Furmidable Foes

by Rita Mae Brown

  He threw up his hands. “No, but often the most ordinary people, or ones you like a great deal, are hiding something dark or are stealing. I never think of stealing as dark, do you?”

  “Depends on what is being stolen.” She rose and opened the refrigerator door, pulling out a tonic water. “Drink?”

  “While you’re up I could use some bite-size fishies, the ones in different colors.” Pewter blinked her eyes, followed by a purr.

  Harry opened the cabinet door, tossing the cats tiny fishes and the dogs small Milk-Bones. Then she sat back down, a wedge of lime in her hand. She kept precut lemons and limes in the fridge.

  “Call Sheriff Shaw. Or find him at tonight’s fireworks. He’ll be there. For my edification, let me work this out. You believe this is connected to the still, to the trade in moonshine.”

  “Yes. It’s taken me time to figure it out but Mags could easily send shipments weekly up to New Jersey, New York, wherever the taxes shoot through the roof. And what is more appealing than contraband? It’s why I think drugs are prevalent. It isn’t just that they make people high or that they’re addictive. They’re illegal, so they’re cool. You’re a rebel. Same I think for country waters.”

  He half-smiled. “I can see it now. Two men at a bar in New York, drinks in hand, arguing about the merits of moonshine from Virginia versus North Carolina. Each has to one-up the other guy.”

  “I suppose. But here’s how all this could be done. Is being done even if Bottoms Up Brewery isn’t in on the game. First, you create a network of distillers, suppliers. They receive a steady income. Either the distiller or a third party picks up the bottles, all will be bottles, and stacks the cartons in a beer truck. But it has a false floor or siding.”

  “But that would change the weight at the weight station.”

  “I thought of that. Unload the contraband at a rendezvous on a back road, go to the weigh station, all is well, then meet the people down the road.”

  “Honey, that’s way too complicated. Too much work and packing and repacking. All someone has to do is have a row of moonshine in beer bottles on the bottom row of the carton. Even if an official picks out a bottom bottle, it would look like a beer bottle. Or it could be a carton full of moonshine marked in some way so it could easily be unloaded by whoever knew the code.”

  “Fair, that’s brilliant. You could be a crook.”

  He smiled. “No, I’m trying to be practical. And I think you’re on to something. If the booze is the trigger for one murder and possibly two, given the profits, no tax, I guess that would be a powerful motivation.”

  “Fair, a small, steady operation would net half a million.” She snapped her fingers. “If you had a network of suppliers, high-grade stuff, and you shipped out, say, even two trucks per day, you could make millions. Of course, you’d need to pay people off, but the profit would be enormous.”

  He nodded. “Would. It’s a twofold problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Raising taxes destroys initiative and encourages smuggling, cheating. We have thousands of years of history to demonstrate a direct relationship. However, any nation needs large-scale projects that need to be funded by government.”

  “Why, Fair, look how the Romans tied service into the super wealthy building roads and public works. The Via Flaminia was built by one man, Gaius Flaminius, in 220 B.C.” She cited a road from Rome to the Adriatic Sea, almost two hundred miles, which is still in use today.

  “Maybe once upon a time we, too, as an early republic, put honor and acclaim for public works above private profit, but those days are long gone.” He rose, got himself a tonic water, too, sat back down. “It would be like Jeff Bezos repairing bridges in Colorado or Verizon installing optic fiber in poor neighborhoods for families at no charge. Never happen. So we tax.”

  “How’d we get on this?”

  “Illegal profit. Is Bottoms Up raking in an avalanche of money?”

  “Next question: Are Mags and Janice in on it together?” Harry slapped her hands on the table so the salt and pepper shakers jumped. “I like them. Well, sometimes they can get on my nerves in the Dorcas Guild, but I like them.”

  “Well, maybe it could be done. Look how bookkeepers embezzle and aren’t discovered by their co-workers for years. Crooks rely on people’s trusting nature and their own winning personalities. Baby Face Nelson, in the thirties—people adored him.”

  “Their husbands? Would they know?”

