Nine Lives to Die

by Rita Mae Brown

  “You’re right.” BoomBoom got up and walked over to the window, nose almost on the windowpane. “It’s really coming down now. We’d all better head home.”

  “Let me help you clean up,” Harry offered.

  “A tray of vegetables and a couple of glasses? Anyway, no power, no water. Go on. If your cellphones don’t work you can still text if you have a Droid.”

  Arden said, “I hope the Silver Linings fund-raiser isn’t canceled.”

  “We’ll cross our fingers.” Charlene crossed hers.

  After a long, careful drive, Harry slowly finally drove down her long farm driveway, windshield wipers flipping as fast as they could. She pulled in front of the old white frame farmhouse, cut the motor, the lights with it.

  Golden candlelight cascaded over the snow. The frosted windows glowed pale gold, the wavy imperfections of the handblown glass all the more obvious with the candles behind her.

  “Mom’s home.” Inside the house, Tucker the corgi barked joyfully.

  Pewter flopped on the kitchen table, lifted her head. “About time.”

  Mrs. Murphy, the tiger cat, walked alongside Fair, Harry’s husband, as he opened the kitchen door to the porch. He carried a huge flashlight, which he focused on the path to the back porch, screened-in in summer, glassed-in in winter.

  “Honey, I’m glad you’re home.” He stepped into the snow.

  “Fair, get back inside. I can see.”

  He didn’t, of course, kissing her as she hurried onto the porch, Tucker and Mrs. Murphy at her feet.

  Pewter considered a welcoming meow when Harry walked into the kitchen, then thought better of it. It’s never wise to indulge humans.

  Harry stamped her feet again. “Boy, it’s really snowing.”

  “I’ll get the generator going. Just got home myself about ten minutes ago. Buried in paperwork today.”

  Hanging up her coat on one of the Shaker pegs inside by the kitchen door, she shook her head free of snow. “Honey, do you have your Droid?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “May I borrow it?”

  Fair retrieved the device, which he’d placed on a kitchen counter when he walked into the kitchen, handing it to his wife.

  Harry texted Susan: “I won.”

  She then recounted her small triumph with her husband, who celebrated with her.

  Tucker also laughed, for she knew how frequently Harry lost at cards.

  “I shredded a pack of cards once,” Pewter crowed. “Good cards, they had Susan’s initials on them.”

  “We know,” both Mrs. Murphy and Tucker replied. “Thanks to you, the girls won’t play cards here,” Tucker added.

  “Who cares?” Pewter saucily called down from the table.

  “I do,” the intelligent corgi said. “The girls always drop food.”

  “Well—” Pewter had no comeback for that.

  While the fire blazed, Harry and Fair cuddled on the sofa.

  “First big snow of the season. Even though it creates all manner of problems, I do love it.” Fair smiled.

  “Any horses at the clinic?” Harry asked. Fair was an equine vet.

  “No, which is why I can enjoy the snow. I don’t have to drive back there until the roads are plowed.” He glanced out the window. “They’ll have their work cut out for them.”

  “At least the refrigerator is running with the generator, and the stove is on propane gas.”

  Fair pulled Harry closer. “I like the candlelight.”

  “Me, too, and I like the silence, especially when the fridge cuts off. Say, we got to talking about Miss Donleavey.”

  “Haven’t thought of her in years. That was a good game the night she disappeared. We creamed Louisa. And someone got away with murder.”

  “Maybe.” Harry’s voice, light, lifted a bit higher.

  “Oh, honey, she’s gone forever.”

  But she wasn’t.

  Snow bits stung Harry as she drove the 80hp tractor outfitted with a snowplow down the long drive. The old, big tractor emanated power. She wished that it had a covered cab, but such a convenience was too expensive when she bought the tractor years ago. It was even more expensive now.

  An emergency call had pulled Fair out of bed at four in the morning. Although a foot of snow had fallen by then, his one-ton four-wheel-drive truck managed to crawl through. Now, at seven-thirty in the morning, gray and dark, Harry plowed as snow piled up.

  As she approached the secondary state road she could see the snowplows had passed over it at least once. They’d need to come back. Making a big circle, she headed back down her drive. With the wind-driven snow at her back, she felt a bit better.

