. I’ll attend to these guys and then I’ll join you.”

“We’ll be outside in the back,” Tazio told her.

“I want to go in the house.” Mrs. Murphy liked prowling in old houses.

“We have to stay outside,” Tucker, usually obedient, replied.

“Mom might need help with her plans,” Brinkley, even more obedient than Tucker, said.

Pewter, drinking, couldn’t care less one way or the other. What she wanted were the dried fish and chicken treats she knew reposed in a Ziploc bag in Harry’s food tote.

“Harry, Harry!” Susan ran toward them, a big smile on her face. “They got him!”

“Who?”

Susan, chest rising and falling, reached her friend. “The man who shot Will Wylde. Robert Taney just told us. Was on the radio.” She caught her breath. “He confessed and made a big statement. Walked right in to the station and turned himself in.”

Robert Taney was the director of Poplar Forest.

“I can’t stand that we let people run their mouths when they’ve killed someone. We make celebrities out of them.” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s so, but we can all rest easy now.” Susan put her hand on her chest.

“I wouldn’t.” Mrs. Murphy flicked water droplets from her whiskers.

“Why not?” Brinkley asked.

“Too easy” the tiger replied.

13

The south lawn at Poplar Forest afforded views of both the house and the Blue Ridge Mountains, the perfect outdoor setting for the fund-raiser.

Tazio, mindful of the staff’s time pressures, spoke to Robert Taney for fifteen minutes, then returned to Harry and Susan.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter prowled the grounds. The house, filled with people, would be difficult to get into without being detected.

“We’ll get in. Maybe not today but someday,” Mrs. Murphy grumbled.

“We may not be back,” Pewter reasonably replied.

“Mother’s curiosity will be lit. She’ll come back when she has time to really go through the building and the outbuildings. But for now we might as well enjoy the grounds. Lots of goldfinches to harass.” For once Pewter looked on the bright side.

The mercury climbed to the mid-seventies this September 22. The dogs rested in the shade.

“So the platform isn’t just for speeches. I should have asked you that in the first place.” Harry noted the dimensions that Tazio told her: twenty feet by fifteen. “You know, this is going to be big.”

“Building it in sections. We won’t drive one stake in the lawn.” Tazio, hands on hips, stood where she planned for the center to be. “Well, of course, there will be speeches after dinner. There always are. We’re even hiding a Porta-John behind the platform, in case someone up here has to go. Given the length of speeches, that seems inevitable.”

“I’d give more money if there weren’t speeches.” Susan smiled.

“Wouldn’t we all,” Tazio agreed. “However, the organizers need to be thanked, the chair always has to blab, and the politician of the moment really blabs on. And, of course, the director of restoration must speak. That I’ll enjoy. The rest of it is pure torture.”

“Aren’t you going to speak?” Susan asked.

Tazio’s hand flew to her bosom. “Me? God, no. I hate speaking in public.”

“Ned can give you lessons. He’s become one of those politicians, you know.” Susan loved her husband but had noted a certain amount of garrulousness creeping into his conversation.

“Bet he can,” Tazio wryly replied.

Harry, ever eager to keep on track—except when she veered off—said, “This is a big platform.”

“There will be a lattice behind it with fake ivy and wide ribbons woven through. That will be backlit. I’ve got to keep the generators somewhat quiet. With the restoration there’s a lot we can’t do, but the house isn’t wired for this kind of draw, anyway, hence the generators.”

“When you figure out how to silence a generator, let me know.” Harry appreciated the problem.

“I’m building domed ventilated housing. You’ll hear a hum but it will be muted, and the roof of the small little hives will be soundproofed.”

“That is so clever.” Susan admired Tazio’s creativity as an architect and practicality as a woman.

“Taz, what are you going to do on the platform?” Harry was impatient.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, but I can tell you a few things. Okay, when people park, they will be led back to the lawn by servants in livery. And all the manner of the early nineteenth century will be in force. So each person will be addressed with their honorific, which was terribly important then, as was a graceful bow.”

“Great. I can be introduced as Farmer Haristeen.”

“You all will be Doctor and Lady Haristeen. Ned and Susan will be the Honorable and Lady Tucker, and so forth. Anyway, trays of drinks will be circulated, plus there will be a discreet bar under the arcade right over there.” She pointed to the arcade under the southern portico. “Then trays of hors d’oeuvres from the periods. Okay. So far so good. Nothing unusual. Then it’s time to sit and eat what would have been a feast in 1819. A feast now, too. I’m not giving away the menu. Folly would shoot me. But there will be a presentation, a tableau, and music while people eat.”

“A play?” Harry didn’t like the idea.

“No, Harry, a tableau. People will be in scenes, then the scenes will change. We aren’t doing a play, because you can’t really eat and watch a play. Dinner theater never works.”

“A pretty thing but no major distraction.” Susan figured it out.

“Right. Plus, it’s set on the southern side here, and people can watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains, as well, since the views are good to the west. It should be fantastic unless it rains.”

“Long-range predictions?” Harry watched the Weather Channel the way some people watched porn. “Clear. Cross your fingers.”

Tazio exhaled. “Okay, then come the speeches, and I will do everything in my power to keep them short, but you know how that goes.”

“Then what?” Harry was becoming intrigued.

“Then a little surprise.”

“On the platform?” Harry prodded more.

“Umm, some on the platform. You’ll see. It really will be so lovely, and this place deserves it. Everyone knows about Monticello and the University of Virginia as expressions of Jefferson’s creativity in architecture. Some even know about the state house in Richmond, but so few know about Poplar Forest, even in Virginia, which surprises me.”

“Oh, we learned about it in fifth grade, but it went in one ear and out the other.” Susan recalled their venerable fifth-grade teacher at Crozet Elementary. “You were in St. Louis, so you missed Mrs. Rogers’s breathless reenactments of Virginia history.”

“The moans while she died of tuberculosis were particularly compelling.” Harry grinned.

“Don’t forget her yellow-fever death,” Susan said.

“Or being shot by a minnie ball.”

Tazio stopped this romp down Memory Lane. “Was her husband an undertaker? One death after another.”

“Mr. Rogers ran the Esso station. Exxon now. She was a frustrated actress and figured out that death scenes carried more impact than pretending to be on a bateau rolling down the James River.”

“She did that, too,” Harry reminded Susan.

“Actually, she did.”

“See what I missed growing up in St. Louis,” Tazio replied. “Well, I’ve done my due diligence here. Let’s go back. I’ll have to make a few calls from the car, and I apologize.”

“Noticed your cell didn’t ring.” Harry never turned hers on unless she had to make a call.

“I needed a break. If Folly isn’t bugging me, it’s Carla. My other clients are okay. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get updated quotes on those furnace systems. Did a little more work on that. Haven’t had time to send it over to Herb, but it can wait until tomorrow. And, of course, thanks to Folly, I have to present all this to Marvin Lattimore.”

“Think Folly’s sleeping with him?” Susan could say this among friends.

Given Folly’s dazzlement by Marvin at vestry-board meetings, the possibility had become obvious to all.

“I don’t know. Penny won’t much like it.” Harry had wondered the same thing.

