"Not anyone. A brother. A member of this order!" Brother Handle remarked. "Now that Brother Thomas has been found, perhaps modern science will discover what happened to him while he prayed before the statue." But Brother Handle's voice filled with anger. "I will find and punish any and all involved."
"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." Brother Mark was very close to being disrespectful.
Brother Handle advanced on him, enunciating with clarity, " 'Vengeance is mine, and recompense for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly' Remember your Deuteronomy? Well, I am the instrument of that vengeance."
31
Harry, I'm putting you to a lot of trouble," Susan apologized as she fumed in stop-and-go traffic around Virginia Commonwealth University.
The closer they approached the area of Richmond known as the Fan, the heavier the traffic became, as did the pelting rain just this side of ice.
The cats and dogs slept in the sheepskin beds in the back of the station wagon.
"You'd do the same for me."
Susan, eyes glued to traffic, growled as a Subaru WRX Sti skidded in front of her. "Idiot! Ever notice how the people in the smallest cars drive the worst?"
"That's a great car for the money. One second slower than a Porsche Boxster from zero to sixty. However, it's pretty much a kid's car, as are most little cars." Harry shrugged. "Kids are always in a hurry."
"In this weather!"
"You're sounding middle-aged and we aren't forty yet," Harry admonished her with a grin.
"Damned close. Boy, I hope Danny and Brooks don't drive like this when I'm not in the car."
"Who knows what they do or who they do it with—but whatever, if the Fates are kind, they'll live. As it is, they have pretty good sense. I attribute that to you, of course."
"Of course." Susan turned right onto a tree-lined street of lovely old town houses. "Here we are."
"Where's here?" Pewter opened her eyes.
"The Fan," Owen obligingly answered as the motor cut off.
"That tells me a whole hell of a lot," Pewter grumbled.
Mrs. Murphy stretched, as did Tucker, both hoping they'd be allowed to go with the two women.
"Come on." Susan opened the door.
Harry reached behind her seat, pulling out a towel. When they stepped through the front door of the house, which had been divided into rental flats, Harry knelt down to wipe off each set of paws.
Pewter pulled hers back, shaking them after being wiped off. "I can do it myself."
The carpeted stairs muffled their footsteps as they climbed four flights to the top floor. Susan opened the lock.
"What a pretty room," Harry exclaimed.
The animals immediately inspected the place.
"It is. The rents they get, though." Susan dropped the key back in her jeans pocket. "I'll give you the tour. Two bedrooms. You can see this one is his office." She paused a minute. "Where did he get that etched-glass table? That must have cost a fortune. He didn't tell me about that."
"Susan, it didn't cost five hundred dollars. Places like Pottery Barn carry stuff like this. Actually, the way he's pulled this together surprises me. I never thought of Ned as a particularly aesthetic kind of person. I guess I think of him as a fishing buddy for Herb." She smiled.
"Considering we had a budget of six thousand dollars for everything, and I squeezed to get that, the place isn't bad. I put together the living room, faux Parish-Hadley"—she smiled as she mentioned the famous, conservative New York interior design firm—"but the rest of it really reflects what he wants. I haven't been down here in two weeks. He's gotten a lot done. I guess I'm a little surprised, too, at how modern it is. Lots of glass and chrome, or what passes for chrome."
"Now don't you feel better?"
"Sort of."
"Susan, use your head. If the man were having an affair, or contemplating an affair, would he give you a key to his Richmond apartment?" Harry pointed to the law books and research papers already piling up on the industrial shelving. "He's hitting the tarmac running. He has to hire a staff, he has to get up to speed on all the issues before the Senate. And he has to be available to folks back home or he'll be a one-term guy."
"Well, dammit, Harry, something's not right."
"Maybe so, but I'm telling you, this isn't some kind of love nest."
"Doesn't mean it won't turn into one."
Harry threw up her hands in defeat to Susan's stubbornness. "Show me the rest of the apartment."
The bedroom, simple, also had books stacked next to the bed and a good reading lamp on the black lacquer nightstand. The kitchen, though small, boasted Corian countertops, one with a large inset butcher block for chopping. The place exuded a charm, aided by the light—what there was of it today—flooding through the large skylight over the living room and a smaller one over the kitchen. The glass-paned windows fronting the street helped, too, and the ones in the back overlooked a small garden.
"No women have been here," Tucker pronounced after a thorough search, nose touching furniture.
"Only Ned's scent," Owen concurred. "Danny's, too; he came down yesterday to help his dad. He had his finals early so he could come home. Danny has a four-point-oh, you know. They're supposed to be Christmas shopping today."
Pewter giggled, humor restored, "A present for Dad, a present for Mom, a present for Brooks, a present for me, hmm, another present for me."
"Want to leave Ned a note?" Harry suggested.
"Sure." Susan scribbled a few lines, putting the paper on the refrigerator, held with a magnet extolling the virtues of a local insurance company.
"Where's Ned's computer?" It occurred to Harry that the etched desk, set up for a computer, lacked same.
"He and Danny went to buy one today. Ned said he's not doing it without Danny."
"Smart. Do you want to do any Christmas shopping while we're in Richmond?"
"No. Do you?"
"No. Can't believe you're passing up a shop-a-thon."
"I've done enough spending."
"How about stopping at the tack shop in Manakin-Sabot? There're actually two tack shops there. The one we always go to and a kind of Western one across the street. We could call Mary Robertson and see if she or Ronnie Thornton could make it for lunch. Or Ginny Perrin." Harry began to mentally go through the list of her Deep Run Hunt friends who lived in the area.
"It's Tuesday. They're hunting," Susan said.
"They may have started out, but I bet they're coming back in. Getting nasty out there. By the time we reach them they'll be in the stables cleaning up."
"Let's call them when we can all relax and enjoy one another's company," Susan suggested.
"Hey, there's another tack shop in Manakin-Sabot. Makes it three. We can go to the first two, and then there's the one around the corner from Mary Robertson's farm."
"Harry, what do you need? What's the tack shop kick?"
"A new martingale. We could hit up the shops in Manakin-Sabot, then go up to Horse Country in Warrenton, then on to Marshall and then Middleburg and—"
"Sure. I'd burn a tank of gas while you grieved in each shop about how expensive everything is. You'd compare all the martingales, buy none, then after Christmas go buy one. Harry, you need to change your attitude about money just like I guess I need to change my attitude about Ned. If you say he isn't cheating, I reckon he isn't." She stopped, staring up at the rain on the skylight. "Still, something's... mmm." She shrugged.
"I don't have any money."
"And whose fault is that?" Susan, as only an old friend who has watched for years can do, let her have it. "You farted around in the post office. You never tried to develop outside income. You really took an economic nosedive when you divorced Fair, and now you have a chance to work together and you're tanking that."
Harry stiffened. "I don't want to work for him. It would be different if I were a vet."