Probable Claws

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Tuna puffs?” Pewter eagerly asked.

  “I’ll take a Milk-Bone. Cold makes me hungry,” Tucker chimed in.

  Cooper smacked the casserole onto a burner after spooning a lot out into a large frying pan. Frying anything pasta that had been cooked, to her, was better than eating a dish fresh.

  “I feel faint.” Pewter flopped on her side, eyes imploring pity.

  “Harry, you know where the treats are. I’d hate for your animals to perish in my house.” The tall woman laughed.

  Harry opened the cabinet door, handed out enough to shut everyone up.

  “Your husband is the best. I did manage to crawl down the drive last night, snow halfway up the wheels.”

  “Lots of wrecks?”

  “No. Surprisingly most people had the sense to stay in. I would have called you but no power, no phones, and my cell’s not working, either.”

  “Neither is mine. Sometimes the weather is bad and the cells work. Other times not. I have no idea why.” Harry handed out a second set of treats then sat at the tiny kitchen table.

  “First question. Do you remember how many of those file books, the big ones with the marbled exteriors, Gary had? The ones on the lower shelf.”

  “A lot. Other than that, I don’t know.”

  “Found the file books.”

  “Where?” Harry sat upright.

  “In a car, looked as though it had slid to the side of the road. With all the snow I wouldn’t swear to that. No driver. No personal items. It was a Yaris, a rent-a-car from Enterprise. The stuff was in the trunk.”

  “Any name?”

  “Yeah, the paperwork was in the glove compartment. Henrietta Bolander from Richmond had rented the car. Well, I hopped on that, holiday or not.” Cooper paused. “Her license was a fake and a damned good one.”

  “Weird.” Harry pursed her lips. “You looked in the files?”

  “Gloves on, I opened a box. Building codes. Like you said. We’ll need to go through all of the boxes just to be sure. A lot of building codes, I can tell you that. For just about any county in central Virginia and the counties around Richmond. Year after year. Dabney will go through it along with me once we can get to work. But I am not sure of the number of file boxes or books. Sure look like big books.”

  “Easy. Once you’ve gone through everything, bring it all back to Gary’s office. We’ll put them on the shelf. If one is missing we’ll know.”

  Cooper smiled. “You are so smart.”

  “No she’s not. Neither are you. Humans just think they’re smart.” Pewter, full, jumped on a kitchen chair.

  “I wouldn’t insult someone who just gave me a treat,” Mrs. Murphy corrected Pewter.

  “O la.” The gray cat preened. “They don’t know what we’re saying. You can call a human a fat, disgusting pig. All they hear is a meow.”

  It was on the tip of Tucker’s tongue to ask who was calling who fat. She thought better of it.

  Harry asked, “Did someone have a key to Gary’s office or break in? That can’t be classified information.”

  “No key. Whoever got in there had locksmith skills. Some marks marred the outside door, the metal surround also, but not much. They knew how to push back the tongue. Whoever this is knows things, practical things, and is bold.”

  Fair knocked, opened the door. They’d heard him cut off the tractor a few moments before.

  “Happy New Year.”

  Cooper, dishing out casserole, said, “Happy New Year back. I’m feeding you your wife’s cooking. Bet you two are hungry now.”

  “Cold makes you hungry.” Fair unwound his scarf, pulled off the heavy lined gloves, unzipped his Filson winter jacket, unzipped another layer under that. “The thing that gets me about winter is how long it takes to dress and undress.”

  “We move like snails.” Harry smiled. “Coop, want help with that?”

  “No, I’ve got plates. You can pour the coffee. Shenandoah Joe.”

  “Sure smells good.” Harry rose, lifted the coffee pot off the burner, pulled down heavy mugs. “We’ve got some good roasting places now. Even Lovingston has one.” She named the county seat of Nelson County, southwest of Crozet.

  Nelson, not a popular county, was growing like every other place in the area. The views of the Blue Ridge thrilled people. The counties north of Albemarle and east were growing faster than those south or west on the other side of the mountains. East lay Richmond. North lay Washington. People commuted. A few owned small planes, which certainly made for an easier commute if you could afford it.

