“Maybe I’ll write you a letter.” Frank nodded his thanks and put it in his pocket. He melted into the crowd as he headed into a side street.
—
Harry and Fair reached the farm an hour before sunset. Her husband dropped her off, then drove to his clinic, as he had two horses there he wanted to check. On weekends an intern looked over any patients, but Fair liked to check in. He valued his human clients and often loved his equine ones.
Harry got out of her clothes in a hurry, and put on boots, jeans, and an old sweatshirt, then hurried outside to do chores. She blew through the water buckets, threw down hay, swept out the aisle, and then hopped in the old truck, two cats and the dog with her.
Minutes later, she turned onto the dirt road leading to Cooper’s place, passing the Jones family graveyard, a huge hickory in the middle of the place for the departed. The blackbirds favored that tree.
Pewter stared out the window. “If only they’d sleep.”
“Yeah?” Tucker thought the limbs were thick with birds.
“I could climb right up there and grab one.” The gray cat licked her lips.
Not especially motivated by thoughts of dispatching birds, Mrs. Murphy said, “They’d dive-bomb you.”
The conversation stopped as Harry stopped, cut the motor. She stepped down from the truck and lifted Tucker down. The cats easily jumped out. Harry reached back for a jar of honey she’d bought on the way back from Ginger’s reception.
The lights shone from Coop’s kitchen windows as the twilight deepened.
Harry knocked on the policewoman’s back door. “Your neighbor.”
Coop’s voice called out, “Come on in.”
The small visiting posse stepped into the clean, bright kitchen, a large butcher-block table in the middle of the room, a small eating alcove under a window.
Harry placed the honey on the butcher block. “You’ve been busy.”
“Had it with those old curtains.” Cooper noted a folded pile of curtains by the back door. “They’ve got to be older than you and I put together.”
“Well, there are people in Albemarle County who value antique curtains even if they do have smiling daisies on them.” Harry’s mouth curled upward, for they were just awful. “Brought you some honey.”
“Thanks. Sit down. What will you have?”
Harry looked at the wall clock. “If I drink black tea, I won’t go to sleep. Same with Co-Cola.”
“White tea? Or beer? Or bourbon?”
“White tea.” As Harry selected her bag from the offered box, Cooper put on the kettle, then pulled out two heavy mugs made in Bennington, Vermont.
“How did it go today?”
“A cast of thousands.” Harry filled her friend in on events: who was there, the endowed chair, the fund-raising. “Thought you might be there to direct traffic.”
“No.” Cooper shook her head. “Paperwork. Rick made me go to my desk. Do you know how much I hate paperwork? Harry, you can’t turn around without this and that to fill out and how anyone thinks they can actually get anything done is a mystery.”
Harry laughed. “It is awful. That’s why I make Fair do it.”
“Now, there is a good reason to get married.” Cooper brought over the teapot, then the cups and a bowl of sugar cubes, white and brown, plus granulated sugar in a bowl.
Neither woman took milk, but both had a weakness for sugar.
“Your choice of sugars.”
“M-m-m.” Cooper took a sip, raising her eyebrows. “Thanks to you, I’m learning to love tea.”
Harry smiled. “Took me years to like white tea, but now I do. Hey, I came to tell you about Frank Cresey lurking behind a pillar on the Rotunda. He slipped away, but wasn’t he in custody?”
“Was is the operative word.” Cooper took another long sip as the three animals prowled the kitchen floor in case any crumbs fell. “Hold on.” The tall deputy rose, pulled out a few treats, and tossed them down, as these three were regular visitors.
Large though she was, Pewter snagged hers first.
“So he was released?” asked Harry.
“His stories about the murder”—Cooper twirled her hand upward—“impossible. Once he was sober, checked out by the psychologist, he was sent over to the halfway house. The report was that he was cleaned up, was well behaved, cooperative. Then he walked out. And right now we don’t have the manpower to pick him up. He’s harmless, basically.”
“Offensive but harmless,” Harry concurred.
“The Downtown Mall isn’t my beat. The Charlottesville police will pick him up, I’m sure.”
Harry laughed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Frank stood on the county/city line? You all would come for him, he’d step into the city. And vice versa.”
Cooper smiled. “One of these days, I swear it will happen.”
In Virginia, cities are incorporated, having their own law enforcement, mayor, city commissioners. Counties had sheriff’s departments and a board of county supervisors. Often the towns weren’t large enough in the counties to have mayors. Some did, some didn’t, but the county courthouse was always the hub. Confusing as the system might be, it worked for Virginians, and Virginians were quick to note they had managed since 1624.
Each of the original thirteen colonies kept their systems. Pennsylvania had townships, for instance. And not one of those former colonies would change its ways. As one moved westward, in theory, those states became easier to govern, or at least more streamlined. This fiction was easily exploded when a state squared off against the federal government. The attorney general of Missouri would fight just as hard as the attorney general of Virginia if he or she felt the clumsy hand of Washington squeezing its citizens or its coffers.
Made life interesting.
Tucker joined them at the alcove, looking up at Cooper with an expression of saintliness. “Might you have more bones?” asked the dog.
“Ignore her, Coop.”
“Oh, how can I? And it just so happens, now that I think of it, I bought some greenies. Plus I have a tuna bomb for the cats.” No sooner did Cooper distribute these treats than the three creatures entered a state of bliss.
Coop sat back down at the kitchen table. “Do you want anything? I actually have deviled eggs.”
“Oh, thanks, no. I ate my way through the reception.” Harry paused. “I’ll miss Ginger. He and Trudy were friends of Mom and Dad. I know you have to be, uh, careful about sharing information, but have you learned anything at all?”
Cooper looked into her teacup. “Not a damn thing.”
“I keep thinking it was a mistake,” said Harry. “Maybe the bullet was meant for someone else.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right, but Ginger’s death was like a bolt out of a clear blue sky. There’s no sense to it.” She finished her tea.
“We’ve investigated the Hemings angle, and then the uproar over blacks, then women being admitted to UVA in 1972. Yes, Ginger got a few folks angry, but those that signed letters to the editors from that time are mostly dead.” She stopped for a moment. “Except for Carroll Kruger, who, about ninety, I figure, held forth on how admitting blacks and women to the University of Virginia has ruined—ruined, mind you—that once great institution and he will never give them a dime.”
“He’s pretty rich.” Harry tapped the edge of her cup. “Do you think you ever completely eradicate prejudice?”
“No, but it’s only the ancient and the cranks who cling to race and all this sex stuff. I think we’re beyond that, most everyone. But, you know, something else will take their place, some new category of outrage.”
“Solves nothing and hurts many. And that’s what I keep coming back to, Ginger never hurt anyone.”
“Frank Cresey.”
“Okay, but Frank didn’t kill him.” Harry leaned back against the cushion on the alcove booth. “The only thing I can think of is it’s some form of academic anger, revenge. Far-fetched. His research consumed his life. Maybe he stepped over into someone’s territory and Ginger got the credit they thought should have come to them or he wrote about a subject first. I know professors and doctors are incredibly competitive regarding their research.”