"Where does the time go?" Harry shot envelopes into the boxes a bit faster.
"You're too young to worry about time. That's my job."
Harry snagged another cinnamon bun. Pewter had the same idea. "Hey, piggy. That's mine."
"Oh, give her a bite."
"Miranda, you were the person who didn't like cats. The one who thought they were spoiled and sneaky and, as I recall, speaking of time, this was not but two years ago."
Pewter, golden eyes glowing, trilled at Miranda's feet, open-toed wedgies today a la Joan Crawford. "Oh, Mrs. Hogendobber, I loooveyou."
"I'm gonna puke, "Mrs. Murphy growled.
"Now this little darling wants the tiniest nibble." Mrs. Hogendobber pinched off some sweet, flaky dough liberally covered with vanilla icing. The cinnamon scent flooded the room as the bun was broken open. "Here, Pewter. What about you, Mrs. Murphy?"
"I'm a carnivore, "Mrs. Murphy declined. "But thank you."
"I'll eat anything. "Tailless Tucker wagged her rear end furiously.
Mrs. Hogendobber held a bit aloft, and Tucker stood on her hind feet, not easy for a corgi. She gobbled her reward.
The rest of the day held the usual round of comings and goings, everyone expressed an opinion on the Threadneedle virus, which like so many things reported on television was a fizzle. People also expressed opinions on whether or not BoomBoom Craycroft, the sultry siren of Crozet, would set her cap again for Blair Bainbridge now that he had returned from Africa and she from Montana.
At five to five Mrs. Sanburne reappeared. She'd stopped by at eight-thirty A.M., her usual. Post offices close at five, but this was Crozet, and if anyone needed something, either Harry or Mrs. Hogendobber would stay late.
"Girls," Mim's imperious voice rang out, "Crozet National Bank was infected with the virus."
"Our little bank?" Harry couldn't believe it.
"I ran into Norman Cramer, and he said the darned thing kept inserting information from other companies, feed store companies. Dumb stuff, but they immediately countered with the void commands and wiped it out quickly."
"He's a smart one, that Norman," Mrs. Hogendobber said.
"Sure fell hook, line, and sinker for Aysha. How smart can he be?" Harry giggled.
"I've never seen a woman work so hard to land a man. You'd have thought he was a whale instead of a"—she thought for a minute—"small-mouthed bass."
"Three points, Mrs. Sanburne," Harry whooped.
"My favorite moment was when I played through on the eleventh at Farmington. Aysha, who never so much as looked at a golf club in her life, was caddying for Norman and his golf partner, that good-looking accountant fellow, David Wheeler. Anyway, there she was at the water fountain. She put the golf balls in the fountain. I said, Aysha, what are you doing?' and she replied, 'Oh, washing Norman's balls. They get so grass stained.'"
With that the three women nearly doubled over.
Pewter lifted her head as she lay on the back table. Mrs. Murphy was curled next to her, but her eyes were open.
"What do you think of Norman Cramer?"
Mrs. Murphy shot back, "A twerp."
"Then why wasAysha so hot to have him?"Tucket, on the floor, asked.
"Good family. Aysha wants to be the queen of White Hall Road by the time she's forty."
"Better make it fifty, Murphy, she's got to be in her middle thirties now." Pewter touched the tiger with her hind paw. Murphy pushed her back.
"Have you seen Don Giovanni yet?" Mrs. Hogendobber inquired of Mim. "I was thinking about going tomorrow, Friday."
"Loved it! Little Marilyn can't stand opera, but she did endure. Jim fell asleep, of course. When I woke him he said his duties as mayor of our fair town had worn him out. The only event Jim Sanburne doesn't sleep through that involves music is the Marine Corps band. The piccolo always jolts him awake. Well, I've got a bridge party tonight—"
"Wait, one question. What's the lead singer look like?" Harry was curious.
"She was wearing a wig—"
"I mean the male lead."
"Oh, good-looking. Now, Harry, don't even think about it. You've got two men crazy over you. Your ex-husband and Blair Bainbridge, who I must say is the best-looking man I've ever seen in my life except for Clark Gable and Gary Cooper."
Harry waved off Mim. "Crazy for me? I see Fair from time to time and Blair's my neighbor. Don't whip up a romance. They're just friends."
"We'll see," came the measured reply. With that she left.
Harry washed her hands. The maroon post office ink was smeared into her fingertips. "We should change our ink color every year. I get bored with this."
"And you complain about taxes… think what it would cost."
"That's true, but I look at stamps from other countries and the postmark inks, and some of them are so pretty."
"Long as the mail gets there on time," Miranda said. "And when you consider how much mail the U.S. Postal Service moves in one day, one regular business day, it's amazing."
"Okay. Okay." Harry laughed and held up her hands for inspection. "I wouldn't want to waste any valuable ink on my fingers."
"Let's say you have rosy fingertips of a color not found in nature."
"Okay, I'm out of here."
5
The battery flickered on Harry's truck, so she stopped by the old Amoco service station which, a long time ago, was a Mobil station. The ancient Coke machine beckoned. She slipped the coins in and then "walked" the curvaceous bottle through to the end, where the metal jaws opened as she pulled the botde to freedom. She liked the old machines because you could lift the top up and put your hand into the cool chest. Also, the new soda dispensers were so bright and full of light, she felt she ought to wear sunglasses to use them. A nickle bought a Coke when she was tiny. Then it jumped to a dime when she was in grade school. Now they cost fifty cents, but if one traveled to a big city, the price tag was easily seventy-five. If this was progress, Harry found it deeply depressing.
Usually she headed straight home after work, but the horses grazed on rich pasture. She didn't need to feed grain in the summer. The twilight lingered with intensity. Why hurry?
She absentmindedly nosed the recharged vehicle north up Route 810.
"Where are we going?" Tucker rested her snout on the win-dowsill.
"Another one of Mom's adventures." Mrs. Murphy curled up behind the long stick shift. She liked that part of the seat best.
"The last time she did this, we ended up in Sperryville. I'm hungry. I don't want to go for such a long drive."
"Whine, then. Get those sweet doggy tears in your eyes. That arouses her maternal instincts. "Mrs. Murphy laughed.
"Yeah, well, I can overdo, you know. I've got to save that for special occasions. "Tucker was resigned to her fate.
Harry clicked on the radio, then clicked it off. The Preparation H ad disturbed the soft mood of the fading light which blended from scarlet to hazy pink to a rose-gray laced with fingers of indigo.
She slowed at the turn to Sugar Hollow, a favorite spot in western Albemarle County for hikers and campers. The hollow led into a misty crevice in the mountain. No matter how hot the day, the forested paths remained cool and inviting. One could drive a car a few miles into the hollow to a parking lot, then walk.
A roar made Harry hit the brakes so hard that Tucker and Mrs. Murphy tumbled off the seat.
"Hey!"The cat clawed back onto the seat. A black blur skidded in front of them, hung the turn, and then violently sped down the darkening road away from Sugar Hollow.
Harry squinted after the cycle. It was the black Harley, the driver encased in black leather and on such a hot day. She'd gotten a good look at the bike when Blair had escorted the man out of Ash Lawn. No other motorcycle like it in the area, plus it had California plates.