Whisker of Evil (8 page)

“I am not a slave driver. Paul loves his work.” Big Mim turned to Tazio. “Would you be interested in designing a stable, or is that too small a commission?”

“I'd love to work with you,” Tazio replied. “I need to study equine behavior, though. I'm not a horsewoman.”

“Well, that's fine.” Big Mim smiled.

“I'll walk you down to Paul. Why not start right now? I know some of what Mother wants, and Paul knows the rest.” Little Mim was anxious to escape her mother's grasp.

Brinkley happily tagged along with Tazio, his sun and moon.

Herb winked at Harry, which meant he had something to tell her and would at the first opportunity. He wanted to tell her what Blair had said. Perhaps the old farm could be purchased from Blair.

A few moments passed, then they heard one shot from behind the stables. The dogs started barking.

“Tucker, stay here,” Harry commanded.

“I will, but I think you're being mean.”
Tucker resigned herself.

Little Mim and Tazio hurried up over the pastures and onto the lawn, Brinkley running alongside.

“Fair and Tavener, we need you!” Little Mim was flushed.

“What's going on?” Big Mim stood up.

Tazio breathlessly replied, “Paul shot a raccoon. He thinks it was rabid.”

15

F
air had taken charge of the carcass, immediately returning to his clinic, where he removed the head and packed it in a plastic container of dry ice to ship out to Richmond in the morning. Then he called the home of the state veterinarian, a man he liked, Dr. Bruce Akey, informing him the raccoon head would be arriving tomorrow afternoon.

All that was needed was the head, since only brain tissue would be tested. But to satisfy himself, Fair pulled blood. As he hadn't observed the raccoon, he wasn't going to jump to conclusions. The animal could have been suffering from other maladies. Distemper can also produce strange behavior before the suffering creature dies. An animal becomes disoriented or, in the case of a wild animal, lethargic, no longer frightened of humans.

Harry, latex gloves on, had been in the operating room with her ex. She hung up her lab coat while Fair was on the phone with Bruce.

She walked into the office as he hung up. “Well, it will be all over Crozet by the morning that we have a rabies epidemic, whether we do or don't.”

“I know.” He glanced down at Tucker, whose metallic rabies tag was fastened to her rolled leather collar. “What do you think, Sugar?”

“Glad I've got my vaccination.”

“Think we could be seeing a surge in the disease?” Harry asked.

“We could. My experience is, rabies goes in cycles coming down from the north. Starts in Canada, moves into New York State, and about three years later it's here.”

“Guess there's nothing the Canadian government can do about it with all that wildlife.”

“And think how long our border is with Canada.” Fair stooped down to scratch Tucker's ears. “Even if you put a ranger every hundred yards, the animals would still run through them. No, the only answer is a pill form of the vaccine.”

“How do you know wild animals will take their pills?”

“If we had access to a pill and could afford it, we could put out thousands and thousands of pills in the various foods.” He thought some more. “Corn; so many animals eat corn. And for the obligate carnivores I suppose we could grind up hamburger. It's a start.”

“You always have good ideas.” She smiled up at him, then checked her watch, an old Bulova that had been her father's. “Later than I think!”

“Remember how your mother used to say that time moved faster as she got older? It's the truth.”

“I know. Kind of scares me.”

He walked her out to her old 1978 truck, Tucker bringing up the rear. He opened the door, lifted up Tucker, then kissed Harry on the cheek. “Jim said something to me. Said I ought to take one or even two partners. I suppose I should, but I like running my own ship.”

“You'd still run your own ship, but there'd be more money and more paperwork.”

“And more personalities. All I have to worry about now is Alma.” He mentioned his new secretary, as his former one had retired.

“Jim's right. First of all, honey, you'd be doing the hiring, and you're a good judge of character.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I guess it's kind of like marriage: You don't really know somebody until you live with them, but, still, you'd get a good sense of them and you could build in a trial period for both of you. And the other thing is, you aren't forty yet but we're both kind of closing in.”

“I know.” He smiled weakly. “Just a number.”

“It is, but everyone sure makes a big damned deal out of it. If you had partners, the practice could expand and you'd make more money and hopefully have a little more time for yourself.”

“Which I would like to spend with you.”

She climbed into the truck, closed the door, then leaned out the open window to give him a kiss on the cheek. “If you're lucky.”

16

M
orning, ladies,” Rob Collier sang out as he tossed up two large canvas mail sacks in the back. “Thursday and heating up!”

“Morning. I didn't hear you drive up.” Miranda, who lived across the alleyway, usually heard the big mail truck when it rumbled to the back door.

She felt she had the perfect life, for all she had to do was walk through her garden, cross the gravel alleyway, and unlock the back door. She incurred no commuting costs, and the walk wasn't far enough to wear out shoe leather.

