Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

“Harry, your phone is off the hook in the tack room, it’s ringing so much.” Miranda called out from the rose beds.

“I know. I’ll call everyone later. Needed to think. Oh, by the by, as soon as you’re ready let me run you home.”

“In good time.”

Susan, BoomBoom, Tazio, Little Mim, Big Mim, and even Aunt Tally, furious at not reaching Harry by phone, all came down the drive within the next hour.

After recounting events, listening to everyone’s ideas and opinions—all favorable to her, which was gratifying—she was alone. Susan drove Miranda back home.

The quiet slap of the paintbrush underscored the fact that she was unemployed, in her late thirties, no prospects in sight, and bills to pay. She’d graduated from Smith College with a degree in Art History and fell into the job as a postmistress the summer after graduation. George Hogendobber had died of a heart attack and Harry took the job to fill in. She never dreamed she’d stay behind the counter of the small post office in small Crozet. Not that she was heading for New York City and wealth, but with her education it seemed natural that she’d go on, get a doctorate, and teach at one of the wonderful universities within driving range: Sweet Briar, Mary Baldwin, the University of Virginia, or even Hollins, which was down in Roanoke. Randolph-Macon was in Lynchburg. There were many possibilities and Harry excelled in her studies.

The first year passed and she settled into the job. She liked being at the hub of events. They might be events such as hail peppering BoomBoom’s barn roof or a new restaurant opening at the corner, but she liked knowing the news. She’d even gotten to the point where she read the papers, watched the nightly news, but came to the conclusion that where you live is what’s real. Not that she didn’t care about what happened in other parts, but she lived in Crozet, and if she was going to do any good in this world it would be in Crozet, Virginia.

Now what?

32

F air called Jerome Stoltfus, who was shadowing the state veterinarian.

“Animal control,” Jerome barked into his cell phone, as he drove the exact speed limit. Jerome was that kind of guy.

“It’s Fair Haristeen.”

“Now, don’t you jump down my throat because Harry went postal.” He chuckled at his little joke. “Those critters don’t belong there, anyway, and she’ll think things over and be back at work Monday. I give her Thursday and Friday to mull it over.”

Fair cleared his throat. “Harry usually takes a long time to make a decision. When she makes one quickly, uh, I’d watch out. And you ought to know by now, Jerome, whether she makes a decision slowly or quickly, she won’t back down. Not ever.”

“We’ll see.” Then a flash of illumination changed Jerome’s tone. “But you were married to her, so I guess you know. I was fixing to call you, but this has been intense. Today has been intense. Can we change our get-together?”

As this was why Fair was calling Jerome, he was relieved. “Sure. Any night after five. I’m usually at the clinic until six.”

“How about Monday?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve been talking to a lot of doctors. You start listening to those guys and it’s a wonder anyone is healthy. Sure are a lot of ways to get sick.”

“Seems to be.”

“I’ve been looking up stuff on the Internet. Cave climbers, what do you call them . . . ?” he asked.

“Spelunkers.”

“The Internet site on rabies said those people get rabies inoculations.”

“That’s very interesting.”

“Said that when you’ve got an enclosed place with little ventilation and thousands upon thousands of bats that have been living there since B.C., well, you might can inhale rabies.”

“Inhale it?” Fair tried not to sound incredulous.

“That’s what I read.” Jerome was not repeating exactly what he read, but he felt he was close enough.

“Jerome, I’d steer clear of Harry for a week or two.” Fair changed the subject.

“She was wrong.”

“That’s not the point.” Fair didn’t think Harry was wrong, but no need to argue with someone as bullheaded as Jerome. “She’s upset. She loves her animals the way people love their children. Take my advice and leave her alone.”

Jerome slowed for a sharp curve. “Well, if you ask me, animals are more faithful than people, so I guess I can’t blame her.”

“Thanks.” Fair hung up.

It then occurred to Jerome that the reason Harry threw Fair out a few years ago was because he’d cheated on her. The story was that he’d cheated more than once, just went through a wild phase, but Fair swore he did not cheat, if you will, until they had separated, which was when he started seeing BoomBoom.

Fair dialed the offices of McIntire and Langston. The receptionist put him straight through to Bill.

They discussed what Jerome had just told Fair.

“So it really is possible?” Fair asked.

“No. I don’t think so. I don’t think there have been any inhalation cases ever reported, but there are droplets of saliva—tiny, microscopic droplets—in infested caves.”

“You breathe the aerosolized virus?”

Bill answered, “Yes.”

“Do you have any knowledge of Barry or Sugar visiting these caves?”

“No. Well, let me amend that. There is nothing in either of their medical records requesting the inoculation. But you all would know if they were spelunkers.” Bill, being new to the area, deferred to Fair. “The reason those guys get the shots is because there are so many thousands of bats. It’s insurance in case someone gets bitten. And I haven’t heard or read of any cases.”

“As far as I know, neither Barry nor Sugar so much as set foot in a cave.”

“Both of their rabies types were of the silver-haired-bat variety. Makes sense in the absence of trauma. A tiny, tiny wound.”

“Sorry to be slow here, Bill, but let me go back to climbing around caves for a moment. In your opinion, if I go into such a place, what are my chances of being bitten?”

“Let me answer that this way. If you go walking in the woods, what are your chances of being bitten by a rabid raccoon? It’s about the same.”

“I see. Thanks, Bill, I know you’ve been besieged today. That damned Jerome.”

“Someone ought to tape his mouth shut with duct tape. I have some right here in the office.” Bill’s tenor deepened. “Along with all this excitement, the place has been buzzing about Harry and Miranda quitting.”

“They did. And Jerome provoked it. I think Pug would have found a solution, at least until the new P.O. is built. I guess we forget that he has to answer to Washington.”

“Luckily I only have to answer to God,” Bill wryly replied.

After Fair hung up the phone, Alma popped into his office. “Doc, BoomBoom. Says Keepsake has a bad discharge.”

“Tell her I’ll be right over.”

BoomBoom’s barn, an elegant four-stall affair with a brand-new standing seam copper roof, was nestled under large locust trees. Fair was her regular vet, although she often spoke to Tavener. If Fair was out of town, which was rare, Tavener would take care of BoomBoom. As BoomBoom felt she utilized Tavener’s specialized knowledge, she always sent a sumptuous Christmas gift as a thank-you.

Fair cleaned up Keepsake, checked her with ultrasound to be sure.

“Well, she’s bred.”

“The lady or the tiger? A mule or a horse?”

“You’ll know around the first of April.” He bent over to pick up his clipboard, which rested on a tack trunk in BoomBoom’s colors, magenta and gold.