Pay Dirt

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Nuts. You’re a loony tunes, out there, Blue Angels.”

  “Mother, she’s always that way. The catnip brings it out more. Now, me, I’m a sane and sober dog. Reliable. Protective. I can herd and fetch and follow at your heels. Even with a bone, which I would enjoy right now, I would never descend to such raucous behavior.”

  “Bugger off,” Mrs. Murphy hissed at Tucker. The weed made her aggressive.

  “Fair is fair.” Harry walked into the kitchen and brought out a bone for Tucker before returning to her task.

  As the animals busied themselves, Harry finished off the box of clothing. She reached into the magazine box and flipped through the table of contents. “Umm, better save this article.” She clipped out a long piece on the Amazon rain forests.

  “Someone’s coming,” Tucker barked.

  “Shut up.” Murphy lolled her head. “You’re hurting my ears.”

  “Friend or foe?” the corgi challenged as the car pulled into the driveway.

  “Do you really think a foe would drive up to the back door?”

  “Shut up, yourself. I’m doing my job, and besides, this is the South. All one’s foes act like friends.”

  “Got that right,” the cat agreed, rousing herself from her catnip torpor. “It’s Little Marilyn. What the heck is she doing here at seven in the evening?”

  “Come on in,” Harry called. “I’m doing my spring cleaning, in August.”

  Marilyn opened the porch door. “At least you’re doing it. I’ve got a ton of my stuff to sort through. I’ll never get to it.”

  “How about an iced tea or coffee? I can make a good pot of hot coffee too.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “If you don’t need the iced tea, I do.” Harry put down her scissors.

  The two humans repaired to the kitchen. Harry’s kitchen, scrupulously clean, smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon. She prided herself on her sense of order. She had to pride herself on something in the kitchen, since she couldn’t cook worth a damn.

  “Milk or lemon?” Harry wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Oh, thank you. Lemon. I’m going to keep you from your chores.” Marilyn fidgeted.

  “They’ll wait. I’ve been on my feet all day anyway, so it’s good to have a sit-down.”

  “Harry, we aren’t the best of friends, so I hope you don’t mind my barging in on you like this.”

  “It’s fine.”

  She cast her eyes about the kitchen, then settled down. “I don’t know what to do. Two weeks ago Kerry asked me for a loan. I refused her. I hated to do it, but, well, she wanted three thousand dollars.”

  “What for?”

  “She said she knew her father’s cancer was getting worse. If she could invest the money, she could help defray what his insurance won’t cover. She said she’d split the profit with me and return the principal in a year’s time.”

  “Kerry’s a lot sharper than I thought.”

  “Yes.” Little Marilyn sat stock-still.

  “Have you told Rick Shaw or Cynthia?”

  “No. I came to you first. It’s been preying on my mind. I mean, she’s in so much trouble as it is.”

  “Yeah, I know, but”—Harry held up her hands—“you’ve got to tell them.”

  Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the kitchen counter, said, “What do you really think, Marilyn?”

  “She’s hungry.” Harry got up to open two cans of food for Mrs. Murphy and Tucker. Tucker gobbled her food while Mrs. Murphy daintily ate hers.

  “Thanks for hearing me out. We were all such good friends once. I feel like a traitor.”

  “You’re not. And horrendous as the process is, that’s what the courts are for—if Kerry is innocent, she’ll be spared. At least, I hope so.”

  “Don’t you know that old proverb? ‘Better to fall into the hands of the Devil than into the hands of the lawyers.’ ”

  “You think she’s sunk, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.” Little Marilyn nodded in the affirmative, tears in her eyes.

  32

  Every spare moment she had, Kerry punched into the computer in a back office. Cynthia told her she could go to work. She’d be formally arraigned tomorrow. Rick told the acting president, Norman Cramer, to allow Kerry to work. He had a few words with the staff which amounted to “innocent until proven guilty.” What he hoped for was a slip on Kerry’s part or the part of her accomplice.

  The thick carpeting in the officer branch of the bank muffled the footsteps behind her as she frantically pulled up records on the computer. Norman Cramer tapped her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Fooling around. Kind of like you, Norman.” Kerry’s face burned.

