Sour Puss (6 page)

“Expensive ammunition. I stick to a twenty-two for practice.”

“Yeah, but feel this in your hand.” Toby handed the gun to Arch.

Arch knew it was unloaded. Toby wasn’t stupid. “Feels balanced.” He handed it back. “I know that’s expensive.”

“Keep it right here in my truck. Never know when I’ll need it.” A puff of air escaped his lips, as the air was quite cool. “Did Forland get mad at you when you left Tech?”

“No, he understood I needed to be in the field. All he cares about is that his students make a name for themselves.”

“Big ego,” Toby flatly replied.

“He’s entitled to it.”

“Did he ever say why he didn’t give me that job?”

“Thought you’d do better out of school, I suppose.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know.”

“Bet everyone knows in Blacksburg but me. University towns create more gossip than scholars.”

“I don’t know.” Arch avoided the issue.

“You all think I’m nuts. Everyone thinks I’m like a radiator that overheats. I know that. Just because I say what I’m thinking when I’m thinking it. You all think I just boil over.” He threw his hands up like water shooting up. “Whoosh.”

“Toby, you’ll never change.” Arch kept his voice level. “Thanks for showing me the Ruger.” He started toward his truck.

“I’ll show you all. Just wait. I will make the best wine in this state and I’ll make money, too.”

Arch couldn’t resist. “Not if I do it first.”

“You try!” Toby’s face reddened. “I’m gonna beat your ass. I’ll show Professor Forland who’s the best.”

“Okay.” Arch kept walking as Toby kept making promises of greatness to come.

Early the next morning after protracted good-byes, Professor Forland drove off in his Scion car, down the long, winding driveway, all paved, and out the main gate. He turned right, passed Keelona Farm as he headed toward Carter’s Bridge. Then he simply vanished.

8

B
ullshit.” Aunt Tally sharply rapped her silver-headed cane on the Aubusson rug, which slightly muffled the curse.

The light played on Ned Tucker’s distinguished silver sideburns and temples as he bowed to the fabulously well-dressed nonagenarian perched on the sofa in Big Mim’s living room. “I agree.”

Aunt Tally used her cane topped off with the silver hound’s head for punctuation as well as to help her walk. Spry enough at her age, she did find that sometimes she wasn’t quite as sure-footed as she once was if the ground wasn’t level.

Big Mim, equally well dressed, glided over to her aunt. “Cursing again?”

“Yes. I think bullshit ever so much more forceful than shit. And if I had time I’d be more creative than bullshit, but what Ned has just told me infuriates me, so I responded immediately. Bullshit, I say, pure, unadulterated bullshit.”

The small gathering at Mim’s beautiful house, redecorated last winter by Parish-Hadley, the august interior decorating firm—“freshened,” as Mim liked to say—gravitated toward the ancient lady.

Big Mim was giving a small Saturday luncheon party in honor of Harry and Fair. The luncheon was on a par with a hunt breakfast, which is to say it was sumptuous. She’d been close friends with Harry’s mother, as had Miranda Hogendobber, who used to work with Harry at the post office. When Harry was left without either parent while studying at Smith College, both women did their best to look after her. Big Mim’s daughter, a year younger than Harry, never really forgave her mother for this diversion of attention Little Mim believed she herself deserved.

Over the years, young Marilyn managed to reach an accord with Harry. After all, it wasn’t Harry’s fault that her parents had died within months of each other. It was just that even now, Little Mim sometimes resented the bond between her mother and this poor—formerly poor, anyway—country mouse. Harry, a terrific athlete, shared foxhunting, tennis, shooting clays and skeet with Big Mim.

BoomBoom, six feet tall and gorgeous, was also a natural athlete. Woe to the man who invited her to play golf just to see her form at the top of her swing’s finish. She’d bet on each hole and clean the fellow out. BoomBoom understood the monetary value of outstanding physical attributes.

It seemed everyone was a good athlete but Little Mim. To her credit, she could ride, thanks to thousands of dollars’ worth of lessons plus her own grit. No amount of money will give one the courage to take a big fence. Little Mim took her fences without blinking an eye.

The luncheon pleased Little Mim because she was grateful her mother hadn’t gone overboard. She wanted her June wedding celebrations to overshadow anything that might be done for Harry and Fair or anyone else in the county.

Miranda and Susan walked over, flanking Ned. Jim, the host, noted whose drink needed a lift.

Also gathering around Aunt Tally were Tazio Chappars, Paul de Silva, Tracy Raz, BoomBoom, Alicia, and Hy and Fiona Maudant.

“Well, Aunt Tally, once again you’re the center of attention. Perhaps you’d like to recapitulate your conversation with Ned?” Big Mim goaded her.

