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“I’ll wring his neck. I mean it. I will cut him off at the knees!” Harry was returning to form.

“I’ll snap off his fingers.” Tucker puffed out her white chest.

“Jerome or Pug?” Fair smiled.

“Jerome.”

“You’ll have to take a number and stand in line. You should have heard Tavener on the phone about an hour ago. And you know how Tavener can talk. I think he’ll put a contract out on Jerome. Said he wasn’t worth going to jail over but he needs killing just the same.” Fair laughed.

Harry took a deep breath. “Miranda, I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“Actually, you didn’t. I’ve seen enough of the post office. George was frugal. He left me enough to garden and put gas in the car, visit my sister once a year. It was time for a change.”

A wave of fear washed over Harry. “Oh, my God, I’ve got four mares to feed plus my guys.”

“Half those mares are mine. Now, look, don’t worry and don’t do anything rash. Everything’s going to work out.”

“I’m not going back.”

“I didn’t say that you were. And,” he smiled, “there will be four well-bred yearlings to go to the sales next year, God willing. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“God bless Sugar Thierry.” Miranda sighed.

“What was going on with Tavener?” Harry’s curiosity flooded back, pushing out her upset.

“Media. As the senior vet, the television crews from Channel Twenty-nine, Six, and even one from D.C. have camped out on his doorstep. After leaving him, they plagued Hayden and Bill. The problem with TV is they can edit out the important material and go for the jugular. Tavener, Hayden, and Bill aren’t going to fan the flames of panic. People will go out and shoot any stray animal they see and, for all I know, one another. I know everyone’s been reasonable and responsible, but it scares me how it will come out on the tube.”

“Aren’t you due for another rabies shot?” Miranda asked Harry.

“Next week.” Harry finished off her Coke, the caffeine and sugar improving her mood. “Fair, thanks. I’m sorry to barge in. Thanks, Alma,” she called to her.

“No problem.” Alma stood up from behind the reception desk.

“Think you’ll help out Pug?” Fair cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s never good to storm off like that. I should give notice but I can’t take the kids. So I’ll call him. I can give him some names and—well, he has them, anyway, people who can fill in. But I’m not going in.”

“Okay.” Fair nodded.

“And I won’t, either,” agreed Miranda. “All the years I gave that post office. George was named postmaster in 1962. And you know, I enjoyed it and I was so glad to come back in when Harry took over after George’s death. But I meant it when I said times are changing, and I suppose every person has to decide whether to change with the times or not.” She placed her glass on the coaster. “It’s time for me to do something different. I’m like Harry: I think things are too overregulated. When you think of the time we all waste on nonproductive labor, it’s amazing anything of significance ever gets accomplished.”

“Amen,” Alma called from behind the desk.

“Honey, I’ll come over after work tonight. I’ll bring sushi,” Fair told Harry.

“Hooray!” Pewter leapt up on the coffee table and turned a circle.

“Okay.” Harry brightened.

Miranda drove Harry to her farm, then stayed there to garden while Harry painted her shed. She’d built scaffolding, which speeded the process since she could walk from end to end at the top. The bottom half she could paint while standing on the ground. She liked painting, because she saw an instant result. This instant result was gray since she was methodically putting on primer.

“Harry, your phone is off the hook in the tack room, it’s ringing so much.” Miranda called out from the rose beds.

“I know. I’ll call everyone later. Needed to think. Oh, by the by, as soon as you’re ready let me run you home.”

“In good time.”

Susan, BoomBoom, Tazio, Little Mim, Big Mim, and even Aunt Tally, furious at not reaching Harry by phone, all came down the drive within the next hour.

After recounting events, listening to everyone’s ideas and opinions—all favorable to her, which was gratifying—she was alone. Susan drove Miranda back home.

The quiet slap of the paintbrush underscored the fact that she was unemployed, in her late thirties, no prospects in sight, and bills to pay. She’d graduated from Smith College with a degree in Art History and fell into the job as a postmistress the summer after graduation. George Hogendobber had died of a heart attack and Harry took the job to fill in. She never dreamed she’d stay behind the counter of the small post office in small Crozet. Not that she was heading for New York City and wealth, but with her education it seemed natural that she’d go on, get a doctorate, and teach at one of the wonderful universities within driving range: Sweet Briar, Mary Baldwin, the University of Virginia, or even Hollins, which was down in Roanoke. Randolph-Macon was in Lynchburg. There were many possibilities and Harry excelled in her studies.

The first year passed and she settled into the job. She liked being at the hub of events. They might be events such as hail peppering BoomBoom’s barn roof or a new restaurant opening at the corner, but she liked knowing the news. She’d even gotten to the point where she read the papers, watched the nightly news, but came to the conclusion that where you live is what’s real. Not that she didn’t care about what happened in other parts, but she lived in Crozet, and if she was going to do any good in this world it would be in Crozet, Virginia.

Now what?

32

Fair called Jerome Stoltfus, who was shadowing the state veterinarian.

“Animal control,” Jerome barked into his cell phone, as he drove the exact speed limit. Jerome was that kind of guy.

“It’s Fair Haristeen.”

“Now, don’t you jump down my throat because Harry went postal.” He chuckled at his little joke. “Those critters don’t belong there, anyway, and she’ll think things over and be back at work Monday. I give her Thursday and Friday to mull it over.”

Fair cleared his throat. “Harry usually takes a long time to make a decision. When she makes one quickly, uh, I’d watch out. And you ought to know by now, Jerome, whether she makes a decision slowly or quickly, she won’t back down. Not ever.”

“We’ll see.” Then a flash of illumination changed Jerome’s tone. “But you were married to her, so I guess you know. I was fixing to call you, but this has been intense. Today has been intense. Can we change our get-together?”

As this was why Fair was calling Jerome, he was relieved. “Sure. Any night after five. I’m usually at the clinic until six.”

“How about Monday?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve been talking to a lot of doctors. You start listening to those guys and it’s a wonder anyone is healthy. Sure are a lot of ways to get sick.”

“Seems to be.”

“I’ve been looking up stuff on the Internet. Cave climbers, what do you call them . . . ?” he asked.

“Spelunkers.”

“The Internet site on rabies said those people get rabies inoculations.”

“That’s very interesting.”

“Said that when you’ve got an enclosed place with little ventilation and thousands upon thousands of bats that have been living there since B.C., well, you might can inhale rabies.”

“Inhale it?” Fair tried not to sound incredulous.

“That’s what I read.” Jerome was not repeating exactly what he read, but he felt he was close enough.

“Jerome, I’d steer clear of Harry for a week or two.” Fair changed the subject.