“Kerry, I dropped by to see if you needed anything from home, what with your dad being sick. I’m happy to pick up stuff for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Cynthia—?” Harry’s eyebrows pointed upward quizzically.
“I’m here to see she doesn’t make a run for it. The .357 in her hand was the gun that killed Hogan. And it’s registered to Kerry McCray.”
“I don’t own a gun.” Kerry teared up.
“According to the records, you bought one at Hassett’s in Waynesboro, July tenth.”
“Are you arresting my friend here?” Harry tried to keep her voice light.
“No, not yet.”
“Cynthia, you can’t possibly believe that Kerry would kill anyone.”
“I’m a police officer. I can’t afford emotions.”
“Bullshit,” came Harry’s swift retort.
“Thanks, Harry. We’re not close friends, and here you are—thanks.” Kerry flopped back on the pillows, then winced because she felt the throb in her head. “I never bought a gun. I’ve never been to Hassett’s. On July tenth I worked all day as usual, handling new accounts.”
Cynthia firmly said, “According to records, you showed your driver’s license.”
“I never set foot in that gun shop.”
“What if Kerry is the one who masterminded the bank theft? Maybe Hogan is starting to figure out her m.o.” Cynthia used the police shorthand for modus operandi. “She’s getting nervous. She knew he was working late in that bank that night. Millions of dollars are at stake. She kills Hogan.”
“And hits herself on the head hard enough to knock herself out—yet still keep the gun in her hand?” Harry was incredulous.
“That presents a problem.” Cynthia nodded. “But Kerry could have an accomplice. He or she hits her on the head so she looks innocent.”
“And I could fly to the moon.” Harry sharply inhaled. “This summer is sure turning to crap.”
“How elegantly put.” Cynthia half smiled.
“Forget being an officer and be one of the girls just for a minute, Coop. Do you really think Kerry killed Hogan?”
Cynthia waited a long time. “I don’t know, but I do know that the .357 is the same gun that killed Mike Huckstep.”
“What?” Harry felt her throat constrict.
“Ballistics report came back at six this morning. Rick’s lashing everyone on. Same gun. We’d like to keep that tidbit out of the papers, but I doubt the boss can. His job is so damned political.”
“Huckstep and Hogan Freely.” Harry frowned. “One’s a Hell’s Angel and the other’s a bank president.”
“Maybe Hogan had a secret life?” Kerry spoke up.
“Not that secret.” Harry shook her head.
“You’d be amazed at what people can hide from one another,” Cynthia replied.
“I know that, but at some point you’ve got to trust your instincts,” Harry replied.
“Well then, what do your instincts tell you?” Cynthia challenged her.
“Hogan was getting close and that means the answer is in the bank.”
“Think you’re right.”
Kerry moaned. “My goose is cooked, isn’t it?”
Cynthia stared hard at her.
26
Because of federal regulations, the bank could not be closed on Monday. In fact, if Hogan had been shot during banking hours, the way the law reads he would have been left there and business would have continued while the sheriff worked. People would have had to step over the body. These stringent rules against closing a bank were born in the 1930s when banks bolted their doors or folded like houses of cards. As is customary when legislators cook up some ameliorative law, it never covers the human condition. The employees of Crozet National worked with black armbands around their left arms. A huge black wreath hung at the end of the lobby, a smaller one on the front door. Out front, the Virginia state flag flew at half mast. Mary Thigpen, the head teller for twenty-five years, kept bursting into tears. Many eyes were red-rimmed.
All the talk about Kerry so outraged Norman that he shouted, “She’s innocent until proven guilty, so shut up!”
Rick Shaw had taken over the second floor, squeezing the accounting department, but they managed. The blood splattered on the wall of Hogan’s office made Norman woozy. He wasn’t the only one.
Mim Sanburne came by after her turn with Laura Freely to inform everyone that the funeral service would be held that Thursday at the Crozet Lutheran Church. The family would receive Wednesday night at home.
