Pawing Through the Past (12 page)

24

Glad to be home after an extremely upsetting day, Harry wearily pushed open the screened porch door. It didn’t squeak. She noted the hinges had been oiled. She heard pounding behind the barn.

Mrs. Hogendobber had given her freshly baked corn bread in a square pan which the older woman had thoughtfully covered with tinfoil. Harry placed the pan inside the refrigerator.

“Look!”
Pewter trilled.

Mrs. Murphy, whiskers swept forward, bounded up to Pewter in front of the refrigerator. Tucker ran over, too, her claws hitting the heart pine floorboards with clicks.

“Wow, this is a first,”
Tucker exclaimed.

Harry grinned. “Hasn’t been this full since Mom was alive.”

Milk, half-and-half, bottled water, and Dortmunder beer filled the beverage shelf. Chicken and steak, wrapped in cellophane, rested on another shelf. Fresh lettuce, collard greens, pattypan squash, and perfectly round cherry tomatoes spilled over the vegetable compartment. On the bottom shelf, neatly placed side by side, gleamed red cans of real Coca-Cola.

Stacked next to the refrigerator were a variety of cat and dog canned foods with a few small gourmet packs on top.

“A cornucopia of delight.”
Pewter flopped on her side, rolling over then rolling back in the other direction.

“He must be rich to buy so much food at once.”
Tucker admired the canned food, too.

“It is amazing.”
Murphy purred, too, excited by the sight of all those goodies.

Harry closed the door, turned to wash her hands in the sink, and noticed her yearbook and a 1950 yearbook resting on the table side by side. She opened the 1950 yearbook and saw Tracy’s name in youthful script in the upper right-hand page. Strips of paper marked her yearbook. She flipped open to each one. Tracy had marked all the photographs in which Charlie Ashcraft and Leo Burkey appeared.

She closed the book and walked outside toward the sound of the pounding.

Tracy, shirt off, replaced worn fence boards with good, pressure-treated oak boards, piled neatly in one paddock.

“Tracy, you must be a good fairy or whatever the male version is.” She smiled.

He pushed back his cowboy hat. “Oak lasts longer.”

“Please give me the bill for the wood and the groceries. Otherwise, I’ll feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“I love for women to take advantage of me.” He laughed. “Besides, you don’t know how good it feels to be doing something. Bet the post office was wild today, wasn’t it?”

She knew he’d changed the subject because he didn’t want to hear anything more about repayment. “Yes.”

“Damn fool thing. I read through your yearbook. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.”

“Dead bodies don’t bother me. Got used to that in Korea. But wanton killing, that bothers me.”

“Me, too. Can’t make rhyme or reason of this.”

“Patience.” He lifted another board, she grabbed the far end to help.

“What’s that expression, ‘Grant me patience, Lord, but hurry.’ I recall Mom saying that a lot.” She stepped to the side, nearly stepping on Tucker, who jumped sideways. “Sorry, Tucker.”

“Cutest dog.”

“Thank you.”
Tucker cocked her head at Tracy.

“Being all over the map, I couldn’t keep a dog. Li had one. Well, I guess it was mine, too, but since I was on the road so much it was really hers. Beautiful German shepherd. Smart, too. I knew as long as Bruno was with her, she was safe. You know, two weeks after Li died, Bruno closed his eyes and died, too. Granted he was old by then but I believe his heart was broken.” Tracy’s eyes clouded over.

“I couldn’t live without Mom.”
Tucker put her head on her paws.

The cats listened to this with some interest but neither one would admit to such excessive devotion. The truth was, if anything ever happened to Harry, Mrs. Murphy would be devastated and Pewter . . . well, Pewter would be discomfited.

Harry stooped down to pat Tucker’s head, since she was whining. “When I was little Mom and Dad had a German shepherd named King. Wonderful dog. He lived to be twenty-one. Back then we had cattle, polled Herefords and some horned Herefords, too, and Dad used King to bring in the cattle. Mom always had a corgi—those dogs herd as efficiently as shepherds. Someday I’d like to get another shepherd but only when I’m certain a puppy won’t upset Tucker and the kitties. They might be jealous.”

