Claws and Effect (18 page)

“He wrote them out by hand and then I think someone else entered them on the computer. Hank wasn't that computer literate.” Coop paused. “Boy, am I dumb. I'd better find out who did that for him.”

Harry frowned. “I guess so. After a while everything and everyone seems suspicious. It's weird.”

“Salvage Masters.”

“Oh, that's a good one. The Dumpster people?”

“No, a company that rehabilitates infusion pumps. You know, the units next to a patient's bed that drip saline solution or morphine or whatever.” She studied the bill. “Middleburg postmark. I think I'll drive up there Saturday if Rick says okay.”

“He will.”

“Want to go with me?”

“Yeah. I'd love to go.”

35

“Mug shot.”
Mrs. Murphy scrutinized the lost-dog photo taped on the wall by the postboxes.

“Ever notice you hardly ever see photographs of lost cats? We don't get lost.”
Pewter ran her tongue over her lips.

“Ha. It means people don't care as much about their cats,”
Tucker said, malice intended.

“Bull!”
Pewter snarled and was about to attack the sturdy canine when the first human of the day entered the post office.

Reverend Herb Jones picked up the church's mail, then strode over to the sign. “Now that's a new one.”

“What?” Harry called out from behind the divider.

She was dumping out a mail sack, letters cascading over the table, onto the floor.

“Bristol. I thought I knew every dog in this district. Who owns Bristol?” Herb frowned.

“You know, I don't know. The notice was slipped under the front door. I put it up. I don't recognize the pooch either except that he's awfully cute.”

“Yeah. Hope he's found,” Herb agreed.

“Where's Miranda?”

“Home. She said she'd be a little late this morning.”

“Well, I'd better get a move on. The vestry committee meets this morning and I have to deliver the blow that we must replumb the rectory.”

“That will cost a pretty penny.”

“Yes, it will.” He leaned over the counter for a second. “If money is your objective, Harry, become a plumber.”

“I'll remember that.”

He waved as he left.

A few minutes later BoomBoom Craycroft, tanned, came in. “I'm back!”

“So I see.”

“She really is beautiful,”
Tucker had to admit.

“A week in Florida in the winter restores my spirits.” She stopped. “Except I've come home to such—such sadness.”

“No one quite believes it.” Harry continued to sort through catalogues.

BoomBoom glanced at the lost-dog notice, said nothing, cleaned out her mailbox, then went over to the counter. “More.”

Harry walked over, taking the yellow slip indicating there was more mail than the mailbox could hold. She put the overflow in a white plastic box with handles. She retrieved it, heaving it over the counter.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” BoomBoom picked up the box.

Harry flipped up the divider, trotting to the front door, which she opened. “It's slippery.”

“Sometimes I think winter will never end. Thanks.”

Harry closed the front door as Miranda entered through the back.

“Yoo-hoo.”

“Hi.”
The animals greeted the older woman.

“Hello, you little furry angels.”

“Oh, yes.”
Tucker flopped over on her back.

“That's more stomach than I care to see,”
Pewter snipped.

“Look who's talking,”
Tucker responded.

Tussie hurried through the front door. “Hi, late.” She slipped her key in the brass mailbox, scooped out the contents, shut the door with a clang, glancing at the lost-dog notice. “Poor puppy.” She dashed out the front door.

Jordan Ivanic followed, read the notice, said nothing.

Later that day Susan dropped by. “We ought to put up posters of marriageable daughters.”

“Right next to lost dogs,” Harry remarked.

“Or goats.”

By the end of the day neither Harry nor Miranda had observed anything unusual regarding the poster. Harry called in to Coop.

“You know, even though Rick must have someone watching Mim, I'd rather she hadn't done that,” Miranda worried out loud as Harry spoke to Coop.

“If it's the killer versus Mim, catnip's on Mim,”
Mrs. Murphy declared.

“It's been a while since I've been up there. I enjoy walking around the shops—after my duty is done, of course.” Coop referred to their planned trip to Middleburg.

“You could get measured for chaps.”

“Harry.”

“Hee hee.”

36

“Mother, do you really think you can stay neutral?”

