Sour Puss (21 page)

“Yeah, but, Harry, it was a red herring. At least that’s what I think. Once you do the research, you find out there’s no way that sharpshooters, those little stealth bombers, can live here. So a true vintner wouldn’t panic and sell out, but latecomers to making wine might.”

“The sharpshooters were brought up from farther down South.” Harry paused. “There’s no other way they could have gotten here.”

“Clever.”

“Somehow this gets back to me. I don’t know why.” Harry’s frustration mounted.

“What do you know that I don’t? Why would you be a target with three men dead, one apparently by his own hand?”

“I don’t know. You said ‘apparently.’ ”

“Forensics has a small question mark because of the nature of the powder burns. It was Hy’s gun. Registered in his name. Like I said, it’s a small question mark. We aren’t yet treating it as a suspicious death, but the coroner sent his photographs to Richmond for a second opinion.” Coop, with her window down, inhaled the fragrance of the earth.

“I keep coming back to those darned sharpshooters.”

“Okay, listen to me. There is a very good chance that in some tangential way, you are . . . involved is the wrong word, but you know what I mean. If the tactic was simply to scare another grower, it seems putting the bugs in their vineyards would make more sense. But again, you would make sure to find out what the sharpshooters were and you’d go to the right people. It’s a little more sophisticated than dumping bugs in White Vineyards, for example.”

“Maybe my peach orchard was the experiment. They didn’t want to use their vineyard or peach grove if they have one. And maybe I stumbled on it a day early. I don’t know. I’m trying to think of everything.”

“I found the stealth bomber.”
Pewter sat upright.

“You did.”
Mrs. Murphy supported Pewter, which gave the gray cat great satisfaction.

Harry and Coop batted ideas around. All it did was make them dizzy with implication. Ideas aren’t hard evidence.

After their discussion, Harry walked out into the center aisle. Movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Matilda dangling from a rafter; blacksnakes enjoy a good climb.

Matilda startled Harry for an instant. “I wish she wouldn’t do that.”

38

T
he heavy aroma of coffee from Shenandoah Joe’s curled into Fair’s nostrils. He sighed, inhaled deeply, then opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, but his boots were neatly lined up on the floor, a pillow was under his thick blond hair, and a blanket covered him.

Pewter, resting on his chest, opened her eyes when he did.
“Good morning. Breakfast!”

“Pewter, you must weigh twenty pounds.”

The gray cannonball on his chest shifted her weight.
“I do not. I have big bones.”

From the kitchen Mrs. Murphy called out,
“Ha!”

“Oh, shut up. You’re no beauty basket, either.”

“Maybe not, but at least I’m in shape.”

Tucker, patiently waiting by her ceramic food bowl, groaned.
“Not a fight before breakfast.”

“Come on, Pewts, I need to get up.”

Grumbling, switching her tail furiously, Pewter vacated her spot.

Fair sat up, rubbed his eyes, then headed for the bathroom.

By the time he walked into the kitchen, Harry had made a cheese omelette, lots of capers in it, with fresh tomato slices on the side sprinkled with olive oil and fresh parsley ground like green confetti.

“Good morning.” She smiled as she put the plate on the table along with an English muffin.

“Thanks. When did you get in?”

“Nine-thirty. You were out like a light.” She sat down to join him.

Harry wore a cotton undershirt—the kind kids called wife beaters—and thin cotton boxer undershorts. Once the worst of the winter passed, she hated to wrap up in a robe.

“I don’t remember. God, I must have been tired. I read your note on the blackboard, drank a tonic water, and sat down to read the newspaper.” He watched the cream swirl in his coffee. “How’s it going at Coop’s?”

“She was smart. She unpacked the kitchen first. Since that’s the worst job, anything after that is easy. I’ve got to remember to bring some flowers, something to make it like home.” She rose, grabbed a little notebook on the counter under the phone, and scribbled “flowers” on the page. “Can you think of a good housewarming gift?”

“Does she have a coffee grinder?”

“No. Perfect.” Triumphantly, she wrote, “Coffee grinder.”

“See how smart I am?”

“I know. You married me.” She demolished her omelette. “Horse okay?”

