Pawing Through the Past (11 page)

22

The phone rang at the post office at seven-thirty
A.M
. just as Rob Collier, the delivery man from the main post office on Seminole Trail, dropped off two bags of mail.

“Sorry I’m late. Fender bender at Hydraulic Road and Route 29.” He tipped his hat as he jogged back to the truck.

Mrs. Hogendobber answered the phone as the cats dashed to the mailbags. “Crozet Post Office. Mrs. Hogendobber speaking.”

“I think movies were better in our day,” Tracy replied on the other end. “That movie last night was all special effects. Was there a story?”

“Not that I could decipher.”

“The best part of the movie was sitting next to you.”

“You flatterer.” She blushed and winked at Harry.

“I’ll stop by on my way to Staunton. Harry left me a note this morning thanking me for the washer and leaving me five dollars for fixing it. You tell that girl she’s got to learn to let people do things for her.”

“Yes, Tracy, I’ll try, but a new voice might get through. See you later.”

“He’s still got a crush on you,” Harry teased Miranda, as she untied the first mailbag to the delight of Mrs. Murphy, who wriggled through the opening.

“Isn’t paper the best?”
The cat slid around in the bag, which was about three-quarters full.

“Tissue paper is better but this isn’t bad.”
Pewter squeezed into the second mailbag.

“Paper? I don’t get it.”
The dog shook her head, retiring to the small table in the back upon which Mrs. Hogendobber had placed a fresh round loaf of black bread, a damp dish towel over the top of it. The aroma filled the post office. Freshly churned butter in a large covered glass dish sat next to it.

“Come on, Miss Puss, out of there.” Harry reached in and grabbed Mrs. Murphy’s tail. Not hard.

“Make me.”
Mrs. Murphy batted away her hand, claws sheathed.

“You’re a saucy wench this morning.” Harry opened the bag wider.

Mrs. Murphy peered back, eyes large in the darkened space. She burrowed deeper into the mail.
“Hee hee.”
Only it sounded to human ears like “kickle, kickle.”

“Murphy, cut it out. You’re going to scratch the mail. Federal property. Just think. You could be the first cat convicted of tampering with the mail. Federal offense. Jail. I can see the headlines now: Catastrophe.”

“Corny,”
the cat meowed.

“I can’t get Pewter out either.” Miranda bent down a bit more stiffly than Harry, but she’d been gardening on her knees for the last few days, too.

“I can do it.”
Tee Tucker bounded over and bit, gently, first the large lump in one bag and then the larger lump in the other.

Two cats shot out of the bags as though shot out of cannons. They whirled on Tucker. After all, no human had jaws like that.

“Charge!”
Mrs. Murphy ordered.

She leapt onto Tucker’s back. Tucker rolled over to dispense with that, but when she did, Pewter jumped on her belly. The dog loved it, of course, but this was accompanied by furious growling. A few tufts of fur floated in the air.

As Pewter clung to Tucker’s white belly, Mrs. Murphy grabbed the corgi’s head, literally crawling on top of her, biting her ears.

“Uncle!”
the dog cried out.

“You don’t have an uncle.”
Mrs. Murphy laughed so hard she fell over, so now Tucker could put the cat’s head in her mouth.

Pewter yelled,
“That’s cheating!”

“No, it’s not. Two against one is cheating.”
But of course the minute Tucker said this she released her grip on Mrs. Murphy, who escaped.

“The jaws of death,”
the cat panted.

They’d all three exhausted themselves, so they fell in a heap between the mailbags.

“Crazy!” Miranda shook her head.

The front door swung open and Big Mim, wearing a flowered sundress and a straw hat, strolled in. “Don’t worry.” She held up her hands. “I know you haven’t sorted the mail yet. Miranda, I’ve hired Dan Wheeler to play at your reunion. Okay?”

Miranda walked over to the divider. “He’ll add so much to the event but we can’t afford him. We’ve got the tiniest treasury.”

Mim waved her hand. “I’ll pay for it.”

“Mim, that’s very generous, especially since you graduated from Madeira.”

“I might as well do something with the money. It appears I am never to have grandchildren.”

Mim’s daughter, divorced, was childless and not at all happy about either state. Her son, living in New York, was married to an elegant African-American model but they, too, had not produced an heir.

“They’ll get around to it.”

“I hope before I’m dead!” came the tart response.

“We’ve plenty of years left. Now you just come on back here and have a piece of my fresh pumpernickel.”

“Love pumpernickel.” Mim whizzed through the divider.

As Miranda cut through the warm bread the glorious scent intensified. Tucker opened an eye but couldn’t bring herself to move. Harry brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

“Why hasn’t Tracy Raz come to see me?”

“He’s just gotten here.” Miranda handed Mim a napkin.