  “Kerry, this is none of your business. You’ll interfere with Rick Shaw’s investigation.”

  What neither of them knew was that Rick was monitoring Kerry’s computer. An officer down in the basement saw everything she called up.

  “Hogan Freely’s murder is everybody’s business. And I’d rather be chewed out by you than not try and come up with some clue, any clue.”

  His sallow complexion darkened. “Listen to me. Forget it.”

  “Why don’t you and I go outside and talk?”

  “And risk another scene? No.”

  “I knew you were a coward. I hoped it wasn’t true. I really believed you when you told me you’d leave Aysha—”

  He sharply reprimanded her. “It’s not appropriate to discuss personal matters at work.”

  “You won’t discuss them at any other time.”

  “I can’t. Maybe I know things you don’t and maybe you should forget about me for a while. You shouldn’t have come in today. It upsets everyone.” He spun on his heel and walked away.

  Steam wasn’t hotter than Kerry McCray. She followed him. “You sorry son of a bitch.”

  He grabbed her arm so hard he hurt her as he half pushed, half dragged her down the narrow corridor to the back door. He practically threw her down the steps into the parking lot. “Take the day off! I don’t care if Rick Shaw thinks it’s okay for you to be here. I don’t. Now, get out and chill out!” He slammed the door.

  Kerry sobbed in the middle of the parking lot. She walked over to her car, opened the door, and got inside. Then she put her head on the steering wheel and sobbed some more.

  Mrs. Hogendobber passed on her way from the bank. She hesitated but then walked over.

  “Kerry, can I help?” she asked through the rolled-down window.

  Kerry looked up. “Mrs. Hogendobber, I wish you could.”

  Mrs. Hogendobber patted her on the back. “‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you . . . For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? Do not even the publicans the same?’ ”

  Kerry recovered enough to remark, “Make that Republicans.”

  “There, there, I knew you’d perk up. I find the Bible always helps me in time of need.”

  “I think it was you as much as your quote. I wish I could be as wise and as calm as you are, Mrs. Hogendobber.” She opened her glove compartment for a tissue. “Do you believe I killed Hogan Freely?”

  Miranda said, “No.” She waited for Kerry to finish blowing her nose. “You just don’t seem like the type to me. I can imagine you killing Norman in a lover’s rage, but not Hogan.” She paused. “If you live long enough, honey, you see everything. You’re still seeing many things for the first time, including a two-timing ex-boyfriend. After a while you know what’s worth getting het up over and what just to let go. He married Aysha. Let him go. Reading the Good Book and praying to the Lord never hurt anyone. You’ll find solace there and sooner or later the right man will come into your life.” She inhaled. “It’s so hot. You’ll fry in that car. Come on over to the P.O. and I’ll make you some iced tea. I have some chocolate chip cookies, macadamia nut ones too.”

  “Thank you. I’m wrung out. I think I’ll go home and maybe I’ll take your advice and read th
e Bible.” She wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought.” Miranda smiled, then turned for the post office.

  Kerry drove off.

  Mrs. Hogendobber waited until there was no one else in the building to tell Harry about the episode. Crozet, being a town of only 1,733 people, didn’t miss much. A few noticed Kerry’s pursuit of Norman down the corridor. BoomBoom Craycroft saw him push her out of the building and fifteen people coming and going saw Mrs. Hogendobber consoling Kerry in the parking lot. Variations of the events made the rounds. Each telling exaggerated Kerry’s unhappiness and surmised guilt until she was suicidal. Norman’s handling of her seemed tinged by heroism to many.

  By the time Little Marilyn drove up to Ash Lawn to relieve Aysha, the tale was worthy of a soap opera, but then, maybe daily life is a soap opera.

  Everyone at Ash Lawn was working double duty since Laura Freely would not be returning for the remainder of the year. Trying to schedule and work in Ottoline, who substituted for Laura, frazzled Little Marilyn, in charge of the docents.

