Wish You Were Here (7 page)

Fair, quiet for a moment to keep from losing his temper, said, “I make more money. If I had to be out on call, well, that's the way it had to be.”

“You know, I don't even care anymore.” Harry unfolded her arms and took a step toward him. “What I want to know is, were you, are you, sleeping with BoomBoom Craycroft?”

“No!” Fair looked wounded. “I told you before. I was drunk at the party. I—okay, I behaved as less than a gentleman . . . but that was a year ago.”

“I know about that. I was there, remember? I'm asking about now, Fair.”

He blinked, steadied his gaze. “No.”

As the humans recriminated, Tucker, tired of being on the floor, out of the cat action, said,
“Pewter, we went over to Kelly Craycroft's concrete plant.”

Alert, Pewter sat up.
“Why?”

“Wanted to sniff for ourselves.”

“How can Mrs. Murphy smell anything? She's always got her nose up in the air.”

“Shut up.”
Mrs. Murphy stuck her head over the mail bin.

“How uncouth.”
Pewter pulled back her whiskers.

“I was talking to Tucker, but you can shut up too. I'll kill two birds with one stone.”

“Why were you telling me to shut up? I didn't do anything.”
Tucker was hurt.

“I'll tell you later,”
the tiger cat replied.

“It's no secret. Ozzie's probably blabbed it over three counties by now—ours, Orange, and Nelson. Maybe the whole state of Virginia knows, since Bob Berryman delivers those stock trailers everywhere and Ozzie goes with him,”
Tucker yipped.

“Nine states.”
Mrs. Murphy knew Tucker was going to tell.

“Tell me. What did Ozzie blab and why did you go to the concrete plant?”
Pewter's pupils enlarged.

“Ozzie said there was a funny smell. And there was.”
Tucker liked this turnabout.

Pewter scoffed,
“Of course, there was a funny smell, Tucker. A man was ground into hamburger meat and the day sweltered at ninety-seven degrees. Even humans can smell that.”

“It wasn't that.”
Mrs. Murphy crawled out of the mail bin, disappointed that Harry had lost interest and was giving her full attention to Fair.

“Rescue Squad smells.”
Pewter was fishing.

“Smelled like a turtle.”

“What?”
The fat cat swept her whiskers forward.

Mrs. Murphy jumped up on the counter and sat next to Pewter. Since Tucker was going to yap she might as well be in the act.
“It did. By the time we got there most of the scent was gone but there was this slight amphibian odor.”

Pewter wrinkled her nose.
“I did hear Ozzie say something about a turtle, but I didn't pay too much attention. There was so much going on.”
She sighed.

“Ever smell ‘Best Fishes'?”
Pewter's mind returned to food, her favorite topic.
“Now that's a good smell. Mrs. Murphy, doesn't Harry have any treats left?”

“Yes.”

“Think she'll give me one?”

“I'll give you one if you promise to tell us anything you hear about Kelly Craycroft. Anything at all. And I promise not to make fun of you.”

“I promise.”
The fat chin wobbled solemnly.

Mrs. Murphy jumped off the counter and ran over to the desk. The lower drawer was open a crack. She squeezed her paw in it and hooked out a strip of dried beef jerky. She picked it up and gave it to Pewter, who devoured it instantly.

10

Bob Berryman laughed loudly during the movie
Field of Dreams
. He was alone. Apart from Bob, Harry and Susan didn't know anyone else in the theater. Charlottesville, jammed with new people, was becoming a new town to them. No longer could you drive into town and expect to see your friends. Not that the new people weren't nice—they were—but it was somewhat discomforting to be born and raised in a place and suddenly feel like a stranger.

The new residents flocked to the county in such numbers that they couldn't be absorbed quickly enough into the established clubs and routines. Naturally, the new people created their own clubs and routines. Formerly, the four great social centers—the hunt club, the country club, the black churches, and the university—provided stability to the community, like the four points of a square. Now young blacks drifted away from the churches, the country club had a six-year waiting list for membership, and the university was in the community but not of the community. As for the hunt club, most of the new people couldn't ride.

