Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"Could be on one of the rivers," Tucker said.

As if in response to the dog's thought, Harry added, "But Anne would go with him most times. Not a hobby. Has got to be a woman he met through work or someone at an office where he does business, building supply, another construction company, architects' offices."

"You forget that he goes to the dentist like everyone else. He would have his annual physical at a doctor's office. That's a possibility." Mrs. Murphy considered the picking grounds.

"The other issue we have to consider is whoever this was, he nearly left his wife for her. He did leave his wife for her if only for one day. So the woman would have to be presentable. H.H. wasn't exactly a snob but he wouldn't risk everything for a woman he didn't think most of his friends would eventually accept."

"You know, she's smarter than I give her credit for sometimes." Pewter blinked, the pupils of her eyes changing shape.

14

Matthew Crickenberger's rain-forest wall was just wide enough that he could turn around in it. He'd built it four feet deep and to the ceiling.

Outside the office window it was a winter wonderland. Inside his rain forest it was the Colombian jungle.

He could have foisted off cleaning the glassed-in enclosure complete with an expensive air circulation system and humidifier. However, he enjoyed his Sunday-afternoon escapes.

A thorough cleaning, including checking the pond, took three hours. The birds, accustomed to him, opened their wings and their mouths. Matthew always brought treats and not just on Sundays. The neon-colored frogs felt no special affection for the middle-aged man. They hopped for cover. He brought ants and tiny grubs for them, too.

The last chore was washing the inside of the floor-to-ceiling glass. He hummed as he slid the rubber blade to the top of the glass. He could just reach the top. Then he would swiftly bring it straight down. Small droplets fell on his back from the tree canopy overhead. Vines hung like necklaces.

Finished at last, he placed his buckets outside, then stepped out onto a small sisal rug. He shut the door behind him, wiped his feet, and picked up the white towel from the country club draped over a chair. He toweled himself off, making a mental note to tell Hunter at the club that he owed for a towel. Matthew, meticulous about such things, was irritated when people would filch towels, paper, ashtrays. He confronted one of Charlottesville's flush lawyers once, saying, "Never steal anything small." The other men in the locker room laughed. The lawyer, a banty rooster of a man, laughed, too.

The phone rang. Matthew picked it up, assuming the caller was his wife.

"A loaf of bread, a jug of wine," he jovially answered.

"Matthew?"

"Fred." Matthew was surprised.

"The same."

"Are you working on a snowy Sunday? I don't think the county will pay extra." A hint of sarcasm crept into Matthew's voice.

Fred ignored him. "Do you know who will take over Donaldson Construction?"

"Uh-no. Why?"

"Well, I wanted to go through the Lindsay house out by Beaverdam Road and I don't want to disturb Anne."

"Call Tazio."

"She doesn't work for Donaldson Construction."

"No, but she's the architect. You'd have a competent person with you."

"I don't know. I'd like a company representative. It's always better."

"Well, Fred, I don't think this is the time to bother anyone at the company. They're all reeling. Even the site foreman has got to be upset. Make an exception and call Tazio."

"Yeah." Fred's voice faded, he cleared his throat. "I wish I hadn't had that fight with him."

"Guilt is a useless emotion."

"I didn't say I felt guilty." Fred bristled.

"You didn't have to. Now just listen to me. You were not on your best behavior. You really wanted to hit Josef P. but nailed H.H. instead."

"Well-yeah, but if I told you the times I wanted to slug H.H. Arrogant bastard." He inhaled sharply. "Dead. Gone. No more trouble."

"He was either belligerent or a whiner. Let him lose out on a bid and whoever won it was corrupt, paying off. I mean, it couldn't be because someone else could do a better job."

"That someone was usually you," Fred dryly commented.

"In the last few years it was."

A silence followed. "I'll call Tazio."

"Uh, Fred." A light note lifted Matthew's voice. "I assume my helpfulness will only influence you to find fault with my projects."

A rasping laugh followed. "You got that right, Matthew."

15

This time of year gets to me." Susan folded an empty mailbag. "Spring seems a million years away and the Christmas bills are arriving. Ugh."

Miranda and Harry, having finished the sorting of the mail, had been discussing the merits of painting the small table and chairs in the back.

Harry was happy that no one had called to threaten Susan, because Susan would certainly have told her. So whoever it was had focused on her. Instead of making her fearful, it exhilarated her. Danger got her blood up.

The animals thought she was foolish. She should report the call to the sheriff or Deputy Cooper.

"Red," Miranda declared.

"Yellow," Harry countered.

"Blue." Susan laughed. "Or better yet, paint them yellow with blue and red pinstripes or red with blue and yellow pinstripes or-"

The front door opened, Big Mim burst through. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The three women stared back at her. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter jumped on the dividing counter as Tucker, half-asleep, lifted her head.

"Tell you what?" Harry wondered if Mim had learned that H.H.'s death was suspect. If so, who would have told her but Sheriff Shaw?

"Susan"-Big Mim charged up to the counter-"your husband is going to put together an exploratory committee to consider a campaign for the house seat and you never said a word."

The man who was the state representative in Richmond was retiring that year without endorsing any candidate for the Democratic Party. This was not pique on his part. There were a few good people who might run but no one had declared themselves. Better to wait and see.

Susan blanched. "Mim, it's not my place to make those announcements."

"You knew!" Mim had to know everything.

"Of course I knew. And didn't Ned come and talk to you and Jim?"

"Yes, but you should have called me first." She spun on her heel, opened her mailbox, then slammed it, the metallic thud ringing through the room.

She marched out as resolutely as she had marched in. Outside the day was gray. Inside the clock read eight A.M.

"Monday morning." Tucker dropped her head back on her paws.

"I thought we didn't have any secrets between us," Harry said half in jest, for she hadn't known of Ned's decision, either.

"It's not my secret." Susan held to her position.

"It's wonderful." Miranda took the folded mailbag from Susan's hands, placing it on the shelf with the packages.

Susan walked over to the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and spoke with deliberation. "Ned has this dream that he can change things for the better. He's been quiet about it but this is his chance. I think he'd make a good state representative. He's honest, fair-minded, and not afraid of tough problems."

"All of that is true, but what do you think for yourself?" Harry pressed.

"Oh Harry." Then Susan glanced at Miranda. "I don't want to be a political wife-watching every word, dressing up, attending all those boring events."

"You don't have to do that." Harry waved as Market Shiflett, in big snow boots, passed by the front window. He owned the convenience store next door.

"She can't hide under a rock." Miranda disagreed with Harry. "She has to show her support."

"She can pick and choose her events. I'm not suggesting she . . ." Harry paused. "Susan, I don't know what I'm suggesting. I really don't know what it takes to get elected to office. Money. After that it kind of looks like a beauty contest to me." She smiled. It faded as Fred Forrest, Mychelle Burns, and Tazio Chappars walked toward the front door. A clean Brinkley followed Tazio.