A languid, melancholy Mim replied, “I have no choice.”

“You don't think I should run against Dad, do you?”

“No.”

A slight red blotch appeared on Little Mim's forehead, a hint of suppressed anger. “Why? He's been mayor long enough.”

“I believe in letting sleeping dogs lie.” The older woman patted the arm of her overstuffed chair; a fire crackling in the fireplace added to the warm atmosphere of the drawing room.

“Change never happens that way.”

“Oh, Marilyn, change happens even when you sleep. I just don't see the point in stirring things up. Your father is a wonderful mayor and this town has flourished under his guidance.”

“And your money.”

“That, too.” Mim glanced out the window. Low gray clouds moved in fast from the west.

“You never support me.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Mim's regular, lovely features. “Oh? You live in a handsome house, provided by me. You have a car, clothing, horses, jewelry. You are denied nothing. You had the best education money can buy and when you married, I believe the only wedding more sumptuous was that between Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier. And when you divorced we dealt with that, too. Just exactly what is the problem?”

Pouting, not an attractive trait in a woman in her mid-thirties, Little Mim rose from her chair opposite her mother's and walked to the window. “I want to do something on my own. Is that so hard to understand?”

“No. Get a job.”

“Doing what?”

“How should I know, Marilyn? It's your life. You have talents. I think you do a wonderful job with the hunt club newsletter. Really, I do.”

“Thanks. Storm's coming in.”

“Yes. February never fails to depress.”

“Mother.” She bit her lower lip, then continued. “I have no purpose in life.”

“I'm sorry. No one can provide that for you.”

Turning to face her mother, arms crossed over her chest, Little Mim said, “I want to do something.”

“Charity work has meaning.”

“No. That was for your generation. You married and that was that.”

“Marriage might improve your humor.” A slight smile played over Mim's lips, mocha lipstick perfectly applied.

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we are meant to go in twos. Remember the animals on Noah's Ark?”

The younger woman, lithe and as well dressed as her mother, returned, gracefully lowering herself into the chair. “I'd like to marry again but Blair isn't going to ask me. He's not in love with me.”

“I'm glad you realize that. Anyway, he travels too much for his work. Men who travel are never faithful.”

“Neither are men who stay at home.” Marilyn was fully aware of her father's peccadilloes.

“Touché.”

“I'm sorry. That was a low blow.”

Mim smoothed her skirt. “The truth isn't tidy, is it?”

“I'm out of sorts. Every time I think of Blair my heart leaps but when I'm with him I don't feel—I don't feel
there
. Does that make sense?”

“Any man that gorgeous will get your blood up. That's the animal in you. When you're with him you don't feel anything because there's nothing coming off his body. When a man likes you, wants you, you feel it. It's electric.”

The daughter looked at her mother, a flash of recognition illuminating her features. “Right. Did you feel that for Dad?”

“Eventually. I learned to love your father.”

“You were always in love with Larry, weren't you, Mother?”

As they had never discussed this, a surprising silence fell over them for a few moments.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry, Mother.” Marilyn meant it.

“Life is strange. Hardly a profound thought but I never know what will happen from one minute to the next even though I live a well-ordered life. The mistake I made, and I share this with you only in the hopes that you won't repeat my mistakes, is that I valued form over substance, appearances over emotion. I was a perfect fool.”

“Mother.” Little Mim was shocked.

“The money gets in the way, darling. And social expectations are deadening. I ought to know, I've spent a lifetime meeting and enforcing them.” She leaned over to turn on the lamp by her chair as the sky darkened. “Going to be a good one.”

“First snowflake.”

They both stopped to watch the skies open.

Finally, Mim said, “If you're determined to run against your father, go ahead, but consider what you really want to do as mayor. If you win, stick to it. If you lose, support your father.”

“I suppose.”

“Maybe there's another path. I don't know. I haven't been thinking too clearly these last days.”

“It's awful that Larry's dead.” Marilyn had loved him as though he were a kindly uncle.

“Quite. Snatched from life. He had so much to give. He'd given so much and someone took aim. I don't think Rick Shaw has one clue.”