  “That’s a good question. In the old days, wives would plead they didn’t know of their husband’s criminal activities. And maybe they didn’t since men and women lived in such different worlds. It’s possible to keep information from your spouse. Who knows?”

  Pewter reached up to pat Harry’s leg. The human’s hand reached down to pet the gray head.

  “More.”

  “Well, I’ll call the sheriff.”

  “More.” Pewter followed Harry as she walked to the landline.

  “Pewter, forget the food for a minute. Mom’s about to put herself in a mess. She has an idea but no, what do they call it?” Tucker stopped a moment.

  “Evidence.” Mrs. Murphy supplied the word. “She has an onyx chip and a coin memento. Something but not enough.”

  After the call, Sheriff Shaw having listened to Harry without comment, saying he would be at the fireworks tonight, Fair stood up.

  “I’m going to take a shower before we drive back to the firehouse.”

  “Okay.”

  A shower restored Harry as well. As the sun moved toward the Blue Ridge, the heat shimmered. Sunset would help a little, but chances were that this would be a warm evening.

  The horses, turned out to enjoy the slightly cooler night temperatures, looked up as Harry walked out to their pastures to double-check.

  Tucker and Pirate tagged along. The cats stayed in the house. Leaning over the fence, Harry smiled. Her hooved friends nibbled the grass, now filled with nutrition.

  “Okay, guys. Let’s check the barn.”

  “She checked it when she turned them out.” Pirate wondered why she needed to go back.

  “She wants to make certain she’s turned off the fans. A summer electric bill can be higher than a winter bill. Mom hates bills,” Tucker advised.

  The youngster, puzzled, asked, “Why doesn’t she keep them outside all day?”

  “Heat is harder on horses than the cold. Their ideal outside temperature is a good twenty-five degrees less than a human’s. Ours is less than a human’s, too, but higher than a horse’s. Mom studies all this stuff.” Tucker tagged behind Harry, who checked each stall. “She’s dedicated about horses, crops, us, of course. The stuff she doesn’t care about she ignores.”

  “All in order.” She stepped into the kitchen. “You ready?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m going.” Pewter jumped on the kitchen table.

  “We’d better shut the animal door.” Harry ran ahead to do that exact thing. Otherwise Pewter and Mrs. Murphy would have shot right by her.

  “No fair!” Pewter yowled.

  “You don’t need to see fireworks,” Harry advised her.

  “Right. You’ll pee on yourself,” Tucker maliciously called up to the cat. “You can take Pirate and me. We’ll sit with you,” she told Harry.

  “Fair, what do you think about the dogs?”

  “They’ll be all right. Tucker isn’t afraid of booms and bangs. She’ll calm Pirate if he doesn’t like it. We can put them in the car with air-conditioning on if needs be.” Fair opened the door a crack so the dogs could squeeze through.

  Pewter yelled, “You’ll poop in the car.”

  “Pewter, fireworks are awful. And don’t forget the screaming kids. Let’s stay home. We won’t miss a thing.” Mrs. Murphy leapt onto the kitchen counter and walked to the window over the sin
k to watch everyone drive off.

  “I hope they come down with heatstroke,” Pewter complained.

  “They’ll be in the car.”

  “Murphy, they’ll have to step out. Maybe it will hit them all at once.”

  Fair drove to the post office. They’d come in early enough to find a space. The actual display would be down the road, Route 240, at the firehouse. But one could see the colors, hear the booms, just as well from the post office lot. Parking otherwise would be along the street. Many others felt the same way. Susan and Ned preceded Harry and Fair, nabbing a wonderful spot right in front of the Crozet Post Office. Janice and Olaf were up near the road, as were Mags and Kevin. By now, the place was packed, so people drove onto the field to the west of the post office and behind the Whistle Stop Grill, a large grass lot.

  The road to the firehouse was already packed with vehicles nose to tail on the railroad track side and cars also parked on the other side of the railroad tracks if they could. Wherever one looked in Crozet, cars filled the spaces and trucks, jammed with people in the bed, hosted parties.

