The Tail of the Tip-Off (21 page)

“No,”
Mrs. Murphy said.

“Well, someone had to.”
Pewter became quite suspicious.

Tucker thoughtfully replied,
“Maybe not.”

“If only we knew why.”
Mrs. Murphy headed back toward the house. The others followed.
“But we've got the weapon.”

“Is there any way we can get Harry to understand?”
Tucker looked up at the icicles hanging on the roofline of the house.

“No. We could slam into every bush, tree, building. They could all drop. She wouldn't get it. If she does understand, it will be by other means. But we know. So let's go in the kitchen where it's warm and try to remember every single thing, every person, we saw in the parking lot. Before the game and after.”
Mrs. Murphy pushed open the animal door.

“This human is incredibly smart.”
Pewter fluffed her fur for a moment once in the kitchen.

“Yes,”
Mrs. Murphy simply said.

“I find that terrifying.”
Tucker's brow furrowed.

38

S
chools closed, sporting contests were postponed. The airport was closed. The trains continued chugging along with stops in the mountains as snowdrifts spilled over the tracks. Then crews with shovels would disembark to clear the snow. Central Virginians concentrated on digging out. The only vehicles on the roads were the huge yellow snowplows and the smaller yellow snowblowers as they methodically cleared the major arteries first. By the afternoon, the temperature had risen only to the mid-twenties but the road crews managed to begin clearing the secondary roads such as Route 240 into Crozet from Charlottesville.

Fortunately, no more snow was in the forecast so by Friday business should return to normal, people would be back in their offices, their snow boots lined up outside the doors, their heavy coats neatly arranged on coatracks.

The Reverend Jones mournfully looked at the tattered carpets. One more day without new ones. True, Job suffered greater tests in life but this certainly qualified as a scabrous irritation. He kept his temper, concentrated on positive projects and hoped the Good Lord noted his maturity and restraint.

Elocution and Cazenovia certainly did.

         

Big Mim had exploded in a flurry of closet organizing. As her closets were already organized with a neat square of paper hanging on each dress and on each pair of shoes noting when and where she had worn the ensemble, this really was taking coals to Newcastle.

Jim Sanburne, as mayor, hitchhiked a lift with a road crew to check his town. Satisfied that all was being done that could be done, he allowed them to drop him back home where he got underfoot. Frustrated, his wife gave him the chore of sharpening all the cutlery while she repaired to her closet followed by her dog.

         

Susan Tucker browbeat Brooks into getting all her homework through next week done.

“You'll be amazed at how happy you are to be ahead of the power curve instead of behind it.” She smiled as Brooks bent over her books.

         

Miranda and Tracy sat in the deserted post office but used the time to go over plans for the bank building. He'd even brought over color swatches along with his rough drawings. This pleased Miranda enormously, and she would reach over and squeeze his hand from time to time. Miranda realized she was in love and she had thought that would never happen to her again. That he was her high school beau made it all the sweeter.

Those who didn't know the good woman well might have thought she'd resist the emotion but Miranda had lived long enough to know that it was far better to surrender to joy.

Tracy, too, gave himself up to the tide of happiness.

         

BoomBoom, bored beyond belief, sat on the phone calling everyone she knew, including a semi-current boyfriend in San Francisco. She preferred her beaus at a distance. After her husband died and she was left a widow at thirty-two, BoomBoom had gotten used to coming and going as she pleased, answering to no one but herself.

Harry might not express it in those same terms but the truth was she'd come to value her own company, as well. Like BoomBoom, although it would have killed her to admit it, she didn't feel like walking out the door declaring where she was headed and when she'd return. Nor did she have any desire to submit to the horror of cooking supper every night or food shopping for two.

         

Anne Donaldson and Cameron spent time in the stable after watering plants and checking on the thermostat in the greenhouse. Both mother and daughter enjoyed riding and H.H. had built Anne the stable of her dreams, complete with automatic, heated waterers, automatic fly spray which of course clogged, interlocking rubber bricks in the center aisle so no horse would slip, handsome Lucas Equine stall facings and dividers made expressly to her dimensions from Cynthiana, Kentucky. Each of the six stalls bore a brass nameplate shined to mirror gloss. Each stall door had a heavy, handmade brass bar upon which to hang a winter blanket; a brass bridle rack on the side of the sliding door gleamed. They'd been bolted into the steel of the doors and all of the Lucas equipage had been painted a rich maroon since Anne's stable colors were maroon and gold. Every stall had a skylight, covered with snow today.

Cameron cleaned her tack. Her mother was strict in that. No pleading or trying to get out of work. If Cameron didn't do the ground work she didn't ride.

Anne opened the small refrigerator in the tack room, removing a needle with a thin point. She needed to tranquilize Cameron's pony. The fancy little guy hated having his ears clipped, his nose whiskers trimmed. Without the chemical help, he could demolish the barn as well as Anne and Cameron.