A subdued hush followed her announcement.
Over at the post office Harry asked Blair to help while Mrs. Hogendobber organized the food for Wednesday night. Dudley Freely proved incompetent due to shock. Thea, the older Freely child, was better at making some of the decisions forced upon her by the event. What kind of casket, or would it be cremation? What cemetery? Flowers or contributions to charity? She fielded these questions, but sometimes she would have to sit down, fatigued beyond endurance. She didn’t realize a great emotional blow is physically exhausting. Mim and Miranda did. They took over. Ottoline Gill and Aysha handled the phone duties. Laura languished in bed. When she regained consciousness she would sob uncontrollably.
Rick and Cynthia tried to question her, but she couldn’t get through even a gentle interrogation.
Rick pulled aside Mim outside the post office, as they had both driven in to get their mail. “Mrs. Sanburne, you knew Hogan all his life. Can you imagine him involved in some kind of scheme to defraud people—”
She cut him off. “Hogan Freely was the most honest and generous man I’ve ever known.”
“Don’t get huffy, Mrs. Sanburne, I’ve got two murders on my hands. I have to ask uncomfortable questions. He could have been involved in the theft and had his partner or partners turn on him. It’s not an uncommon occurrence.”
“I’m sorry, but you must understand. Hogan loved this town and he loved banking. If you knew the people he took chances on, the people he helped get started in business, well, he was about a lot more than money.”
“I know. He helped me get my mortgage.” Rick opened the door for Mim as they stepped into the post office.
Mrs. Murphy, crouched on the little ledge dividing the mailboxes, waited for Rick and Mim to open their boxes.
Rick opened his first and the tiger reached into his box, swatting his hand as he withdrew his mail.
“Murphy.” He walked to the counter and looked around the corner of the boxes.
She looked back at him. “I wanted to make you feel better.”
“That cat going to grab me?” Mim called.
Harry lifted her from the small counter, ideally suited for sorting into the rows of postboxes. “No, I’ve got her right here in my arms.”
Tucker, head on her paws, said, “Murphy, nothing is going to make people feel better right now.”
Rick chucked the tiger under the chin. “If only animals could talk. Who knows what she saw the night Hogan was murdered?”
“I didn’t see anything because of the fog and I missed a chance to identify the killer’s car. I wasn’t so smart, sheriff.”
“You did the right thing, Murphy, you found help,” Tucker lauded her.
Rick left, Mim gave Harry and Blair the information about the family gathering and the funeral, and then she left too.
Harry moved with a heavy tread. “I feel awful.”
Blair put his arm around her shoulders. “Everyone does.”
27
“We’re going to be late.” Norman checked his watch as he paced.
“I’m almost ready. I ran into Kate Bittner at the 19th Hole, and you know how she can talk.”
He bit his tongue. She was always late. Running into someone at the supermarket was just another excuse. A car turning into the driveway diverted his attention away from pushing Aysha on.
Ottoline, in full regalia, stepped out of her Volvo station wagon.
“Oh, no,” he said under his breath.
Ottoline came in the front door without knocking.
“Norman, you look ashen.”
“I’m very tired, Ottoline.”
“Where’s my angel?”
“In the bathroom, where else?”
She squinted at him, her pointy chin sticking out. “A woman must look her best. You men don’t understand that these things take time. I have yet to meet the man who wants an ugly woman on his arm.”
“Aysha could never be ugly.”
“Quite.” She click-clacked down the hallway. The bathroom door was open. “You need different earrings.”
“But, Mummy, I like these.”
“Too much color. We’re going to pay our sympathies. This may be a gathering, but it’s not a party.”
“Well—”
“Wear the drop pearl earrings. Discreet, yet they make a statement.”
“All right.” Aysha marched into the bedroom, took off her enameled earrings, and plucked out the pendant pearls. “These?”
