They read aloud, “In 1732, the foundation stone was laid for the Bank of England’s building on Threadneedle Street in the City of London.”
Harry leapt up and grabbed the phone in the kitchen. “Hey, Coop. Listen to this.”
Susan, on her feet now, held the book for Harry to read.
When she finished reading, Harry said, “Susan and I—huh?”
Coop interrupted her, “Keep it right there. Between you and Susan.”
Offended, Harry replied, “We aren’t going to take out an ad in the paper with this.”
“I know, but in your enthusiasm you might spill the beans.” Coop apologized. “I’m sorry if I snapped at you. We’re understaffed. People rotating off for summer vacation. I’m stressed out and I’m taking it out on you.”
“I understand.”
“You’ve done good work. Threadneedle means something . . . I guess. It’s about banks. You know, this whole thing is screwy. The Threadneedle virus seemed to be a prank. Then two million dollars cannot be accounted for at Crozet National. There’s a rash of car wrecks on 29 and a very dead Mike Huckstep, about whom we know little, is on a slab in the morgue. Everything happens at once.”
“Sure seems to.” Harry had held the earpiece for Susan, who heard everything.
“Hang in there, Coop,” Susan encouraged.
“I will. I’m just blowing off steam,” she said. “Listen, thanks for your help. I’ll see you soon.”
“Sure. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Harry hung up the phone. “Poor Coop.”
“This too shall pass.”
“I know that. She knows that, but I don’t want my money to pass with it. My money is in Crozet National. It may not be so much, but it’s all I have.”
“Me too.” Susan cupped her hand under her chin, deep in thought. In a moment she asked, “You’re getting pretty good on the computer, aren’t you?”
Harry nodded.
Susan continued. “I’m not so bad myself. I had to learn in self-defense because Danny and Brookie use the thing constantly. At first I didn’t know what they were talking about. It really is great that they learn this stuff at school. To them it’s just business as usual.”
“Want to raid Crozet National’s computer?”
“You read my mind,” Susan said, grinning. “We could never get in there though. Hogan might be willing, but Norman Cramer would die if anyone touched his babies. I guess his staff wouldn’t be too thrilled about it either. What if we screwed it up?”
“Somebody’s done that for us,” Harry said. “’Course, we could sneak in.”
“Harry, you’re nuts. The building has an alarm system.”
“I could sneak in,” Mrs. Murphy bragged, her ears pricked forward, her eyes flashing.
“She could. Let her do it,” Tucker agreed.
“You guys must be hungry again.” Harry patted Tucker’s head and rubbed her long ears.
“Every time we say anything, she thinks we want to go out or we want to eat.” Mrs. Murphy sighed. “Tucker, we can go into the bank ourselves.”
“When do you want to do it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
21
A heavy mist enshrouded the buildings. Downtown Crozet seemed magical in the dim, soft night. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker left the house at one-thirty A.M. with Harry sound asleep. Moving at a steady trot, they arrived at the bank by two.
“You stay outside and bark if you need me.”
“What if you need me?” Tucker sensibly asked.
“I’ll be all right. I wonder if Pewter is awake? She could help.”
“If she’s asleep, it will take too long to get her up and going.” Tucker knew the gray cat only too well.
“You’re right.” The tiger sniffed the heavy air. A perfumed scent lingered. “Smell that?”
“Yeah.”
“Why here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm, well, I’m going inside.” Her tail straight up, the cat moved to the back door with its old wooden steps. Bricks in the foundation had loosened over the years, and a hole big enough for a cat, a possum, or a bold raccoon, accommodated Mrs. Murphy. She swept her whiskers forward, listened intently, then dropped down into the basement. She quickly ran up the stairs to the first floor. She smelled that perfume again. Much stronger now. She jumped on the cool marble counter in front of the teller windows. She trotted down the counter to the end. The carpeted stairway leading to the second floor was nearby. She followed her nose to the stairs, silently leaping two at a time. The only noise was that of her claws in the carpet as she grabbed for a foothold.
