Drivers on Route 250 were usually more sensible than those on the interstate, who would fly along above the speed limit in wretched weather. The old Three Chopt Road, one branch of which was Route 250, was more used by locals and proved safer in the snow.
At the top of Afton Mountain, she swung right, the remnants of an old Howard Johnson hotel still in pathetic evidence. She slowly drove down the steep grade into Waynesboro. Charlottesville, especially now during the holidays, was strangled with traffic. She loathed it. So many outsiders now lived in Albemarle County, and they brought their ways with them, which included rudeness behind the wheel of a vehicle. One would hope the Virginia Way would rub off on the heathens, but it appeared to be going the other way ’round. People she knew would lean on the horn, give someone the finger while cussing a blue streak. She flat- out hated it.
The additional appeal of Waynesboro, a modest town with no pretensions, was that prices were cheaper than in Charlottesville, the land of the truly rich and famous. Not that she had anything against rich and famous people, except for one thing: their presence drove prices ever upward.
A little music store squatted just over the bridge at the base of Main Street. She parked by the curb, feeling lucky to get a space, dashed in, and brought three pitch pipes: one for Brother Morris, one for St. Luke’s, and one for herself. Funny, Morris thought he’d have to go down the mountain in bad weather. Clearly he didn’t shop much in Waynesboro. Harry was a good driver. She enjoyed this little foray.
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker had snuggled up on the sheepskin throw on the truck bench. The cab of the old 1978 F-150 was warm, but if the engine wasn’t on, it cooled fast enough.
“She’s got that look,” Mrs. Murphy announced.
“Are you surprised?” Pewter sarcastically snorted.
“No,” the tiger replied. “I’m surprised that it took her this long to get it.”
“She was upset at seeing the body,” Tucker sagely noted. “You know Mom, she doesn’t show much emotion, but the murder affected her. Then, too, I think emotions are closer to the surface around Christmas. She’s full of memories.”
“Better pray to the Great Cat in the Sky, because she’s back to her old self,” Mrs. Murphy said. “The worst part of it is, she has no clues.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Pewter wondered.
“She’ll blunder into something or set someone off. If she had even a hint of what’s going on, I’d feel better.” The tiger cat snuggled closer to Tucker.
“Me, too.” Tucker sighed.
Harry returned to the truck and drove up Main Street, turning left at the light where Burger King, McDonald’s, Rite Aid, and a BP station clustered.Traffic proved heavier now. She finally turned into the parking lot of Martin’s, a good supermarket. Fortunately, she didn’t have a lot of shopping, but she never looked forward to any kind of shopping.
Once inside, she grabbed a cart and headed for produce. She threw in carrots and apples—for the horses as well as for herself—varieties of lettuce and oranges, then she raced to the meat department.
She slowed when she noticed Brother Speed and Bryson Deeds at the far end of the meat section. Putting her new vow into practice, she studied their body language. They looked like two people who knew each other very well. She racked her brain to think how these two disparate souls would know each other. Bryson, not a horseman, couldn’t even be induced to attend the steeplechase races, a social event above and beyond flat racing at Colonial Downs. She knew Bryson treated the brothers pro bono. She hoped Brother Speed didn’t have heart problems, although the handsome jockey appeared the picture of health. Given that they both worked at the hospice, they’d had plenty of opportunity to take each other’s measure.
Fascinated, she watched these two as they leaned toward each other in deep conversation.
She remembered Brother Speed’s compact body when he was in racing silks. His monk’s robe covered up everything.
She wouldn’t have minded squeezing Brother Speed’s buns back in his racing days, not that she wanted to go to bed with him, but he was once so cute. It occurred to her at that very moment that she lived in a culture where most forms of touching were taboo. She wondered what it would be like to live in a culture where people didn’t have mental body armor.
Bryson’s body displayed the signs of a middle-aged man. Well fed. A potbelly sagged over his pants. Not bad, but no six-pack, that was for sure. He was a tad under six feet, reasonably well built. Had he been fit he would have been better- looking. His face’s strong features gave him a commanding look. His dark brown eyes were deep-set. His hair, receding, showed signs of gray at the temples. The color, also a dark brown, suited his complexion, somewhat olive. She could see his wedding ring, plus another ring on the pinky of his right hand, probably a family crest. She hadn’t noticed it before. An expensive Rolex Submariner watch, gold with a blue bezel, flashed just enough money spent that an observant person would take that into account. Plus, Bryson gave off the air of a man accustomed to getting his way, not unusual in a doctor.
Brother Speed stepped aside as an elderly man pushing a half-full cart careened dangerously close. When he did so, he saw Harry. His face registered pleasure at her presence, then he smiled, said something to Bryson, and the two men walked toward her.
“Christmas dinner?” Bryson asked. “I don’t see the goose.”
“Maybe you’re looking at her,” Harry joked. “I’ve been called a silly goose.”
“Not you.” Brother Speed smiled again, for he liked Harry above and beyond the fact that she was a true horsewoman, as opposed to just being a rider.
“You’re too kind. You all doing the same thing I am?”
“Racquel gave me a short list and told me that I had to stop at Martin’s on the way back from Augusta Medical. Only Martin’s will do.” He showed Harry the list. “I think I can get this stuff, but I’m not sure about the plum pudding.”
“If they don’t have it, try Foods of All Nations, if you can even get near it.”
“That’s the truth,” Bryson commented.
“Whole Foods.” Brother Speed mentioned another upscale market.
“I never knew you were interested in food.” Harry recognized the sacrifices jockeys made.
“I’m not. Brother Morris is, and he often gives me the shopping job because Brother Howard can’t be trusted not to dip into the bags on the way home.”
“Come to think of it, what a wise decision.” Harry laughed, for Brother Howard was as round as he was tall.
“We’re having a service tomorrow, just among the brothers, and Brother Morris wants the reception to be a feast of celebration, to remember Brother Christopher’s remarkable journey.”
Bryson’s dark eyebrows came together for a moment. “Harry, is his family doing anything? Haven’t heard a peep, but under the circumstances it may take them more time.”
“Oh, Bryson, that’s one of the things that makes this so sad. His family disowned him when the scandal broke in Phoenix.” She looked at Brother Speed. “I don’t know if he ever talked about it.” When Brother Speed shook his head, she continued. “His father, president of a bank that has been gobbled up like most of them, just turned his back on him. In a way I can understand it, because Mr. Hewitt believed passionately that anyone who dealt in money, whether a banker or a broker, had to be above reproach. Two years after the scandal, Christopher’s mother died. He was in jail, and his father didn’t even send him an obituary. He found out when Reverend Jones sent one to him after trying to persuade the old man to heal the wound with his son, given their mutual deep loss.”