Little Marilyn hugged him. “How awful for you.”
He recovered himself. “Well, I hope there’s been a mistake. Really. I’d hate to think that was . . . him.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I think it was 1976.”
“People’s appearances change a lot in those years.”
“I ought to recognize him though. I didn’t think that composite resembled him. Never crossed my mind.
“He had a prominent chin. I remember that. He was very good to me and then we lost track when we went to separate colleges. Anyway, I don’t think boys are good at keeping up with one another the way girls are. You write letters to your sorority sisters. You’re on the phone. Women are better at relationships. Anyway, I always wondered what happened to Tom. Listen, you stay here and enjoy yourself. I’ll drive back to Crozet, if for no other reason than to calm Mother and look at the drawing with new eyes. I’ll fetch you tomorrow. The major roads are plowed. I’ll have no trouble getting through.”
“I don’t want to be here without you, and you shouldn’t have to endure a blast from Mother alone. God forbid she should think our social position is compromised the tiniest bit—the eensiest.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “You stay put, sweetie. I’ll be back in no time. Eat a big dinner for me.”
Little Marilyn knew she wouldn’t change his mind. “I think I’ve already eaten enough.”
“You look gorgeous.”
He changed his clothes and kissed her goodbye. Before he could reach the door the phone rang. Little Marilyn picked up the receiver. Her eyes bugged out of her head.
“Yes, yes, he’s right here.” Little Marilyn, in a state of disbelief, handed the phone to Fitz.
“Hello.” Fitz froze upon hearing Cabell Hall’s voice. “Are you all right? Where are you?”
Little Marilyn started for the suite’s other phone. Fitz grabbed her by the wrist and whispered, “If he hears the click he might hang up.” He returned to Cabell. “Yes, the weather has been bad.” He paused. “In a cabin in the George Washington National Forest? You must be frozen.” Another pause. “Well, if you go through Rockfish Gap I could pick you up on the road there.” Fitz waited. “Yes, it would be frigid to wait, I agree. You say it’s warm in the cabin, plenty of firewood? What if I hiked up to the cabin?” He paused again. “You don’t want to tell me where it is. Cabell, this is ridiculous. Your wife is worried to death. I’ll come and get you and take you home.” He held the receiver away from his ear. “He hung up. Damn!”
“What’s he doing in the George Washington National Forest?” Marilyn asked.
“Says he’d been taking groceries up there for a week before he left. He’s got plenty of food. Went up there because he wanted to think. About what I don’t know. Sounds like his elevator doesn’t go to the top anymore.”
“I’ll call Rick Shaw,” she volunteered.
“No need. I’ll see him after I visit Taxi. She needs to know Cabby’s physically well, if not mentally.”
“Do you know exactly where he is?”
“No. In a cabin not far from Crabtree Falls. The state police can find him though. You stay here. I’ll take care of everything.”
He kissed her again and left.
* * *
61
Sheriff Shaw had investigated the theft at Fitz-Gilbert’s office when it was first reported. Now, alone in the office, he sat at the desk. He hoped for a false-bottomed drawer but there wasn’t one. The drawers were filled with beautiful stationery, investment brochures, and company year-end reports. He also found a stack of Playboy magazines. He fought the urge to thumb through them.
Then he got down on his hands and knees. The rug, scrupulously clean, yielded nothing.
The kitchen, however, yielded a bottle of expensive port, wine and scotch, crackers, cheese, and sodas. The coffee maker appeared brand-new.
He again got down on his hands and knees, once he opened the closet door. Again it was clean, except for a tuft of blond hair stuck in the corner on the floor.
Rick placed the hair in a small envelope and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
As he closed the door to the office he knew more than when he walked in, but he still didn’t know enough.
He needed to be methodical and cautious before some high-ticket lawyer smashed his case. Those guys could get Sherman’s March reduced to trespassing.
