Wish You Were Here (15 page)

26

Fair Haristeen was washing his hands after performing surgery on an unborn ten-month-old fetus. Given the foal's bloodlines, he was worth a hundred thousand before he dropped. Fetal surgery was a new technique and Fair, a gifted surgeon, was in demand by thoroughbred breeders in Virginia. His skill and the deference paid to him didn't go to his head. Fair still made the rounds to humble barns. He loved his work and when he allowed himself time to think about himself he knew it was his work that kept him alive.

Opening the door from the operating room, he found BoomBoom Craycroft sitting in his office. She smiled.

“Horse trouble?”

“No. Just . . . trouble. I came to apologize for the way I treated you the day Kelly was killed. I took it out on you in my own bitchy way—you must be used to that by now.”

Fair, unprepared for an apology, cleared his throat. “S'okay.”

“It's not okay and I'm not okay and the whole town is crazy.” Her voice cracked. “I've done some serious thinking. It's about time, you'll say. No, you wouldn't say anything. You're too much the gentleman, except for once in a blue moon when you lose your temper. But I have thought about myself and Kelly. He never grew up, you see. He was always the smart kid who puts one over on people, and I never grew up either. We didn't have to. Rich people don't.”

“Some rich people do.”

“Name three.” BoomBoom's black eyes flashed.

“Stafford Sanburne, in our generation.”

She smiled. “One. Well, I guess you're right. Maybe you have to suffer to grow up and usually we can pay someone to suffer for us. That didn't work this time. I can't run away from this one.” She tilted her head back, exposing her graceful neck. “I also came to apologize for not understanding how important your work is to you. I don't think I will ever see how reaching into a horse's intestinal tract is wonderful, but—it's wonderful to you. Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm apologized out. That's what I came to say, and I'll go.”

“Don't go.” Fair felt like a beggar and he hated that feeling. “Give me a chance to say something. You weren't a spoiled rich brat each and every day and I wasn't a saint myself. We were kids when we married our spouses. Harry's a decent person. Kelly was a decent person. But what did we know in our early twenties? I thought love was sex and laughs. One big party. Hell, BoomBoom, I had no more idea of what I needed in a woman than . . . uh, nuclear fusion.”

“Fission.”

“Fission's when they pop apart. Fusion's when they come together,” Fair corrected her.

“I corrected you. That's a rude habit.”

“BoomBoom, I can accept that you're thinking about your life but do you have to be so overpoweringly polite?”

“No.”

“Anyway, I made mistakes, too, and I made them on Harry. I wonder if everyone learns by hurting other people.”

“Isn't it odd? I feel that I know Kelly better now than when he was alive. I guess in some ways you feel you know Harry better now that you have some distance. You know, this is the first time we've had a heart-to-heart talk. God, is it like this for everyone? Does it take a crisis to get to the truth?”

“I don't know.”

“Do we have to savage our marriages, give up the sex, before becoming friends? Why can't people be friends and lovers? I mean, are they mutually exclusive?”

“I don't know. What I know”—Fair lowered his eyes—“is that when we're together I feel something I've never felt before.”

“Do you still love Harry?” BoomBoom held her breath.

“Not romantically. Right now I'm so mad at her I can't imagine being friends with her but people tell me that passes.”

“She loves you.”

“No, she doesn't. In her heart of hearts she knows. I hate lying to her. I know all the reasons why but when she finds out she'll hate me most for the lying.”

BoomBoom sat quietly for a moment. Being female, there were many things she could say to Fair about his feelings for Harry but she'd taken enough of a risk by coming here to apologize. She wasn't going to take any more, not until she felt stronger, anyway. “I'm running the business, you know.” She changed the subject.

“No, I didn't know. It will be good for you and good for the business.”

“Isn't it a joke, Fair? I'm thirty-three years old and I've never had to report to work or be responsible to anyone or anything. I'm . . . I'm excited. I'm sorry it took this horror to wake me up. I wish I could have done something, made something out of myself while Kelly was alive but . . . I'm going to do it now.”

“I'm happy for you.”

She paused for a moment, and tears came to her eyes. “Fair”—she could barely speak—“I need you.”

27

A swift afternoon thunderstorm darkened and drenched Crozet. It was a summer of storms. Harry couldn't see out to the railroad tracks during the downpour. Tucker cowered in her bed and Mrs. Murphy, herself not fond of thunder, stuck to Harry like a furry burr.

She heard a sizzle and a pop. The power had shut down, a not uncommon occurrence.

The sky was blackish green. It gave Harry the creeps. She felt under the counter for her ready supply of candles, found them, and lit a few. Then she stood by the front window and watched the deluge driven by stiff winds. Mrs. Murphy jumped onto her shoulder, so Harry reached up and brought the cat into her arms. She cuddled her like a baby, rocking her, and thought about Rick Shaw's response to the postcard—which was “Lay low.”

