The Big Cat Nap (11 page)

No way were oranges ready to be plucked from the trees at this time of the year. Watching the boxes roll down the conveyor belt made Harry wonder where Yancy Hampton procured fresh oranges in May. She admitted to herself that just because they were out of season in the United States didn’t mean they weren’t organically grown in South America or wherever they might have been harvested.

Still …

She watched Evan Gruber, a distant acquaintance, back a new refrigerated truck to the second large open door.

Evan waved as he caught sight of her. She waved back, then turned, retracing her steps down the alleyway. Everything she saw pointed to clean produce carefully handled. As to exactly the source of Yancy’s purchases, she had no idea, but watching his operation gave her a sense of how her own sunflower seeds and ginseng might be treated. Of course, she’d be the one unloading her produce. Why waste money having a middleman deliver it when she could do it herself? Now that she no longer ran the post office, Harry had the time.

She missed that regular paycheck. As to the benefits of being a federal employee, she doubted she’d ever see them. Harry believed there was no money in the till. Her generation would be the one to truly find out that sorry fact. Anyway, once upon a time she had known just about everything going on in Crozet.

On the bright side, now she could farm full time, her true love. And there were no bosses or rules or regulations to tell her and her animals how to get their work done.

What troubled Harry now was that she received countless mailings from the Department of Agriculture, all with long forms to fill out. The State of Virginia also sent their share of paperwork. Her attitude was, she could either spend her time filling out forms or farming, and she’d rather farm.

Watching the food being handled, she wondered what hoops Yancy had to jump through to keep his store running. While for the most part Harry trusted people, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, she didn’t trust Yancy. Maybe it was because he presented himself as so squeaky-clean.

As she reached her old truck in the parking lot, she realized she didn’t want to live without trusting others, even in the face of murder. She should be alert, pay attention to character, but she didn’t want to become a cynic, even as she knew she was living in cynical times.

To perk herself up, she drove down to Keller & George, the elegant jewelry store that had been in Charlottesville since 1875.

She pushed open the glass door. Gayle Lowe looked up, as did Bill Liebenrood.

“Hey, I came to visit my pearls,” Harry greeted them.

Bill smiled. “I bought my granddaughter her first pearls before she was one week old. You need to catch up, girl.”

Gayle walked behind the lit case wherein resided the 9mm double strand of pearls that Harry had been coveting for more than two decades. Each time the pearls would be sold, Bill would call to relay the sad news. Then in about six weeks another double strand of beauties would arrive.

“Your pearls came in today. They’re awesome,” Gayle would tease her with a phone call.

Elbows on the case, Harry lovingly stared down at her self-adornment dream. Gorgeous, quiet, those pearls reminded her of her mother’s dictum: “Wear the best that you can afford and don’t draw attention to yourself. Flash is always new money.”

Fat chance Harry would ever be new money or old money, but her mother’s urging to not show off had stuck.

Before Bill could come over to tell Harry she should just try on the pearls, the door opened.

“Harry,” Victor Gatzembizi greeted her, smiling. “I’m giving way to temptation.”

“Oh,” came her weak reply.

Bill momentarily disappeared into his small office, returning with a package. He opened a green Keller & George box, removed a necklace that could blind one, and placed it on an unfolded black velvet cloth.

Victor beamed. “Harry, come here and be my model.”

Harry walked over, looked down at the pear-shaped diamond on the platinum chain, and gasped. “Oh, my God. I’ve never seen a diamond so big.”

Bill came around from behind the counter, artfully putting the necklace on Harry. “Divine.”

Victor, hand on chin, murmured, “Even with your T-shirt, Harry, a diamond becomes you. I can’t wait to give it to my wife and see it just above her cleavage.”

Gayle, Harry, and Bill smiled without a word. Of course the diamond
would be spectacular, and of course that’s where a woman would wish it to fall, but best to keep that to yourself.

Victor wasn’t worrying about such niceties. He was so thrilled with the diamond that he became ever more expansive. “I told myself that when she reached her fortieth birthday, I would make it the best birthday of her life. ‘You’re beautiful,’ I tell her. ‘Forty is nothing.’ ” He looked again at the necklace, nodded, and Bill removed it from Harry, whose hand flew to her neck.

“For two minutes, I was a diva!” she enthused.

Bill put the diamond back in the green box. “Would you like this wrapped?”

“No. I’m going to surprise her by placing it around her neck as she puts on her makeup to go out to dinner tonight. You didn’t fail me. The diamond is a perfect pear.”

As Victor left the store with his gift, Gayle called out, “Warn her that if she wears that in the daytime she’ll cause car wrecks.”

He stopped at the door. “Gayle, she’ll stop traffic no matter what.”

As the door shut, Harry opined, “Love.”

“And money.” Bill winked. “Then again, this could be to make up for past sins.”

“Oh, Bill.” Gayle rolled her eyes in mock disgust.

“Do you all really think forty is that big a deal? I didn’t.” Bill folded his hands, resting them on the counter.

“How do you know I’m forty?” Gayle lifted a shoulder.

“Had your firstborn at five, did you?” He needled her.

Howard Hyde, the miracle jewelry repairman, pushed open the door from his workshop, heard and saw his two co-workers, smiled at Harry, and disappeared back into his workroom.

“Bill, I know you too well.” Gayle nodded toward Harry.

“Don’t let me stop you. I’m ready to hear all your sins and forgive you.” Harry loved it when her friends carried on.

Blair Bainbridge walked through the store’s front door. “Harry, is that you?” he asked.

Harry threw up her hands. “Why is everyone surprised to find me at Keller and George?”

“Uh …” Blair fumbled.

Gayle came to the rescue. “She’s out of context.”

“Right.” Blair reached in his pocket and pulled out expensive cigars. “Howard!” he called.

