Sour Puss (12 page)

“Who is the mare?”

“Party Girl. Remember when you were a kid, Mary Pat imported that gorgeous Irish mare, Peat’s Girl? She wanted to hunt her, but the mare met with an accident in the pasture, fractured her cannon bone. Not the whole way, more of a splint. Anyway, Mary Pat didn’t want to pound on her even after she healed, so she turned her into a broodmare. This is the fourth generation.”

Harry was impressed. “Why don’t you hunt her?”

“Well, she was never made.” Alicia used the term “made,” which meant she was never trained. “And I haven’t been back long enough to sort all this out. So I thought I’d breed her and hunt this fall something already made. Of course, when I go looking, the price will triple.”

“Let me handle that,” Harry offered.

“I will. You’re charged with finding me a bold field hunter who is also stunning. I hate pedaling to the jumps. Give me a forward horse. And if you want to work with any three- or four-year-olds, let me know.”

“I’ll do it.” Harry smiled, for she loved these kinds of challenges. As they walked back toward the stables and a hot cup of tea, Harry remarked, “Toby’s one brick shy of a load.”

“Certainly seems to be the case.”

“Alicia, Toby must have indigestion from all the shoe leather he’s eaten.”

Alicia laughed her silvery laugh. “From putting his foot in his mouth.”

Harry opened the stable door; the sunlight glinted off her wedding band. She smiled. “Will you speak to Rick?”

“I will, but I expect our sheriff knows Toby is suffering from some kind of mental distress.” Alicia headed back to the large office to make a hot pot of tea.

“Why was Arch here?” Harry sat at the coffee table.

Alicia answered, “Toby wanted a witness who isn’t a friend but not an enemy. That’s how he phrased it. Very odd.”

“It was good of Arch to come.”

“I expect Arch knows Toby is falling apart. His presence did somewhat calm Toby.” She paused, her beautiful face delightful to behold. “How is it having Arch in Crozet?”

Harry, relaxed with Alicia, told her, “It was funny. He showed up two weeks before my wedding. No one knew he’d made a deal with Rollie. Why would we? He was on the other side of the country and wasn’t in touch with anyone in Crozet—the old gang, I mean.

“Mim knew first, of course. She called me. Then I called Susan.” Harry shrugged. “It didn’t seem like a big deal to me.”

Alicia smiled. “Good, but I bet Susan wanted amplification.”

Harry waved her hand. “Girl talk. Susan loves it. I can’t stand it. Funny, she’s my best friend. We’re so different.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re best friends.”

“Could be. Fair asked me last night if Arch’s return changed anything. Why?” Now Harry threw up both her hands.

“Harry, for a smart woman you can be dumb.” This was said with good humor.

“I know.” She did, too. “I told him I had fun while it lasted but that was then and this is now. I didn’t bring up BoomBoom. We’d been all through that.” Harry stopped, gulped. “Did I put my foot in it?”

“Of course not. No one comes into your life without a history.”

“Whew.”

“And Fair is divinely attractive.” Alicia’s eyes danced.

“BoomBoom, too. She’s so . . . uh, womanly. I never felt I measured up. I used to wonder if I was really a woman.”

“Harry.” Alicia was surprised.

“Well, I’m not very feminine.”

“Of course you are. You’re outdoorsy. Natural.” Alicia sipped more tea, then thoughtfully added, “Feminine and masculine are social constructs. Male and female are physical reality. As long as a person frets over whether or not they are feminine enough or masculine enough, they’ll always be someone’s victim.”

“What do you mean?”

“An insecure person looks for another person or an organization to affirm them. My business,” Alicia referred to her acting career, “is full of gorgeous people who really don’t believe in themselves deep down.”

“You did.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had the great advantage of country life as a young person. I was grounded, literally. And I had Mary Pat to guide me at a critical time in my life.” She leaned forward. “Harry, I don’t think of myself as especially feminine, despite my public persona. And I don’t care. I’m happy within. If the world sees me as a middle-aged sex bomb,” she laughed uproariously, “that’s their problem.”

“Alicia, I wish I were more like you.”

“Harry, be more like
you
.” Alicia reached over and touched her hand. “There’s only one Harry Haristeen. Be that wonderful person.”

When Harry finally drove back through St. James, she thought of something her mother used to say to her when she didn’t immediately accomplish what she wanted. “God’s delay isn’t God’s denial.”

“Hmm.” She grunted to herself. She’d lived long enough to know that friends and even strangers give one marvelous gifts and insights quite unexpectedly.

“Is she going to hum? I hope not.”
Pewter shifted in her seat.