“He’s been here almost a week. You tell him I’m miffed. I expect a call. Maybe we didn’t go to the same school but we were all friends. After all, I was home every holiday and every summer.”

“Yes, dear.” Miranda had learned how to handle Mim decades ago and was amazed that the woman’s daughter had never figured out the trick: agree with her even when you don’t. Over time, bit by bit, present opposing points of view. Nine times out of ten, Mim would hear it. But oppose her immediately or rain on her parade and her back would go up. You’d never get anywhere. Mim’s mother was the same way, as was her ancient Aunt Tally, alive and exceedingly well.

“Harry, how’s your reunion coming along?”

“BoomBoom has done a good job organizing. I have to give her credit. She has some original ideas.”

“That’s gracious of you.” Mim beamed. “Now girls, I have a bone to pick with Market Shiflett and I want your support.”

Both Harry and Miranda looked at one another and then back to Big Mim. “What?” they said in unison.

“He’s moved that blue dumpster parallel with the alley. Looks dreadful. I should think it upsets you, Miranda.”

“Well . . .” She measured her words. “He has created more parking and this was the only way he could do it.”

“He could go back to garbage cans.” Mim pronounced judgment.

“He even tried chaining the garbage cans. That didn’t work. He painted them orange and people still ran over them,” Harry offered.

“I know all that,” Mim replied imperiously. “Then he can set the dumpster sideways under the privet hedge and he can build a palisade around it.”

“But the dumpster is picked up once a week on a huge flatbed and a clean one put down in its place. I don’t see how he can build a palisade around it.” However, Miranda liked the idea.

“Oh yes, he can. Put big hinges on the long end, the end facing the parking lot, such as it is”—her voice dropped—“and put rollers on the bottom. In essence it’s a big gate. When the pickup truck comes all Market has to do is roll that gate back or swing it out, whichever makes the most sense. He’ll have to figure that out but I know it will work. I’m going over there to speak to him right now. Could one of you come with me?”

“Uh . . .” Harry stalled.

“Harry, go on. I’ll sort the mail. You’re better suited than I am.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Harry wiped her hands on the napkin.

“Harry,” was all Mim said.

“Okay,” she replied weakly, “but before we go in there, let’s look closely at the site and the dumpster. Maybe we can figure out ways to improve it even more, you know, some plantings or something.”

“Excellent!”

Miranda dropped her eyes lest she laugh by connecting with Harry. If there’s one thing Mim couldn’t resist it was a gardening idea. Harry was shrewd enough to maneuver her into yet an-other beautification plan.

As it was, Mim struggled valiantly with the garden club to accept her plans for filling downtown Crozet with profusions of flowers for the spring, summer, and fall bolstered by masses of holly, pyracantha, and Scotch pine for the winter. Her master plan for the town was stunning and everyone admitted that Crozet needed help. But money could never be found in the town budget and Mim, generous though she was, felt strongly that if the plan didn’t generate community support she wasn’t going to cough up the funds. She’d enlisted Miranda’s aid and if she could interest Harry and Harry’s generation, she thought she just might pull it off.

Harry and Mim walked out the back door as Tracy walked in the front door. He’d finished his errands and returned to see Miranda.

Mrs. Murphy got up, stretched, and followed Harry out.

Tucker, exhaling loudly, did the same. Pewter, sound asleep, didn’t even open an eye when Miranda picked her up, gently placing her in an empty mail cart.

The two humans and two animals stood before the blue dumpster. It was unsightly but at least it had a lid on it. Having it open would have been a lot worse.

Mim used her right hand. “Swing the dumpster around like so. He can still use it with ease but it will free up more space. The palisade on the alley side could swing out or roll back for transfer.”

“If it swings out it will block traffic.”

“How much traffic is on this alleyway,” Mim snipped, then thought a minute. “You’re right. If it rolls straight along, it will block his parking lot for a minute but the alley will be free. ’Course, the truck will be in it anyway. However, I take your point and think rollers toward us is a better idea. Did you think perhaps planter tubs on the parking lot side?”

“No. I thought since that palisade part is stable why not build three tiers and fill them with geraniums, petunias, and even ivy that could spill over.”

“Now that is a good idea.” Mim’s eyes brightened. “It will add to the expense.”

“He’s got a daughter in college.” Harry need say no more.

“H-m-m, I’ll think of something.”

“Something’s not right.”
Tucker lifted her nose and sniffed deeply.

Mrs. Murphy, nose not as sensitive, also smelled blood.
“Let me jump up.”

“Lid’s closed.”
Tucker barked loudly.

“Maybe we can get them to open it.”
Murphy soared onto the slanted lid, sliding a bit but quickly jumping over to the flat side.
“I smell blood, too. Maybe there’s a beef carcass. I’ll get some of it for you,”
Murphy promised her grounded friend.

“No, this isn’t beef, sheep, or chicken. This is human,”
Tucker adamantly barked.

