The Tail Of The Tip-Off

BoomBoom walked over. "Well, I didn't. Fred said, 'Cover your ass.' Wish I'd caught the rest of it."

"Been a day of moments," Mrs. Murphy observed.

"Yeah and it's only one-thirty." Tucker wanted to stick her nose in the grocery bags.

"Saturday's Harry's day off. And we're spending it shopping. I want to do something fun." Pewter slid over the gearshift onto the front seat and Susan's lap. Harry bid BoomBoom goodbye and got into the passenger seat as Susan started the engine.

"The Reverend Jones provided excitement," Mrs. Murphy tittered, recalling the scene.

"And you were such a chicken," Pewter called back at Tucker.

"I was not. Elocution and Cazenovia were the chickens."

"Well, I want excitement. The day is young." Pewter stood on her hind legs, her paws on Harry's left shoulder as she looked back at the others.

"Excitement comes in both good and bad varieties," the corgi sagely noted.

42

Each time he thought of Fred, Matthew gripped his steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He'd catch himself, then stop. He pulled his dark green Range Rover onto Garth Road and headed west.

As late as the 1960s, these rolling hills sported few houses. Horse farms, hay farms, and down at White Hall, apple orchards dotted the road.

Berta Jones, former Master of the Farmington Hunt Club, kept three retired Kentucky Derby winners at her farm, Ingleside. She hunted those fast Thoroughbreds, too.

But the redoubtable Berta had been long gone. Her daughter, Port Haffner, another bold rider, kept to the old Virginia ways, but surrounding the beautiful farm were expensive houses on anywhere from two to twenty acres.

The homes, red brick with white porticos, security systems, sprinkler systems, and big-ass family rooms, were built for the "come heres" to impress one another. Natives wondered why anyone would pour their money into a house instead of the land.

But the new people gave Matthew his start in building. He soon realized the money was in commercial construction and by the mid-1970s, quick to master new technologies and materials, Matthew pulled ahead of larger, more established firms. Now he was the large established firm.

He got along with most people, newcomers or old families. He often wondered why the newcomers didn't learn the ways of the place-"When in Rome"-but so often these people whipped out their checkbooks expecting that to supplant simple good manners. They'd write a check for a charity but would keep their maid on starvation wages. The Virginian would not write a check for charity but would properly take care of the maid.

The law of Virginia was, "Take care of your own."

The problem was the new people didn't know who "their own" were. Maybe they wrote the checks to cover their bases.

Well, Anne knew the rules. Matthew pulled into the crushed-stone drive on the north side of Garth Road, a little winding road tucked away, and soon he was at the door of a charming 1720-inspired frame house, simple, well built, and of pleasing proportions. Charleston-green shutters framed the sash windows, the white of the house blending in with the snow.

He used the brass knocker in the form of a pineapple.

Anne opened the door. "Matthew, do come in."

"Forgive me for not calling. I was on my way home and thought I'd stop by to see if you need anything."

"Please come in. I'll make us both a drink. It would be lovely to have some company."

Upstairs the squeals of two girls captured his attention as he entered the house. "Party?"

"Georgina Weems. I'm trying to keep Cameron's routine as normal as I can. Children mourn differently than we do. She needs her friends. I need mine." She looked into his eyes with her hazel green eyes. "Scotch? Vodka martini? Isn't that your drink?"

"A little too early for me. I'll take a cup of your famous coffee."

"You're in luck because I was just going to make espresso. H.H. bought me that huge brass Italian thing with the eagle on the top. Restaurants don't have espresso makers this huge." She led him into the kitchen.

He folded his coat over the back of a kitchen chair. "A major machine."

She showed him the steps for making espresso, then brewed him a perfect cup, cutting a small orange rind to accompany it. She poured herself one, too, in the delicate white porcelain cup with the gold edge that H.H. also gave her for Christmas.

"Let's go in the living room. What's wrong with me? I should have taken your coat."

"Everything happens in the kitchen anyway, and I don't care about my coat. Sandy sends her love, by the way."

Anne sat down at the kitchen table. "You two have been wonderful throughout this ordeal. It's bad enough I've lost my husband"-she put her cup on the saucer-"but to have people think I killed him is a deep dose of cruelty. I know what is being said behind my back."

"Now, only the sheriff is going to take that route. He has to investigate all possibilities." He tried to soothe her.

"Rick was here yesterday. Cooper, too. You know my little greenhouse? They went through it with me and asked me questions about belladonna. They were quite obvious so I pointed out that even an azalea if ingested in large quantities can induce a coma. Buttercups can shred your digestive system. The berries on mistletoe can be fatal." She paused. "I must look like a husband killer." She dropped her head slightly, then raised it.

"Not to me you don't."

"Thank you."

"This espresso is better than anything I've ever had in a restaurant." He sipped appreciatively. "Need any shopping done?"

"Thank you, no. The weather has kept me in more than anything. Let them stare. I'll stare right back."

"That's the spirit. Most people are so damned bored anyway they're looking at you with envy in their eyes. 'If only I could be that interesting.'?" He mimicked what he thought such a voice would sound like.

"Oh, Matthew, you're pulling my leg."

"Hey, I'll pull your arm, too." He drained his cup.

She refilled it. "Should I call Sandy and tell her I'm peeling you off the ceiling?"

"One of the advantages of being big is that I can ingest a lot more of everything before it affects me." He smiled. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about H.H.'s death. We both know his temper might piss off someone, excuse my French, but a deep-dyed enemy? Can't think of a one."

"What about his lover when he ditched her?" Anne was surprisingly frank, but Matthew was an old friend.

"I didn't know about that-not until everyone knew and then the next evening there he was at the basketball game with you."

"For Cameron. He was waffling. 'I'll go. I'll stay.' It really was hell and I suppose that's why I'm not mourning the way people think I should. I suppose I do look guilty." Her jaw set.

"Why didn't you tell us? Sandy and I would have talked to him. You know that."

She lightly tapped the table with the head of the small spoon. "I was furious that he would think I was so stupid, so pliable, that he could do this to me again. When I did confront him he denied it. Don't they all? But I wore him down. He said he was sorry but he also said he needed a lift. He needed too many lifts over the years." She rose, opened the refrigerator and put out cookies, then drew herself another espresso. She also poured a shot of McCallums for good measure. She held up the bottle but Matthew shook his head no. "The only thing I didn't do was take an andiron and brain him."

"Did you know the woman?"

"Eventually. Mychelle Burns."

"Ah." He chose not to say what he knew about that.

"Now she's dead, too, and it doesn't look good for me."

"There are very good lawyers in this town. Don't you worry."

"I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't worried. More worried for Cameron than for me. What if her little friends hear their parents talking? What if they tell Cameron, 'Your mother murdered your daddy'? My God, that terrifies me."

"We aren't there yet." He exhaled. "Presumably Rick will find out why Mychelle was killed but that's not really my concern. I've been thinking. Could this have had anything to do with H.H.'s business?"

"How?" She sipped the scotch, the warmth as comforting in its way as the espresso was.

He paused a moment. "Oh, money under the table. Rigged bids. That sort of thing."

"Not that I know of. It wasn't that H.H. kept his business life from me but by the time he'd come home, the food would be on the table and we'd talk to Cameron. That was her time. After supper he might mention what happened in his day. I guess most couples are like that or become like that. You move in separate worlds unless you're in the business together."

"True. Sandy and I rarely talk about business. I don't want to bring it home." He made a motion with his hands as though pushing something away. "Men and women have better things to talk about."

"From time to time he'd blow his stack over Fred Forrest."

"Fred's such a pain in the ass. Now if someone murdered him, I could understand that. What about firing someone, a guy who holds a grudge?"

She shook her head. "Given the type of business you're in, I know you have to fire people but he never brought that up. If an ex-employee bore a grudge, I knew nothing of it."

"H.H. used to make fun of me because a lot of my boys are functionally illiterate, but I'll tell you, they are loyal. They know it's hard to get hired and they know most bosses will trim down their pay if they can hardly read and write. I pay them well and I get good work, steady, good work. It's been years since I've had to fire anyone."

"Isn't it a pain, though? You can't leave written notes."

"You'd be amazed at what they remember. They don't need to have a note. Tell them and they remember. Granted, it's a problem if something comes up and Opie's down at the store getting lunch. Or you're going to leave the site and you need to leave him a note, but that doesn't happen very much. Anyway, I have a good foreman and that helps."

"I wish I could tell you something, anything."

"You may not be able to answer this-do you think you would have divorced him?"

"For Cameron's sake, I wouldn't want to."

"What about yours?" Matthew's voice was soft.

"Oh." She glanced at a spot over his head then dropped her gaze to his. "He'd become a habit. I was used to him. There were days when I loved him and days when I didn't. Lately there were more of the 'didn't.'?"

"Anne, I'm sorry. Truly sorry." She shrugged, tilted her head and smiled. He continued. "If you need a good lawyer, let me know. You know you can call Sandy or me any time of night or day. If you need some time alone, we'll be glad to take Cameron. Matt and Ted adore her. They'll be big brothers."

"Thank you. Do you think I did it?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Thank you, Matthew."

43

White cartons of Chinese food, tops opened like flower petals, decorated Harry's kitchen table. Cynthia Cooper brought the delicacies, a ritual she and Harry shared on those Saturday nights when neither of them had a date.

Sometimes Miranda would join them but now that her Saturdays were filled, it was the two younger women.

"I can't eat another bite." Harry flipped a shrimp to Pewter with her chopsticks.

"I can!" Pewter gleefully caught the shrimp.

Mrs. Murphy chewed some cashew chicken while Tucker worked on pork lo mein.

The two humans folded back the tops, putting the cartons in the refrigerator. They took their coffee to the living room.

Harry sat in the wing chair. Cooper plopped on the sofa, stretching her feet to the coffee table. She could relax with Harry. She pulled an unfiltered Camel from her shirt pocket.

"Serious."

"It's Rick's fault." Cooper squinted as she lit up. "For the last three months he's switched brands hoping to cut back on the nicotine content. So instead of smoking one pack a day, he'd smoke three packs of the diet cigs. Then he reverted to the real deal but was still trying other brands. I don't know why. He said maybe if one of them tasted bad to him, he'd slow down. Finally, he went back to Camels. Swears they taste the best. I concur." She exhaled a blue curlicue. "I tried those different brands with him. Of course, the really expensive stuff, Dunhill, Shephard's Hotel, that's heaven but this is good. You never smoked, did you?"

"Once in a blue moon, I'll smoke my father's pipe. It's kind of soothing and it makes me think of Dad."

"I'm sorry I never met your father."

"He was a good guy. He knew a lot about the world. Very realistic but not, uh, cynical."

Harry smiled as the three animals came into the living room to clean faces, whiskers, one another.

A good grooming after a meal was essential to mental health, especially for Mrs. Murphy who had a vain streak.

"You think H.H.'s murder or Mychelle's has anything to do with drugs?" Harry switched back to the problem at hand.

"No."

"Me, neither."

"Then why'd you ask?" Cooper laughed.

"You're closer to the case than I am. You know things I don't."

"It's not drugs. The more we investigate the more it looks like lover's revenge."

"Anne?"

"Yes."

"That is so awful. I hope it's not true."

"When you get right down to it, I'm surprised that more women don't kill their husbands."

"Cynic."

Cooper swung her legs to the floor, leaned over and ground out her cigarette. "Maybe."

"Well, if it is Anne she was brilliant to kill him in front of everyone. Not so brilliant to kill Mychelle."

"No fingerprints. Not a scrap of physical evidence and no murder weapons."

"Ice. An ice bullet," Mrs. Murphy meowed loudly.

"Indigestion?" Harry glanced down at her tiger cat who was looking right up at her.