“They have the ballistics report.” Marilyn wanted to sound hopeful.

“Little good it does without the finger that pulled the trigger.” Mim's eyes clouded over. “As you age you learn there is such a thing as a good death. His was a good death in that it was swift, and apart from the shock of getting hit with a bullet, I should think the pain didn't last. He died as he lived, no trouble to anyone.”

“I don't have any ideas; do you?”

“No, unfortunately. So often you have a premonition, an inkling, a sense of what's wrong or who's wrong. I don't have that. I'd give my eyeteeth to find Larry's murderer. I don't know where to look. The hospital? A lunatic patient? I just have no feel for this.”

“I don't think anyone does, but now that you mention the hospital, what do you think of Bruce Buxton?”

“Arrogant.”

“That's all?”

“Arrogant and handsome. Does that make you feel better?”

“He's brilliant. Everyone says that.”

“I suppose he is.”

“But you don't like him, do you?”

“Ah, well, I can't explain it, Marilyn. And it's not important anyway. Are you interested in Bruce? At least he rides reasonably well. You can't possibly be interested in a man who can't ride, you know. Another reason Blair's not for you.”

Little Mim laughed because it was true. Horse people shouldn't marry non-horse people. It rarely worked. “That's something.”

“Bruce rides like most men. Squeeze, jerk. Squeeze, jerk, but a bit of teaching could improve that. He doesn't intend to be abusive and he's not as abusive as most. Women are better with horses. Always will be.” This was stated with ironclad conviction. “Women make up eighty percent of the hunt field but only twenty percent of the accidents.”

“Harry's been riding well, hasn't she?”

“You two ought to ride in the hunt pairs when we have our hunter trials.”

“Harry and I aren't close.”

“You don't have to be close. Your horses are matched.”

This was followed by an exhaustive discussion of the merits of relative mounts, carried out with the enthusiasm and total concentration peculiar to horse people. To anyone else the conversation would have been a bloody bore.

“Mother,” Little Mim said, changing the subject. “Would you give one of your famous teas and invite Bruce?”

“I can't see the stables.” Mim noted the thickness of the falling snow. “A tea?”

“You give the best teas. Things always happen at your parties. I wish I had your gift.”

“You could have it if you wanted it, Marilyn. One learns to give parties just as one learns to dress. Oh, what was that I heard Harry and Susan say a few days ago? The ‘fashion police.' Yes, the fashion police. They were laughing about Jordan Ivanic's tie and said he needed to be arrested by the fashion police.”

“Harry in her white T-shirt, jeans, and paddock boots?”

“Ah, but Marilyn, it works for her. It really does and she has a wonderful body. I wish she and Fair would get back together again but once trust is broken it's hard to mend that fence. Well, a tea? You can learn.”

“I can do the physical stuff. I will. I'll help with all that, but you have a gift for putting people together. Like I said, Mother, something always happens at your parties.”

“The time Ulrich jumped the fence, cantered across the lawn, and jumped the picnic table was unforgettable.” She smiled, remembering a naughty horse.

“What about the time Fair and Blair got into a fistfight and Herb Jones had to break it up? That was pretty exciting.”

Mim brightened. “Or the time Aunt Tally cracked her cane over Ned Tucker's head and we had to take Ned to the emergency room.”

“Why did Aunt Tally do that?”

“You were eleven at the time, I think. Your brother, Stafford, was thirteen. I'll tell you why. Ned became head of the Republican Party in the county and Aunt Tally took umbrage. She told him Tucker was an old Virginia name and he had no business registering Republican. He could vote Republican but he couldn't register that way. It just wasn't done. And Ned, who is usually an intelligent man, was dumb enough to argue with her. He said Lyndon Johnson handed the South to the Republican Party in 1968 when he signed the Voter Rights Act. That did it. Pow!” Mim clapped her hands. “I suppose Aunt Tally will enliven this tea as well. Let's sic her on Sam Mahanes, who is getting entirely too serious.”

“With good reason.”

“He's not the only person with troubles. All right. Your tea. How about two weeks from today? March sixth.”

“Mother, you're lovely.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”