Рита Браун - Whisker Of Evil

“You’ve got a point there.” Harry nodded. “I’ve been around horses all my life and I’m real, real careful around stallions.”

“We do know that Ulysses Malone died a wealthy man. He’d made the money through breeding. His business took off in the late 1970s,” Cooper said. “I expect he was given a share in Ziggy Flame rather than being paid a lump sum. Safer, plus there was the potential for long-term profits, which, luckily for him, materialized.” Cooper had learned a lot about the breeding industry because of this case. “When Mary Pat’s broodmares were dispersed, he bought the mare who was Flame’s dam. He had the reputation of getting bargains at dispersal sales. She produced a few more foals, too, before she died at age twenty-three.”

“My horses have tattoos. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?” Harry, distressed at her oversight, complained.

“Lot going on,” Cooper laconically responded.

“Too much upheaval.” Pewter batted a piece of rye bread. Bread was okay, but meat was better.

Harry turned to Fair. “You didn’t say anything to me?”

“When have I had time? Or you?”

“Well, when did you figure this out?”

“Over the weekend. When I did all the bloodline and color research. I told you about most of that, but the tattoo slipped my mind, really.” Fair apologized. “And one other thing I haven’t had time to tell you. I’ve only told Rick and Cooper.

“I read Mary Pat’s notes. This was the book that Barry found and probably read. She used a kind of shorthand.

“Once you get used to Mary Pat’s system you can figure it out easily enough.

“Mary Pat suspected the nick between her mare and Tom Fool blood would be golden. She jotted it down. Of course, she died before she could have been sure just how good their cross was, but even the late foals that old Malone got out of the mare did very well at the sales and track.”

“Barry must have figured this out.” Harry rubbed her chin. “The real question is what in God’s name did Barry do with this information? Jeez, I must be slipping!” Harry said worriedly. “I didn’t even badger you to read Mary Pat’s notes.”

“You’ve been more rattled than you realize.” Cooper took the bull by the horns. “The whole post-office business is upsetting. I mean, Har, even if you were ready to leave, to move on, it would have been nice if you could have done it your way. Pug Harper—well, it was really Jerome—pushed you.”

“But I thought I was okay,” Harry plaintively said.

“Honey, you are okay.” Fair soothingly draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She kept her hand on the pickle jar, however. “It’s just your way. Everyone who loves you knows that. You aren’t a person who shows much emotion. It kind of works on you from within.”

“Meaning, I don’t know what’s going on?” She thought a minute. “I guess that’s kind of true. If it’s outside me, I can figure it out. If it’s inside me, it takes a long time.”

“Breakthrough.” Tucker smiled.

“It’s a pity she’s not a cat,” Pewter mused. “Life would be so much more clear for her.”

Mrs. Murphy climbed up on the plank seat. She snuggled next to Harry. “Her eyesight would be better, anyway.”

“Okay, I missed the tattoo. Signs point to Marshall Kressenberg’s having something to do with Mary Pat’s death. There are a lot of blank spaces, though, lot of loose ends.”

Cooper leaned her elbows on the table. “Once we get our hands on Kressenberg, I think those ends will get tied up.”

“So the rabies is just that. Not connected?” Fair asked.

“Certainly seems to be the case. Except we have the murder of Jerome Stoltfus hanging over our heads. Marshall, I hope, will spill the beans on who killed Jerome. I’m thinking that somehow, in Jerome’s mania to find the cause of the rabies case, he found damning evidence against Marshall Kressenberg. Jerome figured out that Ziggy Flame was Ziggy Dark Star. Jerome proved much more resourceful than we ever imagined. He’d started doing color research.”

“I’ll be,” Harry sighed. “And you’re sure Alicia doesn’t have a hand in this?”

“No, I’m not sure.” The tall, blond woman folded her hands together over her plate. “But Alicia Palmer hasn’t cracked over all these years.”

“Neither has Marshall Kressenberg,” Fair responded.

“But she had all the money in the world. Why help him?” Harry wondered.

“Because she wanted the fortune. She didn’t want to wait until Mary Pat died an old lady and she herself would be much older. She wanted to be her own woman. As long as Mary Pat lived, Alicia would have to dance to her tune. As it was, they fought over Alicia’s desire for an acting career.” Cooper had seen a lot of mischief over inheritances.

The three humans and three animals sat quietly for a minute or two.

Fair rose, walked to his truck. He held up a white paper bag. “Chocolate chip cookies!”

“Hooray!” Harry clapped her hands.

“It’s not that exciting,” Pewter grumbled.

“Chocolate is the human version of fresh mouse.” Mrs. Murphy closed her eyes, swaying slightly.

“Or marrow bones.” Tucker, full, rested her head on her paws.

“So we’re not out of the woods yet?” Harry returned to the subject at hand. “There might be an accomplice or two?”

“Yes,” Cooper simply replied.

“I’ve had my head in the sand. Wonder what else I’ve missed. Maybe I missed something that would help. I’m upset. At the risk of bragging on myself, I’m usually pretty sharp about details, people, clues. At least I think I am.”

“Harry, you are. You are.” Cooper smiled. “But you are going through a big life change.”

“You mean I have to find a job?” Harry laughed.

“A career. Something you love.” Fair put in his two cents.

“Kind of a muddle right now.”

“Honey, this has all happened fast. Give yourself the summer to think things through and explore options. Everything will be fine.”

“When you say it, I believe it. When I’m home alone, doubt creeps in.” She sighed.

Fair resisted the obvious riposte that she shouldn’t be home alone, he should be with her.

It was true. Harry was rattled. Her mind was clouded by quitting, by questions about her future. She was also rattled, although happy, because she realized she did love Fair. This was a quiet, growing realization, and she’d address it when all this settled down. She knew she ran away from emotion, but she swore to herself she wouldn’t do that about Fair and she’d sit down to talk to him. She gave herself an August 1 deadline. She was again in love with him.

Had Harry been on course, she would have realized she had been given a clue Tuesday, a disturbing and dangerous clue.

51

A soft rain pattered down Saturday, July 3. Tiny drumbeats resounded throughout central Virginia as leaves bowed then bounced back with each raindrop.

The service for Mary Pat Reines was held at eleven-thirty A.M. at St. Luke’s. The simple interior of the old eighteenth-century church invited all who stepped inside to consider the spiritual side of life. For those aesthetically attuned, the clean lines, crisp whiteness of the walls, dark forest-green long cushions on the original maple pews, and deep pure colors of the stained-glass windows made sitting in St. Luke’s a visual delight.

A balcony along the back wall also contained the organ. The long pipes, looking golden, were in the walls behind the front of the church. St. Luke’s couldn’t afford to purchase an organ until the boom years under James Monroe’s presidency. The one they bought had to have been the best, because it was still in use today.