"I love you, Harry, but you can be so obtuse." Mrs. Murphy leapt onto Harry's lap.

"Don't waste your breath. If you get upset you will get indigestion," Pewter advised.

"We'll all be hungry in an hour anyway." Tucker delivered her assessment of Chinese food.

Pewter and Tucker scrambled onto the other end of the sofa, quickly settling down.

"Do you mind?"

"You ask?" Cooper laughed as she reached over to pet the two friends.

"I've been thinking."

"God, no." Cooper covered her face with her hands.

"The next girls' game is Tuesday. Wake Forest, I think. Well, it doesn't matter who the opponent is. These events, including the attack on Tracy, all happen during or after women's basketball games. Tonight's the men's game and I bet you nothing happens."

"So far nothing has happened except around the women's games, but we can't find a connection." She put her feet back up on the coffee table. "What's your idea?"

"I've ruled out gambling."

Cooper laughed. "Keep going."

"This Tuesday night why don't you and I and these guys stay in the Clam all night. The animals have much keener senses than we do."

"No way."

"You agree the site may be important."

"I don't know. I mean that. I don't know. H.H.'s murder was planned. I think Mychelle's was opportunistic."

"Yeah, well, what can it hurt to have us there overnight?"

"Tracy escaped with a knot on his head. Maybe he was lucky. I can't risk you or even me without Rick's approval. Besides, Harry, if he thought a surveillance was needed, he would assign someone to stay there at night after the game."

"Well-ask him."

"He'll blow his stack at me, not at you. By the time he reaches you he'll have cooled down enough for harsh words only."

"Chicken."

"I have to live with the man during work hours. You go talk to him first. You take the blast."

"Aha, you don't think it's a bad idea."

"I didn't say it was." Cooper knew that Irena Fotopappas, posing as a graduate student, was there during the day. No one was there all night. She'd bring it up to Rick but leave out Harry, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. "But it's a dangerous idea. Most especially since we don't know what we're looking for. If we knew, say, it was a gambling ring and a player shaves points, we might be able to do it, but Harry, we don't know what's going on if it isn't Anne Donaldson. That's risky."

"I have a .38."

"You could have a bazooka. If you don't know what or who your target is, he might get you before you get him. If this isn't Anne it might be another lover. We might even know the woman. We'd be disarmed, off guard."

Harry dropped both arms over the side of the wing chair. "I still say we should stake out the place."

"I'll bring it up to the boss but don't try it-especially don't try it without me. This one scares me."

That really surprised Harry and it reflected in her voice. "Why?"

"If this is a crime of passion, then Anne Donaldson has more self-mastery than most of us as well as intelligence. If it isn't Anne, it's still someone who can dissemble with ease and who is frighteningly intelligent."

"Damn."

"Double damn." Cooper sighed.

They lapsed into silence, both staring into the fire, a blue edge surrounding the yellow flames.

"Harry, carry your .38 on Tuesday."

"Are we going to do it?"

"No, not exactly, but I'm going to call the people who sat behind H.H. to stay after the game. I have an idea. I'll ask three department people to sit in for H.H., Anne, and Cameron."

"What if she's given the tickets to friends, which I bet she has?"

"Doesn't matter. We'll do this right after the game."

"Cool." Harry beamed.

44

By Monday morning at eight-thirty, Tazio and Brinkley had already been at work for an hour. Tazio drove carefully to the office, too, because the roads were slick, the plowed snow on the side turning greasy gray.

Her assistant wouldn't be at work until nine on the dot. Greg Ix, always punctual, kept her in a good humor.

She didn't look up when the door opened. "How wasted did you get this weekend?"

The door closed.

Brinkley scrambled to his feet. "May I help you?"

"Tazio." Fred Forrest strode up to the opposite side of the drafting table.

"Hello. I thought you were my assistant. I amend that, my young and wild assistant."

"I haven't been either for a long time." Fred showed a rare smile.

"What can I do for you? Or what shall I fix?"

"Nothing. I mean, everything is in order. I'm here"-he cleared his throat-"I'm here to find out if Mychelle spoke to you. I heard she approached you at-"

Tazio interrupted, something she rarely did. "We never got to our meeting."

"I see." He looked at the drawings on the drafting table but didn't really see them. "Do you have any idea why she wanted to talk to you-in private, I mean?"

"No. I wish I did."

"Guess you told the sheriff that."

"Sure." She reached down to put her hand on Brinkley's head. The handsome young dog was filling out a bit. Once full grown and well nourished, he would be quite gorgeous.

"Mom, he's upset."

Tazio scratched his ears.

"Did you ever spend time with Mychelle?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Uh, well, you're both colored." Fred used the old polite word because he couldn't keep up with the new ones and Tazio understood that.

She smiled. "It's funny that you bring that up, Fred. Our jobs put us on opposite sides of the fence, don't you think?" He nodded and she continued. "And don't get me wrong, I'm not touchy, but just because people are the same color doesn't mean they're going to get along. People in the same family don't get along."

He blushed. "You're right. I, uh, well, Tazio, I used to know how to act in the old days. I knew my place and so did everyone else, but now I get confused. Lorraine"-he mentioned his wife-"says people are people and don't fret over these political fashions. She calls them 'fashions' but Lorraine doesn't work for the county government. She works at Keller and George"-he named the town's premier jewelry store-"and what she says isn't going to get blown out of proportion or wind up in the newspapers. You can't even say 'Boo' at Halloween without someone calling you a pagan."

"Mom, what's a pagan?"

"Sweetie, you're vocal this morning." Tazio smiled at her boy and wondered how she ever lived without a dog's perfect love. "You know, Fred, I never really thought about how it is in a government job. I guess there are people out there just trying to set you up."

"You wouldn't believe it." He put his index finger on the smooth maplewood tabletop. "I apologize for my extended bad mood. Lorraine says it's extended. Guess it is. You haven't seen my good side. I have one, actually."

"I'm sure you do." Tazio knew something was eating him. "Mychelle's awful death has been a great blow to you. She was your student. I'm sure she was grateful for all you taught her."

"I still can't quite believe she's gone. And that's why I wondered if she had said anything. I'm grasping at straws but I want to catch her killer as much as Rick and Cooper do, only if I catch him, I'll kill him. I swear I will. Taking the life of a young woman. Leaving her to bleed to death. My God, Tazio, they're more humane at the SPCA."

"Yes," she quietly replied. A silence followed, then she spoke. "Have you had breakfast? Let me take you up to the corner. Scrambled eggs?"

He held up his hand, palm outward, "No, no, thank you. Hot oatmeal with honey this morning. That will carry me to lunch. I'm sorry to come in here and bother you."

"You haven't bothered me. I wish I could be helpful. I've told Cooper all I know-which is very little."

"When Mychelle came up to you in line that day, was she frightened?"

"Agitated. I thought she was mad at me but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why."

His eyebrows knitted together. "Wasn't mad at you. No. Afraid. A bluff. Instead of showing it, she got angry. I knew her pretty good."

"Do you have any idea what she was afraid of?"

"No."

"Fred, sooner or later, the person who killed Mychelle will be caught. I really believe that and I know that Sheriff Shaw and Deputy Cooper won't rest until they catch him."

He sighed. "I hope so." Then he turned for the door. "You be careful. Make sure no one thinks you know anything."

"Well-I don't." A small ripple of fear ran through her.

"Thanks for your time. 'Bye." He left.

"I don't know anything. Why would anyone think I knew something just because they saw us in line or out in the parking lot or on-site? Or because we're African-American. Half. My other half is Italian. So what do I do, Brinkley, serve spaghetti one night and cornbread the next? I'm just me. Why is it so hard for people to let you be yourself?"

"I don't know but I love you and I'll protect you and I'll eat anything you give me." He thumped his tail on the floor.

Greg opened the door, skidding inside. "Yehaw!"

"Must have been a great weekend." Tazio smiled, her spirits somewhat restored by his rosy-cheeked face and lopsided grin.

45

Pewter, reposing on the arm of the sofa, opened one jaundiced eye. "She's got that bounce to her step."

"Scary, isn't it?" replied Mrs. Murphy, nestled just below Pewter on the afghan thrown on the sofa cushions.

"Think she'll take us?" Tucker hated being left home.

"Even if she does we'll be stuck in the parking lot. Doesn't do us any good if we can't get in the building to see what's going on." Murphy could think of better things to do than sit in the truck.

"Now, you babies be good. No tearing up things. I am speaking to you, Miss Puss." Harry walked into the living room to directly address Mrs. Murphy.

"How do you know it's me?"

"You're a bad kitty and too smart for your own good."

"Right." Pewter opened the other eye.

"Pewter, you go right along with her. I am still furious over those silk lampshades in the bedroom you sliced and diced."

"That was fun." Mrs. Murphy recalled her evening of destruction much as old college chums recalled getting blasted at a fraternity party in their youth.

Youth is more fun in retrospect.

"I'll go. Leave the cats at home." Tucker wiggled in anticipation.

"Brownnoser." Pewter turned her nose up.

"Sacrilegious cat," Tucker called back.

"You ate those communion wafers as much as I did." Pewter was quick to defend herself.

"You started it."

"Tucker, I'd be ashamed to lie like that." Mrs. Murphy sat up. "Elocution started it."

"Sure was funny seeing the Rev stuck. It's the unplanned, stupid things that get you. Like glue on the floor." Pewter giggled.

"People think life is going to be as they imagine it, not as it really is. That's why murderers are caught sooner or later. They get stuck just like Herb. Somewhere out there, there's glue." Mrs. Murphy smiled.

"That's why we should be there tonight," Tucker seriously stated.

"She isn't going to spend the night. Cooper will be there. So will other people. She isn't going to be able to hang back or sneak in. Don't worry, Coop will take care of her. It's another night we have to worry about. The Sheriff's Department will drop its guard or get called off and Mom will fly down there to the Clam. If she thinks she can get away with it," Mrs. Murphy logically deduced.

"Yeah." Pewter backed her up.

"All right, see you later." Harry sailed out of the house, the .38 in a holster on her belt in the hollow of her back.

"'Bye," the animals called back in unison.

They listened as the Ford truck coughed to life.

"We have the whole house to ourselves. What can we do?" Murphy gleefully asked.

"Sleep." Pewter was tired. Traffic had been heavy in the post office this Tuesday.

"U-m-m, we could open the cupboard doors and pull stuff onto the counter."

"If we do that we might break china," Pewter replied.

"We could pull out canned goods. We don't have to open the china doors. Or we could sit on the floor and pull open the lower cabinet. A little Comet strewn over the kitchen floor will look worse than it really is." Mrs. Murphy wanted to play.

"No," the other two replied.

"Party poopers." The tiger jumped down from the sofa and walked back to the bedroom. She pressed the On button on the television remote control. This would make Harry think she was losing her mind because she'd swear she turned off the Weather Channel before she left home.

Mrs. Murphy watched the curve of a low pressure system now in the Ohio River Valley. It was pointing Virginia's way. More bad weather was due to arrive, tomorrow night most likely.

She pressed the channel changer to the Discovery Channel. The program highlighted elephants. She settled on the bed to watch it. At least the program was about animals. The cat couldn't abide sitcoms. Not enough animals. Many didn't even have one. Heresy to her.

As Mrs. Murphy watched elephants wallowing in the mud, Harry met Cooper at the main doors to the Clam and they walked inside together.

"Anne didn't give the tickets to anyone, so Rick, myself, and Peter Gianakos will be in front." Cooper had met Peter at the New Gate shopping center when she questioned him about H.H.'s work on that project.

"Peter, he's pretty cute."

"Yeah, he is."