“Yeah. He’ll make it. I’d hoped we could haul him down to Virginia Tech, but I don’t think he would have made it; he was losing blood. We put down plastic tarps, clean, tranqed him, and he dropped on the tarp. Operated there. I don’t know if he’ll ever hunt again, but he might be able to amble on trails. He just shredded his suspensory, deep lacerations in his right shoulder. Had to stitch that up, but it’s the suspensory that’s the real issue.” He cited a ligament in the foreleg.

“Mandy will give him good care, and she’ll never part with him.” Harry named the owner, a kind woman in her fifties.

“All comes down to the owner.”

“I’ve been thinking about Jed.”

“Cuts make you think of him? He’s finally happy. He’s made friends at BoomBoom’s with the other horses.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about Jed ever since I talked to Coop yesterday, and then as we were organizing the house we talked some more.”

“I’ll bet.” Fair grinned, then rose to pour more coffee. “Want more hot water for your tea?”

“No thanks.”

“Well, what about Jed?”

“He was sound.”

“Right.”

“Why did Toby call you there?”

“I thought we talked about this.”

“We did, sort of, and you mentioned that when you had that impromptu lunch with Arch and Bo that Arch thought Toby had lost his mind.”

“Right. You said when you saw Toby at Alicia’s he was irrational,” Fair replied.

“He was. Alicia, Arch, and myself were witness to it. He wasn’t a pretty picture. But Coop says that there is a slight question mark about Hy’s suicide. The coroner sent the photos to Richmond.”

“What does that have to do with Toby?”

“Just this: what if you were set up to look like Toby’s killer? What if Hy really told the truth? He didn’t kill Toby. He panicked when he saw the body and fled. One of those things—the killer has it all planned out and something unexpected happens. Pretty much life, isn’t it? One unexpected thing after another.”

“True.” Holding his coffee cup in his hands, Fair thought. “Why me? I can’t think of anyone that mad at me.”

“I can’t, either.”

“And I don’t have anything to do with vineyards. I figure that’s the tie, the vineyards.”

“I have a quarter of an acre.”

“You do, but that’s not my business. I’ll put my back into it, but no one will ever accuse me of being a vintner.”

“Think hard.”

He did, but he couldn’t think of an enemy. He could think of people who didn’t put him high on their list but not a violent enemy.

Two hours after Fair left for the clinic, Harry worked with the babies. She’d gotten them used to halters; now she was getting them accustomed to the lead rope, with their mother’s help.

Tucker watched from the middle of the paddock, and each cat sat on a fence post.

Harry trotted with a little fellow.

She suddenly stopped. “Oh, my God, I’ve been blind as a bat!”

39

I
t’s funny how when one person realizes something, so often another person thinks of this at the same time.

Harry took the lead rope off the foal, patted the little guy, then quietly walked to the barn. Rushing about, being emotional around horses, particularly foals, upsets them. No matter what her realization, Harry was a horsewoman first.

Her cell phone, sticking out from her back pocket, irritated her. She plucked it out, holding the small device, as she opened and closed the wooden gate to the paddock. Then she sprinted for the barn, Tucker at her heels.

As they ran, they heard a big diesel engine throbbing in the driveway.

“Intruder!”
Tucker alerted Harry, who heard it, too.

“I’m not taking any chances, Tucker. We don’t know whose diesel that is. You stay in the tack room.”

Harry skidded into the center aisle, grabbed the fixed ladder to the hayloft, climbing the steps two at a time. She’d stuck the cell in her back pocket again. When she reached the top step she held the rails of the ladder, which extended three feet beyond the top foot rail. She swung onto the loft floor with such force that her cell dropped from her back pocket. She didn’t notice as she ran for the open loft doors.

Mrs. Murphy, dozing with Pewter in the tack room, awakened with a start. She leapt off the saddle blanket over the saddle, dashed out the open tack-room door, and climbed up after Harry.

Tucker sat in the center aisle, looking up.

Pewter opened one eye as she reposed on a second saddle—Fair’s, since it had a larger seat. She closed it, only to open it again as she heard the truck door slam, motor still thrumming.

Harry ran past Simon, who was playing with his curb chain, and hid behind the highest stack of hay bales as she thought about what to do. She was three hay bales down from Matilda, who did not like the thumping on the loft floor. Why couldn’t Harry walk? In the cubbyhole next to her, Matilda’s eggs jostled slightly.