“She can’t be naive.” Tazio stooped to pick up her plans from the deep-green lawn. “He runs a charter airline. People who travel a lot, especially in those circumstances, have ample opportunity to indulge in affairs.”

“Marvin doesn’t strike me as the affair type,” Susan said.

“One-night stands.” Harry winked.

“Well…” Susan’s voice trailed off.

“All right, kids,” Harry called, and Tucker, Owen, and Brinkley scrambled to their feet.

Mrs. Murphy and Pewter followed at a more leisurely pace.

At the parking lot, Susan lifted up the hatch on the station wagon and the animals jumped in. They’d stay in the back for a while. Sometimes the dogs fell asleep back there, but the cats always leapt into the backseat to keep the humans company.

No sooner did Susan pull out of the lot than Tazio’s cell rang.

“On course?” was all Folly Steinhauser uttered in Tazio’s ear.

“Yes,” came the equally terse reply.

“Good. Talk to you tomorrow. Have to meet again with the caterer.”

“Tazio, can you make calls if the radio is on low?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

“Susan, see if you can get the news. I want to know about who shot Will.”

Susan clicked on the radio.

“Just press 103.5,” Harry said.

“NPR.” Susan knew the numbers. “That’s not going to work south of Lynchburg.”

“Damn.”

“You’ve got ants in your pants today.”

“Well, I want to know. Don’t you?”

“I do,” Susan agreed, while Tazio nodded as she punched in the number of the company building the platform.

As Tazio talked, Susan finally got a news station. First they endured the national news. The international was already over. Finally, local news came on, but it started with Richmond and the governor’s latest push for new road construction.

“I don’t care about northern Virginia.” Harry cupped her chin in her palm.

“Don’t be ugly.” Susan smiled. “If Ned ever runs for governor, they’ll vote for him up there.”

“I suppose.” Harry remained unconvinced.

“Today in Charlottesville, the sheriff apprehended Jonathan Bechtal, who confessed to the murder of Dr. Will Wylde. Bechtal stated that ‘Death must be met with death.” “ The announcer continued on, then switched to baseball.

“The Orioles today—”

“Turn it off,” Harry groaned. “I can’t stand the bad news.”

“Cards.” Tazio cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of her mobile, a big smile on her face.

“Every dog has his day,” Susan, another Orioles fan, promised.

Tucker lifted her head but decided a comment would be useless. The humans wouldn’t understand, anyway.

“What a relief, they’ve got the killer.”

“Saves Little Mim’s behind,” Harry succinctly put it.

“Maybe,” Susan slowly drawled, for she was processing the road, her speed, the news, “but he said he had Wylde’s records. Who’s to say he won’t find a way to make them public? After all, he’s now the center of attention.”

“Bluffing.” Harry paused. “I hope.”

Tazio ended her call and another came in. “Yes.” Long silence. “I did.” More silence. “Give me the punch list. I’ll go over everything and I’ll measure everything, too. He’s blowing smoke up your fanny.” An even longer silence. “Good-bye.” This was said quite crisply. “I hate her!”

“What?” Harry leaned forward.

“Carla is having a cow because Mike McElvoy handed her a punch list of things that are supposedly not up to code at the house. It’s bullshit. I know the code. Unfortunately, she offered him money.”

“Oh, good God.” Susan rolled her eyes.

“A box of rocks.” Harry tapped her forehead.

“Much as I can’t stand her, Carla’s not stupid. I think she underestimated Mike. And I don’t know what his game is. I had some trouble with him on Penny Lattimore’s house and on Folly’s job, but nothing like this. I mean, Carla is raving mad, raving. She called me ‘incompetent,” ’high-handed‘—it goes on.“

“Bet she’s sorry that the committee invited Mike and Tony Long.” Harry named the other building inspector going to the fund-raiser.

“That was the committee’s decision. There’s some sense to it. Mike and Tony get to see restoration in process, which can only help as more people try to be historically accurate. That’s the thinking, anyway.”

Harry offered an explanation. “Tazio, maybe she drinks. I mean, to explode like that or do something stupid like try to obviously bribe Mike. We all know palms get greased every day, but for God’s sake, she could have been subtle.”

“Now I have to deal with Mike pretending to be outraged. I loathe him, and she really was stupid,” Tazio complained.

Susan commiserated. “You’ve got your hands full.”

Tazio’s phone rang again. Carla, with more expletives.

Harry smiled when Susan glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “Glad I’m not building anything.”

Tazio pressed the off button. “I am going to kill that bitch!”

14

Each day contains twenty-four hours, except Monday, the longest day of the week. It contains thirty. That’s how Harry felt when she opened the back door, dropped her gear bag on the bench outside the kitchen door, and walked inside.

The phone rang just as she closed the door behind her.

“Hello.”

“Honey, I won’t get home until late,” Fair apologized. “I’m behind on the billing.”

“How about if I leave a casserole in the oven? You can heat it up when you get home.”

“Thanks, but I’ll order something.”

“Crozet Pizza,” she teased him.

“I love Crozet Pizza.” The little pizza joint was his favorite.

“You know how you’re always at me to streamline, become more efficient? Why don’t you hire a true office manager? Someone who can bill, answer the phones, and code.”

A veterinarian’s files, like a physician’s, have colored stripes called codes on their edges.

The process is so complicated that people take courses to understand it. If the bill doesn’t go out on time, the vet doesn’t get paid. If insurance companies are involved—and increasingly they were for horses—the cycle slowed even more.

“I can’t make up my mind. It’s not just the salary, it’s the payroll taxes, their insurance. Remember, I’m a small business, and mere aren’t insurance packages that won’t blast the budget. We get by with workers’ compensation, another government cook-up. By the time I’m done paying out, that’s fifty or sixty thousand a year.”

“Be so much better if you could just hand the money to your employee.”

“What? Just think what would happen to all those sticky fingers along the way. No money would be on them. The whole thing is a giant con, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why people just go along.”

“Me, neither.” Harry’s impulse was to fight.

It seemed to Harry that most other people’s impulse was to allow themselves to be used, robbed, herded, so long as they could buy what they wanted. They told themselves, “You can’t fight city hall.” Funny, Harry thought, our ancestors did.

“How’d today go?”

“Poplar Forest—you won’t believe how much they’ve done. We stayed outside. I can’t wait to get inside, but the foundations for the old outside offices are uncovered. It’s just amazing.”

“I’ll soon see. How about Will’s murderer getting caught? That’s a blessing.”

“Sure is.” She paused. “But I’m suspicious. I don’t think it’s the whole story.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t, but, Harry, stay out of it,” Fair warned. “Let me go back to the salt mines. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After hanging up the phone, Harry fed the kids. The Fancy Feast smelled so good that she realized she was hungry.

“I hope you know, your food costs as much as mine.” She washed out the two tiny tins of cat food.

“We’re worth it,” Pewter replied saucily.

Harry then opened a small can of dog food, which she mixed into kibble for Tucker. Tucker could put on weight quickly, so she monitored the corgi’s diet.

“Here you go, Wonderdog.”

“Thank you.”

