Whisker of Evil

by Rita Mae Brown

  Big Mim cast her eyes down the table. Everyone had finished the main course, a pork tenderloin lightly brushed with a chutney. Fresh, large white asparagus and wild rice filled out the plate. Of course, she always had fresh breads, including corn bread. Couldn’t have a Virginia dinner without corn bread or spoon bread.

  Jim said, “Honey, just bring in the cherry cheesecake and put it in front of Tally. She’ll eat the whole thing.”

  “I will. I’ll drink what you put in front of me, too.”

  Big Mim tried to keep her aunt on sherry this evening. A crisp white wine during dinner was acceptable, too. If Aunt Tally got her hands on the clear spirits like gin or vodka, she became more animated than usual.

  The rules of dining had relaxed considerably since Big Mim’s youth. Not that Aunt Tally approved of any of this, but she adored company, so if one no longer dressed as was once proper, she’d pay that price.

  The cheesecake, rich and covered with the most delicious cherries, met with approval. Even Miranda, who had been very careful about her diet, couldn’t resist.

  After dinner, the small gathering repaired to the lovely back lawn, where small tables and chairs had been set up for this purpose. A portable bar was also there, along with a humidor of cigars: Cohiba, Tito, Macanudo, Romeo y Julieta, and Diplomatico.

  Herb, eyes half closed with intense pleasure, puffed on a Tito. “This is new to me.”

  Tavener, who couldn’t pass up an exorbitantly expensive Cohiba, said, “Perfect.”

  Jim, favoring a Diplomatico, answered Herb. “Tito. The tobacco store by Giant Food carries them. Don’t know if the tobacco shop in Barracks Road has them. I’ll have to check. Quite a good smoke, isn’t it?”

  “And I imagine expensive?” Herb admired the dark wrapper leaves on the Tito.

  “Eight dollars and forty cents. Granted, that’s not your White Owl”—he mentioned a very cheap cigar but a consistent one in that you always knew what you’d be getting—“but when you think of the inflated cost of these contraband Cuban cigars, the Tito is good. I think it’s a spectacular cigar, myself.”

  Blair, not really a cigar smoker, bravely puffed away on a mild Macanudo and said, “How much is a Cuban cigar?”

  “Depends on the size.” Tavener held out the Cohiba with the distinctive yellow, white, and black band. “Depends on your source. Hazarding a guess, this cigar probably runs between seventy-five and one hundred dollars.”

  “That bad?” Fair had selected a Diplomatico, a cigar with an enticing flavor and also a Cuban.

  “Well, I have my sources, which I will never ever tell, but I pay a little less,” Jim responded. “Now, off the record, since I’m an elected official, this damned embargo is a crock. Hell, even when the embargo was first enacted, Jack Kennedy was sitting up there in the White House smoking Cuban cigars. For one thing I don’t like paying way more than something is worth, and for another thing I don’t like breaking the law.”

  “The same argument could be used for legalizing drugs,” Tavener said.

  “It could.” Big Jim exhaled a tongue of blue smoke. “Can’t enforce the law, so what good is it?”

  “Meaning you can’t control human behavior.” Herb watched the women walking among Big Mim’s roses.

  “Precisely,” Tavener replied.

  “Sets me to thinking of old man Noah again.” Herb smiled at Blair, who was clearly not enjoying his too-strong cigar. “Son, put that thing down. We won’t tell.” He then returned to Noah. “The Lord put up a rainbow as a covenant and said He wouldn’t send another flood to destroy mankind again. And He knew it wouldn’t do but so much good.”

  “Meaning we were all at it soon enough.” Fair nodded.

  “Wickedness. What’s interesting about wickedness is how it differs from century to century and from culture to culture,” Herb said.

  “Killing has always been regarded as wicked unless committed during war, and even then one is only to kill the uniformed enemy.” Blair put the cigar in a big crystal ashtray.

  “Well, what about religious killing? A Muslim fanatic kills Christians. He believes he’ll go to Allah and also be rewarded with sixty or seventy virgins. I forget the number.” Herb waved his cigar.

