The Tail of the Tip-Off

by Rita Mae Brown

  As she matured into her late thirties, she was starting to rethink this position.

  Harry, on the other hand, had given her heart and soul to Fair. When the relationship unraveled she was devastated. It took her years to recover, although on the surface she seemed okay. Naturally, Fair’s apology and desire to win her back helped this process but she was in no hurry to return to him. She was wondering if maybe BoomBoom didn’t have the right attitude about men: use them before they use you. Yet it wasn’t really in Harry’s nature to be that way about people, and at the bottom of it she didn’t differentiate between men and women. People were people and morals didn’t come in neatly wrapped gender packages. Living an upright life was difficult for anybody. Once she realized that she did forgive Fair, she wasn’t sure she could ever be in love with him again.

  She rather hoped she would fall in love again, if not with Fair then with somebody, but somehow it didn’t seem so important as it once was. Losing Fair turned out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to her. She was forced to fall back on her own internal resources, to question conventional wisdom.

  As each party repaired to their vehicle, Miranda and Tracy Raz emerged from the gym. Tracy, freshly showered after the game, had his arm tightly wrapped around his treasure, Miranda.

  Harry waved to them. “See you tomorrow.”

  Seeing Miranda happy made her happy. She now knew that’s what love really was, joy in another person’s existence.

  She certainly took joy in Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, who greeted her as she opened the door to the 1978 Ford truck.

  “Some game, huh, Mom?” Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.

  “We heard the word ‘asshole’ quite a lot,” Pewter giggled; she’d had the giggles all day.

  “’Cause Fred Forrest is one.” Mrs. Murphy pronounced judgment. “Karma.”

  “You ate a communion wafer and you believe in karma?” Tucker feigned shock as Harry closed the door, started the engine and the heater.

  “You all are so talkative. Must have missed me.” Harry smiled.

  “We’re having a religious discussion,” Pewter answered. “Can you believe in ideas from different religions?”

  “No, that’s what Tucker’s talking about. Probably suffering a spasm of guilt after eating so many communion wafers. Dogs are such pigs.” Mrs. Murphy paused. “I said ‘karma’ because Fred Forrest will sow what he has reaped.”

  “She must be a very Holy Dog.” Pewter leaned against the corgi.

  * * *

  3

  The snow fell steadily but roads were passable the next day thanks to the new yellow snowplows the state had purchased. The major arteries had multiple plows continually pushing the snow off into ever-growing banks. Even the smaller roads like Routes 250 and 240, the main roads into Crozet, had at least one major machine keeping them clear.

  Then, too, just about everyone out in the country owned a four-wheel-drive vehicle. It was folly not to have one. Those huge gas-guzzling boats so out of place in the city were a godsend in the country.

  Rob Collier, delivering the mail sacks from the main post office on Route 29 in Charlottesville, stamped his feet. “Not bad.”

  Harry glanced up at the big clock, which read seven-thirty.

  “Hello!” Miranda breezed in through the back door. “Rob, you’re out bright and early.”

  “I always am. Hey, I hear you all may be getting a new building.”

  Miranda waved him off. “I’ve heard that since 1952.”

  “Might do it this time. You girls are getting cramped in here.” He tipped his baseball hat and left.

  “That would be nice, a bigger place to play in,” Mrs. Murphy thought.

  “Leave well enough alone. Why spend the money?” Tucker replied.

  “Because the way human government works is they have to spend the money, otherwise they’ll squander it somewhere else. Talk about stupid. Every department has its budget and the money has to be spent. Humans are crazy,” said Pewter.

  As if picking up on Pewter’s sentiment about humans being crazy, Harry pulled the mailbags back behind the mailboxes. “Did Josef tell Tracy about what happened in the parking lot?”

  “Indeed he did. What’s the matter with Fred? There’s no call for acting like that.”

  “You should have seen H.H. and Matthew when he threatened to take it out on them. And every other word out of his mouth was ‘asshole.’ I couldn’t believe it.” Harry’s voice rose.

  “Wasn’t it a good game, though?”

  “Better if we’d won.” Harry flipped up the divider in the counter between the public area and the work area. “Look at it come down. I think it’s going to be a bigger storm than the weatherman says.”

  “Have you ever noticed once we get on the other side of New Year’s the weather does change? Winter.”

  “Yeah. Well, the chores have to get done no matter what the weather. God bless the person who invented thermal underwear.”

  “It’s my feet and hands that get cold. I just hate that.” Miranda rubbed her hands together.

  The main topics of conversation for the morning were the weather and the basketball game.

  Big Mim opened the door at eleven. “I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

  She usually appeared when the doors opened in the morning.

