Cat of the Century (24 page)

Three miles later, she passed the spot where Ralston Peavey had been found. She pulled over and hit her flashers. The Volvo could easily be seen now, but Harry was a conservative driver for the most part.

She was more upset than she cared to admit. While she did wonder about this old murder, too, Harry was—perhaps without realizing it—trying to divert her mind from the smashed porcelain hen, the screaming.

“Bet Ralston was flat as a pancake,”
the ever-sarcastic Pewter giggled.

“He wasn’t dead for very long when they found him.”
Tucker had heard about the murder, too.

“How do you know?”
Pewter’s tail tip waved slightly.

“Had his eyes. Wasn’t dead long enough for the crows to eat his eyes. Birds consider eyes a great delicacy.”

“Gross.”
Mrs. Murphy, fastidious, moved over to Harry’s lap to look out the driver’s window at the macadam road, which was unremarkable.

The road had been paved over five times since Ralston’s body was discovered.

Pewter saucily remarked,
“What do you expect from a creature who eats decayed flesh, a garbage dog?”

“Someone’s got to do it.”
Tucker defended dogs.
“Do you know what the earth would be like without dogs and buzzards? You wouldn’t be able to move for all the carcasses.”

“People have gotten so fat, and there are so many of them that you can hardly move already,”
Pewter giggled.

“You should talk.”

That fast, Pewter shot over the center console to fling herself on the corgi. Hissing and growling filled the vehicle; raindrops pattered on the roof for counterpoint.

“What in God’s name has gotten into everybody?” Harry put Mrs. Murphy on the passenger seat, got out, and opened the back door to grab Pewter by the scruff of the neck. “If there’s blood in my new car, there will be hell to pay.”

Harry pushed Pewter over the console. The defiant cat, on her hind legs, peered over the passenger seat back to Tucker.

“You sit down, Missy, and I mean now!” Harry felt some rain slip down behind her collar, as she hadn’t flipped up the Barbour collar.

“Better do what you’re told,”
Mrs. Murphy calmly suggested.
“Or you won’t get supper.”

Pewter immediately sat down, face forward.

Harry quickly checked over Tucker, who wasn’t bleeding. She then got back behind the wheel and closed the door.

Taking a deep breath, Harry exhorted them, “Let’s all calm down.”
She started the motor. “I would like to know who killed Ralston Peavey. Who wouldn’t?” She started driving, then mumbled, “I probably shouldn’t have told Terri to get off whatever she’s on. If someone is loaded or high, I think it just makes the exchange worse. Bone stupid.”

“Mom, you’re burning more gas,”
Tucker called out, ignoring Harry’s musing.

“She is not,”
Pewter happily contradicted the dog.

“Is, too. She’ll never get the mileage this station wagon is supposed to get, because she’s carrying so much weight. You!”
The dog laughed triumphantly.

Pewter’s pupils enlarged, and the fur rose up on her neck and spine. She was ready to fly back over the console.

Mrs. Murphy whispered,
“Supper. Don’t forget supper.”

Pewter, seething, sat down.
“I’ll get her. I’ll get her if it’s the last thing I do!”

Harry knew the cat and dog were continuing to fuss at each other, but to what degree she didn’t know.

She said to the three passengers, “I don’t know if I will ever really understand people. Right now I’m having a hard enough time understanding you all.”

H
arry had no sooner walked into the house than the rain turned to sleet. She opened the door to the outside for a moment.

“Damn.”

“Getting bigger.”
Mrs. Murphy noted that the sleet, which began as a small size, had now graduated to the size of rock salt.

Pewter slipped in to the kitchen through the animal door.

Tucker called after her,
“Don’t you want to see? If it gets any bigger, it will tear up everything.”

“I’ve seen sleet before,”
Pewter called back, as she headed for the crunchy bowl.

“So jaded,”
Mrs. Murphy said sarcastically.

“Stay here,” Harry commanded the cat and dog. She ran outside, fired up the Volvo, and drove a hundred yards away to park the car in the equipment shed.

There would be no dents in her brand-new station wagon. Might be dents in her, though. She covered her head and ran, slipping and sliding.

Once on the covered porch, she whipped off her coat, hung it up, and stepped inside the kitchen.

“Nasty.”
Tucker listened to what sounded like drumming on the roof.

Harry went into the living room, threw some logs on what was left of the fire, then flopped on the sofa.

She picked up
The Progressive Farmer,
leafed through. Put it down. Next she lifted
National Geographic.
It met the same fate. As a last resort, she grabbed the monthly magazine
Virginia Horse.
Slapping it down on the coffee table, she rose and strode into the kitchen. She turned on the stove, setting the stainless-steel teapot on the flame. By the time she poured the water into the Brown Betty and filled it with a lovely orange pekoe, she’d flipped through the newspaper on the counter and sorted her mail.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it. She picked up the phone and dialed.

“Thompson and Watson,” answered the light baritone voice.

“Garvey, I can’t believe you pick up your own phone.” Harry was surprised.

“Something to do on a rainy day. What can I do for you?”