  “One would be enough.” Tavener laughed, as did the other men.

  “All that responsibility!” Fair tapped ash into one of the large crystal ashtrays.

  “Women are a responsibility whether virgin or slightly used.” Tavener noticed the last rays of the sun washing the stable and outbuildings. “A woman can send you to heaven or consign you to hell.”

  “I wouldn’t trade one minute of my life with my wife.” Herb said this with feeling. His wife had succumbed to cancer a few years ago.

  “I agree. I could kill Mim sometimes, but she made a man out of me,” Jim said.

  “Maybe you’ll find someone again, Herb,” Fair simply stated.

  “Maybe,” Herb said noncommittally. “But I think Blair’s—well, Blair, you tell us.”

  The men focused on the handsome model.

  He stammered a moment, then surprised even himself with his firm reply. “Any man who could spend a lifetime with Little Mim would be a lucky man.” He call Marilyn by her nickname, as did everyone.

  “Indeed.” Fair seconded this, as did the other men.

  “She’s spoiled.” Her father smiled. “My fault.”

  “It’s hard not to spoil a daughter.” Bill Langston shrugged. “Just an observation. Hope I have a daughter someday.”

  “I’ll do my best to spoil Marilyn even more.” Blair smiled, a genuine one.

  As Blair had not yet asked for Marilyn’s hand in marriage, this declaration surely meant the time would be forthcoming.

  Fair stepped in to save Blair an embarrassing question in case one of the gentlemen forgot himself. “You know I feel the same way about Harry. I sinned. I repented. I need you all to help me win her back, all the way back.”

  “Ah.” Herb again closed his eyes from the pleasure of his cigar, then opened them wide. “The way to win back your ex-wife is to work with her on the farm. Other women are wooed by words and flowers, but Harry is wooed by work and, well, I suppose a few flowers wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Do you really think so?” asked Bill Langston, new to the community as Hayden McIntire’s new partner in family practice.

  “Known her since she was born.” Herb nodded.

  “As have I,” Jim said.

  “And I.” Tavener nodded, as well.

  “Herb’s right. Work is the way to Harry’s heart.”

  “I think I knew that.” Fair, too, noticed the incredibly beautiful gold and scarlet light. “But I’m working morning, noon, and night.”

  “It’s time for you to take a business partner. I mean that.” Jim held up his hand to silence Fair, who had started to speak. “The money. I know. And for the first year you will make less money, perhaps. But, Fair, you’re killing yourself. If you took on one or two partners you could expand your practice beyond equine reproduction. All these new people that we’ve been talking about at dinner come here and, what’s the first thing they want, a horse. There are only so many vets to go around, and you and Tavener are so specialized and at the top of your professions that you’re going to miss the wave. What do you think, Tav?”

  “You’re one hundred percent right. I’m close to retirement or I’d follow your advice.”

  “I’ve heard the retirement speech before.” Fair smiled.

  “Well, I mean it.” Tavener reached for his glass of port.

  “Fair, come talk to me,” Jim advised.

  “I will.”

  Jim stood up as the ladies were walking toward them. “Ladies, we need some uplift here.”

  Tally sassed, “Buy a bra.”

  Big Mim rolled her eyes as everyone giggled.

  “Does he ever rest?” Tazio asked Big Mim, as she watched Paul de Silva walk out into a paddock to check on a mare and foal.

  “My beloved n
iece is a slave driver.” Tally said this without a scrap of self-consciousness.

  “We’re here!” all the dogs shouted as they raced around the lawn.

  “I am not a slave driver. Paul loves his work.” Big Mim turned to Tazio. “Would you be interested in designing a stable, or is that too small a commission?”

  “I’d love to work with you,” Tazio replied. “I need to study equine behavior, though. I’m not a horsewoman.”

  “Well, that’s fine.” Big Mim smiled.

  “I’ll walk you down to Paul. Why not start right now? I know some of what Mother wants, and Paul knows the rest.” Little Mim was anxious to escape her mother’s grasp.

  Brinkley happily tagged along with Tazio, his sun and moon.