  Harry could take most any weather. Growing up on a farm, farming for most of her life, she was tough. The four years at Smith College were the softest she’d known. Even when she’d worked at the post office in Crozet, she’d come home and do chores, also doing them at dawn before heading east to the small town.

  A new post office had been built by the railroad tracks. She left the job because she couldn’t take her cats and dogs. The little country post office, so warm, felt like home. The big new post office, while impressive, felt like one more government building.

  Whenever people mocked the postal service for its monetary losses, she still defended it. It was a department of government held to different standards, hemmed in by various monetary restrictions, some concerning its pensions. She didn’t believe the P.O. could ever make money. A one-cent rise in gas prices would cost the postal service more than a billion dollars. Just one cent.

  She missed seeing everyone in town five days a week and she missed working with Miranda Hogendobber, an older friend. And one more thing: Harry missed a regular paycheck.

  Despite that, she loved farming full time and, like every farmer, she accepted that Mother Nature was a demanding, difficult business partner. No one day was like any other.

  A honk startled her. She turned around, snow hitting her in the face again, to see her neighbor, Deputy Cynthia Cooper, in a four-wheel-drive sheriff’s vehicle.

  Harry cut the motor on the tractor, climbed down.

  “Hey,” she greeted Cooper.

  Window down, Cooper responded, “You’ll freeze your butt off.”

  “Not much to freeze,” Harry joked.

  The lanky law enforcement officer smiled back. “Well, that’s the truth, and how many women can say the same? Do you need anything?”

  “Oh, no, Coop, thanks. Fair’s on an emergency call. He’ll bring back supplies.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At the de Jarnettes’.”

  “He’ll have slow going coming home. This is supposed to stop by mid-morning, clear. Then more snow tomorrow night. Well, it will keep me busy.”

  A gust made Harry duck her head for a moment. “It’s the wind that gets you.”

  Cooper nodded. “Does.”

  “Speaking of picking up things,” said Harry, “Jessica Hexham and I are going to Nordstrom’s tomorrow. I desperately need a dress for the Silver Linings fund-raiser. Need anything?”

  “An entire wardrobe.” Cooper smiled. “If I don’t see you before the ‘do,’ have a good time. Raise money.” She wiped some blown snow off her face. “I’ll be on duty that night. Should be a great party.”

  “One hundred and fifty dollars?” Harry whispered into Jessica’s ear.

  Nodding back, the always well-dressed woman cooed, “Worth every penny.”

  “Well—” Harry stalled.

  Both women stood on the second floor of Nordstrom, located at the town of Short Pump, outside of Richmond. Charlottesville contained the usual complement of shops catering to middle-class women in a suburban environment; neither Harry nor Jessica felt at ease in such outfits.

  However, Nordstrom was always expensive, and Harry, ever tight with the buck, balked at one hundred and fifty dollars for a silk scarf.

  “Now, look, you have as many Christmas parties to go to as I do. Do you reall
y want to look like the frosted-hair set?” Jessica was ruthless. “I have to look good—my husband is president of Silver Linings. I can’t wear the same outfit twice. It’s the fund-raising season. You have to look good, too.”

  “Uh, now, Jessica, some of my best friends have frosted hair and look good.”

  “It’s over. I mean over. Too seventies. Just don’t do it.”

  “My hair’s not turning gray.” Harry paused. “Yet.”

  “When it does, just make sure it’s a good gray. Now, buy the scarf and throw it around your neck when you wear that fabulous emerald-green cocktail dress. That wasn’t cheap, so why drag your heels at the scarf? And I do mean heels.”

  “You’re right.” Harry dug into her leather purse for her credit card. Resistance was futile.

  As Jessica stood with her at the counter, both women scanned the large second floor. “Finding good clothes in Virginia is like finding the Holy Grail,” said Jessica.

  “That’s a fact.” Harry thanked the clerk after the clerk thanked her.

  The two women headed for the escalator, stepping aside as two teenage girls attached to their mother ducked in front of them.

  “Adriana, you turn around and apologize right this minute,” ordered the mother, West End Richmond all the way.

