Wish You Were Here

by Rita Mae Brown

  “In other words, this is his punishment for fooling around.” Harry’s eyes got moist again.

  “The law doesn’t state punishment—”

  “But that’s what it is, isn’t it? Suing on the grounds of adultery is an instrument of revenge.” She sank back in the chair. Her head ached. Her heart ached.

  Ned’s words were measured. “In the hands of some lawyers and people, you might say it’s an instrument of revenge.”

  After a long, deep pause Harry spoke with resolution and clarity. “Ned, it’s bad enough that divorce in this town becomes public spectacle. This . . . this adultery suit, well, that would turn spectacle into nightmare for me and a real three-ring circus for the Mim Sanburnes of the world. You know”—she glanced at the ceiling—“I can’t even say that he’s wrong. She has something I don’t.”

  The friend in Ned overcame the lawyer. “She can’t hold a candle to you, Harry. You’re the best.”

  That made Harry cry again. “Thank you.” When she’d regained her composure she continued. “What do I have to gain by hurting him because I’m hurt? I can’t see anything in this but more money if I win, and my divorce isn’t about money—it really is about irreconcilable differences. I’ll stick with that. Sometimes, Ned, even with the best of intentions and the best people”—she smiled—“things just don’t work out.”

  “You’ve got class, honey.” Ned came over, sat on the edge of the chair, and patted her back.

  “Maybe.” She half laughed. “On the odd occasion, I’m capable of acting like a reasonable adult. I want to put this behind me. I want to go on with my life.”

  44

  Like clockwork, Mrs. Hogendobber called for her gossip bulletin at seven forty-five the next morning. Pewter visited from next door. The post boxes, filled, awaited their owners, and when the door opened at 8:00 A.M., Harry and Officer Cooper acted normal. Well, they thought they were normal but Officer Cooper positioned herself so she could see the boxes. Harry burned off energy in giving Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and even Tucker rides in the mail bin.

  Danny Tucker arrived first, scooped out the mail, and didn’t go through it. “Sorry I didn’t get to see you last night. Mom said you had business with Dad.”

  “Yeah. We got things straightened out.”

  Just then Ned Tucker bounded up the steps. “Hello, everyone.” He gave Harry a big smile, then noticed the mail in his son’s hands. “I’ll take that.” He rapidly flipped through it, blinked when he saw the postcard, read it, and said aloud, “That’s Susan’s handwriting. What’s she up to now?”

  Harry hadn’t thought of that. They should have assigned names. She wondered who else would recognize their handwriting.

  “Dad, I’ve been really good and there’s a party tonight—”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Ah, come on. I could be dead by Halloween.”

  “That’s not funny, Dan.” Ned opened the door. “Harry, I will relieve you of our presence.” Ned unceremoniously ushered his protesting son outside.

  “Are you a regular letter writer?” Harry asked Coop.

  “No. What about you?”

  “Not much. We bombed that one.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t say anything except to Susan. Wonder what she’ll tell him.”

  Market was next. He sorted out his mail and tossed the junk mail, including the postcard, into the trash. “Damn crap.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you, Market.” Harry forced her voice to be light.

  “Business is booming but I’d rather make less and have peace of mind. If one more reporter or sadistic tourist tramps into my store, I think I’ll paste them away. One newspaper creep leered at my daughter and had the gall to invite her to dinner. She’s fourteen years old!”

  “Remember Lolita,” Harry said.

  “I don’t know anyone named Lolita and if I did I’d tell her to change her name.” He stalked out.

  “I’m not going home until he’s in a better mood,” Pewter remarked to her companions.

  “So far, Harry’s idea has been a bust.” Mrs. Murphy licked her paw.

  Fair sheepishly came in. “Ladies.”

  “Fair,” they replied in tandem.

  “Uh, Harry—”

  “Later, Fair. I haven’t got the strength to hear it now.” Harry cut him off.

  He went to his post box and yanked out the mail.

  “What the hell is this?” He walked over to Harry and handed her the postcard.

  “A pretty picture of Jefferson’s marker.”

  “‘Wish you were here,’ ” Fair read aloud. “Maybe Tom thinks I should join him. Well, plenty of others do now; I guess I’ve made a mess of it.” He skidded the card down the counter. “If T.J. returned to Albemarle County today, he’d die to get away from it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Officer Cooper asked.