Harry checked the time on the old railroad wall clock. Six-thirty. She walked outside; the sun was setting behind the mountains. Whatever time was listed for sunset in the papers, it was earlier on her farm because of the mountains. Once the equinox approached, a chill seemed to descend upon the earth along with the sun. Along lower ridges, long golden slanting rays still pierced through. No one day looked like any other, and that pleased her.

She walked back inside and dialed Cooper. “You on your way home?” Yep.

“I made a tuna casserole and need help eating it.”

“Glad to be of service.” Cooper laughed.

Figuring she had about twenty-five minutes before the deputy showed up, Harry popped the casserole in the oven on low. She’d made it last night. Although not much for cooking, occasionally she could be roused to culinary labors—simple labors, nothing fancy.

She used the time to check the mares and foals, now six and seven months old. Time to wean. The hunters greeted her. She brought them in the barn in the mornings to eat a bit of grain and to have some alone time, then back out in the pastures they’d go. In winter’s bitter cold she’d usually bring them in at sunset, turning them out again in the morning. But the late-September nights, though carrying a chill, would stay in the high forties, low fifties. Pleasant enough, especially for horses, as these were their optimum temperatures, in contrast to those of humans.

No sooner had she come back in and set the table than Tucker announced Cooper’s arrival.

“I hate Mondays.” Cooper, in uniform, strode through the door.

“What would you like to drink?”

“A beer.”

With Fair back in the house, there was always good beer in the refrigerator. He limited himself to one a day, but he really wanted that one.

Out came the beer, the beer glass placed before Cooper. Harry, hotpads to the ready, pulled out the casserole, the aroma filling the kitchen.

“Do you want a salad?”

“Let’s eat the casserole. If I have room left, I’ll make it myself.” Cooper was delighted to have supper with her neighbor and friend. “Where’s Fair?”

“At the office doing the billing.”

“He needs help.”

“You tell him.” Harry put the casserole on a trivet, a large spoon alongside it, and sat down herself. “Dig in.”

Cooper did just that when Harry filled her plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Can you believe they’re not running their mouths?” Pewter thought it amusing.

“They will,” Tucker predicted.

Halfway through her first helping, Cooper started the conversation. “What a day. If I have to talk to one more person, I will just blow up.”

“Person or media?”

“Both. Reporters are already digging up reasons why Jonathan Bechtal is a killer.”

Cooper’s worldview was black and white. If you as an individual broke the law, you went to the slammer. Her job was to find you and arrest you. The rest was up to judge and jury, and usually her work was undone in the courtroom. You do wrong, wham. That was Cooper’s attitude. Gender, race, a bad mother had nothing to do with it. Thousands upon thousands of people endured similar circumstances and they didn’t rob, maim, or kill. But someone would make out Bechtal to be a victim.

Harry, on the other hand, did think about mitigating factors.

Coop fired up again. “And this creep, Bechtal—full beard like an Old Testament prophet—is screaming about how God talks to him. How he is an instrument of the Lord. Damn!”

“Well, honeybun, it must have been quite a day.”

“It was. This was one of the most irritating days of my whole life.

I’m glad the perp turned himself in, but I don’t want to listen to him. The media is making a celebrity out of him.“

“Take another drink.” Harry, not usually one to push alcohol, thought this a wise course tonight.

Calming a little, Cooper leaned back in the chair. “This is really good. If you don’t watch it, you can get fat as a tick being a cop.” She laughed. “I go to the gym three times a week, and now that I have that place to take care of, I work outside a lot. That helps. Helps to just be away from people.”

“Decompression.”

She ate some more hot food. “I feel better.” She sighed. “I need a wife.”

“Doesn’t every woman?” Harry smiled. “Although I give Fair credit: he really does his share, and he’s a good cook. He’s better than I am, but, of course, he has to cook on the grill. I think this passion for the grill occurs when they start to shave.”

“Does taste good, though, and the different wood adds flavor.”

“Have you seen my husband’s different wood piles? He puts them in small garbage cans—clean, I mean. He has mesquite, charred oak, regular charcoal, even dried sassafras roots. He has special sauces. He won’t give the recipe. That’d be like asking for the Coca-Cola formula.”

Coop returned to the topic of the killer after listening to Harry.

“Once you weed out the philosophy, the justification, the sheer insanity of Bechtal, you’re left with details, most of which correspond to the shooting.”

“Most?” Harry’s interest spiked.

“He puts the elevator bay on the west side of the lobby. It’s on the east.”

“Is that so important?”

“Harry, I don’t know, but I’m,” she paused, “unconvinced.”

“That he’s the killer?”

Mrs. Murphy’s ears pricked up. She walked over to the table. Pewter, face in food bowl, figured she’d get the information later from Mrs. Murphy, in case she missed anything while chewing lustily.

“When Rick and I first arrived on the scene, we secured the area, investigated the body. Fortunately, backup came in less than five minutes. We walked over to the other building, because you could see immediately from his wound that he wasn’t shot face-to-face. We went inside. He couldn’t have been shot from an office window, because people were there. Nor could the killer have taken the elevator. We went to the roof. That’s where he had to have been, and forensics will confirm it. Oh, he confessed to using a silencer, too. When we came down the stairwell, there was a crushed Virginia Slims butt on the floor. I bagged it. Neither Rick nor I thought it came from our killer. Men don’t usually smoke Virginia Slims, not butch enough.” She smiled. “But maybe he did. A nicotine fit is a nicotine fit.”

“What’d Rick make of it?”

“Nothing.” She smiled again. “He owes me five dollars, though. I bet the killer was a man. Always is in a case like this. He said he’d be wild and bet it was a woman.”

“People are supposed to go outside to smoke, but,” Harry shrugged, “probably someone in that building who wanted to stay in the air-conditioning.”

“Could be.”

“Have you mentioned the elevator-bay location to Rick?”

“No. I will, but he’s distracted. All the chaos, plus he’s working up a budget request for the county commissioners. It’s always a fight. There are a couple of people on the commission who question him as though he were the enemy, not a public servant trying to protect life and property.”

“Don’t you think Bechtal’s surrender might put them in a better mood?”

“We can hope.” She paused. “I’ll bring this up to Rick in a couple of days.”

“Want to hear about my day?” Harry smiled.

“I’m sorry.” Cooper drained her beer.

“Want another?”

“No. But if you have green tea, I’ll take a cup.”

“Do. Fair’s buying green tea, white tea, orange tea, and Sleepytime tea to drink at night. He reads everything about this stuff. I try it and if it works, fine. If not, I learned my lesson.”

She rose, put the kettle on, and sat back down. “Not much for dessert, but I have cookies.”

“No. I made a pig of myself.” Cooper patted her stomach. “I am sorry. Tell me about your day.”

Harry related the events, laughing about Carla’s harassing Tazio.

“She is a piece of work.”

“Tazio swears she’ll kill her.” Harry’s peals of laughter filled the kitchen.

“Well, if she does, I’m off duty and in my ball gown. Someone else can take care of it.”

They both laughed.

15

Big Mim might be despotic, but she kept the large goal of a harmonious, well-knit community in mind. Although Mim passionately pursued politics, she gave democracy lip service. The most effective forms of organization were run by a strong individual with a clear purpose.

Although much of what she pursued tended to duty, she possessed a kind heart, and her visits to those in distress, be it emotional or financial, buoyed her as well as the recipient.

