"All right, Susan, all right."
Susan, on the other end of the line, said, "Now the hysteria is, should BoomBoom use the picture with Charlie or not?"
"She should look at the proofs first."
"One of them is bound to turn out."
"Susan, what does she intend to do with the superlatives that Aurora and Ron are in? They're dead, too."
"She can't make up her mind whether to use their old photographs either."
"I'll make it up for her. Tell her we all suffered in the heat for that photograph of her and Charlie, so use it."
"You know, Harry, that's a good idea. Hang up and call her before she emotes anymore. It is tiresome." Susan paused. "Go on, Harry. You call her."
Harry, grumbling, did just that and BoomBoom blurted out three or four sentences of inner thoughts before Harry cut her off and told her to just use the new photo. The whole idea was to see the passage of time!
Harry finally got off the phone. "This reunion is becoming a full-time job."
"Ours is going to be real simple," Tracy said. "We'll gather in the cafeteria, swap tales, eat and dance. I don't even know if there will be decorations."
"With Miranda as the chair? She can't have changed that much in fifty years, I promise you." Harry smiled.
"That's something about one of your classmates getting shot." Tracy noticed the weather stripping on the door was ragged. "Everyone seems calm about it."
"Because everyone thinks they know the reason why. They just have to find out which husband pulled the trigger. What has upset people, though, is the mailing that went out to our classmates before Charlie was killed. 'You'll never get old!' it said."
"Ever hear the expression, 'Expect a trap where the ground is smoothest'?" Mrs. Murphy commented as she wiped her whiskers.
"What made you think of that?" Tucker, now rolled over on her back, inquired.
"People have jumped to a conclusion. Charlie Ashcraft could have been killed for another reason. What if he was involved in fraud or theft or selling fake bonds?"
"That's true." Pewter, now on the table, agreed. "No one much cares because they think it doesn't have anything to do with them."
"Like I said, 'Expect a trap where the ground is smoothest.'"
18
The dually's motor rumbled as Harry leaned over to drop Tracy's rent check and her deposit slip in the outdoor deposit box on the side of the bank.
The truck gobbled gas, which she could ill afford, but the thrill of driving her new truck to town on her lunch hour superseded prudence.
Susan had given her expensive sheepskin seat covers, which pleased the animals as much as it pleased Harry. They lounged on the luxurious surface, the cats "kneading bread."
Harry flew through the morning's chores, then drove over to Fair's clinic at lunch.
"Hi, Ruth." She smiled at the receptionist.
"He's in the back." Ruth nodded toward the back.
Harry and the animals found him studying X-rays.
"Look." He pointed to a splint, a bone sliver detaching from a horse's cannon bone, a bone roughly equivalent to the human forearm.
"Doesn't look bad enough to operate." She'd seen lots of X-rays during their marriage.
"Hope not. It should reattach. Splints are more common than not." He switched off the light box. "Hello, kids."
The animals greeted him eagerly.
"Here, you're a peach." Harry smiled on the word peach. She handed him a check.
"What's this?"
"Partial payment on my old truck. Five hundred dollars a month for four months. I called Art for the real price. He told me to take anything you'd give me but I can't-really. It's not right."
"I don't want the money. That was a gift." He frowned.
"It's too big a gift. I can't take it, as much as I appreciate it."
"No strings. I owe it to you."
"No you don't." She shoved back the check that he held out to her.
"Harry, you can be a real pain in the ass."
"Who's talking?" Her voice raised.
"I'm leaving." Mrs. Murphy headed for the door, only to jump sideways as Ruth rushed in.
"Doc, Sheriff Shaw has Bill Wiggins in the squad car."
"Huh?"
Ruth, almost overwhelmed by the mass of curly gray hair atop her head, breathlessly said, "Margaret Anstein called from the station house. She's the new receptionist at the sheriff's office-or station house, that's what she calls it. She just called me to say Rick was bringing in Bill Wiggins for questioning about Charlie's murder."
"You can't get away with anything in this town." Fair carefully slid the X-rays in a big heavy white envelope.
"That Marcy is a pretty girl. Just Charlie's type." Ruth smacked her lips.
"They were all Charlie's type," Harry said.
"She wasn't at the funeral," Ruth said.
"Why should she be? She's new," Fair replied, irritated that Ruth and most of Crozet had jumped to conclusions.
"The other new people were there. A funeral is a good place to meet people," Ruth blathered.
"Unless they're dead." Pewter twitched her whiskers and followed Murphy to the door.
19
Harry no sooner walked through the back door to the post office than Miranda rushed over to her.
"There's been another one."
"Another what?"
"Mailing. Open your mail. You're always late in opening your mail."
Harry picked up her pile on the little table in the back.
"This one." Miranda pointed out a folded-over, stapled sheet.
"Who else . . . ?"
"Susan, BoomBoom, Bill, and-"
Harry exclaimed, "What a jerk!"
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter stuck their heads over the paper that Harry held in her hands.
"What is it?" Tucker asked.
"Typed. 'Sorry, Charlie. Who's next?' and a drop of red ink like a drop of blood," the tiger answered.
Harry flipped over the page, which allowed Tucker to see it. "22905. The Barracks Road post office again. It's funny no one said anything this morning."
"Because none of your classmates came in before lunch. BoomBoom was at her therapist's and Susan spent the morning in Richmond. The only reason I know that Bill got one was that Marcy called once she got home. Guess she opens his mail. Not right to do that." Miranda believed mail was sacrosanct, the last intimate form of communication.
Harry dialed Vonda, the postmistress at Barracks Road. "Hi, Vonda, Harry. How you doin'?"
Vonda, a pretty woman but not one to babble on, said, "Fine, how are you?"
"Okay, except my classmates and I have gotten another one of these mailings from your post office. Folded over, stapled. Looks to be run off from a color Xerox."
"Bulk?"
"No. They're too smart for a bulk rate. A regular stamp and yesterday's postmark. Did anyone come to the counter with a handful?" Harry knew Vonda would remember, if she'd been behind the counter.
"No. Let me ask the others." Vonda put down the phone. She returned in a minute. "They were pushed through the mail slot. Mary says they were in the bin when she started sorting at elevenish. Second full bin of the day."
"Keep your eyes open. This is getting kind of creepy."
"I will. But it's very easy to walk in and out of here without attracting notice."
"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Vonda." Harry hung up the phone.
"Barracks Road gets more traffic in a day than we get in a week," Pewter remarked.
"Second busiest post office in the county." Mrs. Murphy knew enough to be a postmistress herself. "Even busier than the university station." The main post office on Seminole Trail was the busiest, of course.
"Does Rick know?" Harry asked.
"Yes. Susan called him the minute she picked up her mail." Mrs. Hogendobber paused. "Did you hear that Rick hauled in Bill Wiggins for questioning?"