They entered the basketball arena, the crowd filling the seats, and the band already playing behind the goal. For all but the big games the band was a smaller version of the marching band, and they wore T-shirts of the same color. Being more relaxed made them play better, or so people thought because the band really got into it. They added a sense of heightened fun to the happenings.

Everyone was in their usual seats. Harry, Fair, Jim, Big Mim, Aunt Tally on one row. Behind Harry sat Matt and to his right were Sandy, Ted, Matt, Jr. To his left sat Susan, Ned, Brooks, and to everyone's surprise, Dr. McIntyre's new partner, Bill Langston, a very, very attractive man. Behind that row were BoomBoom, Blair, Little Mim, and Tazio, whom Little Mim had invited since the seatholder was out of town for two weeks. Four rows behind this happy crew already swapping drinks and nibbles sat a glowering Fred Forrest.

On the opposite side of the court were Tracy and Miranda. Josef P. was reffing with a very tall former college star, Moses Welford, called Mo. Tracy, off duty, wanted to enjoy the game.

From the first whistle the game took off and never slackened. The Wake Forest team played defense like ticks, they stuck close and sucked blood.

Tammy Girond and Frizz Barber, probably the two quickest players on the UVA team, rather than being rattled by the superior defense, rose to meet the foe.

All the Virginia women played well, kept their cool. Isabelle Otey put eight points on the board in the first half. Mandy Hall added four and Jenny Ingersoll, despite being double-teamed sometimes, managed six. At halftime the score was Virginia 26, Wake Forest 24.

The second half was even better. The fans screamed, pounded the seats, stomped the floor, waved pennants and pom-poms because the game was so close, so clean, and everyone in the arena knew they were watching one of the best games of the season.

Coach Ryan would bound out of her seat from time to time. She had a commanding court demeanor without losing her cool. Andrew Argenbright paced on the sidelines. Every time the fast six-foot-three-inch Wake Forest forward rose up to block a shot, his hand would smack his forehead. She was beyond impressive. She was awesome. This year Virginia didn't have one outstanding player. What they had was a team, all talented and well matched. Wake depended too much on that forward. The Virginia team could depend on everyone.

The game went into three overtimes and finally Virginia pulled it out with a three-pointer off the hot hand of Jenny Ingersoll.

Bedlam.

Who was more exhausted, the teams or the fans?

Finally, fans filtered out.

The people Cooper had called stayed behind, and she asked Tazio Chappars and Bill Langston if they would mind filling in for the people usually sitting in their seats.

Fred Forrest, although four rows behind, didn't budge and Cooper didn't ask him to leave. If he wanted to sit through it, fine with her. Maybe she'd learn something. She was suspicious of Fred.

Tracy and Miranda remained on the other side of the court, as Cooper had asked them to stay as well. Tracy, who reffed the game the night of H.H.'s murder, took off his shoes and came out onto the court in his stocking feet.

Rick sat in H.H.'s seat. Peter sat to his left, which was the side of H.H.'s neck that had been pierced. Cooper sat on Rick's right but she stood up and turned around.

"Think back. Does anyone remember seeing anything thrown at H.H.?"

People shook their heads.

Rick slapped the back of his neck.

"Does anyone remember H.H. grabbing or rubbing his neck?"

Again, negative.

Cooper stepped back a row, standing next to Harry on her right. "Harry, you're behind H.H., a little to his left, and Fair, you're right next to Harry. Surely if he had been stabbed or hit with anything, you would have seen it."

"Nothing." Harry shrugged.

"What about Anne putting her arm around him?" Cooper pressed on.

"No," Harry said.

"Our eyes were on the basketball court," Fair concurred.

"Well, yes, but sometimes we see things out of the corner of our eye. A flashing light, the buzzer, and it triggers that memory." She rolled her fingers over a bit, a gesture of thoughtfulness. "Bear it in mind. And let the pictures roll in your head." She then walked in front of Harry and Fair to stand before Jim, Big Mim, and Aunt Tally. "Anything?"

The nonagenarian pointed at Cooper, the silver hound's head of her cane gleaming in her right hand. "You think the deed was committed here, don't you?"

"Still a hunch, Aunt Tally, still a hunch."

"But I don't understand why H.H. wouldn't yell or slap his neck if he was stabbed." Jim puzzled over the obvious stumbling block.

"He didn't feel it," Big Mim replied.

"Because the game distracted him?" Jim asked.

Bill Langston, the new doctor, surprised the others when he spoke. He sat directly behind Aunt Tally. "It's possible for a victim to not feel what pierced his skin-not at first anyway. A painkiller on the tip of a dart would deaden sensation. He would feel it later, whether ten minutes later or a half hour, that would depend on the type of painkiller and the amount injected, naturally. And curiously enough, some wounds aren't as painful as others despite the damage. Cold can also blunt initial pain for seconds or even minutes. If he was attacked outside, the cold might have helped numb the puncture."

"Thank you-"

"Bill Langston." He smiled. "Hayden will get around to formally introducing me."

"We're glad you're here," Cooper smoothly said.

Now the assembled knew what she and Rick had known, there was a painkiller. She hoped this would prove useful and she knew that as she moved from row to row, person to person, Rick was observing everything. He had a tremendous feel for people.

The tall blonde deputy stepped up to the next row. She smiled at Matthew and Sandy's two sons.

"It'd be so cool if we could solve this crime," Matt, Jr., the elder, said.

"Yeah," Ted, a fifth-grader, affirmed.

"That's why we're all here." Cooper turned to Sandy and Matt. "Two rows back but close. Can you remember what you were doing those last, oh say, five minutes of the game?"

Sandy laughed. "Matthew was handing out beers when he wasn't cheering."

"That's why I had the beers. Our throats were raw." He genially put his arm around his wife's shoulder.

"Susan?"

"Oh, I remember being on my feet most of the time. I'd no sooner sit down than I'd jump up again. And noisemakers. We all had noisemakers."

"Kazoos?"

Ned answered Cooper. "Kazoos. Little tin horns. A big cowbell and, uh, you know, those things you blow at New Year's parties."

"They furl and unfurl," Brooks added.

"We make a lot of noise in this row." Matthew pulled a kazoo out of his pocket.

"Who had the cowbell?"

Matt, Jr., called out, "I did."

"Where is it tonight?"

"I forgot it," he sheepishly answered Cooper.

"Yeah," Ted said, "because we were late and Mom was on our tails."

"How big is the cowbell?"

Matt, Jr., held his two hands about ten inches apart. "Big Bessie."

"I guess." Cooper laughed, then she stepped up to the third row behind H.H.'s seat. "BoomBoom, what do you remember?"

"What a great game it was. The noise was deafening."

"Nothing unusual?"

"No."

"Blair?"

The handsome model, his eyes a warm chocolate, thought, then shook his head. "Nothing."

"Did you have a noisemaker?"

"No."

"What about a pennant or one of those foam rubber fingers that says Number One?"

"No. The less I have to carry, the better."

"Little Mim?"

"Well, I confess, I do have a noisemaker." She reached into her purse, pulling out one of the New Year's type. She handed it to Cooper.

"This seems a bit sturdier than the party variety."

"I bought it down at Mincer's." She mentioned a university institution on the corner across from the University of Virginia. "As you can see, blue and orange. Lasts about a season before it finally dies."

Cooper handed it back, glancing at Tazio.

"Like Dr. Langston, I'm just sitting in."

"Unlike Dr. Langston, you knew H.H. Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill him?"

"Anyone in the world or anyone in this group?" This response from Tazio made everyone sit up straight.

"Keep it small. This group."

"No."

Cooper called up to Fred. "Any ideas?"

"No," he called back.

"You can come closer, Fred."

"No, I want to sit where I sat. Where I was the night of the murder."

"All right then." Cooper stepped down the tiers back to Rick. "You all knew H.H. Would it be possible for him to be involved in a theft ring here at U-Hall, at the Clam?"

This also got their attention.

"What do you mean?" Matthew kept putting his index finger over the mouth of the kazoo.

"We are investigating a theft ring." She held up her hand as though quieting them even though they were quiet. "It hasn't been made public. Is it possible that H.H. was part of this?"

"Stealing what?" Aunt Tally sensibly asked.

"Sports equipment," Cooper answered.

"H.H. died for sports equipment?" Matthew was incredulous.

"You think he could have been part of it?" Cooper homed in.

"I didn't say that," Matthew, red-faced, instantly replied. "No. H.H. wasn't that kind of man."

"Wasn't that kind of man or believed, 'Never steal anything small'?" Tracy called out from the middle of the basketball floor.

"Not that kind of man." Matthew spoke with conviction.

"Of course, you were watching the players, Tracy, but what about after the game as people filed out? Where were you?"

"In front of the timekeeper's desk. Both Josef and I. Then we went back to our lockers."

"Did you happen to notice H.H. at all?"

"No, I didn't."

"Does anyone here think H.H. could have been part of something dishonest?"

No one said anything.

"Is there anything anyone wants to say?"

An embarrassed silence followed, at last punctured by Aunt Tally who figured at her age she could say anything she wanted to, but then she always had, even when she was twenty. "The affair."

"Yes."

"H.H. strayed off the reservation." Aunt Tally used the old expression for a wandering husband or wife.

"If he was that careful about hiding an affair, don't you think he could hide criminal activity?" Cooper persisted.

"It's not the same thing." Matthew chose his words with deliberation. After all, he was sitting next to his wife and two sons. "Many men put sex in a category. You know what I mean."

"Compartmentalize," Tazio called down to him.

"Thanks. That's the word I'm looking for. They compartmentalize, so sexual behavior isn't a reflection of how they might behave in a business context."

"Do you believe that?"

"Believe it? I see it every day," Matthew said.

"He's right." Fair agreed since he himself had thought like that and it cost him his marriage.

"And women don't?" Cooper prodded.

"We can but usually we don't." BoomBoom's voice, a mellow alto, seemed to fill the vast space.

"So the woman or women with whom he was having the affair did not compartmentalize."

"Well, Cooper, how would we know?" Harry innocently asked.

"Would you boys like to leave?"

"No!" both Matt and Ted shouted.

Cooper looked apologetically at Matthew and Sandy. "I forgot about their ages."

"Oh hell, Coop, this stuff is on television every night." Matthew shrugged.

"Yes, but they don't know the people on television," Sandy perceptively added.

"Sandy, do you want to go outside with the boys?"

"We've gone this far. I mean, as long as we don't get into physical detail."

Cooper shook her head. "No. Would the affair be reason enough in your minds? You've all said you can't think of another reason why H.H. would be killed. You can't think of anyone with a motive."

"I'm surprised there are as many men alive as there are." Aunt Tally, as usual, scored a bull's-eye.

Another uncomfortable silence followed since no one wanted to state the connection between Anne and the possible motive.

"You all are awfully quiet."

Little Mim said what everyone was thinking. "We all adore Anne."

"I can understand," Cooper responded.

"So that girl killed here. She was the one, wasn't she?" Aunt Tally put it on the table.

"She was."

"I don't believe it." Fred finally came down to BoomBoom's row.

"Fred, we have proof. I'm afraid it's true," Cooper declared.

He sat down. Visibly upset, he put his head in his hands.

"Well, you've all been a great help to us. Thank you for your time. Rick, anything else?"

"No. Go on home, folks. We appreciate your help."

Fred stepped down another row and spoke over the boys and Sandy. "Matthew, come up here with me a minute."

The larger man slipped the kazoo into his coat pocket and reluctantly followed Fred back up over the seats. Fred led him to the hairline crack in the wall where it joined the roof near the stairs.

"See this?"

Matthew put his face close to the crack, then felt the dampness. "Uh-huh."

"You fix it."

"Fred, this building is thirty years old. Shifting is natural. Besides, I worked on it but I wasn't the general contractor back then."

