Pay Dirt
Page 20
Mrs. Murphy reached out with her paw, claws extended. “Aysha, are you going to stand there and let your mother take the rap?”
“I hate cats,” Aysha spat at the little tiger who had foiled her plans.
“Well, this one was smart enough to stop you,” Cynthia sarcastically said.
“That’s enough.” Rick wanted to get mother and daughter down to the station to book them. He pointed toward the squad car. As they were handcuffed back to back, walking proved difficult.
“Did you kill Hogan Freely too?” Harry asked Ottoline.
“Yes. Remember when we were in Market Shiflett’s? Hogan said he was going to work late and bang around on the computer. He was intelligent enough that he might have—”
“Mother, shut up!” Aysha stumbled.
“What if Hogan had figured out my system?” Ottoline said, emphasizing “my.”
“There is no system, Mother. Norman was stealing from the bank. Hogan threatened him. He killed Hogan and his accomplice inside the bank killed him. Kerry was his partner. He betrayed me.”
“He did?” Ottoline’s eyebrows jumped up. She thought a second, then her tone changed as she followed Aysha’s desperate line of reasoning. “What a worm!”
“Aysha, we know you worked at the Anvil. You can’t deny that.” Harry, still quietly seething with anger, argued as she followed them to the squad car.
“So?”
Ottoline went on rapidly, babbling as though that would get the people off the track. “I had to do something. I mean, my daughter, a Gill, working in a place like that. She was just going through a stage, of course, but think how it could have compromised her chances of a good marriage once she returned home, which she would do, in time. So I begged her to write postcards as if she were still in Europe. I took care of the rest. As it was, she had drifted away from Marilyn and Kerry so they didn’t know exactly where she was. Sending fake postcards wasn’t that hard, you see, and her reputation remained unsullied. I don’t know why young people have to go through these rebellious stages. My generation never did.”
“You had World War Two. That was rebellion enough.”
“I’m not that old,” Ottoline frostily corrected Harry.
“Ladies, these are good stories. Let’s get to the station house and you can make your statements and call your lawyer,” Rick prodded them.
Frank Kenton followed Cynthia. As he opened the door to her squad car he gave Aysha a long, hard look.
Defiantly, she stared back.
“I’ll live to see you rot in hell.” He smiled.
“I like that, Frank. There’s a real irony to that—you as a moral force.” Aysha laughed at him.
“Don’t lower yourself to talk to him,” Ottoline snapped.
“She lowered herself plenty in San Francisco,” Frank yelled at Ottoline. “Lady, we’d have all been better off if you hadn’t been a mother.”
Ottoline hesitated before trying to get in the back seat of the squad car. Rick held open the door. The way the two women were handcuffed, they couldn’t maneuver their way into the car.
“This is impossible.” Aysha stated the obvious.
“You’re right.” Rick unlocked her handcuffs.
That fast, Aysha sprinted toward the trees.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Rick dropped to one knee while pulling his revolver.
Cynthia, too, dropped, gun at the ready. Aysha made an easy target.
Tucker dug into the earth, flying after Aysha. Passing the human was easy for such a fast little dog. She turned in front of Aysha just as Rick fired a warning shot. Harry was going to call the dog back but thought it unwise to interrupt Tucker’s trajectory. Aysha glanced over her shoulder just as Tucker crouched in front of her. She tripped over the little dog and hit the ground hard.
Cynthia, younger and faster than Rick, was halfway there, when a wobbly Aysha clambered to her feet.
“Goddamned dog!”
“Put your hands behind your head and slowly, I said slowly, walk back to the squad car.”
Ottoline, crying uncontrollably, slumped against the white and blue car. “I did it. Really. I’m guilty.”
“Shut up, Mother! You never listen.”
A flash of parental authority passed over Ottoline’s face. “If you’d listened to me in the first place, none of us would be in this mess! I told you not to marry Mike Huckstep!”
“I don’t know anyone by that name!” Aysha’s whole body contorted with rage.
