Cat's Eyewitness (14 page)

“Like what?” Susan leaned toward Alicia.

“Love, the only fire against which there is no insurance. Intelligence is no guarantee that one will find the right love, shall we say? After all, consider Arthur Miller in love with Marilyn Monroe.”

“Do I have to?” Harry popped off.

“Harry, God forbid you consider anything of the sort.” Susan teased her.

“Let’s pick someone closer to her generation.” Miranda looked across the table at Tracy, thinking him the best-looking man for his age she had ever seen, and he was looking at her thinking the same of her.

“You don’t have to give me examples. I know what you mean.”

“Honey, I’ll be your Arthur Miller anytime,” Fair gallantly promised as the others applauded him.

“Does that mean I have to wear low-cut dresses, wiggle, and get a boob job?”

Maggie Sheraton’s mouth dropped open for a second.

“That’s our Harry.” Herb beamed at Maggie.

“Darling, you don’t need breast augmentation.” Alicia carefully chose her words.

“You say that to all the girls.” Harry couldn’t resist.

“No, only the special ones.” Alicia laughed at herself, which only made her guests all the more animated.

“Well, now, there’s a subject for philosophers.” Fair nodded to his hostess. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

This set them off.

Maxwell, sitting patiently by his mother’s right hand, listened. Humans amused him, and being a Gordon setter he was more generous in his assessments than a Jack Russell terrier might have been. Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter hunkered under the table. Tucker hoped for fallen tidbits. Alicia allowed them to attend the party because she loved animals, they were well behaved, and Maxwell and Tucker were fast friends. Resting in the front hall was Brinkley, Tazio’s yellow Lab. He liked people well enough but, even though Labs are not known for being guard dogs, he liked watching the door. Brinkley had been saved by Tazio last winter during a nasty storm. His entire life was devoted to Tazio.

“Love stuff.”
Pewter yawned.

“They’ll rattle on all night.”
Tucker chuckled.

“I had a boyfriend once,”
Mrs. Murphy said.

“We all know your boyfriend. Worthless, that Paddy.”
Pewter couldn’t abide the black and white cat, who now lived in Keswick, having been rescued by Meredith McLaughlin.

Not only was he rescued by one of Albemarle County’s biggest softies, he was doted on by her neighbors, Claudia and Andy Lynn, who loved creatures as much as Meredith did. The result was that Paddy was insufferable—plus he had a new girlfriend, named Twisted Sister.

“Worthless he may have been, but he was fun.”
That was all Mrs. Murphy had to say on the subject.

“While they’re talking about love, you know Mom is figuring out when she’s going back up to the monastery.”
Tucker thought the main course smelled mouth-watering.

Nordy Elliott was already there, lugging a heavy camera. He thought if he went alone and in the dark, he could shoot the footage he desperately wanted: a close-up of the Virgin Mary’s face. And he was certain he could sneak in and not be detected. He was wrong.

18

S
weat poured down Nordy Elliott’s face; a line of sweat rolled down the middle of his back. The heavy camera added to his distress. He’d been smart enough to park well away from the iron gates. Footing was treacherous. He’d pitched and fallen flat on his face but managed to keep the camera intact.

Breathing heavily, he approached the statue, which shone with a silver glow in the waxing moonlight. The skies, clear for a change, throbbed deep electric black, a black seen only in winter.

The crunch of his boots frightened Brother Mark at the statue. The men startled each other.

Nordy ordered, “Don’t move.”

“Don’t give me orders,” snapped Brother Mark, tucking his rosary in his robe’s deep pocket. He stood up as Nordy walked to the front of the statue. He observed closely the look on the reporter’s face when he beheld the tears of the Virgin. Rapture. This wasn’t the rapture discussed in religious texts. This was the rapture of greed, greed for fame, for a bigger market, a national show. Without hesitation, Nordy swung the camera eyepiece to his own eye, his fingers numb with cold, sweat still running down his back. He held his breath so the camera wouldn’t shake, the whirring sound of the motor being his reward. Nordy congratulated himself on shooting for two minutes, stopping, moving, then shooting from a different angle.

“All these shots are up toward her face. I need one where I’m level or shooting down.” He spoke as if thinking out loud, not as though speaking directly to Brother Mark. He took a step back, slipped a little, and caught himself. He gingerly picked his way to a tree, put the camera on the ground, and, with difficulty, swung up.

