Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"Why, thank you."

"Susan, who hated H.H.?"

"I told Rick what I thought."

"Kind of. But we don't burden the sheriff with idle gossip or unsubstantiated ideas. However, we can happily burden each other with them. So?" Harry wasn't exactly deluding herself but she wasn't accurate, either. She did discuss half-baked ideas with the sheriff.

Susan shrugged. "I can't think of anyone. Can you?"

"If we retraced his movements over the last few days maybe we'd figure it out."

"I am not spending my Saturday retracing H. H. Donaldson's-Damn, I missed the turn."

"Go up one light and turn left and come around."

"They didn't put in a very good turn lane, did they?" Susan griped.

"Not if you aren't looking for it. I try to avoid coming up 29 so I missed it, too."

Susan finally drove into the shopping center, a very attractive one built as a U, with a supermarket anchoring one end of the U and a big discount store anchoring the other. Smaller specialty shops were in between these large stores.

Businesses were in operation although the discount store was not quite completed. A large sign was in place with a banner underneath counting the days until it would open. Eleven days.

Harry tapped the window of the tailgate. "I won't be very long."

"Okay." The cats settled down for a snooze. Tucker watched Harry's every move.

"I didn't realize how big this was." Susan swept her eyes over the New Gate shopping center, painted muted shades of gray with splashes of red. "H.H. probably could have moved up to a bigger structure like the new stadium."

"This is pretty straightforward stuff. I'd like to think he could but Matthew's been around a long time. Even as a grunt Matthew worked on commercial or state projects like the Clam. He says the trick is not just finding the right subcontractors or whatever, he says it's the bidding. That's where you make it or break it. I'm learning a lot working with him on the Parish Guild."

"I learned a lot on the guild, period. What I learned is that 'consensus' is a magic word. Sounds so good. So hard to get. And why does everyone have to agree anyway?"

"Well, at least we've solved the recarpeting crisis."

"Hallelujah."

"Save that for church." Harry peered in the window of the discount store. "Huge."

"Gargantuan. You don't notice it from the parking lot but it goes straight back."

"I guess they'll stack up a lot of toilet paper." Harry laughed. "I know I can save money shopping at these behemoths, but I can't stand it. I get disoriented. And there's so much to buy I wind up straying off my list. 'Oh, that looks good.' The next thing I know I'm standing in line and the bill is four hundred ninety-nine dollars."

"Not five hundred?"

"Haven't you ever noticed that in the discount stores everything always comes to ninety-nine?"

Susan laughed. "I guess. Well, what are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Wanted to see what H.H. was building. Hey, that's Rob." She saw Rob Collier who delivered mail to the post office on weekdays. She waved.

He saw her, walked over to the front door and unlocked it. "Harry. Hello, Susan. Come on in."

"What are you doing here?"

"Working on Saturdays and Sundays. They're paying time and a half. I figured I'd better make hay while the sun shines." He slipped a screwdriver back into his tool belt. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's so well lit."

"Just putting on the finishing touches. I'm building shelves. This place will open its doors right on schedule despite everything. Poor guy. Keeling over of a heart attack like that. He's two years younger than I am. Makes you think." Rob shook his head.

"Yes, it does," Susan said.

"Rob, was H.H. a good contractor?"

Rob nodded. "No cutting corners. Do it right the first time. No bull. He talked to everyone straight. Kept his cool, too. That creep-if you weren't ladies I'd say something worse-Fred Forrest would come by every single day or he'd send his assistant. Fred's got a hair across his ass." Rob again shook his head, lowered his voice. "In fact she's here now."

"What would they fuss over?"

"Oh, Harry, you wouldn't believe it. That SOB would whip out his ruler, unfold it, and check stupid stuff like the gap between the doorjamb and the door. Anything. Fred lives to find fault and he couldn't find much. That's why H.H. would push everyone, 'Do it right the first time.'?"

Raised voices in the background drew their attention.

A young African-American woman, late twenties, wearing a hard hat, armed with a clipboard, strode out the door, Peter Gianakos in hot pursuit. He was soon back in the building.

He focused on Rob before focusing on the two women. "Bitch." He then saw, really saw, Harry and Susan. "I'm sorry, ladies. I'm a little hot under the collar."

"What's the problem?"

"Mychelle Burns has decided that our handicapped access to the men's bathroom is one degree off in grade. First of all, it's not. Secondly, to shave a degree off costs time and money. Do you know what a handicapped access costs us? That one you see out there on the sidewalk is eight thousand dollars." Peter let his arms flop against his sides.

"Why so much?" Susan was curious.

"It could be even more if it were a switchback but this one we could put in right off the curb. It cost so much because you have to taper the sides. You can't have ninety-degree sides. Let me tell you, concrete work ain't cheap. And the guardrails are heavy pipe. The stuff could hold back an elephant."

"I had no idea."

"No one does, ma'am. Not until they have to build something the public will use. It's bad enough just building a house."

"What are you going to do?" Harry felt bad for Peter.

"The first thing I'm going to do is count to ten. Next, I'm bringing in the laser measurer and I am ninety-nine percent sure that grade will be perfect. Code perfect. Then I will call Fred Forrest and ask him to come out and use the laser measurer." His voice was acidic. "If the high-and-mighty Fred doesn't want to come by, I guess I'll let Mychelle use it. Christ, she's a chip off the old block. And since neither one of them can even hammer a nail, I will hold my tongue although even an idiot can use a laser measurer."

"Peter," a man called from the back.

"Sorry to dump on you. Harry, Susan, it's good to see you."

"Give my regards to your wife," Susan said as he left.

Harry waited a beat then whispered to Rob, "Maybe Mychelle wants a payoff?"

Rob frowned. "Well, I'm here on the weekends and at night. I don't think that's going on. I could be wrong. I think Fred's drunk on power. She's a carbon copy."

As Susan and Harry cruised back down 29, Susan said, "Harry, I wouldn't have thought of under-the-table payoffs."

"I know. You're such a straight arrow."

"So was H.H."

"I think he was." Harry noticed that the snow piled on the side of the road was already grungy. "And I do think Fred is drunk on power. Rob's got him pegged. You see that kind of personality in a lot of professions but especially in government jobs. I should know, I have one."

"Maybe you should bring a whip to the post office."

"They'd get an entirely different idea." Harry laughed.

"Pervert." Susan laughed, too.

10

Unless inherited, wealth rarely falls into anyone's lap. People who make lots of money work harder, work longer hours, and almost always love what they do.

Matthew Crickenberger was no exception. His office in downtown Charlottesville was a series of three old town houses built in the 1820s. He'd bought them, renovating the insides while keeping the exteriors untouched.

The middle house boasted a lovely walnut door with a graceful fan over the top, the glass panes handblown. Inside, a small lobby where coats and umbrellas could be hung opened onto a larger reception area with a receptionist in the center. All along the right wall behind glass was a temperature-controlled miniature South American rain forest, imitation Colombian artifacts placed among the plants. One, a carved stone, peeped out of a rippling pool.