Sour Puss (20 page)

36

I
told Coop I snooped around at Toby’s barn.” Harry and Fair played with the foals when Fair came home from his calls. Although it was Saturday, horses pay no attention to weekends.

The more they were handled, the better the babies would be when they grew up.

“They might be small, but those little buggers can still hurt you,”
Mrs. Murphy remarked as she sat on a fence post.

“It’s the biting.”
Pewter steered clear of the foals.

“They’re smart. They’ll learn, and Harry and Fair make it fun.”
Tucker watched.

“And the mothers like the humans, so that helps.”
Mrs. Murphy noticed hundreds of tiny green praying mantises who had popped out of their pod.
“Wow, glad I don’t have to feed that family.”

Tucker squinted, for the newborns crawled on wisteria wrapping up and over a small pergola Harry had put at the entrance to her flower garden.
“I can’t see that far.”

“You can’t see much anyway.”
Pewter felt ever so superior.

“I can see better than you think. I can see colors, too, even though humans used to think dogs couldn’t, and furthermore, Miss Snot, I see better than humans in the dark.”

“But not as well as I do,”
Pewter cattily said.

“I didn’t make that claim.”
Tucker smiled as the light bay foal nuzzled Harry’s cheek.

“Funny how humans get things wrong,”
Mrs. Murphy mused.
“All that business about dogs seeing black and white, and now they have research to prove otherwise. Research can be a good thing, but why don’t they trust their own senses?”

“The sixth sense is the important one.”
Pewter shifted her weight on her fence post, a bit small for her large behind.

“Knowing without knowing. Yes, they should listen,”
Tucker agreed.

Fair dug in his pocket for dried-apple treats for the patient mothers. “Coop say anything?”

“Not much. I told her I was researching diseases of grapes. She’s been doing it, too. Do you know, when I ran off the names, names only of stuff that can attack grapes, I had four pages, two columns each, single spaced? Now I wonder how any grape ripens.”

“The same could be said about any crop.” He felt a soft muzzle fill his hand. “Back in the office today I was reading where Asian soybean rust is in Georgia. And it’s one of those diseases carried by the air. After all that’s happened I’m paying more attention.”

“Spores?”

“Yep. Fungal, and it’s so virulent that it can destroy plants in one month if untreated.”

“Damn, that is a hateful one.” Harry pondered. “What can the farmers do?”

“Spray, but that’s expensive. The chemicals to kill Asian rust cost eighteen dollars an acre. Not cheap.”

“Did it get here on a plane—you know, spores on someone’s pants?” Harry was curious.

“No. It’s the damnedest thing. Hurricane Ivan carried it here in a matter of weeks. It’s been moving slowly through Asia, then Africa, and then South America—slowly as in decades—and all it took was one big hurricane to carry the spores across the ocean.”

“But Hurricane Ivan was two years ago.”

“Hit Florida bad, and that’s where they first found the fungus, on kudzu.”

“God, kudzu will take over the universe.” Harry gasped.

“I don’t know about the universe, but the spores sure managed to get from the kudzu in Florida to the soybeans in Georgia with unseemly haste.” He handed out the rest of the apple treats. “I e-mailed Ned and he e-mailed back. I didn’t know that soybeans account for sixteen percent of our country’s agriculture production. Soybeans are twelve percent of U.S. export. Tell you what—first, that impressed me, and then second, Ned is up to speed.”

As they walked back to the house Harry quietly said, “You’re as caught up in this murder stuff as I am.”

“I’m the one telling you to butt out, keep your nose out of other people’s business.” He brushed his boots on the hedgehog scraper outside the screen door. “But I keep coming back to vineyards and revenge of some sort.”

“And to the fact that growing grapes and making wine are becoming big business. There’s millions to be made.”

“But first you have to spend millions. It’s a rich person’s game. People like Dinny Ostermann benefit, and I hope we do, too, but we won’t make the millions.”

“What else have you been doing at your computer?” She felt Pewter brush against her leg as she walked into the kitchen.

“Tuna!”

“Pewter, let me make tea. I need a pick-me-up. You’ll get your tuna soon enough.”

Fair smiled. “How do we know she isn’t saying, ‘rib eye rare’?”

“Yes!”
Pewter stood on her hind legs.

Mrs. Murphy along with Tucker padded into the kitchen.
“A ballerina. Our very own toe dancer.”

“If we get steak it will be because of me,”
Pewter bragged.

