“Harry, you surprise me,” Mim primly stated.
“She’s right though.” The sheriff spoke up. “Tell people they’re”—he paused because he was going to say “shit”—“worthless, and strange behaviors occur. Let’s face it. Nobody wants to ape the poor. They want to ape the rich, and how many rich black folks do you know?”
“Not in Albemarle County.” Miranda began to walk around the small room. “But the Randolphs don’t appear to be black in any fashion.”
“No, but it’s in the blood. With rare exceptions, sickle cell anemia affects only people with African blood. It must be inherited. It can’t be caught as a contagion, so to speak. This disease seems to be the only remaining vestige of Wesley Randolph’s black heritage,” Larry informed them.
“And Kimball Haynes found this out somehow.” Harry’s mind was spinning.
“But how?” Larry wondered.
“Ansley said Kimball never read the Randolph papers,” Harry chipped in.
“Absurd! It’s absurd to kill over something like this!” Miranda exploded.
“Mrs. Hogendobber, I’ve seen a fourteen-year-old boy knifed for the five-dollar-bill in his pocket. I’ve seen rednecks blow each other away because one got drunk and accused the other of sleeping with his wife or called him a faggot. Absurd?” Rick shrugged.
“Did you know?” Harry, ever direct, asked Larry.
“No. Wesley came in for his physical occasionally through the years but always refused to have his blood taken. Being rich, he would fly out to one of those expensive drying-out or treatment clinics, they would take a blood test, and he’d have them read me the white cell count. I accepted that he had leukemia. He wouldn’t let me treat him for it and I assumed it was because I am, after all, a country doctor. Oh, he’d come in for a flu shot, stuff like that, and we’d discuss his condition. I’d push and he’d retreat and then he’d check into the Mayo Clinic. He was out of reach, but Warren wasn’t. He hated needles and I could do a complete physical on him only about once every fifteen years.”
“Who do you think killed Jim Craig?” Mim spoke.
“Wesley, most likely. The colonel would have hated it, but I don’t think he would have killed over the news. Jim wouldn’t have made it public, after all. I could be wrong, but I just don’t think Colonel Randolph would have murdered Jim. Wesley was a hothead when he was young.”
“Do you think the Randolphs have always known?” Harry pointed to Mrs. Hogendobber, busily pacing back and forth, indicating that she sit down. She was making Harry dizzy.
“No, because it wouldn’t have been picked up in blood tests until the last fifty years or so,” said Larry. “All I’m saying is that in medical terms earlier generations would not have known about the sickle cell trait. What else they knew is anybody’s guess.”
“Never thought of that,” Sheriff Shaw said.
“I don’t care who knew what. You don’t kill over something like that.” Miranda couldn’t accept the horror of it.
“Warren lived under the shadow of his father. His only outlet has been Ansley. Let’s face it, she’s the only person who regarded Warren as a man. When he found out she was carrying on with another man, right after his father’s death, I think it was too much. Warren’s not very strong, you know,” Harry said.
“I thought Samson Coles was the one carrying on. Not Ansley too?” Miranda put her foot in it.
“Look no further.” Mim pursed her lips.
“No.” Harry, like Miranda, found the scandal, well, odd.
“Why don’t you arrest Warren?” Mim drilled the sheriff.
“First off, Dr. Johnson didn’t see his would-be killer, although we both believe it was Warren. Second, if I can trap Warren into giving himself away, it will make the prosecution’s task much easier. Warren is so rich that if I don’t nail him down, he’ll get off. He’ll shell out one or two million for the best defense lawyers in America and he’ll find a way out, I can guarantee it. I had hoped that keeping Larry’s survival under wraps for twenty-four hours might give me just the edge I need, but I can’t go much further than that. The reporters will bribe someone, and it’s cruel to have everyone mourning Larry’s death. I mean, look at your response.”
“Most gratified, ladies.” Tears again welled up in Larry’s eyes.
“Why can’t you just go up to Warren and say Larry’s alive and watch his response?” Mim wanted to know.
“I could, but he’d be on guard.”
“He won’t be on guard with me. He likes me,” Harry said.
“No.” Rick’s voice rose.
“Well, do you have a better idea?” Mim stuck it to the sheriff.
65
As the Superman-blue Ford toodled down the long, winding, tree-lined road, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker plotted. Harry had been talking out loud, going back and forth over the plan, so they knew what she’d found out at the hospital. She was wired, and Sheriff Shaw and Deputy Cooper were positioned on a back road near the entrance to Eagle’s Rest. They would hear every word she and Warren said.
“We could bite Warren’s leg and put him out of commission from the get-go.”
“Tucker, all that will happen is you’ll be accused of having rabies.” The cat batted the dog’s upright ears with her paw.
“I’ve had my rabies shots.” Tucker sighed. “Well, do you have any better ideas?”
“I could pretend I’m choking to death.”
“Try it.”
Mrs. Murphy coughed and wheezed. Her eyes watered. She flopped on her side and coughed some more. Harry pulled the truck to the side of the driveway. She picked up the cat and put her fingers down her throat to remove the offending obstacle. Finding no obstacle, she placed Mrs. Murphy over her left shoulder, patting her with her right hand as though burping a baby. “There, there, pussywillow. You’re all right.”
“I know I’m all right. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Harry put Mrs. Murphy back on the seat and continued up to the house. Ansley, sitting on the side veranda under the towering Corinthian columns, waved desultorily as Harry, unannounced, came in sight.
Harry hopped out of the truck along with her critters. “Hey, Ansley, I apologize for not calling first, but I have some wonderful news. Where’s Warren?”
“Down at the stable. Mare’s ready to foal,” Ansley laconically informed her. “You’re flushed. Must be something big.”
“Well, yes. Uh, come on down with me. That way I don’t have to tell the story twice.”
As they sauntered to the imposing stables, Ansley breathed deeply. “Isn’t this the best weather? The spring of springs.”
“I always get spring fever,” Harry confessed. “Can’t keep my mind on anything, and everyone has a glow—especially handsome men.”
“Heck, don’t need spring for that.” Ansley laughed as they walked into the stable.
Fair, Warren, and the Randolphs’ stable manager, Vanderhoef, crouched in the foaling stall. The mare was doing just fine.
“Hi.” Fair greeted them, then returned to his task.
“I have the best news of the year.” Harry beamed.
“I wish she wouldn’t do this.” Mrs. Murphy shook her head.
“Me too,” Tucker, heartsick, agreed.
“Well, out with it.” Warren stood up and walked out of the stall.
“Larry Johnson’s alive!”
“Thank God!” Fair exploded, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “I can’t believe it.” Luckily his crescendo hadn’t startled the mare.
“Me neither.” Warren appeared dazed for a moment. “Why anyone would want to kill him in the first place mystifies me. What a great guy. This is good news.”