Pay Dirt

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Miranda opened the front door. “You’ll get killed on that thing.”

  “I hope not. Is there a Bible quote for excessive speed?”

  “Off the top of my head, I can’t think of one. I’ll put my mind to it.” She closed the door.

  “Oh, Blair, she’ll worry herself to a nub. She’ll call her buddies in Bible study class. She won’t rest until she finds an appropriate citation.”

  “Should I take her for a ride?”

  “I doubt it. If it’s not her Ford Falcon, she doesn’t want to get in it or on it.”

  “Bet you five dollars.” With that he hopped up the steps into the post office.

  Harry closed the door behind her as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker greeted Blair.

  “Mrs. Hogendobber, I just happen to have two helmets and I want to take you for a ride. We can float across the countryside.”

  “Now, isn’t that nice?” But she shook her head no.

  Before he could warm up to his subject, the front door flew open and a glowering Norman Cramer stormed in.

  “How can you? This is in such bad taste!”

  “What are you talking about?” Blair replied since the hostility was directed at him.

  “That, that’s what I’m talking about!” Norman gesticulated in the direction of the beautiful bike.

  “You don’t like Harleys? Okay, you’re a BMW man.” Blair shrugged.

  “Everything was all right around here until the day that motorcycle appeared. How can you ride around on it? How can you even touch it! What’d you do, slip Rick Shaw money under the table? I thought unclaimed property was to go to public auction held by the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Wait a minute.” Blair relaxed. “That isn’t the murdered guy’s Harley. It’s not even black. Go out and take another look. I just bought this bike.”

  “Huh?”

  “Go look.” Blair opened the door for Norman.

  The two men circled the bike as the humans and animals observed from inside.

  “Norman’s losing it.” One side of Harry’s mouth turned up.

  “If you were caught between Kerry and Aysha, I expect you’d unravel too. Scylla and Charybdis.”

  “Steam was coming out of his ears. And how could he say something like that about Rick Shaw? Jesus, the crap that goes through people’s minds.”

  “Don’t take the name of Our Savior in vain.”

  “Sorry. Hey, here comes Herbie.”

  The reverend stopped to chat with the men, then entered the building. “Cheap transportation. Those things must get fifty miles to the gallon. If gas taxes continue to rise, then I might get one myself. How about a motorcycle with a sidecar?”

  “You going to paint a cross on it? A little sign to hang on the handlebars, ‘Clergy’?”

  “Mary Minor Haristeen, do I detect a whiff of sarcasm in your tone? Haven’t you read of the journeys of St. Paul? Imagine if he’d had a motorcycle. Why, he could have created congregations throughout the Mediterranean, Gaul even. Sped along the process of Christianization.”

  “On a Harley. I like that image.”

  “You two. What will you come up with next?” Miranda sauntered over to the counter.

  “Imagine if Jesus had a car. What would he drive?” Herbie loved to torment Miranda, and since he was an ordained minister he knew she would have to pay attention to him.

  “The best car in the world,” Miranda said, “my Ford Falcon.”

  “Might as well go back to sandals.” Harry joined in the game. “I bet he’d drive a Subaru station wagon because the car goes forever, rarely needs to be serviced, and he could squeeze the twelve disciples inside.”

  “Now, that’s a thought.” Herb reached down to pat Tucker, who walked out from under the countertop.

  Blair rejoined them. Norman too.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a little edgy.” Norman cast down his eyes.

  “Norman, you’ve got one woman too many in your life, and that’s not including Ottoline.” Mrs. Hogendobber was forthright.

  He blushed, then nodded.

  Blair lightheartedly said, “All those men out there looking for a woman, and you’ve got them to spare. How do you do it?”

  “By being stupid.” Norman valiantly tried to smile, then left.

  “Well, what do you think of that?” Miranda exclaimed.

  “I think he’s about to check into Heartbreak Hotel,” Harry replied.

  “Depressed.” Blair opened his mailbox.

