Drying her hands, BoomBoom remarked to Harry, “I was so sorry to hear that Big Mim lost the Medaglia d’Oro filly. Stunning, that filly.”
“Fair was devastated. He thought she was one of the most perfectly formed horses he had ever seen. Big Mim was, well, in tears according to Fair, but still took it like a trooper. Being a grandmother was a comfort, I think.”
“Heard she doesn’t like the boy’s name, Roland.”
“Little Mim and Blair love the ancient history of Roland at the Roncevaux Pass. ’Course, Big Mim just ignored it and calls him Roy.”
BoomBoom laughed. “Those two never have gotten along. Still, they do love each other.”
“Would you want to be Big Mim’s daughter?” asked Harry.
“No,” the blonde replied. “I love being her friend, though.”
“Me, too. She’s one hell of a horsewoman.”
They nattered on, Susan chiming in as she wiped down the coffee table, Herb as he put away glasses. Each lady kissed Herb’s cheek, then each other as they left St. Luke’s.
On the drive home, the stars glittered in pale silver light. Friday would be a full moon.
“Good meeting.” Susan hit her brights. “At least Neil isn’t talking about algorithms anymore. He gave a straightforward treasurer’s report.”
“He’s figuring out that simple is better,” Harry said. “Always is, too, no matter what the subject.”
“Ned says what drives him crazy about his fellow politicians in Richmond is how they complicate things to make themselves look smarter. He also said the level of discourse is so low a man of average intelligence has to stoop to match it.” She smiled. “But there are some good people there in both chambers. He likes working with David Toscano and he likes working with some of the people from the farming counties. He’s not too thrilled with the ones from northern Virginia.”
“Like I said before, he’s a glutton for punishment.”
They rounded the curve, Mount Tabor up ahead.
“My tire light went on. Reach into the glove compartment and get out my pressure check, will you?” Susan turned in to Mount Tabor’s parking lot. “Oh, dear, Witchy Woo has fallen over. Come on, let’s set her up. They put a lot of work into this. Then I’ll check my tire.”
The two kept the brights on in the direction of the display and walked over.
They reached the corn bundles, all the arranged pumpkins, some cut as jack-o’-lanterns, the large baskets overflowing with gourds and squashes. Witchy Woo had fallen uphill onto the uneven ground.
Harry sniffed. “Something’s gone off.”
Susan inhaled. “Just. Probably a dead gopher somewhere. He’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Harry bent over to pick up the tumbled-over figure, noticing that its rubber mask was complete with a long, warty witch’s nose. She stood up again. “It’s not a gopher.”
Both women stared at the black-clad figure.
“Good God.” Susan put her hand to her face.
Harry reached down to pull off the mask.
Susan shouted, grabbing her arm, “Don’t!”
“Aren’t you off work tonight?” Harry, still upset, asked as Cooper crossed the parking lot in her civilian clothing.
“I am, but Dabny called me from headquarters and said that you, once again, have found a strange corpse. So here I am. Anyway, I’d like to see this before the body goes to the state medical examiner. You two stay here. I mean it.”
“All right,” Susan firmly agreed. “I’ll take charge of Harry.”
Cooper turned her back to walk away, then faced them again. “Are you two doing okay?”
Harry shrugged, and fibbed a tad. “Yeah. It’s gross but …” She shrugged again as Susan nodded in assent.
The police investigative team circled the display. The photographer snapped, stepping out of the way of the officers.
Dorothy Maddox, chief of forensics, had only been with the team a year. She was kneeling down, surgical gloves on, carefully touching the corpse’s arm. In the temporary lights now shining on the scene, she studied a swollen hand, and a forearm with purple splotches.
Cooper stood behind Dorothy. “Thirty-six hours at most, my guess.”
“Your guess isn’t far wrong. The nights have been cold, the days in the seventies. She’s on the other side of maximum rigor mortis, obviously, but intact, and that’s a huge help.” Dorothy stood up. “Is Rick on the way?”