“Her face is beautiful in this light.” Brother Mark slid his hands into the heavy sleeves of his gray woolen robe.

“Mmm, hand me the camera, will you?”

Brother Mark picked up the camera, hoisting it over his head while Nordy leaned down and grabbed it with one hand.

“Heavy.”

“I don’t know how Priscilla does it.”

“Oh, you can get women to do anything. I envied you that when we were in college.”

“You tell them they’re beautiful, smart, and that you want them. Works ninety percent of the time. You were always to the left of Pluto, Mark. You were out there spinning in your solitary orbit. Still are.” Nordy hiked the camera to his eye, getting good footage of the statue. “This is going to look great.”

“People need to see the tears.” A pious tone informed Brother Mark’s voice while he ignored the insult. “They need to feel that the Blessed Virgin Mother is crying for them.”

“Uh-huh.” Nordy cut the motor. “Here.” He handed down the camera, then slid down the tree trunk backward. “I don’t believe man is descended from the apes.”

Holding the camera, Brother Mark found this observation peculiar. “Of course we aren’t descended from the apes. Man is created in God’s image.”

Nordy laughed. “We aren’t descended from apes because we’d climb trees better.”

“You know, Nerdy really is the right nickname for you.” Brother Mark handed the camera back to Nordy. “You have no feeling for beauty, no faith.”

“I do, just not in the same things that you do,” the reporter honestly replied with humor in his voice. “If you kneel like when I first walked up here, it would make a great shot.”

“No.”

“Why not? No one will know it’s you; pull the hood over your head.”

“No.”

“What if I shoot you from the back?”

“In the back is more like it, Nordy. You’ll walk over anyone to get ahead. The answer is no. Besides if Brother Handle found out, he’d—” Brother Mark stopped, listened carefully. “You’d better get out of here. Someone’s coming.”

“Maybe I can get them to let me shoot them praying before Our Lady.”

With urgency, Brother Mark said, “And have your camera smashed? Then you’ve got nothing. You’ve got your footage of her tears of blood. People will see the miracle. Now get out.”

Nordy now heard the footsteps coming closer. He ducked down the back side of the statue, slipping down the slope into the woods, where the sliver of moonlight wouldn’t reveal him. He’d worked too hard for this footage to have it destroyed.

Brother Andrew’s voice called out, “Who’s there?”

“Me. Brother Mark.”

As Brother Andrew came into view, he walked faster. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

The lanky monk looked down at the footprints, slick in the packed-down snow. There were so many footprints. “Who would be up here at this hour?”

“No one.”

“Why are you here?”

“To pray. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” Brother Andrew shivered as a fresh wind rustled the dry oak leaves and pine needles, which wouldn’t drop until spring growth. “I needed to think.”

“This is the best place to do that. I come here as much as I can.”

“Are you sure you were alone? I would’ve sworn I heard voices. Sound carries on a clear, cold night like tonight.”

“Yes,” Brother Mark lied.

Brother Andrew stared at him, then quietly said, “I don’t believe you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go back to your cell.”

19

M
akes me sick.” Harry turned up her nose.

“It’s supposed to be progress.” Susan slowed her station wagon as they passed the brand-new post office, under construction on the southwestern side of the railroad overpass.

“There wasn’t one thing wrong with the old building. It’s small, but Miranda and I made out okay.”

“Miss it?”

“I do and I don’t.” Harry stared out the window as they drove north toward White Hall. “I miss seeing Miranda every day, and I really miss her orange-glazed cinnamon buns.” Harry laughed. “I still see her, but it’s not the same as working together. She spends more time with Tracy now.” She paused a moment, turned toward Susan. “I expect she’ll marry Tracy, don’t you?”

“I expect.” Susan laughed.

“Know what I miss about the post office?” Harry returned to Susan’s original query. “Reading other people’s postcards.”

Susan smiled. “You were right to leave. It was time. You can do more and you will.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Harry meant it. “I alternate between not having a care in the world and dire panic.”

“If you would remarry Fair, honey, much of your financial stress would lift.”

“Is that why you married Ned?” Harry bit her lip.

“I married Ned because I was nineteen and pregnant with Danny, which you well know.”

“Would you have married him anyway—later?”

“Yes.” Susan nodded.

“This love stuff is too complicated.” Harry sighed.

Susan braked as a squirrel foolishly dashed in front of the station wagon. “It can be.”

“Do you love Ned?”

