Рита Браун - Cat On The Scent

“I agree, but aren't these feasibility studies also expensive?” Blair finally spoke. As a relative newcomer to Crozet he had learned to wait his turn. Of course, you couldn't wait your turn until you knew your place on the totem pole, which he was finally figuring out. Given his income and his stunning good looks, he hovered in the middle, much higher than had he been shorn of his attributes. Not being southern, there were moments when the elaborate, unspoken rules overwhelmed him. Harry usually translated for him.

“Hideously expensive.” Archie leaned forward again.

“We know there's plenty of water, plenty.” Herb Jones's gravelly voice filled the room. “But no matter how much we have, no matter where it is, we can't dam it up or pull it up without goring somebody's sacred cow.”

“I resent that!” Archie jumped up.

“Sit down, Arch,” Jim calmly commanded.

Archie didn't listen. “You're implying that because my farm is in the path of the reservoir I stand to gain. I think I stand to lose!”

“Oh, hell, Archie, I implied nothing, but you proved my point.” The room erupted in laughter, then quieted as the elderly minister, beloved of all, continued. “There's no way a project like this can go forward without enriching some and harming others. Once the state comes in and appraises your land or exercises eminent domain and claims land for the so-called greater good, whatever they do is going to be a real shell game.”

“You got that right.” Susan's husband, Ned, chimed in.

“And what about the bids for the jobs? Who would build the reservoir? You don't think that's political?” Vane-Tempest stood up again.

“Well, H. Vane, I'm not in the construction business.” Archie glared at his former colleague, since he mistakenly assumed the criticism was directed at him.

“No, but Tommy Van Allen is.” Vane-Tempest appeared triumphant.

“He's hardly my best friend.” Archie cleared his throat. “What are you implying?”

“Gentlemen, Van Allen's books are open. I have known him all my life.” Jim Sanburne wanted to get this meeting over with.

“Means you've known Archie all his life, too. You have my sympathy,” Vane-Tempest catcalled, tired of Archie's oversensitivity. A few people laughed. Sarah elbowed her husband to stop.

“You know, if I weren't an elected official, I'd smash your face in.” Archie clenched his fists, surprising people. He had a temper but he was taking offense where only leavening humor was intended.

“That's quite enough.” Mim rose, facing the gathering. “We need more information. If we ask the state for another study it will be at their convenience and our expense. We are perfectly capable of identifying water sources ourselves. Once we have done that we can formulate our own plan and then present that plan to the state—a preemptive strike, if you will. Archie and Donald, you take the Keswick-Cismont area.”

“Wait a minute. We have to vote on this.” Archie's face changed from red to pale white.

“Call to question,” Miranda said.

“There's no motion on the floor,” Jim said.

“I move that the county commissioners identify all possible water sources in Albemarle County before our next meeting.” BoomBoom succinctly put forth the motion.

“I second the motion,” Vane-Tempest said.

“Call to question,” Miranda repeated.

“All those in favor say aye.” Jim cast his gaze over the room.

“Aye,” came the resounding reply.

“Opposed.”

“Me,” Archie said. “I've got enough work to do.”

“If you want to be reelected to the county commission you'd better change your attitude,” Mim warned. Coming from her it was no idle threat.

As the meeting broke up, BoomBoom pushed her way to the back. “Harry, don't forget you're going to Lifeline with me Thursday night.”

“I know.” Harry showed no enthusiasm.

“Eight at the church.”

“Eight.”

“Ha-ha,” Mrs. Murphy giggled. “BoomBoom's got her.”

“She promised. Poor Mom. She got caught on that one.” Tucker thought it was funny, too, for Lifeline was a group that looked inward, a spiritual awakening larded with lots of psychobabble. Harry was going to hate every minute, but she'd been horn-swoggled into it in front of her friends last fall and now that a new cycle of Lifeline was starting, she had to make good on her promise.

Miranda bustled out, surrounded by her church friends. They sang in the choir at the Church of the Holy Light. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

“Bright and early.” Harry smiled.

Fair caught up to her and leaned down. “Do you think someone has paid Archie off to be so obstructionist? It doesn't make sense. He's so touchy.”

“He's opposed to anything that will allow more people to move into the area. A reservoir would do that. At least, I think that's what's going on. He's saying one thing but doing another.”

Fair smiled at his ex-wife's shrewd observation, but wondered what had happened to Archie Ingram, never the most likeable man but always a principled one.

BoomBoom, her back to Harry, was talking to Blair about his Porsche.

Sir H. Vane-Tempest and Sarah hurried by, glancing over their shoulders. Archie was in slow pursuit. They escaped out the front door as Ridley Kent bagged Archie, demanding to know when the next meeting would be.

“I don't know.” Archie shoved him aside.

Don Jackson, together with Jim Sanburne, caught up with Archie. “Jesus, Arch, what's the matter with you?”

“Nothing. These studies will take forever. I'll be an old man before we come to any conclusion, and the state will do whatever they want, which would be the rape of Albemarle County, her natural resources, her extraordinary beauty, and her historical value.”

“Can't be that bad.” Jim frowned, worried for Arch, who had a promising political future if he could learn to control his temper.

“It will take forever. Christ, some of us will be pushing up daisies.” Then he stormed out the door.

“He's scared,” Mrs. Murphy said to her friends. They could smell the fear, too.

5

Harry shot mail into the brass mailboxes as Mrs. Murphy sat on the ledge underneath the top section of boxes. The bottom section contained the big boxes, big enough for Murphy to sit in. Harry hummed to herself as Miranda played with the computer at the right side of the open counter.

As much as Miranda hated computers, the tiny post office had finally received one and Miranda had applied herself to the instructions that came with it. Being a bright woman, she had figured the machine out but she didn't like it. The green letters on the screen, a touch fuzzy, hurt her eyes.

Also, every time the power fritzed out, which happened often in the country, down went the computer. She could figure much faster with her trusty scale. No matter what the computer said she still double-checked with the scale.

Both women, early risers, came to work at seven. Usually, by the time residents opened the front door of the post office much of the mail was sorted—except during holidays. In late spring a few love letters filtered in, a few postcards from those taking early vacations, and the bills never stopped. Harry's secret ambition was to burn everyone's bills, announce she'd done it, and see what happened. The night of April 15, when lines curled across the railroad tracks as people hastened to dump their IRS forms in the mail, her ambition flamed beyond disposing of bills—she wanted to tear down every IRS building in America. She figured every other postal worker felt the same.

Low clouds and a light drizzle didn't dampen her mood. The warmth of spring brought out the best in Harry.