Ottoline’s face fell like a collapsed building. She realized that in her frantic attempt to save her daughter she had spilled the beans.
45
Reverend Jones was the last to join the little group at Harry’s farm for a potluck supper hastily arranged by Susan. He greeted Mrs. Hogendobber, Mim, Little Marilyn, Market, Pewter, Ned, Blair, Cynthia, Kerry McCray, and her brother, Kyle.
“What did I miss?”
“Idle gossip. We waited for you,” Mrs. Hogendobber told him. “Fair’s the only one missing. He’ll come when he can.”
“Did you ever find out how Aysha transferred the money?” Susan eagerly asked.
“Yes, but we don’t know what she’s done with it, except for the sum she transferred into Kerry’s account. She fully intends to hire the best lawyer money can buy and serve out her jail term if she doesn’t get capital punishment. She’ll probably be out on good behavior before she’s fifty, and then she’ll go to wherever she’s stashed the money.” Cynthia sounded bitter.
“How’d she do it?” Mim asked again.
“There was a rider attached to the void command in the Crozet National computer. Remember all the instructions for dealing with the Threadneedle virus? Well, it was brilliant, really. When the bank would void the command of the virus to scramble files, a rider would go into effect that instructed the computer to transfer two million dollars into a blind account on August first. The money didn’t leave the bank. Later Aysha or Norman squirreled it out. For all we know, it may still be in that blind account, or it may be in an offshore account in a country whose bankers are easily bribed.”
“Where was Mike Huckstep in all this?” Blair was curious.
“Ah . . .” Cynthia smiled at him. She always smiled at Blair. “That was the fly in the ointment. She had everything perfectly planned, a plan she undoubtedly stole from Huckstep, and he shows up at Ash Lawn just before her trap was set to spring. She wasn’t taking any chances and she was shrewd enough to know the death of a biker wouldn’t pull at many heartstrings in Crozet. She coolly calculated how to get away with murder. She told him she was enacting his plan. He signed the bank cards willingly, thinking the ill-gotten gain would be pirated into his account. They’d be rich. Norman inserted the account information into the system, not knowing who Mike really was. Meanwhile, Aysha told Mike she wanted him back. He didn’t know she was married to Norman, of course. She told him how awful she’d felt running out on him, but she was afraid of total commitment, and when she realized her mistake she couldn’t find him—he’d moved from Glover Street, where they used to live. She suggested he pick her up on the motorcycle and they could cruise around. Bam! That was it for Mike Huckstep, her real husband. Not only is she a killer and a thief, she’s a bigamist.”
“How did he find her?” Harry wondered.
“He knew her real name. Aysha got a break when he showed up at Ash Lawn strung out like he was. He called her by the name he knew best. Of course, Ottoline is claiming Huckstep must have been killed by a drug dealer or some other low life—anyone but her precious daughter.”
“So, Coop, how did Huckstep find Aysha?” Susan asked.
“Oh,” she said, smiling, “I got off the subject, didn’t I? He must have tapped into our Department of Motor Vehicle files or he could have zapped the state income tax records. The man seems to have been, without a doubt, a computer genius.”
“Imagine if that mind had been harnessed to the service of the Lord,” Mrs. Hogendobber mused.
“Love. He was still in love with her, despite all,” Blair firmly stated. “You could see that the day he came to Ash Lawn. Some men are gluttons for that brand of punishment.”
“We’ll never really know.” Cynthia thought Blair’s interpretation was on the romantic side.
“Takes some people that way,” Kerry ruefully added to the conversation.
“Guess he got more and more lonesome and—” Susan paused. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. But what I can’t figure out is how he knew to go to Ash Lawn.”
“Yeah, that’s weird.” Little Marilyn recalled his visit.
“My hunch is that Aysha bragged about her pedigree, that old Virginia vice. She probably said she was or would be a docent at Monticello or Ash Lawn or something like that. I doubt we’ll ever truly know because she is keeping her mouth shut like a steel trap.” Cynthia shook her head. “In fact, if it weren’t for the way Ottoline keeps letting things slip, we wouldn’t know enough to put together a case.”