The road system couldn't handle the newcomers either. The state of Virginia was dickering about paving over much of the countryside with a bypass. The residents, old and new, were bitterly opposed to the destruction of their environment. The Highway Department people would be more comfortable in a room full of scorpions, because this was getting ugly. The obvious solution, of improving the central corridor road, Route 29, or even elevating a direct road over the existing route, did not occur to the powers-that-be in Richmond. They cried, “Expensive,” while ignoring the outrageous sums they'd already squandered in hiring a research company to do their dirty work for them. They figured the populace would direct their wrath at the research company, and the Highway Department could hide behind the screen. The Republican party, quick to seize the opportunity to roast the reigning Democrats, turned the bypass into a political hot potato. The Highway Department remained obstinate. The Democrats, losing power, began to feel queasy. It was turning into an interesting drama, one in which political careers would be made and unmade.

Harry believed that whatever figure was published, you should double it. For some bizarre reason, government people could not hold the line on spending. She observed this in the post office. The regulations, created to help, just made things so much worse that she ran her post office as befitted the community, not as befitted some distant someone sitting on a fat ass in Washington, D.C. The same was true for the state government. They wouldn't travel the roads they'd build; they wouldn't have their hearts broken because beautiful farmland was destroyed and the watershed was endangered. They'd have a nice line on the map and talk to the governor about traffic flow. Every employee would justify his or her position by complicating the procedure as much as possible and then solving the complications.

Meanwhile the citizens of Albemarle County would be told to accept the rape of their land for the good of the counties south of them, counties that had contributed heavily to certain politicians' war chests. No one even considered the idea of letting people raise money themselves for improving the central corridor. Whatever the extra cost would be, compared to a bypass, Albemarle would pay for it. Self-government—why, the very thought was too revolutionary.

Harry, raised to believe the government was her friend, had learned by experience to believe it was her enemy. She softened her stance only with local officials whom she knew and to whom she could talk face-to-face.

One good thing about newcomers was, they were politically active. Good, Harry thought. They're going to need it.

She and Susan batted these ideas around at the Blue Ridge Brewery. Ice-cold beer on a sticky night tasted delicious.

“So?”

“So what, Susan?”

“You've been sitting here for ten minutes and you haven't said a thing.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Lost track of time, I guess.”

“Apparently.” Susan smiled. “Come on, what gives? Another bout with Fair?”

“You know, I can't decide who's the bigger asshole, him or me. What I do know is, we can't be in the same room together without an argument. Even if we start out on friendly terms . . . we end up accusing each other of . . .”

Susan waited. No completion of Harry's sentence was forthcoming. “Accusing each other of what?”

“I asked him if he'd slept with BoomBoom.”

“What?” Susan's lower lip dropped.

“You heard me.”

“And?”

“He said no. Oh, it went on from there. Every mistake I'd made since we dated got thrown in my face. God, I am so bored with him, with the situation”—she paused—“with myself. There's a whole world out there and right now all I can think of is this stupid divorce.” Another pause. “And Kelly's murder.”

“Fortunately the two are not connected.” Susan took a long draft.

“I hope not.”

“They aren't.” Susan dismissed the thought. “You don't think they are either. He may not have been the husband you needed, but he's not a murderer.”

“I know.” Harry pushed the glass away. “But I don't know him anymore—and I don't trust him.”

“Ever notice how friends love you for what you are? Lovers try to change you into what they want you to be.” Susan drank the rest of Harry's beer.

Harry laughed. “Mom used to say, ‘A woman marries a man hoping to change him and a man marries a woman hoping she'll never change.' ”

“Your mother was a pistol.” Susan remembered Grace's sharp wit. “But I think men try to change their partners, too, although in a different way. It's so confusing. I know less about human relationships the older I get. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. I thought I was supposed to be getting wiser.”

“Yeah. Now I'm full of distrust.”

“Oh, Harry, men aren't so bad.”

“No, no—I distrust myself. What was I doing married to Pharamond Haristeen? Am I that far away from myself?”

 

Back home, Mrs. Murphy prowled.

Tucker, in her wicker basket, lifted her head.
“Sit down.”

“Am I keeping you awake?”

“No,”
the dog grumbled.
“I can't sleep when Mommy's away. I've seen other people take their dogs to the movies. Muffin Barnes sticks her dog in her purse.”
Muffin was a friend of Harry's.

“Muffin Barnes's dog is a chihuahua.”