  Fair sat down, a plate put in front of him of hot casserole: fresh tiny potatoes, chicken, parsley, carrots, peas, tiny bacon pieces. Harry loaded the casserole up.

  Pewter, chin on the table, worked her adoring but hungry look. Her long dark gray whiskers twitched forward.

  Tucker, by Harry’s chair leg, whispered to Mrs. Murphy, “God, what a ham.”

  “I heard that,” Pewter snapped.

  “Pewter, be quiet or I’ll make you get off that chair.” Harry glared at her.

  Pewter glared back but she did shut up.

  Cooper told Fair about the file boxes.

  “I vaguely remember those boxes in his drafting room. Beautiful, those old things, aren’t they? Now people stuff files in plastic boxes. They can’t have been too valuable, they were left in the car. Some people don’t even keep paper anymore. Everything is on the computer. ’ Course, they don’t think of days like today. No electricity. No satellite signal.”

  “Fair, we don’t know if they were all in the car. I expect we’ll know this week as your wife has made the sensible suggestion that we take them back to his office, put them on the shelf, and see if any are missing.”

  “Were they missing when you were there to see his plans?” Fair asked his wife.

  “No, everything looked like always.”

  He paused. “Someone came back. After Gary was shot. There must be something in them more valuable or dangerous than building codes.”

  “That thought had occurred to me.” Cooper remembered she hadn’t put out napkins. “But we will search the office more thoroughly now.” She pushed back her chair, opened a drawer, pulling out nice paper napkins.

  “Thank you.” Harry unfolded hers. “Candles next?”

  “Well, if it grows any darker, yes,” Cooper replied. “I haven’t checked the weather. Can’t. I use the weather app on my cellphone all the time.”

  “Same for us. I bet we’re in for more snow but how much, I don’t know.” Harry cleaned her plate. “Wanna bet?”

  “With a country girl? No.” Cooper held up her forefinger. “No.”

  “Well, I thought I’d beat the odds there. A big win.” Harry appeared disappointed then changed the subject. “No Henrietta Bolander. A fake name but a woman. Women attract less attention than men.”

  “That depends on the woman and what she’s wearing,” Fair posited.

  Both women looked at him, then each other and shrugged.

  A hum began. The lights came on.

  “Hooray. The rest of my house is about fifty-two degrees, Fahrenheit,” Cooper told them.

  “You’re very precise.” Fair smiled at her.

  “Thermometer for outside and inside in the upstairs bedroom. Helps me know how to dress.”

  “It’s fifty-two degrees. You have a fireplace up there,” Harry added.

  “Yes, but I was so pooped out I slept straight through the night. It went out.”

  “I do that sometimes, too,” Harry confessed. “Put a proper stove up there.”

  Fair leaned back in his chair, finished the bracing coffee. “Fake driver’s license, files still in the car. Puzzling. Murder. Astonishing.”

  Cooper thought, then said, “Millions of dollars are made in construction. Perhaps one of those early projects violated a code.”

  “It would have to be one hell of a violation.”

  “Whatever, if the files are the answer, I don’t know, but Gary was ki
lled. We know it wasn’t for love.” Cooper shrugged.

  “Millions?” Harry’s voice rose.

  “If one of those buildings he worked on has a huge structural flaw and people die, it’s possible the construction company could be sued for enormous sums. The other possibility is that someone took money under the table to look the other way during construction or the company paid money under the table to get the job in the first place. Big jobs like office buildings, hotels, even converting the tobacco warehouse and apartments are usually bid. Money under the table could save a bid. Given the millions of dollars to build, the millions in profits, that’s a big incentive.”

  “When I think of government I am reminded we are in this mess because government gives contracts to the lowest bidder. If that’s the case, and supposedly it is, why are we billions of dollars in debt?” Harry threw up her hands in frustration.

  “Because every time money changes hands it sticks to them.” Fair’s lip curled upward slightly. “Applies to private enterprise even more than government, but it’s more shocking when government corruption is unmasked.”

  “Should we be like Diogenes? Go through the streets of Athens holding a lantern looking for an honest man?” Cooper shook her head.

