“Market wasn’t too happy either. Maybe you ought to give him a vacation and take Pewter home tonight. She certainly could use a little outdoor exercise.”
“Good idea. I can’t keep my eyes open. I’m as bad as these guys.”
“Low pressure system. The pollen ought to be a factor soon too. I dread those two weeks when my eyes are red, my nose runs, and my head pounds.”
“Get Larry Johnson to give you an allergy shot.”
“The only person an allergy shot does any good for is Larry Johnson.” She grumbled. “He’ll come by soon to give us a lunch hour today. He’s back working full-time again. Remember when he first retired and he’d come in so you could take time for lunch? That lasted about six months. Then he was back working at his practice Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. Soon it was every morning, and now he’s back to a full schedule.”
“Do you think people should retire?”
“Absolutely not, I mean, unless they want to. I am convinced, convinced, Mary Minor, that retirement killed my George. His hobbies weren’t the same as being responsible to people, being in the eye of the storm, as he used to say. He loved this job.”
“I’m trying to find a business I can do on the side. That way, when I retire, I can keep working. These government jobs are rigid. I’ll have to retire.”
Miranda laughed.“You aren’t even thirty-five.”
“But it goes by so fast.”
“That it does. That it does.”
“Besides, I need money. I had to replace the carburetor in my tractor last week. Try finding a 1958 John Deere carburetor. What I’ve got in there is a hybrid of times. And I don’t know how much longer the truck will hold up, she’s a 1978. I need four-wheel drive—the inside of the house needs to be painted. Where am I going to get the money?”
“Things were easier when you were married. Anyone who doesn’t think a man’s salary helps isn’t very realistic. Divorce and poverty seem to be the same word for most women.”
“Well, I lived just fine on my own before I was married.”
“You were younger then. You weren’t maintaining a house. As you go along in life, creature comforts get mighty important. If I didn’t have my automatic coffee maker, my electric blanket, and my toaster oven, I’d be a crab and a half,” she joked. “And what about my organ that George bought me for my fiftieth birthday? I couldn’t live without that.”
“I want a Toyota Land Cruiser. Never could afford it though.”
“Does Mim have one of those?”
“Along with one of everything else. But yes, she’s got the Land Cruiser and Jim’s got the Range Rover. Little Marilyn has a Range Rover too. Speak of the devil.”
Mim pulled up and sat in the car, trying to decide if the rain would let up. It didn’t, so she made a dash for it. “Whoo,” she said as she closed the door behind her. Neither Harry nor Mrs. Hogendobber informed her of Mrs. Murphy’s slumber. She opened her post box. “A cat’s tail. I have always wanted a cat’s tail. And a cat’s behind. Mrs. Murphy, what are you doing?” she asked as she gently squeezed the feline’s tail.
Mrs. Murphy, tail tweaked, complained bitterly.“Leave me alone. I don’t pull your tail.”
Harry and Miranda laughed. Harry walked over to the cat, eyes now half open.“Come on, sweet pea, out of there.”
“I’m comfortable.”
Sensing deep resistance, Harry placed her hands under the cat’s arms and gently removed her amid a torrent of abuse from the tiger. “I know you’re comfy in there, but Mrs. Sanburne needs to retrieve her mail. You can get back in there later.”
Tucker raised her head to observe the fuss, saw the situation, and put her head down on the floor again.
“You’re a big goddamned help,” the cat accused the dog.
Tucker closed her eyes. If she ignored Mrs. Murphy, the feline usually dropped it.
“Did she read my mail too?” Mim asked.
“Here it is.” Miranda handed it over to Mim, whose engagement diamond, a marquise cut, caught the light and splashed a tiny rainbow on the wall.
“Bills, bills, bills. Oh, just what I always wanted, a catalogue from Victoria’s Secret.” She underhanded it into the trash, looked up, and beheld Harry and Miranda beholding her. “I love my cashmere robe. But this sexy stuff is for your age group, Harry.”
“I sleep in the nude.”
“True confessions.” Mim leaned against the counter. “Heard you all have been helping Kimball Haynes. I guess he told you about the pathology report, or whatever they call those things.”
“Yes, he did,” Miranda said.
“All we have to do is find a thirty-two-year-old white male who may have walked with a slight limp in his left leg—in 1803.”
“That, or find out more about Medley Orion.”
“It is a puzzle.” Mim crossed her arms over her chest. “I spoke to Lulu this morning and she said Kimball spent all of yesterday over there and Samson’s mad at her.”
“Why?” asked Harry innocently.
“Oh, she said he got out of sorts. And she admitted that maybe she should have waited until Samson was home. I don’t know. Those two.” She shook her head.
As if on cue, Samson stamped into the post office with customers from Los Angeles.“Hello there. What luck, finding you here, Mim. I’d like you to meet Jeremy and Tiffany Diamond. This is Marilyn Sanburne.”
Mim extended her hand.“How do you do?”
“Fine, thank you.” Jeremy’s smile revealed a good cap job. His wife was on her second facelift, and her smile no longer exactly corresponded to her lips.
“The Diamonds are looking at Midale.”
“Ah,” cooed Mim. “One of the most remarkable houses in central Virginia. The first to have a flying staircase, I believe.”
Samson introduced the Diamonds to Harry and Miranda.
“Isn’t this quaint?” Tiffany’s voice hit the phony register. “And look, you have pets here too. How cozy.”
“They sort the mail.” Harry didn’t have the knee-jerk response to these kinds of people that Mim did, but she marveled at big city people’s assumption of superiority. If you lived in a small town or the country, they thought, then you must be unambitious or stupid or both.
“How cute.”
Jeremy brushed a few raindrops off his pigskin blazer, teal yet.“Samson’s been telling us about his ancestor, Thomas Jefferson’s mother.”
I bet he has, Harry thought to herself.“Samson and Mrs. Sanburne—Mrs. Sanburne is the chair, actually—have raised money for the current restorations at Monticello.”
“Ah, and say, what about the body in the slave quarters? I know why you look familiar.” He stared at Mim. “You were the lady onWake-up Call with Kyle Kottner. Do you really think the victim was a stalker?”
“Whoever he was, he posed some danger,” she replied.
“Wouldn’t it be ironic, Samson, if he were one of your relatives.” Tiffany sank a small fishhook into Samson’s ego. Her unfortunate obsession with looking young and cute, and her faint hint of superiority, hadn’t dimmed her mind. She’d endured enough of Samson’s genealogical bragging.
Harry stifled a giggle. Mim relished Samson’s discomfort, especially since she hadn’t fully forgiven him for his behavior at Wesley’s funeral.
“Well,” he gulped, “who knows? Instead of living up to the past, I might have to live it down.”
“I’d rather live in the present,” Tiffany replied, although her penchant for attempting to keep her face in the twenty-year distant past stated otherwise.
After they vacated the premises, Mim walked back over and leaned against the counter.“Sharp lady.”
“She’s got Samson’s number, that’s for sure.”
“Harry”—Mim turned to Miranda—“Miranda, have you found anything at all?”
“Just that Medley Orion lived with Martha Jefferson Randolph after 1826. She continued her trade. She had a daughter, but we don’t know her name.”