  Red-faced, Adriana, rail thin, ears pierced, did turn around, looked up at Harry and apologized.

  “Accepted,” Harry replied with some warmth.

  The mother turned around. “If you don’t have children, don’t start.”

  This made both Harry and Jessica laugh. Christmas always brought out the best and worst in people. If this mother insisted on proper deportment, maybe things weren’t so bad. Jessica carried her bags with aplomb. Good manners eases one’s path in life. So does a good mother. “Are you sure you only want the one dress? I don’t mind going to another department or even driving over to Saks.”

  “I can’t take anymore. Shopping gives me a headache.”

  Jessica laughed. “Let’s go home. I have Motrin in the car and a bottle of water. Just knock those orange pills back, girl.”

  They walked through the plowed parking lot, skies lowering.

  “Thank you for coming with me.” Harry peered up at the clouds.

  “You’ve worn everyone else out.” Jessica hit the remote to open the car.

  Once inside, Harry ruefully agreed. “Susan only goes with me if Alicia and BoomBoom come along as her enforcers. She says I am the worst person ever to shop with or for. I don’t think I’m that bad.”

  “What are best friends for if not overstatement?”

  “Funny. Just yesterday Susan reminded me she’s my best friend and therefore can give it to me both barrels.”

  “She’s right. Let’s cruise down 250 for a bit. Getting back onto 64 will be a mess and”—she craned her neck to look up through the windshield—“it really is going to snow again. The weather report was right.”

  “Winter truly has arrived.” Harry also looked up at the sky.

  “Snow or not, the fund-raiser is going to be held tomorrow night. Anyway, you need to show off that wonderful dress.”

  Harry, with a devilish smile, clicked shut her seatbelt. “Wouldn’t it be fun to show up with as much showing as possible?”

  Jessica cruised onto the highway. “That depends. Whenever I have a moment where I question the Almighty, I remind myself He gave us fashion and I am comforted.”

  “Well, girl, you will be comforted tomorrow night, as there will be a lot of fashion.”

  “Harry, clothes cover a multitude of sins.”

  The two women giggled.

  But some sins are harder to cover than others.

  Unbeknownst to Harry and Jessica, Lou Higham and Tyler were also at the large shopping center in Short Pump. Lou wanted to buy surprising and expensive gifts for Arden without driving up to Washington, D.C., or flying to New York or Atlanta. Although a man who expected to be in charge, Lou proved generous. He liked adorning his wife with jewelry, alluring clothing. Sometimes he’d surprise her with a fancy piece of luggage all packed and ready for a trip, even if only overnight to a bed-and-breakfast he liked in Orange County, Virginia. A forty-minute drive from Charlottesville beat a clogged flight to Manhattan.

  Tyler, with some reluctance, tagged along with his father, who was determined to start the young man early on the ways to please women. He bribed Tyler by promising he would take him to the Apple store to buy a new iPhone.

  “Dad, you’re not going to buy Mom anything from in here?” Tyler felt miserable as his father marched him through the aisles of Victoria’s Secret.

  “No. I’m looking. The day will come when, if you’re smart, you’ll buy a special woman special lingerie. It makes her feel, uh, beautiful, and she appreciates that you think of her that way. Just park that in the back of your mind.”

  Outside the store, Lou determinedly strode to a high-end men’s store. Tyler couldn’t imagine being with a woman that way. He liked the girls in school who, like him, were computer nerds or liked chem lab. One girl in particular, Yasmine Dulaney, sat next to him at the lab. She was a year older, smarter than smart, and they could talk endlessly about the properties of sulfuric acid or why and at what rate iron rusts. For Tyler, connections started in the mind. For Lou, with women, they started below the belt. While connections have to start somewhere, Lou’s approach, direct and simple, might lead to more. Tyler, slow, halting, uncertain, in time might have a better way to approach girls. But girls, at this point in Tyler’s life, were a separate species.

  The oaken walls and display shelves, enhanced by a woodsy scent artfully released from tiny nozzles hidden throughout the store, inspired Lou to buy a three-ply cashmere sweater in a heavy heather.

  “Tyler, I’ll spring for a turtleneck if you find one you like.”

