Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"True enough."

"You sure have good resources."

"Reverends have our own pipeline, missy." Herb sighed.

"Guess you do. Maybe H.H. will wake up."

"Yes. Speaking of which, I am very glad to see you and BoomBoom working together. Forgiveness is at the center of Christ's message."

"I don't deserve much credit. I've dragged it out long enough and you're the second person to push me today. Susan was the first."

"She's a true friend. There are people who go through this life without true friends. That must be hell. Real hell."

"Yes."

"All right, that's my sermon for the day." He laughed.

"You forget, I get them on a daily basis from Miranda."

"Oh my, Miranda, now, what a Lutheran she would have made." He chuckled. "She's another friend, and every time I see her with Tracy I have to smile. Life is full of miracles and love finds you when you least expect it. A kind of emotional roulette." Herb lost his wife five years back to a heart attack.

"Funny, isn't it?"

"Life?"

"Yeah."

5

On Friday, Harry walked through the lawn at the University of Virginia, the snow covering the undulating quad between the Rotunda and the statue of blind Homer. Footprints crisscrossed the deep snow. Walking directly behind her, since it would be difficult for them to plow ahead, trudged Mrs. Murphy, a crabby Pewter, and a very happy Tucker.

"I don't need exercise."

"Pewter, you need a personal trainer." Tucker poked her nose at the rotund gray kitty.

"Whose idea was this?" Pewter ignored the comment.

"Mine," Mrs. Murphy replied. "How was I to know she'd want a twilight stroll? I thought she'd just take a little spin, then drive over to the Clam."

"What's she care about UVA for? She graduated from Smith." Pewter's pads tingled from the cold.

"Beauty. The lawn is one of the most beautiful spaces in North America," Tucker rightly surmised.

"In spring," Pewter grumbled.

"Ah, but the snow's blue, the dome of the Rotunda is changing shades with the dying light. Smoke's curling low from the chimneys. Could be 1840," Tucker imagined.

"A poetic pooch." Mrs. Murphy stopped a moment and let the dog walk by her. She rubbed along Tucker's side.

Harry led them back to her truck, parked on the side of the road, never a good idea at the university, but her luck held. "In."

They needed no encouragement, quickly nestling in their blankets.

Snowplows swept away enough of the accumulation so people could drive and park at the Clam. Best to go slow.

Harry, arriving forty-five minutes early, parked close to the main entrance. She'd picked up a Cavalier Daily, the student newspaper, on her walk. She cut the lights but kept the motor running for heat. She thought she'd use some of the time to read and to try and organize her errands for the weekend.

She opened the paper and saw a half-page ad from H. H. Donaldson that read, "Trash the Terrapins." Tonight's opponent was Maryland. Two pages later a quarter-page ad showing a turtle, hands up, surrendering to a Cavalier, sword at his throat, had been purchased by Matthew Crickenberger.

Incidentally, or not so incidentally, an article ran in the paper about the bidding war for the sports complex, how and why, according to the writer, Crickenberger won the prize. In one word: experience.

The other firms barely garnered a mention, but Donaldson versus Crickenberger held the reader's interest. Harry thought she learned more from this article than from the terse report in Charlottesville's The Daily Progress.

Although she liked H.H., she had to agree with the writer that Matthew did have more experience with these massive, highly technical projects. Despite H.H.'s competitive bid, his lack of experience at this level would probably have run up the bill. Matthew prided himself on bringing in projects on time and on budget. A project like a new arena would take a year to build and in that year the price of materials could rise. He tried to fold that into the bid as well as weather delays. It didn't hurt, either, that he'd helped to build the Clam originally, back when he was a grunt.

Matthew believed a lowball bid to win the project would only bring misery to all parties if something went wrong. It usually did and time is money. Every delay costs. As a young man working for other people he'd seen men come to blows over escalating costs. He'd seen banks call in loans, ruining people.

H.H., less prudent, relied on a bit of luck. Lady Luck did take a shine to him. This did not always endear him to others.

Harry finished the paper just as Fair rapped on the window. She smiled, folded the paper, fluffed up the blankets for the "kids," then cut the motor.

"Hey." She hugged him as she stepped outside. "I'm surprised so many people showed up."

"UVA b-ball." He smiled as he appreciated the dedicated fans.

As they headed toward the main entrance, tickets in hand, friends and neighbors also streamed toward the glass doors. Miranda, wrapped in a long fuchsia alpaca coat, stood out against the snow. They caught up with her.

Little Mim and Blair waved as did Big Mim and Jim. The Crickenbergers were there in force. Herb was there with Charlotte, the church secretary, her teenage son in tow.

Tracy was waiting at the doors for Miranda. Fred Forrest brushed by him without a word. In fact, he wasn't talking to anyone. He didn't even acknowledge his assistant, Mychelle, out that night with a bunch of girlfriends. He pushed through the crowd making one student bump into the wall fire extinguisher. "In Case of Fire: Break Glass." The student, irritated, pretended to rap the back of Fred's head with the small hammer on a chain. Fred, oblivious, kept pushing people out of his way.

Harry noticed Tazio Chappars with a man she didn't recognize. The architect didn't seem especially interested in women's basketball so Harry wondered why she was here. Perhaps to please the nice-looking fellow with her, or maybe the pressure had become too great and she decided to root for the home team along with everyone else.

What surprised everyone was the sight of H.H. escorting his wife and daughter as though nothing had happened. When everyone took their seats, Little Mim glanced down at Susan as if to say, "I'll tell you later."

Susan, of course, leaned down immediately to relay this to Harry. BoomBoom rushed in late and Harry remembered that Fair said he'd take them both out after the game.

"Oh well," she thought to herself. "Maybe I'll learn something."

The usual array of Virginia baseball caps, pennants, and Styrofoam swords were in evidence along with coolers small enough to fit under the seats. They contained beer and stronger spirits and were certainly not encouraged by the school administration. But most folks didn't bother with a cooler, they just slipped a flask in their pocket.

The businessmen, Matthew in particular, handed out drinks. His cooler was jammed with goodies. People, usually buoyant at these contests, often remembered later. Business could be won through such small gestures.

Fred Forrest, five rows behind Matthew, was out of the mix due to his location. After his behavior, he would have been out anyway.

Tracy and Josef traveled around the Atlantic Coast Conference to officiate. Both men enjoyed just watching a game but also watching other men officiate. Refereeing was a thankless job, but no sport could really operate without unbiased officiating.

The game, unlike the Clemson one, was rather tedious. Virginia dominated Maryland. At one point after a brief discussion with Andrew Argenbright, one of Coach Ryan's assistants, the coach took most of her first-string players off the court and put in underclassmen. Experience gained on the court during battle is worth a great deal to an emerging player.