Easier said than done. The death of two citizens must be accounted for somehow. And she felt that she had the end of a ragged thread. If she could follow that thread back, step by step, she would find the answer. She also knew she might find more than she bargained for—an answer in this case didn't mean satisfying her curiosity. Secrets are often ugly. She was peeling away the layers of the town. It might mean her own life. Rick forcefully impressed this upon her. She had been of help to him and he was grateful but she wasn't a professional so she should butt out. She wondered, too, if underneath his concern there might not be a hint of face-saving. The Sheriff's Department seemed to be running in circles. Better the citizens didn't know. She wondered, if Rick did solve the murders, whether he would get a gold star behind his name or at least a promotion. Maybe he didn't want to share the limelight.

Well, whatever, he was doing his job, and part of that job was protecting the citizens of Albemarle County and that meant her too.

A figure appeared in the swirling rain, oilskin flapping in the wind. It headed toward the post office. The hair on Harry's neck stood up. Mrs. Murphy sensed it, jumped down, and arched her back.

The door flew open and a bedraggled Bob Berryman swept in, leaves in his wake. He leaned against the door with his body close to it.

“Goddamn!” he roared. “Even nature's turned against us.” He seemed unhinged.

Paralyzed by fear, Harry edged back by the counter. Bob followed her, dripping as he went. In this weather, if Harry screamed at the top of her lungs no one would hear her.

Tucker scurried out from under the counter.
“She's scared of Bob Berryman?”

“Yes.”
Mrs. Murphy never took her eyes from Bob's glowering face.

“What can I do for you?” Harry squeaked.

Bob reached across the counter, pointing. “Gimme one of those registered slips. Harry, are you sick? You look . . . funny.”

“Tucker, can you get out the door if I open it?”
Mrs. Murphy asked.
“He stole those letters. If he's the one and he makes a move for Harry, we can attack.”

“Yeah.”
Tucker hurried to the door that separated the work area from the reception area.

Mrs. Murphy stretched her full length and began playing with the doorknob. This one was the right height for her. If she opened the door Harry would be on to one of her best tricks but Mrs. Murphy didn't think she had a choice. She strained and held the knob between her two paws. With a quick motion she forced the knob to the left and the door popped open.

“Smart cat,” Berryman commented.

“So that's how she does it,” Harry said weakly.

Tucker sauntered out, nonchalant, and sat three paces from Bob's juicy ankle. Mrs. Murphy leaped back up to the counter to watch and wait.

“The slip, Harry.” Berryman's voice filled the room.

Harry pulled out a registered mail slip and filled it out as candlelight flickered and a sheet of rain lashed at the front window. She tore up the first copy and started another.

“I'll get it right,” she mumbled.

Berryman reached across and held her hand. She froze. Tucker moved forward and Mrs. Murphy crept to the edge of the counter. Berryman observed the cat and looked down at the dog. Tucker's fangs were bared.

“Call off your dog.”

“Let go of my hand first.” Harry steadied herself.

He released her hand. Tucker sat down but continued to stare at Berryman.

“Don't be afraid of me. I didn't kill Maude. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?”

“Uh—”

“I didn't. I know it looks bad but I couldn't take any more at her funeral. Josiah's words of
wisdom
,” he said bitterly, “were the straw that broke the camel's back. What does he know about men and women?!”

Harry, confused, said, “I expect he knows a great deal.”

“You must be kidding. He uses Mim Sanburne to party in Palm Beach and Saratoga and New York and God knows where else.”

“I didn't mean that. He's observant, and because he isn't married or involved he has more time than other people. I guess he—”

“You like him. All women like him. I can't for the life of me figure out why. Maude adored him. Said he made her laugh so hard her sides ached. He yapped about clothes and makeup and decorating. They always had their heads together. I used to tell her he was nothing but a high-class salesman but she told me to stop acting like Joe Six-Pack—she wasn't going to give him up. She said he gave her what I couldn't and I gave her what he couldn't.” Bob's lips compressed. “I hate that silly faggot.”

“Don't call him a faggot,” Harry admonished. “I don't care who he sleeps with or who he doesn't. You're mad at him because he was close to Maude. He made you jealous.”

“So the cat's out of the bag.” He sighed. “I don't care anymore. You want to know why I hit him? Really? He came over and told me to pull myself together. ‘Think of your wife,' he said. I was afraid that Maude had told him about us, and then I knew she had. Damn him! Coming over and oozing concern. He didn't want Linda to go into a huff and ruin his orchestrated funeral. He didn't care about Maude.”

“Of course he did. He paid for much of it.”

“We all paid for the funeral. He wants to look good so he can take over her store. He and Maude talked business as much as they talked mascara. He knows what a moneymaker it is. I—well, I don't care about the business. Okay, it's out in the open. I loved Maude. She's dead and I'd give anything to have her back.” He paused. “I'm leaving Linda. She can have the house, the car, everything. I'm keeping my business. I'm alone but at least I'm not living a lie.” This admission calmed him. “I didn't kill Maude. I wouldn't have harmed a hair on her head.”

“I'm so sorry, Bob.”

“So am I.” He handed over the envelope to be sent to the IRS. “Rain slacked off.” Realizing what he'd said, he was embarrassed. He hesitated a minute before leaving.

Harry understood. “I'll keep my mouth shut.”