“Where did that come from? Oh, never mind.” Susan took her right hand off the steering wheel and waved it dismissively for a second. “I do love him—more than I knew I did. I’m scared to death I’m going to lose him.”

“Could you cheat?”

“Anyone could, given the right or wrong circumstances.”

The temperature had soared to fifty-four degrees, and the melting snow and ice created flooded ditches, jammed culverts. In some places, creeks had jumped their beds. All one could hear was melting water, running water, water sloshing underfoot or overfoot. Susan slowed on some curves as water flowed over the black asphalt. The road to White Hall was twisty.

“A secret love?” Harry prodded. “Ever have a secret love? One you never told anyone—even me—about?”

“When I look back at how I felt when I was Brooks’s age, you know, I can remember the events better than the emotions. When you’re feeling powerful emotions for the first time, it’s confusing and overpowering. My mind said one thing, my body another. That’s not a secret love, but I suffered secret crushes.

“Let’s get something to drink. I’m thirsty. I put too much salt on my eggs this morning. I’m on a sea-salt kick, but salt is salt and I’ve got to cut it from my diet.” Susan wearied of reflecting on her past.

They crossed the road. There wasn’t much traffic out in White Hall. One other car, a BMW X5, was parked at the white clapboard convenience store.

“Nordy Elliott’s car cost a pretty penny. He must be making good money.” Harry had a memory for horses and cars. “What’s he doing in White Hall?”

The answer was quickly forthcoming when she slid out of the station wagon and glanced across the street. On the southwestern corner of this small crossroads reposed a large, pretty crèche. Nordy was there, microphone in hand, as Priscilla Friedberg held the camera on her shoulder.

“What would you like?” Susan knew Harry would have to go over and find out what he was doing.

“Uh, Co-Cola.”

“Food?”

“Mmm, I’ll wait until we get to town.”

As Susan pushed open the door to the store, Harry walked across the paved two-lane road. She waited behind Priscilla until Nordy finished.

“—the joys of the season. Nordy Elliott. Channel Twenty-nine News.” He waited a moment as Priscilla cut off the camera. “Harry, how are you?”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Every day until Christmas I shoot a crèche or Christmas decorations.”

“We cover a lot of territory.” Priscilla patted the compact professional Panasonic, the latest in equipment. The flat image of video didn’t bother her, because she was shooting reportage. Had she been shooting a television film it would have driven her crazy.

“Bet you do. The Virgin Mary story is good for you, Nordy. Everyone’s talking about it.”

He smiled broadly as he walked with Priscilla back to his car. “National feeds. It’s a hell of a good story. Guess I shouldn’t say hell.”

“The Blessed Virgin Mother isn’t revengeful,” Harry replied. “However, Brother Handle might be.”

“He’s not too happy with me,” Nordy acknowledged.

Susan emerged from the store with her hands full. Harry started up the wet steps to help Susan before she came down.

“Hi, Nordy. Hi, Priscilla,” Susan called as they said their hellos.

Nordy bounded up the steps, passing Harry, stopping before the top one. He held out his hand for Susan to take it.

“It’s nice to see you,” he said.

“You’re doing a great job with the Virgin Mary story.” Susan appreciated his chivalry.

Harry, meanwhile, enjoyed her Coke. In her left hand she held the bag containing Susan’s sandwich. Nordy carried the cup of coffee Susan had bought.

As they leaned against the car, Nordy asked the two friends, “Is BoomBoom dating anyone?”

Priscilla laughed. “Come on, Nordy. She’ll never look at you in a million years.”

He ignored his sidekick. “I asked her out and she said she’s ‘keeping clear of entanglements for a year,’ but that doesn’t mean she isn’t dating.”

“She’s not.” Susan thought the coffee tasted pretty good.

“What’s her favorite flower?” he asked.

“Pink roses,” Harry answered. “She also likes those big white lilies with the pink throats.”

“Thanks.” He smiled.

“She really is taking a year off. I know you’re keeping count,” Susan added.

“After months of no-go, you might look good,” Priscilla teased Nordy.

“I always look good.” He smiled, flashing strong, straight teeth.

As Nordy and Priscilla drove off to their next location in downtown Charlottesville, Susan and Harry lifted their faces to the warming sun.

“God, that feels good.” Harry’s cheeks flushed.

“Whenever winter wears me down, I look at the calendar and tell myself, no matter what, the first snowdrops will be up by mid-March and the crocuses soon follow, even if they have to peep up through the snow.”