* * *
62
Cynthia Cooper discovered that Tommy Norton had never matriculated at City College of New York. By two in the afternoon her ear hurt, she’d been on the phone so long. Finally she hit pay dirt. In the summer of 1976, a Thomas Norton was committed to Central Islip, one of the state’s mental institutions. He was diagnosed as a hebephrenic schizophrenic. Unfortunately, the file was incomplete and the woman on the other end of the phone couldn’t find the name of his next of kin. She didn’t know who admitted him.
Cynthia was then transferred to one of the doctors, who remembered the patient. He was schizophrenic but with the help of drugs had made progress toward limited self-sufficiency in the last five years. Recently he was remitted to a halfway house and given employment as a clerical worker. He was quite bright but often disoriented. The doctor gave a full physical description of the man and also faxed one for Cynthia.
When the photo rolled out of the office fax she knew they’d found Tommy Norton.
She then called the halfway house and discovered that Tommy Norton had been missing since October. The staff had reported this to the police but in a city of nine million people Tommy Norton had simply disappeared.
She roused Rick on his radio. He was very interested in everything she knew. He told her to meet him at Fitz-Gilbert Hamilton’s house with a search warrant.
* * *
63
The pale-orange sun set, plunging the temperature into the low twenties. As Venus rose over the horizon she seemed larger than ever in the biting night air. A violent orange outline ran across the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains, transforming the deep snows into golden waves. So deep was the snow that even the broomstraw was engulfed. A thin crust of ice covered the snow.
Giving Orlando the full tour of Crozet wasn’t possible because many of the side roads remained snowed under. Blair asked his friend’s indulgence as he turned down Harry’s driveway at 5:10 P.M. He’d picked up a round black de-icer for her to try in the water trough and he thought tonight would be a good test. If it didn’t work, Paul Summers at Southern States said he could bring it back and get his money refunded.
“I don’t remember you being the country type.” Orlando reached for a hand strap as the vehicle slowly rocked down the driveway. “In fact, I don’t remember you getting up before eleven.”
“Times change and people change with them.” Blair smiled.
Orlando laughed. “Couldn’t have anything to do with the postmistress.”
“Hmmn” was Blair’s comment.
Orlando, serious for a moment, said, “It’s none of my business but she seems like a good person and she’s easy on the eyes. Fresh-looking. Anyway, after what you’ve been through you deserve all the happiness you can find.”
“I loved Robin but I could keep a distance from her. You know, if we’d gotten married I don’t think it would have lasted. We lived a pretty superficial life.”
Orlando sighed. “I guess I do too. But look at the business I’m in. If you want the clients with deep pockets, you shmooze with them. I envy you.”
“Why?”
“Because you had the guts to get out.”
“I’ll still go on shoots from time to time until I get too wrinkled or they don’t want me anymore. See, you were smarter than I was. You picked a career where age is irrelevant.”
Orlando smiled when the clapboard house and barn came into view. “Clean lines.”
“She has little sense of decoration, so tread lightly, okay? I mean, she’s not a blistering idiot but she hasn’t a pe
nny, really, so she can’t do much.”
“I read you loud and clear.”
They pulled up in front of the barn and the two men got out. Harry was mucking the stalls. Her winter boots bore testament to the task. The doors to the stalls hung open as the used shavings were tossed into the wheelbarrow. At the end of the aisle another wheelbarrow, filled with sweet-smelling shavings, stood. The door to the tack room was open also. Tucker greeted everyone and Mrs. Murphy stuck her head out of the loft opening. An errant sliver of hay dangled on her whisker. When Harry saw the two men she waved and called out, “Hola!” This amused Orlando.
“Who is it?” Simon asked.
“Blair and his friend Orlando.”
“She won’t bring them up here, will she?” The possum nervously paced. “She brought Susan up once and I didn’t think that was right.”
“Because of the earring. That was a special case. They won’t climb up the ladder. The one guy’s too well-dressed, anyway.”
“Shut up down there.” The owl ruffled her feathers, turned around, and settled down while expanding on everyone’s deficiencies.
Down below Orlando admired the barn and the beautiful construction work. The barn had been built in the late 1880’s, the massive square beams prepared to bear weight for centuries to come.
Tucker barked, “Someone’s coming.”