“Steak!”
Tucker’s ears stood straight up and forward.

As it happened, Fair decided to grill steak. Harry knew not to interfere with his cooking, but she had to laugh behind his back at how “the boys,” as she thought of them, ruthlessly competed about their grilling techniques. Ned, Jim, Blair, Tracy, even Paul de Silva had outdoor grills. She didn’t know what he was doing out there with his apron around his waist as he wielded a dangerously sharp long fork and knife.

When Fair brought in the steaks, the aroma filled the kitchen.

As they ate their supper, giving the animals small steak tidbits, they kept going over events.

Harry rose to shut the kitchen window. “When the sun sets, the chill comes up fast. This is the coolest May I remember.”

“It is.”

“Hope you don’t have any emergencies tomorrow.”

“Me, too. What did you have in mind?”

She put on her sweetest smile. “Herb said Coop could move in when she was ready, so why don’t we take the horse trailer and load up her stuff? One haul will do it. She doesn’t have much.”

This wasn’t the Sunday he’d hoped for, but he figured silently that with his muscle power and Harry’s organizing abilities they should be able to pull this off in three compressed hours. “Sure. She’ll make a good neighbor.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” Harry smiled.

“Even if you don’t, it’s hard for a man to win when two women gang up on him, and one is his beautiful wife.”

“You are such a flatterer.” But she loved it.

37

M
aps spread over the hood of her truck, Harry pointed to acres she had shaded with different-colored pencils. Susan peered down as traffic pulled in and out at the post office parking lot, a big parking lot for Crozet.

“Here’s Carter’s Mountain,” Harry said as the two cats and dog watched people, arms laden with mail, bills, and magazines, come and go.

“Harry.” Susan put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I can read a map.”

“Sorry. Well, anyway, this is what Patricia and Bill own. Down here is what Hy and Fiona own—I should just say Fiona. White Vineyards, about three hundred acres. Over here is Toby’s, and Toby is just under two hundred acres, and here is Rollie. Arch and Rollie’s Spring Hill, the main part, is also two hundred acres—well, two twenty. These days that’s a lot for Crozet. Okay, shaded in apple green are small growers who sell to the large ones.”

“What’s the pink?”

“Those are small farms Rollie and Arch have bought up. When you add Rockland—Toby’s—to it, Spring Hill controls just under five hundred acres.”

Just then Arch pulled into the post office. He emerged from his truck. “Are you coming back to work here?”

“No.” Harry smiled.

“It’s not the same without you and Miranda. Yeah, the big building and the extra post boxes are good, but we’ve lost something.” He walked over. “Now, what are you up to?”

“Vineyards. Who owns what, who controls what, and you’re coming out on top.”

He smiled broadly. “Good for Spring Hill. Harry, any more sharpshooters?”

“No. Not yet anyway.”

“You just never know. I sure hope they aren’t adjusting to the latitude and the warmer winters. If they do, we’re in big trouble. Well, let me go pick up the mail. Nice to see you.” He turned, then stopped. “Are you two going to put more acres in grapes?”

“Not yet,” Harry answered.

“Buy land while you can. There will be a point in Albemarle County where it will be only the very rich and the very poor.”

“I don’t think I’m going to ever qualify as the very rich.” Harry laughed.

“Me, either,” Susan agreed.

“Not true. If either of you ladies ever sell the land you’ve inherited, you’ll be worth millions. Let me know. Rollie has a big bankroll.”

“Arch, if I sell my land, I sell my birthright,” Harry said.

“Me, too. The Bland Wade tract has been in our family since right after the Revolutionary War.”

“That’s well and good, but if property taxes keep going up, and you know they will, and if, for some reason, your nursery business doesn’t bring in enough cash, you’ll be land poor, sure as shooting.”

“Somehow, Arch, we’ll hang on. The land is who we are.” Harry spoke for herself and Susan.

“Well, keep it in mind. You never know. And you’re both very smart ladies.” He smiled and left.

“I guess on paper we’re already millionaires based on the value of the land.” Susan thought it out.

“We are?” Harry hadn’t given it a thought.

“Pretty sure. It was our good fortune to be born into families that never sold off their land no matter how bad the times were. How they kept it together through the booms and busts of the nineteenth century, the war, the horrible aftermath, and then the crash in the 1930s—it’s a testimony to how much they loved this place and how much they believed in the future.”