“Ned, you start.” Tally leaned forward, both hands on the head of her cane.

“As some of you know, I’ve been assigned to the Ag committee. I paid a courtesy call to the chair and he told me, his exact words, ‘Ned, my boy, if you want to rise in government, don’t drive a foreign car. Get yourself a good ole American piece of junk.’ Here I thought we might discuss last year’s corn surplus—the average price came to $1.95 a bushel—and he tells me to get rid of the Audi station wagon, which isn’t my car, it’s Susan’s. I borrowed it to carry some things down to the apartment.” He looked at Aunt Tally.

“Bullshit was my reply.” Aunt Tally lifted an eyebrow.

“I guess so.” Tracy Raz laughed.

“It is, but he has a point. Appearances count for more than reality in politics. Always have and always will,” chimed in Jim, mayor of Crozet and a Democrat.

This created some friction in the family since Little Mim, a Republican, was vice-mayor. She had ambitions. Her father did not. He simply wanted to serve Crozet, for he loved the town and surrounding farms.

“I’m cooked either way, because my car is my old 1998 540i,” Ned ruefully said.

“Don’t buy another BMW. Not until they dispense with that ridiculous iDrive as well as the ugly bustle on the trunk.” BoomBoom loved cars and read four magazines dedicated to the automobile.

“Under the circumstance, I’d say driving a BMW would be political suicide.” Ned half-laughed.

“Considering that the German government has criticized our plans in the Mideast, you’re right on two counts.” Tracy Raz was a keen student of foreign affairs.

“Buy a truck,” BoomBoom advised.

“Yes, but, Boom, if you want, you can go out and buy a damned Bentley.” Ned was a little frustrated.

“I love my Bentley.” Big Mim squared her shoulders.

It should be noted that Big Mim had more money than God, whereas BoomBoom only had enough for an archangel.

“Your Bentley GT is beautiful. But you know I always had trucks because of the business and now it’s my only vehicle. I sold my Mercedes two months ago. I don’t know why I waited this long to have one set of wheels. God knows, it’s easier.” BoomBoom glanced over at Alicia, whose lavender-tinted eyes glowed, a feature the camera exploited in her long-ago film days.

“The Cadillac Escalade isn’t so bad.” Paul de Silva, in his early thirties, liked the big SUV, popular among his generation.

“He can’t drive a Cadillac. Not if he wants to go above his present station.” Aunt Tally nursed plans for Ned. “It’s all silly, I know, but if Ned is going to be our next governor, then he has to be clever about these things.”

“I thought I was going to be governor,” Little Mim blurted out.

“You are, dear, if the gods are willing, but you’re younger than Ned. Let him go first. As for all of us here, party is irrelevant. All that matters is what comes back to Crozet. Ned, I presume you want to be governor?” Big Mim asked.

“Uh—”

Susan chirped, “Have you ever known my husband to refuse a pro bono case, an honor, or more work?”

“Am I that transparent?” He was shocked.

“No.” Miranda patted his arm. “But politics is the ultimate seduction, you know. One actually believes things will be accomplished. True power comes not from an electorate. ‘I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.’ Follow that, Ned, and you will achieve what is necessary.” Miranda quoted Philippians, Chapter 3, Verse 10.

“Miranda, I thought you’d given up being a religious nut.” Aunt Tally minced few words. “And while you’re on your feet, Jim, another martini.”

“You’ve had enough.” Big Mim glared at the diminutive lady on the sofa.

“Oh, balls, Mimsy. I can’t engage in illicit affairs anymore. All the men of my generation are dead, and a young man of seventy wouldn’t give me a tumble. I can’t ride astride, so I drive that damned buggy. Who can live without horses? I can barely dance. You have no mercy. Gin is comfort. And I did not insult Miranda, because I know that’s why you are now hovering over me like a blowfly.” She pounded the cane on the rug again.

“I’ll fetch you another drink.” Little Mim maliciously smiled at her mother. She couldn’t help it.

“My beautiful girl here isn’t a religious nut, Aunt Tally, but you know how she loves the Good Book.” Tracy adored Miranda. “She has most of it memorized. How does she do it?”

“She has most of it memorized because all those years in the post office she would have lost her mind without a mental project.” Aunt Tally cast her eyes over to Harry. “And you got out while the getting was good, young lady.”

Big Mim’s springer spaniel walked into the room, discerned no food would fall on the floor as it had at the dinner table, and padded back out.

Little Mim returned with a fresh martini for Aunt Tally, and Blair, her fiancé, bore a small crystal glass filled with olives in case Aunt Tally wanted to pick at them. He’d speared them with tiny silver swords.