No sooner was his name spoken than the sheriff pulled off the road and into the church driveway. He, too, was in his civilian clothes and driving his personal vehicle. He glanced toward Harry, then walked over to the scene.
“We’ll need to dust everything. The pumpkins, the baskets, every single thing.” He took a deep breath, then coughed slightly. “I hated to leave my ball game, but this is, well, original.” He paused. “There’s nothing like the odor of death, is there? It isn’t even that bad yet. I’m surprised the body wasn’t damaged.”
“Boss, can I remove the victim’s mask?” Dorothy asked. “I waited for you.”
“Yes, of course.” Rick motioned for all the lights to shine on the witch’s face.
Carefully, Dorothy removed the rubber mask with the hooked nose.
“My God,” Susan exclaimed, as she could see the face with the flashlight focused on it. “It’s Hester Martin!”
Harry recognized her all the way from where she stood in the parking lot. She covered her mouth with her hand, then let it fall. “Hester Martin. She never did a thing to anybody.”
Tears filled Susan’s eyes for the middle-aged lady. Her mind flashed to Hester proudly showing off produce, filling her specially decorated wooden wheelbarrows, some worn and painted green, some barn red, some faded marine blue. Large wheels were yellow with a pinstripe matching the color of the painted display cart. Hester had a good eye for proportion and color. The produce gleamed, as she had misted it, too. Susan’s tears rolled faster now. She met Harry’s eyes. “Remember when Hester declared that black gum trees were conspiring against humans? Well, everyone gets a free pass for a few crackbrained ideas. Hester’s seemed more imaginative than most.”
“I can’t believe this!” exclaimed Harry. She, too, cried a bit.
Rick was as surprised as they at the victim’s identity. “Dorothy, get the body out of here as soon as you can. We’re lucky it’s night.”
“Sure. I’ve done what I can do without disturbing the rest of this Halloween scene.”
“Here’s Ted. Excuse me.”
Rev. Ted Foster had driven over as soon as the sheriff’s office called him. He lived about twenty minutes up Route 810. Along the way, he’d had the presence of mind to pick up Bunky Fouche, the church groundskeeper.
Seeing Hester laid out in the witchy garb, Bunky had to be steadied.
Rick escorted both men directly to the corpse.
Bunky shook uncontrollably. “Oh, Sheriff, I can’t look at dead bodies.”
“Bunky, tell me who this is.”
“It’s Hester Martin, God rest her sweet soul. She was good to me.”
“Reverend Foster.” Rick turned to the minister, who also appeared shaken by the grisly sight and rank odor. “When did you put up this Halloween crèche, for lack of a better word?”
“Three days ago,” answered Reverend Foster, his voice low. “The witch was a manikin and she had straw hair.”
“And did you look at the display each day?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. From a distance, it all looked fine to me.”
“It was fine.” Bunky’s voice quavered.
“So, neither of you has any idea when Hester Martin’s body was placed here?” Frustration edged into the sheriff’s tone.
“No,” both answered.
Rick put his hand under Bunky’s elbow to steady him, walking him away from the eerie but all-too-real vision.
Cooper watched the men’s departure, then said to Dorothy, “It’s a lot of work to carry a body, dress it up, place it on the
broom.”
Harry had inched closer from the parking lot, and piped up. “Maybe Hester’s body was already dressed up when it was brought here. The killer first observed the manikin’s witch outfit and dressed her just the same. I mean, it makes sense the killer would make it easy on himself.”
Cooper stared at Harry, thought a moment, then replied, “A possibility.”
Susan said, “If Hester’s body had been here for any real length of time, dogs would have already gotten at it, crows, flies. We’re all country people. We know the stages of death.”
The three women stood silent.
“We’ve got a real sicko,” Cooper replied simply, saying what they were all thinking: The killer had kept Hester’s body somewhere else and placed it here once rigor mortis decreased and the muscles relaxed.