“A puppy! I’ll scratch its eyes out,”
Pewter hissed.

“No, you won’t. You’ll hop up on the table or chairs. You like babies as much as I do.”
Murphy laughed at the gray blowhard.

“No, I don’t and I don’t recall you liking puppies or kittens that much. I recall you telling those two kittens of Blair Bainbridge’s ghost stories that scared the wits out of them.”

Murphy giggled.
“They grew up into big healthy girls. Of course, we hardly see them since they spend half their life at the grooming parlor.”

Harry lifted another board. She and Tracy were getting into a rhythm. “Corgis are amazing dogs. Very brave and intelligent. Tee Tucker’s a Pembroke—no tail. The Cardigans have tails and to my eye look a little longer than the Pembrokes. Pound for pound, a corgi is a lot of dog.” She bragged a touch on the breed, a common trait among corgi owners.

“I noticed when I came out back this morning—back of Market’s, I mean—that Pewter was in a tree. She could see everything. Mrs. Murphy sat on the squad car. She, too, could see everything, as well as hear the squad radio calls. And Tucker sat just off to the side of the dumpster door. Her nose was straight in the air so she smelled everything. Miranda said it was the animals that called attention to the dumpster.”

“I did.”
Tucker puffed out her white chest.

“True, you have the best nose. I’d bet you against a bloodhound.”
Mrs. Murphy praised the dog.

“Don’t get carried away,”
Pewter dryly said to the tiger.

“Chatty, aren’t they?” Tracy pounded in nails.

“You sure notice everything.”

“That’s my training. I noticed something else, too. When they pulled the body out of the dumpster there was a stain across the seat of his pants, noticeable, like a crease. The killer sat him on the edge of the dumpster before pushing him back into it. As Leo was a big man and as the crease was pronounced, he sat there for a minute or two at the least before the killer could maneuver the body into the dumpster and close the lid. That’s what I surmise. Can’t prove a thing, of course. And I asked Miranda if she heard a car back there but her bedroom is away from the alley side of the house. She said she heard nothing. I would assume, also, that the killer was smart enough to turn off his headlights and that Leo Burkey’s car will turn up somewhere.”

Harry stepped aside as he nailed in the last of the boards. He’d also brought out the fence stain so he could stain them right away. She counted twenty-seven boards that he’d replaced.

“I’ll get another brush.” She walked to the toolshed where she kept brushes of every shape and size, all of them cleaned and hung, brush side down, on nails. Harry never threw out a paintbrush in her life. By the time she returned he’d already painted one panel.

“It’s not going to look right with some freshly painted and the others faded so I’m going to do the whole thing. Now you don’t have to work with me. After all, this was my idea, not yours.”

“I’d like to work with you. I’m so accustomed to doing the chores alone.”

“When was the last time you stained these fences?”

“Eight years ago.”

He studied the faded boards and posts. “That’s good, Harry. Usually this stuff fades out after two or three years. I pulled five gallons out of the big drum you’ve got there. I’m impressed with your practicality. Had the drum on its side on two wrought-iron supports, drove a faucet in the front just like a cask of wine. You know your stuff, kid. What is this, by the way?”

“Fence coat black. You can only buy it in one place in the U.S., Lexington Paint and Supply in Lexington, Kentucky. They ship it out in fifty-five-gallon drums. I’ve tried everything. This is the only stuff that lasts.”

“Smart girl.” He whistled as he painted, carefully, as he did everything. He was a tidy and organized man. “Is there a connecting link between the two victims?”

“Huh?”

“Leo and Charlie.”

“Well, they graduated in 1980 from Crozet High School. They were both handsome. That’s about it. They weren’t friends. I don’t think they saw one another after high school.”

“Nothing else? Did they play football together or golf or did they ever date sisters or the same woman? Were they involved in financial dealings together?”

Harry was beginning to appreciate Tracy’s ability to construct patterns, to look for the foundation under the building. “No. Charlie wasn’t much of an athlete. He thought he was but he wasn’t. Leo was much better. He played football and basketball in high school and then he played football in college, too.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Uh, Wake Forest.”