“Zat what he is?”
Tucker, stiff-legged, got out of the basket.
“Wanna play?”

“Ball?”

“No. How about tag? We can rip and tear while she isn't here. Actually, we should rip and tear. How dare she go away and leave us here. Let's make her pay.”

“Yeah!”
Mrs. Murphy's eyes lit up.

An hour later, when Harry flipped the lights on in the living room, she exclaimed, “Oh, my God!”

The ficus tree was tipped over, soil was thrown over the floor, and soiled kittyprints dotted the walls. Mrs. Murphy had danced in the moist dirt before hitting the walls with all four feet.

Harry, furious, searched for her darlings. Tucker hid under the bed in the back corner against the wall, and Mrs. Murphy lay flat on the top shelf of the pantry.

By the time Harry cleaned up the mess she was too tired to discipline them. To her credit, she understood that this was punishment for her leaving. She understood, but was loath to admit that the animals trained her far better than she trained them.

11

The prospect of the weekend lightened Harry's step as she walked along Railroad Avenue, shiny from last night's late thunderstorm, which had done nothing to lower the exalted temperature. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, forgiven, scampered ahead.

The moment she caught sight of them, Pewter tore down the avenue to greet them.

“I didn't know she could move that fast.” Harry whistled out loud.

When Pewter ran, the flab under her belly swayed from side to side. She started yelling half a block away from her friends.
“I've been waiting outside the store for you!”

Panting, Pewter slid to a stop at Tucker's feet.

Harry, thinking that the animal had exhausted herself, stooped to pick her up. “Poor Fatty.”

“Lemme go.”
Pewter wiggled free.

“What is it?”
Mrs. Murphy rubbed against Harry's legs to make her feel better.

“Maude Bly Modena.”
The chartreuse eyes glittered.
“Dead!”

“How?”
Mrs. Murphy wanted details.

“Train ran over her.”

“In her car, you mean?”
Tucker was impatient waiting for Pewter to catch her breath as they continued walking toward the post office.

“No!”
Pewter picked up the pace.
“Worse than that.”

“Pewter, I've never heard you so chatty.” Harry beamed.

Pewter replied.
“If you'd pay attention you might learn something.”
She turned to Mrs. Murphy.
“They think they're so smart but they only pay attention to themselves. Humans only listen to humans and half the time they don't do that.”

“Yes.”
Mrs. Murphy wanted to say
“Get on with it,”
but she prudently bit her lip.

“As I was saying, it was worse than that. She was tied to the track, I don't know where exactly, but when the six o'clock came through this morning, the engineer couldn't stop in time. Cut her into three pieces.”

“How'd you find out?”
Tucker blinked at the thought of the grisly sight.

“Unfortunately, Courtney heard about it first. Market let her come in and open up for the farm trade, the five
A
.
M
., crew. The Rescue Squad roared by—Rick Shaw too. Officer Cooper, in the second squad car, ran in for coffee. That's how we found out. Courtney phoned Market and he came right down. There's some weirdo out there killing people.”

“Like a serial killer, you mean?”
Tucker was very concerned for Harry's safety.

“It's bad enough that humans kill once.”
Pewter sucked in her breath.
“But every now and then they throw one who wants to kill over and over.”

Mrs. Murphy murmured,
“I liked Maude.”

“I did too.”
Tucker hung her head.
“Why don't people kill their sick young like we do? Why do they let them live and cause damage?”

“Well, as I understand it, these psychos”
—Pewter had an opinion on everything—
“can appear mentally normal.”

“That's no excuse for the ones they know are nuts from the beginning.”
Mrs. Murphy couldn't cover her distress.

“They think it's wrong to weed out litters.”
Tucker's claws clicked on the pavement.

“Yeah, they let the sickies grow up and kill them instead.”
Pewter laughed a harsh laugh.
“No one better come after Courtney or Market. I'll scratch their eyes out.”

Harry noticed the three animals were attentive to one another.

“Whoever this is has something to cover up,”
Mrs. Murphy thought out loud.

“Yes, they have to cover up that they're demented and they'll kill again, during a full moon, I bet,”
Pewter said.

“No. I don't mean that.”
Mrs. Murphy's eyes became slits. Tucker had lived with Mrs. Murphy since she was a six-week-old puppy. She knew how the cat thought.
“This person is after something—or has something to hide. It might not be a thrill killer.”