  “Well, you see where it got him. He wound up living with the dogs,” Fair said.

  “Hey,” Tucker barked.

  “He was right. Dogs never lie to you. The powers that be in Athens were like the powers that be everywhere. You can’t trust them, but I can trust Tucker.”

  “Me, too,” Pewter interjected.

  “Pewter, you don’t care.” Mrs. Murphy flicked her tail.

  “I didn’t say I cared but you can trust me.”

  “True enough.” Mrs. Murphy laughed at her sidekick.

  “Let me get home before it turns even darker. Thank you.” Fair got up, carried his plate, cup, and saucer to the sink.

  “I’ll wash them,” Harry offered.

  “No. I’ll do it. When we’ve gone through everything in the boxes, fingerprinted stuff, I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll be there.” Harry checked the window over the sink. “Little snowflakes. Just started.” She put on her scarf and coat. “Coop, whatever this is it seems to be well thought out, doesn’t it?”

  “Does.”

  “The impulse killings are easy, aren’t they?”

  “Sure are.”

  “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Harry kissed Coop on the cheek. “I’ll help any way I can. Happy New Year.”

  10

  November 15, 1786

  Wednesday

  Maureen Selisse Holloway determined to live life as a blonde. Catherine couldn’t help herself, she examined the middle-aged woman’s coiffure without Maureen noticing when she flounced her stunning royal blue brocade, cut low over the ample bosom with a sheer cover of Belgian lace.

  One must keep up social converse and it was the turn of the Cloverfields women to invite Maureen and her young husband for an intimate dinner.

  Bettina, as always, cooked a dinner of splendor. She could have cooked for any king in Europe and held her own with one of those chefs there. She’d heard there were Africans at the courts of Europe. The czar of Russia, or the czarina when a woman was in power, is guarded by two enormous ebony-skinned men, not brown, not light brown but ebony. Russia. Never. No matter what she might be paid should she ever be free, Russia was too cold. It was cold enough in Virginia.

  One thing about the cold, you could cook in the house kitchen. The summer kitchen, thirty yards away, connected by a herringbone brick–patterned walkway created the problem of how to keep the food hot as the girls ran it into the house. Still better than firing up a huge stove inside in July.

  Serena, twenty-five, worked closely with Bettina, observing everything the older woman did. Could she duplicate it someday? Yes. But Serena knew she would never reach Bettina’s creativity. The head cook would stare at a brisket of beef, tenderize it a little with her wooden square studded with wooden teeth, stare at it again, suddenly pull out spices, bay leaves, other things. Bettina would sing as she worked.

  The ladies sipped a light sherry while the men drank port in the library. Every now and then Bettina and Serena could hear Ewing or his sons-in-law laugh, and occasionally, Jeffrey, Maureen’s husband.

  As for the women, Serena would sneak down the hall to listen, tiptoe back. “Maureen swears the French court is the height of fashion. The English Queen is dowdy.”

  “How does she know?” Bettina dried her hands on a dish towel woven at Cloverfields.

  Cloverfields was as self-sustaining as possible.

  “Guess she’s been over there. Mr. Garth visited England and France when he was young. Charles came from England.” Serena dreamed of seeing the world, a dream followed by the inconvenience of travel as well as the fact that she was a slave. But certain indispensable slaves traveled with their master or mistress.

  Both women wore head rags. Bettina’s tied in the front with a square knot. Serena’s tied in the back. Neither knew why they did it that way, but it was what their kin taught them. They stuck to it.

  The kitchen, everything put in place, sparkled. The fire in the small hearth gave off the odor of hardwood. Bettina tossed in two oak logs.

  “Sit down, Serena. Let’s catch our breath.” The older woman sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

  “You outdid yourself tonight. No wonder you’re tired.”

  Bettina smiled. “I do so love to put that bitch in her place. And this new girl that attends to her, Elizabetta, isn’t much better than that damned Sheba. I hope she’s dead.” Bettina meant Sheba, who had disappeared about a month ago, along with a fabulously large pearl necklace.

