The Tail of the Tip-Off

by Rita Mae Brown

  Tucker realized this would become a discussion not just of hours but days and weeks, so she prudently changed the subject. “It’s very nice that your humans brought you along.”

  “Our humans take us everywhere they can and they are lots of fun. They play ball with us and swim with us and ski with us. They can’t keep up with us so we have to slow down, of course, but they don’t sit in chairs while we play. They participate.”

  “Does your human play with you?” Casey Jo believed humans would be so much happier if they could chase balls all day and chew bones.

  Tucker glanced up at Harry, now out from behind the counter to talk to the visiting ladies from St. Paul. “Yes, but my human works all the time. We farm, you see, so I herd the horses and I guard Mom. The cats are supposed to kill the vermin but—she lowered her voice—they are falling down on the job.”

  “You’ll pay for that.” Mrs. Murphy’s tail lashed.

  “Death to dogs!” Pewter crowed, which made Casey Jo bark.

  “She’s so full of it. Pay her no more mind than if she was a goat barking.” Tucker turned her back on the cats.

  “I beg your pardon?” Gina Marie’s eyebrows raised up.

  “Uh, I don’t think I can explain that one but just ignore those cats. How come you’re in Crozet?”

  “Polly Foss,” Casey Jo indicated one of the women who looked a lot like sisters, “is here for a management conference so her best friend, Lynae Larson, took off work to come along. They’ve never seen central Virginia.”

  “Come on, girls,” Polly called to the chatting dogs.

  Casey Jo walked over to Harry and licked her hand before leaving.

  Lynae laughed. “She loves everyone.”

  The two pretty Nordic ladies left carrying orange-glazed buns.

  “Now isn’t it just the most fun to talk to someone from different parts?” Miranda used the Virginia expression “different parts” which, depending on the intonation of the speaker, could mean a wide variety of things.

  “Guess they didn’t realize we have real winter here.” Harry laughed.

  Cooper chimed in. “Yeah, but at least ours only lasts three months. They’re stuck with it half the year.”

  “Poor darlin’s.” Miranda couldn’t imagine that much cold for that long.

  As Gina Marie and Casey Jo hopped back in the SUV, they inhaled the delicious aroma of those orange glazed cinnamon buns and hoped those two girls in the front seat would share.

  “Weren’t those cats funny?” Casey Jo leaned on Gina Marie.

  “Grand and airy,” Gina Marie said as they both laughed.

  Casey Jo replied, “Animals are nice here but you know, Gina, I can’t exactly understand what they’re saying.”

  Later that Monday when Cooper was back at headquarters, the preliminary lab report came in. H.H. had been killed by a toxin. However, no one in Richmond was familiar with the toxin and they were continuing tests to make a clear identification.

  She leaned over Rick Shaw’s shoulder, reading the report with him. He put the papers down. She came around to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him.

  “If it’s got the white coats baffled it must really be weird.” He ran his hand over his thinning hair.

  “Yeah, well, whatever it was it sure was lethal.” Her finger went to her neck. “Wham.”

  “No dart or shard or anything in the body.” He dumped his full ashtray into the trash can. The odor of stale cigarettes wafted upward.

  “Isn’t it possible that when Fair or whoever loosened the scarf it fell out?” She recalled that Fair mentioned H.H. had had a plaid cashmere scarf around his neck when he collapsed in the parking lot.

  “The penetration in the neck was an inch and a half.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’d think whatever hit him would have stuck in there. And if it pulled out with the scarf there’d be a tear in the scarf. We combed that parking lot. Not even a sliver on the ground.”

  “The penetration was deep but thin. You saw the wound.”

  “I did. That’s what worries me. How could the killer hit H.H. and no one see it? He’d have to be close and silent. It’s possible the killer could have brushed by him but surely someone would notice a human being jamming something into the neck of another human being. This report disturbs me. These days you don’t know what some nutcase is cooking up in a lab.”

  “Not just here, boss, but all over the world.” She sighed.

  “You got that right.” He frowned.

  “Maybe basketball is a trigger in some way?”

  “Yeah, I thought of that, too.” He drummed harder. “Looks like we need a full-court press on this one.”

  * * *

  16

  The gang rarely missed a basketball game but that Friday night they gathered at Anne Donaldson’s for a quiet remembrance since H.H. had loathed funerals. Although Harry and H.H. hadn’t been close, they were part of the same community, so she was there to pay her respects.

  Friends and neighbors told stories highlighting H.H.’s quick temper, which would evaporate and then he’d forgive and forget.

  H.H. had touched a lot of people, including all those who’d worked for him over the years. People fervently wished they had told him how they felt about him while he lived. Nagging guilt nibbled at more than one conscience.

  Tazio Chappars fought tears when Matthew recounted how the sports complex job had come down to the wire. How disappointed H.H. had been to lose what would have been his biggest contract ever.

