“It would greatly improve their appearance,” Paddy purred.
Mrs. Murphy, mind spinning as the fur discussion flew on, said,“We’ve got to get Larry over here.”
“Fat chance.” Paddy harbored little hope for human intelligence.
“You stay here with your head sticking out of the hole. Tucker and I will get him over here. If we can’t budge him, then we’ll be back, but don’t you leave. Okay?”
“You were always good at giving orders.” He smiled devilishly.
Mrs. Murphy landed in the hearth and took off for the door, Tucker close behind. They crossed the lawn, stopping under the kitchen window, where a light glowed. Larry was fixing his cup of morning coffee.
“You bark, I’ll jump up on the windowsill.”
“Not much of a windowsill,” Tucker observed.
“I can bank off it, if nothing else.” And Mrs. Murphy did just that as Tucker yapped furiously. The sight of this striped animal, four feet planted on a windowpane and then pushing off, jolted Larry wide awake. The second thud from Mrs. Murphy positively sent him into orbit. He opened his back door and, seeing the culprits, thought they wanted to join him.
“Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, come on in.”
“You come out,” Tucker barked.
“I’ll run in and right out.” Mrs. Murphy flew past Larry, brushing his legs in the process, turned on a dime, and ran back out through his legs.
“What’s the matter with you two?” The old man enjoyed the spectacle but was perplexed.
Again Mrs. Murphy raced in and raced out as Tucker ran forward, barked, and then ran a few steps away.“Come on, Doc. We need you!”
Larry, an intelligent man as humans go, deduced that the two animals, whom he knew and valued, were highly agitated. He grabbed his old jacket, slapped his porkpie hat on his head, and followed them, fearing that some harm had come to another animal or even a person. He’d heard about animals leading people to the site of an injured loved one, and a flash of fear ran through him. What if Harry’d been hurt on her way in to work?
He followed them into the addition. He stopped after walking through the door as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker dashed to the fireplace.
“Howl, Paddy. He’ll think you’re trapped or something.”
Paddy sang at his loudest,“‘Roll me over in the clover/Roll me over/Lay me down and do it again.’ ”
Tucker giggled as Mrs. Murphy leapt up to join Paddy, although she refrained from singing the song. Larry walked into the fireplace and beheld Paddy, his head thrown back and warbling for all he was worth.
“Got stuck up in there?” Larry looked around for a ladder. Not finding one, he did spy a large spackling compound bucket. He lifted it by the handle, discovering how heavy it was. He lugged it over to the hearth, positioned it under the opening, where both cats now meowed piteously, and carefully stood on it. He could just see inside.
He reached for Paddy, who shrank back.“Now, now, Paddy, I won’t hurt you.”
“I know that, you silly twit. Look.”
“His eyes aren’t good in the dark, plus he’s old. They’re worse than most,” Mrs. Murphy told her ex.“Scratch on the oilskin.”
Paddy furiously scratched away, his claws making tiny popping noises as he pulled at the sturdy cloth.
“Squint, Larry, and look real hard,” Mrs. Murphy instructed.
As if he understood, Larry shielded his eyes and peered inside.“What the Sam Hill?”
“Reach in.” Mrs. Murphy encouraged him by back-stepping toward the treasure.
Larry braced against the fireplace with his left hand, now besmirched with soot, and reached in with his right. Mrs. Murphy licked his fingers for good measure. He touched the oilskin. Paddy jumped off and came to the opening. Mrs. Murphy tried to nudge the package, but it was too heavy. Larry tugged and pulled, succeeding in inching the weighty burden forward until it wedged into the opening. Forgetting the cats for a moment, he tried to pull out the oilskin-covered bundle, but it wouldn’t fit. He poked at the bricks around the hole and they gave a bit. Cautiously he removed one, then two and three. These bricks had been left that way on purpose. The two kitty heads popped out of the new opening. Larry squeezed the package through and almost fell off the bucket because it was soheavy. He tottered and jumped off backward.
“Not bad for an old man,” Tucker commented.
“Let’s see what he’s got.” Mrs. Murphy sailed down. Paddy came after her.
Larry, on his knees, worked at the knot on the back side of the package. The three animals sat silent, watching with intent interest. Finally, victorious, Larry opened the oilskin covering. Inside lay three huge, heavy volumes, leather-bound. With a trembling hand Larry opened the first volume.
The bold, black cursive writing hit Larry like a medicine ball to the chest. He recognized the handwriting and in that instant the man he had admired and worked with came alive again. He was reminded of the fragrance of Jim’s pipe tobacco, his habit of running his thumbs up and down under his braces, and his fervent belief that if he could cure human baldness, he’d be the richest doctor on the face of the earth. Larry whispered aloud, “‘The Secret Diaries of a Country Doctor, Volume I, 1912, by James C. Craig, M.D., Crozet, Virginia.’ ”
Seeing his distress, Mrs. Murphy and Tucker sat next to him, pressing their small bodies against his own. There are moments in every human life when the harpoon of fate rips into the mind and a person has the opportunity to perceive the world afresh through his own pain. This was such a moment for Larry, and through his tears he saw the two furry heads and reached out to pet them, wondering just how many times in this life we are surrounded by love and understanding and are too self-centered, too human-centered to know what the gods have given us.
44
A warm southerly breeze filled breasts with the hope that spring had truly arrived. Snowstorms could hit central Virginia in April, and once a snowstorm had blanketed the fields in May, but that was rare. The last frost generally disappeared mid-April, although days warmed before that. Then the wisteria would bloom, drenching the sides of buildings, barns, and pergolas with lavender and white. This was Mrs. Murphy’s favorite time of the year.
She basked in the sun by the back door of the post office along with Pewter and Tucker. She was also basking in the delicious satisfaction of delivering to Pewter the news about the books in the hiding place. Pewter was livid, but one good thing was that her brief absence had allowed Market to overcome his temper and to make peace with Ellie Wood Baxter. The gray cat was now back in his good graces, but if she had to hear the words“pork roast” one more time, she would scratch and bite.
The alleyway behind the buildings filled up with cars since the parking spaces in the front were taken. On one of the first really balmy days of spring, people always seem motivated to buy bulbs, bouquets, and sweaters in pastel colors.
Driving down the east end of the alleyway was Samson Coles. Turning in on the west end was Warren Randolph. They parked next to each other behind Market Shiflett’s store.
Tucker lifted her head, then dropped it back on her paws. Mrs. Murphy watched through eyes that were slits. Pewter could not have cared less.
“How are you doing with the Diamonds?” Warren asked as he shut his car door.
“Hanging between Midale and Fox Haven.”
Warren whistled,“Some kind of commission, buddy.”
“How you been doing?”
Warren shrugged.“Okay. It’s hard sometimes. And Ansley—I asked her for some peace and quiet, and what does she do but let Kimball Haynes go through the family papers. ’Course he was a nice guy, but that’s not the point.”
“I didn’t like him,” Samson said. “Lucinda pulled the same stunt on me that Ansley pulled on you. He should have come to me, not my wife. Smarmy—not that I wished him dead.”
“Somebody did.”
“Made your mind up about the campaign yet?” Samson abruptly changed the subject.