  “No one’s heard anything. Big Rawly’s a hard place to live. Hard.” Serena sighed. “And Marcia, you’d think she’d be sweet like her real mother. Hellion. I am tempted to hit her upside the head.”

  Laughing, Bettina swatted good-naturedly at Serena. “Just wait. It’ll get worse.” She paused. “Why can’t that girl with Maureen be called Elizabeth? Elizabetta.” She twirled her hand in the air. “My, my.”

  “I guess if you work close with Maureen you turn into a snot, too.” Serena laughed.

  The little girl, Marcia, already an exotic beauty, was raised by Rachel as her own. Marcia was two years older than Rachel’s daughter Isabelle. Marcia’s mother was an escaped slave from Big Rawly, accused of killing Francisco Selisse. That he needed killing was never in doubt, but Ailee didn’t do it nor did her lover, Moses. He was helped to York, Pennsylvania, where he was safe. Ailee had been hidden at Cloverfields, gave birth to Marcia. When she looked at the baby, who looked white, which meant she was Francisco’s, Ailee hung herself. The slaves knew, as did Catherine, Rachel, John, and Charles. Ewing did not, nor did anyone off the estate.

  Bettina felt if the child could pass for white, they should all protect her. She’d be free. Well, she was free and a handful.

  Bettina hummed.

  “What’s that?” Serena asked.

  “I hear Rachel and Charles sing it. ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.’ ” She hummed some, and Serena, a good ear, picked it up with her.

  Footsteps alerted them.

  Catherine stepped into the kitchen. “I had to walk away just for a minute. You know, I would consider drowning Maureen if I thought I could get away with it. She’s in there carrying on about how dreadful Yancy Grant is and moreover she knows, knows in her heart, that he wants her. That’s really why Yancy and Jeffrey fought that silly duel.” Catherine put her hands on her hips. “Wonderful meal.” Then she smiled slyly. “Just kills her. Her cook is, shall we say, serviceable.”

  The three laughed.

  “Is it true Maureen is trying to buy a title for Jeffrey?” Serena looked up into those astonishing eyes of Catherine’s.

  “How did you hear that?”

  “DoRe.” Serena named the head coachman at Big Rawly, courting Bettina, as both
were widowed.

  “Now that you mention it, he did refer offhandedly to it, but I really didn’t pay but so much attention. Rachel is the one mesmerized.”

  “Miss Catherine.” Bettina’s voice hit the singsong register, meaning she knew Catherine was interested.

  A moment of silence, then Catherine admitted, “Well, it’s just so absurd.” Then she burst out laughing. “All right. Back to Purgatory. They’re discussing the merits of shirred velvet versus heavy satin for winter balls. But Maureen did say that Yancy called on them to sell a horse. He promised this spring will be a banner race season, much money to be won.”

  “Hmm.” Bettina wondered if DoRe counseled his mistress or if he’d let her throw her money about to make a big show.

  “If he visited Big Rawly, you know he’ll come calling,” Serena predicted.

  “And if he visited Big Rawly he must be desperate,” Bettina shrewdly asserted.

  “You’re right.” Catherine considered Bettina’s insight.

  More footsteps. Rachel stepped into the kitchen. “Your turn. I need a small escape.”

  Bettina rose. “Miss Catherine. Here. This will help.” She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a jar. “Raspberry jam. She loves our raspberry jam.”

  Catherine took the jar. “Good thinking. I’ll tell her it took me a while to find it.”

  She turned and left.

  Rachel sat down on the wooden bench. “Is it true Jeddie’s mother insists he marry?”

  “He’s nineteen. Isn’t he nineteen?” Serena asked. Bettina nodded yes, he was.

  “He doesn’t want to get married.” Rachel liked the young horseman who worked with Catherine.

  “Says she’s going to throw him out.” Bettina clucked. “And you know how Felicia can get.”

  “There’s an empty cabin near the weaving cabin. He’d be close to the women when they work. I mean if he came home early or something. That could be, well, you know.” Rachel was sensitive to such things.

  “He hasn’t found the right one. He’s not going to chase the girls or he’d be doing it already,” Bettina wisely noted.