Wish You Were Here (17 page)

“That divorce frightens people. From the outside your marriage seemed fine. People want to accept appearances. Now you've gone and upset the apple cart. You might be looking inside yourself but no one in these parts will give you credit for it. This is Albemarle County. No change. Keep everything the same. You stay the same. To change is viewed as an admission of guilt. Hell, people would rather live in their familiar misery than take a chance to change it.”

Harry had never weathered blunt truth from BoomBoom before. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Finally she found her voice. “I can see you've been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Yes. I have.”

The discussion had magnified tension instead of dispelling it.

As Harry drove home she noticed the late afternoon shadows seemed longer. A sense of menace began to haunt her.

She kept to her routine, as did everyone else. At first the routine cushioned the shock of the murders, as well as her separation, but now she felt off balance, the routine a charade. The macabre killings, the reality of them, began to sink in.

She touched down on the accelerator but she couldn't outrun the shadows of the setting sun.

31

“‘Wish you were here.' ” Harry's hands shook as she read the postcard addressed to Mrs. George Hogendobber. The front of the postcard was a beautiful glossy photograph of Pushkin's grave. Another carefully faked postmark covered the upper right-hand corner.

Harry called Rick Shaw but he wasn't in the office. “Well, get him!” she yelled at the receptionist. Next she depressed the button and dialed Mrs. Hogendobber.

“Hello.”

Harry never thought she would be thrilled to hear that hearty voice. “Mrs. Hogendobber, are you all right?”

“You call me first thing in the morning to see if I'm all right? I'll be over there in fifteen minutes.”

“Let me walk over for you.” Harry fought for a deep breath.

“What? Mary Minor Haristeen, I've been walking to the post office since before you were born.”

“Please do as I say, Mrs. H. Go out on your front porch so that everyone can see you. I'll be there in one minute flat. Just do it, please.” She hung up the phone and flew out the door, Tucker and Mrs. Murphy at her heels.

Mrs. Hogendobber was rocking in her swing, a perplexed Mrs. Hogendobber, an irritated Mrs. Hogendobber, but an alive Mrs. Hogendobber.

Harry burst into tears at the sight of her. “Thank God!”

“What in the world is wrong with you, girl? You need an Alka-Seltzer.”

“You must get out of here. Get out of Crozet. What about your sister in Greenville, South Carolina?”

“It's just as hot there as it is here.”

“What about your nephew in Atlanta?”

“Atlanta is worse than Greenville. I'm not going anywhere. Are you suffering from heat stroke? Maybe you're overworked. Why don't we go inside and pray together? You'll soon feel the hand of the Lord on your shoulder.”

“I sincerely hope so but you're coming with me to the post office and you aren't leaving until Rick Shaw gets there.”

Tucker licked Mrs. Hogendobber's ankles. Mrs. Hogendobber shooed her away, but Tucker returned. Finally, Mrs. Hogendobber let her lick. She was sweaty already on this blistering morning. What were wet ankles?

“Are you going to tell me what's going on here?”

“Yes. Each murder victim received an unsigned postcard. The handwriting was in computer script. It looks like real handwriting but it isn't. Anyway, on the face of each postcard was a photograph of a famous graveyard. The message read, ‘Wish you were here.' You received one this morning.”

Mrs. Hogendobber's hand fluttered to her ponderous bosom. “Me?”

Harry nodded. “You.”

“What did I do? I've never even seen a marijuana cigarette, much less sold dope.”

“Oh, Mrs. H. I don't know if this has anything to do with drugs or not but the killer knows you've seen the second set of books. At Josiah's gathering.”

Mrs. Hogendobber's eyes narrowed. She might lack a sense of humor but she didn't lack a quick mind. “Ah, so it isn't just the IRS Maude was cheating. That ledger is an account of her turnover with whomever her partner was.” She placed her hands on either side of the hanging swing. “Someone at Josiah's party. It's preposterous!”

“Yes—but it's real. You're in danger.”

With great composure Mrs. Hogendobber rose and accompanied Harry back to the post office. She recovered sufficiently to say, “I always knew that you read the postcards, Harry.”

When Rick Shaw arrived with Officer Cooper, he herded everyone into the back room.

“Harry, you act normal. If you hear anyone, go on out and talk to them.” He studied the postcard.

“What about prints?” Officer Cooper asked.

“I'll send them to the lab. But the killer's smart. No prints. Not on the postcards. Not on the bodies. No nothing. This guy—or gal—must be invisible. We're checking with the computer companies in town to see if there's anything distinguishable in the script. Unfortunately, computers aren't like typewriters, which can be traced. A letter from a typewriter is almost like a fingerprint. Electronic printing is, well, homogenized. We're trying, but we're not hopeful on that front.”

Officer Cooper watched Mrs. Murphy try to squeeze into a Kleenex box on the shelf.

“He's sporting, too. He gives us a warning even if the victims don't know it's a warning,” Harry said.