  “No. Weather and b-ball. That’s the buzz.” Harry leaned over the counter.

  Behind her the cats slept on the chair at the small kitchen table. Tucker was curled up on her big beanbag.

  “It’s just us girls.” Mim sounded conspiratorial. “Tell me, what do you think about my daughter dating Blair?”

  “Uh,” Harry stalled.

  “It’s wonderful.” Miranda came up next to Harry. “Mim, dear, how about a cup of coffee or a hot chocolate?”

  “No, thanks. I want to run a few errands while I can get around. If this keeps up, the snow is going to outrun the snowplows.”

  “It certainly looks like it.”

  “You really think it’s a good pairing?”

  “It’s not what we think. It’s what they think,” Miranda replied.

  “But he’s a model. What kind of prospects does a man like that have now that he’s getting older? I know he makes a good living, but, well—”

  “He’s bright enough. He’ll find something to do. He’s made some shrewd investments. Remember, he’s got Tetotan Partnership.”

  “Oh, that. All those wells in western Albemarle County. Well, that may pan out for him and that may not. I’ve heard about the water table until I’m blue in the face and I’ve heard about the new reservoir being built for thirty years and it’s not built yet. Kind of like the rumors about a new post office.”

  “Oh, you heard that, too?” Harry said.

  “These rumors recur like malaria. The one thing I will say for Blair is when he first went into Tetotan he had the brains to have H. Vane Tempest for a partner and H. Vane doesn’t make too many mistakes. Of course, Blair made the mistake.”

  Mim alluded to an affair that Blair had with his former partner’s wife about three years ago.

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Harry lightheartedly replied just as Herb burst through the door.

  At one time in her life, Harry might have been censorious about an affair but she’d grown up. She realized quite literally that nobody is perfect, including herself.

  “Ladies. Oh, Harry, before I forget, quick meeting about the flooring. Won’t take long. Tomorrow night, weather permitting.”

  “Fine.”

  Pewter opened one eye. “Wonder if he found the wafers?”

  “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.” Mrs. Murphy rolled on her side.

  “Wasn’t that a contretemps in the parking lot last night?” Herb shook his head. “And Fred will get them. Remember when I extended the gardening shed next to the garage? A fourteen-by-ten building and he said it wasn’t up to code. He cost me five hundred dollars. He’s impossible. I wouldn’t give you
a nickel for H.H.’s or Matthew’s peace of mind until Fred gets over this.”

  “Or is mollified,” Big Mim sarcastically said.

  “That’s the problem. He can’t be mollified. He takes offense at any kindness. Everything is a bribe in his mind. And Matthew’s finishing up a big project and about to start another. H.H. is busy, too. There will be hell to pay, forgive the expression.” He smiled a lopsided smile.

  “There’s a game Friday. Let’s see what happens then,” Miranda said.

  “Well, that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? Intimidation.” Herb slipped the key in his brass mailbox. “He’s intimidated Josef.”

  “He won’t intimidate Tracy.” Miranda winked.

  “Fred lives and breathes women’s basketball ever since his daughter played for UVA,” Harry mentioned. “Guess she’s doing pretty good as assistant coach out at University of Missouri.”

  “He can just move to Columbia.” Miranda laughed, mentioning the location of the University of Missouri.

  “Say, anyone met Hayden McIntyre’s new partner?” Herb asked.

  “I think he flies in today.” Harry looked out the window. “Then again, he might not be here until tomorrow.”

  “That’s my guess. I bet there are people tied up in airports along the East Coast. The Right Coast.” Miranda smiled.

  “As opposed to the Left Coast.” Harry enjoyed batting ideas and phrases with Miranda.

  “Gold Coast. That’s Florida.” Herb sorted his mail.

  Big Mim opened her mailbox. Like Herb she pitched unwanted advertisements and junk mail into the wastebasket.

  “Mim, that was a three-pointer.” Herb teased her.

  As he left, Pewter whispered, “He hasn’t found it. He would have said something.”

  “We’re safe. He’ll never know it was us.” Mrs. Murphy wished she could be there when he did find the chewed-up wafer box.

  “He might not know but Mom could figure it out.” Tucker had confidence in Harry’s deductive abilities.

  “Never. She’d never believe she had pagan pets.” Mrs. Murphy laughed so loud she rolled off the chair and embarrassed herself to the hilarity of the others.

  As she was picking herself up off the floor, trying to salvage her dignity, H.H. walked in.

  “Ladies.”

  “Hi, H.H.,” they replied.

  He opened his box, took out his mail, then came to the counter, propping both elbows on it. “Miranda, I’m on the horns of a dilemma. Just can’t make up my mind.”

