“There really is a shade of difference.” Little Marilyn was surprised.
Within seconds Harry and Mrs. Hogendobber were on their hands and knees tossing the letters into piles segregated by year.
“You two are fast. Let me help.” Little Marilyn joined them.
“Want to work in the P.O.?” Harry joked.
Mim stayed in the chair. Her knees hurt and she didn’t want to admit it. Finally they had all the piles sorted out.
“There’s no doubt about this. Kerry’s postmarks are authentic. Aysha’s are authentic until 1987. Then the inks change.” Harry rubbed her chin. “This is strange.”
“Surely, there’s a mistake.” Mim was confused by the implication.
“Mim, I’ve worked in the post office since George took over in 1958. This postmark is forged. Any good stationer can create a round stamp. That’s simple. Aysha nearly matched the inks, probably from the postmarks on letters she’d received from Little Marilyn and Kerry in Europe, but different countries have different formulas. Well, now, think of stationery itself. Haven’t you noticed how the paper of a personal letter from England is a bit different from our own?”
“Then how did the letters get here?” Big Marilyn asked the key question.
“That’s easy if you have a friend in Crozet.” Harry crossed her legs like an Indian. “All she had to do was mail these letters in a manila envelope and have her friend distribute them.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, when George was postmaster, he let a lot of people behind the counter. We do too, to tell the truth, as you well know. It wouldn’t take much to slip these letters into the appropriate boxes when one’s back was turned. Some of the letters are addressed to Little Marilyn in care of Ottoline Gill.”
“Well, I guess we know who her friend was,” Harry said.
“Why would her mother participate in such subterfuge?” Mim was astounded. But then, Mim was also secure in her social position.
“Because she didn’t want anyone to know what Aysha was really doing. Maybe it didn’t fit the program,” Harry answered.
“Then where was she and what was she doing?” Little Marilyn, eyes wide, asked.
43
Little Marilyn turned over the letters to Rick Shaw that night. He emphatically swore everyone to secrecy when he arrived. Mim demanded to know what he was going to do about it, where it might lead, and he finally said, “I don’t know exactly, but I will do everything I can to find out why. I won’t set this aside—just trust me.”
“I have no choice.” She pursed her lips.
After he left, the group broke up to go home. Quietly pulling aside Harry, Little Marilyn nervously asked, “Would you mind terribly—and believe me I understand if you do—but if not, would you mind if I asked Blair to drive over to Richmond with me for the symphony?”
“No, not at all.”
“You see, I’m not sure of your status—that’s not how I meant to say it, but—”
“I understand. I’m not sure either.”
“Do you care for him?” She didn’t realize she was holding her hands tightly. Another minute, and she’d be wringing them.
Harry took a deep breath. “He’s one of the best-looking men I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I like him. I know you like his curly hair.” She smiled. “But Blair’s diffident, for lack of a better word. He likes me fine, but I don’t think he’s in love with me.”
“What about that fight at the party?”
“Two dogs with a bone. I’m not sure it was as much about me as about property rights.”
“Oh, Harry, that’s cynical. I think they both care for you very much.”
“Tell me, Marilyn, what does it mean for a man to care for a woman?”
“I know what they say when they want something—” Little Marilyn paused. “And they buy presents, they work hard, they’ll do anything to get your attention. But I’m not an expert on love.”
“Is anybody?” Harry smiled. “Miranda, maybe.”
“She certainly had George wrapped around her little finger.” Then Little Marilyn brightened. “Because she knew the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
They both laughed, which caused Mim and Mrs. Hogendobber to turn to them.
“How can you laugh at a time like this?” Mim snapped.
“Releasing tension, Mother.”
“Find another way to do it.”
Little Marilyn whispered to Harry, “I could bash her. That would do it for sure.”
Harry whispered back, “You’d have help.”
“Mother means well, but she can’t stop telling everyone what to do and how to do it.”
“Will you two speak up?” Mim demanded.
“We were discussing the high heel as a weapon,” Harry lied.
“Oh.”