On Tuesday afternoon, September 23, she sat across from Benita Wylde, the humorous needlepoint pillow behind Benita’s back underscoring her loss. It read, “He’s my husband, my lover, my friend, but he’s not my responsibility.”

It had been a strong marriage, enlivened by vibrant humor and a few good fights now and again.

The deep buttery gold of late-afternoon sun filled the room, decorated by Benita herself and a source of pride. Although too modern for Mim’s taste—she ran to Colefax and Fowler or Parish-Hadley—she recognized that Benita had an eye for proportion, color, and quality. Nonetheless, the stark lines never felt homey.

“You’ve been so good to visit me every day. I keep thinking this will lift, but it doesn’t.” Her light-brown eyes registered confusion and pain.

“The first year is dreadful. The second is numbness.” Big Mim smiled as Benita’s oldest daughter, home from Portland, Oregon, placed a tea tray on the sleek, lacquered coffee table.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Georgina, if you want to ride, let me know. Sometimes a nice trail ride helps.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sanburne. I’d love to, but there’s so much to do, and I have to return to Oregon Sunday.”

Georgina left them.

“She’s turned into a beautiful young woman,” Big Mim noted.

“Loves her job. I keep hoping she’ll come home, but she says the only way she can come home is if she gets a job in Richmond or Washington. Those markets are so competitive, but I think she’ll land in a big market eventually.”

“Did you think she’d wind up in television?”

“Well, I knew she always was fascinated by the weather, but both Will and I were surprised when she chose meteorology as her career and then double-majored in broadcasting—journalism, really.”

“She is in a perfect spot, with all those storms sweeping in off the Pacific.”

“That’s what she says.” Benita poured them both tea. “In a way, the impact didn’t fully hit me until the kids came home. They’ve been wonderful,” she paused, “although my son says he’s going to kill Bechtal if he can figure out how to get into the jail.”

“Normal.”

Benita nodded. “Would it solve anything? One more death?”

“I know I’m supposed to say no, but the years have taught me that killing the right person at the right time can make all the difference. Think what would have happened in the world if the plot against Hitler had succeeded. There would have been a struggle between those dwindling few who wanted to pursue the war and the rest, who knew Germany was lost. We would have had an earlier peace. So many lives would have been saved.” She held her cup with all the grace of one who had manners drilled into her upon leaving the womb. “The older I get, Benita, the less convinced I am that turning the other cheek is the answer. You can imagine how Miranda and I go ‘round on this.”

“She’s visited regularly, too.” Benita smiled slightly. “Reads germane passages from the Bible, but she’s not as bad as she used to be. We read the Twenty-third Psalm together and it was comforting.”

“Beautiful voice, Miranda has, speaking or singing.”

“She brought me some cuttings from the garden, and, would you believe it, Alicia Palmer, down on her knees, put them in. I can tell my grandchildren, if ever they get born, that a movie star planted my pachysandra and variegated ivy. Miranda brought some American Beauty roses, too.”

Big Mim, ever competitive on the garden scene, simply said, “Miranda displays a great gift.”

“Her only vanity, I think.” Benita’s eyes filled with tears as she looked out the huge windows. “Will’s maple. It was four feet high when he planted it. Look at it now.”

Big Mim guessed the maple to be twenty-five feet high. “Just blushing orange at the top.”

“Should be a spectacular fall.”

“You never know. The conditions can be perfect and a big windstorm comes up. Poof.” She waved her hand, the spectacular diamond on her ring throwing tiny rainbows of light. “Is there anything I can do to help with the funeral?”

“No. Because of the publicity, we decided to cremate him and to have only family here. I think we’ll commission a celebration of his life on the first anniversary of his death.” Benita looked back at the older, quite attractive woman. “I can’t bear the people, the questions. A year from now, only those of us who loved him will honor him.”

“Wise.”

Benita’s rich-brown hair evidenced a few red highlights. Apart from being ten pounds heavier than when in college, she looked marvelous for a woman in middle age. The suffering told on her face, but that was to be expected. And the ten pounds added to the womanliness of her figure.

“Mim, I don’t know how I can live,” she said without fanfare, a flat statement.

“You will. You must.” A gust of fierceness invaded the older woman’s voice.

“For the children, I know, but inside,” she touched her heart, “I feel dead.”

“That’s natural, Benita. It passes, but slowly. You can’t give up or give in.”

Benita’s lustrous eyes registered the challenge. “I know.”

“It’s not what the world throws at us, it’s how we handle it. Even inflicted pain, something as terrible as this, can be borne because one must. The duty of life is to live and to give.”

“We do let others control our emotions. If I collapse, then this hideous person wins. I see that.” She stopped, placed her cup and saucer on the table. “How dare anyone play God! Even Will, a physician, did not, and when anyone used that phrase about doctors he corrected them. He used to say, ”I’m a skilled mechanic. I deal in the human body, not cars.“ He was right.”

“Did he ever question abortion?”

Benita shook her head. “Never. Not once. He believed the fetus contained the possibility of life but was not life. He always said, when he slapped the bottom and heard that first cry, that was life. And you know,” she leaned forward, “his mission was intelligent planning. When all this hoopla started about global warming, Will would throw down the paper or talk back to the TV: ‘What do you expect when people breed with no sense of responsibility to the environment?” Oh, he could get worked up.“

“He’s right. Was right.” A slight breeze lifted the top leaves of Will’s maple. “Benita, nature makes sense. People don’t.”

“I tend to agree.” She was quiet for a few moments. “You know who else has been reading the Bible to me? Alicia. Another voice like liquid gold. She surprises me. We play golf when we can, but I… well, she feels for people. She reaches out, where others keep their distance. And when she and BoomBoom come, they check in with the kids and do whatever needs to be done—which is quite a lot, I’m afraid, because I haven’t lifted a finger. I feel like I can’t move.”

“She and BoomBoom do seem to have brought out the best in each other. We seem to be surrounded by surprises of all manner.” Big Mim now placed her cup and saucer on the silver tray. “I’m sure all is secure, but if some unforeseen financial burden should… well, you know, don’t hesitate to call me, Benita. That’s what friends are for, and I hope you won’t let pride stand in the way.”

A long pause followed as Benita searched for words. “I don’t know where I stand, Mim. I hope I would accept assistance if I needed it. I went through some of Will’s papers when I went down to the office. Georgina drove me. I don’t trust myself to drive, because I burst into tears at the most inopportune moments. Anyway, I went through the business checking account. I asked Kylie Kraft for the outstanding invoices. Actually, Margaret does that. I didn’t really know the girls’ specific jobs. Everything was in order, although I noticed there wasn’t as much money in the account as I anticipated. I asked Margaret—she sends out the bills—why it was a bit low, and she said some of the larger payments were still outstanding.”

“Is Margaret good at the details?”

“Yes. Each time a check comes in, she copies it along with the invoice. Everything goes on a disc. The original copy is kept in the backroom files—which are bulging, I might add. When those files overflow, they are transferred to a U-Store-It.”

“Why?”

