Cat on the Scent

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Everything comes to you when I die.”

  “I want to work with you. I want to learn. I don’t want to wait until you die. And I want to know why you men have been buying these properties.”

  “I’m tired.” He was, too.

  “You can’t avoid this. Henry, I want to learn. I’ve watched you. You can turn a shilling into a pound and a pound into a fortune. I do know that before you built those airports in Africa you bought the land on which they were built.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you studied a map of this county?”

  “I have, which is why I want to know why you have bought the particular lands you have bought. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it.”

  “Have you spoken to Blair or Archie or Tommy about any of this?”

  “Of course not. And I’ll never speak to Tommy again. He was found hanging in a refrigerated vault at Good Foods today.”

  “What!” Vane-Tempest’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head.

  “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I thought you could hear about it tomorrow. I wanted tonight just for our business. But it occurs to me, darling, that Tommy’s death is our business.”

  “In what way?”

  “He was a partner in Teotan. He’s been murdered and someone tried to kill you. Which is why you must prosecute Archie. You must. He’ll strike again. Don’t you see? If he kills each of you he’s safe. Not only will he cover his tracks, he’ll reap the profits of whatever you all have created—you saved him with that trust, that untraceable trust.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Vane-Tempest blurted. “Archie Ingram isn’t smart enough to do that.”

  “Weren’t you worried when Tommy disappeared?”

  “No. Off on a toot, I thought. Slumming.” He grimaced. “And then I had other things to think about. I haven’t given Tommy much thought. Hanging? Did he hang himself?”

  “Sheriff Shaw isn’t forthcoming with the details but it’s all over town, mostly because the manager of the plant fired the man who found him. Said he was remiss in his duties. And that man, Dabney Shiflett, has been babbling nonstop. I really don’t know the details. But Tommy didn’t hang himself. Now will you pìck up the phone and call the sheriff?”

  “No, but I will pick up the phone and call Ingram.”

  She stepped toward him, stooping down to meet his eyes. “Henry, if that man makes one move to harm you, I will kill him.”

  Secretly excited by her ardor, he replied, “That won’t be necessary. Archie Ingram has neither the intelligence nor the guts to pull off a scheme such as you imagine. As for Tommy’s death, I wouldn’t rush to conclusions. His demise and my—well—accident are unrelated.”

  “Will you include me in Teotan?”

  “Yes. But I must discuss this with Blair Bainbridge—”

  She pressed her hands together again. “Unless someone kills him, too!”

  “Calm down, Sarah. I must have the approval of the other partners, and that includes Archie. As for Tommy, the corporation is set up so that if one principal dies, his share is parceled out equally among the survivors.”

  “You can’t ask for the vote of a man who tried to kill you!” Her eyes were wild.

  “I can and I must. Now if you would bring me the handy, I will arrange a meeting.”

  She gave him the cell phone. He dialed and got Archie’s answering machine. “Hello, H. Vane-Tempest here for Archie Ingram. Call tomorrow after nine. Good-bye.” He folded the phone, putting it on the tea trolley. “Now I can’t very well call Sheriff Shaw, can I?” He paused, a dark shift clouding his features. “I liked Tommy Van Allen. Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Terrible thing.”

  She settled on the chintz sofa, squeezing in next to him. “Henry, you must be careful. You must. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Promise.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

  * * *

  32

  Lilacs surrounded the brick patio behind Archie’s house in Ivy Farms. Once, open meadows had surrounded the strong-running Ivy Creek, before the property was developed in the early seventies. Now dotted with upper-middle-class homes and manicured grounds, the area had lost all vestiges of its farming heritage.

  Aileen Ingram, director of the Jefferson Environmental Council, made a decent salary. She poured what extra money she had into their home and garden. Archie was appreciative of her domestic gifts and he appreciated her. Her fine qualities only exacerbated his guilt.

  Sitting on the Brown Jordan lawn chair, smelling the profusion of lilacs, he was startled when she appeared at his side.

  “I must have been half-asleep.”

  “Arch, bail was twenty-five hundred dollars. Blair Bainbridge lent me the money and I don’t even know why he offered to help. Your lawyer’s bills will be double that. I don’t know what’s wrong. You won’t talk to me. I don’t think you talk to anyone. You’re unraveling. Resign as county commissioner before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Your political career is over. Get out with as much good grace as you can.”

  “No.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “No, I’m not. The worst I’ve done is lose my temper.”

  “Smashing Cynthia Cooper in the face was stupid.”

  He crossed his right foot over his left knee, holding his ankle. “I have one year left of my term. I won’t run again. It would cost the county too much money to run an election in an off year.”

  “The mayor would appoint an interim commissioner.”

  “You’ve been scheming behind my back!”

