“I’ve got my wind back. Let’s boogie.”
They dashed through the fields of Queen Anne’s lace, butterfly weed, and tall goldenrod. A small brick rancher came into view. Two squad cars were parked behind Kerry’s Toyota. Its trunk lid was up.
“I hope we’re not too late.” Murphy put on the turbocharger.
Tucker, a speed demon when she needed to be, raced next to her.
They made it to the cars as Kerry was being led out of her house by Sheriff Shaw. Cynthia Cooper carried a woven silk drapery cord with tasseled ends in a plastic bag.
“Damn!” Murphy snarled.
“Too late?” Tucker, having lived with Mrs. Murphy all her life, figured that the cat had wanted to explore before the cops arrived.
“There’s still a chance. You jump on Cynthia when she reaches to pet you and grab the plastic bag. I’ll shred it as quickly as I can. Stick your nose in there and tell me if Kerry’s scent is on the rope.”
Without answering, Tucker charged Cynthia, who smiled at the sight of the little dog.
“Tucker, how did you get over here?” Tucker clamped her powerful jaws on the clear plastic bag, catching Officer Cooper by surprise. “Hey!”
Yanking it out of Cooper’s hand, Tucker raced back to Mrs. Murphy, who was crouched back in the field, where Cynthia couldn’t see her.
The minute Tucker dropped the bag under Murphy’s nose, she unleashed her claws and tore for all she was worth. Cooper advanced on them, although she didn’t know Murphy was there.
Tucker stuck her nose in the bag. “It’s not Kerry’s scent.”
“Whose scent, then?”
“Rubber gloves. No scent other than Norman’s cologne.”
“Mrs. Murphy, you’re as big a troublemaker as Tucker.” Cooper disgustedly picked up the shredded bag.
“If you had a brain in your head, you’d realize we’re trying to help.” Murphy backed away from Cynthia. “Tucker, just to be sure, go sniff Kerry.”
Tucker eluded Cynthia’s grasp and ran over to Kerry, who was standing by the squad car.
“Tucker Haristeen.” Kerry’s eyes filled with tears. “At least I’ve got one friend.”
Tucker licked her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Rick moved toward Tucker, and the dog spurted out of his reach. “Tucker, come on back here. Come on, girl.”
“No way.” The dog barked as she rejoined Mrs. Murphy, lying flat on her belly in the orchard grass.
“Let’s head back before they take us to the pound for punishment.”
“They wouldn’t do that.” Tucker glanced back at the humans.
“Coop might.” Murphy giggled.
“Kerry’s scent isn’t on the cord. After checking, I’m doubly positive.”
As they leisurely walked back toward their farm, the two animals commiserated over Kerry’s fate. The killer planted the murder weapon in the trunk of her car. Given Kerry’s threats to kill Norman, which every human and animal in Crozet knew about by now, she had as much chance of being found innocent as a snowball in hell. Even if there was doubt about her shooting Hogan Freely, there would be no doubt about Norman.
By the time they reached the creek, they both felt down.
“Think we’re far enough away from the beaver?”
“Murphy, it’s not that deep downstream. If we fool around and try to find a fording place you can clear with one leap, we’ll be here all day. Just get your paws wet and be done with it.”
“Easy for you to say. You like water.”
“Close your eyes and run if it’s that bad.”
Tucker splashed across the creek. Murphy, after ferocious complaining, followed. Once on the other side, Tucker had to wait for her to elaborately shake each paw, then lick it.
“Do that when we get home.”
Mrs. Murphy, sitting on her rear end, had her right hind leg straight up in the air. “I’m not walking around with this creek smell on me.”
Tucker sat down since she couldn’t budge Mrs. Murphy from her toilette. “Think Norman was in on it?”
“That’s obvious.”
“Only to us.” Tucker stretched her head upward.
“The humans will accept that Kerry killed him. A few might think that he was getting too close to the killer in the bank—or that he was her accomplice and he wimped out.”
“Kerry could have killed him and used rubber gloves. It’s possible that we’re wrong.”
