“Yes, it would.” She again agreed with him.
“Officer, I’m a successful businessman in a difficult time. Really. Every time I turn around it’s a new law, a new ruling, a new tax. I hire good people, which is half of success. I’m always looking for better ways to provide service, and that isn’t always easy, especially given the materials cars are made out of now. Entire bumpers fall off. In the old days those bumpers were made of steel. Used to be pretty simple to repair carburetors. Fuel injection is a wonderful thing, but it’s more expensive when something goes wrong. If I undercut my competitors, it’s their own fault. But, still, to kill one of my people—I can’t believe it.”
Coop had let him ramble a bit. Often people revealed far more than they intended to if you let them go on. It wasn’t necessarily facts but a sense of the situation and a strong sense of who that speaker was.
Victor Gatzembizi was intelligent and slick. She understood his self-interest—not necessarily a bad thing. She sensed he was a ruthless competitor, although the form that took appeared to be honest. He cared about his appearance. He really had built a successful business. Her own work on this told her that. Big shops across the state, forty-six employees, a few part-time. That was a pretty lean number, so he saved money there. By all accounts he paid very well, rewarding good work. His employee turnover stayed low.
Coop returned to her squad car, where Rick bent over his laptop. He’d walked through the repair shop and the body shop. He had wanted to see those splatter patterns on the computer and he had a special meeting that night with the county commissioners, not public. Not only would this murder come up, so would the budget. He wanted to be prepared, and if he sat in headquarters it would be one interruption after another. As for all sheriffs or police chiefs, battles over funding were a major obstacle—a bleeding ulcer, really—yet everyone expected law-enforcement services.
He shut off the computer. “Well?”
“Rick, everyone’s been helpful. Victor Gatzembizi freely answered any questions. He said Walt was his best mechanic. Still, neither Victor nor anyone else seems remotely distressed over Walt’s murder. Oh, they’re all horrified at the way it happened. No one says they wished him dead, but no one wishes him back, either.”
“Strange.”
“I’ll say.” She cut on the motor and drove off the ReNu lot.
Gotcha!” Miranda tossed a weed over her shoulder into the half-full wheelbarrow. “Death to weeds.”
The Very Reverend Jones sneaked up on her as he trod softly on her beautiful herringbone brick walkway. He clucked. “Miranda, plants are living. God made all living things.”
She stood up with some help from Herb. “You’ve come to test me, I see.”
His deep voice, always soothing, replied, “I came to see one of my favorite people. And, as always, your garden puts others to shame.”
She shook her index finger at him. “Now you’re testing me for the sin of pride?”
“Well, it’s true. Your garden dazzles and, of course, Big Mim tries hard to cover her envy about your emerald thumbs.”
They both laughed, for the Queen of Crozet, Big Mim Sanburne, lavished huge sums of money on her gardens, tended by three gardeners, and while beautiful, those gardens couldn’t hold a candle to the small but exquisite gardens of Miranda.
“How about some iced tea? I need a break. Un-tea, as I recall.”
“I’d love some.” He patted his stomach. “I do miss sweetened tea, but I am trying to cut back on the sugar.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Thirty more pounds. Tell you what, Miranda, the pounds just creep up. Too much sitting.” He smiled again. “You slimmed down.”
They walked to her back porch, screened in as most back porches were in this part of the world.
“Did. Tending to Didee put me off food.” She poured tea from a cooler she kept on the table when she worked outside. “Herb, it’s easy to have faith when everything’s going your way. Watching my sister die, well, I asked painful questions and I have no answers.”
“None of us do. You were wonderful to your sister and she was grateful. You have a deep capacity for love and hard work, Miranda. You endured George’s passing with similar fortitude.” Herb mentioned her late husband.
“That was so long ago,” she said almost wistfully. “And mercifully quick.”
“I pray for a heart attack.” He held up his hand. “It’s up to the Good Lord, but why linger?” He paused. “Is there anything I can do, sweetie?”
