“Yes. He was Barry Monteith’s business partner.” She clearly identified Sugar because Bill was new to the community. He hadn’t been in Crozet a year yet.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“He’s sweating; he must have a terrible fever. And he’s, well, I don’t know how to say this—he’s acting loopy, looney. He’s not a drinker.”
“Where is he?”
Harry looked out the front door. Sugar was trying to open the door to his truck. He slid down to his knees. “Bill, he’s out front. He’s really sick. He can’t get in his truck.”
Bill, his office just a short distance away, said, “I’ll be right there.”
20
Are you sure?” Fair sternly questioned Harry.
She sat next to him in his truck, with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker cuddled around her as they rolled down Route 250 heading west.
The post office closed at noon on Saturdays.
“I told you.” A note of irritation crept into her voice, a note reserved for husbands and ex-husbands. “Sugar acted weird. He fell down at his truck. I called Bill. I ran out to help Sugar, but he was kind of rolling around. He scared me. I mean, he didn’t intend that but he was just—sick. So I didn’t touch him.”
“Did he spit on you?”
“No.” She stared out the window as they passed the middle school and Western Albemarle High School. “Bill Langston knows what he’s doing. I was impressed with how he handled the situation. He arrived at the same time as the rescue squad. Everyone wore gloves. AIDS has changed everything, hasn’t it?”
“Harry, nature is cooking up diseases we can’t even imagine. A new virus from the heart of Africa can reach here in twenty-four hours thanks to air travel, and we live within two hours of a huge international airport, Dulles.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Few people do.” He checked his speedometer and slowed to fifty-five.
“Where are we going?”
“Mary O’Brien. She came in to the clinic just for you.”
“Why?” Harry liked the good doctor but wondered why Fair was whisking her over to Staunton.
“You’re getting the rabies vaccine.”
Harry turned toward him. “Fair, those are awful. My tests came back negative.”
“You need them.”
“They shoot the needle in your stomach!”
“Not anymore. I’m not saying this is the most pleasant experience you’ll ever have, but you’re outside, you’re around wild animals, and I just have a bad feeling about recent events. You need the prophylactic shots. Better safe than sorry. That’s it.” He was firm.
“Can’t we wait?” Harry’s heart was sinking.
“No.” His deep voice was firm. “I don’t think you’ve been exposed to rabies. You can only contract the disease through saliva. You’d need to be bitten, although you could also contract it through corneal transplants. Well, I’m getting off track. But you’re going to get the vaccine the same way I’ve been protected or Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter are protected.”
“The series is very expensive.”
“About two thousand dollars.”
“Fair!”
He kept his eyes on the road. “What’s your life worth?”
“Uh—a lot,” she sighed. “To me.”
“And to me. I’m willing to bet Sugar’s got rabies.” He sighed. “When I was out at the farm he thought he was allergic to pollen—so much of it now. I should have been thinking that perhaps whatever bit Barry bit him.” He paused for a second. “But I’m really confused about Barry’s situation. Still, I should have been more alert.”
“What!”
“Every vet sees this film about rabies. Can’t get through school without viewing it, and there’s old footage of a man dying from rabies. It tends to stay in your mind, that old grainy footage.”
“I didn’t touch Sugar, and all I did was hold Barry’s hand.”
“I know that. I know you’re fine. Bill Langston said you’re fine, but you’re getting the vaccine, Harry. Just shut up.”
Harry rubbed her temples. She’d endure the series of shots. She wasn’t that big of a chicken. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Barry and Sugar,” she half-whispered. “Could it be that one of the horses is rabid?”
“Harry, I gave every animal on that farm shots. I’ve got all my records. Sugar must have records for the lay-up horses. I’m going to have to go through everything in his files. I don’t know if he’s mentally clear enough to give me permission. I hope so. But I’ll do it anyway.”
“If a horse had rabies, you’d know it.”