“Doesn’t everything come down to character?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Tucker, if Norman wasn’t the person behind the computer virus, do you think he was the type to track the killer? To keep on the case?”
“He wasn’t a total coward. He could have unearthed something. Since he works in the bank, he’d tell someone. Word would get around—”
Mrs. Murphy finished her ablutions, stood up, and shook. “True enough. But we’ve got to trust our instincts. There men have been killed with no sign of struggle. I could kick myself from here to Sunday for not running into the alleyway to see the car. I heard the killer’s car the night Hogan was shot. Both Pewter and I did.”
“I’ve told you before, Murphy, you did the right thing.” Tucker started walking again. “I don’t think the murderer will strike again unless it’s another bank worker.”
“Who knows?”
37
Harry, Fair, Mrs. Hogendobber, Susan, Ned, Blair, Big Marilyn, and Little Marilyn watched out the café window as Cynthia Cooper drove by in the squad car. Kerry McCray sat in the back seat behind the cage. No sooner had the dolorous spectacle passed than Aysha Cramer, pedal to the metal, roared past the café in her dark green car. Fair stood up, and as he opened the door, a crash could be heard. Within seconds Rick Shaw screeched by, a cloud of dust fanning out behind him. He hit the brakes hard, fishtailing as he stopped.
By now the remainder of the group hurried outside to join Fair, who was running at top speed toward the site of the wreck. Aysha had deliberately sideswiped Cynthia Cooper’s squad car, forcing the deputy off the road. Cynthia, ever alert, stayed inside the car and locked the doors. She was talking on the radio.
“I’ll kill her! Unlock this door! Goddammit, Cynthia, how can you protect her? She killed my husband!”
Rick pulled in behind Cooper. He leapt out of the car and hurried over to Aysha.
“Aysha, that’s enough.”
“You’re protecting her. Let me at her! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
As Rick and Fair struggled with Aysha, who would not release the door handle, Mrs. Hogendobber quoted under her breath, “‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord’—”
From inside the car Kerry screamed, “I did not kill him. You killed him. You drove him to his death!”
Aysha went berserk. She twisted away from the two men, strengthened by blind rage. She picked up a rock and smashed the back window of the car. Fair grabbed her from behind, slipping his powerful arms inside hers. She kicked backward and hit his shin, but he perservered and, with Rick, Ned, and Blair, pulled her away from the car. She collapsed in a heap by the side of the road. Aysha curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth and sobbing.
Cynthia prudently used the moment to pull away.
Rick motioned for the men to help him put Aysha in his car. Fair picked her up and carried her. He placed her in the back seat. She fell over and continued weeping.
Big Marilyn walked around to the other side of the car. Ned stepped in. “Mim, I’ll go. If she loses it again, you may not be able to restrain her.”
“I’ll get in the front with Sheriff Shaw. We’d better get her to Larry.” Larry Johnson, the old town doctor, and his partner, Hayden McIntire, treated most of the residents of Crozet.
“That’s fine,” the sheriff agreed. “I’ve had to tell many people terrible news, but I’ve never been through one like this. She ran right over me and jumped into her car.”
“Takes everyone differently, I guess.” Har
ry felt awful. “Better call her mother.”
As if on cue, Ottoline sped down the road, slammed on the brakes, and fishtailed in behind her daughter’s car. She got out, leaving her door open.
“This doesn’t bring him back.” Ottoline slid into the back seat of Rick’s car.
“I hate her!” Aysha sobbed. “She’s alive and Norman’s dead.” She scrambled out of the other side of the back seat. Ottoline grabbed for her, but too late. Aysha stood by Deputy Cooper’s car, screaming, “Why didn’t you put her in jail after she shot Hogan Freely? You left a killer out among us, and now . . .” She collapsed in tears.
Ottoline, by now out of Rick’s cruiser, helped her to her feet.
Rick hung his head. “There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Like what?” Ottoline snarled.
“Like the fact that Kerry McCray had a goose egg on her head and was knocked out cold,” Cynthia answered.