Little Marilyn picked up the thread. “With all this violence—guns, strangling—we were talking about what we would do if someone attacked us. Well, take off your heels and hit him in the eye. Just as hard as you can.”
“Gruesome. Or hit him on the back of the head when he runs,” Harry added.
“Harry.” Mim stared hard at her feet. “You only wear sneakers.”
“Do you remember Delphine Falkenroth?” Miranda asked Mim.
“Yes, she got that modeling job in New York City right after the war.”
“Once she hailed a cab and a man ran right in front of her and hopped in it. Delphine said she held on to the door and hit him so many times over the head with her high heel that he swore like a fishmonger, but he surrendered the cab.” She waited a beat. “She married him, of course.”
“Is that how she met Roddy? Oh, she never told me that.” Mim relished the tale.
Harry whispered again to Little Marilyn, “A trip down Memory Lane. I’m going to collect Mrs. Murphy and Tucker and head home.”
Once home, she called Cynthia Cooper, who was already informed of the bogus inks and postmarks.
“Coop, I had a thought.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you go by Hassett’s to see if anyone there remembered Kerry buying the gun?”
“One of the first things I did after Hogan was killed.”
“And?”
“The paperwork matched, the driver’s license numbers matched up.”
“But the salesman—”
“He’d gone on vacation. A month’s camping in Maine. Ought to be back right about now.”
“You’ll go back, of course.”
“I will—but I’m hoping I don’t have to.”
“What are you up to?”
“Can’t tell.”
44
Cynthia Cooper never expected Frank Kenton to be attractive. She waited in the airport lobby holding a sign with his name on it. When a tall, distinguished man approached her, an earring in his left ear, she thought he was going to ask for directions.
“Deputy Cooper?”
“Mr. Kenton?”
“The same.”
“Uh—do you have any luggage?”
“No. My carry-on is it.”
As they walked to the squad car, he apologized for how angry he had been the first time she phoned him. Gruff as he’d been, he wasn’t angry at her. She declared that she quite understood.
The first place to which she drove him was Kerry McCray’s house. Rick Shaw awaited them, and as they all three approached the front door, Kerry hurried out to greet them, Kyle right behind her. Frank smiled at her. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Lady, I haven’t done a thing.”
As Frank and Cynthia climbed back into the squad car, Cynthia exhaled. “I’m half-glad Kerry isn’t Malibu and half-disappointed. One always hopes for an easy case—would you like lunch? Maybe we should take a food break before we push on.”
“Fine with me.”
Mrs. Hogendobber waved as Cynthia cruised by the post office. The deputy pulled a U-t
urn and stopped. She ran into the post office.
“Hi, how are you this morning?” Miranda smiled.
“I’m okay. What about yourself?”
“A little tired.”
“Where’s Harry and the zoo?”
“She’s up at Ash Lawn with Little Marilyn, Aysha, and Ottoline.”
“What in the world is she doing there, and what is Aysha doing there? Norman’s hardly cold.”
Mrs. Hogendobber frowned. “I know, but Aysha said she was going stir crazy, so she drove up to gather up her things there as well as Laura Freely’s. Marilyn’s lost two docents, so she’s in a fix. Anyway, she begged to have Harry for a day, since she knows the place so well. Harry asked me and I said fine. Of course, she’s not a William and Mary graduate, but in a pinch a Smithie will do. Little Marilyn needs to train a new batch of docents fast.”
Cynthia stood in the middle of the post office. She looked out the window at Frank in the air-conditioned car, then back to Mrs. Hogendobber. “Mrs. H., I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Of course.”
“Call Little Marilyn. Don’t speak to anyone but her. She’s got to keep Aysha there until I get there.”
“Oh, dear. Kerry’s out on bail. I never thought of that.” Miranda’s hand, tipped in mocha mist nail polish today, flew to her face. “I’ll get right on it.”
Then Cynthia darted into Market Shiflett’s, bought two homemade sandwiches, drinks, and Miranda’s peach cobbler.
