He walked around to the front of the post office, opened the door. As the door was closing, his attacker leapt at him so quickly Nordy didn't have time to step back. He threw up his left hand, too late. He dropped like a stone from a ballpoint pen driven up through his left eyeball clean into his brain. Not a drop of blood fell on the floor.
The killer calmly took a chamois cloth to wipe the footprints where he had stood, flattened against the wall. Then he wiped up prints as he backed out the front door.
When Amy Wade entered the back door at seven A.M., she hung up her coat, then unlocked the thin corrugated metal pulldown, which came down to the countertop like a garage door, and pushed it up over her head. It took a moment for her to realize a dead man lay on the floor. She flipped up the divider, hurried over, and beheld the grisly sight. She sucked in her breath, holding it, and raced for the telephone.
Cynthia Cooper happened to be cruising through town, and when she arrived minutes later, she noted the position of the body and saw that the small muscles had gone into rigor. She'd never seen anyone killed with a ballpoint pen. She wasn't an unfeeling woman but one who, like every other law-enforcement officer who has to witness brutal things, had developed a balancing sense of humor. When her boss, Sheriff Rick Shaw, pushed open the door, she gave him a moment to assess the situation, then said, "The pen is mightier than the sword."
22
The orange cordon around the area where Nordy's body had been discovered stopped everyone walking into the post office. Human nature being what it is, plenty of people who didn't rent a postbox in Crozet filed through the door.
Harry and Miranda feverishly worked to sort the mail, deal with people who truly did wish to buy stamps, fend off inquiries, and smile at their friends.
Amy Wade, undone by the horrible sight, had asked to go home for the day. The postmaster called Harry and she immediately filled in, as did Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Miranda, always a port in a storm, hurried from her home across the alleyway to help.
The two friends worked like a well-oiled machine.
Big Mim strode in, removed her Robin Hood hat with the pheasant feather with one hand as she supported her ancient aunt Tally with her other. Aunt Tally used an ebony cane, elegant with a silver hound's head for the handle, but Big Mim liked to keep close when sidewalks were slick or steps wet.
"Incomprehensible!" the queen of Crozet pronounced judgment.
"Mimsy, it's perfectly comprehensible." Aunt Tally gently shook off her niece's hand to study the outline of the body chalked on the worn wooden floor. "He was uncommonly handsome, a little cock of the walk."
"Roosters are stupid." Pewter lounged on the counter, the better to see everyone.
Mrs. Murphy, next to her, agreed.
Tucker, sitting patiently by the table in the back, called out, "Yeah, but they're fun to chase."
" 'Til they hit you up with those spurs." As a kitten, Mrs. Murphy learned the hard way that even the lowly rooster had survival tools.
"What has that got to do with a gruesome end?" Big Mim didn't at first follow her aunt's line of thought.
Harry, slipping mail into the boxes, listened, as did Miranda, who sorted through the mail that arrived in canvas bags and was then dumped into a rolling cart.
"Couldn't keep it in his pants."
"Oh, Aunt Tally!"
"Sex. He jumped the paddock and mounted the wrong mare. Bet you even money." The old lady, still quite attractive although thin as a blade, tapped her cane on the floor.
"Doesn't murder usually come down to sex, money, or power?" Harry peeked out from around the back of the brass mailboxes.
"That's what they say." Miranda paused for a moment. "But such an end. So violent."
"And clever." Mrs. Murphy spread open her toes, unleashed her claws, then retracted them.
"What's so clever about jamming a ballpoint pen in someone's eye?" Pewter wondered.
"Simple. Nothing to trace. The pen was left in the eye, and I guarantee you— in fact, I'll give you my catnip if I'm wrong—there won't be one print on that ballpoint pen, no fibers or anything, either."
Tucker, interested now, padded over to sit beneath the kitties. "And cheap. Everyone in the universe has ballpoint pens."
The very tip of Pewter's fat, thick tail moved to and fro as she thought about this angle. "Because the weapon was a pen, does that mean the killer was opportunistic or thought it out? I mean, anyone could grab a ballpoint pen, right?"
"Thought out. Well executed." Mrs. Murphy watched the nonagenarian. Aunt Tally reminded her of a twenty-four-year-old cat that she had known years ago. The fire of life burned brightly, more brightly with age. The gift of any animal that old is they know a lot and they no longer care much what other cats or people think.
"Has anyone spoken to Rick?" Big Mim asked Harry and Miranda, who both knew that Big Mim had nabbed him the instant she heard of the death.
"No. What did he say?" Miranda, being Big Mim's contemporary, could let her know they were on to her question.
"Well"—the elegant lady made no attempt to explain her asking them first—"he said there was no blood. Of course, when they remove the pen there will be blood, I guess." Big Mim stopped herself, because the image was too gross. "Sorry. Anyway, he said they will go over Nordy's clothing and an autopsy will be performed, naturally. But he warned me that there wasn't one footprint by the body and the runoff of the melting snows took care of any hopes for one outside the building."
"This killer is too smart to leave a footprint," Mrs. Murphy offered her opinion.
Aunt Tally walked over to pet the cats, while Big Mim retrieved the mail, then joined her aunt at the counter.
The door opened. BoomBoom and Alicia came in.
"We just left Amy," BoomBoom said.
"How is she?" Harry liked Amy Wade, as did everyone in town.
"Shaken." BoomBoom's face reflected concern.
"But not stirred," Alicia said, then added, "She'll be back to work tomorrow."
"She sends her thanks." BoomBoom studied the chalk outline. "Dropped like a deer."
"Between the eyes or, in this case, in the eye." Aunt Tally ran her forefinger under Pewter's chin, then repeated the pleasing stroke for Mrs. Murphy. "These cats have big motors."
"Purr machines." Harry loved her cats. She flipped up the divider as well as opened the half door so Tucker could visit the people.
Big Mim told BoomBoom and Alicia what Sheriff Shaw had told her.
Alicia remarked, "Whoever committed the murder has to be quick as a cat."
"Why do you say that, darlin'?" BoomBoom casually called her "darlin'," but then, Southern women rained "sugar," "honey," "honey pie," and other sweet names upon their friends.
"Didn't Rick say there was no struggle? That Nordy's body crumpled?"
"Yes," Big Mim replied.
"Then the killer literally struck like a cat and Nordy had no time to react," Alicia said.
"If it was someone he knew, he might not have reacted quickly." A vague notion was forming in Harry's mind, something disquieting, still unfocused.
"True." BoomBoom nodded. "But even if he knew his killer, that person hit fast and hard. It takes a lot of force to drive an object into the human body."
"He didn't hit the socket, either. If he'd hit the bone it would have been a real mess." Aunt Tally allowed the cats to rub against her offered cheek. "Think about it. This killer knew what he or she was doing."
"What an awful thought." Miranda shuddered.
"You know, I spoke to him last night." BoomBoom stepped back from the cordoned area. "Like most men, he was tragically transparent."
Alicia smiled. "That he was not, Boom. He may have been transparent sexually, but he could be opaque about other things or he wouldn't be dead. The man was hiding something."
"Hard to believe." Harry folded her hands on the counter, then remembered she had a lot more mail to put in the boxes. The disruption had put them hours behind. "He was arrogant. I didn't like him, but I'm sorry he died like this."