A white Range Rover pulled up next to Blair’s Explorer. Fitz-Gilbert Hamilton opened the door and hurried into the barn.
“Orlando, I’ve been looking at Blair’s for you, and then thought you might be here.”
“Fitz . . . is it really you?” Orlando squinted. “You look different.”
“Fatter, older. A little bald.” Fitz laughed. “You look the same, only better. It’s amazing what the years do to people—inside and outside.”
As the two men shook hands, Harry noticed a bulge, chest-high, in Fitz’s bomber jacket. This wasn’t an ordinary bomber jacket—it was lined with goose down so Fitz could be both warm and dashing.
Tucker lifted her nose and sniffed. “Murphy, Murphy.”
The cat again stuck her head out the opening. “What?”
“Fitz has the stench of fear on him.”
Mrs. Murphy wiggled her nose. A frightened human being threw off a powerful, acrid scent. It was unmistakable, so strong that a human with a good nose—for a human—could even smell it once they had learned to identify it. “You’re right, Tucker.”
“Something’s wrong,” Tucker barked.
Harry leaned down to pat the corgi’s head. “Pipe down, short stuff.”
Mrs. Murphy called down, “Maybe he found another body.” She stopped herself. If he’d found another body he would have said that immediately. “Tucker, get behind him.”
The little dog slunk behind Fitz, who continued to chat merrily with Orlando, Blair, and Harry. Then he changed gears. “What made you think that picture was Tommy Norton?”
Orlando tipped his head. “Looked like him to me. How is it you didn’t notice?”
Fitz unzipped his jacket and pulled out a lethal, shiny .45. “I did, as a matter of fact. You three get against the wall there. I don’t have time for an extended farewell. I need to get to the bank and the airport before Rick Shaw finds out I’m here and I’ll be damned if you’re going to wreck things for me—so.”
As Orlando stood there, puzzled, Tucker sank her teeth up to the gums into Fitz’s leg. He screamed and whirled around, the tough dog hanging on. The humans scattered. Harry ran into one of the stalls, Orlando dove into the tack room, shutting the door, and Blair lunged for the wall phone in the aisle, but Fitz recovered enough to fire.
Blair grunted and rolled away into Gin’s stall.
“You all right?” Harry called. She didn’t see Blair get hit.
“Yeah,” Blair, stunned, said through gritted teeth. The force of being struck by a bullet is as painful as the lead intruding into the flesh. Blair’s shoulder throbbed and stung.
* * *
* * *
Tucker let go of Fitz’s leg and scrambled to the barn doors, bullets flying after her. Once she wriggled out of the barn she slunk alongside the building. Tucker didn’t know what to do.
Mrs. Murphy, who had been peering down from the loft, ran to the side and peeked through an opening in the boards. “Tucker, Tucker, are you all right?”
“Yes.” Tucker’s voice was throaty and raw. “We’ve got to save Mother.”
“See if you can get Tomahawk and Gin Fizz up to the barn.”
“I’ll try.” The corgi set out into the pastures. Fortunately, the cold had hardened the crust of the snow and she could travel on the surface. A few times she sank into the powder but she struggled out.
Simon, scared, shivered next to Mrs. Murphy.
Down below, Fitz slowly stalked toward the stalls. The cat again peered down. She realized that he would be under the ladder in a few moments.
Harry called out, “Fitz, why did you kill those people?” She played for time.
Mrs. Murphy hoped her mother could stall him, because she had a desperate idea.
“Ben got greedy, Harry. He wanted more and more.”
As Fitz spoke, Orlando, flattened against the wall, moved nearer to the door of the tack room.
“Why did you pay him off in the first place?”
“Ah, well, that’s a long story.” He moved a step closer to the loft opening.
Tucker, panting, reached Tomahawk first. “Come to the barn, Tommy. There’s trouble inside. Fitz-Gilbert wants to kill Mom.”
Tomahawk snorted, called Gin, and they thundered toward the barn, leaving Tucker to follow as best she could.
Inside, the tiger cat heard the hoofbeats. Their pasture was on the west side of the barn. She vaulted over hay bales and called through a space in the siding. “Can you jump the fence?”
