Whisker of Evil

by Rita Mae Brown

  “What can you do but wait?”

  “I know, but I hope she doesn’t make another big mistake. It’s all so messy and painful.”

  “I expect that’s a working definition of life.” Alicia laughed. “Along with a lot of happiness woven throughout the mess and pain. Somehow it all works out.”

  “It has for you.”

  “Ha,” she laughed. “Once I realized I didn’t have to marry every man I slept with it became easier.”

  “I always thought you were in love with Mary Pat. She certainly was in love with you. Not that we ever spoke of those things then, but now we can. I hope—I mean, I hope I haven’t offended you.” Big Mim was genuine in her concern.

  “You have not. I did love Mary Pat and I think she loved me, but she was spoiled, as the very rich can be. Forgive me, Mim, I know you fall into the very rich category.”

  “I’ll admit I’ve been spoiled in many ways.”

  “Mary Pat had to be the center of my attention. I was much younger than she, twenty years her junior, and I suppose, truth be told, that I wanted to be the center of attention, too. Actors usually do.” She laughed. “I wanted a career. She didn’t resist that but she was diffident. And she wanted to live here, not Los Angeles.”

  “Do you ever regret putting your career first?”

  “No. Not once.”

  “What about your marriages? Wasn’t it hard to go against your basic nature?” Mim innocently asked.

  Alicia paused for a long time, the marquise diamond on her left hand catching the light. “Yes. It was, especially when I was younger. Oh, I know I could have had affairs with women. Hollywood is accused of being sin city, but that kind of behavior goes on everywhere, even here in Crozet.”

  “Amen.”

  “But you know, I took my vows seriously. Each time I married I really wanted the marriage to work. Of course, in retrospect, how could they work? I was not where I was supposed to be, too afraid to look inside and, worse, in a grueling business where one is discarded sooner or later. It has taken me until now, until my fifties, to understand who and what I really am—and to be grateful for what God has given me. And eventually I’ll find love. I hope so, anyway, and if I’m fortunate enough to find a life partner I’m not going to hide or lie about her. I’m going to be grateful and proud.”

  “In some ways I envy you. You proved yourself,” Big Mim said.

  “So have you.”

  Mim twirled her earring. “Oh, I like to meddle. I like to run the show. Turns out I’m good at it, but I never had to go out into the world. You did. I admire that.”

  “Thank you, but don’t you think, somehow, some way, we all wind up just where we are supposed to be, doing what we’re supposed to be doing?”

  Mim smiled. “If we have any brains at all, yes.”

  “Discipline,” Alicia said. “That’s the key to everything.”

  “Apparently few people have it. I think of it as a WASP virtue.”

  Alicia’s eyes widened. “I don’t. You either have it or you don’t. Being raised a WASP isn’t going to help you. Think of all the lazy sods we know who are white Anglo-Saxon Protestants.”

  “It’s funny, Alicia, but the older I get the more I wonder if I know anything, and then there’s Aunt Tally, who truly believes she could run the world.”

  “She could.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come back, for a long stay, I hope.” Big Mim meant that.

  “Mary Pat’s school ring.” Alicia inhaled. “She’s calling me back. I came back to rest, to enjoy St. James. It’s all so wonderful and restorative, but now she’s calling me back.”

  “Harry went back to Potlicker Creek. Later. She had Susan Tucker with her—you remember her, Gregory was her maiden name—and Fair Haristeen. They combed the woods and the creek bed, but after all these years they found nothing. Harry fancies herself an amateur sleuth.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything left of Mary Pat except the love she gave to all of us.”

  “I always thought someone killed her, took the horse, and shipped him off to Ireland or South America or wherever. If they’d both been killed you think we’d find one or the other. But no trace of Mary Pat or Ziggy was ever found.”

  “And I’d just left for L.A. for my first screen test the day before she disappeared. It didn’t look good, did it?”

  “No.”

  “I came back immediately, of course. The papers couldn’t accuse me of being her lover, thanks to the libel laws. And the police couldn’t accuse me of murder. No proof. But a pall hung over me. Hell. Sheer hell. As soon as I could put everything in order I left again. I was glad to go. And the gods were with me. I had a great career.” She paused. “I never could come up with a motive as to why someone would kill Mary Pat.”

