Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

Not that there was much to steal from the Crozet post office— stamps, a few dollars. But Harry diligently obeyed the rules, as she was a federal employee—a fact that endlessly amused her. She loathed the federal government and barely tolerated the state government, considering it the refuge of the mediocre. Still, she drew a paycheck from that bloated government on the north side of the Potomac, so she tried to temper her opinions.

Miranda Hogendobber, on die other hand, vividly remembered Franklin Delano Roosevelt, so her perception of government remained far more positive than Harry's. Just because Miranda remembered FDR did not mean, however, that she would reveal her age.

On this late July day the mimosas were crowned with the pink and gold halos of their fragile blossoms. The crepe myrtle and hydrangeas rioted throughout the town, splashes of purple and magenta here, white there. Not much else bloomed in the swelter of the Dog Days, which began on July 3 and finished August 15, so the color was appreciated.

So far, less dian two inches of rain had fallen that month. The viburnums drooped. Even the hardy dogwoods began to curl up, so Mrs. Hogendobber would sprinkle the plants early in the morning and late in the evening to avoid losing too much moisture to evaporation. Her garden, the envy of the town, bore testimony to her vigilance.

The mail sorted, the two women paused for their morning tea break. Well, tea for Harry, coffee for Miranda. Mrs. Murphy sat on the newspaper. Tucker slept under the table at the back of the office.

"Is this a honey day or a sugar day, Mrs. H.?" Harry asked as the kettle boiled.

"A honey day." Miranda smiled. "I'm feeling naturally sweet."

Harry rolled her eyes and twirled a big glob of honey off the stick in the brown crockery honey pot. She then removed the teabag from her own drink, wrapping the string around it on the spoon to squeeze the last drops of strong tea into her cup. Her mug had a horse's tail for a handle, the rest of the cup representing the horse's body and head. Miranda's mug was white with block letters that read WHAT PART OF NO DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?

"Mrs. Murphy, I'd like to read the paper." Miranda gently lifted the tiger cat's bottom and slid the paper out from underneath.

This action was met with a furious grumble, ears swept back. " I don't stick my paws on your rear end, Miranda, besides which there's never anything in the paper worth reading ." She thumped over to the little back door and walked outside.

"In a mood." Miranda sat down and looked over the front page.

"What's the headline?" Harry asked.

"Two people injured on 1-64. What else? Oh, this Thread-needle virus threatens to affect our computers August first. I would be perfectly happy if our new computer were fatally ill."

"Oh, now, it's not that bad." Harry reached for the sports page.

"Bad?" Mrs. Hogendobber pushed her glasses up her nose. "If I do one little thing out of sequence, a rude message appears on that hateful green screen and I have to start all over. There are so many buttons to punch. Modern improvements—time wasters, that's what they are, time wasters masquerading as time savers. I can remember more in my noggin than a computer chip can. And tell me, why do we need one in the post office? All we need is a good scale and a good meter. I can stamp the letters myself."

Seeing that Miranda was in one of her Luddite moods, Harry decided not to argue. "Not everyone who works in the postal service is as smart as you are. They can't remember as much. For them the computer is a godsend." Harry craned her neck to see the photo of the car wreck.

"What a nice thing to say." Mrs. Hogendobber drank her coffee. "Wonder where Reverend Jones is? He's usually here by now. Everyone else has been on time."

"A thousand years is as a day in the eyes of the Lord. An hour is as a minute to the rev."

"Careful now." Miranda, a devout believer although those beliefs could occasionally be modified to suit circumstances, wagged her finger. "You know, at the Church of the Holy Light we don't make jokes about the Scripture." Miranda belonged to a small church. Truthfully, they were renegades from the Baptist church. Twenty years ago a new minister had arrived who set many parishioners' teeth on edge. After much fussing and fuming, the discontents, in time-honored tradition, broke away and formed their own church. Mrs. Hogendobber, the stalwart of the choir, had been a guiding force in the secession. When the offending minister packed his bags and left some six years after the rebellion, the members of the Church of the Holy Light were so enjoying themselves that they declined to return to the fold.

A tiny rumble at the back door announced that a pussycat was entering. Mrs. Murphy rejoined the group. A louder rumble indicated that Pewter was in tow.

" Hello , "Pewter called.

"Hello there, kitty." Mrs. Hogendobber answered the meow. When Harry first took over Mr. Hogendobber's job and brought the cat and dog along with her, Miranda railed against the animals. The animals slowly won her over, although if you asked Miranda how she felt about people who talk to animals, she would declare that she herself never talked to animals. The fact that Harry was a daily witness to her conversations would not have altered her declaration one whit.

" Tucker, Pewter's here , "Mrs. Murphy said.

Tucker opened one eye then shut it again.

" Guess I won't tell her the latest . "Pewter languidly licked a paw.

Both eyes opened and the little dog raised her pretty head. " Huh ?"

"I'm not talking to you. You can't be bothered to greet me when I come to visit."

" Pewter, you spend half your life in here. I can't act as though it's the first time I've seen you in months , "Tucker explained.

Pewter flicked her tail, then leapt on the table. " Anything to eat ?"

" Pig . "Mrs. Murphy laughed.

" What's the worst they can say if you ask? No, that's what , "Pewter said. " Then again, they might say yes. Mrs. Hogendobber must have something. She can't walk into the post office empty-handed ."

The cat knew her neighbor well because Mrs. Hogendobber had whipped up a batch of glazed doughnuts. As soon as her paws hit the table, Harry reached over to cover the goodies with a napkin, but too late. Pewter had spied her quarry. She snagged a piece of doughnut, which came apart in marvelous moist freshness. The cat soared off the table and onto the floor with her prize.

"That cat will die of heart failure. Her cholesterol level must be over the moon." Mrs. Hogendobber raised an eyebrow.

"Do cats have cholesterol?" Harry wondered out loud.

"I don't see why not. Fat is fat___"

On that note the Reverend Herbert Jones strode through the door. "Fat? Are you making fun of me?"

"No, we've been talking about Pewter."

"Relatively speaking, she's bigger than I am," he observed.

"But you've kept on your diet and you've been swimming. I think you've lost a lot of weight," Harry complimented him.

"Really? Does it show?"

"It does. Come on back here and have some tea." Mrs. Hogendobber invited him back, carefully covering up the doughnuts again.

The good reverend cleaned out his postbox, then swung through the Dutch counter door that divided the public lobby from the back. "This computer virus has everyone's knickers in a twist. On the morning news out of Richmond they did a whole segment on what to expect and how to combat it."

"Tell us." Harry stood over the little hot plate.

"No. I want our computer to die."

"Miranda, I don't think your computer is in danger. This seems to be some sort of corporate sabotage." Reverend Jones pulled up a ladderback chair. "The way I understand it, some person or persons has introduced this virus into the computer bank of a huge Virginia corporation, but no one knows which one. The diseased machine has to be a computer that interfaces with many other computers."