  Susan walked over, seeing the Haristeens park. “Good timing. It’s hot but we’ve been through worse Fourth of Julys than this. Come on out. If it gets to you, you can always sit back in the air-conditioning. Save gas. Remember your carbon footprint.”

  Harry opened the door. “I’ll remember my carbon footprint when Congress remembers theirs.”

  “Come on, kids.” Fair opened the door for the dogs.

  “Ned drove the truck. Come on. We’ve got chairs in the back, libations. Janice and Mags have their trucks. The Dorcas Guild has shown up in force. I would have thought the march would poop out some of us.” Susan laughed as they walked back to her spot.

  “We’re tough. Lutherans have been tough since 1517.” Harry named the year when Martin Luther nailed the Ninety-Five Theses onto the door of the cathedral in Germany.

  “Drop the tailgate down, honey,” Susan called to Ned. “We need to climb up.”

  “Gotta lift up Tucker first.” Then Harry turned to Pirate. “Kennel up.”

  With one graceful bound, the Irish wolfhound vaulted onto the truck bed, immediately sitting down as Harry sat down.

  Folks called to one another in the various trucks, glasses were raised, and then, into the twilight sky, red, white, and blue fireworks announced the beginning of the party.

  Everyone cheered, rapt attention to the sky.

  Next came a rat-a-tat-tat as smaller fireworks lofted up, the crackle adding to the excitement.

  The distinctive whoosh of a canister pushing through the tube could be heard, then a boom as a gigantic white star appeared, its arms filling the sky, white turning to gold thence to gold bits as a marvelous sound, a kind of whoosh itself, caused loud cheers.

  The cheering ran the length of the streets and the parking lot. That made it all the more exciting to hear the human sound traveling.

  Tucker explained to Pirate what it was all about. The big fellow showed no fear. He enjoyed hearing the humans roar with delight.

  Mags, Janice behind her, climbed up into the truck bed to hunker down in front of Susan. “Sheriff Shaw took our lipsticks. Heard he took yours, too.”

  Harry, highly alert, replied, “Did. He must have told you the lipstick in Jeannie’s purse was loaded with deadly nightshade.”

  Mags waited for another boom to pass. “Since the rest of us are fine, don’t you think this is something crazy like when Tylenol was poisoned? I don’t remember but I looked it up on the Internet. Then there was a rash of products tampered with bad stuff. Died down for decades. Maybe we’ve got another nutcase out there.”

  Surprised, Susan responded, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Me neither,” Harry echoed.

  “I’d say we’re lucky. What if one of us had used the wrong tube of lipstick?” Janice hastened to add, “Not that I want to see Jeannie dead.”

  Harry thought to herself, Maybe Mags is right. Maybe this is the work of a nut. Then she felt the little triangular piece of onyx in her pocket. The questions returned.

  Harry, unwisely, baited the two women. “I went back up to the still and I found a brass medallion with Nelson Mandela’s representation on it.”

  Janice’s brow wrinkled. “A little coin thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mags, remember Pieter, the South African who would come by for driving jobs? Haven’t seen him in months, half a year maybe.”

  “No. Can’t say that I do.”

  “Sure you do. Medium height. Black hair. Spoke with a South African accent. Once he showed me the coin. He was proud of it. Oh, I hope those bones aren’t his.”

  Mags thought. “I kind of remember. I should keep better track of who shows up at the dock. Well, let’s get back to party central.”

  Mags climbed back over the tailgate, foot on the back bumper, dropping down.

  Janice, a bit disturbed, followed.

  Harry, who had told Susan everything before coming tonight, moved over to her best friend. “I never had thought of the Tylenol case.”

  “Let’s get through the Fourth of July. Then you or both of us can go see Sheriff Shaw. Bring him the broken piece of onyx. I tried to see her bracelet. Couldn’t really.”

  “It’s one little piece of evidence but it’s peculiar.”

  Susan put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Yes it is, but it’s a damning piece of evidence.”

