Рита Браун - Pay Dirt

" I don't know why President Monroe kept these birds. Sheep, cattle, even turkeys —/ can understand turkeys — but peacocks are useless ." Tucker jumped up and whirled around to bite something in her fur.

" Fleas?It's the season . "Mrs. Murphy noticed sympathetically.

" No . "Tucker grumbled as she bit some more. " Deerflies ."

"How can they get through your thick fur?"

" I don't know, but they do . "Tucker sighed, then stood up and shook herself. " Where's Mom ?"

"Out and about. She's not far. Sit down, will you. If you go off and

chase one of those stupid birds, I'll get blamed for it. I don't see why we can't go into the house. I understand why other people's animals can't visit, like Lucy Fur, but not us . "The younger of Reverend Jones's two cats, Lucy Fur, was aptly named as she was a hellion.

" Bet Little Marilyn would let us through the back door . "Tucker winked. She knew Mim Sanburne's daughter loved animals.

" Good idea . "The cat rolled in the grass and then bounded up. " Let's boogie ."

" Where'dyou hear that?"T'ticke,t asked as they trotted to the side door. A bench under a small porch made the area inviting. No humans were around.

"Susan said it yesterday. She picks up that stuff from her kids. Like 'ABCyd'for when you say good-bye."

" Oh . "Tucker found the semantics of the young of limited interest, since every few years the jargon changed.

Underneath Ash Lawn's main level, docents dressed in period costumes spun, wove, boiled lard for candles, and cooked in the kitchen. Little Marilyn—Marilyn Sanburne, Junior, recently divorced and taking back her maiden name—was the chief docent at Ash Lawn this day. Although only in her early thirties, the younger Marilyn had contributed a great deal financially to Ash Lawn as well as to the College of William and Mary. The college maintained the house and grounds of James Monroe and provided most docents. Little Marilyn was a proud alumna of William and Mary, where she had switched majors so many times, her advisers despaired of her ever graduating. She finally settled on sociology, which greatly displeased her mother, and therefore greatly pleased Little Marilyn.

As Harry had graduated from Smith College in Massachusetts, she was not one of the inner circle at Ash Lawn, but the staff was good at community relations, so Harry and her animals felt welcome there. Of course, everyone at Ash Lawn knew Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.

The other docents that July 30 were Kerry McCray, a pert strawberry-blonde and Little Marilyn's college roommate; Laura

Freely, a tall, austere lady in her sixties; and Aysha Gill Cramer, also a friend of Little Marilyns from William and Mary. As Aysha had been married only the previous April, in a gruesome social extravaganza, it was taking everyone a bit of time to get used to calling her Cramer. Danny Tucker, Susan's sixteen-year-old son, was working as a gardener and loving it. Susan was filling in at the gift shop because the regular cashier had called in sick.

A scheduling snafu had stuck Aysha and Kerry there at the same time. The two despised each other. Along with Little Marilyn, the three had been best friends from childhood all the way through William and Mary, where they pledged the same sorority.

After graduation they traveled to Europe together, finally going their separate ways after a year's time. They wrote volumes of letters to each other. Kerry returned to Crozet first, getting a job at the Crozet National Bank, which had started locally at the turn of the century but now served all of central Virginia. Little Mim followed soon after, married badly, and then divorced. Aysha had returned to Albemarle County only six months ago. Her impeccable French and Italian were not in demand. Career prospects were so limited in this small corner of the world that marriage was still a true career for young women, providing they could find a suitable victim.

The friends picked up where they had left off. Aysha, a bit chubby when she was younger, had matured into a good-looking woman bubbling with ideas.

Little Marilyn, recovering from her divorce, was still blue. She needed her friends.

Kerry, engaged to Norman Cramer, often invited Aysha and Litde Marilyn out with them for dinner, the movies, a late night at the Blue Ridge Brewery.

Weedy and timid, Norman possessed a handsome face framing big blue eyes. He, too, worked at the Crozet National Bank as the head accountant. Excitement was not Norman's middle name, so everyone was knocked for a loop when Aysha snaked him away from Kerry. No one could figure out why she wanted him except that she was in her thirties, disliked working, and marriage was an easy way out.

Her mother, Ottoline Gill, far too involved in her daughters life, seemed thrilled with her new son-in-law. Part of that may have been shock from ever having a son-in-law. She had despaired of Aysha's future, declaring many times over that a girl as beautiful and brilliant as her darling would never find a husband. "Men like dumb women," she would say, "and my Aysha won't play dumb."

Whatever she played or didn't play, she captivated Norman with the result that Aysha and Kerry were now bitter enemies who could barely speak to each other in a civil tone of voice. Norman, away from Aysha's scrutiny, would be pleasant to Kerry, although she wasn't always pleasant back.

Marilyn sent Aysha to work downstairs, packing Kerry out to the slave quarters. It eased the tension somewhat. She knew each one would seek her out in the next day to complain about the mix-up. Kerry would be easier to console than Aysha, who liked nothing better than to have someone at an emotional disadvantage. However, Aysha enjoyed being a docent for Ash Lawn and Marilyn would mollify her, for her sake as well as the good of the place. Bad enough to have Aysha fuss at her, but coping with that harridan of a mother was real hell. And if Ottoline picked up the cudgel, then Marilyn's own mother, Mim, would become involved, too, if for no other reason than to put the pretentious Ottoline in her place.

Mrs. Murphy, tail to the vertical, felt the cool grass under her paws. Grasshoppers shot off before her like green insect rockets. They'd jump, settle, then jump again. Usually she would chase them, but today she wanted to get inside the historic home just to prove she wouldn't be destructive.

As the day drew to a close, most of the tourists had left. A few lingered in the gift shop. The staff of Ash Lawn began closing up. Harry and Blair had entered the house to see if Marilyn needed any help.

A distant roar grew louder. Then a screech, burp, and cutoff announced that a motorcycle had pulled into the parking lot, not just any motorcycle, but a gleaming, perfect black Harley-Davidson. The biker was as disheveled as his machine was gorgeous. He wore a black German World War II helmet, a black leather vest studded with chrome stars, torn jeans, heavy black biker boots, and an impressive chain across his chest like a medieval Sam Browne belt. Wraparound black sunglasses completed the outfit. He was unshaven but handsome in a grungy fashion.

He sauntered up die brick padh leading to the front door. Tucker, now on die side of the house by the slave quarters, stopped and began barking at him. Both animals had left the side door to see what was going on.

" Shut up, Tucker, you'll spoil my strategy ," the cat warned. She was lying flat by the public entrance just waiting for it to swing open when die visitor entered so she could dart in. Whoever opened the door would let out a yelp as she zipped between dieir legs. Then they'd have to chase her or cajole her. Harry would have a fit and fall in it. Someone would think to bribe her widi food or perhaps fresh catnip from the herb garden. Mrs. Murphy had it all planned. Then she glanced up and saw the Hell's Angel marching toward the door. She decided to stay put.