“Poor Norman, the perfect cog in her wheel.” Kerry’s eyes misted over.
“Why couldn’t Mike put his plan into effect?” Little Marilyn asked.
“A man like that wouldn’t have friends inside a bank. He needed a partner who was or could be socially acceptable. I suppose the original plan entailed Aysha working inside a bank,” Mim shrewdly noted.
“Aysha decided she could pull it off without him,” Cynthia said. “When he showed up she shrewdly told him she’d found a dupe inside the bank. They could be in business pronto. Although Mike probably did love her as Blair believes, she couldn’t control him the way she could control Norman. And she definitely had her eyes on the whole enchilada.”
“I keep thinking about poor Hogan. There he was in Market’s store, telling us he was going to work late that night, telling Aysha.” Susan shivered, remembering.
“He scared her for sure. The fog was pure luck.” Cynthia glanced over at Blair. He was so handsome, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
Little Marilyn noticed. “Thank God for Mrs. Murphy and Tee Tucker, they’re the real heroes.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Pewter chided.
“You’re out of sorts because you missed the fireworks.” Mrs. Murphy preened.
“You’re right.” Pewter tiptoed toward those covered dishes in the kitchen.
“Has she shown any remorse?” Mrs. Hogendobber inquired.
“None.”
“Ottoline says Aysha is being framed. She insists that Kerry is the culprit while she killed Norman to spare her daughter a dreadful marriage.” Mim rose to signal time to eat. “But then, Ottoline always was a silly fool.”
“Whose blood was on the saddlebag?” Harry asked.
“What blood?” Mim motioned for Little Marilyn to join her. “I don’t know anything about blood.”
“A few drops of blood on Mike Huckstep’s saddlebags.” Cynthia checked her hands and decided she needed to wash them before eating. “Aysha’s. She must have had a small cut.”
By now the humans had invaded the kitchen. Much as they wanted to wait for Fair, their stomachs wouldn’t. Besides, with a vet, one never knew what his hours would be.
Little Marilyn had cooked crisp chicken.
“Don’t forget us,” came the chorus from the floor.
She didn’t. Each animal received delectable chicken cut into small cubes. As the people carried their plates back into the living room, the animals happily ate.
Miranda asked, “What about Kerry?”
“Aysha was slick, slick as an eel.” Cynthia put down her drumstick. “First she used the term Threadneedle because she knew Kerry worked for a bank in London, near the Bank of England, on Threadneedle Street. She figured by the time we unearthed that odd fact, Kerry’s neck would be in the noose. Aysha had a fake driver’s license made with her statistics and photograph but with Kerry’s name, address, and social security number, which she pulled out of the bank computer in Norman’s office. She bought the gun at Hassett’s that way.”
“Fake driver’s licenses?” Miranda was surprised.
“High school kids are a big market—so they can buy liquor,” Harry said.
“How would you know that?” Miranda demanded.
“Oh—” Harry’s voice rose upward.
“It’s a good thing your mother is not here to hear this.”
“Yes. It is.” Harry agreed with Miranda.
“But why would Aysha kill Norman? He was her cover,” Marilyn wanted to know.
“She didn’t,” Harry blurted out, not from knowledge but from intuition and what she had observed at Ash Lawn.
“Norman chickened out after Hogan’s murder. White-collar crime was all right, but murder—well, he was getting very shaky. Aysha was afraid he’d crack and give them away. Ottoline, terrified that her daughter might get caught, really did strangle him. I’m sure the old girl’s telling the truth about that, although we don’t have any proof.”
“So Ottoline knew all along.” Harry was astonished.
“Not at first.” Cynthia shrugged. “When Mike Huckstep’s body was found, Ottoline got her first seismic wake-up call. When Hogan was killed, she had to have known. Aysha may even have told her. Like I said, Aysha denies everything and Ottoline confesses to everything.”
