"Very funny. I bet I could steal sushi from a pair of chopsticks on their way to some dope's mouth." She imitated her stealing motion, one swift swipe of the paw, claws extended. She shuddered with delight at the thought of it.
"Hey, look." Mrs. Murphy intruded on Pewter's reverie.
Both cats watched Addie Valiant drive up and park behind the post office. She closed the door of her blue Subaru station wagon, the back jammed with tack, wraps, saddle pads, and other equine odds and ends. Turning up the collar of her heavy shirt, she knocked on the back door of the post office, listened, then opened the door.
"Let's go." Murphy ran across the yard.
"What for?" Pewter didn't budge.
"The dead jockey was her boyfriend."
"Oh." Pewter hurried to catch up. Both cats hit the animal door simultaneously, spit at one another, then Murphy slipped in first, a disgruntled Pewter literally on her tail.
Murphy had washed only half her face; the other half was resplendent with cobwebs.
Addie pulled her mail from the back of her mailbox.
Harry checked through the magazine pile to see if anything was there for her.
"Now, honey, you let me know if there's anything we can do. Anything at all." Miranda handed Addie a bun with an orange glaze. An excellent baker, she made a little money on the side by baking for Market Shiflett's store.
"I'm not hungry, thank you."
"I am," Pewter purred.
Tucker, awake now, scrambled to her feet. "Me, too." She noticed Mrs. Murphy's face. "Halloween's over."
Harry noticed at the same time. "Where have you been?"
"Under Miranda's porch."
Harry scooped up the pretty cat, grabbed a paper towel, and wiped off the cobwebs, not as simple as she thought since they were sticky.
Addie dropped into a chair. "Mind if I sit a minute? I'm tired.
"Shocks will do that to you." Miranda patted her on the back.
"Yeah—I know. I guess I didn't think there were any left for me."
"Life has a funny way of being loaded with surprises, good and bad," the kindly woman said.
"Is anyone going to eat that orange bun?" Pewter asked.
"Chatty Cathy." Harry scratched the gray cat behind the ears.
Miranda pulled little pieces of the bun apart and munched on them.
Pewter let out a wail. "Give me some!"
Miranda ignored this so Pewter scrambled onto a chair and thence onto the small table in the back where the buns rested enticingly on a white plate. She licked off the icing while the humans, deep in conversation, never noticed. Mrs. Murphy, not to be outdone, joined her friend.
Tucker complained bitterly. Murphy batted a hardened bit of icing off the table to the dog to shut her up. If she kept up her racket, the humans might notice their uninvited snack.
"They asked me so many questions they made me dizzy." The young woman's hands fluttered to her face. "I couldn't answer half of them. I wasn't much help. They pumped Chark pretty hard, too."
"Rick Shaw said that Frank Yancey's an okay guy, so he was just asking what he had to, I guess." Harry wanted to be helpful, but she didn't know what to do or say.
Addie's big blue eyes misted over. "I was just getting to know him so—"
"Of course, of course." Miranda patted her hand this time.
"How long had you known him?"
"Two months, give or take a week. I met him at the Fair Hill races and whammo!" She smacked her hands together.
"Happens that way sometimes." Harry smiled.
"We had so much in common. Horses. Horses and horses," Addie said. "He taught me a lot. You know how some people keep what they know to themselves? Won't share anything. Not Nigel. He was happy to teach me, and he was just as happy to learn from me too."
"Sounds like a lovely young man," Miranda, ever the romantic, replied soothingly.
Harry, far less romantic, nonetheless wanted to be supportive, but her inquiring nature couldn't be suppressed for long. "Do you think he had enemies?"
"Harry, you sound like Frank Yancey." Addie crossed one leg over the other, then winced.
"What'd you do?" Miranda solicitously inquired.
"Knees. They take a beating out there, you know." She turned back to Harry. "As far as I know he didn't have enemies. No one knew him long enough, and besides, he was fun, a real positive person." She paused. "Everyone's got some enemies though.
"His poor parents in England." Miranda shook her head.
"Hadn't thought of that," Harry said. "Do you have any idea why this happened?" Her curiosity had surged.
"No." Addie got up. "Everyone is asking me that."
"I'm sorry. But it's natural."
"I hope whoever killed him rots in hell!" Addie flared, then wiped away the unexpected tears.
" "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for God made man in His own image,' " Mrs. Hogendobber quoted from Genesis.
"I'll happily shed blood." Addie clamped down her lips.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"I mean, if I find the killer first . . ."
"Don't say that," Miranda blurted out.
"Yeah, don't." Harry seconded her older friend's feeling.
"I don't give a damn. If the killer is caught, he'll go to trial. Lots of money will get spent, and the system is so corrupt that he probably won't get convicted, and if he does he'll be out on parole in no time. It's a farce."
Much as Harry tended to agree, she didn't want to encourage Addie to murder. "You know, the scary part is, what if you do find the killer, or get close? What if he turns on you, Addie? Stay out of it. You liked this guy, but you didn't know him well enough to die for him."
"Harry, you can fall in love in an instant. I did."
"Oh, Addie . . ." Harry's voice trailed off.
Miranda draped her arm over Addie's thin shoulder. "Harry's not trying to argue with you or upset you, honey. She doesn't want you to do something impulsive that could ruin your life. And I agree. Neither one of us wants you to expose yourself to danger. After all, no one knows why Nigel was killed. It's not just the who, it's the why, you see. That's where the danger lies."
Addie cried again. "You're right. I know you're right."
Both women comforted her as best they could. When Addie left the post office, she passed the now empty white plate. The cats had fallen asleep next to the scene of their crime.
Work continued despite the personal sorrow Adelia Valiant had to absorb. Horses needed to be fed, watered, exercised, groomed, turned out, and talked to over a stall door. The routine, oddly consoling, numbed her mind.
Mim told her to take time off if she needed it, but Addie kept riding. After all, she and her brother had other clients to serve, and when people pay you money, they expect results.
The Valiant fortune, some eighteen million and growing due to good investments directed by Arthur Tetrick, should have ensured that Adelia and Charles Valiant need never labor for their bread and butter.
But Marylou had witnessed the dismal effects of wrapping children in wads of money to soften the hard knocks of life. She didn't want her children to become the weak, petty tyrants she had often observed. She wanted to give them grit.
Enough was drawn annually from the trust fund to pay for lodging, cars, clothes, the necessities. This forced her children to work if they wanted more. If they turned into gilded turnips after Adelia's maturity, so be it.
As it happened, both sister and brother loved their work. There was no doubt in either of their minds that they'd continue working once the inheritance was theirs. They might build a good stable of their own, but they'd continue to train and ride.
Addie's past drug problems had more to do with her personality than with her background. Plenty of poor kids ran aground on drugs too. And plenty of poor kids spent their money as soon as they picked up their paycheck. Addie's impulsiveness and desire for a good time had little to do with class.
Addie wiped down the last horse of the day, a leggy gray, as the white Southern States delivery truck rolled down the drive.