“It really is,” Harry solemnly replied. “We’ll do our part, no matter what.”

Arch walked back out of the post office, cell phone to his ear, and waved to the ladies. As he drove by, he slowed and said, “Rollie will pay twenty percent over current market value. He’s on a roll.”

“A lot of land has opened up in the last month,” Harry blurted out. “Seems like you two have come out ahead.”

Arch stopped the truck for a minute. “Can’t let established vines go to ruin. The wine industry has come too far in Virginia, know what I mean?”

“Fiona is going forward,” Susan said.

Arch frowned for a second, then said “More power to her, but she’s another one who could cash in and walk away a rich woman.”

“She’s already rich, plus she gets back the million dollars of Hy’s bail. Just think of all that money at one time. It’s overwhelming.” Harry’s eyes lit up.

“See you, ladies.” Arch waved and drove on.

“What’re you doin’ now?” Harry asked Susan.

“Thought I’d go home and see if I can’t find southern hawthorne saplings, little guys for us to plant come fall. I ordered the sugar maples, did I tell you?” Susan found that she enjoyed researching tree varieties, then finding them.

“No.”

“They’ll come in late September. Boy, I’m not used to thinking ahead like this. I’m used to school calendars.” She sighed. “Where does the time go? Danny is a junior at Cornell and Brooks goes to Duke next fall.”

“Sure goes fast,” Harry agreed. “All right, I’m going back to the farm. Have to see if I can work the boom on the tractor. Never used one before. I might wait and cut hay instead. I’ll ask Fair to help with the boom.”

“Good luck with the boom.” Susan kissed Harry on the cheek, then hopped into her Audi and drove off.

Two hours later Harry happily perched on the cushioned tractor seat as she cut the back acres; this was her orchard grass with regular alfalfa. The mix was popular with horsemen. She’d cut the quadrant with drought-resistant alfalfa later. She had to time it just right and allow the rows to dry out completely. Small wonder farmers obsessively watched the weather. But if she didn’t give the blister bugs time to get out of the drying hay, nothing good would come of it.

She made the animals stay back in the barn when she cut hay.

The cats dozed on the tack trunk in the center aisle, the day was so pleasant. Tucker was sprawled in the middle of the barn aisle.

Riding on a tractor always got Harry to thinking. As the diesel engine rumbled, the newly mown hay exerted a hypnotic quality. The symmetry pleased her. The aroma intoxicated her. She hummed to herself, jouncing along. When she cut the last row, she disengaged the blades and slowly bumped back to the shed. As she washed down the equipment, the tiny beads of water caught the sun, thousands of moving rainbows then shattered on the John Deere green paint. Satisfied that she’d done a good job, she strode into her small vineyard, walking down the short rows filling the quarter acre. Not a glassy-winged sharpshooter in sight.

She whistled on her way to the tack room, sat down at the heavy old schoolteacher’s desk, and dialed Rollie Barnes. Luckily he was in his office.

“Rollie, this is Harry Haristeen. I was wondering if you’d give me a minute of your time.”

“What can I do for you?” Rollie liked women asking him for advice.

“Well, as you know, I have this piddling quarter of an acre in Petit Manseng. I haven’t followed this case going before the Supreme Court about shipping wine out of state. What really is this about?”

“First, let me say that for the most part I favor states’ rights, but when they interfere with the free movement of goods and services, I believe there has to be a uniform federal law.” He sounded like a politician.

“I’m with you.” She was, too.

“Many states ban direct shipment of wine to consumers. Obviously, this puts a huge dent in profits.”

“So if a person from Missouri calls Kluge Vineyard for a case of wine, Kluge Vineyard can’t send it to a private customer?” Harry asked.

“Right. It’s outrageous.” His voice rose. “Of course, we have no way of knowing how the court will rule, but the case is about to come up. If it rules that banning direct shipment is unconstitutional, that will be a huge victory for everyone in this country who makes wine. It’s a victory for the consumer, too. Instead of going through a middleman with their markup, we can ship directly to the customer.”

“Any idea how the court will rule?”

“No.” His voice deepened, the register became less emotional. “The Supreme Court is erratic. Then again, I’m not a lawyer, thank God. I have to be rational or I lose business.”

Harry laughed. “Thank you, Rollie. I knew you’d know. I guess a ruling in favor of direct shipment means business will boom and land prices will shoot up higher.”

Pleasure purred in his voice. “Oh, yes.”