“Don't you find it peculiar that he or she leaves the bodies about? Doesn't a killer try and bury the body?”
Pewter figured that's what vultures were for, but then, people were different.

“That struck me about Kelly's body.”
Mrs. Murphy ignored a caterpillar, so intense was her concentration.
“The killer is displaying the bodies . . .”
Her voice drifted off because Market Shiflett emerged from his store and was waving at Harry.

“Harry, Harry!”

Harry heard the fear in his voice and ran down to the store. “What's the matter?”

“S'awful, just awful.”

Harry put her arm around him. “Are you all right? Want me to call the Doc?” She meant Hayden McIntire.

Market nodded he was fine. “It's not me, Harry. It's another murder—Maude Bly Modena.”

“What?!” Harry's color fled from her cheeks.

“I'm keeping my girl inside. There's a monster out there!”

“What happened, Market?” Harry, shocked, put her hand against the store window to steady herself.

“That poor woman was tied to the railroad tracks like in some silent movie. The fellow saw her—the brakeman, I guess, on the morning passenger train—but too late, too late. Oh, that poor woman.” His lower lip trembled.

“Who else knows?” Harry's mind was moving at the speed of light.

“Why do you ask?” Market was surprised at the question.

“I'm not sure, Market, I . . . Woman's intuition.”

“Do you know something?” His voice rose.

“No, I don't know a damn thing but I'm going to find out. This has to stop!”

“Well”—Market rubbed his chin—“Courtney knows, Rick Shaw and Officer Cooper, and Clai and Diana of the Rescue Squad, of course. Train people know, including the passengers. Train stopped. A lot of people know.”

“Yes, yes.” Her voice trailed off.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I wish so many people didn't know already. Controlling the information might have been a way to snag a clue.”

“Yeah.” The phone rang inside. “I've got to pick that up. Let's stick together, Harry.”

“You bet.”

Market opened the door and Pewter scooted in, calling her goodbyes over her shoulder.

A miserable Harry unlocked the door to the post office, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker behind.

“Come on.”

Mrs. Murphy looked at Tucker.
“You thinking what I'm thinking?”

Tucker replied,
“Yes, but we don't know where.”

“Damn!”
Mrs. Murphy fluffed her tail in fury and walked dramatically into the post office.

Tucker followed as Harry picked up the phone and started dialing.
“It could be miles and miles from here.”

“I know!”
Mrs. Murphy crabbed.
“And we'll lose the scent—if it's there.”

“It held a little bit the other time. That day was stinky hot too.”

Mrs. Murphy leaned up against the corgi.
“I hope so. Buddy-bud, we're going to have to use our powers to get to the bottom of this. Harry's smart but her nose is bad. Her ears aren't too good either. People can't move very fast. We've got to find out who's doing this so we can protect her.”

“I'll die before I let anyone hurt Harry!”
Tucker barked loudly.

“Susan, there's been another murder.”

“I'll be right there,” Susan replied.

She started to dial Fair at the clinic but hung up the phone. It was a knee-jerk reaction to call him.

“Rick Shaw came by for Ned,” Susan said as Harry unlocked the front door. It was 7:30
A
.
M
.

“What's he want with Ned?”

“He wants him to organize a Citizen's Alert group. Harry, this is unbelievable. This is Crozet, Virginia, for Pete's sake, not New York City.”

“Unbelievable or not, it's happening. Did Rick say anything about Maude?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was she alive when she was run over?” Harry's entire body twitched at the thought and a wave of nausea engulfed her.

“I thought of that too. I asked him. He said they didn't know but they believed not. The coroner would know exactly when she died.”

“If Rick said that, it means she was dead already. I mean, you'd have to be pretty stupid not to tell after a certain point. Did he say anything else?”

“Only that it happened out near the Greenwood tunnel, out on that first part of track.”

Harry said, almost to herself, “What was she doing out that far?”

“God only knows.” Susan sniffed. “What if this—this creature starts after our children?”

“That's not going to happen. I'm sure of it.”

“How would you know?” A note of anger crept into Susan's voice.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore your concern for the children, and you should keep the kids in at night. It's just that—well, I don't know. A feeling.”

