Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

"Come on now. You're going to make yourself sick. Come on." Ottoline pushed her toward her car, the driver's side door still hanging open. She imparted a shot to Harry. "Your sense of timing is deplorable."

"Sorry, Ottoline. I'm trying to help." (

"Harry, stick to postcards." Ottoline's tone was withering.

Harry had to bite her lip.

As Ottoline with Aysha, and Cynthia with Kerry, drove away, the remaining friends stood in the middle of the street, bewildered. Market and Pewter were running toward them along with Reverend Jones. Harry cast her eyes up and down the street. She could see faces in every window. It was eerie.

Fair brushed himself off. "Folks, I've got to get back to the clinic. If you need me, call." He slowly walked to his truck, parked in front of the cafe'.

"Excuse me." Blair trotted to catch up to Fair.

"Oh, my, we forgot to pay," Little Marilyn remembered.

"Let's all go back and settle up." Harry turned for the cafe" and wondered what the two men were talking about.

38

A dejected Cynthia Cooper returned to her desk after depositing Kerry, in a state of shock, at the county jail. Fortunately, there were no other women in custody, so she wouldn't be hounded by drug addicts, drunks, or the occasional hooker.

Cynthia was plenty disturbed. The phones rang off the hook. Reporters called from newspapers throughout the state and the local TV crew was setting up right outside the department building.

That would put Rick in a foul mood. And if Rick wasn't happy, nobody was happy.

She sat down, then stood up, then down, up, down, up. Finally she walked through the corridors to the vending machines and bought a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes. She stared at the bull's-eye in the middle of the pack. She'd better damn well get lucky. She peeled off the thin cellophane cord, slipped off the top, tore a small square in the end, and turned the pack upside down. The aroma of fresh tobacco wafted to her nostrils. Right now that sweet scent smelled better than her favorite perfume. She tapped the base of the pack and three white cigarettes slid down. She plucked one, turned the pack right side up, and slipped it in her front shirt pocket. Matches came down the chute with the pack. She struck one and lit up. Leaning against the corridor wall, she didn't know when a cigarette had tasted this good.

The back door opened, and she heard the garble of reporters. Rick slammed the door behind him, walked past her, grabbed the cigarette out of her mouth, and stuck it in his own.

"Unfiltered," she called out to him.

"Good. Another nail in my coffin." He spun on his heel and returned to her. She had already lit another cigarette. "I should have arrested Kerry right away. I used her for bait and it didn't work."

"I think it did. Even if she killed Norman. He was her accomplice. Cool. Very cool. He married Aysha to throw us off."

"So you don't buy that Kerry McCray took the wind out of Norman's sails?" Rick gave her a sour look.

Cynthia continued. "It was perfect."

"And Hogan?"

"Got too close or—too greedy."

Rick took a long, long drag as he considered her thoughts. "A real cigarette, not some low-tar, low-nicotine crap. If I'm gonna smoke, then I might as well go back to what made me smoke in the first place."

"What was it for you?"

"Camels."

"My dad smoked those. Then he switched to Pall Mall."

"How about you?"

"Oh, Marlboro. At sixteen I couldn't resist the cowboy in the ads."

"I would have thought you'd have gone for one of those brands like Viceroy or Virginia Slims."

"The murder weapon was on the seat of Kerry's Toyota."

Cynthia said. "As for Virginia Slims, too nelly… know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. As to the cord… it'll come back no prints. I'll bet you a carton of these babies."

"I'm not taking that bet, but, boss, no prints doesn't mean Kerry wasn't smart enough to wear gloves. She's been threatening to kill Norman for days."

"That's just it, Coop. Smart. If she was smart enough to team up with Norman, to invent the Threadneedle virus, she wouldn't be dumb enough to get caught with a .357 in her hand or that cord in her possession." Rick nearly shouted. "And there's the unfortunate problem of Mike Huckstep."

"Yeah." She thought a minute. "Think she'll get out on bail?"

"I hope not." A blue, curling line of smoke twirled out of his mouth. "She's safer in there and I can keep the reporters happy with the news she's booked for murder."

"Safer?"

"Hell, what if Aysha goes after her?"

"Or she goes after Aysha?"

"More likely. This way we can keep everyone out of our hair for a little bit."

"You're up to something." Coop had observed Rick's shrewdness too many times not to know he was springing a trap.

"You're going to talk Frank Kenton into flying out here from San Francisco."

"Fat chance!"

"We'll pay his way." He held up his hand. "Just leave the wrangling about money to me. Don't worry about it."

"You think he can identify Malibu?"

"He can take a good look at Kerry. That's a start."

"But Kerry never lived in San Francisco."

"How do we know? We'll question her and cross-examine her and it's possible, just possible, that something will slip. I think if she sees him, it will scare the devil out of her."

"Or someone else." Cynthia stubbed out her cigarette in the standing ashtray filled with sand.

"That too. That too. So, topgirl, get on it."

"What's this topgirl stuff?"

"Dunno, just popped into my head."

39

BoomBoom Craycroft dashed into the post office. The place had been a madhouse all day as people hurried in and hurried out, each one with a theory. Pewter curled up in the mail cart. She missed her friends, but she was glad to catch the human gossip.

"Guess you heard I was pushed off the road by Aysha. How was I to know Norman had been killed and she was chasing Kerry?"

"None of us knew, and you look none the worse for wear. The Jag seems okay too." Harrys tone was even.

"My guardian angel was working overtime." BoomBoom opened her mailbox. "These bills. Have you ever noticed they come right on time but the checks never do? Then again, the stock market being what it is, who knows from quarter to quarter how much money they have? I hate that. I hate not knowing how much money I've got coming in . Which reminds me. Did you know the bank found $250,000 in Kerry's account?"

"Oh?" Mrs. Hogendobber came over to the counter.

"I just came from there. The place is a beehive—$250,000! She certainly didn't make that much at Crozet National. And it wasn't in her account yesterday. If she'd been patient, she could have had it all, unless, of course, she's a small fry and this is a payoff."

"BoomBoom, who told you? I'd think the bank or at least the Sheriff's Department would want to control this information."

"Control information? You were born and bred in Crozet. You know better than that," BoomBoom hooted.

"How'd you find out?" Mrs. Hogendobber was pleasant.

"Flirted with Dick Williams." She mentioned a handsome bank officer who was always solicitous of the ladies but most especially of his wife, Bea. BoomBoom added, "Well, actually it was Jim Craig who told me and Dick, politely, mind you, told him to hold his cards close to his chest for a while. So I batted my eyes at both of them and swore I'd never tell. Who cares? It will be on Channel 29 tonight."

And with that she breezed out the door.

"What an airhead."

"You don't like her because she took up with Fair after your divorce."

"You don't like her either."

"That's true," Miranda confessed.

Pewter popped her head up over the mail cart. " She's a fake, but half the people you meet are fakes. What's one more ?"