“Your friendship is healing. You, Harry, Susan, and the girls.” She referred to BoomBoom and Alicia as the girls. “I have such wonderful friends.”
“Because you’re a wonderful friend.”
They drank their tea, both in rocking chairs, pushing away.
“Recovered?” she asked him.
“From what?”
“Finding that body at ReNu.”
“Poor fellow didn’t have a chance. It was gruesome. But somehow I can’t stop thinking”—he shifted his weight—“that if only I had walked in a few minutes earlier, I might have been able to stop it. Rush forward, yell, anything. Know what I mean?”
She nodded her agreement. “I understand.”
They rocked some more. A soft breeze lifted the wisteria climbing over the back porch and onto the roof, yet another chore Miranda would attend to in time: taming her wisteria.
“Herb, to change the subject. You picked up your truck from ReNu.”
“Finally, yes. The sheriff’s department wanted to examine every vehicle on the lot.”
“Are you satisfied with the work?”
He put his glass down. “Sure, but I just got the truck back. Hopefully I won’t have further problems.”
“Safe and Sound gave me a list of acceptable repair garages. ReNu is the only one in our area. Now, that doesn’t seem right. I’m not paying to have my Outback towed to Richmond. But Latigo Bly says ReNu does good work at good prices.”
“Any idea how long it will take for your car to be repaired?” Herb asked.
“Once I get on the schedule, it should take a day. Of course, they cover themselves by making me sign a paper saying if more damage is discovered they will not perform the work until Safe and Sound agrees to it. Herb, this goes on and on.”
“Well, it does. I went through the same thing. Everybody is covering their butt.”
She changed the subject. “I bought a Dell. Lots of good stuff for a good price. Well, there’s another company. You try getting something fixed or help from a so-called geek at Dell. What a nightmare. I’m learning about more than computers!”
“I’ve heard Dell’s support is dreadful.” He fished the mint out of his tea to chew. “Comes down to service. As long as everything works, you’re fine. Those great online deals make you feel like you’re smart. I’d rather pay more for a product and know the people that sold it to me will stand behind it.” He smiled at her sideways. “You know I stand by my product.”
She laughed. “You stinker. Did you come over here to try to get me to leave the Church of the Holy Light? I know you think I’m a Holy Roller.”
“Did I ever say that, Miranda? Even once?”
“You didn’t have to. You high-church people can be such snobs. You aren’t, though.”
“Well, now, I am a Lutheran pastor and I will always be a Lutheran pastor, but I believe we can all work together. I guess where I have trouble is reaching out to the fanatics, at least those whom I consider fanatics. The folks who preach about a God of vengeance.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Sometimes Reverend Paisley gets carried away with the fire and brimstone.” She brightened. “Other than that, I do love my church. I feel I have a direct relationship to God, and I don’t feel that in what I think of as the high churches.”
He considered this. “Yes. I know what you mean, Miranda. I really do, but I believe in the liturgy, as well. You know how I feel and I know how you feel. We
both do the best we can with what we have.”
“Some days are better than others. Some days I’m bitter about how my sister suffered.”
He nodded. “But she’s gone home.”
“She has. I like to think that Mama and Daddy, and Yippy, her little Pomeranian, were there to welcome her. Well, here I am getting misty.”
“Miranda, one of the reasons I cherish you is that you’re not afraid to show your feelings. And while we’re on the subject of feeling, you know Harry has her checkup this afternoon.”
“Yes.” Miranda pushed off harder with her left foot. “She’ll be fine. After this checkup, she doesn’t need to go back for a year.”
“Our girl has trouble with feelings. Tries to cut them off.” Herb got up and poured himself another glass of tea. Normally this would be rude, but they’d known each other for more than forty years.
“Now, I could have done that. I’m being a poor hostess.”
