Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"I changed my mind. You want some?"

"Yeah, sure." Harry sat back down.

"I already called Roscoe. That officious bombshell of a secretary of his, April Shively, took forever to put me through. It's a contradiction in terms, bombshell and secretary." She thought a moment, then continued. "Of course, he said wondrous things about St. Elizabeth's, which one would expect. What headmaster won't take your money?"

"He has raised a lot of money, at least, that's what Mim says." Harry paused, "Mim graduated from Madeira, you know. You'd think she would have gone to St. Elizabeth's. Little Mim didn't graduate from St. Elizabeth's either."

"Mim is a law unto herself," Susan replied.

"Miranda will know why Big Mim didn't go there."

"If she chooses to tell. What a secret keeper that one is." Susan loved Miranda Hogendobber, being fully acquainted with her quirks. Miranda's secrets usually involved age or the petty politics of her various civic and church organizations.

"The big question: Can Brooks get in?"

"Of course she can get in," Susan replied in a loud voice. "She's carrying a three point eight average. And her record was great when she was there before, in the lower school."

"What about Danny? Will he be jealous?"

"No," Brooks answered. "I asked him."

Harry took her cup of tea as Susan sat back down.

"I just bought that Audi Quattro," Susan moaned. "How can I pay for all of this?"

"I can work after school," Brooks volunteered.

"I want those grades to stay up, up, up. By the time you get into college, you might have to win a scholarship. Two kids in college at the same time—when I got pregnant, why didn't I space them four years apart instead of two?" She wailed in mock horror.

"Because this way they're friends, and this way Danny can drive Brooks everywhere."

"And that's another thing." Susan smacked her hand on the table. "They'll be going to different after-school activities. He won't be driving her anywhere."

"Mom, half my friends go to St. Elizabeth's. I'll cop rides."

"Brooks, I am not enamored of the St. Elizabeth's crowd. They're too—superficial, and I hear there's a lot of drugs at the school."

"Get real. There's a lot of drugs at Crozet High. If I wanted to take drugs, I could get them no matter where I went to school." She frowned.

"That's a hell of a note," Harry exclaimed.

"It's true, I'm afraid." Susan sighed. "Harry, the world looks very different when you have children."

"I can see that," Harry agreed. "Brooks, just who are your friends at St. Elizabeth's?"

"Karen Jensen. There's other kids I know, but Karen's my best friend there."

"She seems like a nice kid," Harry said.

"She is. Though she's also older than Brooks." Susan was frustrated. "But the rest of them are balls-to-the-wall consumers. I'm telling you, Harry, the values there are so superficial and—"

Harry interrupted her. "But Brooks is not superficial, and St. E isn't going to make her that way. It didn't before and it won't this time. She's her own person, Susan."

Susan dipped a teaspoon in her tea, slowly stirring in clover honey. She hated refined sugar. "Darling, go visit Harry's horses. I need a private word with my best bud."

"Sure, Mom." Brooks reluctantly left the kitchen, Tucker at her heels.

Putting the teaspoon on the saucer, Susan leaned forward. "It's so competitive at that school, some kids can't make it. Remember last year when Courtney Frere broke down?"

Trying to recall the incident, Harry dredged up vague details. "Bad college-board scores—was that it?"

"She was so afraid she'd disappoint her parents and not get into a good school that she took an overdose of sleeping pills.

"Now I remember." Harry pressed her lips together. "That can happen anywhere. She's a high-strung girl. She got into, uh, Tulane, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Susan nodded her head. "But it isn't just competitive between the students, it's competitive between the faculty and the administration. Sandy Brashiers is still fuming that he wasn't made upper-school principal."

"Politics exists in every profession. Even mine," Harry calmly stated. "You worry too much, Susan."

"You don't know what it's like being a mother!" Susan flared up.

"Then why ask my opinion?" Harry shot back.

"Because—" Susan snapped her teaspoon on the table.

"Hey!" Tucker barked.

"Hush, Tucker," Harry told her.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Harry grabbed the spoon out of Susan's hand. "If she hates it, you take her out of there. If she falls in with the wrong crowd, yank her out."

"This little detour could destroy her grade-point average."

"Well, she'll either go to a lesser college than our alma mater or she can go to a junior college for a year or two to pull her grades back up. Susan, it isn't the end of the world if Brooks doesn't do as well as you wish—but it's a hard lesson."

"I don't think Mrs. Berryhill is that bad."

"We aren't fifteen. Berryhill's not exactly a barrel of laughs even for us."

Susan breathed deeply. "The contacts she makes at St. Elizabeth's could prove valuable later, I suppose."

"She's a good girl. She'll bloom where planted."

"You're right." Susan exhaled, then reached over for the folded paper. "Speaking of the paper, let's see what fresh hell the world is in today."

She unfolded the first section of the paper, the sound of which inflamed Mrs. Murphy, who jumped over from the counter to sit on the sports section, the living section, and the classifieds.

"Murphy, move a minute." Harry tried to pull the living section out from under the cat.

"I enjoy sitting on the newspaper. Best of all, I love the tissue paper in present boxes, but this will do."

Harry gently lifted up Mrs. Murphy's rear end and pulled out a section of paper as the tail swished displeasure. "Thank you."

"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Murphy grumbled as Harry let her rear end down.

"Another fight in Congress over the federal budget," Susan read out loud.

"What a rook." Harry shrugged. "Nobody's going to do anything anyway."

"Isn't that the truth? What's in your section?"

"Car wreck on Twenty-ninth and Hydralic . Officer Crystal Limerick was on the scene."

"Anything in there about Coop?" She mentioned their mutual friend who was now a deputy for the Albemarle County Sheriff's Department.

"No." Harry flipped pages, disappointed that she didn't find what she was looking for.

"You've got the obit section, let's see who went to their reward."

"You're getting as bad as Mom."

"Your mother was a wonderful woman, and it's one's civic duty to read the obituary column. After all, we must be ready to assist in case—''

She didn't finish her sentence because Harry nipped open the section of the paper to the obituary page suddenly shouting, "Holy shit!"

3

"I just spoke to him yesterday." Susan gasped in shock as she read over Harry's shoulder the name Roscoe Harvey Fletcher, forty-five, who died unexpectedly September 22. She'd jumped up to see for herself.

"The paper certainly got it in the obit section quickly." Harry couldn't believe it either.

"Obit section has the latest closing." Susan again read the information to be sure she wasn't hallucinating. "Doesn't say how he died. Oh, that's not good. When they don't say it means suicide or—"

"AIDS."

"They never tell you in this paper how people die. I think it's important." Susan snapped the back of the paper.

" 'The family requests donations be made to the Roscoe Harvey Fletcher Memorial Fund for scholarships to St. Elizabeth's. . . .' What the hell happened?" Harry shot up and grabbed the phone.

She dialed Miranda's number. Busy. She then dialed Dr. Larry Johnson. He knew everything about everybody. Busy. She dialed the Reverend Herbert Jones.