  Marilyn combed her hair and straightened up as Aysha finished a tour for a group of sightseers. More were coming, but Marilyn had about ten minutes before she would gather up a new group to commence the tour.

  Aysha related her version of the Norman-Kerry episode. Her gloating offended Marilyn Sanburne, Jr.

  “She’s the loser. You’re the winner. Be gracious enough to ignore her.”

  Aysha threw her shoulders back and squared her chin, prelude to some pronouncement of emotional significance tinged with her imagined superiority. “Who are you to dictate manners to me?”

  “I used to be your best friend. Now I wonder.”

  “You’re on her side. I knew it. Oh, don’t women just love a victim and Kerry paints herself as a real martyr to love—she’s a murderer, for chrissakes!”

  “You don’t know that and you don’t have to wallow in it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You look like you’re gloating to me,” Marilyn shot back. “Just drop it.”

  Aysha’s voice lowered, a signal that what she was about to impart was really, truly, terribly important and that she’d been keeping it in only because she was such a lady. “She kissed my husband at Hogan Freely’s wake.”

  Since neither Harry nor Cynthia had ever mentioned it, Marilyn didn’t know about the kissing part of the incident. As the two rivals had yelled and screamed at the top of their lungs, she certainly knew about the rest of it. She heard every word, as did most of the other mourners. “Look, I’d have been upset. I understand that. I wouldn’t want anyone kissing my husband, especially a former lover. But, Aysha, get over it. Every time you react to her, she gets what she wants. She’s the center of your attention, Norman isn’t, and she’s the center of Norman’s attention and you’re not. Rise above it.”

  “Easy for you to say. I remember in school how devious she was—so nice to your face, so vicious when you were out of sight—”

  “I don’t want to hear that stuff.” Marilyn advanced toward Aysha a step, realized what she was doing, and stopped. “Keep this up, Aysha, and you’ll be as big a bitch as your mother.”

  “You think you’re better than the rest of us because you’ll inherit your mother’s fortune. If Big Marilyn were my mother, I’d be worried. Every woman turns into her mother. Mine is small potatoes compared to yours.”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  “Those who have it never care about it. That’s the point! Someday I hope I have as much as you do so I can rub your nose in it.”

  “Your time is up. I’ll take over now.” Marilyn quietly walked into the front room to greet the visitors to Monroe’s home.

  33

  Air-conditioning was a luxury Harry couldn’t afford. Her house at the foot of Yellow Mountain stayed cool except on the worst of those sultry summer nights. This was one of those nights. Every window was open to catch the breezes that weren’t there. Harry tossed and turned, sweated, and finally cursed.

  “I don’t know how you can sleep through this,” she grumbled as she stepped over Tucker and headed toward the bathroom.

  As Harry brushed her teeth Mrs. Murphy alighted nimbly on the sink. “Hotter than Tophet.”

  Harry, mouth full of toothpaste, didn’t reply to Murphy’s observation. After rinsing, she petted the cat, who purred with appreciation.

  Walking through the house provided no relief. She wandered into the library, shadowed by Murphy.

  “Mother, this is the hottest room in the house. Why don’t you put ice cubes on your head and a baseball cap over them? That will help.”

  “I’m hot too, sweetheart.” Harry glanced at the old books her mother gleaned from the library sales she used to administer. “Here’s the plan. Let’s go into the barn, move the little table from the tack room out into the aisle, and think. The barn’s the coolest place right now.”

  “Worth a try.” Murphy raced to the screened-porch door and pushed it open. The hook dangled uselessly because the screw eye was long gone.

  As they walked into the barn, the big owl swooshed overhead. “You two idiots will spoil a good night of hunting.”

  “Tough.” Mrs. Murphy’s fur fluffed out.

  When Harry switched on the lights, the opossum popped his head out of a plastic feed bucket. “Hey.”

  “Simon, don’t worry. She doesn’t care. We’re going to do some research.”

  “Here?”

  “Too hot inside.”

  “Feels like being wrapped in a big wet towel out here. Must be even worse in the house,” Simon concurred.