"I don't give a good goddamn. You fix it."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing's the matter with me. You fix it before I find more shit to throw on your plate."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Fix it!" Fred was losing control.

"Aren't you laying it on a little thick?"

Fred, without warning, pushed Matthew hard and he fell backwards, entangled in his own feet. Like most large men, he wasn't agile. He rolled down the stairs toward the basketball floor to the horror of the others.

Little Mim, acting quickly, and closer than the others since she was the last person in the row, stepped into the stairs to break his downward progress. He was so big, though, that he knocked her down as he rolled. Blair grabbed Little Mim as Bill Langston stopped Matthew, his face banged up, cut from the hard surface.

Tracy Raz, still quick as a cat, bounded up the other side of the group, reaching the top. He put his strong hand on Fred's shoulder. Miranda, fearing a fight, stood up from her seat on the opposite side of the court.

"I'm not going anywhere, Tracy." Fred, calm now, walked down the steps, Tracy right behind him.

"Oh, honey, are you all right?" Sandy ran over to her husband, now on his feet with Bill's and Fair's help.

"The padding helped." He patted his stomach.

Cooper reached Matthew as Rick came up alongside Fred.

"Fred." Rick simply said the man's name.

"Do you want to press charges?" Cooper asked Matthew, while Sandy dabbed his face with a linen handkerchief.

"No."

"You're being noble," Fred sneered.

Matthew, face crimson, controlled himself. "Fred, you need help."

Before anyone else could explode, Cooper and Fair escorted Fred out of the basketball arena.

The others all talked at once. Bill Langston proved very helpful. Ned, smart about these things, introduced him formally to Tazio Chappars.

Fair reminded Harry and BoomBoom he owed them drinks and that they could collect at the Mountain View Grille in Crozet proper. They both agreed to meet him there but Harry warned them she'd be about ten minutes late.

Finally Rick, Cooper, Tracy, and Harry were left in the basketball arena.

"Well, Fred blew," Harry simply said.

"He did but he sits in the wrong place to have killed H.H." Rick stepped toward Harry. "You, on the other hand, had a clear shot."

"I did," Harry agreed. "But I have no motive."

"Before we go, let's go up to where Fred pushed Matthew. He kept saying, 'Fix it.'?"

The four of them climbed up the stairs. At first nothing much seemed unusual, then Tracy stepped over to the wall and noticed the hairline fracture.

"Here."

The other three came over.

"That? He's screaming about that?" Harry was incredulous. "He's got it in for Matthew."

"I think it's beyond professional distaste," Tracy noted.

"Mental." Harry delivered her judgment.

Cooper put her hand to the wall, feeling the coolness, the dampness. "Harry, don't even think about coming back in here. This place is dangerous."

"It's going to fall apart because of one little crack in the wall?" Harry joked.

"I don't want anyone in this building alone at night." Rick glared at Harry then.

Rick reached for a cigarette even though the signs read, "No Smoking." He didn't flick out his plastic lighter until they were back down on the floor. "This place is dangerous. Tracy, whoever you ref with, leave together from now on."

"I will."

Rick inhaled gratefully, then said, "Folks, this one ain't over."

46

As Tazio drove west on Route 250 heading toward Crozet, she reflected on how attractive Bill Langston was. Brinkley, who snuggled in the sheepskin left for him in the truck, loved riding around with Tazio. He usually sat up, looked out the windshield as though he were driving. He noticed other dogs, of course, but also farm signs swaying in the wind, cattle, horses, Canada geese flying in a V. Being next to his human made him feel important. When they went places, people now spoke to him as well. He liked that.

She turned right onto Route 240 and within five minutes was in the middle of Crozet, a little town devoid of pretension and perhaps even charm except that its residents loved it. She counted Harry's truck, Fair's truck, BoomBoom's BMW, Herb's black Tahoe, and other cars, then said, "Party."

The Mountain View Grille, usually full, strained at the seams tonight. People had been sitting at home long enough thanks to the snow. The roads were good enough so everyone was out and about.

"Brinkley, let's join everyone. 'Cept I need to pop into the office for one skinny minute." She turned left at the intersection, swooped under the railroad overpass, and pulled into her office parking lot.

She pulled right up front, stepped out, and Brinkley hopped out with her. As he relieved himself at the corner of the building, he noticed a new Toyota Sequoia lurking at the back.

"Mommy, don't go in the office," the Lab warned.

She turned to her canine friend. "Brinkley, you could water every bush, pole, and garbage can in this town. Hurry up."

"Stay here." He hurried over to her.

She had her office keys on the same chain as her truck key. As she slipped the cold metal key into the lock, the tumbler rolled back with a click.

Brinkley gently sank his fangs into her skirt, holding her back.

"Don't." She smacked his head, not hard. She swung open the door. Before she could flip on the lights she heard a bump, then someone pushed her hard. She lost her balance, tumbling down in a heap.

Brinkley leapt onto the intruder. He bit hard, a nice fleshy calf.

"Ow!" a woman's voice cried out but she socked the dog and he let go.

She ran out the front door and around the back of the building.

Brinkley thought about pursuing her but decided Tazio was much more important. He licked her face.

"I'm okay." She stood up and lurched outside in time to see the dark-colored car. She couldn't identify the color but she recognized the make. "Jesus, that's Anne Donaldson's car. I swear it!"

Brinkley, never having met Anne Donaldson, wouldn't know her but her perfume was a very expensive brand named Poison. Brinkley would recognize it if he smelled it again.

"Are you okay?" Brinkley whined while licking Tazio's hand.

"You tried to tell me. Brinkley, thank God you were with me. What would she have done if you weren't?" Finally, Tazio, shaky, stepped inside and switched on the light.

To her relief the place wasn't turned upside down but her long blueprint drawers were open. They were like the old bins used in newspaper offices, pages laid flat in thin drawers.

Nothing had been stolen, but Anne had been looking at Tazio's latest, larger projects.

Tazio thought about calling Rick but then nothing was taken, plus she couldn't prove it had been Anne Donaldson. Instead she drove down to the Grille.

She walked in. Harry, Fair, and BoomBoom motioned for her to join them. Herb, Miranda, Tracy, Bill Langston, Big Mim, Little Mim, Blair, Jim, Aunt Tally, Matthew, Sandy, Matt, Jr., Ted, Susan, Ned, and Brooks were also there, reliving the game. Herb had missed the game but he was enjoying the verbal replay.

However, no one recapped the after-game session with the sheriff and Cooper.

Herb had regaled them with his tale of the carpet glue and the devoured communion wafers.

Then Tazio, more disturbed than she realized, astounded them with what had just happened to her.

"Are you sure it was Anne?" Herb asked, his gravelly voice supportive.

"No. But I'm, um, seventy-five percent sure. Toyota Sequoia, brand-new. Brinkley warned me and I didn't listen."

"Call Rick." Tracy and the others nodded as Matthew and Sandy rose to leave. Tomorrow was a school day and it was eleven o'clock. Matt, Jr., and Ted had had enough excitement for one day.

"Nothing was taken. I can't prove anything. If it wasn't her, I've added to her troubles."

"Do you know what she wanted?" Harry's curiosity was high, per usual.

"She'd been pulling out the drawers where I keep blueprints. But I don't know what she wanted."

"Tazio, change the locks on your doors." Matthew bent down and kissed her on the cheek, then waved goodbye to the others.

After the Crickenbergers left, the conversation continued.

"How did she get in?" Miranda wondered.

"Well-I don't know. Maybe I'm a little more shook up than I think." Tazio exhaled. "Probably the back door. I forget to lock it sometimes, but even when I remember it's the kind, you know, the kind you can open with a credit card."

"Tazio!" BoomBoom said, eyebrows raised.

"Nobody steals anything," she replied.

"You've got computers in there." BoomBoom couldn't believe Tazio sometimes didn't lock up.

"If they want to get in, they'll get in," Aunt Tally forcefully said.

"True, but why make it easy for them?" her niece, Big Mim, said. "Now listen, this talk has gone on long enough. I'm calling Rick on my cell phone and we're all going to sit here until he arrives."

"Oh, Brinkley's in the truck and he's been there most of the night. Can't I bring him in?"

Lynn Carle, who owned the restaurant along with her husband, said, "Sure. It's almost closing time anyway. I was going to lock the doors so if he's in here, hey, who's going to notice?"

Tazio ran back out, returning with the dog. Everyone fussed over him since he tried to protect his human. He loved it, of course.

Rick and Cooper arrived in a half hour's time. Tazio told them everything as she remembered it.

"Why'd you wait so long to call me!" Rick angrily said after hearing her report.

Taken aback, Tazio said, "I'm fine. It's not late."

"It may be too late for Anne."

He and Cooper flew out of the Mountain View Grille, jumped into the squad car, hit the siren and skidded out of there.

47

Although the distance from the restaurant to the Donaldson house was only eight miles, the slick roads demanded careful driving.

Twenty minutes later Rick and Cooper reached Anne's front door.

Relief flooded their features when Anne opened it.

"Are you alone?" Rick removed his hat.

"The baby-sitter's here. Come in, Sheriff. Come in, Deputy."

"Thank you." They both stepped into the front hall.

"Has anyone called on you this evening?"

Anne looked at Rick. "You mean at the door?"

"Yes."

"No. Margaret, the baby-sitter, well, her mother dropped her off. I had a few errands to run and didn't want to leave Cameron alone. This was also a way to ensure she gets her homework done. Sixth grade, and they pile the homework on these kids. Uh, won't you sit down? Come on into the living room."

They followed her in, sitting down in chairs facing the sofa where Anne took a seat.

"Mrs. Donaldson, has anyone phoned? E-mailed?"

"No. Since H.H.'s death the phone's been silent most of the time and my messages on the computer are either advertisements or from my sister." She smiled without happiness. "When people think you've murdered your husband you fall off the 'A list,' if you know what I mean."

"I can imagine," Cooper replied.

Rick shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "Mrs. Donaldson, I have reason to believe you were in Tazio Chappars's office tonight. Why?"

A long, long pause followed. "Are you charging me with, well, whatever one charges in those cases?"

"Not yet," Rick replied. "Were you in her office?"

"No." Anne folded her hands in her lap.

"Tazio has made a positive ID," he fibbed while Cooper took notes as unobtrusively as possible.

"Let her make it in court." Anne was quite calm.

"All right then. You weren't in Tazio's office tonight but if you were what would you look for?" He smiled.

"Nothing. Our relations have been cordial even when people hinted she and my husband were having an affair."

"Were they?"

"No. But any attractive single woman is suspect by those who feed off that kind of thing." A note of bitterness crept into her voice.

"H.H. worked with her on-" he turned to Cooper, "how many expensive homes?"

"Last one on Beaverdam Road, six hundred fifty thousand dollars. Delay in completion due to H.H.'s demise and weather. New move-in date, March first."

"Yes, the crews have resumed working." Anne brought her hand to her face, resting her chin for a moment on her thumb. "I'm running the business now."

"You worked with your husband prior to his death?"

"No. I know very little, but I do know the Lindsays need to get into their house. The crew keeps working, the foreman is good, and I'm studying as much as I can as fast as I can, but I expect like most else in this life you learn by doing it. I don't want to put all these men out of work. My husband built up a fine company. I've got to keep it going until I feel I can make better decisions. I don't trust myself right now."

"Do you think you can work with Tazio?"

"Of course. She's a gifted architect but now that she's gotten a taste for grand design I don't know if she'll piddle and paddle with residential design."

"Do you suspect her of wrongdoing?"

"No."

Rick leaned back in the chair, then leaned forward again. "You must suspect something."

"No."

"Did H.H. say anything to you before his death that made you question her? Or question the business?"

