“Pewts. Jump up here,” said Mrs. Murphy.
“I’m happy where I am. I smell treats in this lower drawer.”
“Come up here. It’s important.”
“She’ll open this drawer. I want to be right here,” Pewter argued.
“It’s dog treats.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t lick them.” Pewter swept her whiskers forward.
“Dammit, Pewter, get up here,” Mrs. Murphy growled.
As the tiger cat rarely swore, Pewter figured out this was important so she leapt up onto the desk as Harry ignored both of them. She was accustomed to working with feline help.
“Put your nose there, right there on the right-hand corner of the book.”
Pewter sniffed, her eyes watered. “Eww.”
“Something bad is on those pages.” Mrs. Murphy sounded firm. “We can’t let Harry open the book.”
“She can’t smell it.” Pewter took a moment, then realized what Mrs. Murphy was saying. “Poison?”
“It’s stung our eyes. We smell something bitter inside. Whatever it is, Pewts, it can’t be good.”
“Let’s push it on the floor.”
“No! Then she’ll pick it up and open it.”
Pewter backed off, as did Mrs. Murphy, putting themselves between Harry and the dinosaur book.
Harry reached for the book to page through a bit, see if there were any notes therein.
“Don’t touch it.” Mrs. Murphy batted her hand away.
“That’s enough.” Harry reached again and this time both cats swatted at her.
Leaning back in the comfortable chair, the human observed her cats. She knew, as do most people who live close to animals, that their senses prove far superior to human ones. Each time she reached for the book, she met increasingly fierce resistance. She paused, then considered she should leave the book where it was. She wasn’t sure why she did this, but she did trust her cats. A human without close ties to a higher vertebrate would think her foolish, but cat, dog, horse owners eventually learned to trust their friends. Puzzled, she closed her notebook, left the office, stopped by Felipe’s door.
“Do you know there’s a rubber spider behind Lisa’s books?”
He nodded. “Raynell told her to put it there.”
Raynell called out, “I am not an arachnophobe but I don’t want to look at spiders.”
Harry laughed. “Few of us do.”
“I know where there is a monstrous spider.”
“Pewter, they don’t care,” her friend advised.
“If they saw her they would.”
Once in her kitchen, horses still out, Harry sat down. She’d need to bring them in in an hour. Harry cheated by opening their outside barn doors and letting them run into their stalls. One is supposed to put on a halter, walk them in the center aisle, slip off the halter once the horse is in his or her stall. Granted this freedom meant a certain amount of visiting someone else’s stall to check that that horse wasn’t getting better food. Lasted all of a minute, when Harry would chide the animal, who would walk out, throw a little head toss, and go to his or her stall. This way Harry could perform the chore much more quickly and, in the bitter cold, she was happy to do so. Luckily, all her horses got along, some of the credit belonging to Harry, who knew how to introduce animals to one another. Gazing at her friends, blankets on, playing in the snow, she thought where did we go wrong? When we separated from nature? When we considered ourselves superior to other life-forms? Why were we so destructive, often cruel, killing animals, one another? Something went amiss in the human brain and she prayed it hadn’t gone amiss in her own. Then she would think of her friends, good, loving people, and she knew millions of others were also good and loving. For whatever reason those people had not made common cause whereas the brutal, the controlling, the violent had.
An odd idea followed this reverie. She lifted the receiver of the wall phone off its cradle. She got better reception with a landline.
“Cooper.”
“Yes.”
“Did you read the notes I sent you?”
“I did. You’ve spent a great deal of time and thought on the books, the file boxes, articles, little rubber dinosaurs. I admit that Lisa and Gary having so many books, articles, items in common is possibly important, but it’s still a stretch and I have no idea where to go with it. I see the common thread, but why would it lead to murder?”
“And you don’t know how Lisa was poisoned?”
“Still.”
“Do something for me.”
“Depends.”
“Go to Lisa’s office, take the dinosaur book off her desk, and test it. I was there today and…”
“Harry.”
“I know, I know, but I wanted to double-check her books and stuff against Gary’s. Anyway, I have the time, you don’t, and this isn’t the most promising path to sell to Rick. Our sheriff likes more facts up front.”
“Remember, Sheriff Shaw only has but so much manpower. He can’t send us off on a whim.”
“I do understand but please do this. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter wouldn’t allow me to touch that book. Say what you will, their senses are far better than ours.”
“Why? Tell me why. You’ve told me what the cats did, but what’s behind this?”
A long pause followed, then Harry replied. “It hit me when I left Nature First. I used to tease Lisa that she was an old lady. She’d lick her finger before turning the page of a book. I said I only ever saw old people do that. She would shoot back that pages stick together in a new book and she didn’t feel like rubbing them together or sliding a penknife between them to pop them apart. Check the book.”
Cooper didn’t argue. “Right.”
By the time the deputy reached Nature First, the book was gone. Neither Felipe nor Raynell said they took it.
She left them, walked over to Anne de Vault at Over the Moon.
“Anne, did you like Lisa Roudabush?”
“Adored her. She was a good customer and fun to chat with. Why would you ask me that? You know I liked her. We were all in shock when she died.”