Simon put down the curb chain. The cell phone captured his attention. What a wonderful toy. He scurried to fetch it, carting it back to his nest. He pulled out the antenna and inadvertently pressed buttons until the small until glowed. This was his best-ever find.

Harry flipped open her pocketknife. She always carried one, as do most country people. The blade, at four-and-a-half inches, was sharp. She was confident it was better than nothing. That was all she was confident about.

“Harry,” Arch called. When he received no answer he cut the loud motor. He noticed her truck. He walked to the back porch door and knocked. No answer. He gave the fields a cursory look, since she was usually out working or in the barn. The next stop was the barn.

When he saw Tucker he knew Harry had to be there. He checked the tack room. Checked each stall and the feed room. He wasted no energy calling for her. He now knew she knew and he knew she was hiding. Didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Arch was no genius, but he possessed ample cunning.

A call came on the cell phone. Scared Simon so bad he flipped the phone right up in the air and it hit the floor with a thud. The ringing reverberated on the wooden floor, which made Flatface open her eyes. She was even more displeased than Matilda.

Mrs. Murphy flattened herself on a hay bale to the left of Harry, who was crouching behind hay bales. Harry wished she hadn’t dropped her phone, because she would have called Coop. Too late.

Harry knew her only hope was surprise. Her heart beat so hard she thought Arch could hear it.

He swung through the top of the ladder, his work boots hitting the floor. He scanned the hayloft, then walked over and picked up the flashing cell phone. He tossed it on the floor and it skidded toward Simon, who watched with his black shining eyes. His nest faced away from Arch, but the big man walked over, his boots hitting the boards hard.

Flatface’s anger rose accordingly.

Simon, terrified, flopped on his side and played dead. Arch kicked the cell phone again as he walked past Simon toward higher stakes. Simon, still as a corpse, nevertheless opened his eyes, then twitched his nose. Relief flooded over him, since Arch couldn’t have cared less about one slightly overweight possum.

“I forgot how smart you are.” Arch walked with deliberation now. “Of course, Harry, you can’t be all that smart. You married that two-timing bastard again.”

Mrs. Murphy flattened herself as much as she could. She scarcely breathed.

Tucker frantically ran back and forth under the ladder.
“Pewter, do something! Climb the ladder.”

For all her carping and diva ways, Pewter came through in a crisis. She shot off the saddle, brushed past Tucker, and then stopped quickly.
“Stay to the side of the ladder. If he comes down, bite hard. Run circles around him and keep biting. Maximum pain.”
As Pewter hauled herself up the ladder she called over her shoulder,
“Shut up. You don’t want him to know where you are when he comes down.”

Tucker immediately stopped barking to crouch by the ladder.

Pewter just reached the top as Arch found Harry, who sprang out like a jack-in-the-box. She hit him with her shoulder low, a decent enough block. Arch reeled back two big steps, his heel squishing into Matilda’s eggs. She struck with such speed that all Harry saw was a black blur.

Matilda caught him above the right ankle, sinking her fangs in full length, then she disengaged and slithered with amazing speed to the back of the hay bales. Mrs. Murphy launched off the top of her hay bale as Arch screamed in pain. She hit his head hard, nearly slipped off, and dug her claws into his face to hang on.

Arch bent his head. Harry saw her chance and rammed her knife up under his chin as hard as she could. She stabbed him at an angle. She’d used so much force that the blade stuck in his jawbone. She couldn’t dislodge it. She stayed too close. Arch could use his long reach even with the tiger valiantly biting and scratching. He grasped Harry’s right wrist, twisting her arm. She hollered in pain.

Pewter, frantic at the sight, climbed up Arch’s leg. He didn’t bother to shake her off. Arch was fixated on killing Harry. Pewter climbed up his torso, reached his shoulder, perilously dug her claws in, and hung on as she inched down his right arm. Finally she reached his hand and bit for all she was worth. Howling, he released his grasp.

Maybe Harry should have run, but white-hot rage flooded her. She lowered her shoulder again and slammed his gut as hard as she could. This time, his leg throbbing from Matilda’s deep wound, struggling to see because of the blood running into his eyes, he hit the floor hard with his knees. But he lunged forward, closing his left hand over Harry’s ankle like a vise.