  “There is one. There always is.”

  Alicia sighed. “Done is done. It seems Crozet has other problems right now.”

  22

  Sugar Thierry’s suffering ended at 4:36 P.M., Monday, June 14. Harry and Miranda received a phone call at the post office from Bill Langston.

  Miranda placed the phone in its cradle. “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” She quoted Revelation, Chapter 2, Verse 10.

  Harry looked at her. “Sugar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Poor Sugar. I don’t know if it’s a sin to pray for someone’s death, but surely it isn’t a sin to pray that he’s not in pain.”

  Miranda’s warm features relaxed. “The Good Lord hears your prayers and knows your spirit. Harry, I think everyone in Crozet has prayed for that young man.”

  Blair Bainbridge walked through the door. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Blair, Sugar just died,” Harry sorrowfully told her neighbor.

  “Good God.” Blair walked to the counter, leaning his elbows on it. “Never really had a chance, did he?”

  “I need your help.” Harry walked to the counter directly across from the gorgeous man. “Sugar’s mares will be coming to my farm. May I borrow your tractor and the posthole digger? I can keep them in the upper paddock for a week maybe, but I’ll need to fence in those back acres. I wanted to do it, anyway—just put it off because of time and money.”

  “You can have those fence posts I never used. I’ll drop them by your old shed and I’ll leave the tractor there, too.”

  “I don’t want to put you out. And you’re too generous.”

  “You’ve done plenty for me, Harry; let me do something for you—and Sugar.”

  Harry opened her mouth to protest, but Miranda said, “Harry, he’s right. You can be too self-sufficient, dear.”

  “Thank you, Miranda,” Pewter, stretched on the halfway shelf behind the postboxes, agreed.

  “Humans are funny about favors.” Tucker thought Blair was fine, but some people would hold the favor to your face ever after bestowing it upon you.

  “Humans are funny, period,” Pewter, resident cynic, said.

  Mrs. Murphy, who had been behind the post office prowling through Miranda’s garden, burst through the animal door. “Cop!”

  A loud knock on the back door was followed by an even louder knock.

  “Just a moment,” Miranda called.

  “Jerome Stoltfus. Animal control!”

  Miranda opened the door, and Jerome, all one hundred twenty pounds of him, stepped through. “Where’s that cat?”

  “She’s not here,” Mrs. Murphy called from under the mail cart.

  “I want to see her papers,” Jerome, who had a large, drooping mustache, demanded.

  “What papers?” Harry endured Jerome rather than liked him. This seemed to be the town consensus.

  “Rabies vaccination.” He folded his arms across his scrawny chest. “And I want them for the fat cat and that tailless dog, too.”

  “Who are you calling fat?” said she who was.

  “First of all, Jerome, as you can see, Tucker is wearing her rabies tag. If yo
u’ll bend down and examine it you’ll note it’s correctly dated.”

  Jerome knelt down as Tucker glanced sideways at him. Being a good girl, she did not curl her lip, but she wanted to because she didn’t like strangers reaching for her. She thought it was rude, and the corgi could never understand why so few humans bothered to learn canine manners.

  “Okay.” He stood back up. “But what about those two cats? Animals are here in a public place. Shouldn’t be here, Harry. Shouldn’t be here. Could be passing diseases. Allergies.”

  “I’ve had my animals here since I first took this job, Jerome. It’s a little late to complain.” Harry’s face reddened.

  Blair’s pleasant voice carried authority. “You know Harry takes excellent care of her pets.”

  “I want the paperwork,” Jerome spat.

  While he was laying down the law, Miranda called Martin Shulman, D.V.M. When he came on the line she quietly explained what was afoot, then handed the phone to Jerome.

  “Yes.” Jerome sounded very important.

  “Mr. Stoltfus,” Martin Shulman cleverly addressed Jerome by his last name, “I have the records for both Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, and they had their booster shots last February. Where would you like me to fax these so you need not trouble yourself to come to the clinic?”