Howard loved a good cigar.

“He’s back there.” Gayle pointed to the door.

Before Blair walked behind the counter to open the workshop door, he handed Bill a cigar. Then he held one up for Gayle.

The blonde smiled. “No, thanks.”

Harry called to him. “Miranda wants one, according to Herb.”

“Will do.” Blair disappeared into the workroom.

“I think I’d better go before someone else comes in and is surprised to find me.”

“Your pearls will be waiting for you,” Gayle said.

Harry looked from Gayle to Bill. “How many carats is that pear diamond?”

“Eight,” Bill swiftly replied.

“At about twenty-two thousand a carat,” said Gayle. “The price of diamonds just went up.” She thought the pear-shaped diamond utter perfection.

“Oh, my God,” Harry whispered.

“And the chain was platinum.” Bill smiled. “Just about two hundred thousand, all told.”

“I feel faint. I had a two-hundred-thousand-dollar necklace on.” Harry blanched.

Bill, ever gallant, replied, “You did it justice.”

“That you did,” Gayle agreed.

“Shall we assume there are a lot of car repairs in Charlottesville?” Harry laughed as she left the store, her right hand still touching her neck.

S
itting in the modest living room, Herb bowed his head in prayer. Sitting tightly together on the sofa, Sharon and Artie Meola did likewise. The husband and wife held hands.

“Heavenly Father, grant to these thy servants the warmth of thy love. Help them through this sorrowful trial. Let them know their daughter now resides with you, secure in the bosom of heaven. In time they will be reunited with Tara in great rejoicing.

“Grant them knowledge of her spirit united with your Son. Give them peace and show all of us the way to help Sharon and Artie transform their sorrows into deeper love.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Tears spilled down his red cheeks.

Sharon sobbed. Artie put his arm around his wife of thirty-two years. He cried, as well.

Finally, Artie rasped, “Reverend, I don’t know if I will ever understand. Friends told me at the funeral, this is God’s will. How can it be God’s will to take our girl in such a horrible way?”

Tara, driving her old but sturdy Ford Explorer, was killed in a freak accident on the two-lane highway from Crozet to Whitehall. The old road contained numerous blind curves. Years ago, paving it was seen as a great victory by the state representative and by many residents. Others thought differently. Too much speed on a dirt road meant
you’d skid out, your hind end would crunch sideways. You might go off the road. Or you might dampen your speed. Rarely were there deaths, although there were sure enough cars that crashed through wooden fences and wound up in the pastures. The paved road encouraged development, which in turn encouraged more traffic at faster speeds.

According to the team investigating the fatal crash, Tara was going the speed limit. She was on her way home to Crozet, heading south from Whitehall. As she approached a curve just beyond Chuck Pinnell’s leather business—formerly a large apple shed—a deer leapt out, crashing through the driver’s side windshield. Tara swerved her Explorer into oncoming traffic—which happened to be a mighty Range Rover, flying along at ten miles over the speed limit.

By the time the rescue squad was on the scene, Tara had bled to death. The driver of the Range Rover would never be the same. His only fault was speeding, but no one could foresee such an event.

Tara, just twenty-five, brimming with promise and so very pretty, had been the Meolas’ only child.

After a half hour of talking, praying, drawing closer together, Sharon asked Herb to please have a bit of lunch with them.

Some people would have refused this, fearing to put the distraught mother to more trouble, but Herb, wise in the ways of people and especially wise in the ways of Virginia ladies, readily agreed. Preparing the meal would give Sharon something to do, something at which she excelled.

She and Artie talked the whole way through a light delicious lunch about Tara’s dreams, her dating, and what a good volleyball player she was in high school and college. It was a way to keep her with them. In time, the stories of their daughter would subside, as would the grief. The questions over God’s plan, however, would never subside.

Herb, unlike many priests, ministers, and pastors, didn’t have a ready bag of pat answers. He couldn’t understand why snatching a lovely, good girl entering the prime of her life could serve any earthly purpose.

He had seen Tara grow up. He’d taught her catechism for two
years, for which Tara evidenced little enthusiasm. She used to make him laugh and remember that when he was her age, he lacked enthusiasm for catechism, as well. When she took her first communion after the simple confirmation ceremony, she looked up at him in his vestments and he had to fight the urge to wink at her.

As Herb drove back to St. Luke’s—his Chevy running like a top after being fixed—he, too, asked God unsettling questions. The answers he received were the ones he always received: Faith. Trust. Love. He first heard that call as a young soldier in Vietnam. Back stateside, filled with dreadful memories of the horrors of combat, he entered seminary. Decades later: faith, trust, and love. Like most of us in this life, he had no assurance that his efforts truly helped anyone, but he nevertheless tried. He prayed for Tara and her parents and would continue to pray for them often.

With a heavy heart, he walked into the beautiful stone administrative building on the St. Luke’s quad. He passed his secretary, Lenore Siebert, who was about the same age as Tara. She opened her mouth, but before anything came out, Big Mim walked out of the living room, which was really a meeting room. Three cats and Miranda followed behind her.

Big Mim took his hand while Miranda took the other one. They walked him into the room, its windows wide open, and sat him down.

Big Mim took charge, as always. “Nothing can make this better, but we have something that might let the Meolas know how deeply we all care.”

Miranda handed Herb an envelope. “This is a start. Big Mim called everyone in the parish, and the two of us made the rounds.”

Big Mim smiled. “Open it.”

Inside the envelope was a check for five thousand dollars, made out to the Tara Meola Scholarship Fund.

“Girls.” Herb’s eyes filled up again.

“Each year we will raise this amount or maybe more. We will ask Sharon and Artie to select a young person entering college who they think reflects some of their daughter’s wonderful qualities.” Big Mim, not always the most sensitive of people, smiled.