A very long pause followed this. "Once when I challenged him about the affair, not with Tazio, as I said, but his latest"-she shrugged-"the argument escalated, and at one point he said, 'You have no idea what goes on in my business. None. You just take the money I make and spend it. I'm under a lot of pressure. Competition, Anne. You know nothing of competition. So what if I indulge myself? Blow off steam. It's better than booze or drugs.' I thought it was another attempt at justification. Oh, the human mind is so subtle in the service of rationalization! But now, now that I've had time to think, I wonder. I'm still shell-shocked. I know that. I don't trust my emotions right now but I trust my mind. Sex, love, and lust are motives to kill. Well, I didn't kill him but there must be some women out there with those motives."

"We have questioned, uh, other women. They have alibis." Rick patted his breast pocket. The crinkle of the cellophane on his Camel pack offered some succor. He knew better than to ask Anne if he could light up.

"I see."

"Mrs. Donaldson, did he ever use the term 'double-dipping'?" Cooper finally spoke.

"No. Charging twice for the same service or materials?"

"Yes." Cooper nodded.

"No. I think H.H. was aware that some people did it. Not many. Most of the reputable firms in Charlottesville really are reputable. There's so much competition among construction firms, if someone was double-billing sooner or later the word would get out."

"But double-dipping, if one wanted to be crooked, would be a way to bypass Fred Forrest." Rick heard the baby-sitter come to the top of the stairs and then walk back down the upstairs hall.

Anne heard her, too. "Margaret, it's okay. Do you need anything?"

"Uh, Mrs. Donaldson, Mom expects me home."

"All right, dear. I'll run you home in about"-she looked at the law officers-"ten minutes."

"Thanks, Mrs. Donaldson."

"Actually, I'll take Margaret home." Rick spoke firmly. "You stay put and Deputy Cooper is staying with you."

Indignant, Anne sharply said, "Am I under house arrest?"

"Far from it. We happen to think you may be in danger and I don't want you left alone until we wrap this up."

"You're close? You're close to arresting H.H.'s killer?" Dread and excitement filled her voice.

"I think we are."

"Were you in Tazio's office to find a second set of books? Did you think she was in on it?" Rick stood up.

Anne stood up, too, and slapped her hips with her hands. "Well, if an architect were in on it, it would spread the risk, wouldn't it? It would be easier to jack up the costs, too, if, say, an architect and a construction firm were in collusion. That's not double-dipping. That's padding the bill. It could be quite elegantly done, you know." Anne betrayed a greater knowledge of the business than she had previously admitted to.

"Why Tazio?"

"Young, ambitious, very smart, rising in this world."

"Maybe you thought she was vulnerable because she's African-American. Less principled? More eager for money." Rick knew just when to slip the knife in.

"Actually, Sheriff, that thought never crossed my mind. Aren't we beyond those petty prejudices?"

"No," Rick simply said.

"Ah, well, I am." She paused. "Sheriff, I shall assume that you no longer believe I murdered my husband."

"Let's just say you're slipping down the list of suspects." He smiled.

"Then may I ask why I may be in danger?"

"Two reasons. The first is the killer's fear that-for whatever reason-you'll put two and two together. The second is that the story about being in Tazio's office will make the rounds. Why would you be there unless you were looking for something that had to do with business?"

"I never said I was there."

"You don't have to. Others will say it for you."

"One more question, Sheriff, before you leave me in the capable hands of Deputy Cooper. The toxicology report?"

Rick said, "The minute the substance is identified I'll call you. It can't be too much longer."

48

The party broke up at the Grille. Little Mim took out her noisemaker, a little worse for wear, and blew an olive pit through it at Blair. Emboldened by her accuracy, she also hit Harry, BoomBoom, and Fair.

"Really, Marilyn," Big Mim disapprovingly chided.

"Oh, Mother." The daughter, in the process of her emancipation, sailed by her and out the door.

"Good evening, ladies." Blair inclined his head, the gentleman's version of a small bow, and left with Little Mim.

"What is the matter with her!" A flicker of genuine anger flashed across Big Mim's well-preserved face.

"She's in love. Leave her alone. The question is, 'What's the matter with you?'?" Aunt Tally, as usual, was painfully direct in her manner.

"You saw what happened to her first husband, a wastrel if ever there was one."

Miranda and Tracy slipped by, not wishing to participate in the discussion. Big Mim and Aunt Tally blocked the door. Harry respectfully stood behind the two older women. Jim paid the bill for everyone over the protests of the men and a few of the ladies.

"Honeybunch, don't get yourself exercised," he called from the cash register counter.

"You always take her side." Big Mim grimaced.

"No I don't, but she has to live her own life. We made our mistakes. Let her make hers and you know what? This may not be a mistake. Now, honeybunch, you relax."

"Men," Mim muttered under her breath.

"Can't live with them. Can't live without them," Aunt Tally concurred, but she rather liked the living-with-them part, not that she'd married. She hadn't, but she certainly had had a string of tempestuous affairs starting back in the 1930s. As a young woman, in her late teens she blossomed into a beauty and even now, in her nineties, vestiges of that ripeness could still be glimpsed.

"I'm doing okay," Harry whispered to Aunt Tally.

"Me, too," BoomBoom agreed.

"You're both deluding yourselves." Tally did not whisper her reply.

Both women knew better than to disagree with Aunt Tally.

"Why are you all standing here looking at me?" Big Mim crossly addressed the others.

"You're blocking the door. Miranda and Tracy just squeezed out before you took up your stance." Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. She truly liked Big Mim despite her airs.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say something?" Big Mim stepped aside.

Each bid her good evening. Fair had walked back to Jim to fuss over the bill.

"Get out of here. I have more money than is good for me. You go take care of horses," Jim good-naturedly said to the veterinarian.

The Sanburne generosity was legendary. Fair thanked Jim but made a mental note that his next barn call to Mim's stable would be gratis.

He opened the door and the chill brought color to his cheeks. Harry and BoomBoom were already in the parking lot.

"Hey, girls, wait for me."

"Oh?" Harry laughed.

BoomBoom, prudently, unlocked her BMW without comment.

"What this town needs is an after-hours bar," Fair jovially replied.

"In Crozet? Right. Get two people every Saturday night." Harry, like most residents, worked hard and rose early.

"You're right, but we might be the two." He waved as BoomBoom flashed her lights, then pulled out. "I know two kitties and one corgi who are lonesome for me."

"We like ourselves a lot tonight."

"I like you a lot every night."

The clear winter sky, the snow on the ground, the glow from a good meal, all added to Fair's potent masculine appeal. Plenty of women's eyes widened when they first met the tall blond. His warm manner, his slow-burn sense of humor, he just had a way about him.

"You are too kind." She fluttered her eyelashes, mocking what Northerners thought Southern belles did to ensnare men. Harry's experience was that men wanted to ensnare her a lot more than she wanted to ensnare them, but tonight Fair did look good.

"What about a nightcap?"

"Uh, okay."

They reached the farm in fifteen minutes. The cats and dog joyously greeted them.

Harry poured a scotch for Fair and made herself a cup of Plantation Mint tea.

They sat side by side on the sofa.

"Big Mim's being a snot about Blair."

Fair felt the warmth of the scotch reach his stomach. "He'll win her over-if that's what he wants to do. I still can't make up my mind about that guy."

"What do you mean?"

"He seems like a real guy but I don't know, modeling is, well, it's not a guy thing."

"Fair, that's not fair."

"Terrible to have Fair for a name. Am I prejudiced? To a degree."

"Well, at least you're honest." Harry decided not to get into an argument about male sexuality.

"Pewter and I ought to be models for Purina or IAMS or one of those cat food brands. We could sell ice to the Eskimos," Mrs. Murphy purred.

"Bet I could, too." Tucker put her paws on the sofa.

"You'd be irresistible, Tucker," Pewter complimented her. "Those expressive brown eyes, that big corgi smile."

"Thank you." Tucker, with effort, got up on the sofa.

"I don't know if I've ever seen Little Mim be silly. She wasn't even silly when we were children," Harry mused. "Nailing us with olive pits."

The tall man got up from the sofa.

"Where's he going?" Mrs. Murphy rubbed her paw behind her ear.

"Where are you going?" Harry echoed her.

"More ice."

He walked into the kitchen. Harry's refrigerator did not have an icemaker. He removed an ice tray, held it over the sink, twisted the plastic tray and the cubes popped out into the sink, onto the counter. Some broke, leaving little shards like glass glistening in the light.

Harry heard him curse. She joined him in the kitchen. The animals came in, too.

"I'll clean it up." Harry grabbed a dish towel.

"I made the mess. I'll clean it up. Damn, Harry, I'll buy you a new refrigerator with an icemaker!" He began picking up the fractured ice cubes. "Ouch!" A spot of blood bubbled on the tip of his forefinger.

"That's it!" the animals shouted.

Fair sucked his wound.

Harry tore a little strip of clean, soft napkin and held it to his forefinger.

The animals continued making a racket.

"Will you all shut up?"

"Pay attention! You want to be a detective. Detect." Mrs. Murphy thrashed her tail.

Harry shushed them.

Fair laughed. "It's not that bad." He put his hand over Harry's. He pulled her hand away. She still had a grasp on the napkin. The dot of blood, cherry red on the white, almost sparkled.

Both humans stared at it for an instant, then at one another.

"Fair?"

"I'm thinking the same thing." His eyebrows shot upward.

"Good God. It's diabolical." Harry sagged against the kitchen counter for a moment.

"Yes! Ice!" all three animals bellowed.

"But it makes sense." Fair swept the ice fragments into the sink. "Bill Langston mentioned cold's ability to numb. I should have thought of that." He frowned.

"None of the rest of us did. It's, well, it's so imaginative." Harry took his hand, leading him back to the living room.

They sat down. The cats jumped on the sofa as did Tucker with more effort.

"We're finally getting somewhere," Pewter said.

"You forgot your ice cube." Harry rose.

Fair pulled her down. "Forget it. Ice. An ice dart. The dart melts. No weapon. The poison is on the tip of the dart. The person wouldn't risk ingesting it. Perfect."

"Right. And the poison, I mean toxin-BoomBoom did some research on that-is delivered as the ice melts. But Fair, what in the world could work that fast?"

"I don't know." He sipped his scotch. "But our tiny weapon could have been delivered in a number of ways. Think about it. Fred could have stuck him in the parking lot. Or someone could have thrown it at him as he walked to his car. But how do you throw a piece, a little piece, mind you, of ice?"

"You don't. You'd have to stab." Harry listened to the logs crackle in the fireplace. "Unless you blow it. Like Little Mim blowing the olive pits."

"Yes-yes." He folded his hands together. "Some kind of blowgun. With that it would be pretty easy to hit H.H. as he walked through the parking lot. Or even the hallway." He thought a moment. "Too crowded. The parking lot."

"That gets Fred off the hook."

"Yes."

"A noisemaker. That could hide a blowgun. Fair, this could have been done at the end of the game while we were in our seats. H.H.'s body melts the ice sliver and the toxin hits him in the parking lot." She paused a long time. "Behind me. The killer sits behind me."

"But what does Mychelle have to do with this?" He felt confused. "Maybe her death isn't connected."

"It's connected. It's connected and the killer is Matthew Crickenberger."

Fair's eyes widened. "But why? That makes no sense. Anne makes sense. And, Harry, much as we like her, she has the motive."

"So how did she kill him?"

"Puts her arm around him or touches his neck."

"And the warmth of her fingers won't melt the ice? This has to be a thin, sharp dart delivered with force."

"Blowgun." He nodded in agreement.

"But why?"

"I don't know. Harry, other people sat behind you."

"I know, but the Sanburnes, BoomBoom, Hayden McIntyre-no motive. Matthew was connected by business."