  “Well, uh, the county office.” Jerome gave the number. “Thanks.” He hung up the phone, glared at the two cats as Mrs. Murphy joined Pewter on the ledge. “Spoiled rotten cats.”

  “Dimwit,” Pewter sassed.

  “Wienie,” Mrs. Murphy added her two cents.

  Jerome, hand on the back doorknob, turned and said, “I’m going to protest to Pug Harper about these animals. It’s not sanitary. And Blair Bainbridge, I’ll be at your farm to check your paperwork in”—he checked his digital watch—“twenty minutes, and that means the cattle, too. Harry, I want to see the paperwork on your horses.”

  “I’ll have Fair fax it to you.” Harry had written down Jerome’s office number when he gave it to Dr. Shulman.

  “You do that.” Jerome opened the door, then pointed to the animal door and said, “Got to close that up. Dangerous. Rabid animals or terrorists could use this to gain entry.” With that jump of logic he left.

  “Mr. Personality,” Blair dryly commented. “Well, I guess I have work to do.” He rapped the counter. “Harry, if you need it, you can use my adjoining pasture, the cemetery pasture. There’s plenty of water in that pasture, too, and the fencing is good. Oh—I’d keep my eye out for terrorists crawling through the animal door if I were you.”

  “Right.” Harry half-smiled, for she was doubly unhappy. She was upset about Jerome and just miserable over Sugar.

  “Bye, ladies.”

  As Blair walked outside into the sunshine, Harry gritted her teeth. “I will kill Jerome Stoltfus, that idiot!”

  “A little man with a little power is much worse than a big man with big power,” Miranda sagely noted.

  “Oh, Miranda.” Harry threw up her hands, then sat down at the small table covered in a checkered tablecloth. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?” Miranda, motherly and kind, put her arm around Harry’s shoulders.

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker hurried over to comfort Harry. Pewter walked over, but slowly. It wouldn’t do to be too obvious in her devotion.

  “I don’t know.” Harry reached for a napkin to dab her eyes.

  “Sugar is with the Lord. ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.’ Sugar is forgiven and in a better place.” She had quoted Psalm 51, First Verse. “And as for Jerome, well, he will make trouble, so the way to head him off is to draw up a petition. Ned Tucker can do that for us and have every single postal patron sign it.”

  “What?”

  “A petition that declares Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker are valuable members of our community and the post office can’t function without them.” Miranda smiled down at the three faces looking up at her. It was uncanny, but sometimes Miranda thought they understood.

  “She’s come a long way. Remember when she didn’t like cats and dogs?” Tucker recalled.

  “A lot of people are like that until they get to know us.” Mrs. Murphy rubbed against Miranda’s leg.

  “Miranda, that’s a wonderful idea.” Harry cried a little harder.

  “Now, you don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.” Miranda patted her on the back.

  “I feel like I’m slipping.” Harry wiped her eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’m stalled out and I don’t know where I’m going. I feel terrible about Sugar and Barry, too. And I’m sitting in the post office getting cussed out by Jerome Stoltfus, whose IQ hovers at his body temperature. You know?” Her voice lifted up, lilting. “And Pug Harper is going to come on down here and be nice, but it won’t be nice for us.” She reached down to stroke Tucker’s glossy head.

  “That’s why this petition is going on Pug’s desk.”

  Harry, more composed, leaned back in the chair. “Miranda, I don’t say but so much, but I know how things work. Pug will acquiesce to the petition and be all smiles. Jerome will slow down once this rabies scare is over, plus he will irritate so many people in the pursuit of his duties that Jim Sanburne will haul him on the carpet. What will happen to me is when the new post office is built, that’s when the boom will be lowered. No cats and dogs.”

  Miranda sat opposite Harry. “We can hope that won’t happen, but I think you’re right. It seems nothing is particular anymore.” She used the Virginia word for individual, special, distinctive. “New buildings mean new rules, and those rules don’t take into account people’s feelings, traditions, or ways. Americans confuse things with progress. Progress is really of the spirit. Material progress is secondary.”