“Two things. I noticed those lightweight V-neck sweaters—you know the ones, to the right of the front door when you walk in.”

“Silk and cashmere. The hand is lovely.”

“Will you wrap up an extra-large in the baby blue? I want to surprise Fair.”

“Will do.” He didn’t mention payment, as Harry had an account, and he’d known her all his life.

“And one other thing. You’re right next door to Terri. Have you noticed anything weird?”

“In what way?”

“Terri.”

He cleared his throat. “She’s highly strung.”

“Highly strung? She’s all over the map. I walked in there today, and she cussed me out and threw one of those porcelain guinea hens at me.”

“Ah.” A pause followed. “She’s been touchy. On top of everything else, business is slow for all of us.”

“She cussed you?”

“No, but she isn’t sweetness, beauty, and light.”

Harry chuckled. “Who is?”

“You, of course.”

“Garvey, you’re exercising that silver tongue.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “You don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” She waited a beat. “Look, she’s never been close to me, nor I to her. We don’t really like each other, but we can be civil. She’s never done anything for me to be ugly to her—until today, anyway.”

“Let it pass,” he advised.

“Have you ever noticed unlikely customers going into her shop?”

“What do you mean by unlikely?” He was intrigued.

“Not middle- to upper-middle-class ladies. Perhaps young men. Perhaps not well dressed.”

“Come to think of it, yes. But not hordes. Why?”

“I’m not but so sure she isn’t dealing drugs. To me, anyway, her behavior suggests she’s on something, legal or illegal. I’m not trying to make her look bad. She
looks
bad. And I won’t tell Cooper.”

“I hope you’re wrong. There’s so much of that these days.”

“And it’s never going to end. Drugs are as American as apple pie, but there’s a tax on the apples.”

Garvey sighed. “I think about that, too. The tremendous loss of taxes, which could do so much good. Be the only positive thing to come out of drugs.”

Next Harry called Liz Filmore, since she knew that Liz was close to Terri. She recounted the guinea-hen episode and her thoughts on the topic. She asked Liz if she knew what was up.

“She’s got a lot of inventory sitting in the shop, she broke up with her boyfriend, and she’s worried about her position as head of alumnae in Charlottesville. Why, I don’t know.” Liz took a breath. “But that’s Terri. She lives to worry.”

“Thought you liked her.”

“I do” came the swift reply. “She has her immature moments—”

Harry interrupted, something she rarely did, as it was rude. “Immature, hell.”

“Now, Harry. She’s more emotional than you are, and you don’t get it. But her fund-raising skills are good. She’ll get even better over time. She’s a businesswoman. She knows how to approach other businesswomen. She’s raised five thousand-some dollars out of a small community of alumnae by her own hard work the year before Tally’s celebration. That’s impressive. She’s always eager to learn.” Liz took a deep breath. “It’s possible she’s drinking too much or,” her voice rose,
“taking drugs. But I haven’t seen anything to make me worry. I don’t know.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Harry hoped she didn’t sound as sarcastic as she felt.

A note of anxiety crept into Liz’s voice. “You aren’t going to talk to a lot of people about this, are you?”

“Liz, what do you take me for?” Harry felt indignant.

“Sorry, but … well—”

“I’m not a gossip.” Harry paused. “I reckon I’d best steer clear of her store.”

“For a little while. I’ll talk to her. We get along, and as I said, I like her but I see a side of her you don’t.”

“You okay?”

“Me? I’m worried, but I’m okay.” Liz knew Harry was referring to the board murders.

“That was good of you to visit Aunt Tally and Inez this morning. I know you all had business to do, but given the alum murders, you needed to be with one another.”

Harry felt much better after hanging up the phone. The sleet had passed, and the temperature was dropping rapidly now.

Grumbling, Harry figured she’d better get the evening barn chores done right away, in case it worsened.

Later, when Fair and Inez returned, the aroma of roasting chicken filled the air. While she finished making supper, Harry filled them in on the day’s events and her conversations.

Over the meal of roast chicken, crisp baby potatoes, and a light salad, they talked of her day and of their day, which was better than Harry’s.

That night, the sleet stopped and the temperature was in the low thirties. The cats and dog awakened at 3:30
A
.
M
. The sound of a car motor came right up to the house; a door opened.

“Intruder!”
Tucker set up a ruckus.

The back porch door opened and shut, then the car door slammed and the vehicle drove off.

Mrs. Murphy jumped to the window over the kitchen sink.
“Same car I saw the other night, I’m pretty sure.”

Fearing for Inez, Fair, who had been awakened by Tucker, bounded down the stairs, his robe around him. Harry was right behind.

“Harry, stay back,” he ordered.

He opened the door to the porch and turned on the lights. He’d forgotten the .38 in his haste, but Harry hadn’t. She stood behind him. Inez, also wide awake, came into the kitchen.

Fair stopped to pick up a large porcelain guinea hen. He came back into the kitchen and placed it on the kitchen table.

A note was attached.

Harry opened it and read aloud: “Sorry.”