“Coop, let me get poor Hester out of here.” Dorothy motioned for the stretcher and the body bag. “I need to get her in the cooler at the morgue before there’s more damage. And maybe when I get the costume off, I’ll know how she was murdered.”
“If the modus operandi is the same as our scarecrow accountant, we’ve got a major problem,” said Coop.
Dorothy whispered, “No matter what, we’ve got a major problem.”
Fair ran out to the drive at 11:10 P.M., when his wife finally drove up with Susan.
“Why didn’t you let me come to you?” Harry’s husband asked, his voice betraying his concern.
Harry opened the door to get out as Susan rolled down the window. The dog and the two cats also ran out of the house at Harry’s arrival.
“Honey, there was enough confusion,” she said. “Susan and I were together. We’re all right.”
“We are,” Susan reassured Fair. “I mean, as all right as you can be after finding something like that.” She took a deep breath. “Let me get on home. My dog needs to go to the bathroom.”
“Where’s Ned?” Fair asked.
“In Richmond.”
“Why don’t you stay here?” he invited her.
“I appreciate that but Owen needs to go out and I’ll feel better with him, at home, with a hot bath and bed.”
“Sure?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Sure. And when I get there, if I can’t do as well as I think I can, I’ll bring Owen back with me and we’ll bunk up with you all.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
Harry leaned in the window, gave Susan a kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Better.” Susan rolled up the window and turned the car around. Her two friends and their animal companions watched her motor down the long drive.
Slipping his arm around her waist, Fair walked Harry back into the house.
“Must be good,” Pewter said, meaning another big mess Harry had stumbled into.
“If only we could have heard the phone call,” Mrs. Murphy said.
“Yeah. I hate not knowing.” Tucker followed right on Harry’s heels, resisting the urge to slightly bite them.
Once inside, closing the kitchen door against the chill, Harry surprised Fair as she sat at the table. “I’d like a drink. What should I have?”
“Oh, how about if I make you a simple scotch and soda? Not too strong.”
“You know I can’t drink. But I need something,” she said, stating the obvious.
“This will relax you and help you sleep. No nightmares.” He opened the pie safe, where the liquor bottles were lined up like orderly soldiers.
Neither husband nor wife was much of a drinker, but there were spirits on hand for guests. Fair occasionally liked a cold beer at night in the summer and a scotch in the winter, but he could go days without a drink.
Tucker lifted her head. “Scotch has an interesting smell. Not bad.”
“Tuna is better,” Pewter remarked, patrolling the kitchen counter.
“Can’t drink tuna.” Mrs. Murphy jumped up on the corner.
Pushed by Fair, Harry took a sip of the scotch, then recounted everything. When she finished her tale, she sighed, then said, “Tell me about your day. I don’t want to think about this anymore.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m just worried and I want you to carry the old .38. Your father’s Smith and Wesson is as good as the day it was made.”
“Why? I’m in no danger.”
“Probably not, but you found two bodies and it seems likely both were done in by the same killer or killers. You will be in the paper and on TV. A bad guy might wonder why Harry Haristeen has a nose for murder.”
“ ‘Nose’ is the right word.” Harry wrinkled hers.
“Humans can’t smell worth squat.” Pewter leapt onto the counter with Mrs. Murphy.
“Even a human can smell a corpse that’s been dead for a bit, the days being warm. It’s not the full-blown effect but they can tell.” With her phenomenal powers of smell, Tucker knew of what she spoke.
“Sometimes I wonder how they survive.” Pewter looked out the window over the sink, where the last moth of the year fluttered.
Unaware of the animals’ condescending observations, Fair leaned back in his chair. “Pretty easy day today, so I actually got a little research done. Stem cell stuff.”
“Haven’t you used stem cell therapies?”
“Not much, honey, though I’d like to. It’s complicated but those treatments really work for horses’ musculoskeletal injuries. Vets have been using stem cell transplants since 2005. The problem is that there are bogus firms on the Internet that claim stem cell therapies can treat laminitis and neurological conditions, and that’s not true.”