“It’s not public yet but she was poisoned. We’re trying to keep our cards close to our chest.”
“Who would poison Lisa?”
“That’s why I’m here. Who would poison Lisa?”
“I can’t think of anyone who didn’t like her.”
“Let me show you something.” Cooper, a quick study, picked up a book off a display area.
“Yes?” Anne watched as Cooper opened the book, licked her finger, turned a page.
The tall deputy did this a few times when Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God!”
“I think this is what killed her.”
“Oh God. One of the books I sold her. No. No. Who would do something like that?”
“Someone who knew her very well.” Cooper then said, “Close up the store and come with me.”
“You don’t think I did this. You can’t.”
“I don’t, Anne, I don’t. But come along. You’re going to answer many questions down at HQ. You may have overlooked something that we can pick up. You have a right not to testify…”
Unnerving as being considered a suspect was, Anne understood. At police headquarters she endured the grilling because she wanted to find out who killed Lisa. Cooper drove her back to the store.
As Anne opened the door to get out of the car, Cooper said, “Thank you. I know that wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t awful, either. Be vigilant, Anne. I mean it. Whoever did this knew Lisa inside and out. Whoever did it was clever enough to use a habit to wipe her out. And now the book is missing.”
Anne, shaken by that warning, worn down by the experience, nonetheless had her wits about her. “Deputy, sometimes people can be too clever by half.”
40
May 11, 1787
Friday
“What do you intend to do about it?” A puce-faced Maureen pointed her fan at Yancy.
“I paid you for William�
��s services, for each day he was off your estate.”
“He ran away. You owe me his value.”
Jeffrey, knowing that contradicting his angry wife wouldn’t do a bit of good, sat by her side in the lavish tack room in the stable.
DoRe, wiping down one of the fine carriage horses, listened to every word. The other stable hands flitted in and out. He’d raise his eyebrows and they’d dash out again, a flurry of work for the mistress’s ever-critical eye.
“Madam, William’s defection,” Yancy said with a sly drop in tone, “was an affair entirely of his own devising. Posting rewards just as I have for Black Knight is all I can suggest.”
“So you refuse to pay me the five thousand dollars of his value?” She inflated the young man’s price.
“I do.” Yancy knew perfectly well what she was doing, trying to wear him down.
Next would come a supposed compromise.
“Realizing that he was headstrong and did escape using your horse, four thousand.”
“Madam, he is not my responsibility. I could just as easily turn to you and declare that your slave stole my horse, and Black Knight is worth ten thousand dollars.”
“He is not worth a dime. He didn’t win the race,” she spat.
“He had no chance. It was bad enough William stole an extremely valuable animal with good English bloodlines, he also savaged Jeddie Rice.”
“How is the young man, by the way? I’ve been meaning to go over to Cloverfields but can’t seem to get away.” Jeffrey diplomatically did not inform Yancy that keeping Maureen somewhat steady, canvassing the barn men regarding William, had taken a great deal of time, too much time.
“Riding. Nothing hot but he’s back up, his arm in a sling. He knew nothing, of course. His face will bear a permanent scar. His collarbone will heal. He’s young.”
“A whip shouldn’t leave much of a scar.” Maureen hadn’t a scrap of concern over Jeddie Rice.
“You’re right.” Yancy uttered those golden words. “However, William sewed small lead weights into the end of the whip, a small square flap. I thought nothing of it. But when he would whip Black Knight it stung. Certainly stung Jeddie, who William hit far harder than my beautiful horse.”
“Ah.” Jeffrey sighed. “Yancy, let’s you and I come up with a joint poster, a joint reward? My wife is too distraught by this to carry an additional burden.”
“I can be of assistance.” Her mouth snapped shut.
He put his hand over hers. “Of course you can, but first you had one worker short in the stables and then this. Too much weight on your lovely shoulders.”
Much as she didn’t like being slid aside, she basked in the compliment.
“If you think it’s not too much for you. You have those coach commissions.”
He smiled at her. “All will be well. My first concern is ever your welfare.”
Yancy rose with difficulty, bowed slightly. “This distresses each of us and I am heartily sorry that such an event occurred.”
“Yes.” Jeffrey stood while Maureen remained seated.
The two men walked outside, where Jeffrey helped Yancy into the saddle. “Had you even a slight premonition?”
“None. He labored hard, listened to instruction.” A deep sigh followed this. “Thank you, too, for settling your wife.”
Jeffrey shrugged. “Other than the last race, how did you fare?”
“Very well. Sam Udall, a shrewd man with many connections, proved a good business partner. I hope we will work together again. I have paid off my debts. If the last race could have been run then I would have enough profit to reinvest in my holdings.” He paused. “But we have found a good vehicle for profit.”
That meant that a healthy profit was realized. Jeffrey need not have asked more, but he watched Yancy ride away as he mused that two men ready to kill each other could reach an accord. Turning, he felt warm sunshine on his face as he walked to the stable. No word reached anyone concerning the affair in Philadelphia. He wondered if those delegates could reach an accord. Then he thought to himself, If Yancy and I can do so, surely they can.