Mrs. Murphy thought a minute, then said,
“Together.”

The cat and dog howled in unison. The humans looked at them as Pewter hurried out the animal door to the post office.
“What’s going on?”

“Come up here.”

She leapt up next to Mrs. Murphy, sliding down harder than the slender cat. Harry caught her.

“Yell,”
Mrs. Murphy directed.

Pewter bellowed. She surprised Harry so much that she dropped her. The cat shook herself, then leapt up again. This time she managed to get over to the flat side.
“Uh-oh.”
She smelled it, too.

All three of them hollered for all they were worth.

“What’s gotten into them?” Mim put her hand on her hip, then reached over and lifted up the slanted lid. She dropped the lid with a thud reverberating throughout the alley and sending the two cats off the dumpster. She took a faltering step back. Harry reached out to catch her.

Mim’s face, bone-white, frightened Harry, who at first thought the older woman might have suffered a heart attack or stroke. Mim moved her lips but nothing came out. She pointed to the dumpster lid.

“Are you all right?”

Mim nodded her head. “Yes.” Then she took a deep breath and opened the lid again.

“Oh, my God!” Harry exclaimed.

23

Sitting on top of the squad car, Mrs. Murphy laconically commented,
“Could have been worse.”

The assemblage by the dumpster would have disagreed with her if they had understood what she was saying. Mim called her husband, Jim, the mayor. He rushed over. Tracy put his arm around Miranda’s waist. She was upset but holding together.

As luck would have it, Marcy Wiggins and Chris Sharpton had stopped by to pick up their mail. Fair Haristeen had also come to the P.O. Marcy fainted and Chris, with Fair’s help, carried her into Market’s air-conditioned store. Market, rushing around the store, revived her with a spot of brandy. As soon as she was somewhat recovered he hurried back outside again.

“In my dumpster!” He wrung his hands.

Tucker, as close to the dumpster as she could get without being in the way, asked Pewter,
“What did the body look like when you first could see in?”

Pewter peered down from the limb of the pin oak where she was reposing. She wanted a different view than Mrs. Murphy.
“Leo’s mouth was open and so were his eyes. He’d stiffened up but it wasn’t too bad yet. They’ll have a hell of a time getting him out of there now.”

“What I meant was, can you see how he was killed?”
the dog persisted.

“Right between the eyes. Like Charlie Ashcraft,”
Pewter informed her with some relish.

“Flies are what made the humans sick.”
Murphy watched intently.
“They’re in the dumpster so they crawled all over him but really, it could have been worse. He’s not been dead half a day.”
She was matter-of-fact about these matters, but then, cats are.

Rick and Cynthia, having finished their work, had to turn to Jim Sanburne, the crowd growing by the minute behind the yellow tape. “Jim, I prefer they leave but I doubt they will so keep them back. If they break through the tape they may compromise evidence. Can you call in anyone to help you?”

Tracy stepped forward. “Sheriff, Tracy Raz, I can help.”

Tracy was off in the service when Rick was young so he didn’t remember him, but he knew the Raz name. “Thank you.”

“I’ll help, too.” Fair towered over the other two men.

Tracy, accustomed to command, faced the murmuring crowd, some with handkerchiefs to their mouths. “Folks, I know this is extremely upsetting to you all but please leave. The more of us that crowd around, the more possibility that valuable evidence will be destroyed. Sheriff Shaw is doing all he can right now and he needs your help.”

“Come on, gang.” Fair gently shepherded his friends and neighbors back down the alleyway.

As people walked slowly they turned to see what else was happening. The last thing they saw was a big blue truck, Batten Services, come down the lane with Joe Batten emerging, his assistant and cousin, Harvey Batten, along with him. He ran the trash-removal company and he was going to take off the door to the dumpster so they could remove the body.

“You girls go back into the post office,” Tracy soothingly directed, “because that’s where people will gather and they’ll need you to keep your heads.”

“Quite right.” Miranda nodded. Violent death shocked her. But she’d seen enough death in her life to accept it as inevitable, although she never could accept violence.

The cats and dog stayed at the scene of the crime. No one paid attention to them because they were careful to stay out of the way, even though Mrs. Murphy brazenly sat on top of Rick’s squad car.

Joe glanced at the body, pulled a heavy wrench from his leather tool belt around his waist, and started turning a nut. “Harvey, you crippled?”

Harvey swallowed hard, walked over, and crouched down to work on the bottom bolt. He was eye-level with the loafers on the corpse but he did not look inside.

As the men worked, Diana Robb and the rescue squad crept down the alleyway, clogged with cars. The people moved away but they’d left their cars.

Diana hopped out, marched up to the opened dumpster, and peered inside. “Like Charlie. Powder burns.”

“Uh-huh,” Rick noncommittally grunted.