As she neared the top of the stairs, she heard human voices, low, urgent. She flattened herself and slunk along the hallway. She arrived at Hogan’s office, where sitting on the floor in the dark were Norman Cramer and Kerry McCray. She froze.
“—to do.” Norman’s voice was ragged.
“Get a divorce.”
“She’ll never allow it.”
“Norman, what’s she going to do—kill you?”
He laughed nervously. “She’s violently in love with me, or so she says, but I don’t think she really loves me. She loves the idea of a husband. When no one’s around, she tells me what to do like I’m an idiot. And if she’s not telling me what to do, Ottoline takes up the slack.”
“Just tell her it isn’t working for you. You’re sorry.”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I can try. I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know why I left you. But it was like I had malaria or something. A fever. I couldn’t think straight.”
Kerry didn’t really want to hear this part. “You need to be real clear. Just ‘I’m sorry, I want a divorce’ is a good way to start. Okay, so she loses her temper and runs you down all over town. Everyone does that when they break up, or almost everyone.”
“Yeah—yeah, I know. It’s just that I’m under so much pressure now. This mess here at the bank. I don’t know if I can handle two crises at the same time. I need to solve one before attacking the other. I’m not stringing you along. I love you, I know that now. I know I’ve always loved you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but can’t you wait—until I get things straightened out here? Please, Kerry. Please, you won’t regret it.”
“I—” She began crying. “I’ll try.”
“I do love you.” He put his arm around her and kissed her.
Mrs. Murphy, belly low, quietly backed away, then turned and tiptoed down the hall to the stairs. Once on the first floor, she raced across the polished parquet in that sanctuary of money, scooted back down into the cellar, and squeezed out the hole to freedom.
Tucker, relieved to see her friend, bounced up and down on her stubby legs.
“Kerry and Norman are in there crying and kissing. Damn.” Mrs. Murphy sat and wrapped her tail around her, for the air was quite cool now.
“Where’re their cars?” Tucker was curious. “They had to have hidden them. Everyone knows everyone, right? Imagine if Reverend Jones or anybody, really, drove by and found their cars at the bank. I want to know where they’ve stashed their cars.”
“Me too.” Mrs. Murphy inhaled the cool air. “I hate love triangles. Someone always gets hurt.”
“Usually all three,” the dog sagely noted. “Come on. Let’s check in the alleyway behind the post office.”
They hurried across the railroad tracks. No car rewarded their speedy efforts.
“If you were a human, where would you park your car?” the cat wondered. “Under something or behind something unused or ignored in some way.”
They thought for a time.
“There are always cars behind Berryman’s garage. Let’s look.”
They ran back out to Railroad Avenue and loped west, turning south at the railroad underpass onto Route 240. The little garage, freshly painted, was on the next corner.
Stuck behind the other cars waiting to be repaired was Norman’s Audi.
“Score one!” Tucker yipped.
“We’d better head home. If we circle the town trying to find Kerry’s car, we won’t be home by daylight. Mom will be worried. We found one, that’s good enough for now.”
Footsteps in the distance alerted them. Norman Cramer was heading their way.
“Ssst, here.” Mrs. Murphy pointed to a truck that was easy to crawl under.
They peered out but remained motionless. Norman, wiping his eyes, quietly opened the driver’s door, got in, started the motor, and drove about half a block without lights before turning them on.
“He looks like Death eating a cracker,” Tucker said.
They made it home by sunrise. When Harry fed them she noticed grease on Tucker’s back. “Damn, Tucker, have you been playing under the truck again? Now I’ve got to give you a bath.”
“Oh, no!” Tucker wailed to Murphy. “See the trouble you got me into.”
22
“I’m not stupid.” Aysha’s lower lip stuck out when she pouted. “You weren’t at work late last night.”
“I was.”
“Don’t lie to me, Norman. I drove by the bank and your car wasn’t parked there.”