  Herb winked at Harry, which meant he had something to tell her and would at the first opportunity. He wanted to tell her what Blair had said. Perhaps the old farm could be purchased from Blair.

  A few moments passed, then they heard one shot from behind the stables. The dogs started barking.

  “Tucker, stay here,” Harry commanded.

  “I will, but I think you’re being mean.” Tucker resigned herself.

  Little Mim and Tazio hurried up over the pastures and onto the lawn, Brinkley running alongside.

  “Fair and Tavener, we need you!” Little Mim was flushed.

  “What’s going on?” Big Mim stood up.

  Tazio breathlessly replied, “Paul shot a raccoon. He thinks it was rabid.”

  15

  Fair had taken charge of the carcass, immediately returning to his clinic, where he removed the head and packed it in a plastic container of dry ice to ship out to Richmond in the morning. Then he called the home of the state veterinarian, a man he liked, Dr. Bruce Akey, informing him the raccoon head would be arriving tomorrow afternoon.

  All that was needed was the head, since only brain tissue would be tested. But to satisfy himself, Fair pulled blood. As he hadn’t observed the raccoon, he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. The animal could have been suffering from other maladies. Distemper can also produce strange behavior before the suffering creature dies. An animal becomes disoriented or, in the case of a wild animal, lethargic, no longer frightened of humans.

  Harry, latex gloves on, had been in the operating room with her ex. She hung up her lab coat while Fair was on the phone with Bruce.

  She walked into the office as he hung up. “Well, it will be all over Crozet by the morning that we have a rabies epidemic, whether we do or don’t.”

  “I know.” He glanced down at Tucker, whose metallic rabies tag was fastened to her rolled leather collar. “What do you think, Sugar?”

  “Glad I’ve got my vaccination.”

  “Think we could be seeing a surge in the disease?” Harry asked.

  “We could. My experience is, rabies goes in cycles coming down from the north. Starts in Canada, moves into New York State, and about three years later it’s here.”

  “Guess there’s nothing the Canadian government can do about it with all that wildlife.”

  “And think how long our border is with Canada.” Fair stooped down to scratch Tucker’s ears. “Even if you put a ranger every hundred yards, the animals would still run through them. No, the only answer is a pill form of the vaccine.”

  “How do you know wild animals will take their pills?”

  “If we had access to a pill and could afford it, we could put out thousands and thousands of pills in the various foods.” He thought some more. “Corn; so many animals eat corn. And for the obligate carnivores I suppose we could grind up hamburger. It’s a start.”

  “You always have good ideas.” She smiled up at him, then checked her watch, an old Bulova that had been her father’s. “Later than I think!”

  “Remember how your mother used to say that time moved faster as she got older? It’s the truth.”

  “I know. Kind of scares me.”

  He walked her out to her old 1978 truck, Tucker bringing up the rear. He opened the door, lifted up Tucker, then kissed Harry on the cheek. “Jim said something to me. Said I ought to take one or even two partners. I suppose I should, but I like running my own ship.”

  “You’d still run your own ship, but there’d be more money and more paperwork.”

  “And more personalities. All I have to worry about now is Alma.” He mentioned his new secretary, as his former one had retired.

  “Jim’s right. First of all, honey, you’d be doing the hiring, and you’re a good judge of character.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “I guess it’s kind of like marriage: You don’t really know somebody until you live with them, but, still, you’d get a good sense of them and you could build in a trial period for both of you. And the other thing is, you aren’t forty yet but we’re both kind of closing in.”

  “I know.” He smiled weakly. “Just a number.”

  “It is, but everyone sure makes a big damned deal out of it. If you had partners, the practice could expand and you’d make more money and hopefully have a little more time for yourself.”

  “Which I would like to spend with you.”

  She climbed into the truck, closed the door, then leaned out the open window to give him a kiss on the cheek. “If you’re lucky.”

  16

  Morning, ladies,” Rob Collier sang out as he tossed up two large canvas mail sacks in the back. “Thursday and heating up!”

  “Morning. I didn’t hear you drive up.” Miranda, who lived across the alleyway, usually heard the big mail truck when it rumbled to the back door.