  Harry, having no idea of the lively conversation taking place between her cat and the possum, carried the small table to the aisle, set up a fan, grabbed a pencil and yellow tablet, sat down, and started making notes. Every now and then Harry would slap her arm or the back of her neck.

  “How come the skeeters bite me and leave you alone?” she asked the tiger, who batted at the moving pencil.

  “Can’t get through the fur. You humans lack most protective equipment. You keep telling the rest of us it’s because you’re so highly evolved. Not true. An eagle’s eyes are much more developed than yours. So are mine, for that matter. Put on mosquito repellent.”

  “I wish you could talk.”

  “I can talk. You just can’t understand what I say.”

  “Murphy, I love it when you trill at me. Wish you could read too.”

  “What makes you think I can’t? Trouble is, you mostly write about yourselves and not other animals, so I find few books that hold my interest. Tucker says she can read, but she’s pretty shaky. Simon, can you read?”

  “No.” Simon had moved to another feed bucket, where he picked through the sweet feed. He especially liked the little bits of corn.

  Harry listed each of the events as she remembered them, starting with Mike Huckstep’s appearance at Ash Lawn.

  She listed times, weather, and any other people who happened to be around.

  Starting with the Ash Lawn incident, she noted it was hot. It was five of five. Laura Freely was in charge of the docents: Marilyn Sanburne, Jr., Aysha Cramer, Kerry McCray. Susan Tucker ran the gift shop. Danny Tucker was working in the yard to the left of the house. She and Blair were in the living room.

  She tried to remember every detail of every incident up to and including Little Marilyn’s visit to her concerning Kerry’s request for a loan.

  “Murphy, I give up. It’s still a jumble.”

  The cat put her paw on the pencil, stopping its progress. “Listen. Whoever is behind this can’t be that much smarter than you are. If they came up with this, then you’ll figure it out. The question is, if you do figure it out, will you be safe?”

  Harry absentmindedly petted Murphy as the cat tried to talk sense to her.

  “You know, I’ve sat up half the night making lists. The so-called facts are leading me nowhere. Sitting here with you, Murphy, no chores, totall
y quiet, I can think. Time to trust my instincts. Mike Huckstep knew his killer. He walked deep into the woods with him. Hogan Freely may or may not have known his killer, but the murderer certainly knew Hogan, knew he was working that night, and had the good fortune to walk into an unlocked bank, or he or she had a key. Any one of us in Market Shiflett’s store knew Hogan would be in the bank. He told us. Laura knew, but I think we can let her off the hook. I wonder if he told anyone else?”

  “The thick fog gave the killer a real bonus.” Mrs. Murphy remembered the night vividly.

  Harry tapped the pencil on the table. “Was it planned or was it impulse?”

  Harry wrote out her thoughts and waited for the sunrise. At six, since Mrs. H. was up and baking by then, she phoned her friend. She asked her to cover for her for half an hour. She needed to drop something off at the sheriff’s office.

  At seven she was at Rick Shaw’s office, where she left her notes with Ed Wright, who was ending his night shift. By eight Rick called. He’d read the notes and he thanked her.

  She sorted the mail with Miranda while telling her what she wrote down for Sheriff Shaw. On those rare occasions when she was up all night she usually got very sleepy about three in the afternoon. She figured she’d nod out and she warned Mrs. Hogendobber not to be too angry with her. However, the events of the day would keep her wide awake.

  34

  At the beginning of the day Harry blamed the bizarre chain of events on the fact that it was cloudy. That, however, couldn’t explain how the day ended.

  At ten-thirty Blair Bainbridge pulled into the front parking lot of the post office on a brand-new, gorgeous Harley-Davidson. It appeared to be black, especially under the clouds, but in the bright sunlight the color would sparkle a deep plum.

  “What do you think?” Blair asked.

  Harry walked outside to admire the machine. “What got into you?”

  “Grabbing at summer.” He grinned. “And you know, when I saw Mike Huckstep’s Harley, I was flooded with memories. Who says I have to be mature and responsible twenty-four hours a day? How about twenty hours a day, and for four hours I can be wild again?”