"Worthless. Worthless as tits on a boar."He then reclaimed his perch on the cupola, where he sang loudly to the world. "/am the mightiest bird in the kingdom, in the universe. I fear no one."
Harry and Bo stared up at him, his chest puffed out, his beak open. He ranted and sang. A low"hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo" should have alerted him, but his pride and volume blocked out Flatface's pronounced irritation.
Awakened by his song, which was harsh to her musical ears, Flatface ruffled her feathers. She slept in the cupola. Harry had fixed it so Flatface could nest up there. She could fly through the loft barn doors, which Harry usually left open at least a crack, even in winter. Also, one side of the cupola was opened enough for her to get in and out. Silence, big talons, a frightening beak, and remarkable intelligence are the weapons of all owls but are heightened in the great horned owl.
Flatface, furious, flew out from the cupola. The blue jay didn't hear her until she closed over him, grasping him in her talons.
"Drop him on me,"Pewter shrieked with excitement.
"Holy shit." Bo was mesmerized.
"Flatface lives in the cupola. I think he plucked her last nerve." Harry breathlessly watched the drama.
Flatface, slowing, opened her wings wide and opened her talons, dropping the blue jay about six feet over Pewter's head. Mrs. Murphy danced on her hind legs.
The blue jay, feathers scattering, plummeted toward the two awaiting cats. He managed to open his wings and pull out of the free fall just as Pewter snatched at him.
Her reward was some exquisite tail feathers.
The blue jay hurried away as Flatface flew back into the barn."That will shut his trap," she said as she nestled in her cupola.
Simon, who watched from the hayloft doors, called up,"You showed him."
The blacksnake, Matilda, emerged from her nest in the back hay bales—she had laid eggs in a depression next to her nest. She cast a glittering eye at Flatface, then another at Simon before returning to her place. She was old and accordingly large, as fat around as a big man's wrist. Being a reptile, she lacked sociability. She did not, however, lack fangs, and although nonpoisonous, a deep bite from her jaws could send a human into shock. Thanks to Matilda and Flatface, not one mouse twaddled about in the hayloft. The cats might have a deal with the tack-room mice, but as far as Matilda and Flatface were concerned, one mouse equaled one hors d'oeuvre.
Matilda did say,"Good work."
Flatface turned her head almost upside down and winked.
Outside, the humans, cats, and dog were still talking about the blue jay's come-uppance.
"Near-death experience." Harry was on the side of her cats.
"I know some people who need a near-life experience." Bo chuckled. "Like Toby Pittman. One weird dude."
"Maybe he wears his weirdness on the outside. The rest of us wear it on the inside."
"I hope that means you're kinky."
"Bo, you think about one thing." Harry laughed at him.
"Know anything else that's as much fun?"
"Mmm. I'll give that deep thought." She waited a moment. "What do you think about Arch coming here from California?"
"Hell of a deal at his age to be responsible for a large operation. But I think he came back for you, too."
This startled Harry. "Why? Over is over."
"For some people; not for others," Bo wisely replied. "You know, he didn't know you were getting remarried. You'd think someone would have e-mailed him."
"Maybe." Harry thought a long time. "But my experience is men don't usually keep up with relationships. Arch's only friend here, if you can call him that, is Toby. All his old buddies are in Blacksburg or down in Chatham where he was raised."
Bo checked his watch. "I lied. I've been here longer than fifteen minutes. Must be the company." He climbed back into his SUV, perfect for showing clients country properties. "Keep me in mind, now, if you hear of anything."
"I will."
He closed the door, started the engine, rolled down the window. "Damnedest thing, that owl. Isn't that the way, though? I mean, something just hits you, right out of the blue?"
10
Late that afternoon, Deputy Cooper, at her desk, received a call from Cory Sullivan, an acquaintance who worked for the sheriff's department in Blacksburg. Many women in law enforcement share a special bond, as there are still men out there who belittle their involvement in the profession.
"Cooperation." Cory pronounced this as "Cooperation," accent onCooper.
"Cory, what's cooking?"
"Three wrecks. No fatalities. One break-in at a convenience store, the perp on meth. One missing person, which is why I'm calling you."
"Another day in paradise." Cooper Picked up her yellow pencil.
"Yep."
"Who's missing?"
"Professor Vincent Forland."
As Cooper wrote this down she clarified the information. "The viticulture expert?"
"How do you know him?"
"He was the speaker at a panel here a couple of days ago. Give me what you've got."
"His housekeeper called at two-thirty, alarmed that he hadn't returned from Charlottesville. According to her, he is extremely punctual and he told Mrs. Burrows, that's the housekeeper, that he would be home by noon."
"Two and a half hours. Kind of jumping the gun."
"Not according to her. She said she called Kluge Vineyards and they said he left at seven this morning."
"Guess he didn't give them an itinerary?"
"No. Just told Patricia Kluge that he would make a few calls along the way."
"Anything else?"
"The guy was unnatural. Never had a speeding ticket or a parking ticket."
"That's major." Coop laughed.
"Mrs. Burrows is very upset, so see what you can find out up there."
"Sure. Come up and visit sometime."
"Same here. I have tickets to Tech football next fall but, hey, don't wait that long."
After Coop hung up she checked all the accident reports in the county since seven in the morning. She checked with the state police to see if there had been any accidents on I-64 or 1-81, Professor Forland's probable routes. There hadn't been any that involved him.
Then she called tow and wrecker services in case he'd had car trouble. He could be sitting at a gas station or at a car dealer's service center. Maybe he was too upset or busy to inform Mrs. Burrows, but that wasn't her concern. Her concern was tracking him down.
On the fourth wrecker-service call she hit pay dirt. Big Jake's Towing Service had towed a Scion bearing Professor Forland's plates from the underground parking lot at Queen Charlotte Square. It had been Parked in a reserved spot, and the owner of that parking space was one step ahead of a running fit on coming in to work to find her slot filled.
Big Jake, aptly named, walked Cooper to the chain-link fenced-in area where cars
were impounded until their owners forked over the cash to release them.
Big Jake handed her the keys. "You sure got here fast."
"Just hit the flasher button." She smiled at him. "Where did you find the keys?"
"Behind the sun visor."
"Did you open the trunk?"
"No."
She walked to the trunk. "Big Jake, I don't know what's in here, so fair warning."
He nodded, stepped to the side as she popped the lid. A banker's box filled with notes, a flashlight, and an emergency kit seemed a pathetic amount of stuff.
Putting on thin latex gloves, she opened the car door and checked every cubbyhole and compartment. The day turned from crisp to cold, the usual April inconsistency. She flipped down the sun visors.
"You expecting trouble?"
"I don't know. I sure hope not." She hunkered down to check under the seats. From under the driver's seat she pulled out Professor Forland's thick, square, black-rimmed glasses. She then replaced them exactly where they had been. "Who comes in and out of here?"