Pewter stifled a laugh.
"Bye," they called to one another.
As Mrs. Murphy melted back into the field Paddy said, "You are nosy."
"Well ..." The tiger cat thought a moment. "I didn't much care until Coty was killed and I found out he'd been in the barn the night before. I don't know—guess I am nosy."
"I'm hungry."
"Another ten minutes." Tucker babied Pewter. "Unless you want to run.
"No, not another yard!"
"Wish I could figure out a way to get Mom or even Mim to dig up that stall." Murphy thought out loud.
"About all she knows is when to open a can of food." Tucker loved Harry but suffered no illusions about her mental capabilities.
"You're right," Murphy sadly agreed.
"Whatever is in that stall is going to cause a shitload of trouble," Paddy sagely noted. "And Orion's got to stand on it."
"If he digs it up again just out of curiosity they'll either put him in another stall to see if it's pique on his part or put a rubber mat in the stall. I doubt he'll dig, though." Tucker was getting hungry herself.
"Why do you say that?" Pewter walked more briskly since she was close to home.
"He'll be in enough trouble for bolting his stall and digging that hole in the first place. He'll lie low for a while." Tucker saw Mrs. Hogendobber's house. "Hey, I'll race you to the door."
"No," Pewter adamantly said, but the others took off, leaving her to grumble as she walked to the post office. "Bunch of show-offs."
A small nicotine stain marred Arthur Tetrick's lower lip. A dedicated pipe smoker, he contentedly packed in an expensive mix as he relaxed in Mim's living room. He'd walked up to the house after Addie stalked off.
"Smartest horse. Too smart." He tapped down the tender tobacco releasing a sweet unsmoked fragrance. "You're going to have to put a combination lock on his stall door."
Mim, out of the corner of her eye, saw Chark and one of her grooms chasing Orion in the field. This was a holiday, a canceled school day for the hunter, and he was making the most of it.
"Some sherry, Arthur?"
"No, no." He waved his hand. "No libations until the sun's over the yardarm."
"Coffee or tea then? I have some wonderful teas that Little Marilyn gave me for my birthday."
"A bracing darjeeling would do me a world of good." He held the match over the bowl of his burl pipe, the bowl shining with the use of many years, the draw perfect. That same pipe today would cost well over $250, so Arthur cherished it. No true pipe smoker would stick the flame right into the bowl just as no true cigar smoker would ever put the flame to the end of the cigar.
Mim shook a tiny bell. Gretchen appeared at the doorway. Gretchen and Mim had been together so long neither could imagine life without the other no matter how unequal the terms. "Yes, Miz Big." Her shorthand for Big Marilyn.
"Some darjeeling for the gentleman and some Constant Comment for me."
"Morning, Gretchen." Arthur nodded.
"Morning, Mr. Arthur. Cream or sugar?"
"Cream, well, half-and-half if you have it."
"Oh, Miz Big, she got everything." Gretchen turned, her wiry frame almost leaving a puff of smoke, she turned so fast.
"Mim, I'm here on a mercy mission." He cleared his throat. "As you know, Adelia comes into her inheritance November fourteenth, the day after the Colonial Cup. It's a considerable fortune, as you are aware. At that time she may elect to separate her share from Charles's share, which, of course, I oppose. Adelia is a lovely, lovely girl with absolutely no head for business. She should never be allowed to get her hands on her money. The interest is sufficient to allow her to live very well indeed."
"Bonds. Are you talking bonds, Arthur?" Mim shrewdly asked.
"Well, yes and no. As it now stands the Valiant resources are so conservatively invested that they reap barely six percent per annum. I have deliberately invested conservatively so as to run no risks until they inherit. Once that happens, I would still advise them to be prudent but to diversify more than I did when they were minors. They can afford a bit of risk, you know, keep the bulk in secure investments while targeting a small portion for high-risk/high-yield investments. My fear is, Adelia will take her money and—" He held up his hands. "Shiny cars, the usual foolish pleasures . . . Mim, you and I have both seen impulsive scions run through more money than Adelia will inherit. Large as the amount is, no well is bottomless. She greatly respects you. She finds me an old bore."
"Impossible," Mim said brightly as Gretchen delivered the tea.
Mim's tea service, which had been in the family on her mother's side since George III, caught the light, holding it prisoner to the lustrous silver. No one with an eye for beauty could behold her tea service without a slight gasp of appreciation.
"Need anything else?" Gretchen smiled.
"New knees."
"I told you not to hunker down there in that garden this summer, but you didn't listen to me. You don't listen to anyone."
"I'm listening to you now, Gretchen dear."
"Yes, Miz Big, dear." Gretchen put her hands on her hips. "Mr. Arthur, you talk to her. She is the most stubborn woman God ever put on this earth. She don't listen to me. She don't listen to her husband—'course, I don't listen to mine either. She is just a whirlwind of opinion. Uh-huh." That said, Gretchen wheeled and vacated the room.
"She is one of a kind." Arthur chuckled.
"Thank God. I don't think I could stand two."
Mim used the delicate silver tongs to drop a sugar cube into her Constant Comment, making it even sweeter. "Now let me understand you fully. You want me to tell Adelia to be a bit more aggressive with her investments but not to get crazy and, of course, never, ever, on pain of death, to touch the principal. Ideally she will keep the money together with Charles's." A beat. "And you'd like to remain as an adviser, or in some capacity."
"Um . . ." He nodded in the affirmative and placed his pipe in the pipe ashtray that Mim kept in the living room as he delicately brought the thin teacup to his lips. "I say, this is marvelous tea. My compliments to Little Marilyn."
"Before I have this financial meeting with her, I want to know who you are recommending for handling the portfolio. After all, out of duty you must recommend people other than yourself. We must hope the children will be wise enough to stick with you."
"I rather like Ed Bancroft at Strongbow and McKee."
"Yes, he's very good, but he's older. They might work better with someone in his or her thirties."
Arthur paled. "Too young, too young. A young person hasn't ridden the market through a few cycles. They panic during contractions." He refused to call a recession or a depression just what it was.
"Good point." She leaned back in the silk-covered chair. "Well, you seem to be the best person for the job. There's always Arnie Skaar, should they wish a change—you know, an assertion of independence."
"Yes, Arnie's good."
"Will you be saddened if you lose your job?" she forthrightly asked.
"Oh, I never thought of it as a job, and in some ways Charles has been Adelia's guardian more than I have. Really, I'll continue to guide them as best I can no matter what happens. I was shocked, when Marylou disappeared, to discover she'd made me her executor. I thought she was so besotted with Mickey Townsend that she might have foolishly changed her will. Devastated as I was to lose Marylou, I was heartened by her caution on this matter." He drew on his pipe. "Charles and I have been able to draw together. Adelia favored Mickey, and, well—women are so unpredictable." He held up his hands as if in supplication.
"You've done your best. Being anyone's executor is a time-consuming and sad process. I was Mother's executor, and I learned more in that one year than I think I did in all the years before." Mim poured Arthur more tea. "Terrible news this morning. It's giving us all the chills."