Mrs. Murphy, following feline instincts, felt the whole story was not out, not by a long shot. She convinced Tucker to head out to Samson Coles’s estate late at night. The game little dog needed no convincing. Besides, the thrill of finding the books in the fireplace hadn’t worn off. Right now they thought they could do anything.
They cut across fields, jumped creeks, ducked under fences. They passed herds of deer, the does with newborn fawns by their sides. And once, Mrs. Murphy growled when she smelled a fox. Cats and foxes are natural enemies because they compete for the same food.
As Lucinda and Samson’s place was four miles by the path they took, they arrived around eleven o’clock. Lights were on upstairs as well as in the living room.
Massive walnut trees guarded the house. Mrs. Murphy climbed up one and walked out a branch. She saw Lucinda Coles and Warren Randolph through the living room window. She backed down the tree and jumped onto the broad windowsill so she could hear their conversation, since the window was open to allow the cool spring air through the house, a welcome change from the stuffy winter air trapped inside. The cat scarcely breathed as she listened.
Tucker, knowing Mrs. Murphy to be impeccable in these matters, decided to pick up whatever she could by scent.
Lucinda, handkerchief dabbing her eyes, nodded more than she spoke.
“You had no idea?”
“I knew he was fooling around, but I didn’t know it was Ansley. My best friend, God, it’s so typical.” She groaned.
“Look, I know you’ve got enough troubles, and I don’t want you to worry about money. If you’ll allow me, I can organize the estate and do what must be done, along with your regular lawyers, of course. Just don’t act precipitously. Even if Samson is convicted, it doesn’t mean you have tolose everything.”
“Oh, Warren, I don’t know how to thank you.”
He sighed deeply.“I still can’t believe it myself. You think you know someone and then—I guess if the truth be told, I’m more upset about the, uh, affair than the murder.”
“When did you know?”
“Behind the post office. Tuesday. He slipped, made a comment about something only my wife could have known.” He hesitated. “I drove over here one night and cut the lights off. I was going to come in and tell you, and then I chickened out in the middle of it. Well, I saw his car in the driveway. So, like I said, I backed out. I don’t know if it would have made any difference if you’d known a few days ago instead of today.”
“It wouldn’t have saved the marriage.” She cried anew.
“Did he really threaten to kill you?”
She nodded and sobbed.
Warren wrung his hands.“That should make the divorce go faster.” He glanced to the window. “Your cat wants in.”
Mrs. Murphy froze. Lucinda looked up.“That’s not my cat.” That fast Mrs. Murphy shot off the windowsill. “Funny, that looked like Mrs. Murphy.”
“Tucker, vamoose!”
Mrs. Murphy streaked across the front lawn as Tucker, who could run like blazes, caught up with her. The front door opened and Lucinda, curious as well as wanting to forget the pain for a moment, saw the pair.“Those are Harry’s animals. What in the world are they doing all the way over here?”
Warren stood beside her and watched the two figures silhouetted against silver moonlight.“Hunting. You’d be amazed at how large hunting territories are. Bears prowl a hundred-mile radius.”
“You’d think there’d be enough mice at Harry’s.”
55
The crowd had gathered along the garden level at Monticello. Kimball Haynes’s memorial service was held in the land he loved and understood. Monticello, shorn as she is of home life, makes up for it by casting an emotional net over all who work there.
At first Oliver Zeve balked at holding a memorial at Monticello. Enough negative attention, in his mind, had been drawn to the shrine. He brought it before the board of directors, each of whom had ample opportunity to know and care for Kimball. He was an easy man to like. The board decided without much argument to allow the ceremony to take place after public hours. Somehow it was fitting that Kimball should be remembered where he was happiest and where he served to further understanding of one of the greatest men this nation or any other has ever produced.
The Reverend Jones, Montalto looming behind him, cleared his throat. Mim and Jim Sanburne sat in the front row along with Warren and Ansley Randolph, as those two couples had made the financial arrangements for the service. Mrs. Hogendobber, in her pale gold robes with the garnet satin inside the sleeves and around the collar, stood beside the reverend with the choir of the Church of the Holy Light. Although an Evangelical Lutheran, Reverend Jones had a gift for bringing together the various Christian groups in Crozet.
Harry, Susan and Ned Tucker, Fair Haristeen, and Heike Holtz sat in the second row along with Leah and Nick Nichols, social friends of Kimball’s. Lucinda Coles, after much self-torture, joined them. Mim, in a long, agonizing phone conversation, told Lulu that no one blamed her for Kimball’s death and her presence would be a tribute to the departed.
Members of the history and architecture departments from the University of Virginia were in attendance, along with all of the Monticello staff including the wonderful docents who conduct the tours for the public.
The Reverend Jones opened his well-worn Bible, and in his resonant, hypnotic voice read the Twenty-seventh Psalm:
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
When evildoers assail me,
uttering slanders against me,
My adversaries and foes,
they shall stumble and fall.
Though a host encamp against me,
my heart shall not fear;
Though war rise up against me,
yet I will be confident.
One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after;
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life—
The service continued and the reverend spoke directly of sufferings needlessly afflicted, of promising life untimely cut down, of the evils that men do to one another, and of the workings of faith. Reverend Jones reminded them of how one life, Kimball Haynes’s, had touched so many others and how Kimball sought to help us touch those lives lived long ago. By the time the good man finished, there wasn’t a dry eye left.
As the people filed out to leave, Fair considerately placed his hand under Lulu’s elbow, for she was much affected. After all, apart from her liking for Kimball and her feelings of responsibility, it was her husband who stood accused of his murder. And Samson sure had a motive. Kimball could have blown the whistle on his escrow theft. Worse, Samson had bellowed that he would kill her.
Ansley stumbled up ahead. High-heeled shoes implanted her in the grass like spikes. Lucinda pulled Fair along with her and hissed at Ansley.“I thought you were my best friend.”
“I am,” Ansley stoutly insisted.
Warren, high color in his cheeks, watched as if waiting for another car wreck to happen.
“What a novel definition of a best friend: one who sleeps with your husband.” Lucinda raised her voice.
“Not here,” Ansley begged through clenched teeth.
“Why not? Sooner or later everyone here will know the story. Crozet is the only town where sound travels faster than light.”
Before a rip-roaring shouting match could erupt, Harry slid alongside Lucinda on the right. Susan ran interference.
“Lulu, you are making a career of disrupting funerals,” Harry chided her.
It was enough.
56
Dr. Larry Johnson, carrying his black Gladstone bag of medical gear, buoyantly swung into the post office. Tucker rushed up to greet him. Mrs. Murphy, splayed on the counter on her right side, tail slowly flicking back and forth, raised her head, then put it back down again.