  “People come to worship at the shrine. I mean, the man stood for progressive thought, politically, architecturally. We haven’t progressed since he died.”

  “You sound like Maude Bly Modena,” Harry observed.

  “Do I? I guess I do.”

  “Guess you’ll be dating BoomBoom out in the open now.”

  Fair glared at Harry. “That was a low blow.” He stormed out.

  “Jesus, it isn’t even ten in the morning. Wonder who else we can offend?” Officer Cooper laughed.

  “It’s the tension, and all those reporters keep rubbing the wound raw. And . . . I don’t know. The air feels heavy, like before a storm.”

  Reverend Jones, Clai Cordle, Diana Farrell, and Donna Eicher picked up their mail. Nothing much came of that. Donna also got Linda Berryman’s mail for her.

  Once the post office was empty again, Harry remarked, “We were probably tasteless to put a card in Linda Berryman’s box.”

  “In this case, the end justifies the means and the meanness.”

  Hayden McIntire dropped by. He, too, left without examining his mail.

  BoomBoom Craycroft, however, caught the meaning immediately as she put her mail into three piles: personal, business, junk. “This is attractive.” She handed the postcard to Harry. “Is this what you wish for me now?”

  “I got one too,” fibbed Harry.

  “Sick humor.” BoomBoom’s lips curled. “These murders flush out every weirdo we’ve got. Sometimes I think all of Crozet is weird. What are we doing festering here like a pimple on the butt of the Blue Ridge Mountains? Poor Claudius Crozet. He deserved better.” She paused and then said to Harry: “Well, I guess you deserve better, too, but I can’t bring myself to apologize. I don’t feel guilty.”

  As she walked out an astonished Harry noticed Mrs. Murphy heading for the stamp pads. Quickly she sped toward them and snapped them shut. Mrs. Murphy trotted right by them as though they were of no concern to her, and wasn’t Harry silly? This upheaval over BoomBoom and Fair had upset the cat too. She hated seeing Harry suffer.

  The name Crozet fired a nerve in Harry’s brain. “Cooper, if I found the buried treasure would I have to pay income tax on it?”

  “We even pay death duties in this country. Of course you’d have to pay.”

  “She may be getting it at last.” Mrs. Murphy pranced.

  “Getting what?” Pewter hated being left out of things, so Tucker filled her in.

  “The profits in Maude’s ledger. Maybe they involved selling the treasure in bits and pieces.”

  “You’re soft as a grape.” Cooper smiled. “But it’s as good an explanation as any other. This doesn’t address the small, trifling fact that the tunnels are sealed shut. Rock, debris, concrete. Poor Claudius. I’d be more worried about him returning than Thomas Jefferson. Imagine coming back and seeing your life’s work, a world-class engineering feat, sealed up and forgotten.”

  “Let’s go up there after work.”

  “Yeah—okay.”

  Just then Mim, Little Marilyn, and bodyguard entered the building. Josiah, like a well-groomed terrier, was at the
ir heels.

  Mother and daughter, strained with each other, cast a pall over the room. Josiah discreetly sorted his mail at the counter while the two women spoke in low tones.

  The low tone erupted as Mim yanked the mail from Little Marilyn’s hands. “I’ll do it.”

  “I can sort the mail as easily as you can.”

  “You’re too slow.” Mim frantically flipped through the mail. The postcard barely dented her consciousness. She was looking for something else.

  “Mother, give me my mail!”

  Josiah read his postcard, Dolley Madison’s tomb. He smiled at Harry. “Is this one of your jokes?”

  “I’ll give you your mail in a moment.” The cords stood out on Mim’s neck.

  Little Marilyn, face empurpled, backhanded her mother’s hands, and the mail flew everywhere. Mrs. Murphy leaped on the counter to watch, as did Pewter. Tucker, behind the counter, begged to go into the front and Harry opened the door for her. She sat by the stamp machine and watched.

  “I know what you’re looking for, Mother, and you won’t find it.”

  Mim pretended to be in control and bent down to pick up wedding invitation replies. Josiah, leaving his mail on the counter, joined her. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, Mim? I’ll do this.”

