“Are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”
“Yes. Each murder victim received an unsigned postcard. The handwriting was in computer script. It looks like real handwriting but it isn’t. Anyway, on the face of each postcard was a photograph of a famous graveyard. The message read, ‘Wish you were here.’ You received one this morning.”
Mrs. Hogendobber’s hand fluttered to her ponderous bosom. “Me?”
Harry nodded.“You.”
“What did I do? I’ve never even seen a marijuana cigarette, much less sold dope.”
“Oh, Mrs. H. I don’t know if this has anything to do with drugs or not but the killer knows you’ve seen the second set of books. At Josiah’s gathering.”
Mrs. Hogendobber’s eyes narrowed. She might lack a sense of humor but she didn’t lack a quick mind. “Ah, so it isn’t just the IRS Maude was cheating. That ledger is an account of her turnover with whomever her partner was.” She placed her hands on either side of the hanging swing. “Someone at Josiah’s party. It’s preposterous!”
“Yes—but it’s real. You’re in danger.”
With great composure Mrs. Hogendobber rose and accompanied Harry back to the post office. She recovered sufficiently to say,“I always knew that you read the postcards, Harry.”
When Rick Shaw arrived with Officer Cooper, he herded everyone into the back room.
“Harry, you act normal. If you hear anyone, go on out and talk to them.” He studied the postcard.
“What about prints?” Officer Cooper asked.
“I’ll send them to the lab. But the killer’s smart. No prints. Not on the postcards. Not on the bodies. No nothing. This guy—or gal—must be invisible. We’re checking with the computer companies in town to see if there’s anything distinguishable in the script. Unfortunately, computers aren’t like typewriters, which can be traced. A letter from a typewriter is almost like a fingerprint. Electronic printing is, well, homogenized. We’re trying, but we’re not hopeful on that front.”
Officer Cooper watched Mrs. Murphy try to squeeze into a Kleenex box on the shelf.
“He’s sporting, too. He gives us a warning even if the victims don’t know it’s a warning,” Harry said.
“I hate the kind that put on finishing touches.” Rick grimaced. “Give me a good old domestic murder any day.” He swiveled his chair, facing Mrs. Hogendobber. “You’re getting out of Dodge, ma’am.”
“I’m prepared to accept what God has in store for me.” Her chin jutted out. “I was prepared to drown on Mim’s lake. This isn’t any different.”
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways, but I don’t,” Rick countered. “You can visit a relative and we’ll make certain you arrive there safe and sound. We’ll alert the authorities there to keep a close watch over your welfare and we won’t inform anyone of your whereabouts. If you won’t leave town, then we’ll put you in jail. We’ll treat you well, but, my dear Mrs. Hogendobber, you are not going to be the third victim of this cold, calculating murderer. Am I understood?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hogendobber’s reply was not meek.
“Fine. You and Officer Cooper go home and pack. You can decide what you want to do, and tell no one but me.”
“Not even Harry?”
“Not even Harry.”
Mrs. Hogendobber reached over and squeezed Harry’s hand. “Don’t you worry about me. You’ll be in my prayers.”
“Thank you.” Harry was touched. “You’ll be in mine.”
After Mrs. Hogendobber and Officer Cooper left through the back door, Harry crumpled a mailbag.
“He’ll know that I know and that you know,” the sheriff said. “He won’t know if anyone else knows. Does anyone else know?”
“Susan Tucker.”
Rick’s eyebrows clashed together. “Oh, dammit to hell, Harry. Can’t you keep your mouth shut about anything?!”
“She’s my best friend. Besides, if anything happens to me I want someone to know at least as much as I did.”
“How do you know Susan isn’t the killer?”
“Never. Never. Never. She’s my best friend.”
“Your best friend. Harry, women who have been married to men for twenty years find out they’ve got another wife in another city. Or children grow up and find out that their sweet daddy was a Nazi war criminal who escaped to the United States. People are not what they seem and this killer appears normal, well-adjusted, and hey, one of the gang. He or sheis one of the gang. Susan is under suspicion as much as anyone else. And what about Fair? He’s got medical knowledge. Doctors make clever killers.”
“Susan and Fair just wouldn’t, that’s all.”
Rick exhaled through his nostrils.“I admire your faith in your friends. If it isn’t justified you’ve got a good chance of meeting your Maker.” He picked up a pencil and tapped it against his cheek. “Do you think Susan told Ned?”
“No.”
“Wives usually talk to their husbands and vice versa.”
“She gave me her word and I’ve known her far longer than Ned has. She won’t tell.”
“So it’s only you and Susan and Mrs. Hogendobber who know the postcard signal?”
“Yes.”
He kept tapping.“We’re a small force but I’ll assign Officer Cooper to guard you. She’ll stay here in the post office and she’ll go home with you too. For a couple of days, at least.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Very necessary. Within twelve hours, max, the killer will know that Mrs. Hogendobber left town and he’ll figure out the rest. She won’t show up for her Ruth Circle at church. They’ll ask questions. I’ll have her make some calls from the station. She can say that her sister’s taken ill and she’s hurrying to Greenville. Whatever location she gives out won’t be true, of course. But Mrs. Hogendobber’s cover won’t fool the killer, any more than Mim’s exchange students are fooling anyone. Her departure is too abrupt and Mrs. Hogendobber talks for days if she’s going into Charlottesville. For an emergency trip out of state, she’d take an ad out in theDaily Progress. See, that’s what’s tough about this one—he or she knows everyone’s habits, foibles, routines. If he can’t get to Mrs. H., I’m not sure what he’ll do next. He might turn on you or he might get nervous and make a mistake. A tiny one but something we can use.”
“I hope it’s the latter and not the former.”
“Me, too, but I’m not taking any chances.”
Mrs. Murphy and Tucker drank in every word. If Harry was in danger, there was no time to lose.
32
Officer Cooper’s presence at the post office electrified everyone. Mim, Little Marilyn, and the bodyguard stopped at the sight of her.
Little Marilyn hovered at her mother’s elbow, as did the daytime female bodyguard, who could have used a shave.
“Uh, Harry, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the Cancer Ball this year.” Little Marilyn bit her lip as Mim watched.
Harry had served on the committee every year for the last six years.“Yes.”
“Given that you’re divorcing, well, it just won’t do for you to be on the committee.” Little Marilyn at least had the guts to tell her face-to-face.
“What?” Harry couldn’t believe this—it was too silly and too painful.
Mim backed up her daughter.“We can’t have you on the program. Think what it would do to dear, sweet Mignon Haristeen.”
Mignon Haristeen, Fair’s mother, was also in the Social Register and therefore important to Mim.
“She’s living in Hobe Sound, for Christ’s sake,” Harry exploded. “I don’t think she much cares what we do in Crozet.”
“Really, have you no sense of propriety?” Mim sounded like a schoolmarm.
“Who the hell are you two to bump me off the Cancer Ball?” Harry seethed. “Mim, you’re in a poisonous marriage. You sold out cheap. I don’t care if Jim has umpteen million dollars. You can’t stand him. What’s umpteen million dollars compared to your emotional health, your soul?”