Cooper nodded, then grimaced. “Along with the story that Carmen Gamble is nowhere to be found.”
Big Mim, wise in the ways of Sheriff Shaw, and picking up the lack of urgency in Cooper’s voice concerning Carmen, simply replied, “Carmen will appear in good time, hair the latest cut, nails polished, lipstick bright.”
“Let’s hope so.” Cooper smiled. “What’s your idea about Marshall?”
“If you question him, he’ll be defensive, alert, whatever. However, if we have a ceremony for Mary Pat, bury her remains, and Marshall is invited, then perhaps you can spring a trap.”
“What if he doesn’t want to come down?” Cooper asked.
“Let me take care of that. I’m going to present this as a gathering of all who loved her and worked for her. We put her to rest at last. Just let me handle it. Herb can conduct the actual service, and the burial will be at St. James, with Alicia’s permission.”
“Don’t tell Alicia—about Marshall, I mean.”
“I won’t. Have you told Alicia yet about Mary Pat?” Big Mim folded her hands together.
“I have not. I was going to her after seeing you.”
“Allow me to go with you.”
“All right.”
By the time they reached the large, varnished front door with the pineapple knocker at St. James’s main house, Cooper was curious as to what Alicia’s reaction would be. Big Mim had enlarged on her idea for a trap on the drive over. That was on Cooper’s mind, too.
A housekeeper led them to Alicia on the screened-in porch.
Big Mim broke the news.
Alicia took it calmly until Mim hugged her, then she broke down with racking sobs.
She tore Cooper’s heart out, except in the back of the young deputy’s mind was the nagging fact that Alicia was one of the greatest actresses of her generation.
48
With effort, Big Mim and Little Mim steered the gathering to the business at hand. Shrewdly, Big Mim opened the interior doors to the huge flagstone-floor porch. As the meeting commenced, everyone could see out onto the porch, where Mim’s staff, under the able direction of Gretchen Robb, placed dishes on the two tables. Seeing the dazzling repast awaiting them, everyone wanted to finish in a hurry.
During the meeting the bar was open. Given the heat, most people stuck to mint juleps, gin rickeys, and Tom Collinses, with the occasional martini. Fair and Tavener quaffed delicious ice-cold water. Harry, Miranda, and Tazio stuck to iced tea, a slip of mint floating on top.
“We’ve got the band?” Mim looked over her reading glasses at Harry.
“We do.”
“How much?” Tavener, also peering over his reading glasses, inquired genially. “Do I need to sell another horse?”
This was greeted with laughter.
“You’ll be fine, Tavener.” Harry flipped open her notebook to read off the figures. “Okay. One thousand two hundred dollars for the band, plus gas because they’re driving from Harrisonburg. That’s five players, three sets. Pretty good, I think.”
“Me, too.” BoomBoom, accustomed to organizing events herself, nodded.
“Any discussion?” As there wasn’t a peep, the elegant Mim pressed on. “Flowers?”
Susan stood up, a habit from school.
“And now she will recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag.” Harry giggled.
“At least I remember it,” Susan shot back, all in good humor. “Each table will have a small vase of multicolored baby roses. All flowers have been donated by Fair Haristeen.”
Everyone clapped as Fair acknowledged their praise.
“Susan, what about the tables? What did you all decide?” Mim tapped her clipboard with the eraser end of her yellow pencil.
“BoomBoom and I settled on small seatings of eight. That means we have—wait a minute.” She flipped over a page. “Twenty tables, but if we need to, we can add two more. Dave’s Rent-All has the tables. They will set up and will also have tablecloths. We picked white. It will set off the colored roses and the beautiful program Miranda has designed.” Susan sat down.
Miranda, who was Big Mim’s age, said in her rich, honeyed voice, “Are you ready for me, Miss Big?” She was the only person in the room who could call Mim that, except for Aunt Tally, who could call her much worse.
“I am, Cuddles.”
This brought howls of laughter from the group, since Cuddles was Miranda’s nickname in high school and somehow didn’t fit her at all.