“If there’s a fire or flood, no records. Without records, no money. The insurance companies will leave you in the lurch. They make life hard enough, the insurers. Do you know we carry thirteen policies? Thirteen! And only one is for the house, one for the cars. All the others are medical in one way or the other. Mim, it’s a nightmare. People have no idea what’s happened to medicine.”

“I know.” Her curiosity aroused, Big Mim inquired, “Who had a key to the storage unit?”

“Will, and there’s one in his desk here. Margaret keeps one on her key ring.”

“Will was smart on so many levels.”

Benita changed the subject. “By the way, I was grateful when your daughter made a statement.”

“Finally.” Big Mim’s face flushed. “She won’t say anything about terminating pregnancy, though. She’s toadying to the religious right in her party, which, as you know, I feel is a party of untrammeled greed and corruption.”

“Of which I am a member,” Benita said lightly.

“I forgot. I’m sorry, but you know I’m a yellow-dog Democrat.” Meaning she’d vote for a yellow dog before she’d vote for a Republican.

Benita waved her hand. “Will registered Republican, so I did, too. He always said one party was as bad as the other, but he felt that doctors received slightly more consideration from the Republicans. You know me, Mim, no interest in politics and no stomach for it.”

“Saves indigestion,” Big Mim joked.

The grandfather clock in the hall, an eighteenth-century one of high value, struck five. While it could have looked out of place in the house, it didn’t, which was a testimony to Benita’s abilities.

“Soon Daylight Savings will be over and night will fall so much more quickly.” Benita noted the lovely light. “I’ve never much liked winter.”

“Because you can’t play golf. Now, if you’d foxhunt, winter would fly by.”

“And so would I.” Benita laughed for the first time.

They chatted some more; Benita cried a little.

Big Mim actually quoted a passage she herself remembered from the Bible, Philippians, Chapter 4, Verse 13: “ ‘I can do all things in him who strengthens me.” “

“Miranda has rubbed off on you,” Benita remarked.

“She can go on. She must have the entire Bible memorized. I try to have her faith but I’m too logical, I fear.”

“I’m discovering mine.”

“What I have I found when I was diagnosed with breast cancer those years ago. I looked inward. Something I don’t usually do.” She inhaled. “Who wants pain? Who desires suffering? I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind wanting a dose, but one learns such important lessons that can’t be learned any other way. My mother, when I complained, used to tell me that suffering was a gift if you looked it in the eye. I never believed her, but now I do.”

“I’m learning.”

As Big Mim rose to leave, she stopped for a moment and glanced again at Will’s maple, the slanting rays hitting the top perfectly so the blush became more radiant, promising outrageous color soon. “Benita, keep your eyes on those unpaid invoices. With Will’s death, some people may drag their heels sending in the check.”

Little did she know she’d hit the nail on the head. Almost.

16

“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”

The antiphon thus spoken, the Rev. Herb Jones continued with the service for burial, his bass voice making the beautiful service even more memorable.

Benita, Georgina, Will, Jr., and Will’s two brothers and his sister with their families stood quietly under the maple tree as Herb, in his vestments, consoled them with “Domine, refugium”—the Lord is my refuge.

The long, verdant lawn added to the peacefulness of the moment.

At the close of the service, Will, Jr., placed his father’s ashes in a three-foot-square hole dug near the maple. Georgina covered it with dirt, patting it down.

Benita knelt, placing a cascade of pale yellow roses over the spot. Each family member, in turn, added their flowers.

The office staff, not in attendance because the service was family only, had brought a sumptuous luncheon to the house, to follow the funeral.

The three women cried quietly. Kylie sobbed the most, but she was the youngest. They’d come by at nine in the morning, and when Margaret, who’d driven everyone, dropped Kylie back at her apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. All the drama was getting on Margaret’s nerves.

The family filed back to the flagstone patio, where the luncheon had been set out with the best china and crystal. They stood behind their seats at the two long tables.

“Herb, please take the seat of honor.” Benita motioned for him to head her table.

“The girls thought of everything.” Will, Jr., opened the first bottle of champagne.

Everyone called the office staff “the girls.”

When all the glasses were filled, Benita stood, faced the tree, and held her glass high. “To the memory of a good husband, a man of integrity and exquisite taste. How fortunate we were to have him in our lives. To Will.”

“To Will,” all repeated in unison.

She sat back down and leaned toward her daughter. “How he would have loved this.”

The day passed quickly enough with all the family around. An hour before sunset, under the direction of Will, Jr., they all piled into cars and drove west to watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge.

Not until their return home did Benita give way. When Will, Jr., turned the car down the drive, they saw that it had been lined with sugar maples, one for each year of their marriage.

At Big Mim’s behest, Tim Quillan had put everyone he had at Waynesboro Nurseries on the job, and they’d planted those maples, six feet each, in two hours’ time and left without a trace.

Will, Jr., stopped the car; the cars behind him stopped, as well. One by one, they all got out of the vehicles.

“Oh,” was all Benita could say before her legs gave way.

“Mother.” Will, Jr., grabbed her.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Who did this?”

“We all did. Big Mim arranged everything and paid for the lion’s share. But we all pitched in. You know Dad and his maple.” He cried; he couldn’t help it.

Later that night, when Benita crawled into bed, she cried and cried. She cried for Will. She cried because she was wrapped in the love of her wonderful family. She cried because Big Mim had proven to be such a good friend.

She thought a moment about what Big Mim had said about how people can take advantage of you when you suffer from a ferocious blow. She’d pull herself together and keep on top of the billing and the money. She couldn’t play golf twenty-four hours a day, no matter how much she loved it. She needed a focus, a job, and tending to the business part of Will’s practice would suffice, for now.

She hadn’t discussed business with the children, but she would before they left. The choice would be to close the practice or sell it. If they closed, then the three women in the office would be out of work. Sophie would land a job first, because everyone needed a good nurse and she was the most experienced. Will would want Benita to do all she could for his staff.

But who would buy his practice after this?

The whole medical community had stepped forward to help with those patients in need. Again, she was overwhelmed at how good people were, how ready to work.

She had a little time. She was praying someone would step forward, a young doctor just wrapping up a residency, perhaps.

Then the oddest thought flitted through her head. Jonathan Bechtal looked familiar to her. The FBI had showed her photographs. She didn’t recognize him. But now, in her exhausted state, she thought there was something familiar.

She closed her eyes. Big Mim was right about how huge emotional events distort your mind, wear you out. She was going to have to be vigilant.

17

“You have it easy.” Harry wiggled in her seat. “All you have to do is shave, comb your hair, and put on your clothes. Okay, maybe tying the bow tie is difficult, but the rest is easy.”

“You look beautiful.” The line into Poplar Forest, a quarter mile long, demanded patience.

“You like this color on me?”

“Honey, I like every color on you. You can wear anything.”

The full-length dress, adjusted to fit perfectly by a seamstress, felt confining to a woman used to jeans, work boots, and a T-shirt or sweatshirt.

Harry’s mother used to say, “A woman must suffer for beauty.”

Harry’s reply was, “Let someone else suffer. I’m happy to look at her.”

Her suffering wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought it was. She’d never endured plastic surgery, she didn’t spend bags of money once a week for facials and manicures. She’d only once enjoyed a massage. She dabbed on mascara, blusher, and lipstick. That was it. However, she had spent a pretty penny on the gown, and it showed.