She hopped in the squad car. “Frank, here. There’s been a change of plans. Hang on.” She hit the siren and flew down 240, shooting through the intersection onto 250, bearing right to pick up I-64 miles down the road.
“You’ll love the peach cobbler,” she informed a bug-eyed Frank.
“I’m sure—but I think I’ll wait.” He smiled weakly.
Once she’d maneuvered onto I-64, heading east, she said, “It’s a straightaway for about fifteen miles, then we’ll hit twisty roads again. I don’t know how strong your stomach is. If it’s cast iron, eat.”
“I’ll wait. Where are we going?”
“Ash Lawn, home of James Monroe. We get off onto Route 20 South and then hang a left up the road past Monticello. I’m hitting ninety, but I can’t go much more than forty once we get on the mountain road. Another fifteen, twenty minutes and we’re there.” She picked up her pager and told headquarters where she was going. She asked for backup—just in case.
“She’s a real cobra.”
“I know.”
Cynthia turned off the siren two miles from Ash Lawn. She drove down the curving tree-lined drive, turning left into the parking lot, and drove right up to the gift shop. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Frank was delighted to escape from the car.
Harry noticed that Little Marilyn was unusually tense. She hoped it wasn’t because she was failing as a docent. Harry shepherded her group through the house, telling them where to step down and where to watch their heads. She pointed out pieces of furniture and added tidbits about Monroe’s term of office.
Mrs. Murphy and Tucker had burrowed under the huge boxwoods. The earth was cooler than the air.
Aysha was underneath the house collecting the last of Laura Freely’s period clothing as well as her own. Ottoline was helping her.
Cynthia and Frank walked to the front door as nonchalantly as possible. Harry was just opening the side door to let out her group as Cynthia and Frank entered through the front.
As it was lunch hour, the visitors to Ash Lawn who would be in the next tour group, which was Marilyn’s, had chosen to sit under the magnificent spreading trees, drinking something ice cold.
Harry was surprised to find Cynthia there.
“This is Frank Kenton from San Francisco.”
Harry held out her hand. “Welcome to Ash Lawn.”
“It’s okay, Harry, you don’t have to give him the tour.” Cynthia smiled tensely.
Little Marilyn, having been warned by Miranda, contained her nervousness as best she could. “Should I call her now?”
“Yes,” Cynthia replied.
The candlesticks shook in their holders as Little Marilyn walked by. After a few minutes she returned with Aysha and Ottoline.
Aysha froze at the sight of Frank.
“That’s Malibu,” he quietly said.
“No!” Ottoline screamed.
Aysha spun around, grabbed Harry, and dragged her into the living room. Ottoline slammed the doors. When Cynthia tried to pursue her, a bullet smashed through the door, just missing her head.
“Get out of here, all of you!” Cynthia commanded.
Marilyn and Frank hurried outside. Marilyn, mindful of her duty, quickly herded the visitors down to the parking lot. The wail of a siren meant help was coming.
Mrs. Murphy leapt up. “Mom. Mom. Are you okay?”
Tucker, without a sound, scooted out from under the boxwood and shot toward the house.
Mrs. Murphy squeezed through the front door which was slightly ajar. Tucker had a harder time of it, but managed.
Cynthia was crouched down, her back to the wall by the door into the living room. Her gun was held at the ready. “Come on out, Aysha. Game’s up.”
“I’ve got a gun in my hand.”
“Won’t do you any good.”
Aysha laughed. “If I shoot you first it will.”
Ottoline called out, “Cynthia, let her go. Take me in her place. She’s lost her husband. She’s not in her right mind.”
Cynthia noticed the cat and dog. “Get out of here.”
Mrs. Murphy tore out the front door. Tucker waited a moment, gave Cynthia a soulful look, then followed her feline friend.
“Tucker, around the side. Maybe I can get in a window.”
They heard Harry’s voice. “Aysha, give yourself up. Maybe things will go easier for you.”
“Shut up!”
The sound of Harry’s beloved voice spurred on both animals. Mrs. Murphy raced to the low paned window. Closed. Ash Lawn was air-conditioned. Both cat and dog saw Harry being held at gunpoint in the middle of the room.
