The Purrfect Murder (11 page)

16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone called the office staff “the girls.”

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

“To Will,” all repeated in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mother.” Will, Jr., grabbed her.

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

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

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

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

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

But who would buy his practice after this?

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

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

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

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

17

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

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

“You like this color on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn't paint my fingernails.”

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

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

“You have your mother's fabulous coat.”

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

“I like your style: fresh and natural.”

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

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

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

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

“That's what I think.”

“Then why did you ask?”

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

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

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

“Guess they would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luckily for her she is beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell that to my bladder.”

“Mine, too.”

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

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

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

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

Each hurried into adjoining johns.

She heard him laughing.

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

“I'm not telling.”

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

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

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

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

“You'll never find shoes big enough.”

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

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

“Were you a pretty girl?”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“Right answer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair, you flirt.”

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

“We all envy you, Mayor.”

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

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

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

“Children.” Aunt Tally waved her cane.

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

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

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

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

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

“A triumph.” Aunt Tally beamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tonic water with a twist of lime.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aunt Tally, you shock me.”

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

“Well…yes.” Harry burst out laughing.