Reverend Jones, Clai Cordle, Diana Farrell, and Donna Eicher picked up their mail. Nothing much came of that. Donna also got Linda Berryman’s mail for her.
Once the post office was empty again, Harry remarked,“We were probably tasteless to put a card in Linda Berryman’s box.”
“In this case, the end justifies the means and the meanness.”
Hayden McIntire dropped by. He, too, left without examining his mail.
BoomBoom Craycroft, however, caught the meaning immediately as she put her mail into three piles: personal, business, junk.“This is attractive.” She handed the postcard to Harry. “Is this what you wish for me now?”
“I got one too,” fibbed Harry.
“Sick humor.” BoomBoom’s lips curled. “These murders flush out every weirdo we’ve got. Sometimes I think all of Crozet is weird. What are we doing festering here like a pimple on the butt of the Blue Ridge Mountains? Poor Claudius Crozet. He deserved better.” She paused and then said toHarry: “Well, I guess you deserve better, too, but I can’t bring myself to apologize. I don’t feel guilty.”
As she walked out an astonished Harry noticed Mrs. Murphy heading for the stamp pads. Quickly she sped toward them and snapped them shut. Mrs. Murphy trotted right by them as though they were of no concern to her, and wasn’t Harry silly? This upheaval over BoomBoom and Fair had upset the cat too. She hated seeing Harry suffer.
The name Crozet fired a nerve in Harry’s brain. “Cooper, if I found the buried treasure would I have to pay income tax on it?”
“We even pay death duties in this country. Of course you’d have to pay.”
“She may be getting it at last.” Mrs. Murphy pranced.
“Getting what?” Pewter hated being left out of things, so Tucker filled her in.
“The profits in Maude’s ledger. Maybe they involved selling the treasure in bits and pieces.”
“You’re soft as a grape.” Cooper smiled. “But it’s as good an explanation as any other. This doesn’t address the small, trifling fact that the tunnels are sealed shut. Rock, debris, concrete. Poor Claudius. I’d be more worried about him returning than Thomas Jefferson. Imagine coming back and seeing your life’s work, a world-class engineering feat, sealed up and forgotten.”
“Let’s go up there after work.”
“Yeah—okay.”
Just then Mim, Little Marilyn, and bodyguard entered the building. Josiah, like a well-groomed terrier, was at their heels.
Mother and daughter, strained with each other, cast a pall over the room. Josiah discreetly sorted his mail at the counter while the two women spoke in low tones.
The low tone erupted as Mim yanked the mail from Little Marilyn’s hands. “I’ll do it.”
“I can sort the mail as easily as you can.”
“You’re too slow.” Mim frantically flipped through the mail. The postcard barely dented her consciousness. She was looking for something else.
“Mother, give me my mail!”
Josiah read his postcard, Dolley Madison’s tomb. He smiled at Harry. “Is this one of your jokes?”
“I’ll give you your mail in a moment.” The cords stood out on Mim’s neck.
Little Marilyn, face empurpled, backhanded her mother’s hands, and the mail flew everywhere. Mrs. Murphy leaped on the counter to watch, as did Pewter. Tucker, behind the counter, begged to go into the front and Harry opened the door for her. She sat by the stamp machine and watched.
“I know what you’re looking for, Mother, and you won’t find it.”
Mim pretended to be in control and bent down to pick up wedding invitation replies. Josiah, leaving his mail on the counter, joined her.“Why don’t you get some fresh air, Mim? I’ll do this.”
“I don’t need fresh air. I need a new daughter.”
“Fine. Then you won’t haveany children,” Little Marilyn screamed at her. “You’re looking for a letter from Stafford. You won’t find one, Mother, because I didn’t write him.” Little Marilyn paused for breath and dramatic effect. “I called him.”
“You what?” Mim leaped up so quickly the blood rushed from her head.
“Mim, darling—” Josiah attempted to calm her. She pushed him off.
“You heard me. I called him. He’s my brother and I love him and if he’s not coming to my wedding, then you aren’t coming either. I’m the one getting married. Not you.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”
“I’ll speak to you any way I like. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I attended the right schools. I played the appropriately feminine sports—you know, Mother, the ones where you don’t sweat. Excuse me—glow. I made the right friends. I don’t even like them! They’re boring. But they’re socially correct. I’m marrying the right man. We’ll have two blond children and they’ll go to the right schools, play the right sportsad nauseam. I am getting off the merry-go-round.Now. If you want to stay on, fine. You won’t know you aren’t going anywhere until you’re dead.” Little Marilyn shook with fury, which was slowly subsiding into relief and even happiness. She was doing it at long last. She was fighting back.
Harry, hardly breathing, wanted to cheer. Officer Cooper’s eyes about popped out of her head. So this was the way the upper class behaved? The public display would eventually upset Mim more than the raw emotions.
“Darling, let’s discuss this elsewhere. Please.” Josiah gently cupped Mim’s elbow. She allowed him to guide her this time.
“Little Marilyn, we’ll talk about this later.”
“No. There’s nothing to talk about. I am marrying Fitz-Gilbert Hamilton. Excitement is not his middle name, but he’s a good man and I honestly hope we make it, Mother. I would like to be happy even if only for one day in my life. You are invited to my wedding. My brother’s wife will be my matron of honor.”
“Oh, myGawd!” Mim fainted.
45
It wasn’t until the diminishing hours of sunlight, the spreading of coppery-rich long shadows, about seven in the evening, that Harry understood what really happened in the post office.
Josiah and Officer Cooper revived Mim. Little Marilyn left. Whatever sorrow she might feel over her mother’s acute distress was well hidden. Mim had caused her enough distress over the years. If she fainted in the post office and cracked her head, so be it.
When Mim came to, with the bodyguard shoving amyl nitrite under her nostrils, she said,“I don’t fit here anymore. My life’s like an old dress.”
For a brief moment Harry pitied her.
Josiah tended to Mim, walking her to his shop.
People poured in and out of the post office for the rest of the day. Harry and Officer Cooper barely had time to go to the bathroom, much less think.
The thinking came later, in the oppressive heat redolent with the green odor of vegetation, as the two women, armed, climbed the grade on the old track up to the Greenwood tunnel. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker refused to stay in the parked car far below. They, too, panted.
“People hauled timbers up here. Even with mules, this was a bitch.”
“The old tracks run to the tunnel. Crozet built serving roads and tracks before—” Harry stopped. A yellow swallowtail butterfly twirled before her and winged off.
“Is this one of your jokes? Coop … Coop! Josiah said that to me after reading his card.”
“So what? Ned recognized Susan’s handwriting. ‘Wish you were here’ fizzled.”
“Don’t you see? The killer knows that apart from the sheriff, I’m the one who recognized the postcard signal. I’m the one who ran to Mrs. Hogendobber even before your people got to her. I see the mail first. He slipped. It’s him! Jesus Christ, Josiah DeWitt. I like him. How can you like amurderer?”
Officer Cooper’s face, taut, registered the information. “Well, if there is someone in that tunnel, we’re sitting ducks.”
“Like Kelly Craycroft’s poster.” Harry’s mind raced. “I don’t know how long it will take him to realize what he’s done.”
“Not long. Our people are everywhere. He may not be able to leave his shop early. When he does he’ll come for you.”