Sour Puss (19 page)

33

F
iona had borne up through her husband being accused of murder. Now she bent under the crushing weight of his death.

Rick carefully described the scene and the fact that the gunshot may have been self-inflicted.

Cooper, as was her habit, stood quietly beside Rick but made mental notes. Once back in the squad car she would write everything down. Usually she carried her pad with her, but under the circumstances that seemed cold.

“Hy would never kill himself. He’s Catholic.” Fiona sobbed, her embroidered handkerchief at her gushing eyes.

Plenty of Catholics had killed themselves over two millennia, but neither Rick nor Cooper thought it wise to mention this. The fact that Fiona hadn’t collapsed was impressive to the two enforcement officials. Events had leached pounds from her, but her haggard face retained vestiges of mature beauty.

“Did you notice anything out of line the last few days?” Rick sighed. “You and Hy have been under a punishing strain.”

Her bloodshot eyes searched his. “Do you still think Hy killed Toby?”

“I have to stick to facts. Hy was our main suspect in the death of Toby Pittman.”

Coop stepped in. “Something horrible is happening, and for whatever reason it’s happening among those who possess highly specialized knowledge concerning disease in grapes and other crops.”

Fiona wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. “Hy was passionate about making wine. He got into a big argument with Rollie Barnes yesterday at the co-op store about using machines to destem grapes. He ran into him at the café. People have been shunning us, Rollie included, so Hy’s been extra sensitive. I don’t even know how they started talking, but Hy lost his temper and declared the only way to make wine was to destem the grapes by hand. No bad grape should ever fall into the basket. With a machine they do. Hy came home livid, as it apparently turned into a real shouting match. He thinks everyone is against him.” A long pause followed. “And they were.”

Coop’s voice soothed. “I’m terribly sorry, Fiona.”

“Sheriff, Deputy, I know my husband did not kill Toby Pittman. Yes, a wife isn’t considered a good judge in these circumstances, but the least I can do for Hy,” she choked up, then gained control, “is to clear his name, and by God, I will.”

“Why don’t we wait with you until Alicia arrives?” Rick suggested, as he didn’t want to leave her alone.

Knowing that the Maudants had no children and were fairly new to Crozet, Coop had taken the precaution of calling Alicia Palmer on the way to White Vineyards. Alicia and Fiona were pals. Alicia dropped everything, so Rick and Coop expected her at any moment.

The sound of the Land Cruiser on the drive sent a ripple of relief through Coop. Alicia would know what to do.

Before the beautiful woman came through the door, Fiona asked, “When can I have his body?”

“I’ll get the autopsy performed today. I’ll call you as soon as it’s over. You understand this is necessary?” Rick spoke in a low tone.

“Yes, I understand.” She sat upright, speaking deliberately. “I want you both to know that my husband did not commit suicide.”

Alicia entered without knocking, greeted the sheriff and deputy as she walked over to Fiona. She leaned down to embrace her friend, and that’s when Fiona gave way.

As Fiona’s sobs shortened, Rick briefed Alicia on the disposition of the body.

“I’ll take care of the details.” Alicia held Fiona’s hand.

“Fiona, please forgive me for pressing you at this time, but it’s crucial. We must go through Hy’s papers and computer.”

“Must it be now?” Alicia spoke for her friend.

“Yes. Alicia, if this isn’t suicide, others may be in danger,” Rick stated.

Fiona nodded that it was all right.

Alicia asked, “Is she in danger?”

“I don’t care if I am,” Fiona flared. “Let them come and get me. I don’t want to live without Hy. I don’t care!”

Coop calmly reminded her, “You have to live long enough to clear his name.”

Fiona blinked, nodded, and said, “You’re right.”

34

H
y Maudant’s funeral, a desultory affair, was attended by twenty-five people that Friday. St. Luke’s seemed cavernous with so few mourners in the pews, but the Reverend Jones rose to the occasion. He didn’t want to praise a murderer, but he didn’t wish to condemn him, either. While Herb didn’t know conclusively if Hy had killed Toby, he felt the evidence against him to be overwhelming. However, the Christian God is a merciful God, and Herb wanted to console Fiona and leave some shred of dignity with the departed.

Whenever confronted with a knotty problem, Herb turned to the Psalms. He read from Psalm Twenty-five: “‘Turn thou to me, and be gracious to me; for I am lonely and afflicted. Relieve the troubles of my heart, and bring me out of my distresses. Consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.’ ”

As the service ended, Hy’s casket was carried by four men from Hill and Wood Funeral Parlor, along with Fair Haristeen and Jim Sanburne.

Fiona, supported by Alicia and BoomBoom, followed her husband’s casket to the shining black hearse. Aware that eyes were upon her, she held her head up.

Eight people attended the burial apart from the pallbearers: Harry, BoomBoom, Alicia, Susan, Miranda, Tracy, Little Mim, and Aunt Tally.

As they repaired to Fiona’s house for the traditional gathering, Aunt Tally waited for Harry to walk next to her.

“Aunt Tally.” Harry slipped her arm through the old lady’s free arm as Tally used her cane with the other one.

“We could have done better,” the nonagenarian muttered under her breath.