“What about Charlie?”

“He went up north. Charlie was always smart in a business way. He went to the University of Pennsylvania. Charlie had a lot of clients. He was an independent stockbroker. I don’t know if Leo was one or not, though I doubt he was.”

“Anything else?”

“They were both senior superlatives. I can’t see that as much of a connection, though. Not for murder, anyway.”

“I saw you had two superlatives.”

“I know you were Most Athletic.”

“Yep. We have that in common.” He smiled at her. “Keep a notebook handy. Has to be little so you can stick it in a pocket. When ideas occur, write them down. No matter how silly. You’d be surprised at what you know that you don’t know.”

“Interesting.”
Murphy got up and headed for the barn.

“Where are you going?”
Pewter enjoyed eavesdropping.

“Tackroom. I am determined to destroy those mice.”
She flicked her tail when she said that.

Tucker laughed. Murphy stopped, fixing the corgi with a stare, a special look employed by Southern women known as “the freeze.” Then she walked off.

“We’ll find the killer or killers before she gets one thieving mouse.”
Tucker laughed loudly.

That quick, Murphy turned, leapt over a startled Pewter, bounded in four great strides to the corgi. She flung herself upon the unsuspecting dog, rolling her over. Tucker bumped into the big paint bucket. A bit slopped out, splattering her white stomach.

“Murphy!” Harry yelled at her.

Murphy growled, spit, swatted the dog as she righted herself, then tore toward the barn, an outraged Tucker right after her. Just as Tucker closed the gap, Murphy, the picture of grace, leapt up, and the dog ran right under her. The cat twisted in midair, landed on the earth for one bound, was airborne again as she jumped onto the bumper of the red dually, then hurtled over the side into the bed. She rubbed salt into the wound by hanging over the side of the truck bed as the dog panted underneath.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Murphy,”
Tucker said between pants,
“I’ll get you for that.”

“Ha ha.”
Murphy jumped onto the dome of the cab.

The truck, parked in front of the barn entrance, gleamed in the rich late-afternoon light.

Harry laid her paintbrush on the side of the can. “Don’t you dare put paw prints on my new truck.” She advanced on the tiger, who glared insolently at her, then chased her tail on the cab hood to leave as many paw prints as possible.

Just as Harry reached the door to open it so she could step inside and gain some height to grab the little stinker, Murphy gathered herself together, hunched down, and then jumped way, way up. She just made it into the open hayloft, digging up the side with her back claws as she hung on with her front paws. Her jet stream rocked the light fixture, which looked like a big Chinaman’s hat poised over the hayloft opening.

She looked down at her audience.
“I am the Number One Animal. Don’t you forget it.”
Then she sauntered into the hayloft.

Tracy laughed so hard he doubled over. “That’s quite a cat you’ve got there, Harry.”

“Heatstroke,”
Tucker grumbled furiously.

“More like the big head,”
Pewter replied.

“I still say she won’t catch one lousy mouse.”

“Tucker, if I were you, I wouldn’t say it any too loudly. Who knows what she’ll do next?”
Pewter advised.

25

“—everybody.”

“That’s very edifying.” Rick leaned toward BoomBoom sitting opposite him in her living room. “But I’d like to hear the names from your lips.”

“Well, Leo Burkey of course, Bonnie Baltier, Denny Rablan, Chris Sharpton, Bitsy Valenzuela, Harry, Marcy Wiggins, who mostly stood around, and Susan.”

“Then what?”

She shifted in her seat, irritated at his pickiness. “Have you interviewed everyone else?”

He counted names on his notepad. “No.”

“Are you going to tell me who’s left?”

“No. Now, BoomBoom, get on with it. What did you do, and so forth.”

“We were reshooting the senior superlative which was Wittiest with Bonnie Baltier and Leo Burkey for the reunion. After we finished, everyone went to the Outback to eat. Marcy called her husband, Bill, who met her after work. They’re making a point of spending time together. And Bitsy called her husband, E.R., to invite him. He took a pass, said he was tired. Funny, he was such a quiet guy in high school. To think he’d go out and start a cellular phone company. He has no class spirit, unfortunately. Neither does Bill.”