  Smiling shyly, the thin young man said, “Dad, I’m going to hit you up in the Apple store.”

  Lou smiled back. “I just bet you will, Son. I just bet you will.”

  The two had traipsed through the many stores for two hours. Lou did find a bracelet for Arden. Large lapis lazuli rectangles set in gold. It wasn’t cheap, but it was a wonderful Christmas gift. Even Tyler admired it and said, “Mom will love it.”

  Checking his watch, Lou commented, “I’m done. Checked off my list. Okay, your turn.”

  With a brisk step, Tyler headed toward the Apple store. None such existed in Charlottesville, although one could buy an Apple computer at the University of Virginia bookstore, but only if a student, or a member of the faculty or administration. So everyone else had to hit the road, and Richmond was closer than the Washington area, plus the drive was considerably more pleasant. Once in the orbit of Washington, traffic clogged, people flipped the bird at one another, and too many horns blared. Lou always said those were not true Virginians, but who knew? Even Virginians were not immune to an erosion of manners under driving and shopping duress. Those who worked for the government endured even more duress, or so it seemed.

  Thinking he had lucked out on the drive, at least, Lou walked into the store with his son, who zoomed directly to the iPhones.

  Picking up a gold one, he said, “This is it, Dad.”

  Immediately Lou checked out the price. “Not too bad.”

  “Yeah, but I want,” and Tyler rattled off such a long list of apps that Lou’s eyes glazed over. “And, Dad, I need to get a cover for the glass. Gotta protect your investment.” Tyler tried to talk his father’s language.

  “Uh.” Lou’s head ran up calculations while the overworked salesperson nodded that he would reach them as soon as he finished with the prior customer.

  Lou eyed the many covers, some more expensive than others, but all overpriced to his mind. “The phones are cheap. They hit you up on all the other stuff. What a damned cash cow.” Lou knew chargers for the car, and different ones for the house, would also be added to the bill.

  “Once it’s loaded, that’s it. And they’re fast now, Da
d.”

  “Right.” Lou could use about anything techie.

  It was the cost that choked him.

  Tyler carefully scanned the various covers, picking out a hot turquoise.

  “Don’t get that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s girly. Get something dark. Black leather.”

  “If I buy a bright color, I’ll always find my phone.” Tyler picked out a hot pink.

  Lou practically slapped it out of his hand. “Never! Buy the goddamned black leather one or I’m not paying for a thing.”

  Tyler did as he was told.

  Outside, Lou looked at the few snowflakes twirling down. “Let’s hit the road. Maybe we can get home before it really comes down.”

  Saying nothing, Tyler opened the door after his father unlocked the Acura. They drove in silence for ten minutes; cars and trucks had their lights on. Most people adjusted for the weather. A few idiots still fired down I-64 at seventy-miles-plus.

  Finally Lou said, “The phones are so thin now. Back in the eighties, they looked like small bazookas.” As his son remained silent, Lou became falsely cheerful. “Wait until you pull your phone out. The guys at school will want one, too. You’ll be the first.”

  “I’m not the first, but I’m close enough.”

  “Cool stuff.”

  “Right.”

  “Tyler, there’s a logic to what you said about being able to find your phone, but believe me, you’ll thank me for making you get the black leather. You don’t want guys looking at you sideways.”

  “They don’t look at me at all. I don’t even exist.”

  “Of course you do. You’re not real outgoing, but you’re really bright, Tyler. And success is the best revenge. Just wait, you’ll beat all those dudes to the bank.” Lou laughed.

  Tyler wanted to say, “Does everything have to be a competition? I don’t care what other guys think. I don’t care what you think. You don’t know me.” But he didn’t, of course.

  As snow fell outside, people young and old danced in the ballroom at the Keswick Club. As partygoers entered through the front door, a brand-new Ford F-150 sat right out front, bright red, though becoming covered with snow. Given the weather, Pete Vavilov put the raffle drawing sign inside the front door on an easel. Those supporters of Silver Linings who had paid a thousand dollars for a ticket were each given a key. Near the end of the evening, each one would get inside the truck. Whichever person had the key that started the truck would win it.