“There's a madman loose! Tell me what Kelly Craycroft and Maude Bly Modena had in common! Tell me that!”

“If we can figure that out, we might catch the killer.” Command rang through Harry's voice. She was a born leader, although she never acknowledged it and even avoided groups.

Susan knew Harry had made up her mind. “You aren't trained in this sort of thing.”

“Neither are you. Will you help me?”

“What do I have to do?”

“The police ask routine questions. That's fine, because they learn a lot. We need to ask different questions—not just ‘Where were you on the night of . . . ?' but ‘How did you feel about Kelly's Ferrari and how did you feel about Maude's big success with her store?' Emotions. Maybe emotions will get us closer to an answer.”

“Count me in.”

“I'll take Mrs. Hogendobber and Little Marilyn for starters. How about if you take BoomBoom and Mim. No, wait. Let me take BoomBoom. I have my reasons. You take Little Marilyn.”

“Okay.”

Rob sailed through the front door. He dropped the mail sacks like lead when Harry told him the news. He absolutely couldn't believe this was happening, but who could?

Tucker and Mrs. Murphy overheard Harry reveal the location of the murder.

“We can't get there by ourselves unless we're willing to be gone an entire day.”

“Can't do that.”
Tucker pulled at her collar. The metal rabies tag tinkled.

“So, how are we going to get out there? We need Harry to take us in the truck.”

“Half of Crozet will go out there. People have a morbid curiosity,”
Tucker observed.

“When she gets in that truck, no matter when, we'd better pitch a fit.”

“Gotcha.”

Mrs. Hogendobber was stopped by Market Shiflett as she ascended the post office steps. She emitted a piercing yell upon hearing the news.

Josiah, crossing the street, hesitated for a split second and then came over to see what was amiss.

“This is the work of the Devil!” Mrs. Hogendobber put her hand on the wall for support.

“It's shocking.” Josiah tried to sound comforting but he never would like Mrs. Hogendobber. “Come on, Mrs. H., let me help you inside the post office.” He swung open the door.

“When did you hear?” Mrs. Hogendobber's voice sounded even.

“On the radio this morning.” Josiah fanned Mrs. H., now sitting by the stamp meter. “Would you like me to take you home?” Josiah offered.

“No, I came for my mail and I'm going to get it.” Resolutely, Mrs. Hogendobber stood up and strode to her postal box.

Harry and Josiah followed her as Fair screeched up out front, killing the engine before turning off the key as his foot slipped off the clutch.

“You could have come right through the window,” Mrs. Hogendobber admonished him.

Fair shut the door behind him. “I thought I'd give the taxpayers a break and not do that.”

“This old building could use a rehab.” Josiah turned the key in his box.

“Do you know about that sweet Maude Bly Modena? Murdered! In cold blood.” Mrs. Hogendobber breathed heavily again.

“Now, now, don't get yourself overexcited,” Josiah warned her.

“Quite right.” Mrs. Hogendobber controlled herself. “So much evil in the land. Still, I never thought it would come home.” She touched her eyebrow, trying to remember. “The last bad thing that happened here—apart from the drunken-driving accidents—why, that would be the robberies at the Farmington Country Club. Remember?”

“That was in 1978.” Harry recalled the incident. “A gang of high-class thieves broke into the homes there and took the silver and the antiques.”

“And left the silver plate.” Mrs. Hogendobber didn't realize how funny that was and couldn't understand why, for a moment, Harry, Fair, and Josiah laughed.

“The theft wasn't funny, Mrs. H.,” Harry explained. “But on top of being robbed, everyone would find out who had good stuff and who didn't. I mean, it added insult to injury.”

Mrs. Hogendobber found no humor in it and made a harrumphf. “Well, this has been too much for one morning. I bid you adieu.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to see you home?” Josiah offered again.

“No . . . thank you.” And she was gone.

“Didn't they find that stuff stashed in a barn in Falling Water, West Virginia?” Fair asked.

“They did, and that was a stupid place to put it too.” Josiah shut his mailbox.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Putting exquisite pieces like that in a barn. Rodents could chew them or defecate on the furniture. The elements could expand and contract the woods. Just dumb. They knew good stuff from bad but they didn't know how to take care of it.”