So exclusive was the fund-raiser that it was white tie, not black. Years ago, Fair had bought a bespoke suit of tails, two tuxedos, and one white dinner jacket with a satin shawl collar. Like Harry’s mother, his father had sought to prepare him for many of the social functions one needed to frequent. Nothing looked better than clothes cut for you, and if a man kept his weight steady, he need never buy more.

“I didn’t paint my fingernails.”

“I didn’t paint mine, either.” He smiled.

She looked out the window at the sun, forty-five minutes from setting. “I think it’s going to cool down.”

“You have your mother’s fabulous coat.”

“I do. I wish I had my mother’s fabulous style.”

“I like your style: fresh and natural.”

She looked at him. “You must want hot sex tonight.”

He leaned back. “Harry, whenever I’m with you the thought is uppermost in my mind.”

“Do you think men think about sex more than women or do you think it’s cultural? You know what I mean.” Harry wasn’t always the most articulate soul.

“We’ll never know what’s cultural and what’s biological, because science is always in service to power. Even veterinary medicine. What do I personally think after forty-two years of observation? That men think about sex more than women do. However, I don’t think women are that far behind. They display it more discreetly, if they display their thoughts at all.”

“That’s what I think.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because I’m bored sitting in this line and I’m already crabby about being in this gown. I feel like a drag queen, even if I am a woman.”

“A lady. You’re an elegant Virginia lady of black-type bloodlines.”

“Honey, if you said that to someone who wasn’t a horseman, they’d think you were talking about race.”

“Guess they would.”

Black type in a Thoroughbred pedigree meant the animal had won Grade I races. Obviously, this was highly desired.

“I admire Tazio’s outlook,” Harry said. “Being half African-American, half Italian certainly provided her with insight, not just into race but into culture, people’s petty prejudices, you name it. You know, I have never heard her once utter a remark about race, pro or con.”

“You can bet she heard about it in school.”

“Well, her parents sent her to the most expensive girls’ prep in St. Louis.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t brush up against ugly remarks. If anything, rich kids can be even more snide than poor ones.”

“I don’t know about that. Small little minds looking for something to hold against someone else bite you sooner or later.”

“Luckily for her she is beautiful.”

“She really is, and that’s another thing I admire about her: she doesn’t use it. Some women can use it like a whip against men and women.”

“I know.” He smiled ruefully. “Lately, though, Tazio has looked drawn.”

“Carla and Mike. She’s worried about offending Big Mim, too, over this ball.”

He cleared his throat, moved forward a bit. “The whole situation with Little Mim is pretty ridiculous. It’s not Tazio’s fault. And, remember, let us always remember, it was Big Mim who suggested—no, insisted—that Folly chair the fund-raiser.”

“I know and you know that, but it’s still going to be sticky with Little Mim and Blair at Folly’s table.” She sighed. “At least Tazio and Paul will be at ours.”

“There’s a reason I work with horses and not people.”

“I hear you.” She laughed. “Have I told you how handsome you look?”

“You’re trying to soften me up for sex tonight, aren’t you?” He paused. “Soften is the wrong word.”

“I never worry about you.” She smacked his arm. “God, this is taking forever.”

“Look at it this way, the ball is already a success.”

“Tell that to my bladder.”

“Mine, too.”

Another fifteen minutes, amid lights flashing on sheriff vehicles, and the Haristeens had parked.

Harry, holding on to Fair’s arm as would a proper lady from the early nineteenth century, whispered, “There’s got to be Porta-Johns somewhere.”

Since Fair was so tall, he looked around. “Over there. A whole row, before we even are escorted to the festivities.”

They made a beeline—not easy, since Harry was in low heels. Her long dress covered up that she wasn’t tottering in high heels.

Each hurried into adjoining Johns.

She heard him laughing.

“What are you laughing at? I can hear you!”

“I’m not telling.”

He emerged first, of course, and waited dutifully. Finally, a red-faced Harry came out, the metal and plastic door reverberating behind her.

A line had already formed for the Johns, so she kept her voice low as they walked away. “What’s so funny?”

“I was imagining you trying to balance yourself, hold up all the voluminous material, pull your panties down, and then go. Whew.”

She laughed so hard she had to stop. “At least you appreciate the problem. One of these days, I’ll dress you up and you can really learn what we go through to please you brutes.”

“You’ll never find shoes big enough.”

“Oh, yes, I will. There have got to be drag queens as big as you are.” She glanced up at him, his face baby-smooth, as if he had used a five-bladed razor. “Ever do drag?”

“Hazing for Phi Delta Theta when I was a pledge.” He named his college fraternity. “I actually liked the silk and the colors, and I loved being hairless. You know, I hadn’t really seen my chest muscles or my arms so clearly since I hit puberty. I could see every muscle, plus it felt so smooth. Sexy, really, and then the hair started to grow out. Itchy. Awful. Awful.” He giggled.

“Were you a pretty girl?”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“Right answer.”

A gentleman in attire from the second decade of the nineteenth century held out his gloved hand for Harry, and a young lady in pale-salmon silk held out her hand for Fair.

They walked through a promenade of shaped boxwoods in huge glazed pots, which led to the back lawn. The effect was that of walking through a corridor and suddenly coming into the light.

What light it was. The three hundred guests glowed in the long, slanting rays of the sun, its bottom a few degrees above the Blue Ridge.

Servants in livery opened glass lanterns on wrought-iron stands to light the beeswax candles within, using long tapers.

Small hanging lanterns, strung high, surrounded the stage, and occasional fanciful lanterns suspended from trees added to the extraordinary effect.

Harry could only glimpse the tables beyond the first gathering level. She and Fair would be ushered into the seating area later. But she could just see red, gold, white, and deep-purple floral arrangements.

On a broken Corinthian column in the center of the lawn towered a floral arrangement using the same colors again, with trailing ribbons of silver and gold and one baby-blue ribbon.

Thomas Jefferson would have loved it. The symmetry gave structure to everything and echoed the symmetry of the house. The occasional whimsical items, such as the lanterns or another boxwood carved as a rabbit on its haunches, would have amused him. The animal boxwoods were in large glazed vases.

Could Jefferson have seen Tazio Chappars, in a gown with crisscross chiffon straps over her bosoms, a long waist, and flowing skirts to the ground, all in the palest of pinks, he would have fallen head over heels. Those green eyes flashing above the pink added to her potent appeal.

Paul, sleek in his white tie, noticed every man looking at his date. Well, she was more than his date—he was wildly in love with her and didn’t mind telling her so.

She appeared cooler, but sooner or later Tazio would have to admit that she loved him, too.

The young couple fielded all the praise from people who knew that Tazio was responsible for the look of the evening.

Folly Steinhauser sported an emerald-and-diamond necklace with matching earrings and bracelet, which cost a hefty six hundred thousand dollars if one penny. Her husband, Ron, was by her side and engaged in an intense discussion with Marvin Lattimore. Ron’s gray pallor accentuated his age. He kept a grasp on Folly’s right hand with his left, but he couldn’t follow her eyes since he was talking business with Marvin. Folly could hardly keep her eyes off Marvin.