Ottoline stood off to the side of the doors.
“Tucker, these old windows are pretty low. Think you can crash through?”
“Yes.”
They ran back fifty yards, then turned and hurtled toward the old hand-blown window. Tucker left the ground a split second before Murphy, ducking her head, and hit the glass with the top of her head. Mrs. Murphy, her eyes squeezed tight against the shattering glass, sailed in a hairbreadth behind Tucker. Broken glass went everywhere.
Aysha whirled and fired. She was so set on a human opponent, she never figured on the animals. Tucker, still running, leapt up and hit her full force, and she staggered back.
Ottoline screamed, “Shoot the dog!”
Mrs. Murphy leapt up and sank her fangs into Aysha’s right wrist while grabbing on to her forearm with front and hind claws. Then she tore into the flesh for all she was worth.
Aysha howled. Harry threw a block into her and they tumbled onto the floor. Tucker clamped her jaws on a leg. Ottoline ran over to kick the corgi.
Mrs. Murphy released her grip and yelled, “The hand, Tucker, go for the hand.” Tucker bounded over the struggling bodies. Ottoline’s kick was a fraction of a second too late. Aysha was reaching up to bludgeon Harry on the head. Tucker savaged Aysha’s hand, biting deep holes in the fleshy palm. Aysha dropped the gun. Ottoline quickly reached for it. Tucker ran quietly behind her and bit her too, then picked up the gun.
Harry yelled, “Coop! Help!”
Mrs. Murphy kept clawing Aysha as Tucker eluded a determined Ottoline, her focus on the gun.
Coop held her service pistol in both hands and blew out the lock on the doors. “It’s over, Aysha.” She leveled her gun at the fighting women.
Harry, a bruise already swelling up under her left eye, released Aysha and scrambled to her feet. She was struggling to catch her breath. Ottoline ran up behind Coop and grabb
ed her around the neck, but Coop ducked and elbowed her in the gut. With an “umph” Ottoline let go.
Aysha started to spring out the door, but Harry tackled her.
Coop shoved Ottoline over to where Aysha was slowly getting up.
“You were so smart, Aysha, but you were done in by a dog and a cat.” Harry rejoiced as Tucker brought her the gun.
“It’s always the one you don’t figure that gets you.” Cynthia never took her eyes off her quarry.
Rick Shaw thundered in. He grasped the situation and hand-cuffed Aysha and Ottoline together, back to back, then read them their rights.
“Ow.” Aysha winced from where Mrs. Murphy and Tucker had ripped her hand.
Harry squatted down and petted her friends. She checked their paws for cuts from the glass.
“Why?” Harry asked.
“Why not?” Aysha insouciantly replied.
“Well, then how?” Cynthia queried.
“I have a right to remain silent.”
“Answer one question, Aysha.” Harry brushed herself off. “Was Norman in on it?”
Aysha shrugged, not answering the question.
Ottoline laughed derisively. “That coward. He lived in fear of his own shadow.” Ottoline turned to Rick Shaw. “You’re making a big mistake.”
Aysha, still panting, said, “Mother, my lawyer will do the talking.”
Harry picked up a purring Mrs. Murphy. “Aysha, your letters to Marilyn from St. Tropez and Paris and wherever—you faked the postmarks and did a good job. But it’s much harder to fake the inks.”
Ottoline grumbled. “You can’t prove that in a court of law. And just because I delivered fake postcards doesn’t make my daughter a criminal.”
Aysha’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “Mother, anything you say can be used against me!”
Ottoline shook her head. “I want to make a clean breast of it. I needed money. Stealing from a bank is ridiculously easy. Crozet National was very sloppy regarding their security. Norman was putty in my hands. It was quite simple, really. When he weakened, I strangled him. As he slowed by the canning plant I popped up out of the back seat and told him to pull over. He was harder to kill than I thought, but I did have the advantage of surprise. At least I didn’t have to hear him whine anymore about what would happen if he got caught.”
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