Harry, on the other hand, drove in from her farm at the base of Yellow Mountain, or, if the weather permitted, she might walk the four miles in just for the delight of it. This morning she drove.

“Any news from the other P.O.s?” Miranda asked.

“Page's Store closed in Batesville, but the P.O. still rents space there.”

“Page's Store? Why, that's been open since 1913.” Miranda gasped, for she enjoyed the store and the whole Page family.

“I know, but time's a movin' on. Time flies like an arrow,” Rob said.

“And fruit flies like a banana,” Harry said.

Both Miranda and Rob laughed and shook their heads.

“Mom's in one of her Looney Tunes moods.”
Tucker smiled.

Rob, never one to turn a deaf ear to gossip, announced, “I heard that Dr. Langston told Sugar and Carmen, too, to come in and get tested for rabies.”

Harry, who thought she worked at the nerve center of Crozet, betrayed a flash of irritation. “Where'd you hear that?”

“Sister-in-law. Her best friend works in Dr. Langston's office.” He enjoyed his scoop. “And Sugar said, ‘The hell with it. He'd be too damned late to do anything.' But I reckon Carmen will go. She'll have to emote over it for a time.”

“Rob.” Miranda had to stifle a laugh so her voice didn't truly carry censure.

“Carmen is all over the map.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I tell you, that girl is nine miles of bad road. She will get a man in trouble.”

“Rob, I thought most girls could get a man in trouble—especially you.” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I wish.” He winked and left, the rumble of the big mail truck audible even inside the building.

At eleven the tall, genial Pug Harper stopped by.

Miranda leaned over the counter when the county's postmaster came through the front door. “Mr. Postmaster, what can we do for you, or is this an inspection?”

Harry gathered up white rigid-plastic mail cartons into which she had folded the large mail sacks and placed them back on the floor, the wooden boards polished smooth from use. “Pug, how are you?”

“Just fine. And no, Miranda, this isn't an inspection. Crozet's post office is one of the best run in the county. Make that the state.” He beamed.

Pewter, half asleep in a canvas mail cart, opened one eye.
“Laying it on thick.”

Mrs. Murphy, stretched out next to her, replied,
“Wonder what's up.”

Pug noticed the lump in the bottom of the mail cart sway ever so slightly. “Your coworkers are asleep on the job.”

Tucker, dead to the world under the cart, didn't even lift her head.

“They sorted mail this morning at seven-thirty. You have no idea how productive they are.” Harry laughed.

“And you know, Pug, they have an unerring sense of which letters are bills and which are for real.” Miranda walked to the small table in the rear and picked up a dish covered with a dish towel, returning to the front counter. She lifted up the corner of the dish towel. “Blueberry muffins and oatmeal cookies.”

“Oh, my.” He patted his stomach, bulging somewhat, then gave in, reaching for a blueberry muffin.

As he polished off the muffin, they chitchatted.

BoomBoom sailed in. “Pug, what happened? You couldn't stand the main post office any longer?”

“I like to come where the women are beautiful.” He winked.

“Here we are. The Three Fates.” BoomBoom leaned against the counter as both Harry and Miranda leaned forward so they were a picture.

“I need my sunglasses,” Pug joked.

BoomBoom retrieved her mail from the brass box. “Girls, guess what?”

“You won the lottery,” Harry responded.

“No. Bill Langston asked me to play golf with him Friday morning.”

“No grass under your feet.”

BoomBoom shrugged. “I'll let you know what I think after eighteen holes. Bye.” She blew kisses and left.

Pug's eyes followed her out the front door. He scanned the small parking lot. “Ladies, I'm actually here to tell you we are going to build a new post office right across the street. It's official.” He pointed out the door, which had a large window in it.

“Where?” Harry flipped up the counter divider and walked to the front door, Miranda right with her.

“We'll clean all that off there, take the parking lot right up to the barber shop—well, what used to be the old barber shop—and at the back we'll put in a brand-new post office. Next to it the bank's building a new branch. As soon as I get the architect's plans, I'll bring them by.”

Harry, hiding her lack of enthusiasm, said, “What will happen to this P.O.?”

“Well, I don't know. As you know, we don't own this building. I expect whoever rents the space will change the interior to suit.”

“I expect.” Harry didn't notice two kitty heads pop up out of the mail cart, paws on the side.

“A brand-new building!”
Pewter exclaimed.

“Might be nice. Might not. Sounds like too much traffic with the bank, and we'll be across the street with the elder-care high-rise.”
She mentioned the tallest building in town, at six stories.

“Mother won't like it,”
Tucker, finally awake but still immobile, declared.
“She doesn't like change.”

“She's not that bad.”
But Mrs. Murphy had her doubts about the new building, too.

“How big is the proposed post office?”

“Six thousand square feet.” Pug thought this was wonderful.

