“If a horse had rabies, you’d know it.”
“Eventually, yes. I’m not worried about any animal on the farm now. I’d see the symptoms. I want to go through the records to see what lay-up horses have passed through the farm in the last four months. If Sugar or Barry were exposed via a horse, it would have been in that time frame. Remember, it takes rabies one to three months to incubate. The symptoms don’t present themselves until the virus reaches the brain.”
Within forty minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of the red brick medical building. Dr. O’Brien, a tall, slender woman with gorgeous silver hair and an engaging manner, had been a close friend of Fair’s for twenty years. Harry liked her, too, although she couldn’t participate in the scientific discussions Fair and Mary enjoyed. Both were people who loved medicine, who loved learning.
“Harry, come on in here.” Mary pointed to an examining room. “Fair, you can come in, too.”
Harry dragged in, plopped on the examining table. “Is this going to hurt?”
“Yes,” Mary forthrightly said, “but for less than a second. How’s that?”
“Not so bad. Will it make me sick later?”
“That I don’t know. Different people have differing reactions. I think of each person as their own specific chemical cocktail.” She smiled. “But to be on the safe side, take it easy today and tonight. What I’m doing is introducing the killed virus into your system. You’ll fight back, create antibodies. Some people don’t feel it. Others do, find themselves tired, off feed. This is your first shot.” Mary hit her so quickly with the needle that Harry hardly knew she’d been stuck. “I’ll see you in two weeks for the second. And if you don’t mind, Harry, let me take blood then. So come first thing in the morning, don’t eat or drink after midnight. You can have a big breakfast when I’m done with you.” She wiped Harry’s arm once more with the antiseptic pad. “Told you it would take less than a second.”
“You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.” Mary smiled.
“Why are you taking blood next time if this is a disease of the nervous system?”
“Because, my dear, I want to check your cholesterol. You haven’t had blood pulled in four years. I reviewed your records. And, Harry, when you go out, stop at the receptionist’s desk and pick up your papers for a mammogram. I signed them. All you have to do is make the appointment.”
“Mary!”
Smiling, the tall doctor held up her hand. “Save your breath. I know you’re not forty. I know you’re a strong girl. But I know a checkup is in order. Don’t argue with me.”
Fair laughed. “Mary, I need to take lessons from you.”
“Thought your patients didn’t talk.”
“I mean Harry. You can handle Miss Bullhead.”
“I just love that you two are having a laugh at my expense.”
“You poor thing.” Mary’s voice registered false pity, then she winked. She walked to the door, put her hand on the knob, then paused. “Called Bill just before you arrived. Sugar’s hallucinating.” She took a deep breath. “Not much doubt.”
“Jesus.” Fair whistled. “I’d hoped against hope, you know.”
“Bill questioned him when he could. Couldn’t get much out of him, but Sugar did swear he hadn’t been bitten. You know, if someone comes to me after they’ve been bitten or think they’ve been exposed, the shots will save them if they come in time. But two men working at the same place,” she shrugged, “what’s there?”
“Barry was murdered. He didn’t die from rabies and he sure didn’t die a natural death, although at first it looked like it.” Fair’s jaw tightened.
“Disturbing—very.” Mary knew all the horse people, being one herself, so she’d heard all about it. “But he still had rabies. It’s not impossible that both Barry and Sugar were bitten by a bat and didn’t know it. Anything else, they’d know.”
“But that’s what makes Barry’s death so disturbing,” said Harry. “His throat. The killer wanted to pin it on an animal. He wasn’t sick—I mean, he wasn’t sick when I found him. No one would have known he had rabies if the pathologists in Richmond hadn’t run a dFA test on a brain-tissue sample.”
Mary’s blue eyes clouded over. “Well, there might be a connection. You can’t assume there is, but you can’t assume there isn’t.”
Driving back down Route 250, Harry noticed the rich green of the leaves, a green that would deepen throughout the summer. “Fair, I’ll help you go through the files.”
“Thought you might.”
“May I use your cell phone?”
“Sure.”
She called Big Mim, explaining why she couldn’t attend the hen party and hoped that Alicia would understand. Big Mim, horrified to hear that Sugar had rabies, told Harry to take care of herself.
Harry hit the End button. The phone was in a cradle, and a speaker was fastened to the roof of the cab so the driver need not hold the phone. “There. I really want to talk to Alicia Palmer.”
“There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“What?” Harry’s face registered worry.
“Kind of odd. I was at Sugar’s yesterday. Ultrasound on his big mare. And he said the strangest thing. He asked me if he should die, would you and I take over his mares. He has no family, and he knows we’ll do right by the mares.”
“Good Lord.” The tears rolled down Harry’s cheeks.
21
This silver’s more valuable than the gross national product of Ecuador.”
Big Mim, Little Mim, Aunt Tally, and Alicia stood in front of the huge trophy case in the large paneled tack room of the main barn.
Silver glistened. Loving cups, large inscribed plates, small bowls, and one enormous bowl festooned with carved grapes filled the case. Ribbons covered the back of the case, their blue and red reflecting on the silver. Mim never threw away a ribbon, but she displayed only the Championship, Reserve, First- and Second-place ribbons. The others she carefully laid flat in heavy cardboard boxes, putting them in her attic for safekeeping.
Usually Big Mim’s dogs and Little Mim’s dog—an offspring of her mother’s English springer spaniel named Carbon Copy—would accompany them, but today, Sunday, they decided to surround a groundhog hole. The groundhog turned a deaf ear to their entreaties to come out.
“I remember when you won that one. Mary Pat nearly died. She wanted that trophy.” Alicia indicated a large loving cup with two graceful handles.
The cup was inscribed, Virginia Hunter Champion, 1970. Horse: Interest Rate, Rider: Mrs. James Sanburne.
“She was a good sport about it.” Big Mim relished that triumph.
“Mary Pat was a good sport.” Aunt Tally leaned on her cane. “She came right back and beat you at the Washington International that year.”
The Washington International was one of the premier horse shows in the mid-Atlantic.
“She fussed at me because I wouldn’t show.” Alicia smiled. “I told her people looked at me enough. I needed time off.”
“You foxhunted. That’s what really counts.” Big Mim had her priorities straight.
Brinkley entered the barn from the opposite end, bounding into the tack room.
“Where did you come from, big boy?” Little Mim thought the yellow Lab one of the loveliest dogs she had ever encountered.
“Tazio must be here.” Big Mim introduced Alicia to Brinkley, who, being a gentleman, offered his paw.
Little Mim stuck her head out of the tack room. “She’s with Paul.”
“Ah.” A twinkle lit up the eye of Aunt Tally, who thought romance should be promoted enthusiastically and regularly.
“Don’t start,” Big Mim admonished her aunt.
“Oh, la,” Aunt Tally insouciantly replied.