“You know, kids, I miss my mother,” Harry said with deep feeling.

19

T
ick.”
Pewter maliciously stuck one claw into Tucker’s fur.

“Ouch.”
The dog felt the point dig under her skin.

“See.”
Pewter flicked the offending insect onto the kitchen floor, where she gleefully speared it as the blackish red goo oozed out.

“Thought Fair put that stuff on your neck.”
Mrs. Murphy, like all cats, could rid herself of ticks more easily than a dog.

Fleas were another story.

“Washed off when we were caught in the thunderstorm.”
Tucker hated ticks.
“He put it on the first of the month, which was only the day before.”

“But it’s still coolish and damp. They love that. You’ll be infested if you go into the wrong places.”
Mrs. Murphy worried about her buddy.

“Yeah, like the world.”
Pewter stabbed the tick a second time.

“That’s a happy thought,”
Tucker grumbled.

“What about that gun in Toby’s truck? No happy thought there?”
Mrs. Murphy asked the corgi, whom she and Pewter had informed of the P95PR.

“I’m surprised Harry didn’t jump the gun, forgive the pun, and assume he was going to shoot Hy—or himself maybe. She’s still reading about things that can attack her grapes. She’s occupied and no danger to herself,”
Tucker replied.

Harry, in the kitchen, stepped on the bleeding tick and slid. “What the—” She looked down. “The scourge of the earth.”

“Tucker had the tick. Probably carrying Lyme disease.”
Pewter was a font of optimism.

“Shut up.”
The corgi flattened her ears.

“I’m terrified. I’m so scared I might widdle,”
Pewter said.

“You only do that on the way to the vet’s office,”
Tucker fired back.

“I do not,”
Pewter huffed.

“I’m amazed none of us did when we ran into the bear’s cave.”
Mrs. Murphy thanked her stars the mother had a full belly and was nursing contentedly.

“We were lucky. But like she said, she’d rather eat berries, honey, and sweets. Likes grubs, too. How can any animal eat a fat white grub?”
Pewter grimaced.

“Chickens love them.”
Tucker liked chickens, although their clucking could get on her nerves.

“Wonder if Harry will get more chickens? That last hen was Methuselah’s chicken. I bet she was the oldest Rhode Island Red in the world.”
Pewter fondly recalled the ancient bird who cackled with delight to the last day of her uneventful life.

“When Harry puts straw in the chicken coop we can bet on more chickens.”
Tucker watched Harry wipe up the tick goo.

“All right, you all, I’m going to warm up Miranda’s corn bread. Wish we hadn’t missed her.”

Miranda Hogendobber had driven by when Harry was at St. James. Finding no one home, she placed a large tin of corn bread on the screened-in porch with a note.

“Susan!”
Tucker barked as she heard Susan’s Audi station wagon turn off the state road onto the farm road.

Harry checked the old railroad clock on the wall, knew it was too early for Fair, but put up coffee since someone was coming. She trusted Tucker.

Within minutes Susan burst through the door, tulips in a pot. “Can you believe the color?”

Harry inspected the yellow tulips with deep red throats, red lines fanning out to the end of the petals. “They’re incredible.”

“My garden,” Susan boasted. “For you.”

“Thanks.” Harry kissed her on the cheek. “Coffee, tea, Co-Cola, what?”

“Fresh coffee.”

“Still percolating.”

“I could use it. If it’s not coffee, then it’s my hot chocolate.”

“You’ll like this coffee. It’s Javatra from Shenandoah Joe’s.”

“What are you having?”

“Co-Cola. Want some corn bread?”

“Well . . .” Susan wavered.

“Miranda’s corn bread.”

“Yes,” came the decisive reply.

As the two stayed there happily slapping on butter and jam, drinking their beverages, the cats leapt up to sit in the window by the sink. Tucker repaired to her bed.

“I’ve been riding All’s Fair.” Harry mentioned the four-year-old gelding by Fred Astaire that Fair had given her as a yearling. “He did very well last year just walking along. I like to bring them along slowly, but he’s got such a good mind.”

“That was a wonderful present from your husband. I forget how old Tomahawk and Gin Fizz are getting.”

“I forget how old I’m getting.”

“Don’t push it. We aren’t forty yet.”

“We aren’t far, honeypie.”

“Say, I came by to tell you that wine people are lunatics. Are you sure you want to grow those Peti-whatever out there?”

“What happened now?”

“Tanking up at the Amoco—”

Harry interrupted, something she rarely did. “Did you refinance your house?”

