“Why not?” Brinkley asked.
“Too easy,” the tiger replied.
13
The south lawn at Poplar Forest afforded views of both the house and the Blue Ridge Mountains, the perfect outdoor setting for the fund-raiser.
Tazio, mindful of the staff’s time pressures, spoke to Robert Taney for fifteen minutes, then returned to Harry and Susan.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter prowled the grounds. The house, filled with people, would be difficult to get into without being detected.
“We’ll get in. Maybe not today but someday,” Mrs. Murphy grumbled.
“We may not be back,” Pewter reasonably replied.
“Mother’s curiosity will be lit. She’ll come back when she has time to really go through the building and the outbuildings. But for now we might as well enjoy the grounds. Lots of goldfinches to harass.” For once Pewter looked on the bright side.
The mercury climbed to the mid-seventies this September 22. The dogs rested in the shade.
“So the platform isn’t just for speeches. I should have asked you that in the first place.” Harry noted the dimensions that Tazio told her: twenty feet by fifteen. “You know, this is going to be big.”
“Building it in sections. We won’t drive one stake in the lawn.” Tazio, hands on hips, stood where she planned for the center to be. “Well, of course, there will be speeches after dinner. There always are. We’re even hiding a Porta-John behind the platform, in case someone up here has to go. Given the length of speeches, that seems inevitable.”
“I’d give more money if there weren’t speeches.” Susan smiled.
“Wouldn’t we all,” Tazio agreed. “However, the organizers need to be thanked, the chair always has to blab, and the politician of the moment really blabs on. And, of course, the director of restoration must speak. That I’ll enjoy. The rest of it is pure torture.”
“Aren’t you going to speak?” Susan asked.
Tazio’s hand flew to her bosom. “Me? God, no. I hate speaking in public.”
“Ned can give you lessons. He’s become one of those politicians, you know.” Susan loved her husband but had noted a certain amount of garrulousness creeping into his conversation.
“Bet he can,” Tazio wryly replied.
Harry, ever eager to keep on track—except when she veered off—said, “This is a big platform.”
“There will be a lattice behind it with fake ivy and wide ribbons woven through. That will be backlit. I’ve got to keep the generators somewhat quiet. With the restoration there’s a lot we can’t do, but the house isn’t wired for this kind of draw, anyway, hence the generators.”
“When you figure out how to silence a generator, let me know.” Harry appreciated the problem.
“I’m building domed ventilated housing. You’ll hear a hum but it will be muted, and the roof of the small little hives will be soundproofed.”
“That is so clever.” Susan admired Tazio’s creativity as an architect and practicality as a woman.
“Taz, what are you going to do on the platform?” Harry was impatient.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise, but I can tell you a few things. Okay, when people park, they will be led back to the lawn by servants in livery. And all the manner of the early nineteenth century will be in force. So each person will be addressed with their honorific, which was terribly important then, as was a graceful bow.”
“Great. I can be introduced as Farmer Haristeen.”
“You all will be Doctor and Lady Haristeen. Ned and Susan will be the Honorable and Lady Tucker, and so forth. Anyway, trays of drinks will be circulated, plus there will be a discreet bar under the arcade right over there.” She pointed to the arcade under the southern portico. “Then trays of hors d’oeuvres from the periods. Okay. So far so good. Nothing unusual. Then it’s time to sit and eat what would have been a feast in 1819. A feast now, too. I’m not giving away the menu. Folly would shoot me. But there will be a presentation, a tableau, and music while people eat.”
“A play?” Harry didn’t like the idea.
“No, Harry, a tableau. People will be in scenes, then the scenes will change. We aren’t doing a play, because you can’t really eat and watch a play. Dinner theater never works.”
“A pretty thing but no major distraction.” Susan figured it out.
“Right. Plus, it’s set on the southern side here, and people can watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains, as well, since the views are good to the west. It should be fantastic unless it rains.”
“Long-range predictions?” Harry watched the Weather Channel the way some people watched porn. “Clear. Cross your fingers.”
Tazio exhaled. “Okay, then come the speeches, and I will do everything in my power to keep them short, but you know how that goes.”
“Then what?” Harry was becoming intrigued.
“Then a little surprise.”
“On the platform?” Harry prodded more.
“Umm, some on the platform. You’ll see. It really will be so lovely, and this place deserves it. Everyone knows about Monticello and the University of Virginia as expressions of Jefferson’s creativity in architecture. Some even know about the state house in Richmond, but so few know about Poplar Forest, even in Virginia, which surprises me.”
“Oh, we learned about it in fifth grade, but it went in one ear and out the other.” Susan recalled their venerable fifth-grade teacher at Crozet Elementary. “You were in St. Louis, so you missed Mrs. Rogers’s breathless reenactments of Virginia history.”
“The moans while she died of tuberculosis were particularly compelling.” Harry grinned.
“Don’t forget her yellow-fever death,” Susan said.
“Or being shot by a minnie ball.”
Tazio stopped this romp down Memory Lane. “Was her husband an undertaker? One death after another.”
“Mr. Rogers ran the Esso station. Exxon now. She was a frustrated actress and figured out that death scenes carried more impact than pretending to be on a bateau rolling down the James River.”