"Or Mychelle?" Fair said.

"He'd won out over H.H. He has a boatload of money. Why?"

Fair took a deep breath. "Well, this is all conjecture. We don't really know that it's Matthew."

"Maybe he hit Tracy over the head. He was removing evidence." She clapped her hands together, startling the animals. "After a while, your head spins."

49

The first thing Harry did the next morning, Wednesday, was call Rick, also an early riser. She was just thrilled with herself.

He seemed less thrilled. "Thank you, Harry, that's very interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Harry, the investigation is moving along. I thank you for your effort. Go to work. Goodbye."

Harry hung up the phone. "Damn him!"

She bundled her animals into the truck and drove to work. Fair had already left at five-thirty in the morning as he had early farm calls. January meant breeding for the Thoroughbred people who wanted foals born as close to the next January as possible. Too late and the horse would be at a disadvantage racing. All Thoroughbreds have the birthday of 1 January in the year they were born for racing purposes. Of course, if they were born 2 February, that was noted in the foal's records. Since a mare carried for eleven months, people were getting their mares prepared for breeding. It was a lot of work for the owners and vets.

Harry dreamed of a small broodmare operation someday but on this frosty morning she was too angry to bask in her dreams. She pulled in behind the post office, unlocked the back door, clicked on the lights. It was seven in the morning. By the time the teakettle was singing, Miranda, wearing red fuzzy earmuffs, walked in.

"Good morning." She hung up her quilted coat, stamped her feet, unwound the cashmere scarf and hung it with the coat. She put the poppyseed muffins on the table.

"Miranda, I am so mad I could eat a bug!"

"Oh dear." Miranda thought she'd had a fight with Fair or Susan.

She told Miranda everything, including the call to Rick. "He didn't pay the least bit of attention to me."

"Now you know he did. He probably can't say what he's up to-you know, he might be close to an arrest."

"Sure." A dejected Harry reached for a moist poppyseed muffin. A few savory bites restored her spirits, somewhat. "I'll call Cooper."

"That's a good idea," Miranda appeased her.

Although Cooper received Harry's thoughts with more enthusiasm, she, too, remained noncommittal.

Frustrated, Harry attacked the duffel bags filled with mail when Rob Collier dropped them off.

"She's going to put that case of the mean reds somewhere." Pewter laughed as she ate up poppyseed crumbs.

"God only knows what she'll do next," said Mrs. Murphy.

"You're such a pessimist." Pewter rubbed the side of her paw along her whiskers.

Harry's mood sank again although when Little Mim came in for her mail she asked if she could borrow her noisemaker. Little Mim laughed but agreed, going out to her car, returning to give it to Harry.

Miranda tidied up the package shelves. "Harry, sugar, don't fret. It's a slow day anyway. Oh, Vonda called you from the Barracks Road post office."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"Yes. She said she heard it from the postmaster at Seminole Trail. We are getting a new, modern post office."

Seminole Trail was the location of the county's main post office.

"No way." Harry grabbed the phone. Within minutes Vonda was giving her the blow-by-blow. When Harry hung up, she said quietly, "I guess we are. We don't really need one, Miranda. This one works just fine. And Vonda's moving back to Charleston, West Virginia. I can't stand it. Barracks Road P.O. won't be the same without her. Bet the gang down there isn't thrilled, either." Harry considered her compatriots at the Barracks branch an overworked bunch.

"Growth projections." Miranda quoted what she had heard when she spoke to Vonda. "And I'm sorry she's leaving, too."

"It's a waste of money. A new P.O. A big waste!"

"You haven't learned that government exists to squander your tax dollars? If we can put in our two cents maybe we can make it functionally, m-m-m, useful."

"I don't want a new post office." Harry stubbornly sat down.

"To tell you the truth, I don't, either." Miranda sat opposite her. She looked out the front window. "It's like a ghost town today."

"Yeah."

"You aren't going to do something foolish, are you?" Miranda tilted her head.

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Your jaw has that set to it."

"Oh."

Miranda quoted Psalm 141, verse 3: "'Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord, keep watch over the door of my lips!'?"

Harry said nothing.

50

Rick and Cooper labored at their desks. The sheriff had taken the precaution of assigning an officer to stay with Anne Donaldson.

"Sheriff, pick up the phone!" Lisa Teican, at the switchboard, hollered as Rick had been ignoring the blinking light on his phone.

"Sheriff Shaw."

"Joe Mulcahy. You wanted me to call you-" The head of toxicology in Richmond was interrupted.

"Thank you. What was it?"

"Batrachotoxin."

"Never heard of it."

"There's no reason you would. I've never seen this stuff before in my life, either. Never once has it shown up."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's an acutely lethal substance, so lethal, Sheriff, that nanograms cause instantaneous death to an organism. A microgram could wipe out a platoon."

"Jesus! Is this something some nut can cook up in a lab?" Rick, like other sheriffs throughout the United States, had undergone training to combat bioterrorism.

"That's highly unlikely. I mean, it can't be cooked up in a lab and it's unlikely some nutcase could acquire enough of the batrachotoxin to pose a large-scale problem."

"So, how did the killer get it?"

"From the skin of poisonous frogs, little tiny, actually, like two to five centimeters, tiny frogs. Bright colors with stripes and spots. Beautiful little things, really." Joe opened a book then continued. "Once we isolated the toxin I became fascinated. These little buggers live in the rain forests of South America and the natives would catch them and stress them out. Now they wouldn't necessarily kill them but they'd worry them and the frogs would secrete liquid from the bumps on their back. The natives would collect that, carefully, obviously, and let it dry. Then they'd smear it on darts, arrows, whatever."

"And you said it works quickly?"

"Amazingly fast. It blocks the transmission of nerve impulses and the heart just stops. Dead."

"Jesus."

"He can't help the victim." Joe couldn't resist a joke.

"Guess not. In your research did you find out just where someone could procure these frogs?"

"Well, that's not my department but there's an underground for exotic creatures. Smuggling in contraband animals is a big business and Dulles Airport is a big, big airport. Be pretty easy, I'd think. And hey, all you need is two, a male and a female. You're in business."

"But you'd need to create a specialized environment."

"Sheriff, they're tiny. A small aquarium with the correct humidity and lots of bugs would keep Mr. and Mrs. Frog very happy. And water. Lots of water. Pretty fascinating."

"Mr. Mulcahy, thank you."

"I'll send the full report out FedEx Ground."

"I'll read every word but this phone call is what I've been waiting for."

"Glad I could be helpful." Joe hung up.

Rick motioned for Cooper to come to his desk. She did and he told her what he'd just heard.

"Damn, how can we trap him?" Cooper, like most everyone in town, knew about Matthew's rain forest. It wasn't a stretch to figure out he could provide a wonderful place for poisonous frogs. Who would know?

"Could be someone in the biology department at UVA. Don't forget, Anne is a botanist."

"It could be her but it isn't. It's Matthew."

Rick held up his hands, palms outward, a gesture of supplication and in this case a bit of frustration. "Yes, I think he's our man. It's not Anne. I just don't yet know how to prove it."

"Gut feeling-Mychelle?"

Rick knew what she meant. He nodded. "Yes, I think he killed her, too. Different MO but somehow she got in the way."

"Maybe he was having an affair with her or had in the past?"

"Possible." He tapped the side of his cheek with a pencil. "Something cold about these murders. If it were sex or love, it'd be different. I just think it would be different."

"He's close to Anne."

"That worries me. In fact, it all worries me. We've got our killer. All my instincts tell me that and the donkey work is leading us right to him, as well. But why? Why?" He threw up his hands.

51

Friday night the girls played North Carolina State. Harry, Little Mim's noisemaker tucked into her blazer pocket, sat next to Fair.

In front of her, Cooper sat between Greg Ix and Peter Gianakos in H.H.'s seat. Irena Fotopappas, back in uniform, was home with Anne and Cameron. Rick had given the young officer strict orders not to allow Matthew or his wife, just in case, into the house.

Harry had a handful of dried peas in her pocket along with the noisemaker which she had altered by running a small peashooter inside the paper.

Everyone else sat in their usual spots with Bill Langston taking Dr. Hayden McIntyre's seat. Little Mim had once again invited Tazio. Bill leaned back quite a bit to talk with Tazio. BoomBoom on Little Mim's right side noticed. Blair sat on Little Mim's left next to Tazio. Usually he sat where BoomBoom now sat and she was one seat away from Little Mim but both women had cooked up the idea that Blair should be next to Tazio. It would make the new man in town pay more attention to her, even if he'd heard that Blair and Little Mim were an item. BoomBoom and Little Mim, great believers in testosterone, figured Bill would have to be more attentive, more clever, simply because there was another very handsome man there.

Aunt Tally from time to time would look backward and observe. She kept a keen interest in anything that might involve sex.

Big Mim, on the other hand, focused on romance.

Tally told her she should know better.

Harry kept her noisemaker in her pocket. Matthew, jovial as ever, handed out drinks, blew his noisemaker. The boys struck the cowbell.

Susan Tucker sat next to Matthew. Harry told her what she thought about Matthew, and Susan believed her. As for sitting next to the man her best friend decided was a killer, Susan shrugged. Why would he kill her? She didn't think she had anything he would want if in fact Harry was right.

Fred Forrest scowled behind them all.

The game, tight, turned into a nail-biter.

At one point, Harry looked up at the scoreboard and wondered if she shouldn't have used it. Maybe put a message on it to scare Matthew, but then she'd probably scare everyone else, too.

In the last two minutes of the game, Mandy Hall, Virginia's center, blocked a shot under the basket and Isabelle Otey stole the ball right out of the North Carolina State forward's hands. Isabelle streaked down the center of the court to soar up for an easy layup. That was the game.

Harry turned around just as Isabelle scored and she hit Matthew with a pea. His hand slapped his cheek but he didn't see that Harry was the perpetrator so she fired off another. He saw her this time. She smiled.

He smiled back.

After the game the fans piled out. Fred Forrest hurried down the steps to the court where he upbraided Tracy for a call he felt was wrong.

Harry, full of herself, blasted Fred with a pea. He turned around and she shot another one which bounced off his head.

"You stop that, Harry."

"Fred, you're a crab." She pocketed her noisemaker.

While Fred's attention was on Harry, Tracy adroitly slipped away and was halfway to the locker room before Fred had turned back to lambaste him.

Harry walked out to the parking lot, waving to everyone. She retrieved her pets and returned to the Clam, making certain Matthew saw her.

She returned to the basketball arena as the last stragglers filed out. She sat in her seat firing peas at H.H.'s seat.

Pewter couldn't resist leaping up to bat away the peas.

Mrs. Murphy, vigilant, watched the doors as did Tucker, who kept sniffing, overwhelmed by fresh odors. There were still too many people around and too much noise.

Sure enough, as the tail end of the fans walked out BoomBoom walked back in.

"BoomBoom, what are you doing here?"

"Lost my gloves." BoomBoom bounded up to her seat and found her trampled black gloves. She joined Harry.

Harry explained her theory.

Tucker barked, "Someone's here."

Fred Forrest, lurking in the top shadows, came down from the upper levels. "Explain that to me, Harry."

Both BoomBoom and Harry regarded Fred with suspicion, but Harry willingly explained her theory and demonstrated.

"And who have you told this theory to, Harry?" His voice was shaky.

"Anyone who would listen."

"I'm behind him," Tucker told the girls.

"We'll stay in front. Do you think he has a gun?" Mrs. Murphy asked her canine friend.

"I don't know."

"You really think Matthew killed H.H.?" Fred's eyebrows darted upward.

"Do you?" BoomBoom flippantly asked.

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you or anybody. How do I know he wouldn't kill me?"

The doors swung open on the court level and Matthew sauntered back in.