  She felt she had the perfect life, for all she had to do was walk through her garden, cross the gravel alleyway, and unlock the back door. She incurred no commuting costs, and the walk wasn’t far enough to wear out shoe leather.

  Harry, on the other hand, drove in from her farm at the base of Yellow Mountain, or, if the weather permitted, she might walk the four miles in just for the delight of it. This morning she drove.

  “Any news from the other P.O.s?” Miranda asked.

  “Page’s Store closed in Batesville, but the P.O. still rents space there.”

  “Page’s Store? Why, that’s been open since 1913.” Miranda gasped, for she enjoyed the store and the whole Page family.

  “I know, but time’s a movin’ on. Time flies like an arrow,” Rob said.

  “And fruit flies like a banana,” Harry said.

  Both Miranda and Rob laughed and shook their heads.

  “Mom’s in one of her Looney Tunes moods.” Tucker smiled.

  Rob, never one to turn a deaf ear to gossip, announced, “I heard that Dr. Langston told Sugar and Carmen, too, to come in and get tested for rabies.”

  Harry, who thought she worked at the nerve center of Crozet, betrayed a flash of irritation. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Sister-in-law. Her best friend works in Dr. Langston’s office.” He enjoyed his scoop. “And Sugar said, ‘The hell with it. He’d be too damned late to do anything.’ But I reckon Carmen will go. She’ll have to emote over it for a time.”

  “Rob.” Miranda had to stifle a laugh so her voice didn’t truly carry censure.

  “Carmen is all over the map.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I tell you, that girl is nine miles of bad road. She will get a man in trouble.”

  “Rob, I thought most girls could get a man in trouble—especially you.” Harry raised an eyebrow.

  “I wish.” He winked and left, the rumble of the big mail truck audible even inside the building.

  At eleven the tall, genial Pug Harper stopped by.

  Miranda leaned over the counter when the county’s postmaster came through the front door. “Mr. Postmaster, what can we do for you, or is this an inspection?”

  Harry gathered up white rigid-plastic mail cartons into which she had folded the large mail sacks and placed them back on the floor, the wooden boards polished smooth from use. “Pug, how are you?”

  “Just fine. And no,
Miranda, this isn’t an inspection. Crozet’s post office is one of the best run in the county. Make that the state.” He beamed.

  Pewter, half asleep in a canvas mail cart, opened one eye. “Laying it on thick.”

  Mrs. Murphy, stretched out next to her, replied, “Wonder what’s up.”

  Pug noticed the lump in the bottom of the mail cart sway ever so slightly. “Your coworkers are asleep on the job.”

  Tucker, dead to the world under the cart, didn’t even lift her head.

  “They sorted mail this morning at seven-thirty. You have no idea how productive they are.” Harry laughed.

  “And you know, Pug, they have an unerring sense of which letters are bills and which are for real.” Miranda walked to the small table in the rear and picked up a dish covered with a dish towel, returning to the front counter. She lifted up the corner of the dish towel. “Blueberry muffins and oatmeal cookies.”

  “Oh, my.” He patted his stomach, bulging somewhat, then gave in, reaching for a blueberry muffin.

  As he polished off the muffin, they chitchatted.

  BoomBoom sailed in. “Pug, what happened? You couldn’t stand the main post office any longer?”

  “I like to come where the women are beautiful.” He winked.

  “Here we are. The Three Fates.” BoomBoom leaned against the counter as both Harry and Miranda leaned forward so they were a picture.

  “I need my sunglasses,” Pug joked.

  BoomBoom retrieved her mail from the brass box. “Girls, guess what?”

  “You won the lottery,” Harry responded.

  “No. Bill Langston asked me to play golf with him Friday morning.”

  “No grass under your feet.”

  BoomBoom shrugged. “I’ll let you know what I think after eighteen holes. Bye.” She blew kisses and left.

  Pug’s eyes followed her out the front door. He scanned the small parking lot. “Ladies, I’m actually here to tell you we are going to build a new post office right across the street. It’s official.” He pointed out the door, which had a large window in it.