She walked into his stall and slipped the needle upward into his neck as he munched apple bits. He flinched for a second but she had removed the needle before he really knew what stung him.

         

Sheriff Shaw closely cruised the opened highways. Thanks to accurate weather reports no stranded motorists needed pulling out or carrying home. For once people had the sense to stay home.

         

Deputy Cooper manned headquarters with the dispatcher. The quiet was refreshing. She took the opportunity to go over Mychelle Burns's bank accounts. In her neat hand, sloping forward, she'd written every deposit and withdrawal. Apart from the five-thousand-dollar withdrawal from her savings account, which she'd gotten up to seven thousand two hundred and nineteen dollars, her accounts were pretty much like everyone else's: electric bill, oil bill, gas bill, the occasional restaurant bill.

Mychelle's sense impressed Cooper. She kept only one credit card and she used it sparingly even at Christmas when most of us throw caution to the winds, overcome by seasonal cheer as well as guilt. She maintained no gas credit cards, no debit cards. She owned no cell phone, and according to Sugar McCarry, the secretary at the county office, Mychelle did not abuse the business cell phone.

When Cooper questioned Mychelle's mother, the sorrowing woman said although she didn't know about the money she thought her daughter might be saving for the down payment on a house. Mychelle had wanted to move into downtown Charlottesville, hopefully around the Lyons Court area. If she couldn't swing that then she'd look around Woolen Mills, which was lovely except for the sewage treatment plant. When the wind shifted you knew it.

As Cooper read the neat notations she had a sense of a life lost. Mychelle may not have been the most personable woman, but she was tidy, efficient, hardworking, and to all appearances, she kept her nose clean.

Was she having an affair with H.H.? Cooper could find no sign of it in these white checkbook and savings book pages.

So the call from Mrs. Burns startled her.

“Are you keeping warm out there, ma'am?” Cooper tried to put the nervous, grieving woman at ease.

“Wood-burning stove. Works a treat,” Mrs. Burns replied in her working-class accent, which was noticeably different from the speech of Harry, Big Mim, and the others.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Burns? I know this is a painful time.”

A little intake of breath, a moment, then the wiry lady said, “You take what God gives you.”

“I'm trying to learn that, ma'am, but it's hard.”

“Yes, 'tis. Yes, 'tis. Sittin' here. Can't get to work. Mind's turnin' over.” She paused, longer this time. “I lied to you.”

“I'm sure you had a good reason.” Cooper, like all law enforcement officers, was accustomed to people lying to her. In fact, they lied more than they told the truth. She was fighting not to have it pervert her sense of life.

“Wanted to protect my little girl—but can't. She's gone to the light of the Lord.” Another pause. “She was seeing a married man. I read her scripture and verse.” Mrs. Burns used an expression meaning they'd had a knock-down-drag-out argument. “Uh-huh. She said I was old, forgot what it was to be in love. You know, she was right about that. Don't really want to remember, I guess.” Cooper held her breath and Mrs. Burns finally got to the point. “Was H. H. Donaldson.”

“Ah.”

“Never met him. Might have been a nice man, but he was married, had a child. Didn't want to meet him. Didn't want her being no backstreet woman, no colored girl waiting around for her vanilla lover.”

“Mrs. Burns, he must have loved her very much. He left his wife for her.”

“Mychelle swore he would. Didn't believe her. They all lie like that.”

“But he did leave. Did she tell you?”

“No.” Mrs. Burns stifled a sob. “I said some mean things. Oh Lordy, I wish I could take 'em back. And I didn't talk to my baby for three days before she was taken from me.”

“She knows you love her, ma'am. I promise you she knows what you told her was right.”

Mrs. Burns composed herself. “But he left his wife and child?”

“He did. For a little while.”

“Mychelle was afraid of his wife.” Mrs. Burns carefully spoke. “She knew. Said she'd kill him if he left her.”

Cooper didn't jump on this right off. She tacked toward shore instead of sailing in a straight line. “I guess it's so humiliating for a wife. It's easier to be angry at the other woman than at your husband.”

“Doesn't work. Put up with it or throw him out. I threw mine out fifteen years ago. Mychelle knew better, Officer Cooper, she did. That's what got me crossways with her.”

“I can certainly understand that. Do you think Mychelle was afraid that Mrs. Donaldson would become violent? Take out her revenge?”

“Feared for him. And maybe for herself, too. Said he could be blind sometimes. Like most men.”

“Did you . . . fear for your daughter?”

“My fear was about a different kind of hurt. I didn't imagine this. When I got the call”—she breathed heavily again—“I didn't think about nothin'. Had some time to order my mind, kind of like arranging furniture. You find stuff behind the sofa cushions. And I remember that Mychelle said she found something. She didn't say what it was, but she said she told H.H. Said he'd put a stop to it.”

“Maybe someone was gossiping, getting close to the affair?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you know why she withdrew the five thousand dollars? Do you think they were going to run away together?”