As for Penny Lattimore, she’d already ditched her husband to talk to Major Chris Huzcko, much to the annoyance of Elise Brennan, herself swathed in diamonds and sapphires.

The first couple Harry and Fair ran into were Marilyn and Urbie Nash. Marilyn’s white gown, pink ribbon wound through the bodice, wider pink ribbon as a sash at the waist, accentuated her good features.

“Stunning,” Harry complimented her after everyone’s initial greeting.

“We both clean up pretty good, don’t we?” Marilyn smiled.

“We’re waiting for the dancing so we can watch you and Urbie.”

The Nashes had taken up ballroom dancing, finding that it kept them in shape, plus they had such fun doing it.

They chatted for a few minutes more, mostly about Marilyn’s animal-rescue work, then moved on to other couples, as is customary in such circumstances.

Big Mim glided up, husband, Jim, in tow. “Harry, you’ve never looked so radiant.”

Fair gently lifted Big Mim’s right hand, brushing his lips over it. “Nor you.”

“Fair, you flirt.”

“Watch it, buddy.” Jim Sanburne, a working-class boy made good, glared with mock anger at Fair.

“We all envy you, Mayor.”

“Well, you don’t envy my job.” Jim laughed and slapped Fair on the back.

It had taken years for Big Mim to realize that the exceedingly masculine Jim would remain, fundamentally, a working-class man. She finally reached the point where she rather liked that. She kidded him that they were beauty and the beast. Jim, being Jim, asked who was whom?

Aunt Tally, silver-hound-handled cane in hand, had a date with a much younger man. Adolfo di Maso degli Albizzi was a count, although Italy no longer considered such titles. At eighty he looked dapper, and everyone called him Dolf.

“Children.” Aunt Tally waved her cane.

“My esteemed aunt wants your attention.” Big Mim smiled tightly as she nodded to Aunt Tally. “She’s on her second martini.”

“We’re safe until the third.” Harry kissed Big Mim, then Jim, on the cheek.

The two pushed through the resplendent crowd to the oldest couple there.

“Signora.” Dolf bowed low, then kissed Harry’s hand as Fair kissed Aunt Tally’s.

For good measure, Fair also kissed Aunt Tally on the cheek.

“A triumph.” Aunt Tally beamed.

“You, my sweet, are the triumph.” Dolf oozed Continental charm.

“Go on.” Tally lifted her cane ever so slightly. “Isn’t this extraordinary? I tell you… well, I’ll tell you two things. One, that Tazio Chappars has a gift, a true gift. It’s all there—structure, proportion, color, and texture. As for Folly,” she glanced around, eyes glittering, “it would appear her organizing ability is as formidable as that of my beloved niece.”

“That’s why Big Mim selected her for the job.” Harry wondered how often this would come up tonight.

“I suspect she didn’t know quite how formidable Folly’s talents are.” She knocked back the remains of her martini, eyed the glass, then smiled broadly at Dolf.

“Honey, what would you like?” Fair chose to accompany Dolf to the bar under the portico.

This location proved to be the only flaw in the plans, because people could slip into the house. The bartenders had to keep calling them back. The one person whose task was to keep people out of the house was on overload. He couldn’t wait for the supper to begin and the bar to close.

Being as tall and powerful as he was, Fair could run interference for the older, frailer gentleman.

“Tonic water with a twist of lime.”

“Champagne! Bring your bride champagne,” Aunt Tally commanded.

Strolling flute, violin, and lute players walked among the crowd, as did serving girls bearing trays of delicious tidbits.

Aunt Tally reached over as a college student, dressed in period, offered a tray. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry shook her head no. She confined herself to regular meals and tried not to snack.

“Are you going to dance the night away?” Harry smiled.

“I was hoping for more, but Dolf would probably have to lash his member to a pencil.” The nonagenarian, almost one-hundred, popped the hors d’oeuvre into her lipsticked mouth.

“Aunt Tally, you shock me.”

“No, I don’t. I was doing it before you were born. Before Mim was born. By now I should be an expert, don’t you agree?”

“Well… yes.” Harry burst out laughing.

“Where is that man with my martini?”

“Fighting the crows. Hold on.”

Carla Paulson stopped by for a moment. “Aunt Tally, you remember my husband, Jurgen?”

“So nice to see you, sir.” Aunt Tally extended her hand.

He shook it, then repeated the process with Harry.

Carla, with bracelets obscuring her arms, a huge necklace, and enormous earrings of white and black pearls with sprays of diamonds arching over them, presented a contrast to Harry, who appeared restrained. She was wearing her mother’s five-carat emerald-cut diamond ring, along with emerald-cut earrings at three carats each and a matching bracelet.

The diamonds were perfect. Harry knew exactly how to wear jewelry even though she wasn’t much interested in it. She could never have afforded her mother’s diamonds, but once upon a time, before the Great Depression, the Hepworths, Harry’s maternal family, had money.

Aunt Tally wore a diamond choker and two-carat drop diamond earrings, quite subtle but the diamonds were perfect.

In Virginia, less is more.

“Darling, you must get a safety-deposit box.” Aunt Tally smiled at Carla, who missed the point.

Fortunately, before the old girl could further sharpen her tongue, Dolf and Fair appeared.

Dolf performed the obligatory hand kiss, which made Carla titter.

Mike McElvoy passed by, Noddy on his arm. “Good evening, folks.”

“Mike.” Fair smiled at him.

Carla curled her lip, but Jurgen had the manners to wish him a good evening.

“Mike, with all your building inspections, do you ever have time to build for yourself?” Harry asked.

Noddy answered for him. “You should see his shop. Well, he calls it a shed. It’s sacred. I don’t go in there.” She tittered. “It’s where he buries the bodies.”

Mike gruffly replied with humor, “I am banished to the shed because I’ll dirty her house.”

As Mike left, Carla hissed, “I truly hope I see him roasted on a spit.”

“Now, Carla, don’t let that temper get the better of you. Redhead.” Jurgen genially explained her temper due to hair color.

As the Paulsons left to distribute themselves among the throng, Aunt Tally said, “Lucille Testicle red.”

Harry, tonic water in one hand, champagne in the other, decided the only way to survive this evening was to knock back the champagne immediately.

Fair smiled as she did so, placing her fluted glass on the tray as yet another serving girl passed by.

“Another?”

“No, honey. I really will stick to the tonic water, but I needed help.”

“Oh, Harry, loosen up,” Aunt Tally ordered. “A little medicinal application of spirits enriches life.”

“Mutes the harshness.” Dolf sipped his champagne.

A melody of trumpet notes called the assembled to the tables.

As each gentleman seated each lady, then sat down himself, a moment of hush fell over the lawn. The variety of glasses on the table was truly spectacular.

The band of strolling players left the scene, and an orchestra playing period pieces sat near the back of the platform, itself a wonder of ribbons, topiary, and birds. The tableau commenced on stage.

Tazio, next to Fair, flushed from the praise.

He leaned down to tell her, “All deserved.”

Harry noted that Little Mim indeed graced Folly Steinhauser’s table—the Number 1 table, too. Her eyes cast over the scene. She was amused to see Mike McElvoy and his wife seated at a back table with Tony Long and his wife. Folly, no doubt, was working these two over for some grand building plan she envisioned for the future. Might work with Tony, but who knew about Mike?