“I was there until ten-thirty.” He devoutly prayed that she hadn’t driven by before that, but as she had attended an Ash Lawn meeting, a special fund-raiser, he figured she wouldn’t have gotten out until ten-thirty or eleven. “Then I dropped the papers off at Hogan Freely’s and he wanted to talk. I couldn’t very well give my boss the finger, could I?”
Red-faced, Aysha picked up the phone and dialed. “Laura, hello, Aysha Cramer. I’m calling for Norman. He thinks he left his Mark Cross pen over there from his meeting last night with Hogan. Have you found it?”
“No. Let me ask Hogan, he’s right here.” Laura returned to the phone. “No, he hasn’t found anything either.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“No trouble at all. Tell Norman to rest.”
“I will, and thank you. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone carefully, then faced her husband. “I apologize. You were there.”
“Honey, what’s the matter with you? Everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to run off or keel over from a heart attack or whatever you’re worried about. We’re both under pressure. Let’s try to relax.”
“It’s Kerry, I’m worried about Kerry! I know you can handle the job, but I don’t know about—”
He put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “I married you, didn’t I?”
23
“Never, never am I speaking to you again!” Mrs. Murphy hissed.
“One more,” Dr. Parker cooed as she hit up the cat with her rabies booster. “There we go, all over.”
Ears flat against her head, hunched up and livid, Mrs. Murphy shot off the examining table. She raced around the room.
“Murphy, calm down.”
“You lied to get me here,” Mrs. Murphy howled.
The doctor checked her needles. “She’ll stop in a minute. She does this once a year and I expect she’ll do it next year.”
“I’ll remember when the year rolls around. I won’t get in the truck.” Murphy, ears still flat back, sat with her back to the humans.
“Come on,” Harry cajoled her.
The sleek tiger refused to budge or even turn her face to her friend. Humans give the cold shoulder. Cats give the cold body.
Scooping her up with one hand under her bottom and the other around her chest, Harry said, “You were a brave girl. Let’s go home.”
As they rode back into town, Mrs. Murphy stared out the window, back still turned toward Harry.
“Now, look here, Murphy, I hate it when you get in one of your snits. These shots are for your own good. After what you and Tucker did last year, I can’t dream of hauling you in to Dr. Parker together. It cost me $123 to replace the curtains in her waiting room. Do you know how long I have to work to make $123? I—”
“Oh, shut up. I don’t want to hear how poor you are. My rear end hurts.”
“What a yowl. Murphy—Murphy, look at me.”
The cat hopped down and crouched on the floor.
Harry’s voice rose. “Don’t you dare pee in this truck. I mean it.” She quickly pulled to the side of the road, got out, and opened the passenger door. She walked into a field, Murphy in her arms. “If you have to go, go here.”
“I’m not doing anything you ask me to do.” She hunched down amid the daisies.
By the time Harry rolled into Crozet, both cat and human were frazzled. Harry pulled into the market. When she opened the door, Mrs. Murphy nimbly squeezed past her and rushed to the door.
“Open up, Pewter, open up. She’s torturing me!”
Harry pushed open the glass door and the cat ran between her legs. Pewter, having heard the complaint, hurried out to touch her nose and have a consoling sniff.
“What happened?”
“Dr. Parker.”
“Oh.” Pewter licked Mrs. Murphy’s ears in sympathy. “I am sorry. I’m sick for a day after those nasty shots.”
“Once, just once, I want to go to the doctor with Harry and watch her get the needle.” Murphy fluffed her tail.
“Arm or rear?”
“Both! Let her suffer. She won’t be able to sit down, and let’s see her pick up a hay bale.” Murphy licked her lips. “When she opens the door, let’s run over to Miranda’s. I want to hear her holler.”
“Where’s Tucker?”
“Susan’s.”
“There she goes.” Murphy trailed Harry’s sneaker, and when the door opened, she shot out, followed by Pewter, less speedy. “Follow me.”
