“Doozy is such a funny word.” Courtney wrinkled the mail by twisting it in her hands. She wasn’t paying attention to it.
“Comes from Dusenberg,” Mrs. Hogendobber boomed. “The Dusenberg was a beautiful, expensive car in the 1920’s but to own one you also needed a mechanic. It broke down constantly. So a doozy is something spectacular and bad.”
“Oh.” Courtney was interested. “Did you own one?”
“That was a little before my time, but I saw a Dusenberg once and my father, who loved cars, told me about them.”
Courtney thought the 1920’s were as distant as the eleventh century. Age was something she didn’t understand, and she wasn’t sure if she’d just insulted Mrs. Hogendobber. She did know that her question would have insulted Mrs. Sanburne. Courtney left under this cloud of confusion.
“She’s a dear child.” Mrs. Hogendobber swung her purse to and fro. “No one ever forgets anything in this town. I know I never do.”
“Yes?” Harry waited for the connective sentence.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mrs. Hogendobber said. “Just crossed my mind. Now listen, Harry, I was due at the Ruth Circle five minutes ago but I’ll be in constant touch and I want you to do the same.”
“Agreed.”
Mrs. Hogendobber rushed out for her women’s church group meeting and Harry waited for the troops to march through, eagerly opening their mailboxes for a love letter and groaning when they found a bill instead. She waited for Rick Shaw too. She didn’t know if he was a good sheriff or not. Too soon to tell, but she felt safer for having him around.
26
Fair Haristeen was washing his hands after performing surgery on an unborn ten-month-old fetus. Given the foal’s bloodlines, he was worth a hundred thousand before he dropped. Fetal surgery was a new technique and Fair, a gifted surgeon, was in demand by thoroughbred breeders in Virginia. His skill and the deference paid to him didn’t go to his head. Fair still made the rounds to humble barns. He loved his work and when he allowed himself time to think about himself he knew it was his work that kept him alive.
Opening the door from the operating room, he found BoomBoom Craycroft sitting in his office. She smiled.
“Horse trouble?”
“No. Just . . . trouble. I came to apologize for the way I treated you the day Kelly was killed. I took it out on you in my own bitchy way—you must be used to that by now.”
Fair, unprepared for an apology, cleared his throat. “S’okay.”
“It’s not okay and I’m not okay and the whole town is crazy.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve done some serious thinking. It’s about time, you’ll say. No, you wouldn’t say anything. You’re too much the gentleman, except for once in a blue moon when you lose your temper. But I have thought about myself and Kelly. He never grew up, you see. He was always the smart kid who puts one over on people, and I never grew up either. We didn’t have to. Rich people don’t.”
“Some rich people do.”
“Name three.” BoomBoom’s black eyes flashed.
“Stafford Sanburne, in our generation.”
She smiled. “One. Well, I guess you’re right. Maybe you have to suffer to grow up and usually we can pay someone to suffer for us. That didn’t work this time. I can’t run away from this one.” She tilted her head back, exposing her graceful neck. “I also came to apologize for not understanding how important your work is to you. I don’t think I will ever see how reaching into a horse’s intestinal tract is wonderful, but—it’s wonderful to you. Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m apologized out. That’s what I came to say, and I’ll go.”
“Don’t go.” Fair felt like a beggar and he hated that feeling. “Give me a chance to say something. You weren’t a spoiled rich brat each and every day and I wasn’t a saint myself. We were kids when we married our spouses. Harry’s a decent person. Kelly was a decent person. But what did we know in our early twenties? I thought love was sex and laughs. One big party. Hell, BoomBoom, I had no more idea of what I needed in a woman than . . . uh, nuclear fusion.”
“Fission.”
“Fission’s when they pop apart. Fusion’s when they come together,” Fair corrected her.
“I corrected you. That’s a rude habit.”
“BoomBoom, I can accept that you’re thinking about your life but do you have to be so overpoweringly polite?”
“No.”
“Anyway, I made mistakes, too, and I made them on Harry. I wonder if everyone learns by hurting other people.”
“Isn’t it odd? I feel that I know Kelly better now than when he was alive. I guess in some ways you feel you know Harry better now that you have some distance. You know, this is the first time we’ve had a heart-to-heart talk. God, is it like this for everyone? Does it take a crisis to get to the truth?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do we have to savage our marriages, give up the sex, before becoming friends? Why can’t people be friends and lovers? I mean, are they mutually exclusive?”
“I don’t know. What I know”—Fair lowered his eyes—“is that when we’re together I feel something I’ve never felt before.”
“Do you still love Harry?” BoomBoom held her breath.
“Not romantically. Right now I’m so mad at her I can’t imagine being friends with her but people tell me that passes.”
“She loves you.”
“No, she doesn’t. In her heart of hearts she knows. I hate lying to her. I know all the reasons why but when she finds out she’ll hate me most for the lying.”
BoomBoom sat quietly for a moment. Being female, there were many things she could say to Fair about his feelings for Harry but she’d taken enough of a risk by coming here to apologize. She wasn’t going to take any more, not until she felt stronger, anyway. “I’m running the business, you know.” She changed the subject.
“No, I didn’t know. It will be good for you and good for the business.”
“Isn’t it a joke, Fair? I’m thirty-three years old and I’ve never had to report to work or be responsible to anyone or anything. I’m . . . I’m excited. I’m sorry it took this horror to wake me up. I wish I could have done something, made something out of myself while Kelly was alive but . . . I’m going to do it now.”
“I’m happy for you.”
She paused for a moment, and tears came to her eyes. “Fair”—she could barely speak—“I need you.”
27
A swift afternoon thunderstorm darkened and drenched Crozet. It was a summer of storms. Harry couldn’t see out to the railroad tracks during the downpour. Tucker cowered in her bed and Mrs. Murphy, herself not fond of thunder, stuck to Harry like a furry burr.
She heard a sizzle and a pop. The power had shut down, a not uncommon occurrence.
The sky was blackish green. It gave Harry the creeps. She felt under the counter for her ready supply of candles, found them, and lit a few. Then she stood by the front window and watched the deluge driven by stiff winds. Mrs. Murphy jumped onto her shoulder, so Harry reached up and brought the cat into her arms. She cuddled her like a baby, rocking her, and thought about Rick Shaw’s response to the postcard—which was “Lay low.”
Easier said than done. The death of two citizens must be accounted for somehow. And she felt that she had the end of a ragged thread. If she could follow that thread back, step by step, she would find the answer. She also knew she might find more than she bargained for—an answer in this case didn’t mean satisfying her curiosity. Secrets are often ugly. She was peeling away the layers of the town. It might mean her own life. Rick forcefully impressed this upon her. She had been of help to him and he was grateful but she wasn’t a professional so she should butt out. She wondered, too, if underneath his concern there might not be a hint of face-saving. The Sheriff’s Department seemed to be running in circles. Better the citizens didn’t know. She wondered, if Rick did solve the murders, whether he would get a gold star behind his name or at least a promotion. Maybe he didn’t want to share the limelight.