  “No. I’ve been trying to save what I can of your reputation.” She twisted her wedding ring, thin gold, around her finger. “But I don’t think I can save our marriage. That takes two.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I know there’s another woman—or women. You don’t hang around Tommy Van Allen or Blair Bainbridge without partaking of their castoffs.”

  “I resent that!” He blushed.

  “Because I nailed you or because I insulted you by indicating you’re playing with their discards instead of seducing a woman on your own merits?” Steel was in her voice. “Your vanity is touching, under the circumstances.”

  “I admit I have feet of clay. I don’t like myself much but”—he warmed to his subject—“I am trying to salt away money for us. A lot of money. I need one more year. Then I’m off the commission. I won’t waste my life in these dull meetings with people picking at everything I say or do. I can apply myself to other pursuits, like making you happy again.”

  “Better to have money than not but I am not waiting a year for you to get your act together. You’ve lied to me.”

  “I have not.”

  “Omission is a kind of lie.”

  “What man is going to come home and announce to his wife that he’s having an affair? I said I wasn’t proud of myself.” He dropped his eyes, then raised them. “Did you hire a detective?”

  “No. Any detective I could hire around here would know the sheriff. If someone tailed you Rick Shaw would find out in a heartbeat. He’s on the county payroll. You’re a commissioner. I swallowed my pride and my curiosity.”

  “I’m sorry, Aileen.”

  “So am I.”

  “I can’t resign. I can explain it later, but not now. I have to stay on and I have to keep my lines to Richmond open.”

  “You’re a political liability now.”

  “I’m under a dark cloud, but it’s passing. And at the next open meeting at the end of the month I am unveiling a workfare plan that will employ people and create new housing. It’s a good plan and won’t cost the county much at all. One-cent surcharge on luxury purchases inside the county.”

  She wondered if he was a blockhead or pur
posefully opaque. “Intriguing. Archie, I want you out of the house. If you can resolve this affair, clear up your garbage, then we can talk.”

  “You can’t throw me out of my own house.”

  “I can and I will. Your clothes are packed. Your computer is in the black-and-white box along with your disks. Everything is neatly stacked in the rented U-Haul in the garage, which is attached to your Land Rover. If you aren’t out of here by noon I’m calling the sheriff. I figure it will take you that long to pack whatever else you might want.”

  “And what’s the sheriff going to do?” Archie was belligerent.

  “Throw you out, because I’m going to accuse you of wife beating. That will be the end of your career. Totally.”

  He hurried to the garage. She wasn’t kidding. There was a loaded U-Haul. He dashed into the kitchen. Aileen was unloading the dishwasher.

  “Where am I going to live?”

  “Blair Bainbridge said he’d put you up in his extra bedroom. Failing that, there’s an apartment for rent on Second Street off High. Seven hundred and fifty dollars a month. The number is on a Post-it on your steering wheel.” She closed the dishwasher door. “And I informed your mother.”

  “Why don’t you run the world?”

  “I could.”

  * * *

  33

  The Daily Progress spread over the table carried the Tommy Van Allen story on the front page. Pewter sat on the paper. The big news was that cocaine was found in his blood.

  The post office buzzed. People were in shock but everyone had a theory. No one was quite prepared for the sight of Tommy’s widow, Jessica, cruising down Main Street behind the wheel of Tommy’s blazing-red Porsche.

  Harry and Mrs. Murphy noticed her first. “She could have waited until he was cold in the ground.” Realizing what she’d said, she quickly added, “Sorry.”

  The group crowding into the post office all talked at once. The Reverend Jones was still upset that Tommy’s bomber jacket was discovered on his truck seat. Big Mim declared that no one had manners anymore so they shouldn’t be shocked at the behavior of Mrs. Van Allen—formerly of Crozet and now hailing from Aiken. It was rumored she had a polo-player lover who had discreetly stayed back in South Carolina. Tally Urquhart sorted her mail. Sarah Vane-Tempest suggested the whole world had gone nuts. Susan Tucker warned people about jumping to conclusions.

  When Blair walked in, Big Mim buttonholed him at once.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s macabre,” he replied.

  “Not that. What do you think of—” She stopped mid-sentence because she had spotted Archie Ingram driving by, pulling a U-Haul trailer behind his Land Rover. “What in the world?”

  Blair swallowed. “Damn. Pardon me, Mrs. Sanburne. I’ve got to go.”

  “Blair, your mail,” Harry called out.

  He shut the door, not hearing her.

  “Isn’t that the most peculiar thing?” Miranda Hogendobber walked out to the door.

  Cynthia Cooper pulled up, as did Ridley Kent, dapper even in an old tweed jacket. He bowed and opened the door for her as Miranda stepped back. Cooper wished Ridley’s courtesies presaged genuine interest but she knew they did not.