“Eventually, yes. I’m not worried about any animal on the farm now. I’d see the symptoms. I want to go through the records to see what lay-up horses have passed through the farm in the last four months. If Sugar or Barry were exposed via a horse, it would have been in that time frame. Remember, it takes rabies one to three months to incubate. The symptoms don’t present themselves until the virus reaches the brain.”
Within forty minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of the red brick medical building. Dr. O’Brien, a tall, slender woman with gorgeous silver hair and an engaging manner, had been a close friend of Fair’s for twenty years. Harry liked her, too, although she couldn’t participate in the scientific discussions Fair and Mary enjoyed. Both were people who loved medicine, who loved learning.
“Harry, come on in here.” Mary pointed to an examining room. “Fair, you can come in, too.”
Harry dragged in, plopped on the examining table. “Is this going to hurt?”
“Yes,” Mary forthrightly said, “but for less than a second. How’s that?”
“Not so bad. Will it make me sick later?”
“That I don’t know. Different people have differing reactions. I think of each person as their own specific chemical cocktail.” She smiled. “But to be on the safe side, take it easy today and tonight. What I’m doing is introducing the killed virus into your system. You’ll fight back, create antibodies. Some people don’t feel it. Others do, find themselves tired, off feed. This is your first shot.” Mary hit her so quickly with the needle that Harry hardly knew she’d been stuck. “I’ll see you in two weeks for the second. And if you don’t mind, Harry, let me take blood then. So come first thing in the morning, don’t eat or drink after midnight. You can have a big breakfast when I’m done with you.” She wiped Harry’s arm once more with the antiseptic pad. “Told you it would take less than a second.”
“You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.” Mary smiled.
“Why are you taking blood next time if this is a disease of the nervous system?”
“Because, my dear, I want to check your cholesterol. You haven’t had blood pulled in four years. I reviewed your records. And, Harry, when you go out, stop at the receptionist’s desk and pick up your papers for a mammogram. I signed them. All you have to do is make the appointment.”
“Mary!”
Smiling, the tall doctor held up her hand. “Save your breath. I know you’re not forty. I know you’re a strong girl. But I know a checkup is in order. Don’t argue with me.”
Fair laughed. “Mary, I need to take lessons from you.”
“Thought your patients didn’t talk.”
“I mean Harry. You can handle Miss Bullhead.”
“I just love that you two are having a laugh at my expense.”
“You poor thing.” Mary’s voice registered false pity, then she winked. She walked to the door, put her hand on the knob, then paused. “Called Bill just before you arrived. Sugar’s hallucinating.” She took a deep breath. “Not much doubt.”
“Jesus.” Fair whistled. “I’d hoped against hope, you know.”
“Bill questioned him when he could. Couldn’t get much out of him, but Sugar did swear he hadn’t been bitten. You know, if someone comes to me after they’ve been bitten or think they’ve bee
n exposed, the shots will save them if they come in time. But two men working at the same place,” she shrugged, “what’s there?”
“Barry was murdered. He didn’t die from rabies and he sure didn’t die a natural death, although at first it looked like it.” Fair’s jaw tightened.
“Disturbing—very.” Mary knew all the horse people, being one herself, so she’d heard all about it. “But he still had rabies. It’s not impossible that both Barry and Sugar were bitten by a bat and didn’t know it. Anything else, they’d know.”
“But that’s what makes Barry’s death so disturbing,” said Harry. “His throat. The killer wanted to pin it on an animal. He wasn’t sick—I mean, he wasn’t sick when I found him. No one would have known he had rabies if the pathologists in Richmond hadn’t run a dFA test on a brain-tissue sample.”
Mary’s blue eyes clouded over. “Well, there might be a connection. You can’t assume there is, but you can’t assume there isn’t.”
Driving back down Route 250, Harry noticed the rich green of the leaves, a green that would deepen throughout the summer. “Fair, I’ll help you go through the files.”
“Thought you might.”
“May I use your cell phone?”
“Sure.”
