Рита Браун - Sour Puss

At the bottom of the curving outdoor stairs, Toby abruptly asked, "Why'd you leave Tech for California? Being a professor is a soft job, a good one."

"Hands on. Classroom's not for me, but I didn't know that until I taught for two years."

"Didn't have anything to do with Mary Minor?" Toby used Harry's true Christian name and her maiden surname.

They reached Toby's truck, parked well below the great house. "A little, I guess."

Toby leaned against the door, crossed his arms over his chest. "What was it like working out there in Napa Valley?"

"Different world, a totally different world. But the people who have been hired by the rich people—the movie stars' people and all that, those Italians and French that actually run the vineyards—they are something. They are true blue. They had to adjust to a different climate, soils, rainfall, and a whole different way of living, but, boy, look what they are producing." He paused a moment. "Good as it is and beautiful as it is, too many people in California, even in Napa Valley. They're like locusts just eating everything up."

"Never happen here."

"Oh, yeah? Toby, Charlottesville came in as the number-one place to live in America."

"Ah, just a poll. The rest of the country, outside the South, I mean, thinks we're all a bunch of dumb rednecks."

"Hope so." Arch laughed.

Toby laughed, too, a rarity for him. "Yeah, keep 'em out. Hey, want to see what I just bought?"

"Sure."

He opened the truck and pulled down the raised center console/armrest. He popped open the lid and removed a handgun. "Isn't this something? Brand-new. A Ruger P95PR. Bought two boxes of ten-round magazines, too."

"Hey, that's nine millimeter. You going to shoot targets with that?"

"Sometimes."

"Expensive ammunition. I stick to a twenty-two for practice."

"Yeah, but feel this in your hand." Toby handed the gun to Arch.

Arch knew it was unloaded. Toby wasn'tstupid. "Feels balanced." He handed it back. "I know that's expensive."

"Keep it right here in my truck. Never know when I'll need it." A puff of air escaped his lips, as the air was quite cool. "Did Forland get mad at you when you left Tech?"

"No, he understood I needed to be in the field. All he cares about is that his students make a name for themselves."

"Big ego," Toby flatly replied.

"He's entitled to it."

"Did he ever say why he didn't give me that job?"

"Thought you'd do better out of school, I suppose."

"I don't believe that."

"I don't know."

"Bet everyone knows in Blacksburg but me. University towns create more gossip than scholars."

"I don't know." Arch avoided the issue.

"You all think I'm nuts. Everyone thinks I'm like a radiator that overheats. I know that. Just because I say what I'm thinking when I'm thinking it. You all think I just boil over." He threw his hands up like water shooting up. "Whoosh."

"Toby, you'll never change." Arch kept his voice level. "Thanks for showing me the Ruger." He started toward his truck.

"I'll show you all. Just wait. I will make the best wine in this state and I'll make money, too."

Arch couldn't resist. "Not if I do it first."

"You try!" Toby's face reddened. "I'm gonna beat your ass. I'll show Professor Forland who's the best."

"Okay." Arch kept walking as Toby kept making promises of greatness to come.

Early the next morning after protracted good-byes, Professor Forland drove off in his Scion car, down the long, winding driveway, all paved, and out the main gate. He turned right, passed Keelona Farm as he headed toward Carter's Bridge. Then he simply vanished.

8

"Bullshit." Aunt Tally sharply rapped her silver-headed cane on the Aubusson rug, which slightly muffled the curse.

The light played on Ned Tucker's distinguished silver sideburns and temples as he bowed to the fabulously well-dressed nonagenarian perched on the sofa in Big Mim's living room. "I agree."

Aunt Tally used her cane topped off with the silver hound's head for punctuation as well as to help her walk. Spry enough at her age, she did find that sometimes she wasn't quite as sure-footed as she once was if the ground wasn't level.

Big Mim, equally well dressed, glided over to her aunt. "Cursing again?"

"Yes. I think bullshit ever so much more forceful than shit. And if I had time I'd bemore creative than bullshit, but what Ned has just told me infuriates me, so I responded immediately. Bullshit, I say, pure, unadulterated bullshit."

The small gathering at Mim's beautiful house, redecorated last winter by Parish-Hadley, the august interior decorating firm—"freshened," as Mim liked to say-gravitated toward the ancient lady.

Big Mim was giving a small Saturday luncheon party in honor of Harry and Fair. The luncheon was on a par with a hunt breakfast, which is to say it was sumptuous. She'd been close friends with Harry's mother, as had Miranda Hogendobber, who used to work with Harry at the post office. When Harry was left without either parent while studying at Smith College, both women did their best to look after her. Big Mim's daughter, a year younger than Harry, never really forgave her mother for this diversion of attention Little Mim believed she herself deserved.

Over the years, young Marilyn managed to reach an accord with Harry. After all, it wasn't Harry's fault that her parents had died within months of each other. It was just that even now, Little Mim sometimes resented the bond between her mother and this poor—formerly poor, anyway—country mouse. Harry, a terrific athlete, shared foxhunting, tennis, shooting clays and skeet with Big Mim.

BoomBoom, six feet tall and gorgeous, was also a natural athlete. Woe to the man who invited her to play golf just to see her form at the top of her swing's finish. She'd bet on each hole and clean the fellow out. BoomBoom understood the monetary value of outstanding physical attributes.

It seemed everyone was a good athlete but Little Mim. To her credit, she could ride, thanks to thousands of dollars' worth of lessons plus her own grit. No amount of money will give one the courage to take a big fence. Little Mim took her fences without blinking an eye.

The luncheon pleased Little Mim because she was grateful her mother hadn't gone overboard. She wanted her June wedding celebrations to overshadow anything that might be done for Harry and Fair or anyone else in the county.

Miranda and Susan walked over, flanking Ned. Jim, the host, noted whose drink needed a lift.

Also gathering around Aunt Tally were Tazio Chappars, Paul de Silva, Tracy Raz, BoomBoom, Alicia, and Hy and Fiona Maudant

"Well, Aunt Tally, once again you're the center of attention. Perhaps you'd like to recapitulate your conversation with Ned?" Big Mim goaded her.

"Ned, you start." Tally leaned forward, both hands on the head of her cane.

"As some of you know, I've been assigned to the Ag committee. I paid a courtesy call to the chair and he told me, his exact words, 'Ned, my boy, if you want to rise in government, don't drive a foreign car. Get yourself a good ole American piece of junk.' Here I thought we might discuss last year's corn surplus—the average price came to $1.95 a bushel—and he tells me to get rid of the Audi station wagon, which isn't my car, it's Susan's. I borrowed it to carry some things down to the apartment." He looked at Aunt Tally.

"Bullshit was my reply." Aunt Tally lifted an eyebrow.

"I guess so." Tracy Raz laughed.

"It is, but he has a point. Appearances count for more than reality in politics. Always have and always will," chimed in Jim, mayor of Crozet and a Democrat.

This created some friction in the family since Little Mim, a Republican, was vice-mayor. She had ambitions. Her father did not. He simply wanted to serve Crozet, for he loved the town and surrounding farms.