Gin answered, “Not with our turn-out rugs in this much snow.”
Simon wrung his pink paws. “Oh, this is awful.”
“Crash the fence then. Make as much noise as you can but count to ten.” Tucker caught up to the horses. “Tucker,” Mrs. Murphy called, “help them count to ten. Got it? Slow.” She spun around and called to Simon over her shoulder. “Help me, Simon.”
The gray possum shuttled over the timothy and alfalfa as quickly as he could. He joined Mrs. Murphy at the south side of the barn. Hay flew everywhere as the cat clawed at a bale.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the blacksnake. She’s hibernating, so she won’t curl around us and spit and bite.”
“Well, she’s going to wake up!” Simon’s voice rose.
“Worry about that later. Come on, help me get her out of here.”
“I’m not touching her!” Simon backed up.
At that moment Mrs. Murphy longed for her corgi friend. Much as Tucker griped and groaned at Mrs. Murphy, she had the heart of a warrior. Tucker would have picked up the snake in a heartbeat.
“Harry has taken good care of you,” the cat pleaded.
Simon grimaced. “Ugh.” He hated the snake.
“Simon, there’s not a moment to lose!” Mrs. Murphy’s pupils were so large Simon could barely see the gorgeous color of her iris.
A shadowy, muffled sound overhead startled them. The owl alighted on the hay bale. Outside, the horses could be heard making a wide circle. Within seconds they’d be smashing to bits the board fencing by the barn. In her deep, operatic voice the owl commanded, “Go to the ladder, both of you. Hurry.”
Bits of alfalfa wafted into the air as Mrs. Murphy sped toward the opening. Simon, less fleet of foot, followed. The owl hopped down and closed her mighty talons over the sleeping four-foot-long blacksnake. Then she spread her wings and rose upward. The snake, heavy, slowed her down more than she anticipated. Her powerful chest muscles lifted her up and she quietly glided to where the cat and the possum waited. She held her wings open for a landing, flapped once to guide her, and then softly touched down next to Mrs. Murphy
. She left the snake, now groggy, at the cat’s paws. She opened her wide wingspan and soared upward to her roost. Mrs. Murphy had no time to thank her. Outside, the sound of splintering wood, neighing, and muffled hoofbeats in the snow told her she had to act. Tucker barked at the top of her lungs.
“Pick up your end,” Mrs. Murphy firmly ordered Simon, who did as he was told. He was now more frightened of Mrs. Murphy than of the snake.
Fitz, distracted for a moment by the commotion outside, turned his head toward the noise. He was close to the loft opening. The cat, heavy snake in her jaws, Simon holding its tail, flung the snake onto Fitz’s shoulders. By now the blacksnake was awake enough to curl around his neck for a moment. She was desperately trying to get her bearings and Fitz screamed to high heaven.
As he did so Mrs. Murphy launched herself from the loft opening and landed on Fitz’s back.
“Don’t do it!” Simon yelled.
The cat, no time to answer, scrambled with the snake underfoot as Fitz bellowed and attempted to rid himself of his tormentors. Mrs. Murphy mercilessly shredded his face with her claws. As she tore away at Fitz she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Blair come hurtling out of the stall.
“Orlando!” Blair called.
No sooner had he hollered for his friend than Harry, having shed her winter parka, moved from Tomahawk’s stall like a streak.
Mrs. Murphy grabbed for Fitz’s right eye.
He fired the gun in the air as the cat blinded him. Instinctively he covered the damaged eye with his right hand, the gun hand, and that fast, Harry hit him at the knees. He went down with an “oomph.” The snake hit the ground with him. Mrs. Murphy gracefully jumped off. Tucker wiggled back into the barn.
“Get his gun hand!” Mrs. Murphy screeched.
Tucker raced for the flailing man. Fitz kicked Harry away and she lurched against the wall with a thud. Blair struggled to keep Fitz down but his one arm dangled uselessly. Orlando crept out of the tack room and, seeing the situation, swallowed hard, then joined the fight.
Rest In Pieces Page 23