“She did that, too,” Harry reminded Susan.
“Actually, she did.”
“See what I missed growing up in St. Louis,” Tazio replied. “Well, I’ve done my due diligence here. Let’s go back. I’ll have to make a few calls from the car, and I apologize.”
“Noticed your cell didn’t ring.” Harry never turned hers on unless she had to make a call.
“I needed a break. If Folly isn’t bugging me, it’s Carla. My other clients are okay. Oh, that reminds me, I need to get updated quotes on those furnace systems. Did a little more work on that. Haven’t had time to send it over to Herb, but it can wait until tomorrow. And, of course, thanks to Folly, I have to present all this to Marvin Lattimore.”
“Think Folly’s sleeping with him?” Susan could say this among friends.
Given Folly’s dazzlement by Marvin at vestry-board meetings, the possibility had become obvious to all.
“I don’t know. Penny won’t much like it.” Harry had wondered the same thing.
“She can’t be naive.” Tazio stooped to pick up her plans from the deep-green lawn. “He runs a charter airline. People who travel a lot, especially in those circumstances, have ample opportunity to indulge in affairs.”
“Marvin doesn’t strike me as the affair type,” Susan said.
“One-night stands.” Harry winked.
“Well…” Susan’s voice trailed off.
“All right, kids,” Harry called, and Tucker, Owen, and Brinkley scrambled to their feet.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter followed at a more leisurely pace.
At the parking lot, Susan lifted up the hatch on the station wagon and the animals jumped in. They’d stay in the back for a while. Sometimes the dogs fell asleep back there, but the cats always leapt into the backseat to keep the humans company.
No sooner did Susan pull out of the lot than Tazio’s cell rang.
“On course?” was al
l Folly Steinhauser uttered in Tazio’s ear.
“Yes,” came the equally terse reply.
“Good. Talk to you tomorrow. Have to meet again with the caterer.”
“Tazio, can you make calls if the radio is on low?” Harry asked.
“Sure.”
“Susan, see if you can get the news. I want to know about who shot Will.”
Susan clicked on the radio.
“Just press 103.5,” Harry said.
“NPR.” Susan knew the numbers. “That’s not going to work south of Lynchburg.”
“Damn.”
“You’ve got ants in your pants today.”
“Well, I want to know. Don’t you?”
“I do,” Susan agreed, while Tazio nodded as she punched in the number of the company building the platform.
As Tazio talked, Susan finally got a news station. First they endured the national news. The international was already over. Finally, local news came on, but it started with Richmond and the governor’s latest push for new road construction.
“I don’t care about northern Virginia.” Harry cupped her chin in her palm.
“Don’t be ugly.” Susan smiled. “If Ned ever runs for governor, they’ll vote for him up there.”
“I suppose.” Harry remained unconvinced.
“Today in Charlottesville, the sheriff apprehended Jonathan Bechtal, who confessed to the murder of Dr. Will Wylde. Bechtal stated that ‘Death must be met with death.’” The announcer continued on, then switched to baseball.
“The Orioles today—”
“Turn it off,” Harry groaned. “I can’t stand the bad news.”
“Cards.” Tazio cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of her mobile, a big smile on her face.
“Every dog has his day,” Susan, another Orioles fan, promised.
Tucker lifted her head but decided a comment would be useless. The humans wouldn’t understand, anyway.
“What a relief, they’ve got the killer.”
“Saves Little Mim’s behind,” Harry succinctly put it.
“Maybe,” Susan slowly drawled, for she was processing the road, her speed, the news, “but he said he had Wylde’s records. Who’s to say he won’t find a way to make them public? After all, he’s now the center of attention.”
“Bluffing.” Harry paused. “I hope.”
Tazio ended her call and another came in. “Yes.” Long silence. “I did.” More silence. “Give me the punch list. I’ll go over everything and I’ll measure everything, too. He’s blowing smoke up your fanny.” An even longer silence. “Good-bye.” This was said quite crisply. “I hate her!”
“What?” Harry leaned forward.
“Carla is having a cow because Mike McElvoy handed her a punch list of things that are supposedly not up to code at the house. It’s bullshit. I know the code. Unfortunately, she offered him money.”
“Oh, good God.” Susan rolled her eyes.
“A box of rocks.” Harry tapped her forehead.
“Much as I can’t stand her, Carla’s not stupid. I think she underestimated Mike. And I don’t know what his game is. I had some trouble with him on Penny Lattimore’s house and on Folly’s job, but nothing like this. I mean, Carla is raving mad, raving. She called me ‘incompetent,’ ‘high-handed’—it goes on.”
“Bet she’s sorry that the committee invited Mike and Tony Long.” Harry named the other building inspector going to the fund-raiser.
“That was the committee’s decision. There’s some sense to it. Mike and Tony get to see restoration in process, which can only help as more people try to be historically accurate. That’s the thinking, anyway.”
Harry offered an explanation. “Tazio, maybe she drinks. I mean, to explode like that or do something stupid like try to obviously bribe Mike. We all know palms get greased every day, but for God’s sake, she could have been subtle.”