  “Now, now, if he loves Aysha, he’ll work it out.” Herb believed in the sacrament of marriage. After all, he’d married half the town.

  “But what if he doesn’t love her?” Harry questioned.

  “Then I don’t know.” Herb folded his arms across his chest. “All marriage is a compromise. Maybe he can find the middle ground. Maybe Aysha can too. Her social climbing tries even my patience.”

  As Herb left, Cynthia Cooper arrived. “Thanks for your notes.”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Had to do something.”

  “I was up all night too,” Blair added. “If I’d known that, I would have come over.”

  “You devil.” Cynthia would have died to hear him say that to her. “Well, we checked out the signature card handwriting with the signature on Mike Huckstep’s income tax statements and driver’s license application with the graphologist from Washington. They are authentic. And Mrs. Huckstep’s signature is not his handwriting. He didn’t forge a signature. It’s not Kerry’s signature either. Two people signed the card.”

  “How’d you find out so fast?”

  “Wasn’t that fast. Try getting the IRS to listen to a tiny sheriff’s department in central Virginia. Rick finally called up our congressman and then things started to move. The DMV part was easy.”

  “Did Mike actually go into the bank and sign cards?”

  “Well, no one at the bank remembers seeing a man of his description. Or won’t admit to it.”

  “Coop, how did he sign?” Blair asked.

  “At gunpoint?”

  “Have you been able to question Laura yet?” Mrs. H. inquired. “She might remember something.”

  “She’s cooperated to the max. Once the shock wore off, she’s helped as much as she can because she wants to catch Hogan’s murderer. Dudley and Thea are doing all they can too. Unfortunately, Laura says she’s never seen anyone matching Huckstep’s description. Hogan would occasionally discuss bank problems with Laura, but usually they were people problems. The tension between Norman Cramer and Kerry McCray disturbed him. Other than that, she said everything seemed normal.”

  “And there’s nothing peculiar in anyone’s background at Crozet National?” Mrs. Hogendobber played with her bangle bracelets.

  “No. No criminal records.”

  “We’re still at a dead end.” Harry sighed.

  “You know, Harry, you’re the only person who has seen the killer,” Cooper replied.

  “I’ve wondered about that.”

  “What do you mean?” Blair and Miranda talked over each other but basically they said the same thing.

  “Whoever was riding that motorcycle when it almost side-swiped Harry at Sugar Hollow was most likely our man. Unless Huckstep rode out and rode back later.”

  “And all I saw was a black helmet with a black visor and someone all in black leather. A real Hell’s Angel.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Miranda wanted to know.

  “I did. I told Rick and Cynthia. I’ve racked my brain for anything, a hint, an attitude, but it happened so fast.”

  After Blair left to go riding around the countryside, Cynthia stayed on for a little bit. People came in and out as always, and at five the friends closed the post office to go home.

  Susan Tucker drove over with Danny and Brookie. They left Harry’s house about eight. Then Fair called. The night cooled off a bit, so Harry gratefully drifted off to sleep early.

  The jangle of the ph
one irritated her. The big, old-fashioned alarm clock read four-thirty. She reached over and picked it up.

  “Hello.”

  “Harry. It’s Fair. I’m coming over.”

  “It’s four-thirty in the morning.”

  “Norman Cramer’s been strangled.”

  “What?” Harry sat bolt upright.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I get there. Stay put.”

  35

  Cinnamon-flavored coffee perfectly perked awakened Harry’s senses. She’d brought the Krups machine into the kitchen from the barn. It was so fancy, she thought it was too nice to keep in the stable. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker ate an early breakfast with her. The owl, again furious at the invasion of privacy, swept low over Fair’s head as he trudged to the back door.

  “What happened?” she asked as she poured him a cup and set out muffins on the table.