“She killed to protect her daughter.” Mim shook her head.
“Too late. And planting the weapon in Kerry’s Toyota—that was obvious and clumsy.”
“Then it was Aysha driving the motorcycle out from Sugar Hollow?” Harry remembered her close call.
“Yes.” Cynthia finished off a chicken wing as the others chatted.
“You know,” Mim changed the subject, “Ottoline was forever Aysha’s safety net. She never let her grow up in the sense that the woman was never accountable for her actions. The wrong kind of love,” Mim observed. “Hope I didn’t do that to you.”
Her daughter answered, “Well, Mother, you’d be happy to live my life for me and everyone else’s in this room. You are domineering.”
A silence descended upon the group.
Big Marilyn broke it. “So . . .?”
They all laughed.
“Did you think it was Aysha?” Pewter spoke with her mouth full.
“No. We just knew it wasn’t Kerry. At least we were pretty sure it wasn’t,” Tucker replied.
“I’m happy we’re alive.” Murphy flicked her tail. “I don’t understand why humans kill each other. I guess I never will.”
“You have to love them for what they are.” Tucker snuck over to sniff Pewter’s plate.
Pewter boxed Tucker on the nose. “Watch it. I don’t have to love a poacher!”
“You take so long to eat.” Tucker winced.
“If you’d eat more slowly you’d enjoy it more,” Pewter advised.
They heard the vet truck pull up outside, a door slamming, then Fair pushed open the screen door. The friends, intent on their dinners, greeted him. Then one by one they noticed.
“What have you done?” Mrs. Hogendobber exclaimed.
“Curled my hair a little,” he replied in an unusually strong voice. “Didn’t come out quite the way I expected.”
“Might I ask why you did it?” Harry was polite.
“Works for Blair.” He shrugged. “Thought it might work for me.”
Dear Highly Intelligent Feline:
Tired of the same old ball of string? Well, I’ve developed my own line of catnip toys, all tested by Pewter and me. Not that I love for Pewter to play with my little sockies, but if I don’t let her, she shreds my manuscripts. You see how that is!
Just so the humans won’t feel left out, I’ve designed a T-shirt for them.
If you’d like to see how creative I am, write to me and I’ll send you a brochure.
Sneaky Pie’s Flea
Market
c/o American Artists, Inc.
P.O. Box 4671
Charlottesville, VA 22905
In felinity,
SNEAKY PIE BROWN
P.S. Dogs, get a cat to write for you!
Books by Rita Mae Brown with Sneaky Pie Brown
WISH YOU WERE HERE
REST IN PIECES
MURDER AT MONTICELLO
PAY DIRT
MURDER, SHE MEOWED
MURDER ON THE PROWL
CAT ON THE SCENT
SNEAKY PIE’S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS
PAWING THROUGH THE PAST
CLAWS AND EFFECT
CATCH AS CAT CAN
THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF
WHISKER OF EVIL
Books by Rita Mae Brown
THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK
SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN
THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER
RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE
IN HER DAY
SIX OF ONE
SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT
SUDDEN DEATH
HIGH HEARTS
STARTING FROM SCRATCH:
A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITERS’ MANUAL
BINGO
VENUS ENVY
DOLLEY: A NOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND WAR
RIDING SHOTGUN
RITA WILL: MEMOIR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER
LOOSE LIPS
OUTFOXED
HOTSPUR
FULL CRY
Praise for
The Mrs. Murphy Series
THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF
“You don’t have to be a cat lover to enjoy Brown’s eleventh Mrs. Murphy novel. . . . Brown writes so compellingly . . . [she] breathes believability into every aspect of this smart and sassy novel.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Rita Mae Brown’s series remains one of the best cat mysteries. . . . Brown keeps the series fresh.”
—The Post & Courier (Charleston, SC)
“The animals’ droll commentary provides comic relief and clues helpful in solving the crime.”