Harry thought Mrs. Murphy would go to the truck. When the cat zigzagged to the left, she knew this was going to be one of those days. She placed the lettuce and English muffins in the seat of the truck and walked after them. If she ran, then Murphy would run faster. The culprits ambled behind the post office.
“Murphy!” Harry called when she reached the alleyway. She could see a tiger tail protruding from under a blue hydrangea near the alley. Every time she’d call Murphy’s name, the cat’s tail would twitch.
From opposite ends of the alley drove Kerry McCray in one car and Aysha and Norman Cramer in another. Kerry pulled in behind Market’s store and immediately behind her came Hogan Freely, who pulled in next to her. Norman, driving, paused for a moment. Too late to hurry away. Aysha steamed as Harry came up to the window.
“Hi, Harry.” Norman called loudly to those behind her, “Hello, Hogan. Hi, Kerry.”
They nodded and entered the market.
“If you roll on down the alleyway, go slow. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter are on the rampage.”
“I’ll pull up behind the post office.” He smiled. Aysha did not. “Anyway, we’re out of paper towels.”
“Norman.”
“Just a second, honey. I’ll be right back.”
Wordlessly, she opened her door and followed him. Damned if she’d let him go in there with Kerry alone.
Harry, torn between conflicting desires, was rooted to the spot. She wanted to catch Murphy. On the other hand, she was only human. What if Kerry and Aysha went ballistic again? Mrs. Hogendobber, in her apron, came out of her back door. Harry motioned her over, quickly explained, and the two tried not to run into the store.
“Do you believe those two?” Pewter giggled.
“I’m insulted. She’s supposed to get down on her hands and knees and beg me to come back to the truck.” Murphy pouted.
Inside the market everyone grabbed a few items off the shelves so as to not look too obvious. As luck would have it, Susan Tucker and Reverend Jones walked in.
“How’s your golf game?” Herb asked Hogan.
“Driving’s great. The short game . . .” Hogan turned down his thumb.
“I’m sorry to hear about the losses at the bank. I know how much that must weigh on you.” The reverend’s voice, deep and resonant, made the listener feel better already.
> “I have turned that problem inside and out. Upside down. You name it. And still nothing.”
Aysha and Norman joined them. Kerry hung back, but she wasn’t leaving. Susan joined the circle and Harry stayed a step back with Kerry. Mrs. H. walked behind the counter with Market.
“It’s in the computer,” Susan blurted out.
“Susan, the computer techies checked our system.” Norman grimaced. “Nothing.”
“The Threadneedle virus.” Susan beamed. “Harry and I—”
“No, wait a minute,” Harry protested.
“All right, it was Harry’s idea. She said that the moneys were noticed missing within a day or two of the Threadneedle scare—”
“We nipped that in the bud.” Norman crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s just it,” Harry offered. “Whatever the commands were, there must have been a rider, something to delay and then trigger a transfer of money.”
“Like an override.” Hogan rubbed his chin, a habit when his mind raced. “Uh-huh. I wonder. Well, we know the problem’s not in the machine, so if we can figure out the sequence, we’ll know.”
“It could be something as simple as, say, whenever you punch in the word Threadneedle, a command is given to take money,” Susan hypothesized.
“Now, ladies, with all due respect, it isn’t that easy. If it were, we would have found it.” Norman smiled weakly.
Aysha, eye on Kerry, chimed in. “Let’s go, honey, we’ll be late for Mother’s dinner.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I think I’ll fiddle around tonight at the bank. I work best at night, when it’s quiet. You’ve given me an idea, you two.” Hogan glanced from Susan to Harry.
Norman rolled his eyes. Both Aysha and Kerry noticed. Keeping his voice steady, he said, “Now, boss, don’t scramble my files.” This was followed by an anemic laugh.
“Don’t worry.” Hogan grabbed his grocery bag. “Those pastries, Miranda—too much.” He left.
Norman and Aysha followed.
Kerry, fighting back her urge to trash Aysha, smacked her carton of eggs on the counter so hard, she broke some of them. “Oh, no, look what I’ve done.”
Pay Dirt Page 11