  Matthew’s pleasant voice filled the room. “He came to my office to congratulate me personally.” His voice cracked for a second. “That’s class.” Composed again, he continued. “There’s no doubt in my mind that H.H. would have won major institutional jobs in the future. It was just a matter of time and who would have thought his time would run out?” He lifted his glass. “To H.H.”

  Speak no ill of the dead. Matthew made no mention of H.H.’s tendency to whine when things didn’t go his way.

  The others toasted in unison. As Matthew was the last speaker, people then talked among themselves.

  Fred Forrest’s and Mychelle Burns’s absences were noted. They could have showed, paid their respects if only for fifteen minutes.

  Harry scanned the packed rooms. People were wedged together in the hall, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the den, the family room, even out in Anne’s greenhouse. She wondered if H.H.’s killer was there. If he was, was he enjoying the gathering? Was it triumph or was it relief?

  She switched on the truck radio as she drove home that evening. Virginia was defeating Florida State in a lackluster game.

  Be a lot of empty seats tonight, she thought to herself.

  An oncoming car on the Whitehall Road blinded her with its brights. She cursed loudly, surprising herself. It wasn’t until then that she realized how angry she was. Angry at the killer. Angry that she was no help. She felt as if she were driving in the dark with no lights on.

  “I’ll find out who he was sleeping with! Dammit, it’s a start,” she said out loud. “She must know something if she isn’t the killer herself.”

  Then it occurred to Harry that if the secret lover did indeed know something, she probably didn’t have long to live.

  * * *

  17

  In one of those spectacular reversals so common in mountain regions, the next day the temperature climbed up to the low fifties. The snow melted, the earth grew soggy, the skies sparkled robin’s-egg blue with that crystal clarity only winter brings. Everyone played outside Saturday. After all, Old Man Winter could return in a heartbeat.

  Harry, Susan, Big Mim, Little Mim, Fair, and BoomBoom went fox hunting, returning in the early afternoon. They scattered in various directions dictated by the necessities of daily life.

  The Daily Progress reported a careful interview with Sheriff Shaw in which he announced that H. H. Donaldson’s death was not from natural causes. He said the builder appeared to have been po
isoned, and the matter was under investigation.

  Harry and Fair, after putting up their horses, met back in Crozet for a late lunch at the Mountain View Grille restaurant.

  “—unusual for you.” Fair had just finished telling Harry how happy he was that she wasn’t playing detective.

  “Rick asked me to butt out.” She saw no reason to inform Fair that she was going to get to the bottom of this.

  “Since when has that stopped you?” He smiled as she reached over on his plate, snagging a crisp French fry.

  “My theory is”—she popped the dark little potato sliver into her mouth—“find the lover and you find the killer.” She couldn’t resist the French fry any more than she could resist thinking about the murder.

  “I see. A woman scorned.” He watched as she reached for another one. “Honey, why don’t you let me order an extra plate of fries?”

  “Because I’ll eat every single one and I can pack on five pounds in the winter looking at food. But oh, it’s so-o-o good.”

  “Our bodies have more wisdom than we do. We’re supposed to be heavier in the winter. Insulation. Our food supplies ran perilously thin in winter before we knew how to preserve food. We needed every fat cell we had.”

  “Ever think about the difference between people from warm climates and those from temperate climates? People in the tropics reach up and grab a fruit. There is no tomorrow. But people in temperate climates have to plan ahead because of winter. History of the world right there. If you plan ahead for food, it’s not such a big jump to planning ahead to conquer other people.”

  “Harry, I never know what’s whirring around in that brain of yours.”

  “I read that but it does make sense. And what people drink: warm climates, wine; temperate climates, beer; cold climates, hard liquor. That’s what they could make based on what they grew. You with your Swedish blood could drink us all under the table if you were so inclined.”

  “That’s what undergraduate days are about. I’m surprised I’m not dead. Sometimes I think about the stuff I did when I was a kid.” He broke into a toothy grin. “First off, why wasn’t I killed on the road? Then, why wasn’t I shot? Or kicked in the head by a horse? But I came to my senses and began to practice moderation the day I entered vet school. You, on the other hand, were ahead of me there.”

  “My parents would have skinned me alive. Oh hey, here comes Herbie.”

  The Reverend Jones walked in, waving to them.

  “Come on over.” Fair stood up.

  “You two are finishing. I can’t intrude.”

  “You are never an intrusion. We were considering dessert. Please join us.” Fair pulled out the chair.

  Herb sat down, happy to be among friends. “Susan said hunting was wonderful today.”

  “The earth was a little warmer than the air. It exhaled, so to speak.” Fair smiled. He enjoyed studying the mysteries of scent and that’s what they remained, mysteries.

  “How about that article in the paper today—about H.H.?” Herb cast a swift stern glance at Harry, one unnoticed by Fair.

  “We will be overrun with theories.” Fair looked up from the dessert menu.

