Lets go inside. Inez, who had probably seen more stables than any three people together, never tired of studying them.
The dogs preceded them, and Erno let out a yelp.
A mouse. I know where he is!
The gorgeous russet dog pounced at a tiny crack in the wood divider between stalls.
Erno, all barns have mice, even if they have cats or Jack Russells.
Doodles laughed.
You should know that.
Of course I do,
the young dog answered,
but I am a hunter, you know. If I had to, Id go after a boar.
Lets hope you dont have to,
Doodles said drily.
Bred for bird hunting, Doodles wasnt opposed to other forms of hunting but felt they were inferior to his task. He was good at it, too, and could stand stock-still for an hour.
Once inside, Inez whistled. The large brass knobs at the top of the scoop-necked stall openings had been polished until they gleamed. All the brass hardware shone.
The last time I was in here, these were standing stalls, Inez remembered.
Little Mim took out some of the dividers and made six big stalls. When this was built in oh, 1822, that was the fashion, as you know. You tied them to the manger and kept water and feed there, but they couldnt run out. No stall doors. She kept the look but put up the stall doors. Aunt Tally pointed to the floor. They worked on the laid-brick floor, too. Those two have such an eye, Aunt Tally bragged.
They sure do.
Inez, does it occur to you that theres more to Flos murder? Do you really believe a woman as intelligent as Mariah would kill Flo, even though she despised her, to avoid being exposed?
Seems like enough motivation.
Consider this. If Mariah confessed, groveled about her terrible mistake Aunt Tally paused. Did she have a wretched childhood?
I dont think so. Inez looked into her old friends lively eyes.
Okay, she cant hide behind that. She took a deep breath. Eau de cheval, her favorite aroma, filled her lungs. But if she acted contrite, how long would she serve? Three years? Five? And, being smart, shed come up for parole. Apart from the public humiliation, it wouldnt be that awful.
I never thought of that. But if Mariah is as intelligent as we think she is, shed have never sold bogus watches.
True, but greed infects even the intelligent. Maybe more so, because they think they can get away with it.
Youve got a point there, Inez agreed.
Speaking of intelligence, Lizs lightbulbTally tapped her templeis dimming.
Inez replied, Every time Liz talks to Terri Kincaid, Terri carries on. Liz knows shes emotional. Actually, Im not sure Terri is wrapped too tight.
Maybe she has help. Aunt Tally had been told by Inez about the broken jar and the white sand in plastic inside. Makes them jumpy. I remember some of Mothers big parties in the 1920s. Id peep down the stairs. Some people were quite open about a snort here or there. Aunt Tally shrugged. I dont know if its right or wrong. All I know is these days everything is demonized: sugar, cigarettes, etc.
Both Harry and I recognize that we dont really know, but can you imagine anyone not thinking cocaine?
Not these dogs. Aunt Tally turned to leave the beautiful stable. Are you telling Cooper?
No. If were wrong, what a horrible thing to do to Terri. If were right, it will come out in the wash sooner or later.
Right.
They retraced their steps, happy to be in the routine, as were the three dogs, who chased one another.
After a few quiet moments, Inez muttered, Its the damned messages. Why take that risk?
Ego, Aunt Tally responded with conviction, tapping the paving stones with her cane.
Then what else will she do? Inez wondered.
You mean to prove were all too dumb to catch her, especially the police and, I shall assume, her husband? Shes taunting everybody.
Mariah will have to up the ante, Inez grimly predicted.
Y
esterdays sunshine gave way to a low-pressure system with steady rain. Harry finished her chores, hung up her dripping Barbour coat, and stepped out of her work boots. The painted wooden floor of the screened-in porch felt cold to her feet. She stepped into the kitchen, where she peeled off her stockings. The work boots had sprung a leak.
After drying her feet with a towel, Harry knew she should clean out the broom closeta chore shed put off for two years. Its amazing how resourceful a human can be in avoiding an unwanted fox.
She opened the closet door, studied the mops, brooms, cleaning agents, and shelves with cans, jars, brushes.
Pewter, whod opted to stay in the living room rather than help Harry with the chores, heard the door shut.
So much for the broom closet.
Mrs. Murphy and Tucker, coming in to the living room to join Pewter, laughed.
Harry found her moccasins with fleece lining, then called out, Where are you?
Were hiding,
Mrs. Murphy called back in a high register.
Harry walked into the living room, the fleece feeling so good on her cold feet. Come here.
Tucker did. Mrs. Murphy didnt.
Here.
Tucker knew the drill.
Harry took the offered front paw, carefully wiping it dry. You know to wait for me. I dont want tracks all over the house.
Finished with Tucker, Harry walked to the sofa. Gimme.
Mrs. Murphy, already curled up on a needlepoint pillow, turned her head.
I see wet paw prints on this sofa.
Theyll dry,
the cat said.
Harry sat next to the beautiful tiger, who didnt move. She carefully wiped her paws.
Think of it as a feline pedicure.
Oh, Mom,
Mrs. Murphy replied.
Maybe shell paint your toenails.
Pewter giggled.
All you do is giggle. Whats with you?
Mrs. Murphy complained.
I could dust these bookcases. Harry put one hand on her hip.
Will you sit down and relax?
Pewter grumbled.
Why do humans have to make work? I cant stand it.
Thats why youre fat.
Mrs. Murphy cast her green eyes at Pewters rotund tummy.
I have big bones. Im not fat. Work has nothing to do with it.
Harry knelt down and slipped an early edition of
War and Peace
off the bookshelf. The edges of books on the bottom shelves displayed Tuckers teething marks from when she was a puppy.
The bookcase, which was floor to ceiling on either side of the fireplace, had been built by Harrys great-grandfather, a passionate reader, as was her mother. Many of the books they cherished remained exactly where Harrys kin had placed them. First editions of Faulkner, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, were recent compared to the first editions of Surtees, Tennyson, and Dickens. Harry knew these books would fetch a pretty penny in New York City, but there were some things with which one did not part.
Sandy McAdams and his wife, Donna, owned and operated Daedalus Bookshop at 123 Fourth Street NE, in the ever-expanding city of Charlottesville. Every now and then, Harry would wander in there, knowing shed kill two hours browsing, dreaming. Sandy, who had a flaming beard with streaks of gray, could be relied upon for a bracing
discussion. Once shed asked him how people could part with such treasures, and hed replied that so often the love of a good book didnt pass to the next generation. When the book lover died, the family sold all the books; hence Sandys enormous inventory.