  His face parchment white, he sat down heavily. “Bad case of torsion colic. Steve Alton’s big Hanoverian. He brought her over to the clinic and I operated. I didn’t finish up until three, three-thirty. Steve wanted to stay with her, but I sent him home to get some sleep. I came in through town and turned left on Railroad Avenue. Not a soul in sight. Then I passed the old Del Monte plant and I saw Norman Cramer sitting in his car. The lights were on, and the motor too. He was just kind of staring into space and his tongue was hanging out kind of funny. I stopped and got out of the truck, and as I drew closer I saw bad bruises around his neck. I opened the door and he keeled over out onto the macadam. Called Rick. He arrived in less than ten minutes—he must have gone a hundred miles an hour. Cynthia made it in twenty minutes. All I’d done was put my fingerprints on the door handle. I didn’t touch the body. Anyway, I told them what I knew, stayed around, and then Rick sent me home.”

  “Fair, I’m sorry.” Harry’s hands trembled. “If you’d been earlier, the murderer might have gone after you.”

  “I’ll see those dead eyes staring out at me for a long, long time. Rick said the body was still warm.” He reached for her hand.

  “If I make up the bed in the guest room, do you think you can sleep?”

  “No. Let me take a catnap on the sofa. I’ve got to get back to the clinic by seven-thirty.”

  She brought out some pillows and a light blanket for the sofa. Fair kicked off his shoes and stretched out. He wistfully looked at Harry as she reached to turn off the light. “I love being in this house.”

  “It’s good to have you here. I’ll wake you at six-thirty.”

  “Are you going back to sleep?”

  “No. I’ve got some thinking to do.” He fell asleep before she finished her sentence.

  36

  Harry used the tack room as an office. She pulled out her trusty yellow legal pad and wrote down everything Fair had just told her. Then she described what she knew about the killer of Mike Huckstep and Hogan Freely. Whether or not the same person or persons killed Norman was up for grabs, but he was head of the accounting department at Crozet National. Her guess was the three murders were tied together.

  She wrote:

  1. Knows how to operate a computer.

  2. Knows the habits of the victims.

  3. Knows the habits of the rest of us, although nearly caught after killing Hogan Freely.

  4. Kills under pressure. A quick thinker. Knocked out Kerry before Kerry could see him, then set her up as the killer . . . unless killer is Kerry’s accomplice. A real possibility.

  5. Works in the bank or knows banking routines perhaps from another job. Might have key.

  6. Possibly knows Malibu. May use her as bait. Perhaps Malibu is the killer or the killer’s partner.

  7. Feels superior to the rest of us. Fed media disinformation about the Threadneedle virus and then watched us eat it up.

  8. Can ride a motorcycle.

  At six Harry picked up the old black wall phone and called Susan Tucker. Murphy sat on the legal pad. The cat couldn’t think of anything to add unless it was “armed and dangerous.”

  “Susan, I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “Harry, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Fair’s asleep on the couch. He found Norman Cramer strangled early this morning.”

  “What? Wait a minute. Ned—Ned, wake up.” Susan shook her husband.

  Harry could hear him mumble in the background, a pair of feet hitting the floor, then the extension picked up.

  “Harry.”

  “Sorry to wake you, Ned, but I think this might help Kerry since you’re her lawyer. Fair found Norman Cramer strangled in his car in front of the Del Monte plant. About three-thirty this morning. He didn’t know he was dead. He opened the door and Norman keeled over onto the pavement. Fair said huge bruises around his throat and the condition of his face pointed to strangulation.”

  “My God.” Ned spoke slowly. “You were right to call us.”

  “Is everyone crazy? Is the murderer going to pick us off one by one?” Susan exploded.

  “If any of us interfere or get too close, I’d say we’re next.” Harry wasn’t reassuring.

  “I’m going to call Mrs. H. and Mim. Then I’ve got to wake up Fair. How about we all meet for breakfast at the café—seven-thirty? Umm, maybe I’d better phone Blair too. What do you think?”

  “Yes, to both,” Susan answered.

  “Good enough. We’ll see you there.” Ned paused. “And thank you again.”