“No tension at dinner?”

“No, because Harry went home. She doesn’t like me,” BoomBoom flatly stated. “And I have tried very hard to make amends. It’s silly to carry around emotions, negative emotions.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He reached in his pocket for the red Dunhill pack and offered her a cigarette. “Mind?”

“No. Those are expensive.”

“And good. I tried to wean myself off smoking by buying generic brands. Awful stuff.”

“I have some herbal remedies if you decide to stop again.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Anyway, nothing much happened. We all ate, told tales, bored Marcy and Chris and Bitsy, but they were gracious about it. Denny flirted with Chris. She didn’t seem to mind. Then we went home.”

“Did Leo linger with anyone in the parking lot? Talk to a waitress?”

She put her finger to her chin. “He cornered Bitsy for a minute as we left, but well, you’d have to ask her. I think they were discussing mutual friends and whether E.R. could give Leo a deal on a cell phone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you have any leads? I mean surely you’ve noticed the two victims were killed right after their senior superlative reshoot. That’s what bothers me. That and those offensive, cheap mailings!”

“Yes, we have leads.” He exhaled, then continued his questioning. “Did anyone wear L.L. Bean duck boots that night?”

“What?”

“You know, the boots that made L.L. Bean famous. We call them duck boots but I guess today that means the short rubber shoe. Short, tall, did anyone wear them?”

“No. That’s an odd question.”

“Did anyone wear heels? Not spike heels, but say about two inches.”

“Do you think I spend my time cruising people’s feet?” She laughed.

“I know you are a woman of fashion. I expect you take in everything, BoomBoom.”

“Let’s see.” She studied a spot at the left-hand corner of the ceiling. “Baltier wore white espadrilles. Susan wore navy blue flats, Pappagallo. Susan loves Pappagallo. Bitsy wore a low heel, Marcy wore sandals, Chris wore a slingback with a bit of heel. Harry wore sneakers, as you would suspect, since it’s summer.”

“Why?”

“Harry wears sneakers in the summer, Bean boots in the rain, or riding boots. Oh yes, and her favorite pair of cowboy boots. That’s the repertoire.”

“Did she wear her Bean boots?”

“No, I just said, she wore sneakers.”

He dropped his eyes to his notes. “So you did.”

“How big are the footprints?” BoomBoom asked.

He crossed his arms over his chest, uncrossed them, picked up his cigarette out of the ashtray, taking another drag. “BoomBoom, you don’t ask me questions. I ask you.”

“I hate to think of Leo like that.” Her eyes brimmed sud-denly with tears, but then it was well known BoomBoom could cry at a telephone commercial. “He was such fun. He—” She shrugged, unable to continue.

Rick waited a moment. “He was an old friend.”

“Yes,” came the quiet reply.

“Did you know he was divorcing his wife?”

“Yes.” She opened her hands, palms upward. “He told us at the Outback. I think he was upset, although Leo always made a joke about everything.”

“Will you go to the funeral?”

“Of course I’ll go.”

“It’s in Richmond, isn’t it?”

“Yes. St. Thomas. The most fashionable church in Richmond.”

“Leo from a good family?” He dropped the verb.

“Yes, but he married higher on the social ladder. His wife is a Smith. The Smiths.”

“And I don’t suppose they’ve named any of their daughters Pocahontas.”

“Uh . . .” The corners of her mouth turned upward. “No.”

“I expected you to be more upset.” He ground his cigarette into the ashtray until tiny brown strands of tobacco popped out of the butt. “You’re the emotional type.”

“I guess I’m in denial. First Charlie. Now Leo. It’s not real yet.”

“Did they ever date the same girl?”

“In high school?”

“Any time that you can recall.”

“No. Not even from grade school.”

“Can you think of anyone who hated Leo?”

“No. His wit could rip like a blade sometimes. But a true enemy? No. And I don’t think his wife hated him either. After all, divorce is such a pedestrian tragedy.”

“That’s poetic.”