"Ask him." Harry reached in her blazer pocket, filling her hand with peas. She did not withdraw her hand.

"What are you all doing here?" Matthew, wreathed in smiles, walked over.

"Damn," Mrs. Murphy hissed. "Mother did this without telling Rick or Cooper."

"I'll watch Matthew." Pewter moved toward the large man.

"We were talking about you," Harry brazenly said. "Fred won't tell us why you killed H.H."

"Fred, what's the matter with you?" Matthew didn't change his expression.

"I don't give a damn about H.H.," Fred snarled. "Whatever happened to him, he deserved, but Mychelle-that's another matter. I'd like to hear your answer, Matthew."

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander." Matthew moved closer but not within striking range.

Harry wondered if she could knock him over. His heavy coat might slow him down. If he was armed it wouldn't matter.

BoomBoom played dumb. "Where's Sandy and the kids?"

"On their way to Duner's for a late supper."

"Are you on foot?" Harry noted the exit doors.

"We're a two-car family." He smiled, then turned his focus back on Fred. "What kind of bullshit are you peddling today?"

"Nothing. Harry has a very interesting theory about how you killed H.H. I wondered myself how he could be murdered in front of everyone but her idea makes a lot of sense."

"No murder weapon." Matthew clapped his hands together as though rounding up his children.

"Ice." Mrs. Murphy spoke.

"An ice dart," Harry said as though mimicking the cat.

"What are you doing here?" BoomBoom asked.

"I could ask you the same thing." Matthew became less upbeat. "I'm here to inspect that hairline crack up there. I'll send a man over Monday morning."

"They're on to you, Matthew." Fred smiled maliciously.

"Ah, but are they on to you?" Matthew shrugged as though this were of no crucial concern to him.

"Shut your mouth." Fred took a step down the stairs.

Harry elbowed BoomBoom and threw the peas hard in Matthew's face. The two women hopped over the seats, streaked across the basketball court, and slammed open the doors onto the circular hall.

The cats and dog followed, scooting out behind the humans.

"You take BoomBoom, I'll take Harry," Matthew ordered Fred as the men ran after them, slipping on the dried peas.

"Stairwell!" Tucker barked.

Harry turned when Tucker barked, "BoomBoom, here!"

The women and animals hurried down the stairwell just as Matthew and Fred entered the circular hall.

Matthew hesitated for a moment, then ran to the stairwell door, opening it just as the door on the lower level closed with a click and thud. "Here."

He and Fred clumped down the stairwell.

Both men knew the Clam inside and out. They knew that Harry and BoomBoom, while not as familiar with the structure, knew it well enough to know where the doors to the outside were located. They had to cut off those doors.

Once on the bottom level, Matthew motioned for Fred to move left. He would move right.

"Try every door," Fred barked.

Harry and BoomBoom ran for the outside door but heard Fred's running footsteps.

"Shit! He's closer than we are," Harry said.

"Hide. We'll attack them." Mrs. Murphy nosed at office doors.

Now they plainly heard running footsteps from both directions.

BoomBoom tried the handle on the equipment room door. Luckily, it was open. They slipped in. The lights were off.

Harry flattened against the wall to one side of the door.

BoomBoom did the same against the other side so that when the door opened into the dark room, they'd have a chance to be undetected. If Matthew or Fred stepped inside, the women could slip by him or knock him down.

The cats could see much better.

"On the shelf!" Mrs. Murphy lost no time in leaping up, then climbing to where the light switch was located. She crouched just behind the switch.

"Tucker, do your duty," Pewter, now next to Murphy although her climb was less graceful, exclaimed.

All five creatures held their collective breath. The footsteps drew closer.

Murphy whispered to Pewter, "We're not alone in here." She stretched out her paw toward the back of the cavernous room.

"You're right," the gray cat whispered back. A human figure could be seen, barely, in the back but stealthily moving closer.

"We can't warn Tucker. We'll make too much noise," Murphy whispered.

But the corgi's keen hearing and even keener nose picked up the sound and the scent. She prayed she could handle whatever happened next, and she prayed that Harry's quick wits and courage would spring them from this fix. The dog had confidence in her human and knew Harry had confidence in her.

The footsteps outside stopped next door. The lacrosse room door opened then closed as did the door on the other side of the equipment room. Matthew and Fred had met in front of the equipment room.

Matthew made no attempt to be quiet. No reason, he wasn't the hunted. "They're in here."

"Guess we'll find them with the soccer balls," Fred replied.

The door opened, a shaft of light falling across the floor.

Matthew reached for the light switch which was located where the shelves were but the space was left clear, naturally.

Mrs. Murphy bit down hard.

"Jesus Christ!" Matthew yelled as those sharp fangs sank all the way into the fleshy part of his palm.

Fred instinctively took a step back and whoever was in the room hurtled past the two shocked women, blocking Matthew so hard the heavy man was picked up off his feet. He hit the floor hard.

Tucker followed after and savaged Fred's ankle.

The unidentified blocker swept past Fred, knocking him flat, then raced down the hall toward the stairwell door. Tucker glimpsed him from the rear, a man, but Tucker had bigger fish to fry. She jumped on Fred's chest and while Tucker was not a big dog Fred was unprepared for this new assault. The corgi bared her fangs, lunging straight for his throat.

He threw his forearm up, instinctively, to protect his jugular.

"Die!" Tucker savagely growled.

Harry, the shaft of light sliding by her face from the opened door, yelled to BoomBoom, "It's now or never!"

Without replying, BoomBoom sprinted beside Harry out of the equipment room and into the hall. The cats bit into Matthew extra hard for good measure, then tore after the two women.

"We should have taken out his eyes!" Mrs. Murphy fretted as they ran for the stairwell door which seemed so very far away.

"Not enough time," Pewter replied.

Matthew, blood dripping from his right hand, reached into his jacket, pulling out a handgun. He stepped over Fred who had rolled on his side struggling to get up.

Tucker, hurrying after her friends, glanced over her shoulder. "Gun!"

"Run!" Murphy flew down the corridor with its curving smooth walls, no right angles giving them a place to hide. Their only hope was to run for their lives and pray Matthew was a bad shot, pray Murphy's bite had hurt his gun hand.

He took a few steps, aimed at BoomBoom, the taller of the two women, and fired. The bullet whizzed past her right shoulder.

"Drop and roll if you have to!" Harry called over to her as BoomBoom matched Harry stride for stride.

Instead of dropping, BoomBoom swerved toward the wall where there was a fire alarm box. She paused, smashing the glass on the fire alarm. When Matthew fired at her, she dropped. The bullet smashed into the wall above the alarm, then she stood up and grabbed the tiny hammer again, blasting the alarm to life for all she was worth. Then she dropped and rolled as another bullet smashed near her, concrete powder spraying over her and the floor.

Harry reached the stairwell door. The clanging as she pushed on the long bar echoed down the hall. She held it open for BoomBoom and her animals.

They raced up the stairs to the main level, the door closing behind them. The alarm seemed even louder there.

"Boom, good move!"

"Brave move." Tucker heard footsteps, then the door opened to the stairway below them. Matthew and Fred would be up the stairs in seconds.

Harry flattened herself against the wall on the side of the door she knew would open. If she and BoomBoom tried to hold the door closed, Matthew would fire through it. Harry also knew they couldn't reach the exterior door in time to save themselves. Even if they did, they'd be easy targets in the vast parking lot. They'd have to fight.

BoomBoom flattened herself against the wall on the hinge side of the door.

"Turn back!" Murphy shouted to Pewter, who, being far faster than any human, skidded toward the exterior door. As Pewter skidded, her hind end sliding behind her, the stairwell door opened with tremendous force and Matthew, never dreaming the women would fight, stepped through, his arm outstretched, hand bleeding, gun ready to fire.

BoomBoom, no fool, knew what Harry intended. As Harry, hands folded together, brought down her arms onto Matthew's forearm with all her might, the gun clattered across the floor. Drops of blood splattered, too, for the deep cat bite had done damage.

Tucker swiftly picked up the warm gun in her mouth.

BoomBoom stepped up behind Matthew, wrapping his neck in a painful hammerlock. He was a large, strong man but she was a tall, surprisingly strong woman. He choked, twisting and turning. His windpipe aching, he couldn't shake her.

Harry heard Fred, moving more slowly than Matthew, trot up the steps. She brushed behind Matthew and BoomBoom, launching herself at Fred from the top step. She hit him so hard he fell over backwards, cracking his skull loudly against the wall. A thin smear of blood stained the wall. He was out cold.

Harry kicked him once to see if he was a danger. She realized he was probably concussed.

The cats joined BoomBoom in subduing Matthew, who bent over in an attempt to toss her over his head.

Pewter sank her fangs into his left calf while Murphy attacked his right one. He bellowed in pain and frustration.

Tucker, gun in her mouth, flew past the struggling pair down the first flight of stairs to Harry.

Harry turned to run back up the stairs to help BoomBoom when Tucker reached her.

"Thank God!" She bent over to take the gun from the intrepid dog.

Then she bounded up, two steps at a time.

The fire alarm seemed inside her head but her mind remained clear.

"Matthew, stop." She hurried in front of him now, about three paces away. "Or I'll give you the third eye of prophecy."

BoomBoom did not relax her grip until he stopped struggling.

"Harry, you've got it all wrong. It was Fred. I just kind of got roped in," Matthew choked out.

"He's a liar, Mom, be careful." Murphy stopped biting his calf.

"Yeah." Pewter did likewise as Tucker circled around in front of Matthew in case he did something stupid.

"You girls know me. We work together on the St. Luke's Parish Guild. You know I'd never kill anyone." He took a step toward Harry.

"Matthew, don't move."

"Ah, come on, Harry."

BoomBoom, breathing hard, stepped up behind him ready to grab his arm.

"Boom, move away," Harry told her.

The tall blonde stepped to the side.

"You're not a violent person, Harry. I know you." He smiled.

The three animals never took their eyes off Matthew.

"I am as violent as I have to be, Matthew." Harry prayed the fire department, the sheriff, anybody would answer the alarm. As if in reply, she heard two sirens in the distance.

Matthew heard them, too. "You know me. You know I'd never hurt anybody. It's all Fred. He ran away. Isn't that proof enough?"

"He didn't run away. He's out cold on the stairs." Harry spoke firmly.

BoomBoom remained ready to fight, her fists clenched.

The sirens drew closer. Matthew assumed, as did many men, that a woman wouldn't really hurt him. He had to get out of there. If he could reach his car, he had a chance to escape.

He lowered his voice, a false warmth infusing his words. "It looks bad for me. I know. But I'm innocent. I need to call my lawyer. If you'll just let me go, I'll-" He took another step toward Harry.

"Matthew, stop." She didn't budge.

Then he leapt toward her.

She fired once. He dropped like a stone.

Blood spurted from his knee for she'd blown out his kneecap. Writhing, screaming, he slithered on the floor like a fish out of water.

"Should I tear out his throat?" Tucker bared her fangs.

"No. He's out of commission," Mrs. Murphy advised.

"I'd kind of like to." Tucker's eyes sparkled.

"You could lick up all that fresh blood." Pewter giggled, which sounded like "kickle, kickle."

"Gross out the humans. You know how they are." Murphy would have gladly killed Matthew herself.

Harry kept the gun trained on Matthew. His screams of agony pleased her. He or Fred or both had snuffed out the lives of two people, tried to pin the blame on an innocent widow, and would have killed Harry and BoomBoom to boot.

Let him scream his head off, Harry thought to herself. He's lucky I took out his knee and not his heart, if he has one.

"Harry." BoomBoom didn't get a response so she raised her voice. "Harry!"

"Huh? Are you all right?"