Harry knew that “laminitis” meant an inflammation of the sensitive tissue of a horse’s hoof.
“I guess there are scam artists in every profession,” she lamented.
“There are, but when they cause suffering to living creatures, my blood boils. Someone without veterinary knowledge or degree, but with every good intention in the world to help their horse, gets on the Internet, finds a bogus product, buys it, and their horse continues to suffer.”
“Do you think the stem cell transplants used for horses will work for people?”
He folded his hands together. “Yes. But there again, as the science progresses, you will have doctors making wild claims or dishonest companies doing so.”
Fair was such a fount of knowledge that sometimes Harry fired question after question at him. “You think in time the obstacles for using human stem cells will be removed?”
“In some cases they already have, and while I believe in relieving suffering, I have to think about this one. It truly is a complex moral issue.”
“Maybe everything is, honey,” Harry said.
“Yes. Take murder. It seems cut and dried, doesn’t it? And yet surely there are times when murder is justified. A wife defends herself and her children against a rampaging husband. I couldn’t find it in my heart to condemn such a woman. Throughout all of nature, mothers kill or die defending their young.”
“Nothing is really that clear cut, is it?” Harry agreed.
“Well, the Ten Commandments make it seem so, but I guess there are exceptions to every rule, even those. Maybe that means I’m going to hell.” He half-smiled.
“You’re the best man I know,” she said, smiling his way. “And there have to be millions of people who ask questions, who wonder. What helps me is talking to Reverend Jones. I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“I should talk to him about this.” Fair unfolded his hands. “That and genetic engineering. We may be on the cusp of creating a super horse, and if we do that, people aren’t far behind.”
“That’s a terrifying thought.”
“It will start out safely enough. A tag on a gene sequence will be discovered to cause some kind of cancer. Doctors will get in there and manipulate the sequence. It sounds far-fetched but it isn’t. Just look at the genetic manipulations you’ve seen in crops.”
She took a long sip of scotch. “You know, when I was a kid, Dad and I would sit down with the seed cat
alogues. We’d try and figure out which corn could survive a drought, too much rain, which one had the sweetest taste. You had so many choices and now, well, you really don’t. I look in my catalogues and there’s just one page for corn, and every offering has disease resistance, a list of qualifications. Me, I just want Silver Queen,” she said, citing an especially delicious corn usually available at central Virginia vegetable stands in August. Her eyes misted. “Hester sold the best Silver Queen.”
“Brave new world.” He smiled at her. “I am so sorry you found Hester. So sorry.”
“If it’s a brave new world, that means we have to be brave to face it. But I remember the Law of Unintended Consequences. You never know what you’re stirring up.”
“By God, that’s the truth,” he said, slipping his arm around her again.
“But these murders have very intended consequences. They were carefully planned and enacted, and inflicted on the rest of us. That means there’s a message. You don’t do something as elaborate as this unless it’s an attempt to make a statement of some sort.”
“And that’s why you’d better carry your father’s snubnose .38.” Fair’s voice was firm.
Friday the air sparkled, the leaves exploded with color, and the temperature hung at about forty-seven degrees. Fall ushered in many changes. Fur-covered animals now had their thick undercoat, the outer coat shining luxuriously. With the waning of daylight, chickens laid less eggs. All those creatures slowed down by summer’s heat now surged with energy. Robins and some ducks and geese had already departed on their southern journey, as had the monarch butterflies. Everyone else busied themselves with nest repair. Turtles readied for sleep, along with other amphibians and reptiles. Toads lined their shallow nests with straw, hay, anything that could insulate, as did mice, who could unravel a sweater quickly.
Harry had once left a thick wool sweater in the tack room only to come back the next morning to find mice had chewed big holes in it, all of that fine wool now lining their nests behind the wall. Those mice lived good.
This perfect October morning, having just finished the barn chores, Harry tossed up some jelly beans for the possum in the hayloft, then shook the hay bits out of her hair.
The Litter of the Law Page 7