As the group hurried to finish, Paul de Silva, freshly showered, tiptoed in the back door. He lived in one of the small, charming dependencies on the estate. He lost no opportunity to show up at any social get-together where Tazio might appear.
Miranda explained that the program would be printed and bound, which thrilled everyone as this would cut down on speeches, the bane of any celebration.
Big Mim was already addressing that subject. “Since the printed program has testimonials—including, you will note, one from each pastor of each denomination in Crozet—we have trimmed the celebration speeches. My husband, the mayor,” she nodded toward Jim, who beamed back, “and Herb will have to say something, of course. I think we’ll set a record. Only two speeches.”
“Another sermon?” Tazio winked.
“The last thing to die on the Reverend Jones will be his mouth,” Aunt Tally cracked.
Without further ado the meeting broke up, perfect timing because Herb was just motoring down the driveway. While he knew there would be a party, Big Mim didn’t want him to know all the particulars, which was fine by Herb. There had to be some surprises.
“Preacher approaching,” Gretchen called out.
“Look holy.” Big Mim clapped her hands together.
By the time Herb passed through the front door, the assembled, all standing, were chatting amiably and waiting anxiously for the dinner bells to be struck.
Gretchen, who loved this part of her job, ceremoniously glided through the living room, striking three small hanging bells that she carried before her. The bells were suspended in a small frame, which was light and easy to carry. It was a bit like a glockenspiel without the flat bars.
“Dinner is served.” Gretchen hit the low note, the middle note, the high note. “Dinner is served.”
“I dare you to come out with a tuba,” Aunt Tally said as Gretchen walked by.
“I don’t have the wind for it, but you do.” Gretchen winked at the nonagenarian.
“I’ll get you for that.” The old lady, now on the arm of Fair, who had come alongside her, moved toward the porch.
Once they’d served themselves and seated themselves—this was as informal as Big Mim got—the volume increased.
Harry, Miranda, Susan, Tazio, Fair, Herb, and Paul sat at one table. Behind them were Tavener and Aunt Tally, whom Tavener begged to sit with him. Naturally, Fair protested, and Tally was in heaven. Little Mim sat with her great-aunt, as did Blair. BoomBoom and Bill Langston were at that table, too.
“Where’s Alicia?” Aunt Tally wondered loudly.
“Home. She said she couldn’t face a big group of people just yet.” Little Mim had called Alicia per her mother’s instructions.
“Surely she knew Mary Pat was dead,” Aunt Tally bluntly said.
“Knowing and knowing are two different things,” Bill Langston replied.
“Piffle.” Aunt Tally speared cold asparagus, fresh from the garden.
“Now, now, she’s a very sensitive woman. She’s an artist.” Tavener made certain Aunt Tally’s glass was filled.
“She had the most to gain. Everyone here knows that.” Aunt Tally adored Alicia, but that never prevented her from exercising her relentless logic.
Tavener’s face flushed for a moment. “She didn’t. Now, you know that. She didn’t kill Mary Pat.”
“Didn’t say that she did.” The old lady’s eyes glittered. “I just wanted to see you leap to her defense yet again. All you men were and probably still are wildly in love with Alicia. Everyon
e over forty, anyway. Everyone who remembers.”
“I loved Mary Pat,” Tavener quietly slipped this in, “which isn’t to say Alicia isn’t lovable or that you aren’t right per usual, Tally.”
“We’re all in love with you.” Fair leaned back from his table and winked at Aunt Tally.
“Liar!” The old lady was jubilant.
Herb stood up, lifting his glass. “Age cannot wither her nor custom stale her infinite variety. Tally Urquhart!”
Everyone stood, toasting the grand old lady of Crozet.
She nodded in recognition, then said, “I commend your good taste.”
Laughing, they all sat down.
Paul had a hard time not staring at Tazio, who, while being friendly to him, wasn’t exactly flirting. She liked him well enough, though. The other women could tell.
Meanwhile, Bill Langston drooled over BoomBoom. She was used to it.
Herb, taking all this in, chuckled in a low voice. “Ah, yes, another successful Virginia party.”
“Haven’t had a fistfight yet.” Fair picked up the thread of conversation.
