Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

“You work in the post office. It's different for you. I'm judged by a different standard and I'm telling you, people are not fair, not for an instant. Furthermore, women are judged more harshly than men.”

“Oh, Lottie, I don't believe that.”

“I do. We're held to a higher moral standard.”

Harry considered this. “Do the Ten Commandments come with gender specifications?”

“No.” Lottie frowned.

“Then it's the same for everyone, male or female. If people want to use gender as an excuse for their behavior, have at it. The rules are the same for everyone.”

“Harry, you've been around Miranda Hogendobber too long. The real world doesn't work like that. The real world is still controlled by rich white men and it is in their self-interest to have their cake and eat it, too. So when Bill Clinton slept with every tart that came his way there was finger-wagging and fussing but finally people just figured that's what men do.”

“Lottie, as I recall he nearly got impeached.”

“I still maintain the standards are different. If I sleep around it's one thing. If Fair sleeps around, it's another.”

“Lost him his wife,” Harry coolly replied, then laughed.

“Uh—I'm sorry. Bad example.” She blushed.

Harry leaned forward. “Lottie, what's the second question?”

“Oh, yes.” She fiddled. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No.”

She lifted her pack of king-sized filtered Salems from her lap, slid the matchbook out of the cellophane, tapped out a cigarette, and lit up, placing the pack and matches on the table.

Harry rose to fetch an ashtray, placing it to the right of her cup. “That's pretty.” She picked up the matchbook. “Like a little work of art. Roy and Nadine's.” She paused. “Roy and Nadine's.” The matchbook Cooper had mentioned. “Lottie, where did you get this?”

“That? Oh, I don't know.”

Harry turned it around. “Been to Lexington, Kentucky?”

“No. Let me think. I was at Aunt Tally's, needed a light. Uh—Roger. He wanted to light my cigarette; his hand was so shaky I had to hold his wrist. He gave me the matchbook.” She paused. “Poor Roger. He was a pest but I didn't wish him dead.”

“Lottie, this may be important. I'm going to call Coop.”

“The matchbook?”

“Yes.” Harry jumped up, lifted the receiver off the wall phone, and dialed Coop's home number. Luckily she was there. “Coop, hi.”

“What's cooking? Or not cooking?”

“I'm sitting here in my kitchen with Lottie Pearson. She just lit up her cigarette with a Roy and Nadine's matchbook.”

“Put her on.”

Harry walked over to Lottie; the phone cord was long. “Here.”

As Lottie repeated her story to Coop, Harry sipped her hot chocolate. Slender though the clue was, at least it was something. The other pack found in the Cowboys windbreaker could have belonged to either Wesley or Don, since the exact ownership of the windbreaker was undetermined. Identical matchbooks from Lexington, Kentucky, wouldn't just be floating around Crozet, Virginia. The connection could be something as simple and unsavory as Wesley selling Roger stolen hubcaps. She found the fact that Roger and Wesley must have known one another deeply disquieting. But what if the matchbook had been Don's? What else did they know? And what did Sean know?

Lottie's voice pierced her thoughts. “She wants you back.”

Harry reached for the phone. “Well?”

“Interesting. Thanks for getting to me so fast. I'll drop by sometime when I get a minute.”

“Okay.” She stood to hang up the receiver, then closed the cupboard door that Pewter had opened when the humans were occupied. “Pewter, you're not getting that catnip until I say so.” Harry closed the door.

“Meanie.”

“She's going into a sulk.”

“Cats are funny that way.” Lottie sighed. “Everything is so strange right now. I'll drop this matchbook off at the sheriff's office on my way home. Odd.” She pushed the matchbook around with her forefinger.

“Lottie, the second question.”

“Oh, yes. I need a presentable date for the huge alumni dinner in two weeks. Someone very impressive, and I was wondering if you would mind terribly if I asked Diego. He'd be perfect at something like that.”

“Yes, he would. I have no claim on him. If he wants to go that's his choice, not mine.”

“Yes, but you like him. I don't want to step on toes.”

“You're not stepping on my toes. It was good of you to ask me but it seems to me if a man and a woman aren't married they come and go as they please. Right?”

“It's not that simple. You see things in black and white.”

“No, but I do think things are simpler than we make them.”

“But you like him. You're attracted to him.”

“I'll bet you just about every woman who sees that man is attracted to him.” Harry smiled. “He's to die for, as they used to say.”

Lottie puckered her lips, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. “There's been enough dying around here.”

37

I asked around if anyone had a recent photograph of Don,” Cooper said.

“Any luck?” Rick checked his watch. He was due at a county commissioners' meeting in a half hour.

“BoomBoom had one from the parade. Here.” She handed him the Polaroid of Don, his face half turned to the camera, and Roger O'Bannon, standing by the float. No hoopskirted belles were in sight, fleeing the float the second the parade stopped.

“Better than nothing. Mug shots of Wesley?”

“Got those. I faxed them off about an hour ago to the dealer in Newport News and the manager of Roy and Nadine's. That car dealership is huge, by the way, two hundred and five employees. That's a lot of payroll.”

“Sure is.” Rick shrugged. “My idea of hell is a committee meeting.” He checked his watch again. “I wonder if you have to take an IQ test before being elected a county commissioner. You know, you can't run for office unless it's below one hundred.” He checked his watch one more time.

“What is it this time?”

“The bypass. Same old, same old. I deliver the accident statistics on the highways, the locations, the times of the accidents, and the volume of traffic. They have the Department of Transportation statistics on volume but they want to hear what I have to say, and what I really have to say but I won't is that sooner or later the damned bypass will go through. If we work together I think we can limit the damage.” He ran his palm over the side of his head above his ear. “Truth is it will make an ungodly mess wherever the state puts it.”

“And we need it.”

“Hell, yes, we need it. Traffic grows, people's tempers shorten, and we'll be in gridlock before you know it. The commissioners don't want to face facts. The bypass is a necessity.”

He opened the long middle drawer of his desk, then pushed it shut after retrieving a rubber band, which he slipped on his wrist.

Cooper, recognizing his jog to his memory, the rubber band on his wrist, asked, “You could write yourself a note.”

“Yeah, stick it in my chest pocket and forget it. This way I don't forget.” He snapped the band against his wrist.

“What do you need to remember?”

“Milk. The missus asked me to bring home a quart of two-percent milk. Well, I'd better push off. I'll see you in the morning.”

“I've been thinking about the money in Don's safe. Would a merchant be able to get new money like that? A department store, a business like Wal-Mart, something with high volume?”

“I don't know. What would the purpose be? Money is money. Customers at Wal-Mart don't care if they get change in brand-new bills. We know the banks get new money supplies, the old money gets burned. I don't think I could stand to see that.” He stood up, clapped his hat on his head. “Daniel into the lions' den.”