“You can tell anyone you like. I apologize for fulminating. I'm not sorry for what I told you. I'm sorry for how I told you. You don't need to put up with that. I'm so up and down. I—I don't know myself. I mean, I go up and down.” This was the only way he could describe his mood swings.

“Under the circumstances, I think that's natural.”

“I don't know. I feel crazy sometimes.”

“It will even out. Be easier on yourself.”

He smiled a tight smile, said, “Yeah,” and then left.

Harry, exhausted from the encounter, sat with a thud. Tucker walked back to her.

“So the letters were love letters,”
Mrs. Murphy thought out loud.

“Probably, but we don't know,”
Tucker replied.
“Anyway, he could have killed her in a lovers' quarrel. Humans do that. I overheard on the TV that four hundred and thirty-five Americans are killed each day. I think that's what the newscaster said. They'll kill over anything.”

“I know, but I don't think he killed her. I think he told Harry the truth.”

“What are you meowing about, kitty cat? Now I'm on to your tricks. You've been opening doors all along, haven't you? You little sneak.” Harry stroked Tucker's ears while Mrs. Murphy rubbed against her legs. Vitality seeped back into her limbs, which felt so heavy with fear when Bob first came into the post office. She hoped the rest of the day would pick up. But unfortunately, Harry's day went from bad to worse.

Mrs. Hogendobber drove up in her Falcon. She opened an umbrella against the rain. Mrs. H. saw no reason to trade in a useful automobile, and the interest rates on car loans were usury as far as she was concerned. Although once a month she drove over to Brady-Bushey Ford to allow Art Bushey the opportunity to sell her a new car, Art knew she had no intention of buying anything. She swooned over him, and being gallant, he took her to lunch each time she careened onto the lot.

“Harry! I made a mistake, a tiny mistake, but I thought you ought to know. I should have told you before now but I didn't think about it. I just . . . didn't. After you left the party or whatever you want to call it at Josiah's, I stayed on. Mim and I were commenting on the state of today's morals. Then Mim mentioned that you had encouraged Little Marilyn to contact Stafford in New York. I spoke about forgiveness and she haughtily told me she didn't need a sermon, she attended Saint Paul's for that, and I said that forgiveness extended through the other six days of the week as well.”

“I'm sorry you got on the bad side of her.” Harry leaned on the counter.

“No, no, that's not it. You see, then Josiah mentioned that the government, the federal government, has never forgiven the draft evaders, not really, and Ned, who arrived after you left—quite drawn-looking, too, I must say—well, Ned laughed and said the IRS never forgives anyone. The power to tax is the power to destroy, and I said maybe it was just as well that Maude was dead because they'd catch up with her sooner or later.”

“Oh, no!” Harry exclaimed.

“Conversation ran to other topics and I didn't think about it until now.”

“Why now?”

“I don't know exactly. The rain made me remember all that water in Mim's boat. What if—what if Mim wasn't the killer's target? After all, Mim can swim.”

“I see.” Harry rubbed her temples. This felt worse than a headache.

The entire town knew about Mim's slashed pontoon because the workers Jim used to lift the boat onto his truck saw the damage. By now everyone was jumping to conclusions, so the gossip all over town was that Mim was the intended victim.

Mrs. Hogendobber breathed in sharply. “What do I do now?”

“If anyone brings up your slip—you know, asks a leading question about Maude and the IRS—pick up the phone and call me. Better yet, call Rick Shaw.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Mrs. H., you must trust me. The killer gives a signal before he strikes—I can't tell you what it is. He gives warning, which makes me wonder if the slashed pontoon was really aimed at you.”

“Do you think he'll kill me? Is that what you're saying?” Her voice was quite calm.

“I hope not.”

“If I tell Rick Shaw he'll know what we've done.”

“I think we'd better tell him. What's he going to do? Arrest us? Listen to me. You have absolutely got to remember who was there after I left.”

“Myself, Mim, Little Marilyn, Jim, old Dr. Johnson, and Ned. That reminds me, what is going on with Ned and Susan? Oh, Susan was there, of course.”

“Just remember the names and I'll tell you about Ned.”

This encouraged her. “U-m-m, Fair and Josiah—well, that's obvious.”

“No, nothing is obvious. Are you certain there wasn't anyone else? What about Market? What about any of the kids?”

“No, Market wasn't there, nor Courtney.”

“This isn't good.”

Mrs. Hogendobber put her back to the wall for support. She wiped her brow. “I'm not used to not trusting people. I feel horrible.”

Harry's voice softened. “None of us is used to that. You can't be expected to change a behavior overnight—and maybe it's better that you don't. Except until we catch this killer, well, we're going to have to be on our toes. Why don't you have Larry's wife stay with you tonight, or better yet, go over there.”

“Do you think it's that bad?”

“No,” Harry lied. “But why take chances?”

“You believe that Maude and Kelly were shipping out dope, don't you? I do. They had to be in business together. So who's the kingpin?”

“Some sweet Crozet person we play tennis with or go to church with. A woman or a man we've known for years.”

“Why?” Mrs. Hogendobber might preach about evil, but when confronted with it she was at a loss. She expected the Devil with green horns or a human being with a snarling face. It had never once occurred to her in her long and relatively happy life that evil is ordinary.