“I remember when you and Blair got into it at a summer party,” Herb replied. “Should we line up for good seats?”
“Oh.” Fair blushed deeply, the red going right up to the blond roots on his forelock. “I—well, he was courting Harry. Lost my temper. Jealous.”
“Oh, honey, he wasn’t courting me. He was being neighborly.” Harry smiled, as this was three years ago.
“Wish I’d seen it.” Tazio thought the herbed cold salmon was delicious.
Fair cleared his throat. “According to Aunt Tally, at a successful Virginia party: someone has to fall in love, someone has to leave in tears, someone has to have a physical fight, someone has to be very young, someone has to be very old, and all must have a sense of humor.”
“You’re just trying to shift the burden off yourself.” Susan smiled at Fair, a valued friend.
“Actually, we haven’t had too many fistfights lately,” Miranda noted. “As for the falling in love, we’re doing quite well on that front.”
“Was Tavener in love with Alicia or Mary Pat?” Tazio whispered, not really believing Tavener’s gallant declaration concerning Mary Pat.
Miranda firmly said, “He was in love with Mary Pat. You never knew her. She was incredibly charismatic.”
“But she was—what, some fifteen years older than he was.” Tazio’s voice rose slightly.
Tavener said, “You never knew Mary Pat.”
Tazio apologized, “Sorry, Tavener, really. I was being nosy.”
He reached behind Aunt Tally’s chair, touching Tazio’s shoulder. “Being human. And this is Crozet. We’re all rummaging around in one another’s business.”
“I’d like some.” Aunt Tally tapped her glass with her knife.
“What?” Tavener was ready to rise and fetch her whatever she desired.
“Scandal. Then you could rummage around in my business.”
“Would you be my date at—you know.” Tavener cut his eyes toward Herb. “We could start a scandal.”
“Goody.” She clapped her hands like a child, while Little Mim looked at her mother, who glanced heavenward.
Keeping up with Tally Urquhart was a full-time job.
The room buzzed with chatter.
Fair, half-turned in his chair, spoke to Tavener. “I’ve been thinking about this rabies thing.”
Tavener tipped his chin up for a second. “Get ready for hell week. Buzzards will be all over us again tomorrow.”
“What’s on your agenda tomorrow?”
“Vet a purchase for Orsinis . . . umm, have to check my book. Why?”
“I have no desire to talk to the media. Do you?”
“No.”
“Why don’t we meet at St. James, the stables? That’s the epicenter of this earthquake.”
“Hell, Fair, the media will be crawling over that place. And another thing, the health department was there, the sheriff’s department, you name it, they’ve gone over that place with a fine-tooth comb. Even the state vet was there, and nada.” He threw up his hands.
“Alicia will bar the media. She’s hired security. I’ve spoken to her.”
“Fair, I don’t know what we can do.”
“Two things: We can look again ourselves, without other people around. And we can escape the media.”
“Umm, that’s a thought.”
“Can you make it by noon?”
“Uh, yes, I’ll be at the Orsinis first thing. Yeah, I can do it. If nothing else we’ll enjoy the view.”
Herb, having finished his main course, was visiting tables. On his way back to his table, he stopped at Aunt Tally’s.
“We’re planning a service for Mary Pat. Mim’s in charge.”
“She runs the world.” Aunt Tally was ready for dessert.
“Oh,” Tavener and Blair both said at once.
“We’ve just been discussing it. You haven’t been left out,” Herb’s deep voice reassured them. “Little Mim, I think your mother has put you in charge of the phone calls.”
“Okay.” Little Mim, who often rankled at doing her mother’s bidding, didn’t mind this chore.
“We’re inviting anyone who ever worked with Mary Pat, friends from afar. You know, we never really had a formal service.”
“Well, we never really knew.” Tavener sighed.
“When will you be doing this?” BoomBoom inquired.
“July third, Saturday. It’s a big weekend, of course, but we’re hoping people can make it.” He rested his hand on Aunt Tally’s shoulder for a moment.