“Beg pardon?” Harry inclined her ear toward Aunt Tally.

“Crozet should have done better by Fiona. Whatever Hy did is buried with him. No need to punish his widow.”

“You’re right.” Harry shortened her steps.

“I have a terrible feeling, Aunt Tally.”

“We all do, dear.”

“It’s not just about Hy’s death. It’s about all of this. Usually I can piece things together. Even if I don’t put all the puzzle together, I’m close and I eventually figure it all out. But I’m blind this time.”

“Malaise.” Aunt Tally nodded. “I think we all feel that, Harry. It’s not just the shock of this death or the visceral impact of the others, it’s that we can’t see why.” She stopped, withdrawing her arm from Harry’s to put both hands on the silver hound’s head of her ebony cane. “Mark me, Harry, I am near one hundred and I tell you with the fullness of my years: there is nothing new under the sun. There are new technologies, but there is nothing new in the nature of the human animal.”

“I believe that,” Harry interjected while Aunt Tally took a deep breath.

“You do have a puzzling mind—I mean, you can often figure things out because you aren’t hampered by seeing things as you wish to see them. That’s a great gift. Your grandfather certainly had it, which is one of the reasons I fell in love with him. Your mother possessed it, too, and people with this gift can often run afoul of those who wish to view the world through rose-colored glasses. Use your sharp mind to ask, ‘Why do people kill?’ ”

“Love, money, power.”

“Exactly. To that I add revenge and to protect one’s self.”

As they started walking toward the gracious house, Harry whispered as if to herself, “The vineyards. How do the vineyards tie in to love or revenge?”

Aunt Tally, ears good even if her joints weren’t, replied, “Money. There’s a great deal of money once one is established.”

“Enough to kill for?” Harry lifted her shoulders.

“People kill one another in cities for an expensive pair of sneakers, for drugs, for the damnedest, most inconsequential things.”

“True,” Harry softly answered.

“One of the great virtues of becoming ancient is I have ample time to cogitate and to continue my study of human nature. They call economics the dismal science. I think not. It’s the study of human nature. Thousands of years of recorded history and we’ve learned nothing. Dismal.”

That, too, applied to the small gathering at White Vineyards. One by one the people left, until only Fiona, Alicia, and BoomBoom remained to look over the rolling hills festooned with vines climbing on the wires. In other circumstances this would presage hope. Today it represented loss.

Harry drove her old F-150 back to the farm; since Fair needed to visit his patients, he had attended the funeral driving his own truck. He called the horses his patients. He had a good bedside manner.

Harry resolved to keep tabs on Fiona—she would have, anyway. She also wanted to find out who was calling with checkbook in hand, how long it would take people to show up at the door. Could someone be trying to create a monopoly of local vineyards? But to kill for it—well, that upset her. Just thinking about it made her mad, gave her energy. And she kept thinking, “Could anyone be that greedy? That stupid?”

And she determined to visit local vineyards.

That was a mistake.

35

C
osts twenty-five dollars a plant. That’s a hell of a lot better than one thousand five hundred dollars a plant.” Dinny Ostermann pushed back his sweat-stained ball cap as he explained a new technique for identifying six common virus infections. “The worm is turning.”

“How do you mean?” Harry had dropped by Dinny’s small vineyard in Crozet.

Dinny bottled no wine. He picked his grapes and sent them on to whoever gave him the best price each year. As he grew an outstanding Cabernet Sauvignon, the Bordeaux variety of red grape, he enjoyed visits from various vintners’ representatives during harvest time.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker nosed around. Dinny loved animals, so he laughed as Mrs. Murphy leapt straight up to try and snatch a yellow swallowtail from midair. The gorgeous insect fluttered away, her compound eyes seeing the tiniest movement.

“From Canada to Chile, people are waking up to the profit from wine. Wine consumption will finally overtake beer in our country.” He hooked his thumbs in his muddy jeans.

“You really believe that wine will overtake beer?”

“More health benefits, and who gets a wine gut?” He laughed.

“Thought you might come to Hy’s funeral.”

“No. Hy and I didn’t much get on.”

“You think he killed Toby?”

“Yeah. They hated each other.”

“I’ve been swinging by as many vineyards as I can in Albemarle and Nelson Counties. Trying to find out if anyone has seen the sharpshooters. So far no one has. What about you?”

He shook his head. “No. Heard you found them on strips in your peach orchard, but you haven’t seen any on your grape leaves, have you?”

“No. But I’ve been thinking that it’s kind of cool, rain off and on, and pretty good breeze, too. Maybe they’ll show up when it’s calm and warmer.”

“Let’s hope not.” Dinny’s black hair curled out from under his cap. “Damned queer, though.”

“I’m furious that someone used my peach orchard for their experiment.”

“I would be, too.” He removed his cap, holding it over his eyes as he looked toward the sun. “Should dry out by tomorrow.” He laughed. “Boots get heavy with all that mud caked in the treads.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, gives us good legs. We’ll both look good in bathing suits.” He smiled.

“What a happy thought.” She lifted Tucker up, putting the heavy corgi in the cab. “Dinny, I had an odd thought.”