  Harry lifted Mrs. Murphy onto her lap, so Pewter, not to be outdone, jumped up. “What can we do?”

  “Keep the old ways.”

  “But some of the old ways meant racial oppression, women treated as second-class citizens . . . you know.”

  Miranda nodded that, indeed, she did know. “Harry, you’re much younger than I am and you lost your parents in your early twenties, too young for that. Maybe you’ve missed out on their perspective. Perhaps I can supply a little of it. Honey, all your life things will change. You have to decide what is important to you and stick to that. I decided a long time ago, before you were born, that what was important to me was love: love of God, love of friends and family, and, of course, the love of a good man. George was a good man. Now, to someone walking down the street I probably seem like I have a little life, but it’s a full life. I don’t need all that stuff that’s advertised in magazines and on television. I still drive my Falcon and it gets me where I want to go. I have a rich, rich life. You have to decide what is important to you.”

  Harry realized she’d held her breath when Miranda was speaking. She exhaled, then inhaled. “My babies!” She meant her cats and dog. “My farm. The whole swing and sway of country life and country values. My horses. The sunrise shining on the mountains and the sunset glowing behind them. My friends. St. Luke’s. Miranda, I’m babbling.”

  “But you know what’s important.”

  “Our way of life. I guess it does come down to love. I don’t know that I’m as faithful as you are, Miranda. I have so many questions that the church doesn’t answer.”

  “Church doctrine is one thing.” Miranda belonged to the Church of the Holy Light, whereas Harry was high church, meaning she followed a liturgy, a catechism, a strict protocol. Miranda, on the other hand, didn’t have much truck with doctrine, for her spiritual experience was emotional, not intellectual. “Follow your heart.”

  “The funny thing is, I know that.”

  “We all do. We just need to be reminded.”

  “Miranda, when the new post office gets built and if Pug jams a bunch
of new rules and new people down our throats, what are you going to do?”

  “Wish them all well and dig in my garden.” Miranda stood up because Carmen Gamble walked into the post office, and she looked peaked.

  “Hello, Carmen.”

  “Poor Sugar. I feel awful for him. He was such a nice guy. I’m just shook up. I mean, I guess, well,” she stammered, “we dated a little. Nothing major. I guess I lost interest because he was too nice a guy.” Her lower lip trembled.

  Miranda flipped up the counter divider, walked over to Carmen, and put her arms around her. “I’m sorry, honey. Put your faith in the Lord.”

  Tears cascaded over Carmen’s cheeks. “I do put my faith in the Lord. I just don’t have any faith in Rick Shaw or Cynthia Cooper.”

  Harry quietly said, “Carmen, they’ll figure this out. They will.”

  Carmen sobbed as Miranda hugged her. “And I keep thinking I kissed both Barry and Sugar. I know my tests came back okay, but what if the lab made a mistake?”

  Harry, who had grilled Fair over rabies, reassured her. “You can only get rabies if the saliva enters your body from a bite, gets into the muscle tissue, and travels up your nerve highway. It takes one to three months. So the virus won’t be in the infected person’s saliva until they show the symptoms, until the virus has reached their brain. You’re fine.”

  This calmed Carmen a lot. She hugged Miranda, then walked to the counter divider. “Dr. Langston did tell me that rabies in humans is extremely rare.” She wiped her eyes. “But I wonder—I mean, I wonder about Barry most of all. He had a kind of sly streak. I used to get on him about some of his horse sales, you know? He’d say he was an entrepreneur. I said I saw it differently.”

  “How?” Harry asked, as three pairs of animal eyes focused on Carmen.

  “Whenever money passes hands, it sticks to someone’s fingers. He was doing pretty good for a guy starting his own business, and you know what else?” She paused as Harry and Miranda leaned toward her. “There was a lot he didn’t tell Sugar. He’d tell me. Bragging.”

  “Do you think he cheated Sugar?” Miranda hated this idea.

  “Not exactly. I think he made side deals and just kept them to himself. Sugar wouldn’t even think to question Barry. Sugar was, well, you know, he lived up to his name.” The tears rolled afresh.