“Is it?” She batted her long eyelashes at Rick, not a conventionally handsome man but a very masculine one.

He smiled back. “If you think of anything, give me a call.” He stood up to leave and she rose with him.

“Sheriff, do you think Charlie and Leo were killed by the same person or persons?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not paid by your tax dollars to jump to conclusions.”

She showed him the door and bid him good day.

Later that same day he compared notes with Cynthia Cooper. Between the two of them they had buttonholed everyone who’d been at the shoot that day. Better to catch people as soon after an incident as possible. Rick was a strong believer in that.

They’d found Leo’s car still in the parking lot at the Outback. None of the restaurant staff remembered seeing him get into another car, but they had been inside working. The small gathering of friends didn’t remember him getting into another car either.

They sat in his office drawing up a flow chart for Leo. Each person’s story confirmed what every other person said. There were no glaring omissions, no obvious contradictions.

“Boss, he could have picked someone up after the dinner and gone to wherever they went in their car. Charlottesville is a college town. There’s a semblance of night life.” Not for her. She fell between the college students and the married, which put her in the minority.

“Could have.”

“You think he knew the killer just as Charlie probably did, don’t you?”

“If he didn’t know the killer I’m convinced the killer is innocuous in some fashion. A nonthreatening person or functionary, you know, like a teacher.” He stopped. “Someone you wouldn’t look at twice in terms of physical fear. Leo could have been killed by a woman for that matter.”

“She’d have to be fairly strong to hoist him into the dumpster,” Cynthia said.

“Yes, but it could be done. The man Hunter Hughes saw go into the locker room at Farmington was thin. Average height, but as it was from a distance the man could have been shorter. Doesn’t mean it’s our killer, and it doesn’t mean the same person killed both men. But it’s odd.”

“That it is.”

“Have you talked to Charlie’s ex-wives?”

Cynthia cracked her knuckles. “Yes. Finally reached Tiffany, wife number four—don’t you love it—‘Tiffany,’ in Hawaii. Said she’d heard he was shot and she was sorry she hadn’t done it herself. When I asked for suspects she said, apart from herself, the person who hated him most when she was married to him was Larry Johnson.”

“Larry Johnson? That doesn’t make any sense.” Rick ran his hand over his balding head. “Or maybe it does.”

“Abortions. Does Larry perform abortions?”

“He’s a general practitioner, so no, he doesn’t. But he knows where the bodies are buried, as they say.” He noted the clock on the wall, five-thirty in the afternoon. “The best time to talk to Larry is in the morning. Maybe we should both make this visit. Oh, did you talk to Mim yet?”

“Yes, she’s fine as long as she knows things before anyone else does.”

“I asked BoomBoom about shoes. She remembered everybody’s shoes. Another thing: for BoomBoom she was remarkably self-possessed. No vapors. No lace hankies to the eyes and thence to the bosom. Another oddity.”

“What do you think of Tracy Raz?” Cynthia asked.

“A trained observer and a damned sharp one at that.”

“Ran a check on him. Legit. Korea. A solid Army career, Major when he mustered out and into the CIA.”

“If he hadn’t pointed out those prints in front of the dumpster before more people walked around I might have missed them. He said nothing. He motioned with his eyes and then turned to push the gawkers back. He’s a pro.” He slapped his hand on his thigh. “You know what I’m going to do?” She shook her head and he continued. “Take the wife to the movies.”

“Good for you.” She wished she had someone in her life. She’d go out with a guy but eventually her schedule and work would turn him off. “I’ll see you at Larry’s office. Seven.”

“Yep.”

He stopped at the door. “Two footprints next to each other at the dumpster isn’t much to go on. The Bean footprint is a man’s, size eight and a half or nine. The heel footprint, well, we couldn’t tell, since the toe would have been on a rock.”

“Could have been a man and woman, side by side, heaving in Leo,” Coop said. “He was a short, but stocky man. But then, some of the trash in there was heavier than cartons.”

“Some memories are heavier than others, too.” He opened the door. “I don’t think it’s coincidence that Charlie’s death came now. And now Leo.” He shrugged. “Gotta go.”