  The older woman came over to the other side of the counter, her dark orange sweater casting a warm light on her face. “Well, you could flip a coin.”

  “Works for me.” Harry laughed.

  He tilted his head, light streaks of gray already appearing at his temples. “This dilemma is bigger than that. It’s not so much right and wrong. I’d hope I’d choose right. It’s more like,” he paused, “right versus right.”

  “Ah yes, that is difficult.” Miranda rapped her fingertips on the counter. “‘Give thy servant therefore an understanding mind.’ ” She stopped short. “Have a better one: ‘And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord,’ Isaiah, chapter eleven, verse two.”

  “I knew you’d dispense your wisdom.”

  “Not my wisdom. The Good Book’s.”

  Harry folded an empty mail sack. “If there were a TV game show on biblical knowledge, Miranda would win.”

  “Go on.” She waved off Harry.

  “I believe she’s right.” H.H. spoke to Miranda. “I’ll reflect on what you’ve quoted.”

  “I can quote.” Harry grinned.

  “This I’ve got to hear.” H.H. squared his mail, tapping it on the counter.

  “‘Between two evils I choose the one I haven’t tried before.’ Mae West.”

  H.H. laughed as he headed for the door. “I’ll tell that to Anne.”

  “You are awful.” Miranda shook her head as the door clicked shut.

  “Hey, if you’re going to dispense virtue, I’ll dispense vice just to keep things equal.”

  “How about vice versa?” Miranda winked.

  “Touché.” Harry laughed.

  * * *

  4

  The darkness troubled Harry far more than the cold. On the winter solstice the sun set behind the mountains at four-fifteen in the afternoon. She took comfort in the fact that sunset had now inched forward to about four thirty-five. Of course, with the driving snow she couldn’t see the sun but there was always that moment on a snowy, rainy, or cloudy day when the filtered light failed and the underside of clouds turned wolf gray followed by navy blue.

  She’d finished her barn chores as another half inch of snow covered the ground. She hated to be idle; this was the perfect time to pull out everything in the odds-and-ends drawer in the kitchen. She carefully spread a newspaper on the counter, opened the drawer, gazed into the turmoil, and plucked out a tailor’s measuring tape. She reached in again. This time a fistful of rubber bands was her reward. It was fun, a real grab bag.

  Even the neatest person, and Harry came close to qualifying, had to have a junk drawer. Before she could scoop up all the pencils needing sharpening, the phone rang.

  “Hello, Joe’s Poolroom. Eightball speaking.”

  “Harry, that is so corny,” Susan replied.

  “You call your best friend corny?”

  “Someone has to. Now will you shut up? I’ve got scoop.”

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, lounging on the kitchen counter just behind the newspaper, perked up their ears. It was plenty exciting considering there were rubber bands to steal, pencils to roll onto the floor, but Harry’s alertness was promising on this snowy evening.

  “Tell.”

  “H.H. walked out on Anne.”

  “What?”

  “She’s over at Little Mim’s crying her eyes out. Cameron’s with her and being a great support to her mother.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Little Mim. She thought Anne should talk to Ned. Before Ned could get to the phone she told me everything. I could hear Anne crying. It really is awful. What an SOB. He could have waited until spring.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “It’s easier to take bad news when the weather’s good.”

  “If that’s the case then why did T. S. Eliot write ‘April is the cruelest month’?”

  “Because he’s from St. Louis. I’m sure it is there,” Susan puffed into the receiver. “Then he became more English than the English. I knew there was a reason I took all those poetry classes at school. See, you did it again. You got me off the track. I hate that.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Susan. God, apart from being a good lawyer your husband has to be a saint to put up with you. And is he talking to Anne?”

  “On the other line.”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t glued to his side trying to catch anything she might say.”

  “He’d never let me do that. You know that.” Susan’s voice registered disappointment.

  “Are you smoking?”

  “Why do you ask that?” said the woman holding a Churchill cigar in her hand.

  “I heard you puffing.”

  “Oh—well—yes. Harry, I am not going to put on weight this winter. Every damned winter I pack on five pounds and then I turned thirty-five and the next thing I knew it was seven pounds. So I am smoking this big, fat cigar. The little ones are too harsh. Big ones are smoother.”

  “Can’t you take diet pills?”

  “All they do is make you go to the bathroom. They don’t really work and the ones that do work the FDA took off the market because they damaged something, your liver. Hell, I wouldn’t take enough to damage my liver. I just don’t want the extra baggage in the winter which is then so hard to drop in the spring. Maybe that’s why April is the cruelest month. A girl starts thinking about
how she’ll look in her bathing suit.”