Nodding, the soft light in the store enhancing her youthful look, MaryJo drummed her fingers on the counter. “Well, the biggest problem is the death of bald eagles. Yes, it is better than it once was, especially during the Reagan years. All that pesticide being used by farmers along the bay, along the James River, well, all the pastures and croplands by our rivers because that is the best soil. Anyway, furidan, now illegal, isn’t used anymore. The problem is, it can be stored, just not used. So we must remain vigilant.”
“Didn’t Virginia use stuff like that in our schools?” Harry inquired.
MaryJo, happy to be the repository for facts, quickly replied, “Schools and public buildings used chlordane. You needed a license to buy the stuff but not a license to use it, and it does kill germs. So janitors, who couldn’t read the labels, used chlordane in our schools. The stuff seeped through walls. Kids suffered from chronic ear and sinus infections.”
“And this stuff kills wildlife?” Liz’s eyebrows lifted upward.
“If it gets into the soil, but nothing is as bad as derivatives of nerve gas, which so much of the old stuff was. Makes a box turtle’s head swell. If humans are exposed, it throws off judgment, makes some people appear drunk. And even though we now have safeguards thanks to Governor Baliles when he was in office, there is a ton of stuff out there, stored.”
“Well, MaryJo, that is not comforting.” Harry smiled slightly.
“Can’t the State Pharmacy Board do anything?”
“First, they have to find it. Second, they must find who is using this awful stuff.” MaryJo’s voice grew louder.
“Better living through chemistry,” Liz sarcastically added. “People worry about oxycodone, heroin, it seems to me we are awash in rivers of bad stuff.”
“Well.” MaryJo drew herself up to her full height, about five-eight. “That’s why, Liz, you don’t want anything in this shop that could be mistaken for contraband or part of an animal killed, whenever, by something like furidan.”
“MaryJo.” Liz swept her arm toward the items in the case. “Why would anyone even think that? I’m a lot more concerned about whoever disarmed my security system and made off with the most expensive things. How they disarmed the security, bizarre.”
MaryJo paused dramatically. “Bizarre?”
“Is bizarre,” Liz corrected her. “So bizarre, so clean and neat, that I wonder how long before he comes back or some other electronic wizard, to disarm my security system and clean out the cash register before I take the cash to the bank. I take my proceeds to the bank every day now but it’s time consuming.” She slapped her hand on the counter. “I don’t want to live like this.”
“Smart. Who can sit around in a shop all day?” Tucker observed.
“Depends on what’s in it,” Pewter remarked. “What about PetSmart? Or another pet store full of treats and toys. Not so bad.”
“Still, you’re inside.” The dog was ready to go home and chase some squirrels.
“Panto is happy to help you if you need him to give you a figure for insurance, value, rarity,” MaryJo offered, forgetting Liz’s husband owned an insurance agency. “He knows so much. He travels all over the country for meetings, powwows. As he himself is Native, people trust him.”
“You’ve gone out west with him?” Liz asked.
“Bruce and I traveled with him last year to Arizona. We met with southwestern tribes. We did go off eventually by ourselves to see the Grand Canyon. Spectacular,” MaryJo enthused. “The Apaches are spectacular, too. They know and transmit their traditions.”
“Are you thinking about closing the shop?” Harry registered Liz’s frustration.
“I am. It will make Andy happy. He complains he never sees me. I always thought I’d like retail and I do. Trying to figure out what people will buy, staying just ahead of the curve. It’s a challenge,” Liz honestly told her. “I need to think about all this a bit more, more calmly. I don’t know why that robbery shocked me so much but it did. And I think what really got to me was what was taken. And what wasn’t. There’s something about it that makes me wonder. The Sioux dress, the beadwork bracelets, short deerskin shirts, museum quality. You see stuff like that at the powwows, the dancers. Everything modern was untouched. The chits stolen…I had them next to the bracelets. I expect the thieves will toss them, as they aren’t that valuable compared to the other stuff.” She inhaled. “And Christmas shopping is starting. I’d like to clean out my merchandise. Oh, I should shut up, I’m dispirited.”
“Liz, that makes perfect sense.” Harry consoled her. “Maybe you should bring Sugar to work with you. She’s big, if anyone has a funny idea, I think Sugar will dissuade them.”
Sugar was Liz’s majestic German shepherd.
“That’s why I have always left her at home. I didn’t want her to frighten anyone. People are afraid of shepherds and Dobermans.”
MaryJo stepped in. “Harry is right. Bring Sugar.”
“Well—”
“Liz, until you know what you’re going to do, make it easy on yourself,” MaryJo advised.
“I can smell old feathers,” Tucker idly mentioned.
“On the stolen deerskin, shoulders.” Mrs. Murphy, half asleep, woke up, as she noticed anything connected to birds.
MaryJo and Harry left together, the three animals on leashes with Harry. As the day proved cool, she wasn’t worried about the hot asphalt of the parking lot, so she brought them along. Finally, it was feeling a bit like fall.
“You know, contraband animal parts or animals themselves are a business of billions of dollars. People will kill for money, animals, even other people,” MaryJo forcefully said.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with Liz. She would never willingly support anything like that.” Harry stuck up for Liz, whom she much liked.
“No, I didn’t mean to imply that. I just wanted her to be aware of how people think today. Maybe whoever took the old dress felt it belonged back with the tribe that created it. When you think of some of the clothing created between 1870 and 1900 you realize how well made it is, how unique. Those jackets, tight, made out of skins with the fur left on, extraordinary. I can picture a brave wearing one.”
Harry smiled. “Me, too. Fur is warmer than cloth or the so-called new fabrics. Fur is perfect. Why do animals grow it and we don’t? You know, I can’t bring myself to wear a man-made fabric knowing it’s made from an old soda bottle.”
MaryJo responded, “That stuff always rustles.” She then added, “Still better than killing and skinning animals.”
“I read somewhere that chow chow owners save the fur they comb out of those thick coats, wash it, card it, and spin it into sweaters,” Harry said.
“Pewter, you’ve got enough fur for a sweater.” Tucker’s tongue hung out a little bit.
“Very funny. People don’t save cat fur.” She reached Harry’s Volvo, stood on her hind legs to paw the door with her front legs, claws unleashed.
“Because you lick it off, then throw up hairballs.” The dog let Harry pick her up when she opened the door.
Pewter shot in behind the corgi to attack her.
Screams followed as Mrs. Murphy crawled into the front seat to avoid them. More screams, bits of fur floating through the air.
“Harry, that really is a dangerous cat,” MaryJo said.
“She’s my guard cat.” Harry laughed.
January 31, 1786 Tuesday
Being tiny allowed Mignon to hide, squeezing herself behind barrels and hay bales in barns. She followed deer trails when she could, fearing exposure on roads. She knew if she boarded a boat anywhere, that would be it. A description of her was posted in stores in Virginia emphasizing that she was tiny, early thirties, upturned nose, attractive, skilled as a cook’s assistant.