She called Big Mim, explaining why she couldn’t attend the hen party and hoped that Alicia would understand. Big Mim, horrified to hear that Sugar had rabies, told Harry to take care of herself.
Harry hit the End button. The phone was in a cradle, and a speaker was fastened to the roof of the cab so the driver need not hold the phone. “There. I really want to talk to Alicia Palmer.”
“There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“What?” Harry’s face registered worry.
“Kind of odd. I was at Sugar’s yesterday. Ultrasound on his big mare. And he said the strangest thing. He asked me if he should die, would you and I take over his mares. He has no family, and he knows we’ll do right by the mares.”
“Good Lord.” The tears rolled down Harry’s cheeks.
21
This silver’s more valuable than the gross national product of Ecuador.”
Big Mim, Little Mim, Aunt Tally, and Alicia stood in front of the huge trophy case in the large paneled tack room of the main barn.
Silver glistened. Loving cups, large inscribed plates, small bowls, and one enormous bowl festooned with carved grapes filled the case. Ribbons covered the back of the case, their blue and red reflecting on the silver. Mim never threw away a ribbon, but she displayed only the Championship, Reserve, First- and Second-place ribbons. The others she carefully laid flat in heavy cardboard boxes, putting them in her attic for safekeeping.
Usually Big Mim’s dogs and Little Mim’s dog—an offspring of her mother’s English springer spaniel named Carbon Copy—would accompany them, but today, Sunday, they decided to surround a groundhog hole. The groundhog turned a deaf ear to their entreaties to come out.
“I remember when you won that one. Mary Pat nearly died. She wanted that trophy.” Alicia indicated a large loving cup with two graceful handles.
The cup was inscribed, Virginia Hunter Champion, 1970. Horse: Interest Rate, Rider: Mrs. James Sanburne.
“She was a good sport about it.” Big Mim relished that triumph.
“Mary Pat was a good sport.” Aunt Tally leaned on her cane. “She came right back and beat you at the Washington International that year.”
The Washington International was one of the premier horse shows in the mid-Atlantic.
“She fussed at me because I wouldn’t show.” Alicia smiled. “I told her people looked at me enough. I needed time off.”
“You foxhunted. That’s what really counts.” Big Mim had her priorities straight.
Brinkley entered the barn from the opposite end, bounding into the tack room.
“Where did you come from, big boy?” Little Mim thought the yellow Lab one of the loveliest dogs she had ever encountered.
“Tazio must be here.” Big Mim introduced Alicia to Brinkley, who, being a gentleman, offered his paw.
Little Mim stuck her head out of the tack room. “She’s with Paul.”
“Ah.” A twinkle lit up the eye of Aunt Tally, who thought romance should be promoted enthusiastically and regularly.
“Don’t start,” Big Mim admonished her aunt.
“Oh, la,” Aunt Tally insouciantly replied.
When Paul and Tazio entered the tack room, Big Mim introduced Tazio to Alicia. Paul had already met her.
“We’ve walked over the two possible sites for the new barn,” Paul said.
“And with your permission, I thought Paul and I could drive over to Morven to look at the barns there. Both the old ones and the ones that Mr. Kluge commissioned.”
“Excellent idea.” Aunt Tally beamed.
Big Mim cut her eyes at Aunt Tally but agreed that it would be a good idea.
“I called the hospital about Sugar. Just in case.” Paul liked Sugar.
“Yes, I did, too.” Big Mim shook her head. “Miracles happen, but I don’t think one will happen for Sugar.”
“Mother, how long can this go on?”
Big Mim shrugged. “Possibly a week. Hopefully less. Bill said Sugar started thrashing around, so they’ve heavily medicated him to alleviate some of the suffering. And by the by, I had my reservations about this new doctor, but the way he’s handling this, I think we’re lucky to have him.”
“It’s such a terrible thing. One rarely hears of rabies today. When you told me yesterday, I thought surely there must be a mistake.” Alicia couldn’t imagine a worse death.