He sat back down. “I dropped by unexpectedly. I’m lucky to be received.” He winked at her. “Plus, you’re really rocking there, girl. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident.”
They both laughed. She slowed down her rocking-chair rhythm.
“One accident was enough, and that happened so fast.”
“Always does. Hey, you heard about Franny?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s been one thing after another around here. I do have some good news, however.”
“I’m ready.”
“Little Mim is going to have a baby.”
He clapped his hands. “You don’t say.”
“Big Mim called me today. She and Jim are over the moon. Aunt Tally is already taking charge—God help Little Mim when her great-aunt gets into it—and I heard that Blair bought every cigar at the shop in Barracks Road as well as the one up by Giant.”
“Those are expensive cigars.”
“Wonder if he’ll give me one?” Miranda put her finger to her lips. “Ask him.”
“I think we should all descend upon them—calling, of course—bring little gifts, and then smoke a cigar. Well, I can’t smoke one, but I can suck in a celebratory puff. I’ll ask for a cheap cigar. No point in wasting one.”
“When a man is about to become a father, the cost of cigars are part of the thrill.” Herb clapped again. “What good news. ’Course, he’ll have to buy more once the baby arrives.”
“He did jump the gun, didn’t he? Still, it’s good news.”
Are you in there?” Susan stood outside the clinic’s narrow changing booth, its brightly colored cotton curtains shutting off the occupant from the other women at the mammogram center.
“What are you doing here?” A note of surprise crept into Harry’s voice.
“I longed to see you in hospital chic.”
“Susan, I told you I could do this myself. It’s just a checkup.”
“You told me, but that doesn’t mean I listened. Now, are you going to invite me in or not?”
Harry pulled open the curtain. “All right.”
Susan stopped, looked her best friend up and down, head to toe. “Oh, honey, brown paisley becomes you.”
“Shut up.” Harry laughed as she plopped down on the bench, Susan dropping beside her.
“At least your boob’s not hanging out.”
“Did that.” Harry glanced down at the top of her breasts, visible in the thin shift. “Ever consider what a royal pain these things are?”
“July. That’s the worst. For me, anyway. You can’t stop sweating. You can lift up your blouse to wipe yourself dry. You go into air-conditioning and the wet feels cold. Walk outside into the furnace again and more sweat. Ugh. Even now, May, I’m starting to sweat a little.” Susan paused. “How long ago was your mammogram taken?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. I really don’t like them.”
“It’s the squish that gets you. You can’t move. Still, it’s a wonderful tool. When I look back on some of our parents’ friends who died of breast cancer, I wonder if they’d have been saved if only they’d had mammograms. The technology we have today,” Susan mused out loud.
“Bet a lot would. And a hundred years from now, even these methods will look primitive.” Harry crossed one leg over the other. “Much as we dislike the boob squisher, it beats a prostate exam.”
They laughed.
“Been back to ReNu?” Susan asked, a slight accusatory note in her voice.
“Why would you ask that?” Harry asked, suspicious of her longtime friend.
“Because I’ve known you all your life. Spill it, sister.”
“You’re just fishing. You don’t know anything.”
“I ran into Nick Ashby at Fresh! He mentioned that he’d seen you. He has a good memory, because he remembered my face from that awful day.”
A slight pause followed Susan’s revelation. “I take it Nick flashed his big smile for you,” Harry said.
“Did.”
“Sometimes I hate this town. People talk too much,” Harry grumbled.
“They talk too much in Istanbul, in Paris, France—and even up the road in Paris, Virginia, too. Human nature.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Harry leaned back against the wall.
“I’m waiting.”
“Me, too. I hope my X rays don’t need a second reading.”
“This place is packed today. Aren’t you glad Ruth let me back here to find you?”
Ruth was the head nurse, who had gone to high school with them.
“I have to think about that.”
Susan punched her in the arm. “Why did you go back to ReNu? Harry, you are out of your mind. How do you know the killer doesn’t work there?”
