Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

As Fair left to keep his appointment, Carmen Gamble, in her haircutting smock, picked up her mail. “Heard we’ve got rabies.”

“No, we don’t.” Harry went on to explain.

“Well, I know that Barry had rabies.” Carmen pressed her lips together. “And I have to go in and get a test, but Sugar says it won’t do any good. No one bit me.” A flicker of worry passed over her face.

Miranda, who liked Carmen, encouraged her. “Well, honey, it can’t hurt. And since the paper reported that Barry had rabies, people will get all worried. Not that you have a thing to worry about.”

“In a small little column. Like they don’t want us to panic, you know.” Carmen had jumped back to the newspaper report.

“There isn’t any reason to panic. For one thing, Carmen, Barry showed no signs of the disease. I imagine he would have, but he was still normal, for lack of a better word.” Harry wanted to head off a rabies scare.

“He would never listen to me.” A pair of expensive scissors hung from a holder on her belt. “He’d go out and pick up dead things. He’d work without gloves. Like the time he nearly got killed with the old Massey-Ferguson tractor. He had on an old T-shirt and he leaned over the PTO. The only thing that saved him when the shirt got caught, it was so worn it ripped right off him instead of pulling him into the PTO, you know. I mean, people get killed with spreaders and all kinds of stuff. The PTO whirls and sends them right into the tractor attachment. He never listened to anything I ever said.”

“He must have listened to some things, Carmen, as you are so pretty. Men tend to listen,” Miranda warmly said, because she knew Carmen was more upset about Barry than she let on.

“Men think they know everything.”

“Some do. Life usually takes care of them,” Miranda again spoke.

“Took care of Barry.”

“Who had it in for him?” Harry asked.

“Me.” Carmen slapped her mail on the counter. “He must have irritated someone else. Someone more violent. All I ever did was throw a spray bottle at his head. But Barry could stick his nose in the wrong business. Kind of like you, Harry.”

“Gee thanks, Carmen.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, it came out backward.”

“You’re digging that hole deeper,” Harry, somewhat offended, said.

“Barry would go through my mail. My drawers. He was nosy that way. He didn’t respect privacy. You’re not like that—except you do go through our mail, of course, but you don’t open it.” Carmen dumped junk mail in the trash can as she babbled on. “Barry would even open my glove compartment in the car. I don’t know what he thought he would find.”

“Love letters.” Miranda smiled. “Like I said, you’re very pretty. He was probably nervous.”

“Barry?”

“Yes.” Miranda nodded.

Harry asked, “Do you think he was nosy like that with other people? Like rooting around at St. James Farm?”

“Uh”—she thought a moment—“yeah, I expect he was.”

After Carmen left, Harry said to Miranda, “I wonder what Barry found out.”

“Now, Harry, you know what Fair said: ‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ ” Miranda said sternly.

“Oh, that was about the new post office. This is about murder.” Harry had already jumped to a conclusion, an accurate one.

17

T azio Chappars, BoomBoom Craycroft, and Harry served on the Parish Guild of St. Luke’s Lutheran Church. Last year, after exhaustive dickering, the board raised the money to install new carpeting. In the process, Harry, Tazio, and BoomBoom drew closer to one another. In the case of Harry and BoomBoom this was an important development, since it meant Harry had finally forgiven BoomBoom for having an affair with Fair after they had separated. Harry had also forgiven Fair. The more difficult emotional task was forgiving herself for hanging on to resentment and anger. And sometimes in the quiet of a country night she thought that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the warmest, most loving woman God had ever put on earth. Maybe Fair had strayed because of that.

The three ladies, along with Susan Tucker, who’d served on the board before Harry was elected, met at Harry’s farm. It was an impromptu gathering urged by Miranda Hogendobber, who reminded the ladies that July 17 would be the thirtieth anniversary of the Rev. Herbert Jones taking over the parish.

Outside, the late-afternoon light cast long golden shadows over the barn, the rolling pastures.

Harry had intended to shepherd the little group into the living room, but they all plopped down at the kitchen table. She opened the back door to the screened-in porch; all the windows were open and a fragrant breeze filled the house.

“. . . never happen.” BoomBoom rapped the table with the golden dolphin ring she wore on her right hand.

“Oh, Boom, don’t be a cynic.” Susan was at the kitchen counter helping Harry put together a plate of cold meats.

“I’m not a cynic, but this is Crozet and no one can keep a secret. I’m not even sure Claudius Crozet could keep one.” BoomBoom mentioned the famous engineer, a soldier in Napoleon’s army, for whom the town was named.

“What a life. Fight with Napoleon. Get captured on the retreat from Moscow. Napoleon marched into Russia with about a million men and only one hundred thousand survived, give or take a few.” Harry loved history. “Crozet must have been tough.”

“Harry, let’s not get off the track,” Tazio gently chided her.

“You’re right.” Harry put the plate on the table. “Cold cuts, and you’ll just have to make the sandwiches yourselves.” She set a huge jar of mayonnaise on the table, a pot of country butter, and a smaller jar of imported mustard. “Notice the lovely crockery.”

“First class, all the way.” Susan laughed as she set out a plate of cheeses. “Everyone have what they want to drink? Good. I’m sitting down, Harry; you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry looked out the kitchen window to watch Brinkley, Tucker, and the two kitties, ferociously puffed, taking turns chasing one another. “We’ve got a hot game of tag out there.”

“I can never thank you enough for talking me into taking Brinkley.” Tazio spread butter on whole-grain bread. “And can you believe how handsome he is?”

“Gorgeous,” Susan agreed, as she well remembered the starved half-grown puppy Tazio had rescued as a terrible winter storm crept over the mountains.

BoomBoom got up and walked to the refrigerator.

“What did I forget?” Harry stood up.

“Pickles. I can get them. You forgot them so you wouldn’t have to share.”

“You put pickles on your sandwich?” Tazio feigned shock.

“On my good days. On my bad days I use olives.” Jar in hand, BoomBoom rejoined them. “Plus, Harry loves pickles.”

They chatted, teased one another, and devoured their sandwiches.

“I was hungrier than I realized.” Susan patted her mouth with her napkin.

“Save some room, there’s dessert.” Harry had picked up a carrot cake as well as brownies on her way home.

“Well, let’s get back to the subject at hand.” BoomBoom dueled with Harry, both having their forks in the pickle jar. “There is no way we can keep this thirtieth-anniversary bash a secret.”

“She’s right.” Tazio seconded this opinion.

“We could try.” Harry wanted to surprise her pastor and friend.

“But then it’s half baked.” Susan turned this over in her mind. “We probably should print up invitations. Do it properly. That’ll let him prepare himself. He’d prefer being prepared, I think.”