She leaned over Rick Shaw's shoulder, reading the report with him. He put the papers down. She came around to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him.
"If it's got the white coats baffled it must really be weird." He ran his hand over his thinning hair.
"Yeah, well, whatever it was it sure was lethal." Her finger went to her neck. "Wham."
"No dart or shard or anything in the body." He dumped his full ashtray into the trash can. The odor of stale cigarettes wafted upward.
"Isn't it possible that when Fair or whoever loosened the scarf it fell out?" She recalled that Fair mentioned H.H. had had a plaid cashmere scarf around his neck when he collapsed in the parking lot.
"The penetration in the neck was an inch and a half." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "You'd think whatever hit him would have stuck in there. And if it pulled out with the scarf there'd be a tear in the scarf. We combed that parking lot. Not even a sliver on the ground."
"The penetration was deep but thin. You saw the wound."
"I did. That's what worries me. How could the killer hit H.H. and no one see it? He'd have to be close and silent. It's possible the killer could have brushed by him but surely someone would notice a human being jamming something into the neck of another human being. This report disturbs me. These days you don't know what some nutcase is cooking up in a lab."
"Not just here, boss, but all over the world." She sighed.
"You got that right." He frowned.
"Maybe basketball is a trigger in some way?"
"Yeah, I thought of that, too." He drummed harder. "Looks like we need a full-court press on this one."
16
The gang rarely missed a basketball game but that Friday night they gathered at Anne Donaldson's for a quiet remembrance since H.H. had loathed funerals. Although Harry and H.H. hadn't been close, they were part of the same community, so she was there to pay her respects.
Friends and neighbors told stories highlighting H.H.'s quick temper, which would evaporate and then he'd forgive and forget.
H.H. had touched a lot of people, including all those who'd worked for him over the years. People fervently wished they had told him how they felt about him while he lived. Nagging guilt nibbled at more than one conscience.
Tazio Chappars fought tears when Matthew recounted how the sports complex job had come down to the wire. How disappointed H.H. had been to lose what would have been his biggest contract ever.
Matthew's pleasant voice filled the room. "He came to my office to congratulate me personally." His voice cracked for a second. "That's class." Composed again, he continued. "There's no doubt in my mind that H.H. would have won major institutional jobs in the future. It was just a matter of time and who would have thought his time would run out?" He lifted his glass. "To H.H."
Speak no ill of the dead. Matthew made no mention of H.H.'s tendency to whine when things didn't go his way.
The others toasted in unison. As Matthew was the last speaker, people then talked among themselves.
Fred Forrest's and Mychelle Burns's absences were noted. They could have showed, paid their respects if only for fifteen minutes.
Harry scanned the packed rooms. People were wedged together in the hall, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the den, the family room, even out in Anne's greenhouse. She wondered if H.H.'s killer was there. If he was, was he enjoying the gathering? Was it triumph or was it relief?
She switched on the truck radio as she drove home that evening. Virginia was defeating Florida State in a lackluster game.
Be a lot of empty seats tonight, she thought to herself.
An oncoming car on the Whitehall Road blinded her with its brights. She cursed loudly, surprising herself. It wasn't until then that she realized how angry she was. Angry at the killer. Angry that she was no help. She felt as if she were driving in the dark with no lights on.
"I'll find out who he was sleeping with! Dammit, it's a start," she said out loud. "She must know something if she isn't the killer herself."
Then it occurred to Harry that if the secret lover did indeed know something, she probably didn't have long to live.
17
In one of those spectacular reversals so common in mountain regions, the next day the temperature climbed up to the low fifties. The snow melted, the earth grew soggy, the skies sparkled robin's-egg blue with that crystal clarity only winter brings. Everyone played outside Saturday. After all, Old Man Winter could return in a heartbeat.
Harry, Susan, Big Mim, Little Mim, Fair, and BoomBoom went fox hunting, returning in the early afternoon. They scattered in various directions dictated by the necessities of daily life.
The Daily Progress reported a careful interview with Sheriff Shaw in which he announced that H. H. Donaldson's death was not from natural causes. He said the builder appeared to have been poisoned, and the matter was under investigation.
Harry and Fair, after putting up their horses, met back in Crozet for a late lunch at the Mountain View Grille restaurant.
"-unusual for you." Fair had just finished telling Harry how happy he was that she wasn't playing detective.
"Rick asked me to butt out." She saw no reason to inform Fair that she was going to get to the bottom of this.
"Since when has that stopped you?" He smiled as she reached over on his plate, snagging a crisp French fry.
"My theory is"-she popped the dark little potato sliver into her mouth-"find the lover and you find the killer." She couldn't resist the French fry any more than she could resist thinking about the murder.
"I see. A woman scorned." He watched as she reached for another one. "Honey, why don't you let me order an extra plate of fries?"
"Because I'll eat every single one and I can pack on five pounds in the winter looking at food. But oh, it's so-o-o good."
"Our bodies have more wisdom than we do. We're supposed to be heavier in the winter. Insulation. Our food supplies ran perilously thin in winter before we knew how to preserve food. We needed every fat cell we had."
"Ever think about the difference between people from warm climates and those from temperate climates? People in the tropics reach up and grab a fruit. There is no tomorrow. But people in temperate climates have to plan ahead because of winter. History of the world right there. If you plan ahead for food, it's not such a big jump to planning ahead to conquer other people."
"Harry, I never know what's whirring around in that brain of yours."
"I read that but it does make sense. And what people drink: warm climates, wine; temperate climates, beer; cold climates, hard liquor. That's what they could make based on what they grew. You with your Swedish blood could drink us all under the table if you were so inclined."
"That's what undergraduate days are about. I'm surprised I'm not dead. Sometimes I think about the stuff I did when I was a kid." He broke into a toothy grin. "First off, why wasn't I killed on the road? Then, why wasn't I shot? Or kicked in the head by a horse? But I came to my senses and began to practice moderation the day I entered vet school. You, on the other hand, were ahead of me there."
"My parents would have skinned me alive. Oh hey, here comes Herbie."
The Reverend Jones walked in, waving to them.
"Come on over." Fair stood up.
"You two are finishing. I can't intrude."
"You are never an intrusion. We were considering dessert. Please join us." Fair pulled out the chair.
Herb sat down, happy to be among friends. "Susan said hunting was wonderful today."
"The earth was a little warmer than the air. It exhaled, so to speak." Fair smiled. He enjoyed studying the mysteries of scent and that's what they remained, mysteries.
"How about that article in the paper today-about H.H.?" Herb cast a swift stern glance at Harry, one unnoticed by Fair.
"We will be overrun with theories." Fair looked up from the dessert menu.
After the waiter took Herb's order and Fair's dessert order, Fair said, "Has anyone thought about the Republican Party? H.H. was county chairman."