“You ready for us?” She noticed the crushed green and orange 7 Up cartons under the body.

“Yeah, you can take him.” Rick leaned against the squad car to light a cigarette.

“Those things will kill you,”
Mrs. Murphy scolded.

He looked up at the cat looking down at him. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Need a hand?” Tracy offered.

“We’ve got it, thanks.” Diana smiled.

Tracy asked Rick, “If you don’t need me anymore I’ll be going.”

“Where to?”

“The post office.”

“I mean, where do you come from?” Rick inhaled.

Tracy briefly filled the sheriff in on his background. “Retired now. Came back to help with our high-school reunion.”

Rick reached out to shake his hand. “Rick Shaw, sheriff.”

“Deputy Cynthia Cooper.” She shook Tracy’s hand also, as did Fair.

“I’m renting rooms at Harry’s farm. If you need me I’ll be there.” He opened the back door to the post office, slipping inside.

Fair, face white with upset, hands in jeans pockets, said, “Quite an ending for someone as fastidious as Leo Burkey. To be dumped with garbage.”

“Harry made a similar comment,” Rick noted.

Market bustled back again. “Sheriff, I hope you don’t think I did this. I couldn’t stand Leo, but I wouldn’t kill him. Besides, he lived far enough away he didn’t work on my mood.” Market’s voice was tremulous, his hands were shaking.

“Market.” Rick paused. “Why didn’t you like him?”

“Smart-ass. In high school—well, always.”

“Yes, he was,” Fair confirmed.

“As bad as Charlie Ashcraft?” Cynthia watched as Joe and Harvey lifted the blue metal door off its hinges, leaning it up against the side of the dumpster.

“What’s worse, reaching in the garbage or picking up the body?”
Pewter giggled.

Tucker whirled around, hearing before the rest of them.
“What’s worse is here comes Channel 29.”

Diana, now seeing the van with the dish on top, as she was looking down the alleyway, urged, “Come on, let’s get him out of here and in a body bag before they jump out with the damned cameras.”

Too late. Even before the van pulled over the cameraman was running toward them.

“Stand back!” Rick barked, holding up his hand.

A brief argument followed but the cameraman and on-air reporter did stay twenty yards back as Diana, with three assistants, lifted out the body. Since rigor was taking over, getting him into a body bag required effort.

“Why don’t they break his arms and legs?”
Pewter sensibly suggested.

“They’d pass out. Humans are touchy about their dead.”
Mrs. Murphy noticed the outline of his wallet in his back pocket. It would appear robbery wasn’t the motive.

Market returned to the question Cynthia had posed before they were interrupted by the television crew. “No, Leo wasn’t as bad as Charlie Ashcraft. Charlie was in a class by himself. Leo wanted us to think he was a ladies’ man but he was more bark than bite. He had a smart mouth, that’s all. Hurt a lot of feelings. Or I should say he hurt mine. And he was handsome, I couldn’t compete with him for the girls. Not too many of us could.” He looked up at Fair. “Like you, the class ahead. You always got the girls.”

“Hope I didn’t have a smart mouth.” Fair still watched fix-edly as they struggled with the body.

“You were a good guy. Still are,” Market said. He leaned against the car with Rick, as he couldn’t stop shaking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel dizzy.”

“The shock of it.” Rick patted Market on the back. “No one expects to come to work in the morning and find a dead body in the garbage.”

“If I’d kept those old garbage cans it wouldn’t have happened,” Market moaned. “That will teach me to leave well enough alone.”

“Until they scattered all over the alleyway again,” Fair reminded him. “You did the right thing. Someone took advantage of it, that’s all.”

“Someone who doesn’t much care about how they dispose of bodies. Two men, same age, same high-school class, shot between the eyes and left for the world to see. There’s a message here.”
Mrs. Murphy walked over the back window, careful not to smear paw prints on it.
“Like those stupid mailings. I think the message will get more clear in time.”

“Both senior superlatives, too.”
Pewter backed down the tree to join her friend.
“That’s odd.”

“Mom’s a senior superlative.”
Tucker barked so loud she distracted one of the rescue-squad men and he tripped, then righted himself.

“We know,”
the cats said. Then Murphy continued,
“But so far the murdered are handsome men, well-off. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m not panicking,”
the dog grumbled,
“only observing.”

“They say that when someone dies their features relax.”
Pewter walked toward the post office, her friends walking with her.
“But Leo Burkey looked surprised, like a bear had jumped out at him, like something totally out of the blue had shocked him.”

“We didn’t see Charlie but it’s a sure bet he was surprised, too.”
Tucker pushed through the animal door into the post office.

Mrs. Murphy sat in front of the door, irritating Tucker who stuck her head back through to see where the cats were.
“There’s human intelligence to this. That’s the trick, you see. Killers often start from an irrational premise and then are completely rational and logical when they act.”