“I hate the kind that put on finishing touches.” Rick grimaced. “Give me a good old domestic murder any day.” He swiveled his chair, facing Mrs. Hogendobber. “You're getting out of Dodge, ma'am.”

“I'm prepared to accept what God has in store for me.” Her chin jutted out. “I was prepared to drown on Mim's lake. This isn't any different.”

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways, but I don't,” Rick countered. “You can visit a relative and we'll make certain you arrive there safe and sound. We'll alert the authorities there to keep a close watch over your welfare and we won't inform anyone of your whereabouts. If you won't leave town, then we'll put you in jail. We'll treat you well, but, my dear Mrs. Hogendobber, you are not going to be the third victim of this cold, calculating murderer. Am I understood?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hogendobber's reply was not meek.

“Fine. You and Officer Cooper go home and pack. You can decide what you want to do, and tell no one but me.”

“Not even Harry?”

“Not even Harry.”

Mrs. Hogendobber reached over and squeezed Harry's hand. “Don't you worry about me. You'll be in my prayers.”

“Thank you.” Harry was touched. “You'll be in mine.”

After Mrs. Hogendobber and Officer Cooper left through the back door, Harry crumpled a mailbag.

“He'll know that I know and that you know,” the sheriff said. “He won't know if anyone else knows. Does anyone else know?”

“Susan Tucker.”

Rick's eyebrows clashed together. “Oh, dammit to hell, Harry. Can't you keep your mouth shut about anything?!”

“She's my best friend. Besides, if anything happens to me I want someone to know at least as much as I did.”

“How do you know Susan isn't the killer?”

“Never. Never. Never. She's my best friend.”

“Your best friend. Harry, women who have been married to men for twenty years find out they've got another wife in another city. Or children grow up and find out that their sweet daddy was a Nazi war criminal who escaped to the United States. People are not what they seem and this killer appears normal, well-adjusted, and hey, one of the gang. He or she
is
one of the gang. Susan is under suspicion as much as anyone else. And what about Fair? He's got medical knowledge. Doctors make clever killers.”

“Susan and Fair just wouldn't, that's all.”

Rick exhaled through his nostrils. “I admire your faith in your friends. If it isn't justified you've got a good chance of meeting your Maker.” He picked up a pencil and tapped it against his cheek. “Do you think Susan told Ned?”

“No.”

“Wives usually talk to their husbands and vice versa.”

“She gave me her word and I've known her far longer than Ned has. She won't tell.”

“So it's only you and Susan and Mrs. Hogendobber who know the postcard signal?”

“Yes.”

He kept tapping. “We're a small force but I'll assign Officer Cooper to guard you. She'll stay here in the post office and she'll go home with you too. For a couple of days, at least.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Very necessary. Within twelve hours, max, the killer will know that Mrs. Hogendobber left town and he'll figure out the rest. She won't show up for her Ruth Circle at church. They'll ask questions. I'll have her make some calls from the station. She can say that her sister's taken ill and she's hurrying to Greenville. Whatever location she gives out won't be true, of course. But Mrs. Hogendobber's cover won't fool the killer, any more than Mim's exchange students are fooling anyone. Her departure is too abrupt and Mrs. Hogendobber talks for days if she's going into Charlottesville. For an emergency trip out of state, she'd take an ad out in the
Daily Progress
. See, that's what's tough about this one—he or she knows everyone's habits, foibles, routines. If he can't get to Mrs. H., I'm not sure what he'll do next. He might turn on you or he might get nervous and make a mistake. A tiny one but something we can use.”

“I hope it's the latter and not the former.”

“Me, too, but I'm not taking any chances.”

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker drank in every word. If Harry was in danger, there was no time to lose.

32

Officer Cooper's presence at the post office electrified everyone. Mim, Little Marilyn, and the bodyguard stopped at the sight of her.

Little Marilyn hovered at her mother's elbow, as did the daytime female bodyguard, who could have used a shave.

“Uh, Harry, I've been meaning to talk to you about the Cancer Ball this year.” Little Marilyn bit her lip as Mim watched.

Harry had served on the committee every year for the last six years. “Yes.”

“Given that you're divorcing, well, it just won't do for you to be on the committee.” Little Marilyn at least had the guts to tell her face-to-face.

“What?” Harry couldn't believe this—it was too silly and too painful.

Mim backed up her daughter. “We can't have you on the program. Think what it would do to dear, sweet Mignon Haristeen.”

Mignon Haristeen, Fair's mother, was also in the Social Register and therefore important to Mim.

“She's living in Hobe Sound, for Christ's sake,” Harry exploded. “I don't think she much cares what we do in Crozet.”

“Really, have you no sense of propriety?” Mim sounded like a schoolmarm.

“Who the hell are you two to bump me off the Cancer Ball?” Harry seethed. “Mim, you're in a poisonous marriage. You sold out cheap. I don't care if Jim has umpteen million dollars. You can't stand him. What's umpteen million dollars compared to your emotional health, your soul?”

Mim roared back: “I came to the marriage with my own money.”