  Everyone said their hellos.

  “I knew I’d find the gang here,” Cynthia muttered, walking over to her mailbox.

  Tucker sat outside the front door. She figured the cats could tell her who said what to whom. She wanted to watch the cars and pick up tidbits of conversation in the parking lot.

  “Herb, when’s the service?” Mim asked.

  “Thursday at ten.”

  Mrs. Murphy sat next to Pewter on the divider counter, both cats careful to avoid the burgundy stamp pad.

  “Why haven’t you arrested Archie Ingram?” Sarah pursued Cynthia.

  “We did yesterday. He’s out on bail today.”

  The silence was complete.

  “For murder?” Mrs. Murphy asked.

  All eyes swiveled to the cat, who meowed, then back to Cooper, her left cheek covered with a reddish bruise soon to turn other colors. Cynthia walked over and petted Murphy and Pewter.

  “I don’t mean for hitting you—I mean for shooting my husband.” Sarah’s pleasant voice turned shrill.

  “Mrs. Vane-Tempest, we don’t know that,” Cynthia said simply.

  Ridley Kent spoke up, his rich baritone filling the room. “We’re all worried. How could we not be?” He glanced around the group for affirmation. “We’re all here now. Why don’t we put our heads together?”

  Mim, usually the group organizer, coolly appraised the usurper. “Good idea.”

  Ridley, appreciating his mistake, deferred to the Queen of Crozet. “With your permission, Mim. You’re better at this kind of thing than any of us.”

  She smiled and stepped forward. “The circumstances of Tommy’s death are still unknown, are they not?”

  Cynthia nodded. “We know he was shot in the head, just as the paper tells you. It will take a while to establish the time of death because he was perfectly preserved, you see. But he did have coke in his blood.”

  “I don’t care about Tommy. He’s gone to his reward. I care about Henry. What if the killer comes back for him?” Sarah’s eyes filled.

  “Is it possible it was an accident?” Herb suggested, not believing that it was.

  “Three shots? No.” Ridley folded his arms across his chest.

  “Is there a connection between Sir H. Vane-Tempest and Van Allen? Something that one of us might have overlooked?” Harry interjected.

  “On the surface, no, but we’re digging,” Cynthia replied. “These things take time, and I understand your frustration. Be patient.”

  “Wouldn’t it make sense to question the people who sold the guns and uniforms?” Harry thought out loud. “Maybe there’s something peculiar. You’ve tested Archie’s Enfield rifle, and other people’s rifles,”—she nodded to the assembled—“but what about other suppliers? Whoever shot H. Vane had to come up with the stuff. He had to have contact with these people.”

  “Along with every other reenactor. But yes, we are chasing them down one by one. I had no idea that Civil War reenactments were this precise.”

  “Obsessive,” Sarah said curtly.

  “Do you know of any connection between Tommy Van Allen and your husband, other than social?” Herb asked Sarah.

  “No,” she lied.

  “Doesn’t Mrs. Woo make period uniforms?” Harry remembered the seamstress with a small shop behind Rio Road Shopping Center.

  “She does everything.” Mim nodded. “She can whip up a dress from the 1830s that would fool a museum curator. She made a lot of the uniforms.”

  “She’s on our list. We haven’t gotten there yet. Initially we concentrated on the firearms people, hoping we could trace the rifle since we have two bullets, one intact and one flattened, the one that lodged against Sir Vane-Tempest’s shoulder blade. The third one is missing.”

  “Arrest Archie Ingram.” Sarah pounded the table, making the cats jump.

  “Mrs. Vane-Tempest, you can’t imagine the pleasure that would give me, but I can’t arrest him without evidence.”

  “He was behind my husband.”

  “So was I,” Ridley said. “So were Blair, Herb, and half of Crozet.”

  “You don’t care what happens to Henry. You don’t like him!” Sarah shouted.

  “Ma’am, I abide by the laws of the land and I can’t arrest Archie Ingram. Not without compelling evidence.”

  Herb raised his impressive voice. “What’s important is we’ve got to communicate with one another. If we see anything untoward, call the sheriff or the deputy. Call one another.”

  “Do you think we’re all in danger?” Mim neatened her mail stack. She wasn’t frightened as much as she was curious.

  “No,” Cynthia replied.

  “Lucky you.” Sarah, furious, stalked out of the post office.

  This set everyone off again. Ridley Kent hurried
after her.

  Tucker listened intently, then came in by the back animal door. “She’s hot.”

  The cats jumped down to join her. “Can’t blame her.”

  “What did you make of Blair running out like that when he saw Archie?” Pewter asked the dog.