Mim Sanburne marched in. Mrs. Murphy, playing with a rubber band on the counter, stopped. When Harry saw the look on Mim’s face she stopped sorting the mail.
“Harry, I have a bone to pick with you and I didn’t think that the funeral was the place to do it. You have no business whatsoever telling Little Marilyn whom to invite to her wedding. No business at all!”
Mim must have thought that Harry would bow down and say“Yes, Mistress.” This didn’t happen.
Harry steeled herself.“Under the First Amendment, I can say anything to anybody. I had something I wanted to say to your daughter and I did.”
“You’ve upset her!”
“No, I’ve upset you. If she’s upset she can come in here and tell me herself.”
Suprised that Harry wasn’t subservient, Big Marilyn switched gears. “I happen to know that you read postcards. That’s a violation, you know, and if it continues I shall tell the postmaster at the head office on Seminole Trail. Have I made myself clear?”
“Quite.” Harry compressed her lips.
Mim glided out, satisfied that she’d stung Harry. The satisfaction wouldn’t last long, because the specter of her son would come back to haunt her. If Harry was brazen enough to speak to Little Marilyn, plenty of others were speaking about it too.
Harry turned the duffel bag upside down. One lone postcard slipped out. Defiantly she read it:“Wish you were here,” written in computer script. She flipped it over and beheld a gorgeous photograph, misty and evocative, of the angel in an Asheville, North Carolina, cemetery. She turned it over and read the fine print. This was the angel that inspired Thomas Wolfe when he wroteLook Homeward, Angel.
She slipped it in Maude Bly Modena’s box and didn’t give it a second thought.
9
A pensive Pharamond Haristeen drove his truck back from Charlottesville. Seeing BoomBoom had rattled him. He couldn’t decide if she was truly sorry that Kelly was dead. The zing had fled that marriage years ago.
No armor existed against her beauty. No armor existed against her icy blasts, either. Why wouldn’t a woman like BoomBoom be sensible like Harry? Why couldn’t a woman like Harry be electrifying like BoomBoom?
As far as Fair was concerned, Harry was sensible until it came to the divorce. She threw him out. Why should he pay support until the settlement was final?
It came as a profound shock to Fair when Harry handed him his hat. His vanity suffered more than his heart but Fair seized the opportunity to appear the injured party. The elderly widowed women in Crozet were only too happy to side with him, as were single women in general. He moped about and the flood of dinner invitations immediately followed. For the first time in his life, Fair was the center of attention. He rather liked it.
Deep in his heart he knew his marriage wasn’t working. If he cared to look inward he would discover he was fifty percent responsible for the failure. Fair had no intention of looking inward, a quality that doomed his marriage and would undoubtedly doom future relationships as well.
Fair operated on the principle“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” but emotional relationships weren’t machines. Emotional relationships didn’t lend themselves to scientific analysis, a fact troubling to his scientifically trained mind. Women didn’t lend themselves to scientific analysis.
Women were too damned much trouble, and Fair determined to live alone for the rest of his days. The fact that he was a healthy thirty-four did not deter him in this decision.
He passed Rob Collier on 240 heading east. They waved to each other.
If the sight of BoomBoom at her husband’s funeral wasn’t enough to unnerve Fair, Rick Shaw had zeroed in on him at the clinic, asking questions. Was he under suspicion? Just because two friends occasionally have a strained relationship doesn’t mean that one will kill the other. He said that to Rick, and the sheriff replied with “People have killed over less.” If that was so, then the world was totally insane. Even if it wasn’t, it felt like it today.
Fair pulled up behind the post office. Little Tee Tucker stood on her hind legs, nose to the glass, when she heard his truck. He walked over to Market Shiflett’s store for a Coca-Cola first. The blistering heat parched his throat, and castrating colts added to the discomfort somehow.
“Hello, Fair.” Courtney’s fresh face beamed.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine. What about you?”
“Hot. How about a Co-Cola?”
She reached into the old red bin, the kind of soft-drink refrigerator used at the time of World War II, and brought out a cold bottle.“Here, unless you want a bigger one.”
“I’ll take that and I’ll buy a six-pack, too, because I am forever drinking Harry’s sodas. Where’s your dad?”
“The sheriff came by and Dad went off with him.”
Fair smirked.“A new broom sweeps the place clean.”
“Sir?” Courtney didn’t understand.
“New sheriff, new anything. When someone takes over a job they have an excess of enthusiasm. This is Rick’s first murder case since he was elected sheriff, so he’s just busting his … I mean, he’s anxious to find the killer.”
“Well, I hope he does.”
“Me too. Say, is it true that you have a crush on Dan Tucker?” Fair’s eyes crinkled. How he remembered this age.
Courtney replied quite seriously,“I wouldn’t have Dan Tucker if he was the last man on earth.”
“Is that so? He must be just awful.” Fair picked up his Cokes and left. Pewter scooted out of the market with him.
Tucker ran around in circles when Fair stepped into the post office with Pewter on his heels. Maude Bly Modena rummaged around in her box, while Harry was in the back.
“Hi, Maudie.”
“Hi, Fair.” Maude thought Fair a divine-looking man. Most women did.
“Harry!”
“What?” The voice filtered out from the back door.
“I brought you some Cokes.”
“Three hundred thirty-three”—the door opened—“because that’s what you owe me.” Harry appreciated his gesture more than she showed.
Fair shoved the six-pack across the counter.
Pewter hollered,“Mrs. Murphy, where are you?”
Tucker walked over and touched noses with Pewter, who liked dogs very much.
“I’m counting rubber bands. What do you want?” Mrs. Murphy replied.
Harry grabbed the Cokes off the counter.“Mrs. Murphy, what have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” the cat protested.
Harry appealed to Fair.“You’re a veterinarian. You explain this.” She pointed to the rubber bands tossed about the floor.
Maude leaned over the counter.“Isn’t that cute? They get into everything. My mother once had a calico that played with toilet paper. She’d grab the end of the roll and run through the house with it.”
“That’s nothing.” Pewter one-upped her:“Cazenovia, the cat at Saint Paul’s Church, eats communion wafers.”
“Pewter wants on the counter.” Fair thought the meow meant that. He lifted her onto the counter, where she rolled on her back and also rolled her eyes.
The humans thought this was adorable and fussed over her. Mrs. Murphy, boiling with disgust, jumped onto the counter and spat in Pewter’s face.
“Jealousy’s the same in any language.” Fair laughed and continued to pet Pewter, who had no intention of relinquishing center stage.
Tucker moaned on the floor.“I can’t see anything down here.”
Mrs. Murphy walked to the edge of the counter.“What are you good for, Tee Tucker, with those short stubby legs?”
“I can dig up anything, even a badger.” Tucker smiled.
“We don’t have any badgers.” Pewter now rolled from side to side and purred so loudly the deaf could appreciate her vocal abilities. The humans were further enchanted.
“Don’t push your luck, Pewter,” Tucker warned.“Just because you’ve got the big head over knowing what happened before we did doesn’t mean you can come in here and make fun of me.”
“This is the most affectionate cat I’ve ever seen.” Maude tickled Pewter’s chin.