  Looking up, Harry said, “There’s one with screamer streamers. I love those.” Harry looked at her dogs. “Come on, guys. Let me take you to the grass over there. Just in case.”

  Once on the ground, the three walked to the grass at the side of the post office. Mags climbed back out of Kevin’s truck as Janice watched her go. She had a small cloth purse stuck in her deep skirt pocket.

  “Mags, where are you going?” Janice called out.

  “For a walk.” She headed toward Harry, Tucker, and Pirate. “Harry, walk with me. Let’s go toward the library,” Mags said upon reaching Harry.

  “Why?”

  “I have something of interest for you.” Mags smiled.

  “Don’t take your eyes off her,” Tucker commanded Pirate, for the corgi smelled danger.

  Pirate did as he was told because he could smell it, too.

  Overhead, fireworks glistened, boomed, shook the ground, it seemed. The colors filled the sky. Sometimes the fireworks managers sent up four or five simultaneously, a magnificent sight.

  “Tell me here.” Harry, on alert, stood her ground.

  Mags, gun in the small fabric purse, held the gun barrel, gun still in the purse, against Harry’s back. “Walk.”

  “So you did it.” Harry calmly accused Mags.

  “Did what?”

  “You poisoned Jeannie and killed whoever was left at the still.”

  “If I did, why would I ever tell you? I’m warning you to butt out.”

  Janice, watching, climbed out of the truck bed in a hurry, to run after them. Harry and Mags were three hundred yards ahead and Mags pushed Harry. Janice didn’t know what was going on, but she knew something was wrong.

  Susan, beholding Janice’s face and her now running toward the two way ahead, also climbed out. Fair stood up, all six feet five inches of him. He, too, climbed out.

  As he did so, he told Ned, “Get Shaw down here. Tell him to head toward the library.”

  Ned didn’t waste time asking questions. He heard the urgency in his friend’s voice.

  “Why did you do it, Mags? You have everything.”

  “You’re nosy, Harry. If you had minded your own business, none of this would be necessary.”

  They climbed the sidewalk uphill toward the main entrance of the library.

  “What made you think I knew something?”

 
; Mags, breathing harder for the grade was stiff, rasped. “I overlooked things because you are known for your curiosity, but I knew when you turned the bracelet on my wrist. I figured you must have found the missing piece that I lost in the walnut grove. Then you found the damned Mandela coin.”

  “In the still—you killed him.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I have always liked the view up there.” Mags coolly denied the charge.

  “Mags, what you like is nontaxable profit.”

  Mags laughed. “Who doesn’t?” Reaching the top of the hill, she said, “Move along.”

  “No.”

  Meanwhile fireworks burst overhead with all the noises that could cover other noises.

  “Move.”

  “No.” Harry took a step toward Mags and swept her hand toward her purse, knocking it onto the ground. Then she turned left, running as fast as she could past Over the Moon Bookstore. She was heading toward the railroad tracks. If she made it, she had buildings to cover her. If she headed back to the post office parking lot, she would be exposed. Foolish as it would be for Mags to shoot her in the parking lot, Harry felt no obligation to present an easy target. Then again, that lot was full of people. Mags, out of control, might shoot anyone or miss and hit someone else.

  Picking up her gun, Mags began running toward Harry. Given Harry’s head start, she figured she’d need to fire if given a clear shot.

  Now one hundred yards behind, catching up, Janice, fast, shouted, “Mags, no.”

  Mags ignored her partner.

  Fair, with his long legs, was closing on Janice, soon passing her. He saw the gun, did not see his wife, but knew if he was going to see her he had to run as fast as he ever had in his life.

  Susan ran, too, closing the gap.

  A shot rang out, but to anyone except the five humans, all running, it sounded like part of the fireworks.

  Harry reached the corner of the small shopping center by the railroad track. As she turned left to run by the buildings down to the road toward the railroad underpass, a huge boom, a fabulous scarlet firework, exploded overhead. Mags used the opportunity to fire again. She hit the side of a painted brick building. A spray of paprika, like a tiny firework, fanned out as the bullet tore through the side of the corner.