“Ha.” Susan laughed drily. “Prices are so high that Ned and I talked the other night to see if we could get by with one vehicle and we just can’t. Those trips to Richmond he takes devour the budget. He sold the BMW by the way, in Richmond, of course.” She paused. “Filling the wagon. I hear these voices. Hy and Arch. Not angry but increasing in volume. Hy was worked up because Toby, I don’t know when, sounded very recent, had been ugly to Fiona on the phone.”

“Toby’s really losing it,” Harry interjected.

“Arch was telling Hy that Toby’s gone to pieces over this Forland thing and to let him be. Hy said that Toby’s rude and irresponsible, and everybody lets him get away with it. He’s not going to put up with him. When Hy called to explain why Concho was on Toby’s property, Toby blew up. Then he called back and blew up at Fiona. Hy’s version, anyway, and Hy said we all needed to slap Toby down hard.”

“What did Arch say?”

“He kept trying to soften Hy. I mean, it wasn’t an argument. More that they didn’t see eye to eye. Arch said he didn’t much cotton to Toby, either, but there was no point in making a bad situation worse.”

The phone rang. “Drat.” Harry rose to pick up the old wall phone. “Hello. Hi, honey, where are you?”

“I’m on my way to Toby Pittman’s,” Fair replied. “I hope it won’t be too long and then I’ll be right home.”

“What’s going on over there?”

“His donkey, Jed, cut his hind leg. Toby sounds hysterical. Probably stitch him right up and be on my way.”

“Susan says hello. Hurry home.”

“I will.”

She hung up the phone and relayed the information to Susan.

“Sure hope Fair isn’t treated to one of Toby’s lectures.”

“I heard the one about Andrew Estave the other day.”

“Andrew who?”

“Andrew Estave was hired by the Virginia Assembly in 1769 as winemaker and viticulturist for the colony. Virginians grew our first grapes in 1609, but we had a mess of problems. Anyway, over comes the Frenchman and he couldn’t get the European grapes to do diddly, but he came to an important conclusion, which was that Virginians needed to use native grapes.”

“Then what?”

“With Toby or with grapes?”

“Grapes,” Susan laughed.

“Jefferson, the man of a million interests, brought over Philip Mazzei, an Italian wine merchant, and he was doing okay but the Revolution wrecked everything. Tell you what, when Toby gets wound up on this stuff, you can’t tone him down. You should have heard him today at Alicia’s. He accused Hy of trying to destroy everyone’s crop. He accused him of killing Professor Forland!”

“What is he doing making these accusations to Alicia?”

“He wanted her to speak to Rick. He said the sheriff wouldn’t listen to him. Arch was there, too. Alicia was cool as a cuke, as you’d expect.”

“She probably witnessed major tanties in Hollywood.” Susan used tanty for tantrum.

“She rarely talks about her film career. I’d like to know what Ava Gardner was like and Glenn Ford and . . .”

“Wrong generation. She was huge in the seventies and eighties.”

“But those actors were still around. They interest me a lot more.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t rightly know.”

“I do. Better material. The studio system was still strong; they developed the actors, and the stars had better material. Also, stars didn’t have their own production companies like they do today. I mean, I realize why they do it, but usually the stuff they select is just a star turn. Boring. I don’t care how handsome or beautiful or even talented those people are; if they’re in every frame of the picture, if the supporting roles aren’t strong, I’m bored out of my head.”

“Guess that’s why we don’t go to the movies.” Harry failed to mention she had no time. “You were interested in film when we were kids. I sometimes wonder why you didn’t go into it.”

“Movie-star looks, that’s me,” Susan joked.

“You’re pretty. But I wonder why you didn’t go into some facet of the business?”

“Pregnant with Danny.”

Harry crossed one leg over the other. “Hey, we are the generation that was told we could have it all: motherhood, career, deep personal satisfaction.”

“They lied.”

The phone rang.

Harry rose. “Bet it’s more of a problem than he thought. Either that or it’s Mim or Miranda.” She looked at the clock, which read five after five. “Hello.” A long silence followed this as her shoulders stiffened and her eyes widened.

Tucker, smelling the change, the worry, crawled out of her bed to sit next to Harry.

The cats turned from the window.

Susan put down her coffee cup.

Harry then replied, “Is there anything I can do?” Another silence followed. “Honey, I can’t believe this.” More silence as she listened intently. “I promise. You come home the minute you can. I love you. Bye.” Ashen-faced, she hung up the phone.

“What?”

“Fair couldn’t find Toby at the barn. He walked out into the vineyard. He heard a truck engine start up and caught sight of Hy driving away—fast.”

Susan’s eyebrows shot upward. “And?”

“Toby’s dead. Shot a couple of times.”