  “I don’t need fresh air. I need a new daughter.”

  “Fine. Then you won’t have any children,” Little Marilyn screamed at her. “You’re looking for a letter from Stafford. You won’t find one, Mother, because I didn’t write him.” Little Marilyn paused for breath and dramatic effect. “I called him.”

  “You what?” Mim leaped up so quickly the blood rushed from her head.

  “Mim, darling—” Josiah attempted to calm her. She pushed him off.

  “You heard me. I called him. He’s my brother and I love him and if he’s not coming to my wedding, then you aren’t coming either. I’m the one getting married. Not you.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

  “I’ll speak to you any way I like. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I attended the right schools. I played the appropriately feminine sports—you know, Mother, the ones where you don’t sweat. Excuse me—glow. I made the right friends. I don’t even like them! They’re boring. But they’re socially correct. I’m marrying the right man. We’ll have two blond children and they’ll go to the right schools, play the right sports ad nauseam. I am getting off the merry-go-round. Now. If you want to stay on, fine. You won’t know you aren’t going anywhere until you’re dead.” Little Marilyn shook with fury, which was slowly subsiding into relief and even happiness. She was doing it at long last. She was fighting back.

  Harry, hardly breathing, wanted to cheer. Officer Cooper’s eyes about popped out of her head. So this was the way the upper class behaved? The public display would eventually upset Mim more than the raw emotions.

  “Darling, let’s discuss this elsewhere. Please.” Josiah gently cupped Mim’s elbow. She allowed him to guide her this time.

  “Little Marilyn, we’ll talk about this later.”

  “No. There’s nothing to talk about. I am marrying Fitz-Gilbert Hamilton. Excitement is not his middle name, but he’s a good man and I honestly hope we make it, Mother. I would like to be happy even if only for one day in my life. You are invited to my wedding. My brother’s wife will be my matron of honor.”

  “Oh, my Gawd!” Mim fainted.

  45

  It wasn’t until the diminishing hours of sunlight, the spreading of coppery-rich long shadows, about seven in the evening, that Harry understood what really happened in the post office.

  Josiah and Officer Cooper revived Mim. Little Marilyn left. Whatever sorrow she might feel over her mother’s acute distress was well hidden. Mim had caused her enough distress over the years. If she fainted in the post office and cracked her head, so be it.

  When Mim came to, with the bodyguard shoving amyl nitrite under her nostrils, she said, “I don’t fit here anymore. My life’s like an old dress.”

  For a brief moment Harry pitied her.

  Josiah tended to Mim, walking her to his shop.

  People poured in and out of the post office for the rest of the day. Harry and Officer Cooper barely had time to go to the bathroom, much less think.

  The thinking came later, in the oppressive heat redolent with the green odor of vegetation, as the two women, armed, climbed the grade on the old track up to the Greenwood tunnel. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker refused to stay in the parked car far below. They, too, panted.

  “People hauled timbers up here. Even with mules, this was a bitch.”

  “The old tracks run to the tunnel. Crozet built serving roads and tracks before—” Harry stopped. A yellow swallowtail butterfly twirled before her and winged off.

  “Is this one of your jokes? Coop . . . Coop! Josiah said that to me after reading his card.”

  “So what? Ned recognized Susan’s handwriting. ‘Wish you were here’ fizzled.”

  “Don’t you see? The killer knows that apart from the sheriff, I’m the one who recognized the postcard signal. I’m the one who ran to Mrs. Hogendobber even before your people got to her. I see the mail first. He slipped. It’s him! Jesus Christ, Josiah DeWitt. I like him. How can you like a murderer?”

  Officer Cooper’s face, taut, registered the information. “Well, if there is someone in that tunnel, we’re sitting ducks.”

  “Like Kelly Craycroft’s poster.” Harry’s mind raced. “I don’t know how long it will take him to realize what he’s done.”

  “Not long. Our people are everywhere. He may not be able to leave his shop early. When he does he’ll come for you.”

  “He doesn’t know where I am.”

  “Then he’ll come up here in the night if there really is anything here, or he’ll slip away. I don’t know what he’ll do but he’s not fearful.”

  The closed mouth of the tunnel, wreathed in kudzu, loomed before them.