The cats leapt off as Arch went down.

Simon watched in horror. A bit of a coward, Simon’s first instinct was to withdraw deeper into his little nest. All creatures recognize their own, who cares for them, and this won over his natural timidness. Simon waddled forth as Harry slugged Arch over and over again, aiming for the exposed handle of the pocketknife so each blow caused searing pain. But he dragged her down. As he wrapped both hands around her throat, blood now pouring out of his right hand and from under his chin, she hit again, so hard that the knife snapped off at the hilt.

The cats, knowing he was strong enough to choke Harry to death despite everything, went for the eyes. When Pewter sunk her claws into his left eyeball, clear gel oozed out. She knew she’d succeeded. He’d never see out of that eye again. The pain seared. Arch had never felt such pain in his life. He let go. Harry scrambled to her feet. Four big strides and she reached her cell phone. Arch, screaming, covered his face with his hands. She prayed her cell worked, and it did. She punched the preprogrammed button to call Coop. As she did, Arch again struggled to his feet.

Wily, Harry knew she couldn’t reach the ladder, since he was between her and that escape route.

“Hello.”

“Coop. Help. I’m home.”

She said no more as he stumbled after her again with the power of someone who no longer cares whether he lives or dies.

Harry stepped back slowly, throwing the cell phone at him. The cats stepped back with her. Simon stealthily crept up behind Arch.

“Hoo hoo, hoo hoo.”
Flatface had seen enough. She stood poised at the edge of her nest, opened wide her large wings, pushing off without a sound.

By superhuman effort, Arch overcame his pain and ran for Harry again. She took two hurried steps backward, then cut left. His forward momentum and the swelling in his leg prevented him from turning as quickly as Harry. The opened doors of the loft yawned ahead, but he stopped himself just at the edge to keep from falling out.

His full stop allowed Simon to scurry up behind him and bite above his ankle. His little sharp teeth were not capable of as much damage as Matilda’s or the cats’, but those teeth still hurt. Arch gasped, then he felt a tremendous blow to the head. Flatface blasted him, talons balled tight. He tipped over, flailing to right himself, but fell out of the loft, breaking both legs as he crashed.

Harry ran to the open doors just in time to see Tucker fly out of the barn and grab Arch by the throat.

“Leave him, Tucker. Leave him.” Drenched in sweat, her wrist hurting like hell where he’d twisted her arm, Harry fought for large gulps of air.

“I’ll rip his throat out.”
The mighty little dog had felt so helpless hearing the terrible struggle in the loft.

“Tucker, no, no.” Harry fought off a moment of dizziness.

“We need a confession!”
Mrs. Murphy yelled.

The infuriated dog understood. She released his throat, but not before leaving some puncture wounds. She guarded him, ready to bite again.

“Thank the Lord, Tucker’s a corgi,”
Pewter, upset herself, blurted out.
“Smart as a cat.”

Harry sat down, putting her head between her legs. Flatface, who’d flown out of the loft doors when Arch sailed out, flew back in. She swooped low over Harry, the air from her wings refreshing, then she soared up to her perch.

“Thanks,”
Mrs. Murphy called up to her.

“My pleasure,”
she called down.
“He deserved it.”

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Simon wedged themselves next to Harry. All three licked her hands. Mrs. Murphy then stood on her hind legs to lick her face.

Arch was screaming and sobbing. The worst pain was his eye. The broken legs, the snakebite, the dog, cat, and possum bites hurt, but the blinded eye felt excruciating.

The animals heard Cooper before Harry did, but soon enough she heard the siren, then the stones flying off the squad-car tires as her friend careened down the driveway. More sirens followed.

Harry took a deep breath, wiping away her quiet tears. She wasn’t crying from fear but from gratitude. She owed her life to these little friends and to her own fierce desire to fight.

She stood up, shook her head, then knelt back down. She kissed Mrs. Murphy and Pewter. Simon couldn’t bear a human kiss, so she ran her forefinger over his head. Then she headed for the ladder. Stooping to pick up the cell phone, she thought again and put it on the floor.

“My gift, Simon. Thank you.”