Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

"Here?"

"Too hot inside."

" Feels like being wrapped in a big wet towel out here. Must be even worse in the house ," Simon concurred.

Harry, having no idea of the lively conversation taking place between her cat and the possum, carried the small table to the aisle, set up a fan, grabbed a pencil and yellow tablet, sat down, and started making notes. Every now and then Harry would slap her arm or the back of her neck.

"How come the skeeters bite me and leave you alone?" she asked the tiger, who batted at the moving pencil.

"Can't get through the fur. You humans lack most protective equipment. You keep telling the rest of us it's because you're so highly evolved. Not true. An eagle's eyes are much more developed than yours. So are mine, for that matter. Put on mosquito repellent."

"I wish you could talk."

"/ can talk. You just can't understand what I say ."

"Murphy, I love it when you trill at me. Wish you could read too."

"What makes you think I can't? Trouble is, you mostly write about

yourselves and not other animals, so I find few books that hold my interest. Tucker says she can read, but she's pretty shaky. Simon, can you read?"

" No ." Simon had moved to another feed bucket, where he picked through the sweet feed. He especially liked the little bits of corn.

Harry listed each of the events as she remembered them, starting with Mike Huckstep's appearance at Ash Lawn.

She listed times, weather, and any other people who happened to be around.

Starting with the Ash Lawn incident, she noted it was hot. It was five of five. Laura Freely was in charge of the docents: Marilyn Sanburne, Jr., Aysha Cramer, Kerry McCray. Susan Tucker ran the gift shop. Danny Tucker was working in the yard to the left of the house. She and Blair were in the living room.

She tried to remember every detail of every incident up to and including Little Marilyns visit to her concerning Kerry's request for a loan.

"Murphy, I give up. It's still a jumble."

The cat put her paw on the pencil, stopping its progress. " Listen. Whoever is behind this can't be that much smarter than you are. If they came up with this, then you'll figure it out. The question is, if you do figure it out, will you be safe ?"

Harry absentmindedly petted Murphy as the cat tried to talk sense to her.

"You know, I've sat up half the night making lists. The so-called facts are leading me nowhere. Sitting here with you, Murphy, no chores, totally quiet, I can think. Time to trust my instincts. Mike Huckstep knew his killer. He walked deep into the woods with him. Hogan Freely may or may not have known his killer, but the murderer certainly knew Hogan, knew he was working that night, and had the good fortune to walk into an unlocked bank, or he or she had a key. Any one of us in Market Shiflett's store knew Hogan would be in the bank. He told us. Laura knew, but I think we can let her off the hook. I wonder if he told anyone else?"

" The thick fog gave the killer a real bonus ." Mrs. Murphy remembered the night vividly.

Harry tapped the pencil on the table. "Was it planned or was it impulse?"

Harry wrote out her thoughts and waited for the sunrise. At six, since Mrs. H. was up and baking by then, she phoned her friend. She asked her to cover for her for half an hour. She needed to drop something off at the sheriffs office.

At seven she was at Rick Shaw's office, where she left her notes with Ed Wright, who was ending his night shift. By eight Rick called. He'd read the notes and he thanked her.

She sorted the mail with Miranda while telling her what she wrote down for Sheriff Shaw. On those rare occasions when she was up all night she usually got very sleepy about three in the afternoon. She figured she'd nod out and she warned Mrs. Hogendobber not to be too angry with her. However, the events of the day would keep her wide awake.

34

At the beginning of the day Harry blamed the bizarre chain of events on the fact that it was cloudy. That, however, couldn't explain how the day ended.

At ten-thirty Blair Bainbridge pulled into the front parking lot of the post office on a brand-new, gorgeous Harley-Davidson. It appeared to be black, especially under the clouds, but in the bright sunlight the color would sparkle a deep plum.

"What do you think?" Blair asked.

Harry walked outside to admire the machine. "What got into you?"

"Grabbing at summer." He grinned. "And you know, when I saw Mike Huckstep's Harley, I was flooded with memories. Who says I have to be mature and responsible twenty-four hours a day? How about twenty hours a day, and for four hours I can be wild again?

"Sounds good to me."

Miranda opened the front door. "You'll get killed on that thing."

"I hope not. Is there a Bible quote for excessive speed?"

"Off the top of my head, I can't think of one. I'll put my mind to it." She closed the door.

"Oh, Blair, she'll worry herself to a nub. She'll call her buddies in Bible study class. She won't rest until she finds an appropriate citation."

"Should I take her for a ride?"

"I doubt it. If it's not her Ford Falcon, she doesn't want to get in it or on it."

"Bet you five dollars." With that he hopped up the steps into the post office.

Harry closed the door behind her as Mrs. Murphy and Tucker greeted Blair.

"Mrs. Hogendobber, I just happen to have two helmets and I want to take you for a ride. We can float across the countryside."

"Now, isn't that nice?" But she shook her head no.

Before he could warm up to his subject, the front door flew open and a glowering Norman Cramer stormed in.

"How can you? This is in such bad taste!"

"What are you talking about?" Blair replied since the hostility was directed at him.

"That, that's what I'm talking about!" Norman gesticulated in the direction of the beautiful bike.

"You don't like Harleys? Okay, you're a BMW man." Blair shrugged.

"Everything was all right around here until the day that motorcycle appeared. How can you ride around on it? How can you even touch it! What'd you do, slip Rick Shaw money under the table? I thought unclaimed property was to go to public auction held by the Sheriff's Department."

"Wait a minute." Blair relaxed. "That isn't the murdered guy's Harley. It's not even black. Go out and take another look. I just bought this bike."

"Huh?"

"Go look." Blair opened the door for Norman.

The two men circled the bike as the humans and animals observed from inside.

"Normans losing it." One side of Harrys mouth turned up.

"If you were caught between Kerry and Aysha, I expect you'd unravel too. Scylla and Charybdis."

"Steam was coming out of his ears. And how could he say something like that about Rick Shaw? Jesus, the crap that goes through people's minds."

"Don't take the name of Our Savior in vain."

"Sorry. Hey, here comes Herbie."

The reverend stopped to chat with the men, then entered the building. "Cheap transportation. Those things must get fifty miles to the gallon. If gas taxes continue to rise, then I might get one myself. How about a motorcycle with a sidecar?"

"You going to paint a cross on it? A little sign to hang on the handlebars, 'Clergy'?"

"Mary Minor Haristeen, do I detect a whiff of sarcasm in your tone? Haven't you read of the journeys of St. Paul? Imagine if he'd had a motorcycle. Why, he could have created congregations throughout the Mediterranean, Gaul even. Sped along the process of Christianization."

"On a Harley. I like that image."

"You two. What will you come up with next?" Miranda sauntered over to the counter.

"Imagine if Jesus had a car. What would he drive?" Herbie loved to torment Miranda, and since he was an ordained minister he knew she would have to pay attention to him.