Mrs. Hogendobber began coming once or twice a week to pitch in. At first, Harry had welcomed her company but asked her not to work because she couldn't pay her. But Miranda knew the ins and outs of the routine, the people at the central post office in Charlottesville on Seminole Trail, even the people in Washington, not to mention everyone in Crozet. She proved invaluable. Since George, prudent with money, had left her with enough to be comfortable, and she was making more with her baking, she didn't need the money. More than anything, she needed to be useful.
Over time she and Harry grew close. And over time, despite her reservations, Mrs. Hogendobber grew to love the two furry friends at Harry's side. She'd even learned to love the fat gray cat presently knocked out on the ledge. Not that she wanted anyone to know.
Murphy, having pressed her luck, backed out of the bag, danced sideways to the counter, and leapt on it. She collapsed on her side and rolled over, showing lots of tummy.
"Murphy, you're full of yourself this morning." Harry patted her stomach.
"I'm bored. Pewter's sacked out. Tucker's snoring under the table. It's a beautiful day."
Harry kissed her on the cheek. A light knock at the back door put a stop to the kissing. Mrs. Murphy could take but so many human kisses.
Miranda opened the door. "Adelia, come right in."
Addie, still wearing her chaps, stepped inside.
"Breeze all your babies?" Harry asked as Tucker lifted her head, then dropped it back down again.
"Oh, yeah." Addie sniffed as the vanilla odor from hot sticky buns reached her nostrils.
"Your mail's on the table," Miranda said as she carried two handfuls of mail to the big bottom boxes used by the small businesses in town.
"Thanks."
"Ready for the Colonial Cup?" Harry referred to the famous steeplechase in Camden, South Carolina, which had also been started by Marion duPont Scott.
"Well, Ransom Mine is coming along. You remember, he came in second at Montpelier. Royal Danzig, dunno, off these last couple of days, and Bazooka—I think I need a pilot's license to ride him. Mickey Townsend sent over two horses right after Nigel was killed." She paused a moment. "He said he wanted me to work them. They're really going great. Mickey's always backed me, you know. Chark's crabby about it, but he knows it's extra money so he shut up."
"What are you all talking about, 'breezing' a horse?" Miranda paused, oblivious to Pewter who was rolling over in her sleep.
"Watch out!" Mrs. Murphy called.
Too late. Pewter tumbled into one of the large business mailboxes.
"Pewter." Mrs. Hogendobber leaned over the befuddled cat. "Are you all right?" She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.
"Fine." Pewter picked herself up and marched right out of the box, over to the table where she tore out a hunk of pastry with her claws before Harry could stop her.
"Actually, I think you all have more work with these critters than I do with the horses," Addie observed. "Breezing—uh, I limber up the horse a little, jog a little, and then I do an exercise gallop around the track. Chark gives me the distance. You work a horse for conditioning and for wind. I guess that's the easiest way to describe it."
"Aren't you ever afraid up there?" Miranda asked.
"Right now I'm more afraid down here."
"Why? Has someone threatened you?" Mrs. Hogendobber walked back to Addie.
"No." Addie sat down on the chair by the sticky buns. "Everything's a mess. Arthur bombards me with daily lectures about how to handle my inheritance when I turn twenty-one. Mim's giving me the same lecture but with a lot more class. My brother shrugs and says if I blow it it's my own fault and he's not keeping me, but then I never asked him to. That's on a good day. On a bad day he yells at me. Everybody's acting like I'm going to go hog-wild."
"Pewter's the one who goes hog-wild," Murphy snickered.
"Shut up," Pewter replied, sitting on the other chair at the table. She thought the humans, engrossed in conversation, wouldn't notice her filching another piece of bun.
They did. Addie stretched over and lightly smacked the out-reached paw. "You have no manners."
"I'm hungry," Pewter pleaded.
Mrs. Hogendobber reached into her voluminous skirt pockets and pulled out a few tiny, tiny fish, Haute Feline treats. She lured Pewter away from the table. Mrs. Murphy leapt off the counter and hurried over, too.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day." Harry laughed.
"If I don't do this, there won't be anything left for us." Miranda laughed, too. She turned her attention back to Addie. "One of the terrible things about wealth is the way people treat you."
"Well. Uh, well, I'm not wealthy yet." Addie rubbed her finger on the table making designs only she could see. "Actually, I came by, Harry, to see if you'd lend me a hundred dollars. I'll pay you right after Camden—speaking of money." She smiled sheepishly.
Harry, not an ungenerous soul, hesitated. First, that was a chunk of change to her. Second, what was going on? "Why won't Chark lend you the money?"
"He's mad at me. He's being a butthole." Her voice rose.
"So, what did you do with the money you won at Montpelier?" Harry juggled a load of mail on the way to the post boxes.
"Uh—"
"I'm not lending you a cent until I know why you're short. The real reason."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Addie flushed.
"Means your deceased boyfriend had a coke habit. How do I know you don't have one?"
This stunned Miranda, who stopped what she was doing, as did the cats and dog. All eyes focused on Addie, whose face transformed from a flush to beet red.
"He was trying to stop. Until Linda got hold of him. I hope she gets a stiletto through her heart. Except she doesn't have one."
"What about you?" Harry pressed.
"I'm off all substances. Anyway, I had the example of Mother."
' 'Now, now, your mother was a wonderful woman. She was a social drinker, I grant you." Miranda defended Marylou.
"She was a drunk, Mrs. Hogendobber," Addie's voice became wistful. "She'd get real happy at parties and real sad at home alone. She leaned on Mim a lot, but a best friend isn't a lover, and Mother needed that. She'd be morose at home . . . and out would come the bottle.
"Well . . ." Miranda was obviously reluctant to give up her image of Marylou Valiant. "At least she always behaved like a lady."
Harry crossed her arms over her chest. "You still haven't answered my question. Why do you need a hundred dollars?"
"Because I owe Mickey Townsend from a poker game the night before the Montpelier Races," she blurted out.
"He won't wait?" Miranda was curious.
"Mickey's a good guy. I adore him. I wish Mother had married him. But when it comes to poker, I mean, this is serious." She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.
"Come on, he won't let you work off a hundred dollars with the horses he brought over?" Harry waited for the other shoe to drop.
"I haven't asked."
"Addie, I don't believe a word of this!" Harry figured they were long past the point of subtlety. Mickey was a bum excuse.
"I really do owe Mickey a hundred dollars. I just want to get it out of the way. And I don't want Arthur to find out."
"Mickey won't tell him." Mrs. Hogendobber stated the obvious, which had no effect on the young woman.
Out of the blue, Harry fired a question. "And how much did Nigel really owe Mickey?"