  “Let’s go.” Harry pressed on.

  Cooper, mental radar scanning, cautiously stepped up to the mouth. Harry, paces behind, checked out the top of the tunnel. It would be rough going, coming up behind the tunnel. In fact, it would take hours, but it could be done.

  The tunnel mouth was indeed sealed shut. Only dynamite would open it.

  “Look for Paddy’s rabbit hole.” Mrs. Murphy and Tucker fanned out.

  Nose to the ground, Tucker smelled the faintest remains of Bob and Ozzie. “Ozzie and Berryman were here.”

  Mrs. Murphy nodded. “Paddy’s got to be right. If Berryman came up here, there is a treasure!” She raced ahead of the corgi while Harry and Coop tiptoed along the mouth of the tunnel.

  Hidden behind the foliage, there was a small hole at the base of the tunnel. A rabbit could easily go in and out of it. So could Mrs. Murphy.

  “Don’t go in there,” Tucker warned. “We’ll do it together.”

  “Okay. I’ll go first. My eyes are better.” Mrs. Murphy slipped through the hole. “Holy shit!”

  “Are you all right?” Tucker, half in and half out of the hole, was digging for all she was worth.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Murphy ran back to her buddy. “Can you see yet?”

  “Barely.” Tucker blinked and blinked but she felt in a sea of India ink.

  Slowly her eyes adjusted and she saw the treasure. It wasn’t Claudius Crozet’s treasure, but it was a king’s ransom in paintings, Louis XV furniture, carpets painstakingly rolled in heavy protective covers. Mrs. Murphy soared onto a Louis XV desk. A golden casket rested atop it. She lifted up the lid with one paw. Old, expensive jewelry glistened inside. Near the mouth of the tunnel rested an old railroad handcart. A huge bombé cabinet was on it.

  “Get Harry.”

  Tucker dashed to the rabbit hole and barked.

  “Where’s the dog?” Officer Cooper glanced around. “Sounds like she’s inside the tunnel. That’s impossible.”

  Harry pulled away brush, kudzu, and vine to reach
the farthest right-hand corner of the tunnel. Tucker barked at her feet. “There’s a rabbit hole. Tucker, come out of there.”

  Officer Cooper got down on her hands and knees. A black, wet nose twitched. “Come on, pooch.”

  “You come in here,” Tucker replied.

  “They won’t fit.” Mrs. Murphy joined her. “Let’s go out. There has to be another way in.”

  Tucker grunted her way out and Mrs. Murphy danced out. Tucker jumped up at Harry. Mrs. Murphy circled her human friend. Harry understood. She crouched down, then lay flat on her belly as Cooper stepped out of the way. “There’s something in there. I need a flashlight.”

  Cooper lay down. She cupped her hands around her eyes as Harry moved so she could get a better look. “Antiques. I can’t see how much but I see a big chest of drawers.”

  Harry leaped up and ran her hands along the tunnel mouth. Cooper joined her. Harry knocked on the right-hand side of the sealed mouth. It sounded hollow.

  “Epoxy and resin. Makes sense now, doesn’t it?” Harry said. “That furniture was not squeezed through the rabbit hole unless Josiah has Alice in Wonderland potions. Must be a trigger or a latch somewhere. I bet Kelly loved making this. I wonder how long it took him?”

  “Working nights, I don’t know, a couple of months. A month. I’ve got it.” Coop found a thick vine covering a latch. The vine, kudzu, was affixed to the false front. The natural foliage grew around it.

  With a click the door opened, large enough to get a railroad lorry through. The two women entered the tunnel. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker scurried inside.

  “There’s a fortune in here,” Harry whispered.

  Tucker’s ears went up. Mrs. Murphy froze.

  “Don’t bark, Tucker. He knows the humans are here but he doesn’t know we are. Whine. Give Harry a warning.”

  Tucker whined, softly. Harry leaned over to pat her. “Mommy, please pay attention,” the dog cried.

  “Hide, Tuck, hide.” Mrs. Murphy jumped from a desk to the top of a wardrobe near the doorway. Tucker hid behind the lorry.

  Harry felt their fear. “Cooper, Cooper,” she whispered and grabbed Cynthia’s arm. “Something’s wrong.”