“Barry Monteith, too,” Little Mim grimly added.
“Fortunately, he didn’t know it and neither did we.” Big Mim spoke in her perfectly modulated voice.
“What about the raccoon?” Little Mim wondered.
“No results yet.” Paul answered, since he’d kept in touch with Fair Haristeen. “Fair is pretty sure the raccoon had distemper, but he’s still waiting on word from Richmond.”
“They take too long,” Aunt Tally grumbled.
“Well, the state of Virginia in its wisdom will squander millions on a road going to a state senator’s house in the backwoods but will not add more people to the agencies that actually serve the people,” Big Mim complained.
“That could be said of any administration, anywhere, anytime.” Alicia laughed, having abandoned the idea of a just government decades ago.
“I should rule the world,” Aunt Tally simply stated.
“Well,” Big Mim took a deep breath, “we’d all know exactly where we stand.” She turned to Tazio and Paul. “Teatime. Please come up and join us. Brinkley, too.”
Paul, like most single men, was never one to pass up food. Tazio was delighted to be invited, also.
Once they were all settled on the summer porch, an array of scones, cookies, biscuits, jams, marmalades, jellies, cream, and butter appeared. Black teas and green teas were served. Aunt Tally, under the glaring eye of Mim, drank a shot of straight vodka, chased by a bracing cup of tea. The others chose to wait until later for spirits.
They chatted about the upcoming yearling sales, summer horse shows, and garden shows, about Tazio’s plans for a new shed for Harry, about new building materials, round barns from the eighteenth century, and about design in general, whether for buildings or gardens.
After the impromptu gathering broke up, Little Mim drove Aunt Tally back to her farm. Big Mim and Alicia were alone, watching the long slanting rays of the sun, about a half hour before sunset.
The two had stayed in touch after Alicia moved to Los Angeles, and then Santa Barbara.
Mim, who adored traveling, would visit Alicia at her California home or on the set at least once a year. Alicia would return to Crozet for short visits, to recharge her batteries, to check on St. James. Fortunately, the farm manager and his wife were honest and hard workers.
“Little Mim is the spitting image of you. It’s funny to see t
he two of you together.”
“Well, I wish she’d find direction. Something.”
“She has her boyfriend.” Alicia defended Little Mim. “And she is vice-mayor of Crozet. You’re hard on her.”
“We both know that’s not enough. As for her first husband, the less said about him the better. But this Blair,” Mim shifted in her seat, “what do you think of male models?”
“That anyone who lives by their looks is doomed to disappointment. I should know.” Alicia said this genially.
“Hmm.” Mim’s voice dropped. “He seems normal enough.”
“You mean that he’s not gay?”
“In so many words.”
“You’d know. I mean, sooner or later you’d know. He probably has the sense to know that his days are numbered in his business. You said he had another business.”
“He owns land in the northwestern part of the county, which has a great deal of underground water. This will probably become very important in the near future, especially since we’ve had a series of droughts, not horrible but bad enough to wake us up. He’s not stupid or vapid.”
“Isn’t that a prejudice? That terribly attractive people are stupid or vapid?”
“Yes and no. My experience is that the divinely beautiful or handsome have so many things done for them, doors opened, that they aren’t aware of how much easier life is for them. They sometimes don’t develop the skills other people learn early in life. One thinks immediately of Elizabeth Taylor.”
“You coped.”
“Aren’t you flattering.” Big Mim smiled. “But I’m not beautiful.” She held up her hand. “I take good care of myself and I’m attractive, but the kind of beauty you have—or, say, a Clark Gable had—is some kind of radiance. That’s very, very special.”
“Thank you, Mim. But remember, beauty can be a curse, too.” She stared pensively for a moment at the huge summer bouquet on the coffee table. “Do you think Blair loves her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Does she love him?”
“Yes. She has the sense not to tell him, but I know Marilyn. She’s in love and he’s good to her, attentive, kind.”
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