Will Wylde’s table was filled with his staff and their dates and husbands. Kylie leaned on her date. She wore the gold Rolex, which, being a sport watch, wasn’t proper. However, she wanted the world to view her treasure.

This reminded Harry how generous Benita Wylde was, because “the girls” would not have been able to afford this evening on their own. Benita had told them Will would be horrified if they didn’t attend. He wanted people to live, to enjoy life.

Dr. Harvey Tillach’s table, on the other side of the lawn, was also filled.

Miranda and Tracy, at Harry’s table, which wasn’t all that far from Big Mim’s table, filled it with laughter. Miranda turned into the lively high-school girl she once was in Tracy’s company. Not that she couldn’t be lively on her own, but the years and the loss of her husband, George, had subdued her for a long, long time.

A young man quietly poured the first serving of wine. Harry turned her glass upside down. One glass of champagne was all she could handle. She felt its titillating effects already.

Miranda held up her glass. Cooper, seated beside Tracy, wondered at the nature of Miranda’s toast.

Her deep, honeyed alto voice flowed over the table. “This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm One Eighteen, Verse Twenty-four.”

Everyone joined Miranda’s toast.

The first course, served in a coordinated, balletic fashion, added to the conversation.

Cooper, surprisingly feminine in her bottle-green gown, had a blind date, Lorenzo McCracken, a Nicaraguan. Before the twentieth century, an outpouring of Scots had settled in Central America. The crossing of the Scots with the Spaniards had resulted in some progeny taking the best of both. Lorenzo possessed the square, manly features of a Scot, with intense Spanish coloring.

Cooper, who hated blind dates, was thrilled with this one.

Hard to tell how Lorenzo felt, since his manners were not only perfect but infused with charm.

Cooper kept telling herself, “I know I’m a fool for Spanish-speaking men. On guard.”

Yes, but for how long?

This was a happy, happy crowd. Even Big Mim was happy, so long as she didn’t look over at Little Mim. And at Table 1 .That grated.

Herb Jones did his best to keep her distracted. If the good reverend’s genial patter didn’t occupy her, her increasing alarm at Aunt Tally’s alcohol intake did.

Aunt Tally was becoming the belle of the ball. Not for the first time.

Tazio, not wearing a watch—which was wise for a lady in a ball gown—asked Paul the time. Most of the courses had been served. She was getting a little nervous about her upcoming presentation.

“Seven forty-five.”

“What time does the show begin?” Harry asked.

“After dessert, per usual.” Tracy laughed. “If you drink enough wine, you can fall asleep during the speeches.”

“Now, honey.” Miranda winked at him, although he was in scant danger of falling asleep.

“Let me just slip away. I’m going to be on that dais for some time.” Tazio headed for the Porta-Johns out of sight of the tables.

Ten minutes passed.

“She’s taking a long time.” Paul glanced at his watch again.

Cooper said, “Probably a line. She’s not the only one trying to get in ahead of intermission.”

A moment of silence prevailed on the dais, the lovely bit of Mozart completed. The violinist spoke something to the others, picked up his bow again, tapped his foot. Before he could draw it across his resonant instrument, a bloodcurdling yell scared even the birds settled in their nests for the night.

Harry’s eyes opened wide.

Another scream followed.

Cooper rose. “Excuse me.”

“Allow me to go with you.” Lorenzo knew she was a deputy.

“You swore you weren’t going to work tonight.” Harry rose, and Fair pulled her down.

“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

Wrong.

Cooper hurried to the front of the house. There on the lawn, the twilight wrapped around like a shroud, lay Carla Paulson, her throat slashed.

Standing over her, knife in hand, was Tazio Chappars.

18

The head violinist, a puzzled look on his face, held his bow in midair.

Folly Steinhauser remained in her seat, confused.

Big Mim stood up, held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your desserts.” Prudently, she added, “Please stay in your seats until further notice.” Then, nodding to the violinist, she sat down.

Folly may be a good organizer, but she’s not up to a crisis, she thought to herself, then she turned to her husband and whispered, “Where’s Marilyn?”

Little Mim was not in her seat.

“I don’t know, honeybun.” He started to rise.

She put her hand on his forearm. “Wait. If she’s not back in five minutes, then look. More than likely she went to the bathroom.”

As the music filtered over the now-murmuring crowd, Little Mim, ashen-faced, walked not to Table 1 but to her mother.

Leaning over, she whispered, “Carla Paulson’s lying on the front lawn. Her throat is cut. Coop is there. So is Tazio Chappars—she had the knife in her hand.”

Face composed, Big Mim lifted her eyebrows and forced a smile. “Thank you, dear. Sit down and tell no one. That’s the best path for now.”

As Little Mim returned to Table 1, Aunt Tally said, “Shall I assume that’s the end of the feud?”

“I think you may,” Big Mim replied to her aunt.

“What’s up, Mimsy?”

“I can’t tell you, Aunt Tally. But I will at the opportune moment.”

Emitting a long, irritated sigh, Aunt Tally returned to her exquisite sherbet nestled next to a sliver of divine chocolate cake, the layers so thin they looked like tissue paper.

Jim, worried, said, “I ought to go out there.”

“Honey, Coop is there. If anyone can handle the situation, it’s our own good deputy.”

And Cooper did handle it. She told Tazio to simply put the knife on the grass and to remain with her.

Kneeling down, Coop carefully examined Carla, her gorgeous dress’s bodice, even the voluminous skirts, red with fresh jugular blood. She felt for a pulse. None. She’d figured that, but one could hope.

As far as the deputy knew, if a jugular was slashed, trying to stop the bleeding by pressure was ineffective. The time for even that measure had passed. This one was cut halfway through.

Cool and clinical, Cooper looked around the scene. The only other persons she had seen were Little Mim and Harvey Tillach, whom she told to return to the party.

“Tazio, you don’t have a cell on you, do you?”

“No,” Tazio, still stricken, replied.

“Did you kill Carla?”

“No.”

“What were you doing with the knife in your hand?”

“I—I saw her sprawled there and I ran up. All that blood. All that blood. I’ve never seen so much blood, and it was still squirting up, like a fountain, a dying fountain.”

Cooper waited patiently, saying only, “Go on.”

“I don’t know, Coop. I saw the knife right by there.” She pointed to Carla’s left hand. “And I picked it up. I don’t know why.”

“All right. Listen to me. Listen hard now. In a few moments the law-enforcement people here who helped with parking will come up. They are going to take you with them. I can’t stop them. You are the prime suspect.”

“I didn’t kill her. I loathed her, but I didn’t kill her.”

“For your sake. Tazio, I truly hope so. You’ll need to compose yourself and go quietly. You’ll have the opportunity to make one phone call to your lawyer.”

“He’s here. Ned.”

“All right, then, I’ll fetch him after they take you to jail. Say nothing, Tazio. I mean it. Say nothing until you can talk to Ned. I hope he can extradite you up to our facility, but I doubt it. You’re in for a rough time. You have to be strong.”

“God.” Tazio swallowed more tears.