“Only one?”

“Only one that I can share.” Mrs. Murphy and Pewter jumped in the cab while Harry closed the door and leaned against it. “You know most all the growers and vintners. Apart from Hy and Toby, is there bad blood between any of them?”

He considered this. “I don’t know as I’d call it bad blood, but if this were a frog-jumping contest, I’d keep my eyes on my frog, ’cause I expect someone would pour BBs down its throat.”

“You think anyone is competitive enough to destroy the other guy’s crop? Like with black rot or one of those mildews or the sharpshooter?”

He rubbed his chin, dark underneath the shaved skin. “Seems like it would come back on them.”

“What if they unleashed something for which they were prepared? I mean, like downy mildew. Forgive me, Dinny, I don’t know these diseases and pests like you do, but if spores were wafted over someone else’s grapes, the criminal could have sprayed his own grapes.”

“You’d have to be rich.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d have to have all those sprayers and booms right there to use before you let loose the spores or the bugs. Couldn’t be renting them. Too obvious.”

“Don’t all the big vineyards have them?”

He nodded yes, but added, “There’re plenty of little guys out there with maybe an acre or two in cultivation. They rent the equipment.”

“You don’t seem surprised by my questions.”

“Harry, you belong with those two cats. Curious.”

“Guess so. My fear is that I’m trying to find who hates whom. I’m wondering if the killings are over.”

“I expect the people who hated one another are dead.” His eyebrows lifted. He stepped back up on his small tractor. “Guess you heard that Tabitha Martin donated Toby’s body—I should say body
parts
—to the medical school for anatomy.”

“Some sister.”

“Yeah. I look on the bright side. Toby’s helping science. He liked science.”

“He was on to something, Dinny.”

Harry drove by Rockland Vineyards, spied Rollie Barnes’s truck and a farm truck next to it. She pulled down the drive onto Toby’s farm, came up alongside the two trucks, and cut the motor.

“Hello, Harry.” Both Rollie Barnes and Arch Saunders greeted her.

“How’s it going?” she asked. The cats put their paws on the windowsill, since Harry had rolled down the truck windows. Tucker stuck her head out.

“If the weather cooperates, this is going to be Toby’s best yield yet. A real tribute to him.” Rollie swept over the vineyards with his right hand.

“I dropped by Dinny Ostermann’s and things look good there, too. You know, he was telling me about a new technology called RT-PCR that can pin down six different viruses that infect grapevines.”

Arch spoke up. “Reverse transcription polymerase chain reaction.”

“That’s a mouthful.” Harry smiled.

“Pretty close to a miracle. Cheap and fast. The old way to identify corky bark and leafroll virus could take up to three years.” Arch liked showing off his knowledge in front of his boss. “Costs a fortune, though. RT-PCR costs twenty-five dollars a pop.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dinny said. Didn’t see you two at Hy’s funeral—”

Arch interrupted, “Harry, I’m not that big a hypocrite.”

“Didn’t think you were, but we all were wondering what Fiona will do. Maybe she can carry it by herself. A lot of work.” Harry’s voice was without any accusatory trace.

“I offered her a very good price for the place.” Rollie sounded like a charitable man.

“After the funeral?” This time Harry’s voice betrayed her surprise.

“Someone has to be first in line, and that’s going to be me,” Rollie explained himself.

“I suppose. I figured the Belgians would hurry back to Dulles Airport after finding Hy at Tinsley Crossroads,” Harry replied. “Called Bo to see how he was doing after finding Hy. He told me they’re still in the hunt and that he’s fine.”

“Probably a lot more exciting than what happens in Belgium.” Rollie couldn’t help but smile. “Bo will be telling that story for the rest of his life.”

“It will be a long life. Only the good die young.” Harry adored Bo, as did many women. She liked teasing him. Harry then inquired, “Is there a grape resistant to the sharpshooter?”

“Lake Emerald grape. They developed it in Florida. It’s used as a rootstock mostly. Used a lot around Leesburg, Florida.”

“We’re too far north?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not the kind of grape we want to grow.” Arch left it at that.

“You two need to get back to work and so do I, but I saw your trucks and thought I’d say hello.”

“Hey, where’s the donkey?” Arch asked.

“BoomBoom took him.”

“Place is kind of lonesome without Jed,” Arch said.

“Do you mind if I stop by the barn? Think I dropped my penknife in there when I was searching for Jed.”

Rollie answered, “Go ahead. I don’t think there’s much in there.”

“I didn’t see a knife,” Arch offered.

When Harry walked into the barn, she headed straight to the supply room. The boxes of flypaper were still there. She thought maybe Toby had put those sharpshooters in her peach orchard. It would have made more sense to put them in her grapes or someone else’s grapes if he had hoped to destroy their business. But Toby could be sly. Maybe he was testing to see if they would survive. She was the only person who went to the peach orchard regularly, and most Crozet friends and neighbors roughly knew her habits and schedule.

She looked around for jars, for any evidence how he might have kept the insects alive. Nothing turned up.

As to the quantities of flypaper, all she could figure out was maybe he got a deal. That wasn’t so unusual. She left as ignorant as when she arrived.