He blinked, steadied his gaze.“No.”
As the humans recriminated, Tucker, tired of being on the floor, out of the cat action, said,“Pewter, we went over to Kelly Craycroft’s concrete plant.”
Alert, Pewter sat up.“Why?”
“Wanted to sniff for ourselves.”
“How can Mrs. Murphy smell anything? She’s always got her nose up in the air.”
“Shut up.” Mrs. Murphy stuck her head over the mail bin.
“How uncouth.” Pewter pulled back her whiskers.
“I was talking to Tucker, but you can shut up too. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
“Why were you telling me to shut up? I didn’t do anything.” Tucker was hurt.
“I’ll tell you later,” the tiger cat replied.
“It’s no secret. Ozzie’s probably blabbed it over three counties by now—ours, Orange, and Nelson. Maybe the whole state of Virginia knows, since Bob Berryman delivers those stock trailers everywhere and Ozzie goes with him,” Tucker yipped.
“Nine states.” Mrs. Murphy knew Tucker was going to tell.
“Tell me. What did Ozzie blab and why did you go to the concrete plant?” Pewter’s pupils enlarged.
“Ozzie said there was a funny smell. And there was.” Tucker liked this turnabout.
Pewter scoffed,“Of course, there was a funny smell, Tucker. A man was ground into hamburger meat and the day sweltered at ninety-seven degrees. Even humans can smell that.”
“It wasn’t that.” Mrs. Murphy crawled out of the mail bin, disappointed that Harry had lost interest and was giving her full attention to Fair.
“Rescue Squad smells.” Pewter was fishing.
“Smelled like a turtle.”
“What?” The fat cat swept her whiskers forward.
Mrs. Murphy jumped up on the counter and sat next to Pewter. Since Tucker was going to yap she might as well be in the act.“It did. By the time we got there most of the scent was gone but there was this slight amphibian odor.”
Pewter wrinkled her nose.“I did hear Ozzie say something about a turtle, but I didn’t pay too much attention. There was so much going on.” She sighed.
“Ever smell ‘Best Fishes’?” Pewter’s mind returned to food, her favorite topic.“Now that’s a good smell. Mrs. Murphy, doesn’t Harry have any treats left?”
“Yes.”
“Think she’ll give me one?”
“I’ll give you one if you promise to tell us anything you hear about Kelly Craycroft. Anything at all. And I promise not to make fun of you.”
“I promise.” The fat chin wobbled solemnly.
Mrs. Murphy jumped off the counter and ran over to the desk. The lower drawer was open a crack. She squeezed her paw in it and hooked out a strip of dried beef jerky. She picked it up and gave it to Pewter, who devoured it instantly.
10
Bob Berryman laughed loudly during the movieField of Dreams. He was alone. Apart from Bob, Harry and Susan didn’t know anyone else in the theater. Charlottesville, jammed with new people, was becoming a new town to them. No longer could you drive into town and expect to see your friends. Not that the new people weren’t nice—they were—but it was somewhat discomforting to be born and raised in a placeand suddenly feel like a stranger.
The new residents flocked to the county in such numbers that they couldn’t be absorbed quickly enough into the established clubs and routines. Naturally, the new people created their own clubs and routines. Formerly, the four great social centers—the hunt club, the country club, the black churches, and the university—provided stability to the community, like the four points of a square. Now young blacks drifted away from the churches, the country club had a six-year waiting list for membership, and the university was in the community but not of the community. As for the hunt club, most of the new people couldn’t ride.
The road system couldn’t handle the newcomers either. The state of Virginia was dickering about paving over much of the countryside with a bypass. The residents, old and new, were bitterly opposed to the destruction of their environment. The Highway Department people would be more comfortable in a room full of scorpions, because this was getting ugly. The obvious solution, of improving the central corridor road, Route 29, or even elevating a direct road over the existing route, did not occur to the powers-that-be in Richmond. They cried, “Expensive,” while ignoring the outrageous sums they’d already squandered in hiring a research company to do their dirty work for them. They figured the populace would direct their wrath at the research company, and the Highway Department could hide behind the screen. The Republican party, quick to seize the opportunity to roast the reigning Democrats, turned the bypass into a political hot potato. The Highway Department remained obstinate. The Democrats, losing power, began to feel queasy. It was turning into an interesting drama, one in which political careers would be made and unmade.
Harry believed that whatever figure was published, you should double it. For some bizarre reason, government people could not hold the line on spending. She observed this in the post office. The regulations, created to help, just made things so much worse that she ran her post office as befitted the community, not as befitted some distant someone sitting on a fat ass in Washington, D.C. The same was true for the state government. They wouldn’t travel the roads they’d build; they wouldn’t have their hearts broken because beautiful farmland was destroyed and the watershed was endangered. They’d have a nice line on the map and talk to the governor about traffic flow. Every employee would justify his or her position by complicating the procedure as much as possible and then solving the complications.
Meanwhile the citizens of Albemarle County would be told to accept the rape of their land for the good of the counties south of them, counties that had contributed heavily to certain politicians’ war chests. No one even considered the idea of letting people raise money themselves for improving the central corridor. Whatever the extra cost would be, compared to a bypass, Albemarle would pay for it. Self-government—why, the very thought was too revolutionary.
Harry, raised to believe the government was her friend, had learned by experience to believe it was her enemy. She softened her stance only with local officials whom she knew and to whom she could talk face-to-face.
One good thing about newcomers was, they were politically active. Good, Harry thought. They’re going to need it.
She and Susan batted these ideas around at the Blue Ridge Brewery. Ice-cold beer on a sticky night tasted delicious.
“So?”
“So what, Susan?”
“You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes and you haven’t said a thing.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Lost track of time, I guess.”
“Apparently.” Susan smiled. “Come on, what gives? Another bout with Fair?”
“You know, I can’t decide who’s the bigger asshole, him or me. What I do know is, we can’t be in the same room together without an argument. Even if we start out on friendly terms … we end up accusing each other of …”
Susan waited. No completion of Harry’s sentence was forthcoming. “Accusing each other of what?”
“I asked him if he’d slept with BoomBoom.”
“What?” Susan’s lower lip dropped.
“You heard me.”
“And?”
“He said no. Oh, it went on from there. Every mistake I’d made since we dated got thrown in my face. God, I am so bored with him, with the situation”—she paused—“with myself. There’s a whole world out there and right now all I can think of is this stupid divorce.” Another pause. “And Kelly’s murder.”
“Fortunately the two are not connected.” Susan took a long draft.
“I hope not.”
“They aren’t.” Susan dismissed the thought. “You don’t think they are either. He may not have been the husband you needed, but he’s not a murderer.”
“I know.” Harry pushed the glass away. “But I don’t know him anymore—and I don’t trust him.”