On his way out Yancy passed Charles and Rachel, Rachel driving the phaeton, on their way to Big Rawly. He told them of his recent meeting, they both expressed the hope for a good first cutting of hay, then he rode away.
Once at the exquisite main house, Rachel untied her bonnet, Charles dusted himself off, and the butler ushered them into a large, airy back room.
Maureen, up from the stable, extended her hand, a small glass of sherry at her side. “Please sit. Forgive me for imbibing spirits early but I have endured an unpleasant meeting with that man.”
“We do hope our visit will rectify that.” Charles inclined his head toward her as he took a seat in a French chair, itself worth a bundle.
Rachel waved away a tray of sweets now placed on the table where the young but not especially pretty serving girl poured tea.
“Autumn, after serving our guests, do make sure my husband is in his shop.”
A slight curtsy. “Yes, Miss Maureen.”
As the slender girl left, Rachel reached over, took a letter from her husband, handed it to Maureen. “This arrived today.”
Maureen beheld the pale blue stationery, deep black ink in a strong man’s handwriting on the envelope. She slid out the heavy laid paper, opened it to behold a baron’s crest at the top. How fetching. Just the sight of it enlivened her. She read the three pages avidly, then dropped her hand with the letter into her lap.
“Your brother will show us his estate.” She nearly cooed. “He longs to meet us. And to his great credit he is forthright about what is owed.”
Charles, voice soft, replied, “Oh, Mrs. Holloway, my brother is a good man, which you will see for yourself. Our late father’s improvidence has nearly crushed him.”
“One million pounds of debt. I don’t wonder.” Maureen, given her father’s banking profession in the Caribbean, was conversant with the true value of pounds, rubles, livres, even drachmas of old.
“May I write him that you and Mr. Holloway will be visiting?”
“Of course, and I will write to him also. Jeffrey needs to finish his big coach-in-four. Then we may be off. He works quickly, my Jeffrey. Then again, he has hired some of the best wheelwrights, coopers, and cabinetmakers, to say nothing of the harness man. The best.”
“How will he ever surpass the coach he made for you?” Rachel praised Jeffrey, always a good move.
“Oh, he is endlessly inventive. Can do anything. Solve problems with wood, iron, copper, even creating spaces for grease in the wheel hubs so they will hold more grease, and the same for the axles. He amazes me.”
“He is a lucky man. You have given him the opportunity to work, work he desires.” Charles, himself doing work he loved, meant that.
She beamed. “I will accept your brother’s offer. I have no desire to live in England, and I assume neither do you?”
“This is my country.” He breathed in slightly. “Do I harbor fond memories, pictures of verdant green pastures, of the sparkling rivers lapping at those shores? I do. And I am grateful for my education but…well, you know this from your experience, here we are not so bound by birth. It is no sign of low birth to work with one’s hands. Ah well, you know these things.”
“I do.” She carefully returned the letter to the envelope. “Do you think the baron is accurate in his assessment of what he needs to live?”
“Being far away from current costs, I trust his figures. He won’t be as foolish as our father, but he has a place, a title, and he must fulfill responsibilities. If there is a war we are expected to raise regiments, supplies. If we are not asked, given a specific goal, then we must work however the king commands to prosecute the war.”
“One pays for one’s privileges.”
“It’s the way of the world,” Charles agreed. “He will continue to investigate the correct route for an adoption. It has been done throughout the centuries. Well. Julius Caesar adopted Octav
ius, so there is a long path.” What Charles didn’t say was that Jeffrey and Maureen would probably not have children. So the title would die in time or Jeffrey, himself, would need to adopt. Charles figured, cross that bridge when they came to it.
“Monies will be needed to cross palms.” Maureen tapped the letter on the palm of her hand a few times as though hearing a distant rhythm.
“That, too, is the way of the world,” Rachel replied without much intonation, then added, “And we have a small price.”
Shocked, Charles’s jaw dropped. She had said nothing to him.
Maureen, far more cynical, simply stared. “Yes.”
“As I said it is small.”
“How small?”
“I wish you to free DoRe.”
Surprised, Maureen covered that emotion. “You have one of the best coachmen in Virginia.”
“I do and you are kind to notice. DoRe will do as he pleases, I have no knowledge that he would work for us.”
“Then why should I free him?”
“Because he is courting Bettina.” Maureen knew of this, as did just about everyone. “I hope this will embolden him to ask for her hand.”
“What does being free have to do with it?” Maureen was in no mood to assist any slave, especially after William’s running away and the loss of other Big Rawly slaves.
“If he lives here and she with us, they will have very little time together. Imagine if your beloved Mr. Holloway lived and worked on another estate. You two belong together.” Rachel knew that would reach her, especially the “belong together.”
“Well,” Maureen asked, “just why is Bettina’s happiness and DoRe’s happiness so important?”
Charles, eyes wide, observed every syllable, every gesture.
“Maureen, you know how my mother suffered at the end.” Maureen nodded and Rachel continued. “Bettina never left her side. She even slept in the bedroom. The two of them shared a special friendship, something rare. I want Bettina’s days to be filled with love.”
Leaning back in her chair, Maureen held off.
Probable Claws Page 24