  After the waiter took Herb’s order and Fair’s dessert order, Fair said, “Has anyone thought about the Republican Party? H.H. was county chairman.”

  “Ah—” Herb pressed the end of the spoon bringing up the bowl of it. “Good at it, too. Young and full of conservative zeal minus the social agenda. I don’t know what they’ll do, although if they’re smart, really smart, they’ll draft Tazio Chappars for the job.”

  “Tazio?” Fair considered this. “That would be brilliant.”

  “With Ned considering a run for the State House, the Republicans need young leadership to create excitement. Ned will be a strong candidate. Tazio might be able to attract a new, vigorous element into the Republican Party.” Herb, keenly political, enjoyed the elections the way some folks enjoy chess.

  “Susan mentioned people were very supportive.” Harry knew she’d get sucked into all this and she so hated politics.

  “Charlotte’s down with the flu.” Herb brightened when his rib-eye steak sandwich was put before him. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Better take one to Charlotte then,” Harry teased him.

  “I tell you what, you don’t know how good a secretary she is. These last two days I’ve answered phones, sorted the mail into must-do, can-wait, and throwaway piles, checked the office supplies. I’m low on everything plus I’ve had to fiddle around with the rescheduling of the carpets. They swore on a stack of Bibles, and to a pastor, too, that they would be at the church doors at eight A.M. on Tuesday. I think I’d better send Hayden McIntyre over to Charlotte’s. I need her!”

  “Did you send her flowers?”

  “Yes.” Herb smiled at Harry as he bit into the delicious sandwich.

  “Anything I can do to help? I’m off this weekend. Zack’s on call.” Fair shared on-call duties over the weekends with other vets. It was a good system, otherwise no equine vet in Virginia would ever have a weekend off. Horses seem to watch the calendar, being careful to injure themselves over the weekend, preferably very late at night.

  Tazio Chappars came in. “Hey,” she called when seeing them.

  “Sit down.” Fair stood up.

  “No, please sit, Fair. I can’t. I’ve got Brinkley in the truck. I don’t want to leave him so I thought I’d pick up a sandwich and go back to the office.”

  “It’s Saturday. A beautiful Saturday,” Harry beamed. “You can’t go to work; who knows when we’ll get another one?”

  “I know, I know, but I’ve got to catch up.”

  “I’ll catch up in 2020.” Herb laughed, his deep rumble shaking the table.

  “You and Brinkley are becoming best friends.” Harry thought maybe she’d better order an extra sandwich to divide among three put-out animals at home.

  “I love that dog. How did I live this long without my own dog? I always told myself I was too busy but I have my own office so he comes to work with me, he goes to the construction sites. He’s such a good dog, so smart.” She glowed.

  “Labs are,” Fair agreed.

  “There’s a corgi sitting at home who vehemently disagrees,” Harry laughed, “but Labs are incredible creatures.”

  “He talks to me,” Tazio sheepishly admitted, “and I talk back.”

  “Harry talks to her critters all the time.” Herb polished off the rib-eye sandwich.

  “Oh, and you don’t talk to Elocution and Cazenovia?”

  Herb nodded at Harry. “Couldn’t write a sermon without them. Just thought I’d throw the spotlight on you.”

  “Nice to chat with you all. Let me go order a sandwich. What did you have, Herb? It looked good.” Tazio inhaled the delicious aroma.

  “Rib eye.”

  “That’s what I’ll get. And one for Brinkley.” She walked over to the counter.

  Just then Mychelle Burns entered, looked around nervously, saw Tazio, and sidled up to her.

  Tazio, at pains to conceal her dislike, smiled. “What are you doing in Crozet?”

  “Nothing,” she fibbed. “Saw your truck with the dog in it.” Mychelle lowered her voice. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

  Tazio’s brow furrowed. “Not today.”

  “Monday? In your office.”

  “Mychelle, I don’t have my Filofax with me. Call me Monday.”

  “Don’t put me off. I will be in your office Monday at nine. You be there. It’s important.”

  “You know, you’re becoming like Fred. That’s not an attractive prospect.” Tazio exhaled through her nostrils. “I need to check my book.”

  Mychelle lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  Surprised at the other woman’s crude language, Tazio replied, “Mychelle.”

  “Wait until you hear what I have to say. Here’s a preview: Fred, at night, takes debris from construction sites and dumps them at M
atthew’s site. Here’s another preview: H.H. paid under the table for copies of Matthew’s job blueprints. You need to talk to me.”

  “All right, Mychelle, all right. Monday at nine.” Tazio wondered what was going on.

  Without a goodbye, Mychelle turned and left, not even bothering to close the front door behind her. One of the waitresses hurried over to close it.

  Harry, along with Fair and Herb, watched the exchange although they couldn’t hear what transpired. Tazio looked back at them and shrugged. She paid for her two sandwiches and left, waving as she did so.