“Yeah. Winter is beautiful.” Harry appreciated all those hidden things now visible with the leaves off the trees. “But nothing beats spring here in the foothills.”

“Fall.”

“Mmm, toss-up.” She finished her can of Coke. “Looks like BoomBoom has another conquest.”

“If she had a dollar for every man who tripped over his own feet in her presence, she’d be almost as rich as Big Mim.” Susan wondered what it must feel like to have that kind of power.

“They fall in love with her but she doesn’t fall in love with them.” Harry crossed her arms over her chest.

“She’s falling in love now.”

“BoomBoom?”

Susan nodded her head in affirmation. “And you know, I think it’s for real.”

“How could she sneak out on us like that?”

“She hasn’t. She’s falling right in front of us.”

“She is?”

“Alicia,” Susan flatly stated.

“Alicia? Oh, never. BoomBoom isn’t gay.”

“I didn’t say she was gay.” Susan crumpled the paper bag her sandwich had been in, aimed for the big open garbage can, and sank her shot. “I said she was falling in love.”

“In an ideal world you fall in love with the person, not the wrapping paper. Still. It’s hard for me to believe.” Harry frowned.

“Why? Makes you nervous?”

“No. Yes. Not because she’s in love with a woman, but because I never saw it coming. Because I thought I knew BoomBoom. This changes things. I hate not knowing.”

“Harry, she probably didn’t know she could feel this way. And it doesn’t change anything. She’s the person we’ve always known. BoomBoom’s a strong woman. She’s endured social censure for her many affairs, for flaunting her beauty. She took it with good grace.”

“You’re right. I never thought of that.”

“Once she figures out that she really is in love with Alicia, she’ll be just fine.”

“What about Alicia?”

“Alicia? She’s crazy about BoomBoom.”

“She is?”

“Harry.” Susan threw up her hands in despair. “Come on, I’ll take you to the John Deere dealer; you’ll be in your element.”

Harry brightened. “Have you seen the new compact tractors? Susan, they are something else.” She stopped. “Oh, you’re not going there, are you? You’re pulling my leg.”

Susan hugged Harry. “Sure. Come on, Skeezits.”

Back in the car, heading east toward town, Harry asked, “Is there anything Brother Thomas ever said to you that stuck in your mind?”

“He was such a sweet man. He used to tell me to trust God. And, um . . . well, I do remember once when I was in high school I was upset about something—I don’t even remember what it was—and he told me to thank God for my troubles. They’re gifts in disguise.”

“Do you?”

“No. I haven’t learned that lesson.” Susan powered up the steep hill near what used to be a farm called Rustling Oaks, owned by a fabulous horseman, Billy Jones. It was a subdivision now. Susan hoped Billy haunted the big, flashy homes.

“Me, neither.”

“You’re usually the one with the hunches about everything but romance,” Susan smiled at her friend, “but this time I have a hunch that there are troubles up ahead. I hope I have the guts to get through them.”

“You will.” Harry’s voice resonated with conviction. “I have a hunch, too. Brother Thomas did not die a natural death.”

“Harry, don’t let your imagination run away with you.” Susan didn’t want to think her great-uncle had been murdered.

“Why go out in that hellish cold? At his age? Remember Dante’s
Inferno
? The lowest circle of hell is ice. Why would he go out?”

“He wanted to pray before the tears of blood.”

Harry put her hands together, resting her chin on her forefingers. “I don’t believe it.”

“You know how you get. You eat up any conspiracy theory that you hear or read. Why, the last book you read was about the British poisoning Napoleon by degrees when he was exiled on St. Helena.” She sighed, then continued. “G-Uncle Thomas was sweet and gentle. No one would kill him.”

“Sweet and kind people are blasted every day all over the world.” Harry marveled at the human capacity for evil.

“Why G-Uncle?”

“I don’t know. But you feel that BoomBoom is falling for Alicia. I trust you about those things. You have amazing radar for human relationships. My radar is different. I pick up blips about these kinds of things, about secrets.”

“Not my secrets.” Susan said this with humor as they passed the left turn to Barracks Stud and the Barracks, two equine facilities.

“Yours aren’t big enough.” Harry lifted her eyebrow.

“That’s what you think,” Susan’s voice slightly darkened.

“Then you’re really, really good.”

A long pause followed, traffic increasing. “Why would anyone kill Thomas? Really, Harry, it’s incomprehensible.”

“People are often killed just because they’re inconvenient.”