“And she had the gun that killed Hogan in her hand!” Aysha lurched away from her mother. She faced Rick. “You’re responsible. Norman is dead because of you.”
“Come on, honey, let me take you home.” Ottoline tugged at Aysha.
“Aysha,” Harry said coolly, “did Norman have a close friend in the bank?”
Aysha turned a bloodshot eye on Harry. “What?”
“Did he have a buddy at Crozet National?”
“Everyone. Everyone loved him,” Aysha sobbed.
“Come on now. You’re going to make yourself sick. Come on.” Ottoline pushed her toward her car, the driver’s side door still hanging open. She imparted a shot to Harry. “Your sense of timing is deplorable.”
“Sorry, Ottoline. I’m trying to help.”
“Harry, stick to postcards.” Ottoline’s tone was withering.
Harry had to bite her lip.
As Ottoline with Aysha, and Cynthia with Kerry, drove away, the remaining friends stood in the middle of the street, bewildered. Market and Pewter were running toward them along with Reverend Jones. Harry cast her eyes up and down the street. She could see faces in every window. It was eerie.
Fair brushed himself off. “Folks, I’ve got to get back to the clinic. If you need me, call.” He slowly walked to his truck, parked in front of the café.
“Excuse me.” Blair trotted to catch up to Fair.
“Oh, my, we forgot to pay,” Little Marilyn remembered.
“Let’s all go back and settle up.” Harry turned for the café and wondered what the two men were talking about.
38
A dejected Cynthia Cooper returned to her desk after depositing Kerry, in a state of shock, at the county jail. Fortunately, there were no other women in custody, so she wouldn’t be hounded by drug addicts, drunks, or the occasional hooker.
Cynthia was plenty disturbed. The phones rang off the hook. Reporters called from newspapers throughout the state and the local TV crew was setting up right outside the department building.
That would put Rick in a foul mood. And if Rick wasn’t happy, nobody was happy.
She sat down, then stood up, then down, up, down, up. Finally she walked through the corridors to the vending machines and bought a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes. She stared at the bull’s-eye in the middle of the pack. She’d better damn well get lucky. She peeled off the thin cellophane cord, slipped off the top, tore a small square in the end, and turned the pack upside down. The aroma of fresh tobacco wafted to her nostrils. Right now that sweet scent smelled better than her favorite perfume. She tapped the base of the pack and three white cigarettes slid down. She plucked one, turned the pack right side up, and slipped it in her front shirt pocket. Matches came down the chute with the pack. She struck one and lit up. Leaning against the corridor wall, she didn’t know when a cigarette had tasted this good.
The back door opened, and she heard the garble of reporters. Rick slammed the door behind him, walked past her, grabbed the cigarette out of her mouth, and stuck it in his own.
“Unfiltered,” she called out to him.
“Good. Another nail in my coffin.” He spun on his heel and returned to her. She had already lit another cigarette. “I should have arrested Kerry right away. I used her for bait and it didn’t work.”
“I think it did. Even if she killed Norman. He was her accomplice. Cool. Very cool. He married Aysha to throw us off.”
“So you don’t buy that Kerry McCray took the wind out of Norman’s sails?” Rick gave her a sour look.
Cynthia continued. “It was perfect.”
“And Hogan?”
“Got too close or—too greedy.”
Rick took a long, long drag as he considered her thoughts. “A real cigarette, not some low-tar, low-nicotine crap. If I’m gonna smoke, then I might as well go back to what made me smoke in the first place.”
“What was it for you?”
“Camels.”
“My dad smoked those. Then he switched to Pall Mall.”
“How about you?”
“Oh, Marlboro. At sixteen I couldn’t resist the cowboy in the ads.”
“I would have thought you’d have gone for one of those brands like Viceroy or Virginia Slims.”
“The murder weapon was on the seat of Kerry’s Toyota,” Cynthia said. “As for Virginia Slims, too nelly . . . know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do. As to the cord . . . it’ll come back no prints. I’ll bet you a carton of these babies.”
“I’m not taking that bet, but, boss, no prints doesn’t mean Kerry wasn’t smart enough to wear gloves. She’s been threatening to kill Norman for days.”
