Рита Браун - Rest In Pieces

“Which car were you in, honey?” Fitz asked.

“The Range Rover. Well, it doesn’t matter. I thank you for finding this, Harry. I wonder if Tiffany’s can repair it. Did you really find it in a possum’s nest?”

“I did.” Harry nodded.

“What are you doing ransacking possums’ nests?” Fitz pinched Harry’s elbow.

“I have this little guy who lives with me.”

“You found my earring on your property?” Little Marilyn was astonished. “I was nowhere near your property.”

“I found it but who knows where the possum found it? Maybe he’s a member of Farmington Country Club.”

This made everyone laugh, and after more chatter they left and the next wave of people came in, also upset when they pulled the “Don’t stick your nose where it don’t belong” postcards out of their boxes.

The animals observed the human reactions. Pewter washed behind her ears and asked Mrs. Murphy again, “You believe that earring is connected to the first murder?”

“I don’t know. I only know it’s very peculiar. I keep hoping someone will find the teeth. That would be a big help. If the earring was dropped, what about the teeth?”

“Since those would identify the first victim, you can bet the killer got rid of the teeth,” Tucker said.

“Once the snow melts, let’s go back to the graveyard. Can’t hurt to look.”

“I want to come.” Pewter pouted.

“You’d be a big help,” Mrs. Murphy flattered her, “but I don’t see how we can get Mother to bring you out. You can do one thing, though.”

“What?” Pewter’s eyes enlarged, as did her chest. She was puffing up like a broody hen.

“Pay attention to each human who comes to the store. Let me know if anyone seems stressed.”

“Half of Crozet,” Pewter grumbled but then she brightened. “I’ll do my best.”

Tucker cocked her head and stared at her friend. “What’s wrong, Murphy?”

“What’s wrong is the postcard. It’s kind of smartass. I mean, if it is from the killer, which we don’t know, but if it is, it’s also a warning. It means, to me, that maybe this person thinks someone just might get too close.”

50

Using the Sheaffer pen that had once been his father’s, Cabell wrote his wife a note. The black ink scrawled boldly across the pale-blue paper.

My Dearest Florence,

Please forgive me. I’ve got to get away to sort out my thoughts. I’ve closed my personal checking account. Yours remains intact, as does our joint account and the investments. There’s plenty of money, so don’t worry.

I’ll leave the car at the bank parking lot behind the downtown mall. Please don’t call Rick Shaw. And don’t worry about me.

Love,

Cabell

Taxi did just that. The letter was propped up against the coffee machine. She read it and reread it. In all the years she had known her husband, he had never done anything as drastic as this.

She dialed Miranda Hogendobber. She’d been friends with Miranda since kindergarten. It was seven-thirty in the morning.

“Miranda.”

Mrs. H. heard the strain in her friend’s voice immediately. “Florence, what’s the matter?”

“Cabell has left me.”

“What!”

“I said that wrong. Here. Let me read you the letter.” As she finished, Florence sobbed, “He must be suffering some kind of breakdown.”

“Well, you’ve got to call the sheriff.”

“He forbids me to do that.” Florence cried harder.

“He’s wrong. If you don’t call him I will.”

By the time Rick and Cynthia arrived at the beautiful Hall residence, Miranda had been there for a half hour. Sitting next to her friend, she supplied support during the questioning.

Rick, who liked Taxi Hall, smoked half a pack of cigarettes while he gently asked questions. Cynthia prudently refrained from smoking, or the room would have been filled with blue fog.

“You said he’s been preoccupied, withdrawn.”

Taxi nodded, and Rick continued. “Was there any one subject that would set him off?”

“He was terribly upset about Ben Seifert. He calmed down once the books were audited but I know it still bothered him. Ben was his protégé.”

“Was there resentment at the bank over Ben’s being groomed to succeed your husband?”

She folded her arms across her chest and thought about this. “There’s always grumbling but not enough for murder.”

“Did your husband ever specifically name anyone?”

“He mentioned that Marion Molnar couldn’t stand Ben but she managed to work with him. Really, the politics of the bank are pretty benign.”

Rick took a deep breath. “Have you any reason to suspect that your husband is seeing another woman?”

“Is that necessary?” Miranda bellowed.

“Under the circumstances, yes, it is.” Rick softened his voice.

“I protest. I protest most vigorously. Can’t you see she’s worried sick?”

Taxi patted Miranda’s hand. “It’s all right, Miranda. Everything must be considered. To the best of my knowledge Cabell is not involved with another woman. If you knew Cabby like I do, you’d know he’d much rather play golf than make love.”

Rick smiled weakly. “Thank you, Mrs. Hall. We will put out an all-points alert. We’ll fax photos of Cabby to other police and sheriff’s departments. And the first time he uses a credit card we’ll know. Try to relax and know that we are doing everything we can.”

Outside the door Rick dropped a cigarette, which sizzled in the snow.

Cooper observed the snow melting around the hot tip. “Well, looks like we know who killed Ben Seifert. Why else would he run?”

“Goddammit, we’re going to find out.” He stepped on the extinguished cigarette. “Coop, nothing makes sense. Nothing!”

51

Harry wondered where Mrs. Hogendobber was, for she was scrupulously punctual. Being a half hour late was quite out of line. The mail bags clogged the post office and Harry was falling behind. If it had been any time other than Christmas, Harry would have left her post and gone to Miranda’s house. As it was, she called around. No one had seen Mrs. Hogendobber.

When the back door opened relief flooded through Harry. Those emotional waters instantly dried up when Mrs. Hogendobber told her the news.

Within fifteen minutes of Miranda’s arrival—half an hour before the doors opened to the public—Rick Shaw knocked on the back door.

He walked through the mail bags and up to the counter, glanced at the composite picture of the reconstructed head. “Lot of good that’s done. Not a peep! Not a clue! Nada! ” He slammed his hand on the counter, causing Mrs. Murphy to jump and Tucker to bark.