"Yes. I was about to ask the same thing of you." She shouted over Matthew's howls and the fire alarm.

The sirens sounded as though they were right outside. Within seconds Sheriff Shaw, Deputy Cooper, and the fire chief, Dodson Hawley, burst through the doors followed by firemen.

The clanging stopped as Hawley cut off the alarm.

"Here!" BoomBoom hollered above Matthew's screams.

Cooper ran toward them.

"There's no fire." Harry handed Cooper the gun when she reached her. "Fred Forrest is on the landing and needs attention. He's in on this." She pointed to the stairwell. "And this sorry son of a bitch is lucky to be alive. I hope he's tried and fried."

"Yeah!" the three animals concurred.

As Rick came up, Cooper said, "Fred's on the stairwell."

Rick's footsteps could be heard descending the stairwell.

BoomBoom, suddenly exhausted, leaned against the wall.

Harry knelt down to pet her animals. She, too, felt as though someone had pulled the drain plug. Her energy was ebbing away.

"Boom?" Cooper's eyebrows shot upward.

"I'm okay."

"Boom, I was wrong about you." Harry stood up. "Forgive me."

BoomBoom smiled, too tired or too overwhelmed to respond. She held up her left hand, palm outward, a sign of acceptance.

"Can you two give a statement now? How about if I have someone fetch you a coffee or a Coke?" Cooper asked, ignoring the commotion around them.

"Tuna!" Pewter resolutely requested.

Harry glanced down at her gray cat. "These guys fought as hard as we did."

"I'll order a ham sandwich for each of them." Cooper smiled.

The ambulance crew arrived.

Harry, oblivious to the chaos around her, followed Cooper back to the main entrance, a little bit away from the gurneys being rolled in. BoomBoom, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker followed also.

"We can tell you what happened," BoomBoom said, "but we don't know why it happened. Harry, what on earth were you thinking, going back to the Clam, knowing Matthew was going to follow you?"

"I don't know. I had to get to the bottom of it. I was pretty stupid to be unarmed. Really stupid." Harry inhaled, then touched Cooper's arm. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Think I do," Cooper tersely replied above Matthew's screams of pain and innocence.

52

The ham sandwiches and coffee appeared within fifteen minutes. Cooper used up all her quarters in the vending machines to purchase the indifferent fare.

"I promise better food tomorrow." She smiled as she slid the blister-wrapped sandwiches across the table to the humans and animals.

She'd shepherded them into an office. With the door closed, it was almost quiet.

"If you don't want your ham, I'll eat it," Tucker helpfully offered.

"Why wouldn't I want the ham?" Pewter tilted her head sideways, staring at the dog.

"You said you wanted tuna."

"Nice try." Murphy laughed as she bit into the ham, which tasted better than Matthew's hand or leg.

As Harry and BoomBoom began to breathe normally, Cooper took out her notebook, flipped open the top cover.

"Okay, let's go."

She listened carefully, jotting down notes. When the two had completed their statements and she'd asked a few questions, she flipped the book closed.

Harry, somewhat restored by the sandwich and coffee, pleaded, "Can you tell us what's going on? Now that we've made our statements?"

"I can try." Cooper slipped the notebook back in her chest pocket. "Matthew Crickenberger knew we were closing in. Anne was under our protection. She was a suspect initially but once we realized she was in danger, we kept someone with her. Matthew knew that. But Harry, you were the one-you pushed him over the edge."

"When I pelted him with the pea! The noisemaker!" Harry tapped the table with her forefinger.

BoomBoom's eyes widened. "I still don't get it."

Cooper sipped her coffee for a moment. "H.H. was furious at continually being in Matthew's jet stream, so to speak, and figured out their scam. I'll tell you about that later. He put in months of patient research, visiting old and new projects Matthew had built. H.H. was determined to find something, and he found more than he bargained for. We think he confided in Mychelle-and clearly Matthew thought that as well-but we don't know that for a fact. I would think Mychelle would have come directly to us after H.H.'s death and tell us H.H. was blackmailing Matthew. I don't know, but"-Cooper shrugged-"people are often afraid of us. Of course H.H.'s death looked like a heart attack. When Rick gave a statement to the press that H.H.'s death was suspicious, Mychelle must have known why H.H. was killed. If she had any doubts about his demise she should have seen the handwriting on the wall. We don't know if she contacted Matthew. After all, it could have been worth money. We still don't know why Mychelle withdrew five thousand dollars from her bank account. Was she going to run away? But Matthew either had hard evidence that Mychelle knew what he was doing or he didn't want to risk that she knew. Her hesitation cost Mychelle her life and could well have cost Tazio hers once word got around that Mychelle wanted to see Tazio that Monday. I think Tazio would have been the next victim if you hadn't triggered Matthew. He was losing his composure. The manner in which he killed Mychelle suggests that."

"But what's Fred got to do with all this?" Harry was exasperated.

"You think he killed Mychelle?" BoomBoom asked Harry.

"No. That's what set him off," Harry replied. "Am I right?" she asked Cooper.

"Terrified. He was absolutely terrified." Cooper reached for her cigarette pack in her other pocket. "We don't know if he approved the murder of H.H. or not. He's in intensive care and it might be days before the brain swelling subsides. Fred is in a medical coma, if that's the term. Fred didn't want to go to jail any more than Matthew but when Mychelle was stabbed to death, dying alone the way she did, Fred realized that Matthew would stop at nothing. Matthew lured her to the Clam. How, we don't know. Fred must have believed he could neutralize Mychelle without hurting her. Matthew was taking no chances. Killing Mychelle really did set off Fred. He truly liked her. And he knew if he faltered, Matthew would kill him. As I said, Matthew was losing his composure."

"But wait a minute, what's with Fred and Matthew? I'm missing something here. What was the scam?" Harry stroked Murphy, now in her lap.

"A clever, clever deal. I've got to hand it to them. Fred passed substandard materials and construction that was under code. Matthew's crews were illiterate. Not only could they not read, they didn't know what the building codes were. They didn't have to know, that was Matthew's job. Fred would even pick up a few empty cartons of high-grade materials that had been tossed at other building sites, dumping them at Matthew's sites when no one was around. Or he thought no one was around. Matthew would purchase some good stuff to put out where everyone could see it. You know, a few rolls of R-20 for insulation, stuff like that. Matthew's foreman, handsomely paid off, was also in on it. He's in custody right now. We took him in for questioning yesterday. That and your little escapade during the basketball game did it."

"I can't believe it. I thought Fred and Matthew hated one another." BoomBoom was flabbergasted.

"Carefully orchestrated. And remember, Fred was a prick to every other construction firm in the county, so Matthew's wails of mistreatment fell on eager ears. Over the years those two bilked millions out of clients."

"Good Lord," Harry exclaimed. "I figured out Matthew was H.H.'s killer but I didn't have any idea of the scope of this."

"It has been going on since they worked on the Barracks Road shopping center as young men. Fred left construction, supposedly in a huff. What's also interesting is that Fred had the discipline to hide his money. He kept an account in the Bahamas."

"Well, who was in the equipment room?" BoomBoom wondered.

"Andrew Argenbright," Cooper replied. "The decision there was to act as though the inventory were completed. No public statements were made as to the results. The university police set up a trap. Well, he came back to steal some more. Small cameras with capabilities of getting a photo in little light had been set up inside the equipment room."

"Lucky for us he was there," BoomBoom said. "Even if he did run like a thief at least he knocked down Matthew."

"What if this were the reverse, Coop?" Harry's mind whirred along. "What if it were Mychelle who figured it out and she told H.H? After all, she worked with Fred."

"Possible. We're hoping Fred will tell us when he's able in exchange for a lesser sentence. Obviously Matthew's going to put up a front, tell nothing, and have a battalion of lawyers. Fred was smart, though. He always inspected Matthew's work. This wasn't given over to a subordinate. His reason was that Matthew's projects were large, the inspection had to be entrusted to the senior official, which, in fact, isn't out of the ordinary. Those two had an airtight cover. H.H. was so damned mad at losing the bid for the sports complex he wanted to bring down Matthew despite his seeming acceptance of things."

"But surely over the years subordinates did look at Matthew's work," Harry said.

"The subordinate, and the last couple of years that's been Mychelle, would go with Fred to inspect that part of the work which was up to code or better. It's not like everything Matthew did was substandard. They were experts, remember, this was their trade and Matthew and Fred picked those things that would be easiest to hide or replace. You know, put in an expensive brand of pipe where it will show, while using cheaper materials where it won't show. I don't have all the details, but I hope we can squeeze them out of Fred. With any luck those two will turn on one another."

"And if you think about it, the last thirty years have been one long construction boom in Albemarle County. There's so much work, who could come after Fred to double-check?" BoomBoom thought out loud.

"Well, that's the thing. Fred was so ferocious, such a stickler at every construction site, no one dreamed he'd be in collusion with Matthew. If Fred signed off on a building it must be okay." Cooper folded her hands together. "I'm telling you, it was a well-thought-out, well-executed scam and they almost got away with it. No one would have ever known if H.H. hadn't decided to bring down Matthew any way he could."

"H-m-m." BoomBoom folded up the clear wrap that had covered the ham sandwich. "This is one basketball season no one will ever forget."

"The strange thing or maybe I should say the brilliant thing is the toxin, the secretions from those little frogs in Matthew's rain forest at his office, that's what killed H.H. He used a blowgun hidden in his noisemaker." Cooper tapped her notebook.

"Like this?" Harry reached in her pocket retrieving Little Mim's altered noisemaker.

"Damn, Harry. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I wasn't a hundred percent sure. I wanted to test-drive it."

"Your test-drive nearly got you, BoomBoom, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker killed."

"Yes, well, I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. I mean, I never figured on Fred."

Cooper made an imaginary slap at Harry's face. "Don't you ever do that again."

"I'm lucky BoomBoom came back. If she hadn't fought them off and set off the fire alarm, I'd be dead." Harry bit her bottom lip. "I really have been stupid."

"As long as you recognize that. The one thing still puzzling us is the weapon. No trace."

"Ice," Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, and Harry said in unison.

53

Later as Harry watched the fire, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker snuggled up against her on the sofa, she thought about what had happened.

What kept nibbling at her was how she accepted Matthew at face value for so long. But then how else can you live in a community? She couldn't very well spend all her time being suspicious of everyone, trying to ferret out their secrets. He had fooled her for a long, long time.

She felt stupid but not totally stupid.

She felt totally stupid about her attitude toward BoomBoom. True, they were very different kinds of personalities but BoomBoom had held out the palm many times and Harry had refused it. For whatever reason, Harry was getting something out of being angry, out of not letting go.

Time to let go.

Time to grow up.

Time to accept Fair's genuine apology, to cherish him for the man he had become.

Mrs. Murphy put her paw on Harry's forearm. "Close call."

"Yes," Tucker agreed.

"Think Matthew will get the death penalty?" Pewter wondered.

"No. Rich people don't get the death penalty, their lawyers see to that, but he'll spend some time in jail. I just hope it's a lifetime," Mrs. Murphy sagely predicted.

"BoomBoom has guts," Pewter purred as she snuggled even closer to Harry.

"Mom, too. I'm proud of her. She finally apologized to Boom," Murphy said.

"Why are things so hard for humans?" Tucker sighed.

"They walk on two legs. Beginning of all their troubles," Pewter saucily replied and they all three laughed.

Dear Reader,

A certain party has taken to demanding tuna packed in water.

She plops her striped derriere in the best seat in the house.

A photo of her oh-so-adorable self without me (have you noticed?) graces the back of this volume.

Alas, she's gotten the big head. Where will it end?

Yours truly,

P. S. She lies!

P.O. Box 696

Crozet, Virginia 22932

www.ritamaebrown.com