When Harry arrived home at nine-thirty that evening, she found one smashed lamp on the bedroom floor, along with her formerly clean and folded laundry. Two cats, disgruntled at having been left behind, had misbehaved. They hid in the barn until they thought she would be asleep. Boldly, they sauntered into the house, lights out, at eleven. They hopped on the bed and, that fast, Harry grabbed them.
“Caught you! Thought I was asleep, didn’t you?”
“She made me do it,” Pewter wailed.
“You are disgusting!” Mrs. Murphy growled.
Harry clicked on her flashlight, hidden under the pillow. “I am looking at two bad pussycats.”
“Tucker, you could have warned us, you suck-up,” Mrs. Murphy, tail still fluffed out, grumbled.
The dog was laughing too hard to reply.
“No catnip for a week. All my laundry, and I’d just washed it, too.”
“We didn’t get it dirty,” Pewter defended herself.
“Holes in my red T-shirt. My fave,” Harry complained with feeling.
“That was an accident,” Mrs. Murphy explained. “I dug in too deep when I threw it off the bed.”
“HA!” Pewter shook herself after Harry let her go.
“I mean it, no catnip for a week, and I might not take you in the truck with me. Now I have to buy a new lamp. My fourth new lamp this year since you routinely smash them. You know how I hate to spend money.”
Catching and scaring her cats energized Harry. She couldn’t sleep. She grabbed a book, read a few lines, then laughed. She laughed harder and harder. “Scared the poop out of you two.”
Indignant, the two felines thumped out of the room and repaired to their bowl of crunchies in the kitchen, where Pewter proceeded to bite the tips off the little Xs of dry cat food.
“Eat the whole thing, Pewter. I’m not eating what you drop back in the bowl,” Mrs. Murphy said, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s like biting the little ends off pretzels. Tastes the best.” Pewter half-closed her chartreuse eyes.
“Selfish pig.”
“You are jus-s-s-t perfect.” She drew out the s-s-t.
Mrs. Murphy, furious at being outsmarted by a human, jumped up on the counter and sat in the window behind the kitchen sink. She could see the barn, the new shed, and the nearest paddocks. “Pewter, has it occurred to you that Marshall Kressenberg may not be th
e killer? Mother’s getting herself all fired up over this and she might be wrong. Dead wrong.”
“He’s in on it. Harry called Old Wampum Farm and asked if they’d fax the record of Ziggy Dark Star’s sale to Fair at the clinic. They had no such record.” Pewter brushed the tidbits of food off her whiskers.
“I know. The old man who supposedly sold the horse died in 1984. The subsequent owners say they don’t have adequate records. He wasn’t much of a record keeper. I reckon he was either in on it or Marshall paid him off. But what if there’s more than one—killer, I mean?”
“Harry’s thought of that.” Pewter, full, felt better.
“Yes, but she’s prepared for the wrong one.” Mrs. Murphy sighed. “She trapped us, but a human is much larger than we are. I’d feel better if I knew just what she was up to or what Big Mim had said to her. She isn’t going to hold down this killer.”
“You worry too much,” Pewter flippantly said, but Mrs. Murphy’s words had their effect. “What can we do?”
49
The early-morning news carried the story of Carmen Gamble’s disappearance, along with footage of the sign at St. James Farm and the Shear Heaven beauty salon.
By eight o’clock the only people in Albemarle County not informed of this latest development were either dead themselves or about to be. And if any of those hovering at death’s door happened to revive, the clarion of democracy—the free press—would make certain they were aware of this latest bizarre event in Crozet. The whole rabies story was pumped up and rehashed, as well.
By nine o’clock, eleven stray dogs had been shot and killed by citizens convinced that panting equaled frothing at the mouth. Feral cats, being smaller, hid in outbuildings and barns. They escaped the vigilance of alert suburbanites living in the new developments that had sprung up in Crozet. Cats with human companions hid, too.
Harry and Miranda showed up at the post office to help Amy Wade, who would be swamped not with mail but with the media, citizens, and every crackpot in western Albemarle County. If no one else will listen to you, the poor soul behind the postal counter must.
Amy nearly cried when they came through the front door. The three of them knocked the mail out in forty-five minutes.
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