“Oh, he doesn’t content himself with the feed room and the leavings under the horse buckets. He opens that desk drawer every night for candy. It’s a wonder he has a tooth in his head. Really, that’s one of the marvelous aspects of having a beak: no tooth decay.”
“Lucky. I had my teeth cleaned in December. I hate it, but Harry drags me down to Dr. Shulman and they both tell me how good it is for my health. And Pewter screams the entire way. She always knows when it’s a vet trip. What a baby.”
“That cat has such a high opinion of herself.”
“The best—you’ll love this: We were at St. James and Pewter convinced the barn swallows to throw down tail feathers. She picked them up and ran to the humans. Disgraceful.”
The owl’s golden eyes glittered as she laughed. “And they believed her?”
“That’s the terrible part, they did!”
“Even Harry?” Flatface asked.
“Even Harry.”
“I thought she had more sense than that. I heard she left the post office. How’s she doing?”
“Mmm, her attention is focused on the murders. I don’t know what she’ll be like once she can think about her future.”
42
I wondered when you would show up.” Amy Wade smiled, her light-brown eyes merry. “I thought you were mad at me.”
Izzy Stoltfus usually worked Saturday mornings, but she was so undone by Jerome’s murder she had taken a leave of absence. Amy Wade filled in while Pug Harper frantically searched for a permanent Saturday employee.
“No. Just busy and thinking.” Harry was so used to taking her mail home, she’d forgotten her mailbox key ring. “Forgot my key. Will you hand me my mail?”
“You know, there’s a rule that we’re not supposed to do that, but it sure seems silly here in Crozet.” She slipped her hand into Harry’s mailbox, retrieving mail and magazines.
“Mom, your key is with your truck keys,” Mrs. Murphy reminded her, wondering if Harry would run out in the rain to fetch it should she remember in the first place.
Tavener, Alicia, and Aunt Tally all came in together.
“Hey!” Tavener beamed at Harry. “It’s not the same without you.” He quickly spoke to Amy. “But you’re doing a good job.”
“Harry left big sneakers to fill.” Amy smiled.
“Has Miranda been in at all?” Aunt Tally shook her umbrella as it continued to rain, soaking and steady.
“To pick up her mail and chat,” Amy answered.
“Bills.” Tavener grimaced.
“Where’s Herb?” Harry inquired. “I haven’t seen him for two days.”
“Buying a new refrigerator,” Amy informed her. “He’s paralyzed by the options.”
“They’re as expensive as an old Datsun.” Aunt Tally giggled as she tossed her junk mail in the trash.
“Don’t forget, we’re planning a big do for July seventeenth. It’s Herb’s thirtieth anniversary.” Harry suffered a moment of panic because she hadn’t yet contacted a band and the good ones booked far in advance.
“He came to St. Luke’s just as I left for Los Angeles.” Alicia knew little of the Reverend Jones but liked what she did know.
“Alicia, those were sad circumstances, made all the more dolorous by your vacating central Virginia.” Tavener propped one elbow on the counter. “Just think of the trouble we could have roused up had you stayed.”
“There’s still time!” Aunt Tally cracked.
“Miranda!” The cats and dog ran to Miranda, who entered through the front door.
“My little animals.” She knelt down for hugs and kisses.
“Where’s your beau?” Tavener liked Tracy Raz.
“My beau has been traveling throughout the South. Today he’s in Nashville.”
“Why?”
“Visiting friends. His expressed reason is he wants to look at small-town development.”
“Nashville isn’t a small town.” Tavener laughed.
“No, but he wants to study Franklin, Tennessee. Tracy has this wonderful vision for Crozet. Ever since he bought the old bank building he’s wanted to create a town square and who knows what else. I’ll be glad when he returns.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Alicia said.
“Bull. Absence makes the eye wander.” Aunt Tally rapped her cane on the floor for emphasis.
The door pushed open. Toby from Carmen’s salon, Shear Heaven, said with a wrinkled brow, “We don’t know where Carmen is. I called her sister for a phone number in Bermuda, because we’re almost out of shampoo, and her sister said they had no relatives in Bermuda. Where’s Carmen?”
Aunt Tally rapped her cane on the floor. “Hiding out. She knows more than she’s telling.”
Tavener put his arm around Toby’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. Carmen is just having one of her bad hair days.” He smiled at his little joke, then turned his attention to Aunt Tally. “What could Carmen possibly know?”
“She spent a lot of time out at St. James, Tavener. She’s not a dumb girl. She might have picked something up, listened to the boys and just put two and two together.”
Tavener laughed. He didn’t want to offend the nonagenarian, but he said, “With all due respect, she’s off on a toot or she’s found a hot date. We’re all a little on edge. Much as I loathed Jerome, his death was a shock. Like I said, we’re all on edge, but Carmen has nothing to worry about.”
Aunt Tally simply replied, “I hope you’re right.”
43
Dew glistened on mountain laurel, cockspur hawthorns, spruces, pines, hickories, oaks, and maples. The once-pristine high meadows, now overrun with Virginia creeper, thorns, and baby cedars, still afforded a sweeping view of the lands unfurling to the east. The soil remained damp from recent rains.
Harry’s eyes swept over these high acres—elevation about 1,500 feet above sea level—and she figured she could bring them back to good pasture with three years of hard work. While burning enriches the soil, she would never burn this high—too much wind, which shifted constantly. She’d have to rent a bulldozer, knock off the underbrush, carefully rolling it in large piles. Many small burrowing creatures would be thrilled with that. Then she’d fertilize and seed for three years running. The third summer, she’d bring stock back up here for the grass; roots should be strong by then.
She loved pasture management—indeed, any type of agricultural pursuit, just seeing these old high acres of Mary Pat’s set her to dreaming.
At eight-thirty in the morning, the light flooded over the trees, shrubs, and vines. A purple finch darted from one shrub to another as a kestrel soared overhead. Industrious spiders, lumbering beetles, and shimmering butterflies added to the activities of the meadow. A deep, narrow creek carried the mountain runoff down to Potlicker Creek.
Harry, Fair, Susan, and Cooper, using old topographical maps, divided the large acreage into manageable one-hundred-acre units. Each would take a corner of one unit and work inward. Given the heavy underbrush in parts, this took perseverance, good boots, and liberal applications of insect repellent.
They’d started at seven this Sunday morning. Being country people, that seemed like a late hour. Harry’s relentless curiosity had gotten the better of her and she roped in her friends to make the trek up to the meadow.
Fair drove his truck, followed by Harry in her 1978 Ford. They made it to a small turnaround about a quarter of a mile from the high pastures. Together with Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, they packed in the last quarter mile.