“Now I have to deal with Mike pretending to be outraged. I loathe him, and she really was stupid,” Tazio complained.
Susan commiserated. “You’ve got your hands full.”
Tazio’s phone rang again. Carla, with more expletives.
Harry smiled when Susan glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “Glad I’m not building anything.”
Tazio pressed the off button. “I am going to kill that bitch!”
14
Each day contains twenty-four hours, except Monday, the longest day of the week. It contains thirty. That’s how Harry felt when she opened the back door, dropped her gear bag on the bench outside the kitchen door, and walked inside.
The phone rang just as she closed the door behind her.
“Hello.”
“Honey, I won’t get home until late,” Fair apologized. “I’m behind on the billing.”
“How about if I leave a casserole in the oven? You can heat it up when you get home.”
“Thanks, but I’ll order something.”
“Crozet Pizza,” she teased him.
“I love Crozet Pizza.” The little pizza joint was his favorite.
“You know how you’re always at me to streamline, become more efficient? Why don’t you hire a true office manager? Someone who can bill, answer the phones, and code.”
A veterinarian’s files, like a physician’s, have colored stripes called codes on their edges.
The process is so complicated that people take courses to understand it. If the bill doesn’t go out on time, the vet doesn’t get paid. If insurance companies are involved—and increasingly they were for horses—the cycle slowed even more.
“I can’t make up my mind. It’s not just the salary, it’s the payroll taxes, their insurance. Remember, I’m a small business, and there aren’t insurance packages that won’t blast the budget. We get by with workers’ compensation, another government cook-up. By the time I’m done paying out, that’s fifty or sixty thousand a year.”
“Be so much better if you could just hand the money to your employee.”
“What? Just think what would happen to all those sticky fingers along the way. No money would be on them. The whole thing is a giant con, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why people just go along.”
“Me, neither.” Harry’s impulse was to fight.
It seemed to Harry that most other people’s impulse was to allow themselves to be used, robbed, herded, so long as they could buy what they wanted. They told themselves, “You can’t fight city hall.” Funny, Harry thought, our ancestors did.
“How’d today go?”
“Poplar Forest—you won’t believe how much they’ve done. We stayed outside. I can’t wait to get inside, but the foundations for the old outside offices are uncovered. It’s just amazing.”
“I’ll soon see. How about Will’s murderer getting caught? That’s a blessing.”
“Sure is.” She paused. “But I’m suspicious. I don’t think it’s the whole story.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t, but, Harry, stay out of it,” Fair warned. “Let me go back to the salt mines. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After hanging up the phone, Harry fed the kids. The Fancy Feast smelled so good that she realized she was hungry.
“I hope you know, your food costs as much as mine.” She washed out the two tiny tins of cat food.
“We’re worth it,” Pewter replied saucily.
Harry then opened a small can of dog food, which she mixed into kibble for Tucker. Tucker could put on weight quickly, so she monitored the corgi’s diet.
“Here you go, Wonderdog.”
“Thank you.”
Harry checked the time on the old railroad wall clock. Six-thirty. She walked outside; the sun was setting behind the mountains. Whatever time was listed for sunset in the papers, it was earlier on her farm because of the mountains. Once the equinox approached, a chill seemed to descend upon the earth along with the sun. Along lower ridges, long golden slanting rays still pierced through. No one day looked like any other, and that
pleased her.
She walked back inside and dialed Cooper. “You on your way home?”
“Yep.”
“I made a tuna casserole and need help eating it.”
“Glad to be of service.” Cooper laughed.
Figuring she had about twenty-five minutes before the deputy showed up, Harry popped the casserole in the oven on low. She’d made it last night. Although not much for cooking, occasionally she could be roused to culinary labors—simple labors, nothing fancy.
She used the time to check the mares and foals, now six and seven months old. Time to wean. The hunters greeted her. She brought them in the barn in the mornings to eat a bit of grain and to have some alone time, then back out in the pastures they’d go. In winter’s bitter cold she’d usually bring them in at sunset, turning them out again in the morning. But the late-September nights, though carrying a chill, would stay in the high forties, low fifties. Pleasant enough, especially for horses, as these were their optimum temperatures, in contrast to those of humans.
No sooner had she come back in and set the table than Tucker announced Cooper’s arrival.
“I hate Mondays.” Cooper, in uniform, strode through the door.
“What would you like to drink?”
“A beer.”
With Fair back in the house, there was always good beer in the refrigerator. He limited himself to one a day, but he really wanted that one.
Out came the beer, the beer glass placed before Cooper. Harry, hotpads to the ready, pulled out the casserole, the aroma filling the kitchen.
“Do you want a salad?”
“Let’s eat the casserole. If I have room left, I’ll make it myself.” Cooper was delighted to have supper with her neighbor and friend. “Where’s Fair?”
“At the office doing the billing.”
“He needs help.”
“You tell him.” Harry put the casserole on a trivet, a large spoon alongside it, and sat down herself. “Dig in.”
Cooper did just that when Harry filled her plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Can you believe they’re not running their mouths?” Pewter thought it amusing.
“They will,” Tucker predicted.
The Purrfect Murder Page 9