“We’re off track.” Alicia graciously brought them back to Ned’s dilemma. “Ned, you haven’t asked for my opinion, but given the company, I feel safe in expressing it. Buy a truck. Buy a three-quarter-ton Chevy, Ford, Dodge, doesn’t matter, whichever one appeals to you.”

“Why not a half-ton?” Harry asked. “Easier to drive and a bit cheaper to run.” Harry’s gaze rarely strayed from the bottom line, a good habit acquired from decades of living close to the bone.

“He’s on the Ag committee. A half-ton is so glamorized these days, it’s a city person’s flash vehicle.” Alicia displayed the sharp insights that had enabled her to survive the slings and arrows—or more often the knives in the back—prevalent in her former acting profession. “If he drives a three-quarter-ton, has a Reese hitch on the back, and is wired for a gooseneck, running lights, a running board, think about it, that’s a working farm truck. When he goes down to Lee County the farmer he visits sees another farmer. And in truth, now that Susan is in the nursery business and timber business, he may not exactly be a farmer but he’s married to one.”

“How smart!” BoomBoom clasped her hands together.

Aunt Tally squinted at the movie star. “You’re one hundred percent right, sweet pea.”

“Do I have to trade in the 540i?” Ned’s voice was mournful.

“No. Just don’t ride it to Richmond or thereabouts.” Fair, listening all this while, added his two cents. “And if you’ll forgive me for changing the subject, did you see in the Richmond paper where Virginia beat out California in a number of wine-tasting events? I think I got that right. Is everyone in the state going to make wine now?”

Big Mim’s eyebrows shot upward. “Jim, did you know that?”

“Darlin’ girl.” He added her pet name. “I did not. Ned, looks like you fell into the honeypot, or should I say the wine tub? You’re on the right committee at the right time.”

“Make the most of it, Ned,” Aunt Tally commanded.

“It takes so much money to start a vineyard,” BoomBoom noted. “Anywhere from twelve to eighteen thousand dollars per acre.”

“Either you have a good harvest or you don’t. Russian roulette, sort of.” Little Mim finally interjected something, her mother’s gaze having lost its sting as Big Mim accepted that Aunt Tally would have her martini one way or the other.

Ned remarked, “These new people can read all about grapes, they can realize they won’t get good yields until the fourth or fifth year, depending on the grape variety and the weather. But they aren’t country people. I don’t know that they’re tough enough. That’s why Rollie Barnes impresses me. For all his gargantuan ego, his aggressiveness, he had the sense to know he needed someone like Arch Saunders.”

A murmur of agreement filled the room.

“It’s the crazy thing about being a farmer, isn’t it?” Harry lamented. “You have a bumper crop and prices go down. You suffer through diminished harvests and prices shoot up. I know, I know, it’s supply and demand, but when Mother Nature is your business partner, nothing is certain.”

“Except uncertainty.” Alicia smiled.

They heard the front door open.

“Anybody home?” A deep, resonant voice called out.

Jim hurried to the front hall and within seconds the Reverend Herbert Jones entered the room, Lucy Fur under his arm like a loaf of bread. She didn’t much like it.

“Lucy Fur.” Harry knew people’s pets better than she knew them, really.

The extremely healthy kitty wiggled out of Herb’s arms to run to Harry, who picked her up with a grunt.

“She hasn’t missed too many meals when she was visiting at my sister’s.” Herb laughed. “Sorry I missed the lunch, but I needed to pick up the cat from Marty.” He mentioned the local vet. “Shot renewal time.”

“Let me fix you a plate, Herb.” Big Mim kept a good table.

“I would never refuse your hospitality.” He winked.

Everyone trooped back to the bright enclosed patio, which served as the luncheon site. They liked being with Herb and succumbed to the temptation of a second dessert.

Alicia, BoomBoom, and Harry summoned the strength to resist by sipping hot Constant Comment tea.

As Herb sliced his small partridge stuffed with wild rice, the fresh vegetables artfully arranged on his plate by the cook, the conversation flowed.

Lucy Fur, standing on her hind legs on the floor, raised a paw, placing it on Herb’s thigh. He cut a small piece of partridge for her, put it on a bread plate, and bent over. No one said a word, since everyone there would have done the same thing. The springer spaniel rejoined them upon hearing the plate scrape the floor.

These were animal people. The differences among them were differences of income, age, gender, and the mysteries of personality. But when it came to animals, they were as one. Every single one of them, even Tazio, new to animal ownership, cherished a deep respect for all life.

“Baseball season’s fresh as a new born babe.” Jim loved the Philadelphia Phillies. “Blair and I are going up to see this new Washington team.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see them play, too,” Fair, another baseball fan, commented.

“Orioles, now and forever.” Harry placed her hand over her heart.