“My word.” Miranda's hand flew to her chest. “The two of us will rattle around in there like two peas in a large can.”

“You won't be alone. We'll add more workers, plus we'll also have shifts. There will be three scales at the counter with computers, of course. So at any given time there will be two people in the back sorting, stacking, getting ready for the pickups. We have so many types of mail now, so many new services, which I know you know, and I just read in
The Daily Progress
”—he mentioned the county's daily newspaper—“that our growth rate right here in Albemarle County exceeds the population growth of India. Plan ahead!” He returned to the building. “There will be one large garage door in the rear so Rob can back in. It's going to be very efficient as well as attractive.”

“Who's going to be the postmaster?” Harry got right to the point.

“I hope you,” Pug said. “No doubt, Harry, our federal government in their wisdom may wish for you to take some extra administrative tests. I think it's all pretty silly given that you've been the postmaster here—I mean, postmistress—ever since you graduated from college. But if there's any way I can waive some of the paperwork for you, I will.”

“How long before you start building?”

“As soon as we get the permit through the county. August. Southwell Construction will be building it. Naturally we'll buy our cement and stone from Craycroft Industries, who I bet will give us the best bid. That BoomBoom is a genius at bidding jobs.” BoomBoom's business had been started by her late husband.

As Pug left, it was as though backwash from a large ocean liner was tossing about a slender craft.

“Damn!” Harry cursed.

“This place is home. A new building might be larger, but it's going to be antiseptic.” Miranda returned the blueberry muffins and oatmeal cookies to the table.

“I don't want to manage people.”

“Harry, you'd be good at it.”

“That's nice of you to say, but I don't think that I would. I know I fell into this job. But I like it.”

The summer that Harry graduated from Smith College, George Hogendobber, the postmaster in Crozet and Miranda's husband, died. Harry took the job thinking it would be temporary. The position had first been offered to Miranda, but she was too emotionally distraught to consider a regular job.

Fair breezed through the door. “Distemper.” Then he noticed the expression on Harry and Miranda's faces. “What's wrong?”

They told him of Pug's visit.

“. . . August. And you know what else?” Harry's voice rose. “He didn't say anything about Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean anything,” Fair evenly replied.

“I think it does. I think he'll wait until we're ready to move across the street and then tell me my friends can't work there. And if my cats and dog can't go where I go, I'm not going. I don't want any job without my pets.”

“Now, honey, don't jump the gun,” Fair said soothingly.

“He's right. Wait and see.” Miranda also sounded comforting.

The two cats and dog said nothing. They observed this exchange with great interest.

“Sorry. I guess I did jump to conclusions.” Harry exhaled deeply. “And I'm glad the raccoon only had distemper.”

Fair held up his hand. “That he did, but that doesn't mean he didn't also have rabies. We still need the report from Richmond, and that can take days.”

“Oh, great, half the town will be in a tizz.” Harry threw her hands up in the air.

“Well, you see all the town, not just half. You can tell them the results of my own little lab work.” Fair smiled.

“Where are you coming from, or maybe I should say where are you going?” Harry knew that Thursday mornings Fair operated at his clinic.

“Out to Big Mim's. She's culling her broodmares and wants my opinion. Then she'll make her annual pilgrimage to Lexington, Kentucky, and pick up a few more black-type broodmares. You know Big Mim. But I'll tell you, she really does have a gift for finding a good mare, and usually at an off time. I think even if Mim hadn't inherited money, she could have made it herself.”

“Quite true,” replied Miranda, who had known Mim all her life.

“It's so hard to make money in the horse business,” Harry opined.

“That it is, but some people do—I mean, some people apart from the people who have tons of money made from something else. Tavener has done well. Debbie Easter runs a good operation up there at Albemarle Stud. There are a couple of good folks out there with one or two well-bred stallions. They manage but, you're right, it is hard. Think of the heartbreak in Kentucky in 2001 when all those foals died. First you fight to save the poor little critter's life, then lose him or her. You have very little to take to the sales. It's desperate. I admire anyone who sticks with it in this business.”

“Me, too,” Miranda agreed. “I had no idea it could be so difficult or I guess so emotional.”

Miranda was not a horse person, but in working with Harry she'd learned a little bit. Mostly she learned that Harry loved her three horses and would be happy sleeping out in the stable.

As Fair left to keep his appointment, Carmen Gamble, in her haircutting smock, picked up her mail. “Heard we've got rabies.”

“No, we don't.” Harry went on to explain.

“Well, I know that Barry had rabies.” Carmen pressed her lips together. “And I have to go in and get a test, but Sugar says it won't do any good. No one bit me.” A flicker of worry passed over her face.

Miranda, who liked Carmen, encouraged her. “Well, honey, it can't hurt. And since the paper reported that Barry had rabies, people will get all worried. Not that you have a thing to worry about.”