The three animals looked at one another. They knew they'd be on round-the-clock duty, too.
47
Like most stubborn people, Harry failed to realize how shock would affect her. She thought she was fine. She was happy to go home but surprised that when she walked through the kitchen door a wave of exhaustion washed over her, adding to the throb caused by the headache. She wanted to talk to Fair but couldn't keep her eyes open.
"Honey, you need to go to bed." He lifted her out of the chair into which she'd slumped.
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so tired. Maybe I should take more painkiller."
"No. You've had enough."
Too wiped out to protest, she meekly let him walk her into the bedroom and fell into bed.
"I'll sleep by the kitchen door," Tucker declared.
"I'll take the front door." Mrs. Murphy chose her spot.
"Well, I'll sleep in the bedroom then. What if someone climbs through the window?" Pewter dashed to the bedroom before the others could protest.
Tracy came home at midnight, whistling as he opened the kitchen door. Fair, stretched out on the sofa, swung his long legs to the floor.
"Fair?"
"Had a good night?"
"Wonderful. I feel like a kid again. I even kissed Miranda on her doorstep." He smiled broadly, then considered Fair on the sofa. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"No." Fair walked into the kitchen, reached under the cupboard by the door, pulled out a bottle of Talisker scotch, and poured them each a nightcap. They moved to the cheerful, if threadbare, living room, where Fair told Tracy everything he could remember from the evening.
A long, long silence followed as Tracy stared into the pale gold liquid in his glass. "We were fiddling while Rome burned, I guess. That son of a bitch was over our heads the whole time."
"Harry could have been killed." Fair put his glass down on the coffee table, first sliding a coaster under it. "And whoever it is may fear she recognized him through his voice or way of going."
"Way of going?"
"Ah," Fair explained, "a horse has a special movement and I or any good horseman, really, can identify her by her gait. A way of going. For instance, you have an athlete's walk. I might be able to identify you even if you were in costume-or BoomBoom Craycroft, that sashay."
"The sheriff's command to act as though she has laryngitis is a good one for flushing him out but not so good for Harry. She knows she's bait?"
"Of course. Rick will have plainclothes men around the post office. He's got the house covered now. There's only one drive in and out."
"Somehow that's not very reassuring."
"No." Fair picked up his glass again, holding it between both hands.
"Do you have any ideas about who, what, why?"
"No, well, not exactly. I told you Rick Shaw's idea, that this is someone who was in love with Ron Brindell. Or at least is avenging him."
Tracy emptied his glass, then leaned toward Fair. "You know what, Buddy? I'm sixty-eight years old and I don't know a damn thing. Do people snap? Can anyone snap in a given situation? Are some weak and some strong? Are there really saints and sinners? Don't know but I do know once a person loses their fear of their own death, once they no longer care about belonging to other people, they'll do anything. Anything. My God, look at Rwanda. Sarajevo. Belfast. Kill children. Kill anything."
"Presumably those killings are politically motivated."
"Yeah, that's another load, too. Some people just want to kill. Give them a reason so they can cover up their murderous selves. The church can give them a reason, the state. I've seen enough to know there are no good reasons."
"I'm with you there."
"Whoever this is no longer cares. He's given up on people. He has nothing to lose. I also think he intended to finish off his list at the reunion and he's been thwarted. He's angry. And maybe, just maybe, he'll make a mistake."
Fair nodded in agreement. "The more I think about this reunion murderer, the more the finger points to Dennis Rablan."
"There are three left." Tracy held up three fingers.
"Two. Dennis Rablan and Bob Shoaf."
"Three. Hank Bittner."
"He said he wasn't in the locker room."
"He knows too much. Three. And there's a strong possibility one of the three is the killer."
"I'd hate to be one of those guys." Fair's deep voice dropped even lower.
Truer words were never spoken.
48
"Getting the flu?" Chris asked Harry sympathetically when she heard her voice on the phone that Sunday morning.
"Laryngitis," Harry replied.
"You do sound scratchy. I called to apologize. I chickened out. I could have at least said good-bye."
"You don't have to apologize to me. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd have melted my sneakers running-flat-out flying-out of there."
"You're not mad?"
"No."
"Anybody know anything? I mean, any clues?"
"Not that I know of but then Sheriff Shaw wouldn't tell me no matter what."
"Yes, I guess. He has to be careful. Well, I hope you feel better. I'll see you in the P.O. tomorrow."
"You bet." Harry hung up the tackroom phone.
She and Fair finished the barn chores and had decided to strip all the stalls to fill in the low spots and places where the horses had dug out.
"You need rubber mats or Equistall." Fair rolled in a wheelbarrow of black sand mixed with loam.
"Equistall costs me four hundred and fifty dollars a stall."
"It is expensive. Our alfalfa cube experiment was a big success."
"So far. I've been able to cut back on my feed bill but everyone's getting good nutrition. Maybe a little too much," she laughed, as she indicated Tomahawk in the paddock.
"If he were a man that'd be a beer belly." Fair shoveled the sand into the stall. "Tracy was up early this morning. At least their reunion is a smashing success. They're meeting for breakfast in the cafeteria."
"Chris sure wanted to know everything. Maybe I'm being suspicious. I guess it's natural since she and Denny have been pretty close. Right now I-" A car motor diverted her attention.
"Who goes!" Tucker barked, running out of the barn.
Pewter and Mrs. Murphy, sitting in the hayloft, saw BoomBoom's Beemer roll down the dusty drive.
"Wonder what she wants?" Mrs. Murphy said.
"Fair," Pewter sarcastically replied.
"We'll soon find out." The tiger cat tiptoed to the edge of the hayloft. She stayed still as she peered down into the center aisle.
Once BoomBoom parked her car and got out, Pewter joined her.
"Harry!" BoomBoom called out.
"In here," came the reply.
BoomBoom walked into the barn, saw Harry in the aisle, and then noticed Fair as he stepped out of the stall. Her expression changed slightly. "Oh, hello."
"Hi," he said.
"Has Bob Shoaf come by?"
"No. Why would he?" Harry said.
"I thought he might stop off to say good-bye before flying back up north. He always liked you."
"BoomBoom, I don't believe a word of this. What's wrong?" Harry leaned her rake against the stall door.
Her voice shot up half an octave. "I wanted to say good-bye myself, really."
"Why don't I go inside or why don't you two go inside? Maybe you can have this discussion without me." Fair tossed a shovelful of the sand mix into a stall.
"Uh . . . yes." BoomBoom backed out of the barn.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter climbed down backwards from the ladder to the hayloft. They followed the two women, who stopped at the BMW.