In saying that, she said it all. Her life was about money. Love had nothing to do with it.

She slammed the door, leaving Little Marilyn and the bodyguard running to catch up.

Bad enough that Harry had lost her temper, she had criticized Mim in front of Officer Cooper.

Mim, entombed as she was in the white sepulcher of her impeccable lineage, was jarred by a person of low degree, Harry. Oh, she'd made allowances for Harry. After all, Fair had little money but the Haristeens had bloodlines. They'd once had money but lost it in the War Between the States. Never bounced back financially, but then that was the story of the South. It took vulgarians like Jim to make money again.

Mim about ripped the door off her Volvo. She was calling Mignon Haristeen the second she got home.

Courtney breezed in as Mim blew out. “Hey, what's the matter with her?”

“Change of life,” Harry said.

Officer Cooper laughed. Courtney didn't get it. She banged open the postal box.

“Courtney, be careful. You'll twist the hinges if you keep that up.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Haristeen. Officer Cooper, what are you doing here?”

“Guarding your post box from fraud and bent hinges.”

Mrs. Murphy stuck her paw in the opened box from the inside. She could reach most of the boxes if the mail cart was underneath, which it was. Courtney touched her paw. Mrs. Murphy had performed this trick for Mrs. Hogendobber, who screamed when she saw the hairy little paw. Here she was, brave about her nasty postcard but scared of a cat's paw. Well, she wasn't used to animals. Mrs. Murphy thought about that as Courtney played with her.

Danny Tucker opened the door and carefully closed it, a change from his usual slam bang. Ever since the credit-card episode, he had walked on eggshells.

“Hello, Harry, Officer Cooper.” He glanced at Courtney. “Hello, Courtney.”

“Hello, Danny.” Courtney shut the box, thereby depriving Mrs. Murphy of a great deal of satisfaction.

Danny leaned over the counter. “Mom says you should come over for supper tonight,” he told Harry. “Dad's staying over in Richmond.”

“Thank you. Officer Cooper will accompany me.”

“You in trouble?” Danny half hoped Harry was, so he wouldn't be the only person with a black cloud hanging over his head.

“No.”

“Terminal speeding tickets,” Officer Cooper said laconically.

“You?” Danny exclaimed. “That old truck can't do but fifty full-out.”

“The condition of my truck is much to be lamented but the condition of my bank account is even sorrier. Hence the truck. And I do not have a speeding ticket. Not even one.”

“Why don't you drop a new engine in it or a rebuilt engine? My buddy Alex Baumgartner—he can do anything with an engine. Cheap, too.”

“I'll give it my bright regard.” Harry smiled. “And tell your mom we'll be over about six-thirty. Is that all right with you, Coop?”

“Great.” Officer Cynthia Cooper lived alone. A home-cooked meal would be a little bit of heaven.

Danny's eyes twinkled. He wanted to appear suave but he still resembled the fourteen-year-old he in fact was. “Courtney, you come too.”

“I thought you were grounded.” Why seem eager?

“I am but you can visit me. It's only for supper, and Mom thinks you're a good influence.” He laughed.

“You can ride in the squad car with us,” Officer Cooper offered.

“Let me ask Daddy.” She rushed out and was back within seconds. “He said it's okay.”

Josiah came in. “I heard you were being watched, and I was nearly run over by Mim, Little Marilyn, and that bodyguard. Hello, kids.” He noticed Courtney and Danny.

“Hello, Mr. DeWitt.” They left the post office to talk outside.

Josiah's lower lip protruded; he pretended to be serious. “I vouch for the character of this woman. Pure as the driven snow. Clean as mountain water. Honest as Abe Lincoln. If only we could corrupt her.”

“Try harder.” Harry smiled.

He got his mail and yelled around the corner: “Is there anything I can do to relieve you of Officer Cooper's presence? Not that we don't think you're wonderful, Officer Cooper, but you'll ruin the poor girl's sex life.”

“What sex life?” Harry said.

“My point exactly.” Josiah returned to the counter. His tone was more serious. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

“I'll take your word for it then.” He hesitated, lowered his eyes, then raised them. “Any word from Stafford?”

“Not that I know of, and Mim let me know I wasn't winning any personality contest, but then she isn't winning one with me either, the stuck-up bitch.”

Josiah's eyes opened wider. He'd rarely seen Harry angry. “She exhausted every adjective in describing to me her feelings about ‘the Stafford episode,' as she calls it. Mim and I have an understanding of sorts. She doesn't meddle in my personal life and I don't meddle in hers, but she's quite wrong about this. Of course, just why Little Marilyn selected Fitz-Gilbert remains a mystery. Any quieter and the man would be in a coma.”

“When's he going to show his face?” Harry inquired.

“Mama plans a small ‘do' at Farmington Country Club but she keeps moving the date. She's more rattled than she lets on about . . . things.”

“Aren't we all?” Harry pushed around the rubber-stamp holder.

He smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair. “Yes—but I prefer not to think about it. I can't do anything about it anyway.”