“Fair and my friends, all the time.” She laughed. “But you said illegal, and I assume high profit. That’s all I can come up with.”
He folded his hands together. “It’s driving me crazy.”
In the background, they heard the rumble of the truck as Susan drove the spider-wheel tedder, still at her chores.
“I can imagine.”
“I knew those guys, I really knew them. By the way, the report from the chief medical examiner’s office said Bobby was full of Quaaludes. He couldn’t have defended himself. I never saw him take any drug. He had to have been purposefully drugged, then killed.”
“I truly am sorry.”
“I’ve hired special security for the shop. I can’t really afford it, personally, for Jason”—he nodded in the direction of the Altima—“Sammy, or Lodi. I’ve advised them to always have someone with them when they travel. I’ve even suggested they not drive. Have a family member take them to work and pick them up—at least until this is solved.”
“Good advice.” Harry felt the keys in her hand. Someone—Nick, likely—had hung a lucky rabbit’s foot on the key chain.
After more chat and another thank-you from Harry, Victor and Jason drove down the long driveway. Harry felt the temporary use of the car was also a peace offering for Jason’s behavior the other day. She couldn’t wait to tell Susan, to give her friend a drive, but first Harry marched right in to the kitchen and took the rabbit’s foot key chain off the key. She put on a key chain of her own, with a little flashlight hanging from it.
That rabbit’s foot was anything but lucky.
This is fantastic.” Susan, while hardly a car enthusiast, still appreciated the acceleration of the WRX STI when she mashed the pedal to the floor.
“That’s why it’s called a pocket rocket. Handles like butter.” In the passenger seat, Harry grinned.
Harry wanted to treat Susan for turning hay in the unremitting sun. What Harry had just cut needed at least two days to cure, partly to let the blister bugs run out. Susan had turned yesterday’s cutting. They showered after that sweaty job.
They’d known each other all their lives—sisters, really. Neither woman had siblings, a rare occurrence for their generation. Kindergarten, grade school, high school, Harry and Susan did everything together. They did attend different colleges but spent summers together and even went to Europe upon college graduation. Susan’s people had more money than Harry’s, but Harry’s wonderful mom and dad saved for a year to send her overseas as a graduation present. Susan was a business major, while Harry studied art history. Like most traveling young people, they enjoyed and endured many adventures. They returned to their native Virginia with a deeper appreciation of their own state and country, as well as a wider view of the world. Both had learned that every country has gifts and every country can do many things better than we do.
“Do you know how many years it’s been since I drove a stick shift?” Susan slowed for the intersection with Route 240.
As she lurched forward, one of the Zippo lighters with a flag on it given to the men by Blair Bainbridge slid out from under the seat.
“Given that you’re knocking the fillings out of my teeth, I’d guess it’s been a good twenty years.”
Laughing, Susan replied, “That’s about right. God, it is fun, though. I really feel like I’m driving the car.”
“Remember that Dodge Dart you had junior year?”
“Tinker Bell.” Susan smiled. “Hey, Tinker got me where I wanted to go.” She paused. “With some help from you and BoomBoom. She suffered from chronic conditions.”
“Brake fade, numb steering, faulty timing, bald tires. Tinker was a basket case.”
“Half the time so was I. Why anyone looks back on their high school days with fondness is beyond me. Every day was an invitation to a new drama.”
“Well, every day you fell in love. You were a hot mess.”
“You always had Fair. But you were still a mess.” A gleam shone from Susan’s eyes, which never left the road.
“Oh, we all were. What scared me the most was taking the college boards.”
“You aced them. Got you a scholarship to Smith.”
“Scared me to death. Actually, I do sort of look back fondly sometimes. When we were tiny, we saw the world as so wondrous: butterflies, horses, shiny cars, listening to the car radio. But high school was more about emotions for the first time—adult emotions, I guess.”
“Coming from you, that’s a statement.”
“Why?”
“Harry, I think of you as a part-time adult.”
“You know, I could cancel our lunch, even if you did turn my hay. Mean. You are just hateful mean.”
Susan laughed. “The truth hurts.”
They cruised along, secure in the love of deep friendship, cruising down Memory Lane, as well.
Susan pulled in to the parking lot of The Blue Mountain Brewery, their favorite place. The restaurant, on Route 151 in Afton, had good food and was much less expensive than any equivalent place in Charlottesville.
Charlottesville was working hard on appealing to the foodies, the result being an array of restaurants with small portions artfully displayed, followed by big bills.
Once settled in their booth, orders given and tall, ice-cold glasses of Coca-Cola in their hands, they jabbered about this, that, and who shot the cat, to use the old Southern expression.
When Susan’s rather big BLT arrived, a moment of guilt affected her. “I have no self-discipline. How can I lose weight eating bacon?”
“Oh, Susan, shut up about your weight. You look great. If Ned still revs his motors when he sees you, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s the best way to look at it.”
With a devilish smile, Harry added ever so sweetly, “And, Susan, a little fat fills the wrinkles.”
Susan took her unused fork and jabbed Harry lightly on the hand. “You’ll eat those words instead of your salad. You’re too skinny anyway.”
“A woman can never be too rich or too thin,” Harry replied. “Who said that?”
“Someone who lived an unhappy life. Some days you have to eat fat or fried chicken or even a little sugar. I really do try to limit myself, but if I gave up everything, I’d be downright miserable.”
“A lot of women sure are.” Harry speared a wedge of egg. “Susan, I’ve been thinking.”
“God, no.”
“Really. This is serious, and I can tell you, knowing it will go no further. I can’t get the murders out of my mind. With my dumb luck, I found two of the corpses. Well, the cats and dog found the second one. But no one can believe they’re unrelated anymore.”
“No.” Susan’s eyes widened. She knew that Harry, in part because she didn’t have to observe law-enforcement protocol, often stumbled upon connections before others did. Then again, Harry often got it nearly right but not right enough, to the sheriff’s discomfort.
“I’ve investigated the gambling angle—gambling rings—as best I could. I called Tessa Randolph, who works at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. You remember her. Anyway, she told me that, no matter what type of illegal gambling, there has to be a drop or a mule, a place where the money is bet or a person who takes the bets. The drag track could be a good spot for an operation like that. But I can’t find a thing there. I’ve hinted to Sammy at ReNu that I want to bet. He races at the track, so I called him up. He said he didn’t know anything. He could be playing dumb.”
“You’re not the brightest, honeybun.”
“Well, do you have another suggestion?”
“Yes. Don’t call anyone at ReNu, for starters. We pay taxes, so Sheriff Shaw and Coop will deal with it. If there’s an illegal ring, you just tipped them off.”