Exasperated, Norman joined them. “Aysha—please.”
“All right, all right,” she crossly replied. “I’m ready.”
“I hope you’ll be made president of the branch now.” Ottoline inspected her son-in-law’s attire. He passed muster.
“This isn’t the time to think about that.”
Her lips pursed. “Believe me, there are others not nearly so scrupulous. You need to go into Charlottesville and talk to Donald Petrus. You’re young, but you’re the obvious person for the job.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Just do as I say,” she snapped.
“There are others with more seniority,” he snapped back.
“Old women.”
“Kerry McCray.”
“Ha!” Aysha finally entered into the conversation. “She murdered Hogan Freely.”
“Like hell she did. She’ll be found innocent.”
Ottoline tapped her foot on the floor. “Innocent or guilty . . . she’s irrelevant. You must seize the day, Norman.”
He looked from mother-in-law to wife and sighed.
28
Harry hated these dolorous social events, but she would attend. Sad as such events were, not to pay one’s last respects meant just that, no respect.
She hurried home from the post office. Miranda had spent the day dashing back and forth between the mailboxes and her kitchen. Luckily, Blair had helped drive food over to the Freelys’ and had run errands for Miranda, because the mail load, unusually heavy for a Wednesday, kept her pinned to the post office more than she had wished.
Once home, Harry hopped in the shower, applied some mascara and lipstick. Her short hair, naturally curly, needed only a quick run-through with her fingers while it was wet.
“What’s she doing in there?” Tucker languidly rolled on the floor, ending up tummy in the air.
“Tarting herself up.”
“Did she remember the blusher? She forgets half the time,” Tucker noted.
“I’ll go see.” Mrs. Murphy quietly padded into the small bathroom. Harry had forgotten. The cat leapt onto the little sink and knocked the blusher into the sink. “You need some rose in your cheeks.”
“Murphy.” Harry reached down and picked up the square black container. “Guess this wouldn’t hurt.” She touched her cheek with the brush. “There. A raving beauty. I mean, men quiver at my approach. Women’s eyes narrow to slits. Kingdoms are offered me for a kiss.”
“Mice! Moles! Catnip, all at your feet.” Mrs. Murphy enjoyed the dream.
“Who’s there? Who’s there?” Tucker barreled toward the back door.
Fair knocked, then stepped over the little dog, who immediately stopped barking.
“Hi, cute cakes.” Fair smoothed his hand over Tucker’s graceful ears, then he called, “It’s me.”
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Harry called from the bathroom.
“Uh, I should have called, but it’s been one of those days. Had to put down Tommy Bolender’s old mare. Twenty-six. He loved that mare and I told him to just go ahead and cry. He did, too, and then I got teary myself. Then that high-priced foal over at Dolan’s crashed a fence. Big laceration on her chest. And Patty has thrush.”
Patty, a sweet school horse at Sally and Bob Taylor’s Mountain Hollow Farm, had taught two generations of people to ride.
Harry joined him. She wore a long skirt, sandals, and a crisp cotton blouse.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in a skirt since the day we were married.”
“That long, huh?” She paused. “Now, Fair, you should have called me because I’m supposed to go to the Freelys’ with Blair and—”
Fair held up his hand in the stop position. “We’ll both take you.”
“He may not take kindly to that notion.”
He held up his hand again. “Leave him out of the loop for a minute. Do you take kindly to it?”
“If you both behave.”
“How about this.” Tucker wagged her non-tail. “Mom’s being escorted by the two best-looking men in the county. The phone lines will burn tonight.”
“BoomBoom’s will burn the brightest.” Mrs. Murphy was now sitting next to Tucker.
“You’ll be pleased to know that I called Blair on my way over, since I anticipated this.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“What if you’d said no? Then I’d lose a chance to see you, and in a skirt too.”
Another vehicle came down the driveway. Tucker ran barking to the door. She stopped quickly. “Blair, in the Mercedes.”