“I don’t, but I keep seeing that body sprawled out, faceup. Bothers me. We must have missed something. The sheriff must have missed something.”
“It’s not your job to find Walt’s killer.”
“I know, but …” Her voice trailed off.
“Just think about it, Harry. That man didn’t stand a chance. Maybe he stole some money, slept with another mechanic’s wife—who knows? Nosing around there is not too bright.”
“Motive always explains, defines a crime.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Susan’s voice was firm. “You don’t know the motive, but if it involves one of his co-workers, that guy has just seen your face again. Sometimes I swear you have no brains.”
Hearing steps approaching, Harry did not reply.
Ruth called, “Harry.”
Harry rose, pulled aside the curtain to face the nurse. “How’d I do?”
“Clean as a whistle. I’ll see you in six months. You, too, Susan. I checked your records and you, BoomBoom, and Alicia—along with Harry, who had her mammogram when you all did last winter—you will all be due then. I’m keeping tabs.”
“I’m grateful. It’s a lucky thing we did come for that mammogram. Caught Harry’s suspicious spot early.”
Susan couldn’t bring herself to say “cancer.”
After Ruth returned to the front desk, relief flooded Harry’s face. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Liar.”
“Well, just a tad,” Harry confessed.
“Come on, girl. Put your bra and your shirt back on. Let’s blow this joint. I’ll wait outside.”
“Where are we going?”
“Starbucks. I’m buying you a giant Frappuccino, double chocolate, to celebrate.”
From Central Virginia Medical Center to the Starbucks in Waynesboro off Route 340 took all of fifteen minutes.
Never one to fret over calories, Harry ate the mound of whipped cream before sipping through the straw.
“At least the woman behind the counter didn’t call me ‘Sir,’ ” Harry mentioned.
Susan laughed. “People don’t pay attention if you come in wearing overalls with mud on them, a baseball cap, no earrings, and a bandanna around your neck. They can’t imagine a woman farming, I guess.”
“Remind me to wear my tiara next time I
drive the tractor.” Harry took a long pull on the straw.
“Great idea. You could make the cover of The Progressive Farmer.” Susan named a farm periodical they both read.
“Better wear my evening gown, too.” Harry smiled, then leaned toward her friend. “It would be easy to ship drugs in the boxes of auto parts, the hoses, headlights. Easy.”
“What?”
“Drugs and porn are the two richest industries in the world. Betcha.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Susan considered that information. “But I know you need to kill this obsession right now.”
“Umm …”
“Just forget it, Harry.”
“Okay. Should we talk about boobs some more?”
Susan put down her large cup and laughed until the tears filled her eyes. “Drugs and boobs. Has a ring to it? What’s in your Frappuccino?”
Harry laughed, too. “Well, you don’t want to talk about the murder, so boobs. Okay, Susan, what do you think when you see a woman with a great set?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Me, neither. So please explain to me why, if a woman is well built and reasonably attractive, men have to be put on a respirator.”
“Does Fair?” Susan asked.
“He forgets to breathe.”
They got sillier and sillier.
Finally able to control her giggling, Susan replied, “I don’t know about this boob stuff, but it never hurt us. Our parts are useful.”
“I will never, ever figure out why men lose their reason over cleavage, but I will figure out the murder. It might take me a long time, but I can’t walk away from it.”
“Girl, if you don’t walk away from it, you’ll wind up running away from it. Mark my words.”
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker sprawled under the shade of the walnut tree in the backyard of the old white clapboard farmhouse. The front entrance, simple and gracious, was rarely used. Just about everyone came to the back door, including the dogs of friends.
Asleep in the hayloft, Simon snored. Flatface, the great horned owl, also slept, in the cupola with vents. Matilda’s nest was in the hayloft, but she was anything but asleep. She was in the walnut tree and didn’t miss her loftmates for a minute.
The Big Cat Nap Page 6