“You’re sitting in the catbird seat.”

“Is that a good thing?”

She laughed. “Sure is. Ever look up in a tree and see where the catbird sits? Best place, and no one can get him.”

“Well, then, you’re right.”

After a few more pleasantries, Harry hung up, then called Cooper. “Hey.”

“Hey back at you,” Cooper, in the squad car, answered.

“Need any more help over at the house? I can come over tonight and tomorrow, too. Fair’s going to be making late calls tonight.”

“He needs to take in a partner or even two.”

“Yes, he and I will have that discussion when we go on our vacation end of July.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“No, we’re really going. BoomBoom will take care of the horses and Paul de Silva said he’d help, too. Of course, Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker will go along with us.”

At the sound of their names the two cats opened their eyes.

“Vacation?”
Pewter murmured.
“Where?”

The tiger rolled on her side.
“Kentucky. They’re going to a horse show and to look at horses.”

“That will be nice.”
Pewter noticed another little bit of peppermint candy by the tack trunk.
“Think they have good tuna in Kentucky?”

“Pewter, there’s good cat food all over the country.”
Mrs. Murphy lifted her head to listen to Harry.

“Coop, I’ve been thinking about the two murders and Hy’s suicide. I know Rick thinks I get in the way—”

Coop interrupted. “Let’s just say that since you don’t have to follow police procedures, you can find things that are critical to us, but you can also put yourself in harm’s way. Furthermore, Harry, you can compromise evidence.”

“I know, I know. Well, I haven’t been in the way about the grape murders—that’s how I think of them.”

“Because you’re still recovering from getting remarried. Obviously, you’re returning to reality.” Coop laughed. “Not that being married to Fair isn’t wonderful.”

Harry laughed at herself. “God, am I that obvious?”

“Yes.” Coop pulled off the road behind White Vineyards. “What’s up?”

“Toby’s storage room in his barn contains an unusually large amount of flypaper.”

“It did seem like a lot, but he must have been someone who buys in bulk. He had enough paper tablets, toilet paper, pencils, and aspirin for the next year.” Coop and Rick had combed Toby’s property.

“What about Hy Maudant’s place? Did you find boxes of flypaper there?”

“No. In fact, I’m on the dirt road behind White Vineyards now. Harry, most people who keep horses or cattle in a barn resort to flypaper.” Cooper was amused.

“You’re going to walk up in the back of the grape rows, right?”

A pause followed. “I am. You’re really waking up, aren’t you?”

“Looking for sharpshooters?”

“Yes.” Cooper knew there was no point lying to Harry.

“Anything else? Like black rot?”

“I’m not too well versed on these things, but if the vines are diseased or the young leaves spotted, I’ll find out what’s wrong.”

“But if there is something wrong, Arch and Rollie would know.”

“And they’ll take measures. They’re over there a lot.”

“When you went through Toby’s and Hy’s files, was there material about the sharpshooter?”

“Not in Hy’s files. All he had was one sheet of laminated paper with photos. Toby’s computer was bursting with information on every possible enemy to his grapes.”

“Hmm, was there an extra large amount about the bugs?”

“The problem is, I don’t know what an extra large amount is, given the sheer volume of information he had on everything, and I mean everything.”

“What about Professor Forland’s files?”

“We’ve been working with the Blacksburg authorities. Professor Forland had the latest research, like Toby, on everything.”

“What I was wondering is, was Professor Forland secretly working on a mutation? Not to harm our crops but if our government wanted to use biological warfare against someone else?”

“No.” Coop’s voice was firm. “He didn’t work for our government. He was called in as an expert by the wine lobby to testify before House and Senate subcommittees.”

“Ah.”

“Harry?”

“I think this is about revenge. I don’t know who was trying to destroy whom first, Hy or Toby. It escalated. Maybe Professor Forland found out Toby’s intentions, which would have hurt everyone, and Toby killed him. Hy caught Toby later or figured it out. Hy knew his stuff. He made the big mistake of confronting Toby.”

“And then finally overwhelmed with what he’d done, Hy shoots himself? It’s all plausible, Harry, but it’s not proven.”

“But you’ve thought of this, too?”

“We have.”

“Have you thought of why the sharpshooters were in my peach orchard?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“The intention was for you to find them and sound a warning—I think. Again, this is conjecture.”

“Didn’t work. The scare tactic. No one sold their vineyards because of it, although it’s early in the game.”