Harry kissed the cat and dog and walked outside with Fair. They both got into Blair’s Mercedes and drove off.
“How do you like that?” Tucker watched the red taillights.
“I like it a lot. It proves that Fair and Blair can both learn to get along and put Harry’s interests first. That’s what I care about. I want someone in Mom’s life who makes her life easier. Love shouldn’t feel like a job.”
29
Flowers, mostly pastels and whites, filled every room of the Freely house. Laura sat in the big wing chair by the living room fireplace. At moments she recognized people. Other times she lapsed into an anguished trance.
Dudley, subdued, greeted people at the door. He’d pulled himself together. A few people cold-shouldered Ned Tucker since they heard he’d taken Kerry McCray’s case.
Thea, with the assistance of Mrs. Hogendobber, Mim, and Little Marilyn, accepted condolences, shared memories, made sure that people had something to eat and drink. Ottoline Gill, relishing her self-appointed position, led people to Laura and then quietly led them away toward the food table. Everything was well organized.
In the dining room, Market Shiflett kept replenishing the food supply at his own expense. Hogan had helped him secure his business loan. In the parlor, Aysha and Norman talked to people. From time to time Norman glanced at the front door. He looked miserable. Aysha looked appropriately sad.
Harry’s arrival with the two men riveted people’s attention until Kerry, released from the hospital that morning, arrived with Cynthia Cooper. At the door she greeted Dudley, who waved off Ottoline. He listened intently, then took Kerry directly to his mother. Ottoline was scandalized, and it showed. A hush fell over the room.
“Laura, I’m so terribly sorry.”
Laura lifted her head in recognition. “Did you shoot my Hogan?”
“No. I know it looks bad, but I didn’t. I admired and respected him. I would never have done anything so horrible. I’m here to offer my deepest sympathy.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
Jim Sanburne took control of the situation. “Folks, we’ve got to reach out for the best in each other. We’ll get through this, we’ll celebrate Hogan’s life by being more like him, and that’s by helping other people.”
“And by catching his killer!” Aysha glared directly at Kerry until Norman squeezed her upper
arm—hard.
“Hear. Hear.” Many in the room shared this sentiment.
As people gathered around Aysha, more people poured into the house. There was barely room to turn around. Norman slipped out. Kerry observed this and left, too, after saying good-bye to Laura. Cooper followed her at a discreet distance.
Norman was lighting a cigarette. He stood, forlorn, in the green expanse of the manicured lawn.
She slipped her arm through his, surprising him. “I must see you.”
“Soon.” He offered her a cigarette.
A car was heading toward them. He adroitly extricated them from the approaching light. “Maybe we’d better walk away from the house.”
As they walked off to the side yard, Kerry pleaded, “I can’t live this way, Norman. Are you going to tell her or not?”
“Tell her what?”
“That you’re leaving her.”
“Kerry, I told you I can’t handle a crisis in my home life and at work at the same time. And right now you’re looking down the barrel of a gun.” He stopped. “Sorry, it’s a figure of speech. Let me get through this thing at work and then I can attend to Aysha.”
“Attend to Aysha first,” she pleaded.
“It’s not that easy. She’s not that easy.”
“I know that. She used to be my best friend, remember?”
“Kerry”—he flicked the cigarette into the grass—“maybe I should give my marriage a chance. Maybe the stress at work has blunted my, uh—kept me from feeling close to Aysha.”
Kerry, shaking lightly, said, “Please don’t do that. Don’t jerk me around. Aysha cares only for Aysha.”
“I don’t want to jerk you around, but I’m in no condition to make a major decision, and neither are you. Monday I passed Hogan’s office. Blood was splattered on the wall. It made me sick. Every time I went downstairs I passed the mess. If you’d seen the blood, you’d be shook too.” He shuddered. “I can’t take this.”
“Time isn’t going to make you love Aysha.”
Pay Dirt Page 13