"I'm sorry to hear that." Harry's eyebrows moved up in surprise.
"AnotherDeepValley divorce." Bitsy drained the glass. "They barely speak to one another."
"People go through phases," Chris blandly said.
Mrs. Murphy opened her eyes. "That's a nice way to put it."
"That's true." Bitsy got up to make herself another Tom Collins. "Chris, I owe you a bottle of Tanqueray. But how do you know what's a phase and what's a permanent part of character?" She returned to the original subject.
"You don't for a long time. By the time I figured out my boyfriend was a self-centered jerk, I'd put three years into the relationship," Chris complained.
The ice cubes tumbled into the tall frosted glass as Bitsy listened.
"What's the story on Blair Bainbridge?" Chris asked. "I can't quite get a fix on him."
"He's a model," Harry said. "Makes a ton of money. He dates Little Mim Sanburne as well as women from other places. He's kind of"-she thought for a minute-"languid."
Bitsy flopped on the couch, again disturbing Pewter, who grumbled. "He can be as languid as he wants as long as he stays that gorgeous."
"Amen, sister." Chris held up her glass, as if toasting Bitsy.
Bitsy asked Harry, "We all thought you and Fair might be getting back together."
"Did Mrs. Hogendobber tell you that?"
"No," Chris answered, "but it just seemed, uh, in the cards and Fair is very handsome."
"Fair Haristeen is the best equine vet in centralVirginia . He's a good man. He was a so-so husband. If he interests you, tell him. You won't upset me."
"Harry, I wouldn't do that." Chris blushed.
"I don't care."
"You do, too," Tucker disagreed.
Bitsy took a long swallow. "Harry, no woman is that diffident about her ex-husband."
"Uh." Harry changed the subject. "Market Shiflett is single. He's a nice guy."
"Doesn't look like Blair Bainbridge," Bitsy frankly stated.
"If you marry a drop-dead gorgeous man you have to accept that other women will chase him and sooner or later he'll be unfaithful. A man like Market is responsible, loyal, and true. Personally, I find those qualities very sexy. I didn't at twenty-two but I do now," Harry said.
"You've got a point there," Chris agreed.
14
There were three reasons that people attended Charlie Ashcraft's funeral. The first was to support his mother, Linda, who had never made an enemy in her life. Married young, dumped at twenty-one with a six-month-old baby, she had struggled to make ends meet. Like many an abandoned woman she spoiled her son-the only man who truly loved her-and she had bailed her offspring out of innumerable crises. Poor Linda could never see that she was part of the problem. She fervently believed she was the solution.
The second reason people came to the funeral was to see who else was there-namely, were there any teary-eyed women? Surprisingly, there were not.
The third reason people came was to make sure he was really dead.
A lone reporter from The Daily Progress covered the event but Channel 29 sent no cameras to mar the occasion. Then, too, the station manager had had his own brush with Charlie and enjoyed denying the egotist coverage of his last social event.
As people filed out of the simple Baptist church, Harry leaned over to Susan and whispered, "Did you notice there were hardly any flowers?"
"I did. Maybe people will give to charity."
"More than likely they'll give to an abortion clinic. That's where most of his girlfriends wound up."
Susan gasped, choking on a mint, and Harry patted her on the back. "Sorry."
Thanks to her beautiful voice, Miranda Hogendobber, a stalwart of the choir of The Church of the Holy Light, was invited to sing a solo at the funeral. Linda Ashcraft asked her to sing "Faith of Our Fathers," which she did. Walking out of the back of the church, her choir robe over her arm, she caught sight of Harry and Susan.
"Unusual," Mrs. Hogendobber said under her breath.
"Uh-huh," the two friends agreed.
They walked up the hill, the church cemetery unfolding in the deep green grass before them. Ahead walked BoomBoom, Bitsy, and Chris.
"Maybe they knew Charlie better than we thought." Susan kept her voice low.
"BoomBoom's tugboats. They're missing Marcy Wiggins, though. H-m-m." Harry thought a minute. "Boom probably called in tears saying she needed support since he was her first high-school boyfriend. Amazes me how she manages to be the center of drama." She stopped as they neared the gravesite.
Linda, already at the grave, was being supported by her brother-in-law. The poor woman was totally distraught. As they gathered around the opened earth, Harry, in the back, scanned the band of mourners-if one could call them that. Apart from Linda, the mood was respectful but not grief-stricken. Meredith McLaughlin, Market Shiflett, and Bonnie Baltier were there, all from their high-school class.
Big Mim Sanburne attended, Little Mim was absent. Who was there and who was not was interesting, and Sheriff Rick Shaw and Deputy Cynthia Cooper had attended just to study the gathering.
Although they were too discreet to make notes at such a time.
"Why don't we slip away before Linda comes back through the crowd?" Rick put his hand under Cynthia's elbow, propelling the tall woman toward the church.
Harry, noticing, left Susan and Miranda to catch up to Cynthia and Rick. She said, "Sad. Not because he's dead but because nobody cares other than Linda. Can you imagine living a life where nobody truly loves you and it's your own damn fault?"
"A waste." Cynthia summed it up.
The three stopped before a recent grave festooned with flowers. The granite headstone bore the inscription Timothy Martin, June 1, 1958 to January 29, 1997. A racing car carved at the base of the tombstone roared from left to right. At the corners of the grave two checkered flags marked Tim's final finish line.
"I didn't know they'd done that." Rick remembered picking up what was left of Tim after he spun out on a nasty curve coming downAftonMountain . He turned too fast on Route 6 and literally flew over the mountainside. He raced stock cars on weekends, was a good driver, but never saw the black ice that ended his life.
The flags fluttered. "It's nice that his family remembered him as he lived. He'd love this."
"They keep him covered in flowers," Cynthia remarked. "I hope someone loves me that much."
"Someone will-be patient." Rick smiled as he flicked open his small notebook with his thumb. "What do you think, Harry?"
"I'd question whoever isn't here and should have been."
He smiled again. "Smart cookie."
The crowd was dispersing from the gravesite.
"Let's forgo the reception. This is hard enough for Linda Ashcraft without two cops at the table." Cynthia headed toward her own car. They hadn't taken a squad car, and since the body was carried directly from the church to the cemetery there was no need for a police escort. Rick and Cynthia were uncommonly sensitive people.
Moving at a slow pace, Miranda, choir robe folded over her arm, and Susan came over the rise. They waved to Harry, who waited at the back church door.
Miranda exhaled, focusing on Harry. "I'd like a word with you." The two walked under the trees as Miranda encouraged Harry to take in a boarder, namely Tracy.
15
Like many doctors, Bill Wiggins, an oncologist, was accustomed to getting his way. "Stat" was his favorite word, a word meaning "immediately" in hospital lingo.
Sitting on his back deck surveying his green lawn, not one dandelion in sight, he also surveyed his wife.
"Marcy, you've lost a lot of weight."
"Summer. I can't eat in the heat." She watered the ornamental cherry trees at the edge of the lawn.