Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"Crime has become an equal opportunity employer."

As the two men drove off in different directions, Rick replayed his two interviews with Anne Donaldson in his head. The first time he spoke to her she was completely distraught and all he could get out of her was that she couldn't imagine why anyone would kill H.H. He called on her again, after the memorial service. This time he had to ask the unpleasant question, "Did you know with whom your husband was having the affair?"

She pleaded ignorance but he didn't believe her. Not that he challenged her. He just chipped away. Little questions like, How many nights a week did he stay out or stay late at work? The answer: None. Were there strange expenses on his credit cards? No. It didn't matter how he approached it, he ran into a wall.

She knew, all right. She knew and she wasn't telling.

Perhaps it was the sin of pride.

35

The storm's first lazy snowflake twirled to the frozen ground. Tombstones from the early eighteenth century looked particularly forlorn as heavy gray clouds roiled ever lower.

Matthew Crickenberger, slumped in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace, glanced out the windowpanes, the glass wavy since it was handblown.

Elocution and Cazenovia dozed on the back of the sofa, the warmth from the fire making them even more sleepy than they usually were at four in the afternoon. Nap time for cats, tea time for people.

Charlotte, still snuffling from her cold, brought the two men hot tea, a crystal decanter of port, and another of sherry, should either need stronger spirits.

"Oh, thank you, Charlotte."

She placed the tray on the coffee table then put her hands on her hips. "Would you look at that."

The snow began to fall steadily.

"Isn't that a beautiful sight?" Herb smiled.

"Yes, as long as you don't have to drive in it," was Charlotte's somewhat tart reply.

"There is that. Odd, though. We've had a dry fall. Bone dry." Herb minded the weather; outdoor thermometers were placed by his workroom window and his bedroom window. "No sooner did we ring in the New Year, and the snow started falling with nary a stop."

"That's about right."

"Anything else? I've got some cookies."

Herb held up his hand. "No. I really have to exercise some self-control."

"Oh la." She smiled, then winked at Matthew. "Self-control for you, too? I hope not."

"I could use a little, Charlotte. I'll pass on the cookies, but if you have a can of self-control back there in the pantry, bring it on out."

She nodded and left them.

Herb sipped his tea. "Never drank tea as a young man. Not even when I was in the army as a chaplain stationed in England. That's a lovely, lovely country. You've been there?"

"Once. This summer, though, Sandy and the kids and I are going to spend August in Scotland. We'll start in Edinburgh and work our way up to the Highlands."

"Stop at any distilleries?"

"Every one."

"They say the fly-fishing is good in Scotland. Ireland, too. I'd go back across the ocean for that. Or to Wyoming or Montana or you-name-it." He offered Matthew a wee spot of port which the younger man did not refuse.

"Port chased by hot tea with lemon. A taste sensation." He felt the robust flavor of port on his tongue. Matthew always thought of port as a man's drink and sherry as a woman's.

"I know you are beset with many and sundry things, but I'm glad you dropped by." Herb crossed one leg over the other. "I am having a terrible time getting these carpet people to come on out here. Might you give them a push? You're a big fish. I'm a minnow."

"I'll make it my mission. I'll personally talk to Sergeant." Matthew named the owner of the carpet company. "I've been letting my secretary call his secretary. Enough of that. Anyway, what if the Parish Guild changes its mind?"

Herb held up his hands in mock horror. "Don't breathe a word. No. No. No."

Matthew laughed. "Consensus really means you just wear everyone out. In my lifetime I haven't seen too many people change their mind nor have I seen too many people learn."

"Perhaps it's the business you're in. I'd have to say that my experience is just the reverse." Herb eyed the ruby port glowing in Matthew's glass. What a beautiful color. He thought of it as the color of contentment.

"I never thought of that." He shifted his weight. Matthew, a large man, wasn't fat but he wasn't thin anymore, either.

"We all see life through the prism of our own work, our own needs, I guess. I think of stories in the Bible, Scripture." He paused. "Although that Miranda can outquote me any day of the week. I see the spiritual struggle perhaps more than the material struggle."

"Your work to feed the poor contradicts that."

Herb looked out the window; the bare tree branches were turning white, the large lovely blue spruce at the other end of the quad appeared covered in fancy white lace and the black walnut close by the window appeared more majestic than ever. "I am my brother's keeper. Those simple lessons. Not so simple to enact, are they? And I am so glad you've stopped by because I did want to talk to you about more than carpet, Matthew." He leaned forward, pouring himself more port. "Just what is going on with you and Fred? Can I be of any service?"

"You could cover his mouth with duct tape for starters," Matthew ruefully replied. "Herb, Fred and I have been crossways with one another since we were teenagers. I guess it's a personality thing. He looks for problems. A born complainer. I look to build, I look for what's positive. He looks for the negative. He's even worse than Hank Brevard, God rest his soul." He mentioned a man who had gone to his reward in the last two years, another nitpicker.

"M-m-m, Fred does look on the bleak side of life."

"And why does Lorraine stay with him? She's one of the nicest people."

"To make up for him, no doubt." Herb laughed as did Matthew. "But I would have to say that in the last few months, since Thanksgiving, I've observed Fred being more combative, looking for fights. Unpleasant even in passing. I haven't been able to discover the reason. At first I thought, well, maybe Lorraine is tired of him. But no. Then I thought perhaps there's a health problem. Seems fine. Not that Dr. Hayden McIntyre would betray a confidence, but you know, he basically indicated that Fred is fit as a fiddle."

"Pity." Matthew knocked back his port, then drank his tea. "Hateful of me, I know. In fact, downright un-Christian of me. And in front of you."

Herb poured him another cup of tea as Matthew helped himself to the port. "I'm the one person to whom you can tell the truth."

Matthew slumped back in the chair, gazed into the fire for a moment. "I hate him. I do my job and I do it well. I cooperate with him on that level. But he's out to get me and I don't know why."

"Every time he sees you he's got to be reminded that he had as much chance as you did to succeed. He passed it by."

"His choice." Matthew threw up his hands.

"He's jealous."

"Why now?"

"He's in his fifties. Money becomes more important as one gets older. Actually it becomes both more important and less important if you know what I mean." Matthew nodded and Herb continued. "Maybe it's finally getting to him that he'll never really make much money. He's got nowhere to go. There is no higher level if he stays with the county. He's topped out."

"Everyone makes their choices."

"For the most part, yes, but you know, it takes you a good decade to figure out the choices you made in the previous one." He laughed low.

"Whiteout." Elocution opened one eye.

Cazzie opened both eyes. "Bet the mice will snuggle into the woodpile."

"I'm not going outside to get them."

Cazzie thought about the animal door in the back. "Me, neither." She giggled, then closed her beautiful eyes again as the humans talked on.