  Harry called Mrs. Hogendobber, who was shocked; Big Marilyn, who was both shocked and angry that this could happen in her town; and Blair, awakened from a heavy sleep, was in a daze.

  She fed the horses, Mrs. Murphy, and Tucker. Then she woke Fair. They freshened up.

  “Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, this is going to be a difficult day. You two stay home.” She left the kitchen door open so the animals could go onto the porch. She left each of them a large bowl of crunchies.

  “Take me with you,” Tucker whined.

  “Forget it,” Mrs. Murphy said impassively. “As soon as she’s down the drive, I’ve got a plan.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “No, the humans are standing right here.”

  “They don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  Harry kissed both pets, then hopped in the old truck while Fair climbed into his big Chevy truck. They headed for the downtown café. He had called the clinic. The horse was doing fine, so he decided to join the group for breakfast.

  “Follow me,” Murphy commanded once the truck motors could not longer be heard.

  “I don’t mind doing what you ask, but I hate taking orders,” Tucker grumbled.

  “Dogs are obedient. Cats are independent.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  Nonetheless, Tucker followed as Mrs. Murphy scampered through the front meadows and the line of big sycamores along the creek that divided the pastures.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Kerry McCray’s. The fastest way is to head south. We can avoid the road that way too, but we’ll have to cross the creek.”

  “You get your paws wet?”

  “If I have to” was the cat’s determined reply.

  Moving at a sustained trot, the two animals covered ground rapidly. When they reached the big creek, Murphy stopped.

  “It’s high. How can it be high with no rain?”

  Tucker walked to a bend along the bank. “Here’s your answer. A great big beaver dam.”

  Mrs. Murphy joined her low-slung friend. “I don’t want to tangle with a beaver.”

  “Me neither. But they’re probably asleep. We could run over the dam. By the time they woke up, we’d probably be across. It’s either that or find a place to ford downstream, where it’s low.”

  “That will take too long.” She inhaled deeply. “Okay, let’s run like blazes. Want me to go first?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right behind.”

  With that, Mrs. Murphy shot off, all fours in the air, but running across a beaver da
m proved difficult. She had to stop here and there, since heavy branches and stout twigs provided a snaggy surface. Murphy could hear movement inside the beaver lodge. She picked her way through the timber as fast as she could.

  “Whatever happens, Murphy, don’t hit the water. They’ll pull you under. Better to fight it out on top of the dam.”

  “I know, I know, but there are more of them than us and they’re stronger than we are.” She slipped, her right front leg pushing into the lodge. She pulled it out as if it were on fire.

  Slipping and sliding, Murphy made it to the other side. Tucker, heavier, was struggling. A beaver head popped up in the water at the other end of the dam.

  “Hurry!” the cat shouted.

  Tucker, without looking back, moved as rapidly as she could. The beaver swam alongside the dam. He was closing in on Tucker.

  “Leave her alone. She’s trying to cross the creek. We mean no harm,” the pretty tiger pleaded.

  “That’s what they all say, and the next thing that happens is that men show up with guns, wreck the dam, and kill us. Dogs are the enemy.”

  “No, man is the enemy.” Mrs. Murphy was desperate. “We don’t belong to a person like that.”

  “You may be right, but if I make a mistake, my whole family could be dead.” The beaver was now alongside Tucker, who was almost to the creek bank. He reached up to grab Tucker’s hind leg.

  The dog whirled around and snarled. The beaver drew back for an instant. Tucker scrambled off the dam as the large animal advanced on her again. On terra firma both Tucker and Mrs. Murphy could outrun the beaver. They scorched the earth getting out of there.

  At the edge of the woods they stopped to catch their breath.

  “How are we going to get back?” Mrs. Murphy wondered aloud. “I don’t want to travel along the road. People drive like lunatics.”

  “We’ll have to find a place to ford far enough downstream so the beaver can’t hear us. We can’t swim it now. The lodge will be on alert.”

  “It’s going to take us over an hour to get home, but we’ll worry about it later. We can be at Kerry McCray’s in another ten minutes if we run.”