“That’s just it, Coop. Smart. If she was smart enough to team up with Norman, to invent the Threadneedle virus, she wouldn’t be dumb enough to get caught with a .357 in her hand or that cord in her possession.” Rick nearly shouted. “And there’s the unfortunate problem of Mike Huckstep.”
“Yeah.” She thought a minute. “Think she’ll get out on bail?”
“I hope not.” A blue, curling line of smoke twirled out of his mouth. “She’s safer in there and I can keep the reporters happy with the news she’s booked for murder.”
“Safer?”
“Hell, what if Aysha goes after her?”
“Or she goes after Aysha?”
“More likely. This way we can keep everyone out of our hair for a little bit.”
“You’re up to something.” Coop had observed Rick’s shrewdness too many times not to know he was springing a trap.
“You’re going to talk Frank Kenton into flying out here from San Francisco.”
“Fat chance!”
“We’ll pay his way.” He held up his hand. “Just leave the wrangling about money to me. Don’t worry about it.”
“You think he can identify Malibu?”
“He can take a good look at Kerry. That’s a start.”
“But Kerry never lived in San Francisco.”
“How do we know? We’ll question her and cross-examine her and it’s possible, just possible, that something will slip. I think if she sees him, it will scare the devil out of her.”
“Or someone else.” Cynthia stubbed out her cigarette in the standing ashtray filled with sand.
“That too. That too. So, topgirl, get on it.”
“What’s this topgirl stuff?”
“Dunno, just popped into my head.”
39
BoomBoom Craycroft dashed into the post office. The place had been a madhouse all day as people hurried in and hurried out, each one with a theory. Pewter curled up in the mail cart. She missed her friends, but she was glad to catch the human gossip.
“Guess you heard I was pushed off the road by Aysha. How was I to know Norman had been killed and she was chasing Kerry?”
“None of us knew, and you look none the worse for wear. The Jag seems okay too.” Harry’s tone was even.
“My guardian angel was working overtime.” BoomBoom opened her mailbox. “These bills. Have you ever noticed they come right on time but t
he checks never do? Then again, the stock market being what it is, who knows from quarter to quarter how much money they have? I hate that. I hate not knowing how much money I’ve got coming in. Which reminds me. Did you know the bank found $250,000 in Kerry’s account?”
“Oh?” Mrs. Hogendobber came over to the counter.
“I just came from there. The place is a beehive—$250,000! She certainly didn’t make that much at Crozet National. And it wasn’t in her account yesterday. If she’d been patient, she could have had it all, unless, of course, she’s a small fry and this is a payoff.”
“BoomBoom, who told you? I’d think the bank or at least the Sheriff’s Department would want to control this information.”
“Control information? You were born and bred in Crozet. You know better than that,” BoomBoom hooted.
“How’d you find out?” Mrs. Hogendobber was pleasant.
“Flirted with Dick Williams.” She mentioned a handsome bank officer who was always solicitous of the ladies but most especially of his wife, Bea. BoomBoom added, “Well, actually it was Jim Craig who told me and Dick, politely, mind you, told him to hold his cards close to his chest for a while. So I batted my eyes at both of them and swore I’d never tell. Who cares? It will be on Channel 29 tonight.”
And with that she breezed out the door.
“What an airhead.”
“You don’t like her because she took up with Fair after your divorce.”
“You don’t like her either.”
“That’s true,” Miranda confessed.
Pewter popped her head up over the mail cart. “She’s a fake, but half the people you meet are fakes. What’s one more?”
“Do you want to come home with me tonight?”
“Harry, I would love to come home with you.” Pewter hopped out and vigorously rubbed Harry’s legs.
“Lavish with her affections,” Mrs. Hogendobber observed. The older woman sat down. “I feel so tired. I shouldn’t be. I got enough sleep, but I can’t keep my head up.”
“Emotions. They’re exhausting. We’re all ragged out. I know I am.”
Before Harry could sit down with Miranda, Susan opened the back door and stuck in her head. “Me.”
Pay Dirt Page 17