“No. Know that for a fact. I didn't know she had withdrawn the money. I told you the truth about that. Like I said, we hadn't spoken for three days. She said H.H. was going to help her with a house.”

“Did she say he was going to live with her?”

“No.” Mrs. Burns considered this. “Even though she was in love with the man, she would have waited. You know, it's oh so easy to move them in and oh so hard to move them out.”

“Yes, ma'am. When Mychelle talked to you about finding something, did she sound frightened?”

“More surprised. She said, ‘Momma, people do the damnedest things.' That was all she said 'cept H.H. would take care of it. And I was so mad at her I didn't care 'bout that. I wanted her to stay away from that man. And I believe she's dead because of him.”

“You think his wife killed her?”

“She had the reason.”

“Did Mychelle ever talk to Mrs. Donaldson?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Donaldson never tried to contact your daughter, to scare her off or shame her off?” Cooper gently prodded.

“Mychelle would have told me.”

“Do you think she told anyone else? A best friend?”

“She had her running gang but Mychelle didn't ever get close to people. She would tell me things but I don't think she talked to her girlfriends. When she did get close, it was with H.H. He was her world. When he died in the parking lot, she died, too, I think. Part of her, but I tell you, she never let on. Iron will, my girl.”

“I see.” Coop kept writing as she talked. “Apart from Mrs. Donaldson, can you think of anyone who bore your daughter a grudge?”

“Oh, sometimes contractors would fuss at her. She was strict.” A note of pride filled Mrs. Burns's voice when she said, “They couldn't get 'round my girl no way. But none of them said they'd kill her. Be crazy to kill someone over a roof shingle.”

“The world's full of crazy people.”

“You got that right.” Mrs. Burns sighed. “But I tell myself whoever done this, Mrs. Donaldson, whoever, they et up with guilt, just et up, and sooner or later it will all come out like a poison.”

She was wrong.

The murder didn't bother the killer one tiny bit.

39

A
lthough their Friday game had been canceled, the storm moved off more quickly than the weatherman predicted. Coach Debbie Ryan saw no reason to waste the evening so she had the girls come in for practice. Those with dates were disappointed. Others, like the Hall sisters, ate, slept, and breathed basketball.

Tim Berryhill had told coaches that he had to oversee an extensive inventory because of purchasing errors. He apologized to all. Most of the coaches, under pressure to perform, would work around the inconvenience. Those few coaches without tunnel vision might wonder, to themselves at least, why such an exalted person as Tim Berryhill was performing the actual work, but they wouldn't dwell on it. Coaches had far too much to do and too little time in which to do it.

The only person or persons who would worry were the ones pilfering the equipment.

Since Irena Fotopappas was new to the force, Sheriff Shaw had her dress as a student and assigned her to Coach Ryan. Debbie Ryan, wanting to assist Rick in any way, explained Irena was a graduate student in sports psychology. Coach's words to the team were, “Ignore her.”

Irena watched, fascinated, as the girls drilled. Repetition was the best thing in the world in any sport. Master the basics, the fancy stuff will take care of itself. Games were won and lost on the basics. Maybe a trick play would win a football game in the last second or a full court desperation shot, but ninety-nine percent of the time, basics.

Andrew Argenbright, the assistant coach, kept feeding the girls balls as they ran downcourt in a passing drill. Tammy Girond grabbed the basketball and flipped a crisp pass to where she thought Isabelle Otey would be. However, Isabelle tripped and was a step slow.

“The best pass is a caught pass,” was all Coach Ryan had to say.

Tammy, red-faced because she hadn't kept her eye on her teammate, wouldn't make that mistake in a game.

Basketball, a fluid game, calls for constant adjustment. Even soccer, a game similar to basketball, has a goalie socked into the goal, or midfielders assigned to a portion of the field. A player can defend turf because there is so much of it, but in basketball, the dimensions are small, fifty feet by ninety-four feet. You keep moving or you lose.

As the two women crossed under the basket to turn back up the court, Jenny Ingersoll brushed by Tammy. The other woman ignored her, but the tension between them crackled.

Ego is a part of sport, a part of any endeavor where a human being wants to excel. Basketball is a team sport. A player needs to keep that ego in check, in the service of the team. Many a coach has spent a sleepless night trying to figure out how to make a team player out of a talented selfish egoist.

One other thing Irena, a good observer, picked up: Tammy and Andrew spoke to one another only when necessary. As hot as the friction was between Jenny and Tammy, the space between the assistant coach and Tammy was frigid.

After practice, after the girls showered, Irena visited the equipment room, then patiently walked through the two levels of the building. She also went back to the basketball court to familiarize herself with the setup.

As she was walking around the aisle behind the topmost row of seats she heard snow slide on the roof. She noticed, as had Pewter, that a little trickle of water, just a small bit, wiggled down the back wall.