BoomBoom, voice lowered, said, "He left without saying anything. I thought if he was still around I'd find out what was the matter."
"He's a jock, Boom. He's used to being fawned over and getting what he wants. As long as he didn't leave money on your dresser, I wouldn't worry." Harry immediately guessed what really happened.
BoomBoom's face flushed. "Harry, you have the most off-putting way of speaking sometimes." She reached in her skirt pocket. "He left this, though." A heavy, expensive Rolex gold watch gleamed in her hand.
"That costs as much as my new truck."
"Yes, I think it does. I really ought to return the watch but I can't send it to his house, now, can I?"
"Ah. . . . ?" Harry had forgotten about Bob's perfect wife and two perfect children. She took the watch from BoomBoom's palm. Nine-fifteen. She checked the old Hamilton she wore, her father's watch. Nine-fifteen.
"One other thing, I ought to check the school. I know you and Susan cleaned up last night but I am the Chair, and I should double-check everything."
"Well, go on."
"I'm afraid."
"Great. Why come to me?"
"Because Susan is at church with Ned and the kids and because-you're not afraid of much."
Within ten minutes Harry, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, BoomBoom, and Fair reached Crozet High.
The front main entrance was open because of the class of 1950's breakfast, the last scheduled event. The first place they checked was the gym, which was locked. BoomBoom had a set of keys. She unlocked the door. They looked around quickly. Everything was fine.
"I'm going back upstairs," Tucker said. "Maybe I missed something in the dark."
"I can see in the dark. I didn't see anything," Pewter said.
"There was a lot going on." Tucker headed up the stairs.
Pewter followed. Mrs. Murphy stayed with Harry as the humans checked the hallways and garbage cans.
"You all cleaned up everything. I don't have anything to do," BoomBoom said gratefully.
"Murphy!" Pewter howled from the top of the stairs.
Murphy hurried up the stairs, met Pewter and raced with her as she flew over the polished floor to the classroom next to the back stairwell.
Tucker sat in the classroom. The window was open. The blinds, pulled all the way to the top, had the white cord, beige with age, hanging out the window. That wasn't all that was hanging out the window.
Mrs. Murphy jumped to the windowsill. Bob Shoaf, tongue almost touching his breastbone, hung at the end of the venetian blind cord.
"Should I get Mom?" Pewter asked.
"Not yet." Mrs. Murphy coolly surveyed the situation. "The humans will track up everything. Let's investigate first." She asked the dog, "Anything?"
"English Leather fading-and Dennis's scent."
Pewter jumped up next to Mrs. Murphy. "His face is-I can't describe the color."
"Don't worry about him." Murphy noted that the end classroom jutted out by the stairwell. The windows in a row could be seen from the road out front but the back window, set at a right angle to the others, was hidden from view. Bob probably wouldn't have been found until sometime Monday if they hadn't come upstairs. The frost preserved the body but even without a frost the humans wouldn't have smelled him for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, depending on the warmth of the day. She also noticed that rigor had set in. Nothing lay on the ground below.
The three animals prowled around the classroom. They walked the windowsills, checked under desks, sniffed and poked. Then they split up. Mrs. Murphy walked to the far stairwell. Tucker and Pewter checked the stairwell closest to the classroom.
They met in the downstairs hallway. No one had found anything unusual.
"Do you think the killer would have done this to Mom?" Tucker asked.
"No. But I think he would have killed her if she'd gotten too close. I know he would. But he wasn't hanging when she was attacked. Whoever did this in the wee hours of the morning hauled him back here. That's a lot of work." Mrs. Murphy spied the humans coming out of the cafeteria, each one eating a muffin from the class of 1950's breakfast.
"They'll wish they hadn't eaten," Pewter sighed.
"Well, let's get them upstairs." Tucker thought she'd pull on Fair's pants leg.
"BoomBoom is going to have a terrible time explaining that watch." Murphy headed toward the group.
49
All hell broke loose. The media from all over Virginia, Washington, and even Baltimore played up the murders. The attention was fueled by the fact that Rex and Bob had been killed on a weekend when news was especially slow and Bob had been a big sports celebrity.
Crozet, overrun by vans adorned with satellite dishes, pulled tight the shutters on the windows. Few chose to talk but among themselves the agreement was that the media was correct in dubbing these events the Reunion Murders.
The reporters waited outside the various churches, trying to nab the faithful as they emerged from late-morning services.
Public buildings were closed. The reporters were out of luck there but they hit up the convenience stores, including Market Shiflett's. The reporter from Channel 29, having done her homework, knew that Market was a member of the class under siege. Being quite pretty, she managed to extract a comment from him, which was played on the news relentlessly.
"The big cities have lots of nutcases. Guess it was Crozet's turn," Market said, looking into the camera from behind the cash register of the store.
Since few other quotes were available, Market made the airwaves up and down the Mid-Atlantic.
Mim Sanburne called a meeting at her house. Invited were those she considered the movers and shakers of the town. Harry and Miranda, part of the inner circle by virtue of birth and their jobs, sat with Herb Jones, Jim Sanburne, Larry Johnson, and Mim, discussing how to divert the bad publicity.
"That problem would be solved if we could apprehend the criminal," Harry, out of sorts, whispered, her voice still rough.
The older people quieted, each realizing that not being members of the class of 1980, they felt safe.
"You're quite right." Mim smoothed her hair.
50
Dennis Rablan was nowhere to be found. Rick Shaw scoured the photo shop and Rablan's house, called his parents and his friends. No one had seen or heard from him-at least, that's what they told Rick and Cynthia. He had stationed patrol cars at Dennis's home, his parents' home, and his ex-wife's home.
Standing next to the coroner, Rick hoped Dennis would open the doors to his business on Monday morning. He was sure Dennis knew something that he wasn't telling-assuming he was alive.
"This man died from a bullet to the brain. Apart from broken fingers, smashed knees, and both sides of his collarbone broken-the results of twelve years of pro football-this was a man in good health." The coroner shook his head. "I'd like to take every high-school football hero and show them what happens to people who continue to play this game throughout college and the pros. They get money and maybe fame but that's all they get."
"How long was he dead before he was found this morning?"
"I'd say the time of death occurred about four in the morning. You examined the site, of course."
"No sign of struggle." Rick hoped the embalmer at the fu-neral home would be able to get the dark color from Bob's face and he asked the coroner if that was possible.
"Usually. Once the blood drains out it will drain from the face, too, but I'm a coroner, not a funeral director." He smiled, perfectly at home with dead bodies. "If that doesn't work, I'd suggest a closed casket. There's the problem of the deep crease in the neck but if he staples the collar to the skin at the back of the neck it should stay up and not distress the family. I remember Bob's glory days at Crozet High." He peered over his half-moon glasses. "And beyond."
"Me, too." Cynthia finally spoke. Autopsies put her considerable composure to the test.